The Time They Saved Tomorrow E-Book

Steve Nallon

• Herausgeber: Luath Press
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: The Swidgers
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 348

Beschreibung

The second book in The Swidgers series. He can't lie, he can't harm but he can save lives. After their dramatic escape from the devastating fire at the Old Coach Inn, the Swidger railway tunnel takes William Arthur and Granny on to London for what appears to be a new adventure … or is it? Dark forces that seeks out William Arthur are at play, leading our young hero to doubt his future as a SWIDGER. But then he is given a mysterious red book by an old man with a white beard. William is told to protect it with his life – yet the pages are blank. A sudden catastrophe changes everything and William and Granny must somehow find a way to put the world back to what it was. Could the blank pages of the mystery red book somehow be the key? Only time will tell

Leseprobe

STEVE NALLON has been a writer and performer in the world of comedy for over 40 years. Steve began his performing life with his own comedy act on the Northern Working Men’s Club Circuit in Yorkshire back in the 1970s. After gaining a degree in Drama and English at the University of Birmingham, Steve became a founding member of the television series Spitting Image, where for over a decade he voiced many of the programme’s most iconic characters, including Margaret Thatcher, Alan Bennett and The Queen Mum. Steve’s acting work now ranges from theatre, film and television, to video games, puppetry and audio books. As a playwright and comedy writer, Steve has a considerable body of credits to his name, including plays and series for BBC radio, three one-man theatre shows and the satirical book I, Margaret, which he co-wrote with the novelist Tom Holt. Destination Time Travel, an exploration of the story tropes of time travel tales written with British Film Institute archivist Dick Fiddy, was published in 2023. Over the years, Steve has contributed to numerous periodicals such as The New Statesman and Musical Stages and is a much sought-after speaker on the lecture circuit for his insightful and amusing talks.

Social Media: @SteveNallon

Praise for Swidgers

‘A great adventure that will be lapped up by young and not-so-young readers alike as you immerse yourself in an adventure that speeds along at a fair lick from the start and always keeps you turning the next page at the end of a chapter. Steve Nallon… has certainly hit on a rich vein of storytelling here and it is no surprise to learn that a second volume, The Time They Saved Tomorrow, is on its way.’ David Brown in Best of British magazine

‘Grabs you from the beginning and doesn’t let go. Steve is a master mimic and uses all his skills to create a powerful and dramatic tale of mystery!’ Rory Bremner, BAFTA winning writer and performer

‘A rambunctious riot of a book with a totally unpredictable plot – I never knew where I was going to be taken next! Granny is a joy of a character; delightfully irreverent with wicked one-liners.’ Joseph Elliott, YA author of The Good Hawk, The Broken Raven and The Burning Swift

‘This brilliant story whizzes along and follows William’s transformation from nervy kid at the back of the class to fully fledged adventure hero. We see this wonderful adventure through William’s eyes and share the adrenalin rush from his perspective. This is a great story for YA readers and grown-ups who, like William, find themselves caught up in the whirlwind of life. I loved it!’ Sonia Beldom, author of the popular children’s book series Granny Franny’s Big Red Bus

‘I loved it. As a former teacher, the parent teacher meetings struck a particular chord.’ Geoff Northcott, comedian, writer and broadcaster

‘Steve Nallon is an experienced and formidable talent and this departure into YA fantasy may win him a whole new generation of fans.’ Jenny Lecoat, screenwriter, novelist and author of Hedy’s Girl and the movie Another Mother’s Son

‘Steve Nallon has always been very good at everything he’s done but this first novel could be his finest hour! From the very start, it is intriguing, innovative, snappy and witty. Nallon writes with a compelling sense of rhythm and just makes you want to keep reading and going further into his magical world. It really does gallop along. Granny is a great creation and a magnificent character in every sense: engaging, shocking, loveable, embarrassing, bright and very, very funny! It’s all very impressive!’ Alistair McGowan, BAFTA winning writer and performer

‘The Time That Never Was is the marvellous story of a boy growing up with a very special power. He is a Swidger and Swidgers can see into people’s timelines and perhaps alter them. But who, or what, is watching them? Exciting, often very funny and always gripping, this is a book about adventures in time – Past, Present and Future. And in the future? Well, the good news is that there is already a sequel on the way.’ William Palmer, novelist and author of The Contract, The India House, Four Last Things, The Good Republic, The Island Rescue

