The Accidental Time Traveller Read Free Page B

were unreadable. ‘I think you might find it very interesting,’ she said.
    Dutifully, I rang Mrs Turnbull and arranged to see her later that afternoon. Then I took a notebook up to the bound file room, where all the back copies of The News are stored in huge book-style files, and made a mug of camomile tea – all I could cope with – and settled down in the dusty little room. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not even Caz and certainly not Will.
    Was he going to go off to Dubai? Did I care? Well yes, actually, a lot. Could I cope without him? Yeah, course I could. Couldn’t I?
    It was probably easier to get on with some work. I felt rough though. My shoulder and neck hurt from lugging those old volumes around and poring over them. And my hands and feet were so cold. Bugger! My car was still in the car park at the Lion. So that’s when I ordered a cab and went off to see Mrs Turnbull. Well, I thought she was Mrs Turnbull …

Chapter Two
    Despite the pain in my head, I managed to open my eyes. The woman who opened the door wasn’t the same as the one I’d seen through the window. Come to that, the window wasn’t the same. Nor was the door. Oh God, what was happening?
    I slumped against the door frame, my head swirling, trying to make it out. What I really wanted to do was just slide down the wall and lie down … but the woman was asking me something. Her voice seemed to come from a long way away.
    ‘Are you the girl from The News ?’
    ‘Er yes, yes I am,’ I said. It was about the only thing of which I was sure.
    ‘Well you’d better come in.’
    I wasn’t sure if I could even walk, but I dragged my body together and followed her into a dark hallway. Something very odd here. I was sure that this sort of house didn’t have that sort of long dark hall, or the sort of kitchen it led to. It had one of those cast-iron stoves, a bit like an Aga, only smaller. I could feel the warmth, which was wonderful. I was so cold. There was a strange smell. It took a while for me to realise it was coal and soot.
    ‘Here,’ said the woman, ‘sit down before you fall down.’
    There was a cat curled up on the chair by the stove. ‘Shoo Sambo,’ she said, pushing him off.
    ‘You sit there for a minute,’ she said to me, ‘and I’ll make you a cup of tea. You’re as white as a sheet.’
    I felt as if everything in my head had slid down to the back of my scalp and was made of lead. Never mind trying to make sense of what was going on. But at least I was starting to warm up. The cat, Sambo – Sambo! – jumped delicately back onto my lap and curled around. I rocked gently, feeling the warmth of the fire and of the cat. The room steadied. I wasn’t feeling quite so sick. I could even begin the attempt to make sense of my surroundings.
    The woman perhaps wasn’t as old as I first thought. Difficult to tell, probably only in her fifties, but definitely not from the Joanna Lumley school of fifty-somethings. She was wearing a heavy wool skirt and cardigan, a check apron and the sort of slippers that not even my gran wears any more. The room seemed incredibly old-fashioned. In the middle was a big table covered with a dark green cloth made out of that velvety stuff. Against one wall was a dresser covered with plates and jugs. Above the range was one of those wooden clothes racks that you see in trendy country magazines, but instead of drying bunches of herbs, this had sheets and pillowcases and what looked like old-fashioned vests and thick white underpants.
    As the woman moved around the room between the dresser, the table and the range, it was like watching a film. She set out a tray with proper cups and saucers and plates, wrapped a cloth around her hand and lifted a huge black kettle off the top of the stove. She poured some water into a little brown teapot, went out of the room for a second into a scullery beyond and came back again, spooned loose tea into the pot and poured the boiling water onto it. From a hook by the