The Time Spell Page 3

  I wondered if there had been an earthquake, or a tornado or something else that belonged more in my geography book than in my living room.

  Could an aeroplane have crashed into the roof of our house? (If an aeroplane crashed into your roof, would you still be sitting there wondering what had happened?)

  I wriggled and tried to make myself feel comfortable. Why did the carpet suddenly feel so lumpy? How come I could feel cold air on my skin? How come Amy’s music had gone quiet for the first time in weeks? How come I could hear birds singing, and smell grass and cows and other country stuff?

  I opened my eyes.

  ‘Omigod,’ I whispered.

  Instead of our nice brown and white stripy carpet, I was sitting on a big, dirty heap of straw.

  Instead of our living room, I was in a small field, surrounded by crumbly stone walls.

  How can a house just vanish?

  I had absolutely no idea where I was or how I had got there. This was like some crazy dream – except I knew for sure that I was awake.

  ‘Mum?’ I called, not really expecting an answer.

  ‘Mum?’ I called again. ‘This so isn’t funny.’

  Still there was no answer.

  ‘Mum?’ I called, feeling more confused than I ever had in my whole life.

  The birds were still singing, and far away a cow mooed loudly.

  I slowly got to my feet. My arms and legs hurt, like I’d been running a marathon or something.

  This was sooo weird.

  I put my hand into the pocket of my shorts and pulled out my phone. I switched it on and pressed the buttons to call my mum. I held the phone to my ear, but heard no sound. I looked at the screen and saw, NO NETWORK AVAILABLE.

  Great!

  What kind of loser place has no network available?

  I shoved my phone back into my pocket and put Saturn down on the grass, where he began to sniff around, like nothing strange had happened.

  I was starting to feel seriously scared. I don’t generally hang around fields all that much – shopping centres and cinemas would be more my kind of thing. And this field was really starting to freak me out.

  There was a gap in the stone wall and I walked towards it. I was glad when Saturn trotted along beside me. I slipped through the gap and found myself on a rough, muddy road. Saturn turned left and I followed him, simply because I couldn’t think of anything else to do.

  I walked for ages and ages. Soon I was feeling sick and dizzy and lost and very, very sorry for myself.

  Only minutes earlier I’d been sitting in my own living room in the middle of the city, and now I was in some weird country place with only a cat for company.

  It just didn’t make any sense.

  This kind of thing isn’t meant to happen in real life. Real life …!

  I stopped walking and slapped my forehead.

  I thought back carefully. When I complained about being bored, Mum had said I needed a dose of reality.

  Did she mean reality TV?

  I remembered a film I’d seen a few months earlier. It was all about a man who thought he was living a normal life, but it turned out to be one long reality TV show.

  But would Mum enrol me in some weird TV show without telling me?

  I had a funny feeling that she might. She’s always going on about reality shows and how she’d love to take part in one. Once she even wrote away to a TV production company offering to take the whole family to a deserted island for two weeks. (Luckily they said no. They said we were too ‘normal’ – proving that they hadn’t met Amy or Stephen.)

  I held my breath. Was I going to walk round the next bend and see Mum sitting outside some old country house, milking a donkey or planting a spaghetti tree or doing whatever it is that people do in the country?

  Would I be cross, or would I just be glad to see her?

  I didn’t want to be on a reality TV show, but right then it seemed like a better option than anything else I could think of.

  I looked all around, wondering if there was a camera following me.

  There was nothing of course – they’d never make it that obvious.

  Then I suddenly ran over to a gap in the wall, hoping to surprise some unsuspecting TV person, who’d be all embarrassed at being discovered.

  But all I could see was more grass, more walls and more fields, stretching for as far as I could see.

  Very clever, I thought. No expense spared. I must be a part of a very big production.

  But that still didn’t make any sense.

  In reality TV shows, the contestants always arrive at their new homes in helicopters and limos or at least in big, shiny jeeps with the number plates blacked out.

  I hadn’t done that, or at least I couldn’t remember doing that.

  Could I have bumped my head and lost my memory? Did I need to see a doctor?

  Just then I licked my lips and tasted something sweet. I remembered the lemonade Mum had given me. Had it been drugged?

  Would she drug her own daughter just to get on TV? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer to that question.

  I looked all around again, but nothing had changed.

  I hoped it wasn’t going to be one of those programmes where the contestants have to do tasks. There was no way I was eating worms or snails or eyeballs or gross stuff like that. There was no way I was climbing any high things, either. I didn’t want millions of people laughing as they watched me tremble at the top of a tree, or halfway across a rope bridge.

  OMIGOD!!

  Millions of people!

  I pulled my hair out of its ponytail and tied it up again, neater than before. I straightened my fleece and brushed some pieces of straw from my shorts.

  If I was going to be on TV, it was important to look my best!

  Saturn had stopped in the middle of the road, but now he started walking again. Once again I followed him.

  Then we turned a bend and I saw a small house at the side of the road. Saturn slipped into a field and vanished from view.

  I didn’t panic, as I’d suddenly had a wonderful thought. Could this be where my mum and dad were waiting?

  I tried not to smile as I came closer. Maybe this was going to be a bit of fun.