‘Beguiling, inventive and magical: Nallon has conjured up a perfect world and a perfect read. A dazzling piece of fiction.’ Jonathan Maitland, author of the play Dead Sheep and presenter of itv’s current affairs series Tonight

What younger readers have said about Swidgers

The Swidgers book series has been enjoyed in book clubs and reading groups in schools in Manchester, London and Luton. And here’s a selection of what young readers have thought:

‘What struck me most about reading ‘Swidgers’ was just how funny it was. I didn’t expect to laugh quite so much when reading a story about a lonely boy with special powers… ‘Granny’ was hilarious and meant that the book never became too dark, despite the more troubling tense chapters where we feared for the characters’ lives. One of the things that makes the book so original is the mixture of fantasy, sci-fi, adventure and comedy, so you never know what to expect next… I found the book exciting, entertaining and very, very funny and wouldn’t hesitate to recommend it to my friends.’ Year 10

‘I loved reading the story. It was creative and different from any other books I’ve read… I also found it very inspiring because I felt the message behind the story was to do with trust and friendship. When I was reading the book I was there because I could picture the events so clear. It was like I was watching a movie… It was a really good read and I would definitely buy the book. Thank you.’ Year 8

‘I liked the suspense at the beginning that makes you want to read on… I thought it progressed well and was clear what was happening. Furthermore, I thought the characters were well thought out and their characteristics and personalities were established at the beginning. Overall, despite being something I wouldn’t usually choose to read, I enjoyed the book. I would recommend it to people between the ages of 11 and 14.’ Year 9

‘I think that the storyline of the book was great and that there were some great characters… A brilliant book… I really enjoyed the book and would definitely read the rest in the series.’ Year 7

‘It was a really good book with really imaginative twists. By using great metaphors the author helped me picture the scenes very effectively. It was a real page turner and I look forward to reading the next in the Swidgers!’ Year 8

‘I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book due to the amazing storyline, character, humour and general style of writing. The characters were well crafted, with every character being given unique appearances, behaviours and traits. This made the book all the more entertaining. A good example of this of this was Granny’s character, with her bizarre quirky appearance and eccentric way of speech… I thought the storyline of the book was compelling and made the book hard to put down at times… perfect tension and abundance of carefully placed cliff-hangers which created a very engaging read… I loved the brilliant cliff-hanger at the end and can’t wait to see what’s next for William and Granny. Well done!’ Year 10

‘I feel that this is an excellent teenager book and if you are into mysteries and horror, this book is perfect for you.’ Year 7

‘I really enjoyed the book and I thought the main character was unusual and interesting. I really wanted to find out why he had the strange powers and discover his history. The story moved along really fast and made me want to read on. Overall, the plot was really good.’ Year 8

‘I found this book to be interesting and funny. I also found this book used a number of different emotions which drew me in to the story.’ Year 7

‘I personally enjoyed the book a lot, especially at the beginning of the story. I enjoyed that part because it gets you hyped for the rest of the story and does not fail to keep your attention. It leaves you wondering what is happening and does it in a way that keeps you reading… I’d recommend it to my friends as I think they’d like the mystery and adventure but also find it funny. It’s a really original idea and I found it really entertaining. I’d definitely be interested in reading more books by the author.’ Year 9

‘I really like the concept. I thought that it was an original idea. My favourite character was Granny because I thought she was funny. The opening was really good and got me immediately interested… I really liked the story.’ Year 8

First published 2024

ISBN: 9781804251515

The author’s right to be identified as author of this book under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 has been asserted.

Typeset in 10.5 point Sabon LT Pro by Main Point Books, Edinburgh

© Steve Nallon 2024

For Bryan, Scott and Jordan

Contents

CHAPTER 1 Thoughts in a Tunnel

CHAPTER 2 A Gentleman Sleeps

CHAPTER 3 Breakfast

CHAPTER 4 The Swidger

CHAPTER 5 A New Start

CHAPTER 6 The Chase

CHAPTER 7 The Ghost Train

CHAPTER 8 The Man With the Tattoo

CHAPTER 9 St Martin-In-The-Fields

CHAPTER 10 The Hospital

CHAPTER 11 The Identification

CHAPTER 12 The Emergency Exit

CHAPTER 13 Waterloo

CHAPTER 14 The Signal House

CHAPTER 15 The Zoetrope

CHAPTER 16 The Parchment Paper

CHAPTER 17 Coal Dust

CHAPTER 18 Timepaths

CHAPTER 19 Nurse Ramesh

CHAPTER 20 An Old Friend

CHAPTER 21 Westminster Bridge

CHAPTER 22 The Orange

CHAPTER 23 Giggles on a Bridge

CHAPTER 24 Black Leather Gloves

CHAPTER 25 A Desk and a Chair

CHAPTER 26 At the Bottom of a Drawer

CHAPTER 27 On a Barge

CHAPTER 28 Falling Slates

CHAPTER 29 ‘What Is Time?’

