Ahead of his Time Adrian Cousins (most recommended books TXT) 📖

I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d performed one of those magic tricks and pulled out a never-ending coloured scarf, probably with Tom Baker attached. Watching Doctor Who on a Saturday evening had become a ritual. Christopher loved it, but Jenny thought some of it was too scary for him to watch, and I thought the special effects were anything but special.

Plucking up a cotton handkerchief, she dabbed the corner of her eyes. I moved towards her, but she held her palm out and shook her head at me. She puffed out her cheeks, returned to where I was standing and took hold of my hands.

“In your racing car notebook, you’ve written that Carlos Reutemann wins the Grand Prix in Brazil today.” Jenny looked up at me. “You’ve written that he takes the lead from James Hunt halfway through the race with a question mark at the end. Is that what happens?”

“Yes, I think so. I’m right that Reutemann wins, but I’m a little shaky when he takes the lead. As you know, I'm obsessed with motor racing, but there are many races every year and over fifty years trying to remember the details of all races is nigh on impossible.”

“Will it be on TV? Shall we watch it?”

“Yeah, highlights will be on later tonight. But Jen, what about everything I’ve said? Hasn’t it blown your mind?”

“Yes it has. But it’s also quite exciting if I’m honest.” Jenny leant up and kissed me. “What I do know is our little boy and baby girl have a wonderful loving father, who I love with all my heart.”

Perhaps my life’s excursion down that plug hole on its way to the sewers had halted and had now started a reverse journey. I tapped my coffee cup four times to ensure that it would be the outcome – oh, no, I thought, don’t start all that again!

Part 2

23

Mister Byrite

Shirley’s cold fingers started to ache, and now she’d begun to shiver. She was able to see her breath as the sun sunk low in the sky, and the temperature started to drop again. The worn, dark-brown leather seats in her husband’s Rover P6 seemed to radiate cold air through her body. Pulling off her gloves, she restarted the car engine and slid the heater control to maximum.

It hadn’t been too difficult to find their address as she had the contacts. Although she could’ve instructed anyone to do her snooping, this was personal. This was her granddaughter.

Hitchin Road is the main road running east to west through Fairfield. This particular stretch of the tree-lined road has a parade of small shops nestled between large residential properties on one side, and the main entrance to Wardown Park opposite.

Parked near the park entrance, Shirley had now sat for over an hour – freezing her butt off. It was a regular occurrence to see cars parked here, either visiting the shops on weekdays or, as many were today, visiting the park, so she hadn’t attracted any attention from any snooping resident.

But Shirley wasn’t here to look at the kids playing on the roundabout, swings or climbing frame. Nor was it to look at the teenage girls on their roller-skates giggling as they held onto each other whilst negotiating the icy paths around the park perimeter.

She did glance at two boys pushing model sailing boats in the small boating lake. She studied the older boy as he carefully kept an eye on whom she presumed was his younger brother. He was thick-set, broad shoulders, and with his shoulder-length hair styled with a centre-parting, he reminded her of her precious son.

She swivelled her head to the right and looked down Homebrook Avenue, a crescent-shaped road with two junctions to Hitchin Road. She’d positioned the car here as it gave a clear view of number twenty-two, the house she was interested in.

As she kept watch on the house, her mind drifted back to last summer when that stupid girl had turned up demanding money and claiming her son was the father of her unborn child. Then she hadn’t believed it and quickly dealt with her, as she did with anyone who crossed her path. But now she knew the truth. Last week, that chance meeting as she came out of the changing rooms in BHS had convinced her Carol Hall had been telling the truth.

She’d been shopping in town, mostly in Marks and Sparks as their knickers were better than anyone else’s – not that she paid for them. After picking up some t-shirts for her youngest, Andy, in Mister Byrite – and not paying for those either – she popped into BHS. She’d selected six dresses then waited for the changing-room attendant to get distracted before she nipped into an empty cubical.

Shirley was skilled at this operation, and the dumb assistants were too stupid to notice. She’d undressed, slipped two dresses on, one over the top of the other, and then re-applied her baggy jumper on top. She took great care to fully tuck the hems of the dresses in her knickers, thus ensuring they didn’t drop below her skirt hemline. Popping her coat back on, she exited the cubical and smiled at the assistant as she handed her the remaining dresses, stating they didn’t fit.

It was then she saw that striking redhead, and presumably her mother as they could almost pass as twins. Shirley recognised the redhead as she was always up the estate, nosing into other people’s affairs. Yes, it was her, that interfering cow from the Council. Then Shirley had spotted the boy, the same boy Carol Hall had dragged along with her the day she claimed her son was the father of her baby.

Was it grandmother’s intuition? She didn’t know, but she was totally sure that when she spotted that cow’s mother cooing at the baby girl in her arms, she knew it was her granddaughter without