By Suzanna Stanbury

PART TWO

Sylvie stopped only because she slammed with force into a wall. She fell backwards, feeling the cold wet ground instantly bite through her trousers down to the bone. She clumsily got to her feet and noticed the wall was at the side of an alleyway. She had no idea where she was and looked about her in vain for a street sign. She had taken a few steps into the alley when she noticed with shock a pair of eyes were staring up at her just inches from her feet. To her horror, a large rat leapt up at her, hit the wall then turned tail running back down the alleyway out of sight. Gasping in shock, she watched it disappear. Feeling relieved and disgusted in equal parts, she leant against the wall and whimpered when she saw a pale ghostly face staring at her from near to the ground. Swiftly recovering from her shock she realised it was a young girl lying in a crumpled heap.

“Hello,’ Sylvie said. “Are you okay? Do you need any help?”  The girl moved slightly, propping herself up on an elbow, pushing away reams of material that seemed to be covering her. Sylvie began to dip down to offer a helping hand when the girl suddenly reared up and spat viciously at her. A large dripping blob of phlegm landed on the hem of her nice green coat and Sylvie rubbed it away on the wall.

She felt a quick rush of anger and shouted, “UGH! That’s disgusting! What’s wrong with you? Are you nuts?”

The girl was now trying to rise to her feet and was using the wall to aid her progress as the mass of material came with her. As Sylvie watched her she realised with shock the girl was steaming drunk. She felt horrified and edged away from her. The girl only appeared to be about twelve, maybe thirteen at a push. Okay, she knew kids drank in parks at night, but it was still early in the morning, it was all very wrong. As the girl stood up properly, Sylvie could see she was wearing a long, old fashioned dress with a very full skirt. It began to dawn on her that the two men in the pub cellar had also been wearing old fashioned clothes.

The girl’s dress was pink and grey, stained in places and soaking wet, it draped on the ground as she moved. She was trying hard to remain steady, but was swaying from side to side like a metronome. Placing her hands on the wall to gain some momentum the girl moved towards Sylvie, swearing as she came. Every time she stumbled she would reach for the wall to steady herself. Sylvie watched her transfixed as the small, thin figure edged towards her. The girl’s hair was piled up on the top of her head in a shabby attempt at a formal hairstyle. Her gown was cheap and thin, most unsuitable for being outside on a freezing, foggy morning. A crocheted shawl was dangling from one of her shoulders, its only purchase being a few caught threads twisted in her brooch.  Suddenly realising the girl was almost within striking distance, Sylvie began to back away from her. The girl started to shriek. It was a hysterical volley of words, mostly disjointed and unintelligible but clearly obscene. Quickly turning to walk away, Sylvie noticed two women emerging from a house to see what was happening. They were both large women, bound up in shawls and long thick skirtage covering them from waist to floor. They didn’t utter a sound, just stared at her over two pairs of tightly folded, fat arms. Glancing back she could no longer see the alley or the shrieking girl. She walked swiftly past the women trying to keep out of range of the folded arms lest one reached out to grab at her. She’d had quite enough experience of violence from the draymen earlier that morning to relish any more.

Walking fast along the cobblestones, Sylvie looked over her shoulder at the women before they vanished into the mist. She wondered once again why they were dressed in old fashioned clothes. Her mind drifted back to when she had entered the square, remembering the thickening of the fog as it had swirled about her. It had felt strange and she remembered that awful smell. Sylvie let her mind wander through various theories as she walked on to the end of the road. She stopped walking when she realised that she had come full circle.

A tall red brick building was on the corner; a surge of relief hit her, she could hear the river gently lapping nearby – she knew where she was! Walking quickly towards the sound of the water she very nearly plummeted down into the fast flowing river below her feet. Her heart beat wildly, thumping in her chest as she stood for a split second on the very brink, her toes actually over its edge. She stepped away from danger, shaking with fear at how close she’d come to falling in. The previous sense of recollection at her surroundings had faded. She looked frantically from side to side trying desperately to understand where she was. The part of the road she could see looked slightly familiar and yet not familiar. Certain things increased her confusion. The shiny black painted railing alongside the river was gone, the water’s edge was open all the way along as far as she could see.