CHAPTER 30 The Curse of Time

CHAPTER 31 The Seven Tasks

CHAPTER 32 Albert

CHAPTER 33 The Mudlarks

CHAPTER 34 The School Blazer

CHAPTER 35 The Park

CHAPTER 36 Pots, Pans and Pails

CHAPTER 37 The Oak of the Sea

CHAPTER 38 The Hatpin

CHAPTER 39 The Ice Cream Parlour

CHAPTER 40 Empty Barns

Thought Notes

Acknowledgements

Resources

CHAPTER ONE

Thoughts in a Tunnel

TUNNELS. DARK HOLES in the ground, taking you from here to there. But for a Swidger the journey isn’t just place to place but a when to a whenever. Tunnels for us can become passages in Time.

The tunnel I’m in now is the same railway tunnel that brought me to the Old Coach Inn, however long ago that was. Only today it is taking me in the opposite direction, for, if you remember, my life at the Old Coach Inn came to an end when it burnt to the ground. And those who walk with me are the only survivors of that dead world.

There’s Granny, of course, and with her is Rutley, clasping onto her gloved hands as if she were all he had. Rutley and his wispy beard. A grown man but with the mind and heart of a child. A few yards behind them walks Brewster Blaxton, carrying Granny’s carpet bag, which, like the clothes I wear, has been darkened by the smoke of the fire. There was another survivor – Salton Manning – only he’s marched so far ahead that his echoing footsteps have all but disappeared. And so it’s me, William Arthur, who now leads the way.

It’s curious. The railway tunnel is the same one I walked before, only now it seems darker and our journey longer. There’s nothing in front or behind except empty blackness so we are careful to keep our steps to the wooden sleepers that run down the middle of where the old track had been. And we make our way in silence, for the tunnel’s echo is deafeningly loud and strangely disturbing. As if the walls didn’t want to hear what we had to say.

Granny did warn us that where we end up will be the tunnel’s choice, for a Swidger tunnel will only ever take Swidgers where Swidgers need to go. The four of us are hoping for London, but, as Granny said, we can’t be sure and the tunnel may surprise us. Not that it matters, for any ‘where’ or ‘whenever’ would be better than the horrors left behind at the Old Coach Inn.

As I walk along in the silent darkness, my thoughts go back to that original journey through the tunnel that took me there. That day the tunnel had been as cold and as chilling as the grave. Granny had told me to take off my school uniform and put on that scratchy old tunic she’d given me from her carpet bag. What I remember most on seeing the Old Coach Inn for the first time was that spiky ivy covering all over its timbers. Only I was to discover these weren’t just timbers, for the wood had grown straight from roots of the nearby Oak, the Old Coach Inn and the Tree were one. Both alive and together supremely powerful.

Yes, I knew trees were special to us Swidgers – Granny had taught me that on the day we met – yet this ancient Oak had spread Aloysius’s gift throughout the whole house. And what a gift it was: the Power to Stop Time. In the world of the Commonality – well, what Granny calls the human beings we’ve been put here to help – such an ability could have altered so many lives and timepaths for the good, but Aloysius selfishly kept his gift for himself. And worse, he exploited it to create a rule of terror over the many who lived under him at the Old Coach Inn. Even though they’d become men with beards, inside they were still lost and abandoned children really. The Old Coach Inn had once been an orphanage, but when the people who ran it died, well, that’s when Aloysius, only a boy himself, took control, and, with the help of the Tree, brought Time to a near halt for all those who lived within its timbered walls. Yet all bodies go through change, and though it must have taken a century or more, slowly these boys became men. Well, men stunted in height and feeling, for their timeless world was empty and shallow. Worse still, under the tyranny of Aloysius, the Old Coach Inn became a place that thrived on spite and cruelty.