  I jumped as I suddenly noticed that there was a boy sitting on the wall at the side of the house. He looked about eleven years old. He was dressed in old-fashioned clothes. He had short, greasy hair and a dirty face.

  Was he another contestant, or was he part of the production?

  ‘Hello,’ he said with a big smile. ‘My name’s Mikey Spillane. What’s yours?’

  ‘Lauren.’

  He started to laugh. ‘That’s a strange name,’ he said.

  Like Mikey is such a cool name.

  ‘And your clothes are strange too,’ he added.

  Like any normal boy would be seen dead in the dirty rags he was wearing.

  But I wasn’t getting involved in a row. This show could go on for weeks and I didn’t want to get marked out as the troublesome girl who’s hated by everyone.

  So I sat on the wall next to ‘Mikey’, bit back all of my smart comments and waited to see what else he had to say for himself.

  ‘What brings you here?’ he said then.

  Clearly he’d been rehearsing his lines. Did everyone else get an advance information pack? If so, where was mine?

  ‘What brings you here – to Ballyboher?’ he said again.

  I sniggered. Ballyboher! How do they think up those names?

  Still, maybe I should play along for another little while.

  ‘Oh, you know – this and that,’ I said. ‘What about you?’

  He smiled proudly. ‘I live here. All this land is mine. This is my farm.’ As he spoke he waved his hand over the small field behind him.

  Did they think I was totally gullible?

  ‘Your farm?�
�� I said. ‘Aren’t you a bit young to be running a farm?’

  He looked hurt. ‘I’m eleven and a half, and I do all the work around here.’

  ‘What about your family?’ I asked, forgetting for a second that I wasn’t going to believe a word he said anyway.

  ‘My mother died and my father went to Scotland to look for a job, and Granny Bridget is too old to do farm work.’

  ‘Aww, such a sad story,’ I said. ‘I’d cry, only I know it’s all made up.’

  Now he looked really, really hurt.

  ‘Why would I make up a story like that?’ he asked.

  I had to hand it to him. The kid was a good little actor. But I was getting a bit fed up with all the pretence. If there were tasks to be done, I might as well get started.

  I sighed. ‘It’s OK, Mikey, or whatever your real name is,’ I said. ‘I know what’s going on. I know this is a reality show.’

  Now he looked puzzled. ‘I understand “reality”,’ he said, ‘but what is a reality show? I’ve never heard of that.’

  He wasn’t fooling me, so why wouldn’t he just give up?

  How much were they paying this guy?

  (Actually, now I came to think of it, how much were they going to pay me? There’s this really cool touch-screen phone I’ve had my eye on for ages.)

  ‘Mikey, I told you it’s OK,’ I insisted. ‘So you can quit acting – even though you’re very good at it. I know it’s a reality show. I know this is all a set-up.’

  ‘A set-up?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, starting to feel angry. ‘I know it’s all a set-up for TV.’

  Mikey looked at me with huge, innocent eyes.

  ‘What’s TV?’ he asked.

  And that’s when I began to understand that I was in very, very big trouble.

  Ten minutes later, I was still crying. Mikey put his hand into his pocket.

  ‘You can have a loan of my hanky,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, holding out my hand and then pulling it back quickly when I saw the filthy rag that Mikey seemed to think was a hanky.

  The poor boy looked embarrassed, and I couldn’t blame him. There he was, minding his own business, and a crazy girl shows up and starts talking like an idiot. Then he asks a perfectly harmless question and she starts to cry like a big, stupid baby.

  I wiped my eyes and held back my sobs as best I could. Then I gave Mikey my fiercest stare.

  ‘I’m going to ask you one question,’ I said. ‘And I need you to tell me the truth. It’s very, very important. Do you understand?’

  The poor boy looked totally confused.

  ‘Why would I want to tell you lies?’ he asked.

  Because the truth might make me cry even more?

  ‘Well, whatever,’ I said. ‘Just answer the question.’

  He gave a small smile. ‘Just ask me the question,’ he said.

  I took a deep breath.

  ‘What year is it?’

  Mikey started to laugh. ‘That’s it? That’s your hard question? I’m not stupid, you know. I go to school at least three days every week.’

  ‘Just answer the question,’ I said, from between gritted teeth.

  He gave a big sigh. ‘If you don’t know the year, then that makes you the stupid one, not me.’

  ‘OK, so I’m stupid, I admit it. Just tell me the answer.’

  ‘It’s 1912.’

  I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from crying out.

  Mikey had to be telling the truth. But how could that be the truth? How could it be 1912?

  This was no reality TV show; this was something much worse.

  This was reality.

  Just then Saturn appeared through a hole in the wall. He stretched himself and then jumped into my arms. I hugged and kissed him like I hadn’t seen him for years and years. (Which might have been true, when I thought about it properly.)

  ‘What is that thing?’ asked Mikey, sliding away from me on the grass.

  I felt a sudden burst of anger. Saturn was my only link with my normal life and no one was going to insult him – not even this kind boy with the grubby hanky.

  ‘It’s not a thing,’ I snapped. ‘It’s a cat. It’s my cat.’