She began to feel panicky and started to run. Her feet slipped on the wet cobbles and she sobbed to a halt. The part of the road she could see wasn’t at all what she expected to see. Gone were the pavements and trendy cafes. The memorial seating wasn’t there. She covered her eyes with her cold damp hands, hoping when she uncovered them again the nightmare world she was in would have disappeared – but it hadn’t. She was still standing on a shabby-looking lane disappearing into the fog. The sound of a voice made her spin round and she watched as two men ermerged from the mist. They walked past her deep in conversation, one of the men looking at her curiously before turning back to his companion.

Sylvie looked down at her attire. She was wearing black boots, black trousers and a bottle green three-quarter length coat. Her fingers went up to her ears and rubbed her small gold earrings. Realising they must look odd if she was now supposedly a boy, she pulled them out tucking them safely away in her pocket. She did a quick stocktake on the rest of her jewellery, pulling the little signet ring from her finger and adding it to the earrings already in her pocket. Pushing up her cuff and looking at the Bart Simpson watch, she saw it was only a quarter to ten. How odd, she thought, that just one hour could have passed when she had travelled so far. The irony of the statement stung her and she wondered: was time still the same? If she had gone back in time, did time run more slowly where she was now?

It occurred to Sylvie she should head towards her office, because maybe reverting to her normal routine would return her to reality. The sudden hope made her pick up a fast pace she traversed the length of the lane moving onto a wider road, stopping only when a cart clattered over the cobblestones very close to her feet. The driver was leaning down from his seat to try and see the road where it was hidden from his view by the thick mist.

Moving away from the road, Sylvie backed up against a building and put her hands behind her, using the wall as a guide she walked around a corner. A tall black and white Elizabethan building towered far above her, its upper stories distant and obscured. The diamond paned leaded windows were grimy with age. She touched a pane, scraping at the glass with her nail. The glass was pitted, not smooth, distorting what little view she had of the inside of the building. Peeking in, she saw it was a cavernous shop, with wooden floors sloping this way and that, leading up to and away from glossy wooden counters filled with long drawers. Sylvie’s eyes drank in the sight of the plethora of merchandise, she felt puzzled by such a display of goods. Her nose was almost on the glass, her mind in another world as she gazed inside. She watched a tall man stretch upwards to remove a hat from its stand. He wiped it most carefully with a white cloth, running his finger over the rim to check for dust. She felt her panic decrease, watching his gentle diligence took her for a moment away from the cold fear of reality. It struck her of the comparison between this neat, peaceful shop and the stores she knew so well where people rushed by grabbing garments to take them to the fatigued shop assistants waiting to serve them on the tills.

Sylvie sighed at the tranquil scene behind the glass then turned around slowly and watched as a cart rumbled heavily past her. Deciding to try her luck, she moved to the kerb. On the other side of the road was where her office should be; she had to try to reach it, to see if it was still there, maybe it was her link to home. Standing very still, she listened hard with all her might, straining her eardrums to catch a sound. But no rumbles or clatters of carts and carriages could be heard at the moment.

She took a chance, darting into the mist as fast as she could, her legs taking wide strides she flew over to the other side of the road. It was about half way across it struck her, what if there was no other side? It could be a wall over there or a river or anything. But it was too late to stop running now. She glanced down looking for a kerb and saw a grassy bank rising up in front of her. Just pulling her body to a halt in time, she fell face first onto the bank. Her fingers grabbed at the blades of grass and she rolled over onto her back. She lay there on the wet grass breathing hard after her sudden dash. Trying to see up through the mist, she looked for the block of offices where she worked, but could only see the trunks of trees and yet more fog.