Oh, but it’s all just ashes now. In a way, Aloysius brought the end on himself, for when he burnt the parchment prophecy that spoke of me and my future, it was those very flames that led to the fire that took so many lives. Aloysius insanely believed the Tree would save him, but the Oak couldn’t even protect itself. The Old Coach Inn had been built close to the coast, and over the years, the sea had slowly eaten away at the rocks, which meant that the Oak and with it the Inn by now stood almost at the cliff’s edge. What a strange sight it was: Aloysius clinging to the Tree in desperation, but its trunk and branches bending themselves towards the cliff edge trying to escape its own fiery timbers. It was as if the Oak had made the choice to fall into the ocean rather than be burnt alive. Even so, Aloysius clung to its bark. He tried to grab my arm, but that’s when Granny pushed him away and saved me. The fiendish Aloysius seized Granny’s hand instead, wanting her to die with him, but I wasn’t going to let Aloysius take her to a watery grave, so I took hold of her and at the same time managed to unbalance Aloysius. I can see it all playing out in my head: the Great Oak falling from the cliff edge and taking Aloysius with it into the rolling waves of the ocean that foamed with fury as together they hit the rocks beneath…

The noise of heavy footsteps behind me bring my thoughts back to where I am now. Brewster Blaxton, a burly man, built like a barrel, has caught up with Granny, Rutley and me. I turn round, but there’s still nothing I can make out for sure except the shadowless gloom. Not that I’d be able to see Brewster’s face because it’s covered anyway by that thick bristly black beard of his. But as I listen to those sturdy footsteps, I think to myself, ‘Yes, he’ll be friend and protector to poor Rutley.’ Brewster’s a good man with kind heart and a smile of pure gold. And it really is, for that’s what his teeth are made of. And it’s Rutley now who suddenly starts shouting excitedly, ‘Train coming soon! Train coming soon! Train coming soon!’

We all stop to listen. The tunnel is still pitch black. And silent. We concentrate intently, for all Swidgers are gifted with remarkable hearing, but there is no train. I hear Rutley let out a sigh. Not worried, I think, more disappointed.

‘There isn’t a train, Rutley,’ says Granny, in a whisper, ‘and we don’t really want there to be. Not yet. Maybe though, you will get to see a big train when we’re all safely out of this tunnel. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?’

As Granny says this I notice something is different. The echo of the tunnel is nowhere near as bad as it was, and so perhaps to help settle Rutley, Granny continues to jabber away, nineteen to the dozen.

‘And if the tunnel does take us to London, as we all hope it will,’ she says, cheerfully, ‘the first thing we’ll do is have a nice breakfast, with egg yolks as big and golden as the harvest moon. And after that, maybe Brewster will buy you a nice present. A toy train! Not that I was ever lucky with presents. Even when a little girl on Christmas Morning, the only thing I ever got to open was the coalhouse door. Never even had a dolly. No, all I ever took to bed was hunger, a candle and a mousetrap. Funny thing, mice. You never know you’ve got them till your slippers don’t quite fit. Oh yes, me and m’Mother, oh we were dog-poor. Only ever sixpence between us and the Workhouse. Except there was one year, Mother became friendly with Festus Grimshaw, the local poacher. Every Sunday morning he would bring Mother a rabbit, though of course when he did, I had to play outside. For Monday dinner, we’d have rabbit pie. Tuesday, Wednesday, we’d warm it up as rabbit stew. By Friday, well, it got a bit thin and was more what Mother called “soup”. Oh, I just thought, you’ll have to get used to them, won’t you? Days, I mean. You probably don’t remember what days are. Oh, but you’ll like Sunday. It’s like a holiday. Not that me and Mother could ever afford a proper holiday. No. All we could do in them days was sit on the step and let our minds wander. But such happy times. Penny Bottom. That was the name of our village. Very small. And the population stayed roughly the same because every time a girl had a baby some fella had to leave. Penny Bottom was famous for two things: coal mining and drizzle. Oh, it was a tough life, but as Mother used to say, “If we weren’t meant to toil on this earth, Providence would have given us butter, not cows.”’