  ‘That’s a cat?’

  ‘Of course it’s a cat. His name is Saturn.’

  ‘I’ve never seen a cat like that before. He’s got hair like a girl and his eyes don’t even match.’

  Mikey was edging further away, looking a bit scared.

  I cuddled Saturn again, clinging on to him like he could make this whole thing less scary. Saturn licked my hand with his warm, rough tongue, and I scratched behind his ears the way he loved.

  Mikey was making a face. ‘I can see that you love him, but he still looks strange to me.’

  ‘OMIGOD,’ I shrieked, making Saturn jump, and making Mikey reach for his so-called hanky again.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  I’d just remembered Betsy, the old woman from the park. She’d had to get rid of Saturn because, when he was around, she started imagining things. Suddenly I was fairly sure what kind of stuff she had been imagining – strange, going-back-in-time kind of things. The poor woman hadn’t been ill at all. This cat really did make strange things happen.

  I held Saturn up in front of my face and stared into his odd green and blue eyes. He stared back, almost like he could understand how upset I was. I could see myself reflected in his huge pupils.

  ‘It’s you, Saturn,’ I said softly. ‘You did this.’

  Saturn didn’t answer, of course, but if he had, I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised. I didn’t think anything could surprise me now.

  I shook Saturn gently. ‘You got me here,’ I said. ‘So now bring me back home. Please. Joke’s over.’

  Saturn continued to stare at me in unblinking silence.

  ‘I’m scared,’ I whispered. ‘I don’t like this weird kind of stuff. I don’t even like reading about this weird kind of stuff. Please just bring me back to where I belong.’

  Saturn blinked once, then jumped from my arms. He went off to lie in a patch of sun at the side of the road. Without him, my arms felt empty and cold.

  Mikey was edging closer to me, reminding me that he was there. I didn’t care that he’d just heard me begging a cat to take me home – after all, he thought I was crazy anyway, so what difference could this make?

  ‘You never told me what you are doing here in Ballyboher,’ he said.

  And I was supposed to be able to answer that?

  It’s not like I wanted to be stuck in stupid Ballyboher.

  I wanted to be back in my own house, lying on the couch, listening to Tilly telling one of her never-ending jokes. Or hearing Amy’s friend’s rubbish band singing their rubbish songs.

  I wanted to hear Stephen screaming at the computer screen.

  I wanted to hear my mum in the kitchen, rattling pots and pans and humming in the way that usually annoyed me so much.

  I wanted to be bored again.

  Mikey patted my back like I was a baby.

  ‘It’s all right, Lauren,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to be scared. I’ll look after you.’

  And then I started to cry again.

  Eventually I stopped crying. After all, how was that going to help me? It wasn’t like I could cry myself a huge salty sea so that I could swim back to the future.

  Saturn had settled down for a snooze. I felt a sudden urge to run over and curl up next to him. He could snuggle close to me, the way we both loved. I could shut my eyes and listen to the soft, grunting noises he makes when he dreams, and maybe convince myself that I was back home.

  But what good would that do me?

  Mikey was still sitting beside me, looking embarrassed.

  ‘Where are you from, anyway?’ he asked.

  When are you from? would have b
een a better question, but how could the poor boy possibly have known that?

  ‘I’m from Dublin,’ I said.

  ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘I’ve never been to Dublin. My father has, though.’

  ‘So you know how to get there?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not exactly. But leave it to me. I’ll find a way to get you back home.’

  I smiled my thanks, but couldn’t feel reassured.

  Was my fate suddenly in the hands of a grubby, badly dressed eleven-year-old boy?

  And even if this boy did somehow manage to get me to Dublin, what was I supposed to do when I got there? Sit in a field where my house wasn’t yet built and hang around for a few decades waiting for my parents to be born?

  And when they eventually were born, would I be older than them? Could I rock my mother’s pram, and feed a bottle of warm milk to my baby father? Or show my great-grandad my phone and tell him that he’ll have to wait eighty years before he gets to see another one?

  This time-travel thing was far too complicated for me.

  But getting to Dublin would at least be a start. If I sorted out the place, maybe the time would sort itself out on its own.

  Suddenly I shivered. The shorts I was wearing were very suitable for August, but I had a funny feeling that it wasn’t August any more.

  ‘What month is it?’ I asked.

  Mikey must have been getting used to my weird questions because he answered without hesitation.

  ‘April. Thursday, April the eleventh, if you want to be exact.’

  I was stuck in the wrong century, so what did it matter if it was April or August? But even so, I could feel the tears beginning again. Was I going to cause the great Ballyboher flood of 1912?

  Mikey patted my arm.

  ‘I have an idea,’ he said. ‘I have to go on an errand to Queenstown this afternoon.’

  ‘Queenstown?’

  He laughed. ‘Queenstown is a huge big town.’

  If it was a huge big town, how come I’d never heard of it before?

  ‘And you can get a train to Dublin from there,’ he continued.

  ‘Yesss!’ I said. ‘Can we go now?’ I jumped up.

  Mikey hesitated and looked back at the field behind him, which was half dug.

  ‘I have to sow carrots first,’ he said.