Travelling Time, by Geoff Nelder

Faith squirmed in her train seat, fuming at her own stupidity. She’d miss her first meeting with her fiancé’s parents in Edinburgh by three hours thanks to her thinking it was to be tomorrow. But tomorrow had gate crashed before she was ready, as it does when an eye wanders from the calendar. Nevertheless, she had to travel up to face the shaking heads. Her dinner would be mummified along with their first impressions of this woman taking their Edward from them. They would assume she was deliberately late and burn his ears with hot execrations.
     She urged the train to move, but the little man in blue wouldn’t blow his whistle until the clock conquered 4 pm. The carriage door swished open, permitting an oversized man to drag his bulging rucksack in after him. Faith frowned at the end of her solitude, but sniggered at the thought that the man hadn’t used his backpack for serious hiking recently.
     “Is this seat taken?” he asked.
     “Are you kidding? I am the only passenger here.”
     “You might’ve been saving it for your husband.”
     “Yeah, right.” If only. She grimaced, knowing her nearly husband would be making lame excuses for her.
     “You look annoyed. Would you rather I sat further away?” he asked, having stowed his bursting rucksack on the overhead rack before causing the seat opposite her to consider suicide as its stuffing became compressed beyond suggested limits.
     She shook her head rather than offer the expectation of friendly conversation for the rest of their journey. She flipped open her cellphone and jabbed away as the train lurched into mobility. A surreptitious glance around her phone showed her his twenty-something years, and the battered copy of ‘Essentials of Meteorology’ revealed his student status. Even students showered occasionally, but this one stuck out for individualism. She twitched her nose at the olfactory assault of curried body odour, and glanced up at the window. Open. Peering back at him she took in greasy long hair, acned pink skin and, oh no, the beginnings of a yellow-toothed grin, as he spoke.
     “Edinburgh?”
     Nod.
     “The uni?”
     Head shake. Maybe she was too petulant. “I went to Cambridge.” Oh God, that sounded so pretentious. Shut up, Faith.
     As she jabbed the send button on her cellphone the train plunged into a tunnel. She looked at her windowed gamine image and forced a smile. She threw a furtive glance at the student’s reflection. She smiled at the irresistibility of such indirect spying, thinking they couldn’t see you. He smiled back.
     “I do that,” he said.
     “What?”
     “Never mind.” He looked away, and so did she. Minutes later he ventured into conversation again. “I don’t recall the tunnel being this long.”
     She admitted the flickering grey-black outside seemed to take ages.
     “Maybe it’s a gender thing,” he said.
     “What? The tunnel being long?”
     “Having a problem estimating the time. I did a survey for my stats module. More men guess the right time, give or take ten minutes, than women.”
     “Probably their stomachs.”
     “There’s no need to get personal,” he said, turning, with some difficulty, in his urge to look away.
     “I didn’t mean… oh, forget it.”
     Minutes later, they continued along the mother of all tunnels, the train’s clickety-clacks assuring them that motion prevailed - yet the anticipated burst of daylight failed to materialise. A glance at her watch only confirmed the need to replace it while in Edinburgh. The damned cheap gift from her former boyfriend was more chronic than a chronometer. Rubens was a complete odd-ball. Taking her for a walk along the entire length of the Greenwich Meridian from north to south London being his idea of a great date. Bizarrely, he presented her with the watch as a goodbye, no-hard-feelings gift.
She could ask the student for the time, but chose to check it on her cellphone instead. Not working thanks to the tunnel.
     The carriage door slid open, ushering in a ticket collector. Bent with age and lined with worry, he didn’t look at them, but staggered on down the aisle.
     “Excuse me!” they chorused after him. He reluctantly braked.
     The student said: “What’s with this tunnel?”
     The railway’s most ancient employee threw up his hands. “Beats me.”
     “Is something wrong?” Faith said, butterflies awakening in her stomach. She could go along with interruptions to the norm, as long as there was an official explanation, or denial.
     “Don’t ask,” he said, and sea-legged off to the next carriage.
     “That’s a fine response – don’t ask,” she said to the student. Her butterflies jigged more, but maybe the student was brighter than the critical mass he looked.
     “Maybe we’re going a lot slower than it seems, or we’ve reversed and not noticed.”
     “It seems we’re hurtling along at the usual speed,” she said.
     “OK. So the grey out of the window isn’t the tunnel?”
     “A fog?” She felt stupid saying it.
     “Of course, there is a country-wide dense fog. It’s more likely the engine-driver took a wrong turn at Birmingham, nipped back south and we’re zipping through the Channel Tunnel, followed by—“
     She cut off his mockery by clamping on her mp3 headphones and feigning a sleep which soon became real.