As Granny talks about her days as a young girl in Yorkshire my mind begins to think about one who didn’t survive: blind Zavier. I misjudged him. Risking the fire, Zavier, who knew his way round the house with no eyes, had guided Granny through the smoke to the Tree on the cliff. Zavier knew, I think, as the Tree took Aloysius into the sea that his own life was over, but it’s what happened after that which now becomes such a vivid image in my mind. Zavier is at the cliff edge, lifting his face to the sky saying, ‘Take it from me!’ With those words, Zavier’s dead black eyes become a sparkling blue. He is asking, you see, for his Swidger Energy to be taken from him so he can die as a human boy and not as a Swidger who had lived too many worthless years. And as if by a miracle, that’s what Zavier becomes. A little boy. Waving and smiling at me, knowing that those fractured rocks upon which he stands will soon break away and take him down into the sea beneath.

I still don’t yet understand how, but if it was possible for Zavier to change, then that’s what I now want to do myself. And if trees are able to hear what Swidgers say, as I had discovered at the Old Coach Inn they could, then maybe now the tunnel might too. And so I whisper to the sooty brick, ‘Take me where I will become what I need to be.’

All my life I thought I was just an ordinary Swidger, changing human timepaths for the better with a switch or a dodge, a shove or a nudge, but Granny said there was something about me – I’ve no idea what – that will make me much more than I am. Swidger gifts are never asked for – they are given – and they slowly become part of who you are as you come of age. As I was now coming of age. That’s why a dark force had sought me out – it desired my gift. Yet now I’m thinking if I could become human then that gift would never become real. And if it isn’t there, then why would that dark force continue to seek me out? I mean, I’d be safe, wouldn’t I?

And that’s why I have decided to give up the Swidger world – for what I am, or will become, I no longer want to be.

CHAPTER TWO

A Gentleman Sleeps

‘TRAIN SOON! TRAIN SOON! Train soon!’

Rutley is shouting again, so once more we all stop and listen, but again there is no train.

‘I’ve told you, Rutley,’ says Granny, ‘Brewster will buy you a toy train when we get to London. And then we’ll see a smile on that face as big as a docker’s sandwich.’

But Rutley still won’t calm down.

‘Train soon! Train soon! Train soon!’

‘Rutley, there isn’t a train. This is an old railway tunnel that no one uses anymore. There’s not even a metal track. Just old wooden sleepers. Besides, you’re safe with me and Brewster and William and we’re going to look after you. All orphans in the storm together.’

Rutley does now settle a bit and we walk on.

It’s true. Many Swidgers are orphans. In a way, I’m an orphan twice over, for my adoptive mother died when I was a baby and after that her husband – I never had a chance to call him father – no longer wanted me and I ended up living with a distant relative. Not a happy life, but it was safe. I suppose I could go back.

Perhaps that’s what the prophecy meant when it foretold that my future would be the past. That’s what Aloysius told me at the Tree. And it must be true, for a Swidger can never lie. Not even one as wicked as Aloysius.

My future could be my past.

Yet Aloysius added that the prophecy also said that in that future I would ‘willingly choose death’.

Willingly choose death.

Why would I or anybody want to do that?

Granny had told me not to worry too much about what Aloysius had said. ‘It doesn’t take a hen to know a bad egg and Aloysius was clearly clean off his onions,’ was how she put it. As I was thinking about all this, the air in the tunnel seemed to change. It was now much heavier and warmer, and breathing was getting difficult. Yet still no hint of light.

We slow down a bit but continue to walk on. I have a feeling that what we’re stepping on has suddenly changed from wooden sleepers to something more like concrete and for the first time in what must be hours and hours, I begin to see what looks like dirty muddy green shadows just ahead.

So, where has the tunnel brought us? There’s just enough light to make out there are metal tracks on top of the concrete sleepers, but my Swidger instinct tells me best not to touch them.

‘Keep to the middle,’ I say to the others.

On the curving brick wall, I now see a large tin box and as we pass it, I can just about make out the lettering which runs down the side: LONDON UNDERGROUND. A few feet further on there’s an oblong yellow marker, with letters and numbers on it, AA409, and below that are some words which I now read out aloud: ‘CHARING CROSS STATION.’

Then I realise that those green shadows were cast by a light coming from a signal box just ahead. Suddenly there’s a rumbling sound and the air hits our faces like a strong wind.

‘Train coming! Train coming! Train coming!’ Rutley is shouting. Maybe he was right all along, sensing it before we did, for now two lights appear and I see a tube train heading straight towards us.

‘Charing Cross Station!’ says Granny. ‘Well, fancy that. I never expected the tunnel would bring us to London via the Underground. Most unusual.’

