Time Traveler to Next Door Read online

  Chapter One

  Chapter One Perhaps f t hadn't been qu te so hot that summer I would never

  have met h m. I m ght never have ventured out across the f elds that

  cloudless, swelter ng day a er an argument w th my father, sandals

  crunch ng across the dead brown grass l ke well ngton boots on

  fresh snow. I wonder now f t m ght have been for the best. O en n

  l fe, t's better not to know.

  The old house at Port Haven had been abandoned for as long as I

  could remember. At one t me there had been talk of a renovat on.

  The place had sold to a fore gn nvestor; a r ch bus nessman who'd

  rather na vely bel eved that t m ght make a good seafood

  restaurant. It was a er all, a stone's throw from the sea. As soon as

  he v s ted however, he real sed h s m stake; there was no d rect road

  to the house, only a w ld track half h dden by overgrowth, the k nd of

  brambles and thorns that take half a dozen d ggers and twenty men

  to remove. Beh nd the property, beyond the garden, there was a

  steep drop, naccess ble from the beach. No one had seen or heard

  of the man for a long t me.

  'Such a shame', my mother would say whenever we happened

  across t on one of our walks, ' t would make a perfect art st's

  retreat'. My dad, ever log cal, would shake h s head and tell her no

  way, that even art sts had standards and no one n the r r ght m nd

  would take t on. Mum would tell h m that he lacked mag nat on.

  Dad, a telev s on wr ter, always chuckled at the well-worn joke. That

  was back when my dad st ll laughed.

  Though t was st ll early morn ng, t was already st fl ng hot.

  Dandel on seeds danced across my path, tw sted together n pa rs as

  a breeze sent them wh rl ng through the a r. The dead grass pulsed

  w th nsects and l fe, match ng the steady thud of my heart. I w ped a

  th n sheen of sweat from my upper l p and enterta ned the fantasy

  that I m ght keep walk ng, down through the sand dunes and out

  nto the sea, where the cool grey water would pull me under nto the

  sweetness of obl v on. Even as I thought t, I knew I would never do

  t. In sp te of everyth ng that had happened, I wasn't the su c dal

  k nd.

  When I reached the edge of the f eld, where the grass gave way to

  sand and a wooden latch gate led out toward the gl tter ng jewel of

  the sea, I took a le away from the beach, follow ng a dusty brown

  track towards the d stant tangle of branches and trees. I d dn't want

  the ocean today, d dn't want to be rem nded of the happy days I'd

  spent there as l ttle k d, splash ng n the water and a er, wrapped

  safely n a towel, tra l ng home w th pockets full of seashells, my

  hand clasped f rmly around Mum's.

  No, I wanted a place where I'd never been w th e ther of my parents.

  Somewhere the memor es wouldn't swallow me whole. Somewhere

  I could th nk w thout cry ng for once. A place where I could st ll be

  me.

  Although the path to the house ran parallel to the sea, the sounds of

  the ocean d m n shed as I walked, the shr ek of gulls and the salt on

  the breeze swallowed by the shadowy undergrowth. The track

  became narrow and dense. I reached the part where we used to turn

  back on our walks and found a branch n the shrubbery. I p cked t

  up and used t as a scythe, sw p ng at the st ng ng nettles and thorns

  as I ventured further along the track.

  At one t me, before eros on sent chunks of land hurtl ng nto the sea,

  the area must have been woodland. The trees were gnarled and

  crooked. Though there wasn't many of them— several oaks, a

  couple of g gant c yews w th huge spl t trunks—the r mass ve

  branches were enough to obl terate the ent re sky from v ew.

  Good, I thought m serably as I hacked my way deeper, let the whole

  world d sappear. By the t me I neared the gate, my legs and arms

  were covered n scratches and tears stung my eyes. But I wasn't

  cry ng about the cuts. Dad and I were not cop ng, and the truth hurt

  more than a sharp thorn ever could.

  At that moment I heard mus c; the stra ns of a p ano dr ng through

  the undergrowth, com ng from the d rect on of the derel ct house. I

  froze, sw p ng tears from my cheeks. The old me m ght have turned

  around n that moment, scared that I'd be arrested for trespass ng,

  but that g rl no longer ex sted, and throw ng caut on to the w nd, I

  cont nued to sw pe at the nettles unt l at last I could see the

  wrought ron gate up ahead.