      Bright sunshine awoke her. In a pique, she shielded her eyes in time to see Waverley Station drifting by.
     “Edinburgh! Why didn’t you wake me?” But only a large dent in his seat evidenced the existence of the student, like a prop in an invisible man film.  She found him at the door waiting for the last seconds of deceleration.  She started to remonstrate but when he turned she saw a shocked white face.
     “What’s the matter — erm?” She realised she hadn’t asked his name.
     “The… the time,” he said, stumbled out as the door opened.
     She called after him: “What about it? Oh, go then.” She deleted him from her to-be-bothered-about list and left the hissing train for a quiet Princes Street. Passing a jeweller, she glanced at her watch and saw it was working, reading 16:05.  Hah! If only her watch was correct. London to Edinburgh in five minutes would’ve been a very useful trick, especially today. She glanced at the big clock in the shop window and saw the minute hand jerk to six minutes past four o’clock. Shocked, she felt her heart pounding faster. Barely daring to, she turned to face the broad pavement and busy Princes Street. The train usually took five hours, so it should have been nine in the evening, yet the shops were open. The crowds, children in school uniforms, and afternoon sunshine told her something temporally disturbing had occurred.
      She crossed the road to a bench and sat before her legs buckled. She squeezed shut her eyes, counted to ten and reopened. No wonder that student looked as if he’d suffered a stroke. What did it mean? She boarded the train in London at four. It must have taken five hours to reach here but it was as if time had travelled with her, keeping up. 
      It meant she was in plenty of time for dinner with her future in-laws. Should she tell Edward? She walked the hundred metres to the Thistle Hotel where he’d booked her a room. His Presbyterian parents wouldn’t have countenanced a more familiar arrangement. Quivering with the unexpected weirdness, she collected her key from Reception.
      She needed a stiff drink before finding her room. She had a large gin and tonic, no ice, in her hand when she was startled again.
      “Faith. You’re here! Thank God.”
      Sadly she didn’t have the prudence to hide her drink from Edward and his parents as they swooped.
      “You didn’t tell us she was an alcoholic,” said his mother.
      His father countered her admonishment with a grin and open arms anticipating a hug. Some of her drink spilt down his back as she looked at Edward for rescue.
      “And why did you tell my son,” his mother said, “that you wouldn’t meet us until tomorrow?”
      “It was a joke, wasn’t it Faith?” Edward said. “And to surprise us. Come on, darling, I’ll take you to your room.”
      As they walked to the lift her vision blurred, but it passed once they arrived at the art-décor 1930s lift.
      “You don’t look well, Faith, you’re pale. Let me check your pulse.”
      “I’m not one of your patients, Edward. I’m fine.” But she wasn’t. As soon as the lift reached its upward terminal velocity her vision became blurred again. When they reached her room she dived on the bed to recover. “Call me when it’s time to dress for dinner.”
      As soon as Edward left, she felt better. Maybe she was allergic to her fiancé? No, she’d only felt odd today. That damn train journey. She’d have a nap, then go for a walk down the famous shopping street, or up to the Castle before dinner at nine.
      A few queasy moments accompanied her walk down the hotel stairs and out onto the bustling pavement, but as soon as she stopped she was fine. A black cab pulled up and allowed a large woman to be pulled out by her two Staffordshire Bull Terriers, so Faith leapt in. “The Castle, please.”
      And she was pleased with this plan. At the highest point in the city, Edinburgh Castle is perched on top of an ancient volcanic plug. It meant an easy downhill stroll along the Royal Mile, with assorted architecture and quaint shops. But her anticipation of a relaxing sojourn turned as soon as the taxi accelerated. Nausea accompanied dizziness as the cityscape smudged by. Then she was thrown forward as the taxi screeched to a halt.
      “Bloody cyclist! Sorry, miss.”
      “I’m all right.” And she was. Once righted on her seat the haziness had vanished. Like a camera lens refocusing, she watched the cycle courier riding away while sticking a finger up. She grinned, and was about to stick one up at his vanishing back, but her view was skewed as if it was raining when the taxi moved. She gave up torturing her reason and lay back in the plush seat with eyes closed.
      “We’re here, Luv. That’ll be… what the hell? Sorry, miss, my meter’s not right.”
      She opened weary eyes and saw that the starting price of £1.50 had increased by only fifty pence instead of the three pounds she expected. It was the train journey all over again. Her watch confirmed her suspicions. It said she’d taken two minutes to do a ten-minutes journey. She gave the grateful driver a fiver and stepped out onto the wide paved area. William Wallace, with his kilt and blue half-face, waved his sword then grinned. She couldn’t resist a reciprocal smile, but she waved away his invitation to an exhibition and found a cosy teashop. She wasn’t urged there by thirst, but by the need to think. She’d given up any attempts to rationalize the temporal aberration that was messing up her life, and instead wondered if there were any benefits.
      Her spoon made a whirlpool in her tea, milk, no sugar. Outside the latticed window, tourists laughed by. Normality. Time ticked, as it should, but it seemed that as soon as she moved time travelled with her and either slowed or stopped for everyone else. But the phenomenon affected the student and the taxi-driver too. Did that mean that whenever she moved she stopped ageing? It did mean she could get to places fast – she’d have more time to do other things, except that so far it made her so tired. Apart from that, and the dizziness, blurred vision and confusion, she couldn’t think of any disadvantages. She laughed and, after paying the bill, walked slowly and thoughtfully down the Royal Mile and back to the hotel.