Granny seems genuinely surprised by where we’ve ended up, but Rutley, who’s now let go of Granny’s gloved hand, is jumping up and down with joy.

‘Train here! Train here! Train here!’

‘I know, Rutley, but it’ll stop in a minute because tube trains always do.’

Usually, yes, but then I see the destination sign: NOT IN SERVICE.

‘This one won’t!’ I yell. ‘It’s just passing straight through. Quick! We need to get off the track!’

‘Blooming Heck!’ exclaims Granny, as the train comes rocketing towards us.

The four of us make a dash to the tunnel’s exit and with a bit of a scrabble we climb up onto the end of the platform. No ladder, but some bricks have been taken out from the sidewall in the tunnel and their cavities act as steps.

As she passes us, the driver’s face is quite a picture, but at least we are safe. Or so I thought, but then I notice a sign on the wall that reads ‘DANGER HIGH VOLTAGE’.

‘Let’s get away from here,’ I cry, pushing open the mesh-metal gate that separates us from the rest of the platform.

‘Why such a panic?’ asks Granny.

‘Look at the notice!’ I shout, pointing to the warning notice.

‘What does it say?’

‘“DANGER HIGH VOLTAGE”! Can’t you read?’

‘No.’

Much of what Granny said surprised me but this took the biscuit.

‘You can’t read?’

‘I went to Sunday School, but Miss Mudstone did all the reading for us. And gave us a slapping of the knuckles with a ruler if we weren’t listening.’

‘What about that mathematic equation you did at my school? Where everything turns to nothing because you’re multiplying by zero?’

‘Well, that’s just two letters, X and Y. That I can manage. Besides, my friend Albert taught me it and he knew what he was doing. Anyway, who needs writing? I’ve got a tongue in my head, haven’t I?’ Granny then points to another sign, written in red on the mesh-metal gate, ‘What does that say?’

‘“PASSENGERS MUST NOT PASS BEYOND THIS POINT”.’

‘Well, that doesn’t even apply to us because we’re not even passengers.’

Strange to think about it now but it wasn’t until she said that that I realised that there were no passengers. The station was completely deserted.

I looked at the clock. 5:10. The Underground uses a twenty-four-hour clock so that must mean 5:10 am.

‘It’s just gone 5 o’clock in the morning.’

‘Up and about even before the crack of sparrows. And since it’s Charing Cross, we won’t have long to wait for breakfast. Come along, Rutley, my little ray of sunshine,’ she said, swinging open the gate of the restricted area, ‘there’ll be a bacon sandwich waiting for you just round the corner.’

Rutley, however, was reluctant to move for he kept peering round the edge of the tunnel, calling for the train to come back, ‘Train? Train? Train?’

‘Ah, bless him. His stairs may not go all the way to the top floor but you won’t find a man more loving. Rutley,’ she called, ‘come this way, luv. You’ll get to see plenty more trains later, I promise.’

Granny was right. Rutley would indeed see more trains. Many more. And in a way no one could possibly have imagined. Rutley had a good heart, the best of all of us. And if it wasn’t for those thin wisps of hair which you could just about call a beard, you’d think he was no more than a young boy. ‘As innocent,’ as Granny would say, ‘as a newly laid egg.’

Oh, but there was so much more to him than that, but Rutley and what he did, comes later. Just then I was more interested in what Granny had just said.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t read?’ I asked, as I held open the mesh-metal gate that led onto the open platform.

‘In my day girls weren’t encouraged to read, but I learnt to get by.’

Granny, Rutley and Brewster Blaxton now joined me on the other side of the meshed partition. Granny then pointed to the station destinations that ran down the wall.

‘We’re on the line they colour brown – the Bakerloo – so I know that without reading. In my day it was called “The Baker Street and Waterloo Railway”, but someone used a bit of nous and shortened it to “Bakerloo”. Besides,’ she added, now striding along the empty platform, ‘not learning to read has its advantages. I mean, since I’ve never read a book, I’ve never known what I’m supposed to think. Instead, I learnt to think for myself. Given the state of the world, it’s a shame more of the Commonality didn’t follow my example. And I say that in all humidity.’

By now we had reached the large open concourse just beyond the platform. There were no stairs, just escalators, and all three were currently motionless. Granny and I moved towards them, only Rutley and Brewster wouldn’t budge. Then I realised they’d never seen metal steps before.

Granny took Rutley by the hand, ‘There’s no need to be afraid. I know it’s not made of wood, but it’s still only a staircase. It won’t bite.’