  I'd only got th s close once before, years ago when my best fr end

  Adele had dared me to go up to the house. Back then, I'd turned

  back, conv nced that a w tch l ved ns de. But I wasn't ten years old

  any more, I was f een and more than mature enough to know that

  fa ry tales, much l ke happ ly ever a ers, most def n tely d d not ex st.

  The double gate was h gh and curved at the top edges, ts ron

  sp kes tw sted nto the shape of a rose. There were some n t als at

  the centre of each of the flowers, an elaborately carved letterPon

  one and a Hon the other. I'd certa nly never not ced that the last

  t me I'd been here.

  Around the entrance the track was clear, the brambles pushed back

  as f the gate had been recently opened. I'm not sure why that

  surpr sed me. A er all, whoever was ns de play ng the p ano

  must've gotten n somehow. As I pushed the ron latch and the

  metal groaned, I paused, half expect ng the mus c to halt. But the

  melancholy tune cont nued to l nger on the damp a r.

  Beyond the entrance, a narrow path cut through the brambles. I

  followed t, stopp ng to free my cotton sk rt whenever t snagged on

  the th stles. Then, as abruptly as the undergrowth began, t stopped

  and I found myself stand ng once more beneath a br ll ant blue

  canopy of sky, the roar of the waves h tt ng the rocks not too far o

  n the d stance. The house stood broken n the centre of the clear ng, ts w ndows

  smashed, vy creep ng through the cracks n the faded sandstone

  walls. Dad was r ght; no one n the r r ght m nd would take th s place

  on. Perhaps f t was s tuated further up the coast at Br dgewater-on

  sea, they m ght, but not untrendy Port Haven. It wouldn't be worth

  anyone's t me.

  I stole around the s de of the house, follow ng the stra ns of the

  p ano and try ng to appear nonchalant, so that f the mus c an

  should glance out the w ndow, they would bel eve I'd come merely

  to adm re the mottled stone statues dotted around the garden. A er

  several laps, the mus c cont nued to play. I shot a glance over my

  shoulder toward the trees I'd just come through and pondered

  whether or not to leave. Instead, n a moment of madness, I jogged

  up the spl ntered wooden steps and through a broken pa r of french

  doors nto the house.

  My heart pounded v olently n my chest. For the f rst t me n months,

  I wasn't sad or th nk ng about Mum. I felt al
ve.

  "Hello?" I hollered.

  M ght as well go the whole hog and announce my arr val.

  The mus c halted abruptly, and my sk n pr ckled. What f t was a

  ser al k ller? Or a rap st? Footsteps echoed from above. I glanced sw ly around the room, at

  the faded sw rl wallpaper com ng away from the wall, the b ts of

  plaster and debr s scattered across the floorboards. Slowly, I backed

  out onto the veranda and down the steps.

  I had just turned to make a dash for the gate when a vo ce called out

  to me.

  "Wa t! G rl! Don't leave."

  I spun around, ready to see a tramp or drug add ct, perhaps one of

  those eco-warr or types w th long matted ha r. Instead I saw a young man about my age, w th a th ck mop of unruly

  brown ha r and a smatter ng of freckles across the br dge of h s nose.

  Beh nd h s round r mmed spectacles, I d scerned a pa r of tw nkl ng

  blue eyes.

  My eyes roamed h s cloth ng. He wore a pa r of be ge slacks w th

  braces over a l ght blue sh rt, and on h s feet, a pa r of black and

  wh te brogues.

  "Cr key," he sa d, mot on ng to my legs. "Do you know you're

  bleed ng?"

  I blushed fur ously, f re creep ng nto my face as I recalled my tr p

  through the bushes.

  "Yes," I sa d, not look ng down. "There are a lot of nettles on the way

  n."

  He nodded, push ng h s spectacles further up h s nose. "I suppose

  you're wonder ng what I'm do ng here?"

  I stra ghtened. "Have your parents bought the place?"

  He frowned, glanc ng over h s shoulder at the decrep t bu ld ng.

  "Someth ng l ke that, yes. I was g v ng the p ano a b t of a go."

  I nodded. "You play very well."

  He cut the d stance between us and stuck out h s hand. "I'm Rupert.

