The Accidental Time Traveller Read Free

“Yea see, Saul, I am the dutiful daughter of Mister Albert Black.”
    She stared at me like she was waiting for something. For me to nod my head, laugh and say, “Oh, right,
the
Albert Black? Him?” But I didn’t say a word. When it was obvious the name Albert Black meant nothing to me, she cast her eyes down and wrung her small hands together. “He,” she continued, “is a time traveller – or I should say, an ill-starred apprentice, eager to master the hidden art of travelling through time. And I, his sole child, am his assistant!”
    I nodded, as though I understood, which of course I didn’t. Maybe I was still on my beanbag, dreaming? But I wasn’t. We were standing on the pavement, in the snow. This was real. Agatha sighed again. “So now Saul, perhaps yea comprehend my predicament? ‘Tis an awfy pickle.”
    Miss Agatha Black knew some big words. She talked like an old granny, not a child. She rolled her Rs like a motorbike revving over cobbles. Prrrrrrrrredicament. And what the heck was predicament anyway? “The fact that yea havna heard of Mister Albert Black puts me in the doldrums, Saul,” she said. “It tells me he failed. He was ever thus, born under a halfpenny planet. He didna succeed to shine out in the great books of history as he so desired. He has much to learn regarding the secret art of time travel and, what’s more, he has left me here – an experiment gone horribly wrong, lost in the future.”
    And we were left standing in the falling snow outside the shop, me and this strange girl, who had just told me, with her hand on her heart, that she came from two hundred years ago. The snow fell faster and thick flakes swirled around us. I felt a bit embarrassed with her staring helplessly into my eyes, but in a strange way I was excited too, like I’d just landed in a real adventure. Mad as it sounded, and I wasn’t ruling out the possibility that Agatha was totally off the rails, part of me believed her – or wanted to. She seriously sounded old fashioned. She looked the part and didn’t seem to have a clue about the Highway Code. I had to get Mum’s newspaper and Jaffa Cakes, but bumping into a girl from another time was definitely the most interesting thing that had ever happened to me, and I decided to play along with Agatha’s story.
    “Wanna see what your house is like now?” I suggested, trying to sound breezy. She nodded, slipped her hand under my elbow and in we went.

3
    Mrs Singh looked up from the cash register, waved at me and winked. It was an “I like your new girlfriend” wink. I shook my head hard, meaning, “no – it isn’t what you think.”
    “Hi, Mrs Singh, this is Agatha,” I blurted out, guiding her up towards the counter. Then out popped lie number two, “and she’s making a history film.”
    “Well now, isn’t that a marvellous thing,” Mrs Singh said, looking her up and down. “Your costume is very realistic, dear.”
    Agatha’s jaw fell seeing Mrs Singh and her lovely red sparkly sari. If Agatha really was from 1812, then maybe she’d never seen someone from India before? Mrs Singh just smiled at Agatha then busied herself fishing for the Saturday newspaper, without me having to ask for it. “I am very fond of history myself,” she went on. “Scotland is steeped in history. That’s what we like about this town. You know this shop was built in 1770? History is very present for us in Peebles, don’t you agree, Saul?”
    I nodded, though truth was I’d never thought about it before – apart from the fact the den was obviously a pretty old garden shed.
    Agatha slipped away from my arm and wanderedaround the shop. I watched her gaping at the rows of brightly coloured magazines and the shelves of biscuits and the tins and light bulbs. She reached out to touch them, trembling as if a tin of soup might leap off the shelf and bite her.
    “Is my shop going to be in the film?” Mrs Singh asked, leaning over the counter and lowering her voice,