But just when Granny had persuaded them that this weird contraption was safe to walk up, the metal monster jerked into action. The loud clunks and whirring made Brewster and Rutley scarper pretty quick and nothing Granny could say after that would make them change their minds.

‘Well, it’s not surprising,’ Granny said quietly, ‘it’s a whole new world to them. But not to worry, we’ll soon find our way out of here. This station used to be called Trafalgar Square and if I remember right there’s a lovely spiral staircase that will take us straight to where we need to go.’

We made our way across the concourse to the platform opposite where we found an old man, with clothes tatty and shabby, fast asleep on one of the benches. Well, fast asleep, yes, but with the loudest snore I’d ever heard. It was like a braying horse in a howling gale. And every time he breathed out, his big white beard, wild and lustrous, seemed to float in the air like a cloud. I smiled for the first time in a long while because, with rosy cheeks as well, he looked just like Father Christmas. Well, Father Christmas in his gardening gear.

‘People used to sleep on the underground platforms to escape the bombs in the Blitz,’ whispered Granny, not wanting to wake him. ‘They even slept in the tunnels. Maybe this nice old gentleman still thinks there’s a war on. Or more likely, he hides down here when it’s closing in order to stay overnight and keep warm. Perhaps it’s winter and it’s snowing outside. We’ll find out when we climb up to the top. Anyway, you’ll meet a lot of gentlemen like him where I’m taking you. People of the Street. Ah yes, this is the exit I was looking for,’ she proclaimed, spotting a door with the words STRICTLY NO ENTRY. AUTHORISED PERSONS ONLY. ‘Maybe Mr Snore-snore over there knows the same sneaky way in and out that I do. Come along now, Rutley. And you too, Brewster.’

As we walked past the NO ENTRY sign on the door I began to think there were some advantages to not being able to read. I took a quick glance back to see if we’d disturbed the old man with the white beard, but it didn’t look as though we had. He’d turned on his bench a bit and now I could see what seemed to be his only possession: a large faded red book tucked under his belt.

What story would that tell us all? I wondered.

Beyond the door was a spiral staircase which, with no surprise at all, brought us out at the bottom of Charing Cross Road. But it wasn’t cold or snowing. Far from it. Even though it was still very early in the morning, it already felt like a hot summer day.

And then the tears came.

Was it the dazzle of bright sunshine? The Big Summer Funfair I saw camped in Trafalgar Square? Or even Nelson himself perched on top of his column? Anyway, something overwhelmed me and my face became one big leaky drainpipe, dripping everywhere.

‘Now, now,’ said Granny, putting her arms around me, ‘do your eyes smell onions? Yes, tears come easily to the young and old. But they’ll do you no harm, maybe even some good, after the terrible time you’ve had.’

Granny took from one of her many pockets a lace handkerchief saying, ‘I’m a Yorkshire lass at heart, and when the world is wanton, our way of dealing with it is to have a good cry, blow us nose, make a cup of tea and then go and get our hair done. But your hair is lovely as it is – all them nice long, lovely black curls. So why don’t you just blow on this hankie, and then we’ll have that nice cup of tea I promised. Give it all you’ve got, now.’

Strange but true, a good blow of the nose and the world does feel a much better place. But I wasn’t sure about the tea. Where were we going to find that so early in the morning? Besides, none of us had a penny to our names.

But Granny as ever was unconcerned.

‘I promised you breakfast, and breakfast you shall have. This way, everyone.’

Again, though, Rutley wouldn’t budge. Not from fear this time, but the mesmerising spectacle of the Trafalgar Square Big Summer Funfair. Even without lights or music, the Big Wheel, the Carousel, the Dodgems, the Helter Skelter, the Hall of Mirrors and the Tunnel of Love, well, they all must have appeared to him like a magical wonderland. And now he raised his hands and started pointing at something he’d spotted.

Ah, the Ghost Train.

Not that it was easy to miss, for above its entrance was a huge model of a steam engine with a ghoulish smoky face rising from its funnel. Only the promise of a ride on the Ghost Train later and a crispy bacon sandwich right now could persuade him to move at all.

Dear gentle Rutley. What, I wondered, would his future be in this strange new world? And Brewster, too. Yes, Brewster Blaxton’s a physically strong man but what will he make of modern London? And what will modern London make of him?