  Rupert Holt." Usually hav ng to shake hands makes me feel awkward. Mostly

  because when adults d d t, t meant they d dn't qu te know how to

  greet you anymore. But somehow Rupert's handshake seemed

  genu ne.

  I took h s hand n m ne and squeezed t. "I'm Clem."

  "Short for?"

  "Clement ne."

  Rupert nodded. "Good name."

  "Yours too."

  He let go of my hand and scratched h s nose. "So, what br ngs you

  th s way, Clement ne? D d my mus cal g s lure you n or...?"

  I sm led. "Just out for a stroll."

  He ra sed a brow. "Through a hundred feet of brambles? N ce route

  for a stroll."

  I frowned. "How d d you get n?"

  "There's a path down to the beach beh nd the house. It's a l ttle

  d cey but f you have a head for he ghts you're f ne." "Oh," I sa d, wonder ng how he knew of such a path f they'd only

  recently bought the place. I'd certa nly never heard of any route to

  beach from here.

  "Actually," he went on. "I'm rather glad I ran nto you. Now, th s s

  go ng to sound a l ttle odd."

  I braced myself. He d dn't seem l ke a psychopath or a pervert. But

  th s was Port Haven. Anyth ng was poss ble.

  "What year s t?"

  I bl nked, conv nced I'd m sheard h m.

  "You see, I su er from short term memory loss. Hunt ng acc dent

  when I was a boy and t's one of the th ngs I always forget."

  "It's twenty e ghteen," I say, rel eved and confused at the same t me.

  At least he wasn't about to ask me for drugs.

  H s blue eyes clouded for a few seconds as he absorbed my words.

  "R ght-o. I see," he sa d f nally. "Thanks for clear ng that up." An awkward s lence descended. I got the mpress on from the way

  he stood star ng at the brown grass beneath h s brogues that n h s

  m nd he was very far away.

  "I better go," I sa d. "My dad w ll worry and school starts tomorrow."

  He shoved h s hands deep nto h s pockets. "Of course. I mustn't

  keep you. Where s school by the way?"

  "Port Haven H gh School," I sa d, po nt ng beh nd me. "About two

  m les East."

  He stared over my shoulder, murmur ng the name under h s breath.

  "I'm sorry by the way," I sa d suddenly. "About the acc dent and your

  memory loss." He frowned for a second and then h s forehead smoothed out as he

  gr nned. "Don't you worry about that. The ground came o far

  worse. Prom se me you'll clean those cuts up when you get home."

  "Of course. It was n ce to meet you."

  We walked around the house and back to the gate together and he

  watched as I stepped through.

  "Take care, Clement ne," he sa d, hand held up n farewell.

  "Bye, Rupert."

  Before I rounded the bend n the track that would take h m from

  v ew, I glanced back at h m. He looked less real somehow, stand ng

  n the shadow of the trees, h s blue eyes the only l ght sh n ng n the

  gloom. I began to pray I wasn't halluc nat ng, that I hadn't mag ned

  the whole th ng.

  I ra sed my hand to m rror h s gesture as he d sappeared from s ght.

  I d dn't th nk I would ever see h m aga n.

  Chapter Two

  A er the acc dent, people sa d school would be a good d stract on. I suppose they thought I could lose myself amongst the scu ed v nyl floors and loud vo ces, that the other pup ls would rally round l ke adults do n those s tuat ons; o er ng snacks, mak ng small talk, check ng I was okay. No one gave much thought to the fact that k ds don't behave l ke adults.

  The f rst few days of the new term passed n a haze of unfam l ar teachers and books, everyone d scuss ng what they d d over the summer. Adele, who'd been camp ng n France w th her parents, was talk ng about Jul an aga n, a boy she met n the Bourgogne reg on and w th whom prec sely noth ng had happened except a vague prom se tolookheruponFacebook. Adele had taken th s as a s gn of everlast ng devot on. St ll, I l ked to hear her talk. She had a knack of mak ng the most mundane events seem nterest ng.

  "So, you know that g rl I saw n h s photos? The one he was stand ng close to n that group shot next to the E el Tower?"

  "Yeah," I sa d, "I remember."