      Dinner was in two hours. It must have been the downhill gradient pushing her too fast. She had time to run a bath.
     Moments into the bubbles she heard her cellphone jingling.
     “Where are you, Faith? We’re waiting at dinner.”
     “Hello Edward. There’s plenty of time isn’t there?”
     “It’s ten, you are an hour late. Do you have a problem?”
     “I must have dozed off. I won’t be long.” She couldn’t understand why time should have speeded up. It wasn’t as if she was swimming in the bath. No – time must have speeded up outside her bath. She looked at her waterproof watch. Eight ten. Dinner wasn’t until nine. On this occasion the watch wasn’t telling her the real time. Did it mean she’d aged or the opposite? It was doing her head in. As she dressed she realised there had been a change. Before, when she moved, time travelled with her so it seemed to be still for her and normal for everyone else. Then when she was stationary, time behaved normally. Now, time for others accelerated when she was still and decelerated when she moved. Aaaargh! Was she going to spend her life balancing movement and playing statues to keep in synch with Edward? Half-dressed, she slumped on a chair with the image of living alone, isolated with no friends or acquaintances as her only option.
     Her door shuddered with banging. Had those few moments of stationary contemplation cost another lorry-load of time?  Edward’s thunderous face told her he wasn’t pleased.
     “Bloody hell, Faith, it’s been half an hour since you said you were rushing down. Are you deliberately trying to humiliate me? Are you saying we’re over?”
     “No. I’m really sorry, Edward.” She must remember to keep moving – even gentle pacing around as she talked to keep in time with him.
     “Are you ready now? You look fine.”
     “Thanks. My hair is damp – oh, it’s dried by itself. Edward, something odd is happening to me.”
     “I know.”
     “You do?”
     “Nerves. But my parents are not ogres, really. Maybe my mother is, but ignore her, the rest of us do.”
     “I don’t mean—“
     He strode to her with open arms, but she sidestepped, not daring to be embraced in a stationary hug. She might faint or disappear into his past – anything.
     “Let’s go,” she said, but realised that once she sat at her meal she might appear very odd to them. She would probably appear to move in very slow motion. She had to tell him – while pacing sedately.
    

      His turn to slump in a chair. “I knew something was wrong. But this is bizarre. You were all right at the weekend.”
     “I know. Oh Edward, I am getting worn out doing this hike.”
     “You say it started on the train. Was there anything different you did or that happened last night or this morning?”
     “No. All right, my ex came round. I don’t know why.”
     “Rubens? That weirdo. What did he say?”
     “Not much. Wished me luck with my future. Oh, and he gave me this watch. You don’t think?”
     “Take it off.” He took it from her and put it in his pocket. “Come on, dinner can wait a little longer. Heck, look at the bedside clock!”
     “Time seems to have passed quickly – oh it has. Where are we going?”
     They galloped down the stairs and into the first taxi.
     Edward called to the driver: “Belford Road. The bridge.”
     “I didn’t know there was a river in the city except the Firth of Forth... and that’s too far, surely?”
     “A small river, the Leith, runs through the city and eventually to the Forth.”
     The stone bridge looked solid, innocent. They leaned over the parapet.
     Edward looked at Faith. “It must be this watch. There’s no sense in any of this, but if anyone could do weird stuff with time, it would be that crazy goon Rubens. Why did you go out with him?”
     “I go for crazy goons.” She smiled at him.
      “I asked for that. I have a theory that time hasn’t travelled for you at all, Faith. As far as science knows, time only changes velocity in the presence of deep gravity wells. You’re not carrying a miniature black hole on you?”
      “Not unless it’s hiding in my handbag, or the watch?”
      “Unlikely. But I wouldn’t be surprised if that freak put you in a trance, slipped you a Mickey in your drink so that you thought time was messed up.”
      “It seemed too real for a hallucination. Anyway, if the watch was in some way affecting my mind or my time let’s get rid of it. Go on. Drop it in the water.”
     He opened his hand, letting the watch slip away and begin its spiral fall. It twirled slowly, as if it had changed its mind. It appeared to slow and rotate in a return flight. Faith, having hope for the end of her troubles, felt panic rise once more. But gravity demanded obedience and the instrument of her torture returned to its downward helix.
     A tiny but significant splash.
     Was it her imagination or did the waters of the Leith accelerate?

<< back

©2006 Geoff Nelder