And there was something else. The most important question in a way: would either Rutley or Brewster ever be a Swidger again?

CHAPTER THREE

Breakfast

I DIDN’T ENTIRELY feel safe in this world myself. Granny had said that there wouldn’t be an attack from that malevolent dark force until I had understood what my gift was. Maybe so, but I already half believed I knew how the strike would come.

Electricity!

That’s what connected everything – the attack that day on the High Street when those slashed cables struck down Jayden, the Australian on his way to work. A strike so powerful it created lightning flowers on his skin. And I’d seen the same fern-like patterns on Granny’s hand under those gloves she always wore, so maybe she’d been attacked in the past as well. Then at the hospital there was that electrocardiograph machine that spoke to me saying ‘You have been sought’ and then weirdly wrote my name in smoke in the air. And after that there were those Brown Owls who’d felt those unusual static shocks as they touched the train door on the platform at Victoria Station the day I saw The Man in the Mackintosh Coat. After that, on the train to Dungeness, the Brownies seemed to become possessed and started singing that I was not only SOUGHT, SOUGHT, SOUGHT but CAUGHT, CAUGHT, CAUGHT.

What did they all have in common somewhere? Electricity! And that was the one energy the Old Coach Inn didn’t have – and so that’s why Granny had taken me there. But how to avoid electricity here in modern London? And that’s why I panicked when I saw that warning sign about high voltage on the underground platform.

‘Oh, will you smell that bacon?’ Granny suddenly shouted. By now we were walking down the side of the church of St Martin-in-the-Fields.

Yes, I had my worries, but maybe they could wait because I was also very hungry.

‘Oh, bless the Sally Army,’ said Granny, as we turned the corner.

It was then I saw where that smell of bacon was coming from: a Salvation Army van parked on the paved area round the back of the church. And the Street People, as Granny called them, were already gathered round its serving hatch. Some were young, some were old. There were those who were neatly dressed, while others had clothes as rough and unkempt as the old gentleman I’d seen asleep on the bench on the platform in the Underground. And Rutley and Brewster went over to join them.

The early birds had already eaten and were sitting and chatting with each other on what seemed to be a bench, only on closer inspection I realised it was that long granite tribute to Oscar Wilde. And on this warm summer morning, that sculpture seemed more pew than sarcophagus.

At one end was Oscar’s head, cast in bronze, accompanied by swirling locks of hair. To its side was Oscar’s hand, caught in a friendly theatrical wave. Someone had thoughtfully placed a cigarette between his two bronze fingers, which one of the Street People now took and lit. It was all so ordinary. The steaming tea, a good breakfast and the chance to sit and chat with friends.

Was this why the tunnel had brought us here? So I could become part of this world?

‘I’d almost forgotten,’ I said to Granny, ‘what real life could be like.’

She didn’t contradict me, but whispered, ‘Don’t ever think that life at the Old Coach Inn wasn’t real. It was. Just a different why, where and when.’

In a way, we didn’t look that different from some of the breakfasters. Granny’s skirt had seen better days and Rutley and Brewster in their tunics could easily have been mistaken for bohemians fallen on hard times. As for the baggy jumper that Granny had knitted for me, well, there wasn’t that much of it left as it was so badly scorched from the fire, but perhaps some of the wool might be saved, so I took it off and offered it to Granny.

‘Oh dear,’ she said, ‘I’m a great believer in make do and mend, but this old thing is as raggedy as a widow’s shroud, so I think that bin there should now be its final resting place.’

I pushed the jumper down into the rubbish – a final goodbye to the world of the Old Coach Inn – and went over to join the queue for breakfast.

An elderly gentleman in front of me said, ‘I sayhh, Old Sheep, it’s going to be a bluebird of a dayhh, what?’

I smiled and nodded. He had a thin moustache stretched across his lip like a long hairy caterpillar, and as he spoke in what I thought was a well-educated sort of voice, he twiddled with his bow tie as if, perhaps, that was his way of bringing him luck.

‘I doan’t suppose, Old Sheep,’ he said, gently putting his hand on my shoulder, ‘you harve a sparre fiver by any charnce? Bit shawrt of the old reddies at the moment. Especially the folding kind, what, eh? Eh?’

I tried to explain that I had no money.

‘I harve a cousin, you know, in the House of Lords. But, erh, he’s awayh. That fiver you, erh, mentioned? You couldn’t, er, by any charnce make it a tenner, could you?’