  S nce return ng from her hol day, Adele had taken cyber stalk ng to a whole new level. "Well, I d d some research and t turns out she's just a cous n. I cl cked onto her prof le and from there I cl cked on fam ly and there he was—a cous n."

  I gazed at her from the corner of my eye. "Thanks be to God."

  She gr nned. "R ght?" We reached the door to our form room and I braced myself, as I always d d these days, for the wall of s lence that would nvar ably meet my arr val.

  As t turned out, I needn't have worr ed. The members of our class were clustered around the desks n the r var ous fr endsh p groups, chatter ng exc tedly. It appeared that at last I'd become old news.

  "Hey, you two," M a Pearson sa d, when she spotted us. "D d you hear about the new boy n year twelve?"

  Adele and I exchanged glances. S nce when were we ever nv ted to talk to her hol ness M a Pearson?

  "No," Adele repl ed, sl d ng onto a h gh stool as we took our seats. "What new boy?"

  M a nodded n my d rect on. "He's moved nto that craphole near Clem."

  My eyes w dened. S nce meet ng Rupert the other day, I half bel eved I m ght have mag ned h m nto ex stence.

  "Really? I sa d, fe gn ng d s nterest. "What's he l ke?"

  "Posh," M a sa d, "and h s dad s obv ously loaded f he's about to waste money on that place."

  She ran a p ty ng gaze over me, as f by l v ng near h m, I also l ved n less than des rable lodg ngs.

  "Is he good look ng?" Adele asked.

  M a laughed. "If Harry Potter n h s sa l ng clothes s your th
ng, yeah."

  Our form teacher, Mr Horton strolled n at that po nt and M a sl d o the table nto her seat.

  "What's wrong w th Harry Potter?" Adele wh spered. "Or sa l ng clothes for that matter." But I wasn't l sten ng. I was already worry ng about what Rupert m ght tell people about the day we met. That he'd not only found me trespass ng on h s father's property, but that I'd also been cry ng and bleed ng.

  Adele nudged me as Mr Horton began to call our names. "What's up?"

  "Noth ng," I muttered, my stomach n knots.

  *** I d dn't see Rupert unt l luncht me. Adele and I were s tt ng n our favour te spot; a bench outs de the school o ce where, desp te the danger of gett ng crapped on by seagulls, we were relat vely safe from hav ng our phones stolen or gett nghappyslapped. In case t

  sn't abundantly obv ous, Adele and I were not n the least b t streetw se. Adele had her phone out, tak ng me through the ev dence of Jul an's nnocence n the case of the mystery g rl at the E el Tower. The

  weather had cooled o s nce return ng to school. There were grey

  clouds n the sky and a cool breeze that wh pped the ha r around

  our faces.

  "Hello, Clement ne," a vo ce sa d.

  I sw ped a lock of ha r from my eyes and stared up nto the serene face of Rupert Holt.

  So, he wasn't a dream a er all.

  "Hello, Rupert."

  Adele stared between us n bew lderment.

  "Th s s a surpr se," I sa d, r s ng from the bench. He nodded, blue eyes tw nkl ng beh nd the w re frames of h s glasses, before hold ng a hand out n Adele's d rect on. "Hello, I don't bel eve we've been ntroduced."

  Adele who had been gaz ng at h s outf t n aston shment took h s hand n hers. "You're Harry Potter," she sa d.

  Rupert looked puzzled. "No, afra d not, but I th nk I played cr cket w th h s brother once. It's Rupert actually, Rupert Holt."

  Adele sm led broadly, clearly about to burst nto laughter. "I'm Adele. We don't do last names here."

  "R ght-o." He sh ed h s books from one arm to the other, g v ng me an opportun ty to scan h s clothes. He wore the same black and wh te brogues as a few days ago, pa red w th be ge trousers. Today h s sh rt was wh te nstead of blue, a kn tted wh te tank over the top. M a wasn't wrong. He really d d look l ke he'd been sa l ng.

  "So, what br ngs you to th s dump," Adele asked h m.

  Rupert's gaze fl tted to me. "A chap needs an educat on somehow."

  Adele nodded. I could sense her nterest wan ng. Her eyes fl cked back to the screen of her phone.

  To me, he sa d. "Turns out we're n town longer than expected. I say, perhaps I could walk you home later, s nce we l ve so close."