Sitting up and putting her cold face into her hands, Sylvie sighed deeply and loudly. It was all so hopeless. She was frightened - what if she couldn’t get back to real life? What would she do? How could she get food and drink? Her mind raced wildly through a forest of towering fears, random facts rushing out at her as the blood coursed loudly through her ears, roaring as terror filled her. Slowly the fear passed and rationality crept back as her brain fought the unknown. She knew she must think about what had happened. Even though she didn’t really want to think it, she realised by some strange chance of fate she seemed to have gone back in time. But how far back? Victorian times? Earlier than that? She had no inkling what year it could be. Her tongue felt dry and she realised she was thirsty. All the events of the morning had eclipsed her needs. She wondered what people drank here. Did they drink water? She remembered learning sanitation wasn’t good, in fact it was filthy, so maybe all people could drink was beer, but she didn’t like beer. They must drink something else then, milk maybe? No, that couldn’t be right, where would they get milk in a town, she hadn’t seen any cows on her travels. Sylvie could hear her breath coming out in short sharp gasps. And what if she needed a wee? There would be no Debenhams ladies room here. And no British Home Stores either. What did people do when they felt the urge?

She shuddered, imagining full chamber pots upended from high windows onto the pavements below them – and her. She suddenly realised what she could be sitting on. Jumping up she quickly descended the bank onto the road, its steepness almost tipped her into a carriage side. With a squeal she landed back on the grass, not caring what was on it as long as she was not under the wheels of a carriage.

She moved slowly along the bank for quite a way, inching along hoping to find a pavement. She dared not rush back over the road, as she may not be so lucky this time. Suddenly a voice shouted out and seconds later a boy bowled into her, running fast. As he knocked into her side, she heard him drop something before he vanished. Sylvie rubbed her arm where he had bumped into her and was just about to try and find what he’d dropped when a red faced man puffed up. He stopped when he saw her.

“He went that way,” Sylvie pointed into the mist, in the direction the boy had taken. “You’ll catch him if you’re quick.”

The man wheezed off again and soon disappeared. Sylvie, congratulating herself on thinking so fast, looked down, and found a shiny red apple by her foot. Swooping upon it, she grasped the fruit and stared at it for a split second before sinking her teeth in and taking a huge bite. It tasted good. She was so thirsty the juice was like nectar, she even sucked the core dry, and then she ate that too. Soon she was left with just a stalk between her finger and thumb. She twiddled it then flipped it into the air.

Feeling a little more hopeful she carried on walking again. The bank sloped down until it was almost flat. It sounded quiet so she ran into the road, tripping over when she landed on the other side.

“Watch where you’re walking, boy,” chided a tall man sharply. She dipped her head and swiftly walked away. The fog seemed to be thinning a little, she could see shapes. Loud voices called from all sides making her feel nervous as she tried to hear what they were saying.

“Ripe red apples, tuppence a pound.”

Street vendors. She felt relieved, then regretted she had no money to buy anything from them. If only the drayman hadn’t stolen her bag. A big tear ran down her cheek and her lip quivered. What on earth was she going to do? How could she get back home? She passed by the apple seller’s stall eyeing the fruit; maybe she could pinch one? No, she couldn’t do that, that boy had been chased off, he may have been caught and beaten, and she didn’t want to be beaten. Sylvie looked at the woman on the stall and stuck her lip out miserably. She slouched along, not looking where she was going. A woman grasped her shoulder, making her jump like crazy.

“Hey, lad, want to earn sixpence?” the woman said to her. “Carry these parcels for me and I’ll pay you a shiny sixpence.”

Sylvie nodded rapidly holding out her arms. The woman hung parcel strings from her forearms then piled up packages and boxes until she couldn’t see a thing. Sylvie could feel her body trying to sink into the ground under all the extra weight.

“Come on lad, make haste, I haven’t got all day.” She could hear the woman’s voice, but could no longer see her from behind her tower of parcels. “You’ll be down to tuppence if you drop any of those packages.” Sylvie moved a little faster, flying blind behind the woman’s voice as she tried hard to keep up.

“Not far now, lad, stop, stop! Mind the road.” The nagging voice directed her every step of the way. “There now, you nearly lost a parcel didn’t you? Come on, quickly before that cart runs us over, hurry, hurry.” Sylvie could feel the muscles in her arms begin to ache.

“Here we are, come inside.” She tripped over a step. “Mind that box, lad. You’ll get no money if you break it.” Sylvie felt the parcels, packages, and bags being removed from her arms. Sighing with relief, she rubbed her aching muscles, still able to feel the pressure from the parcel strings that had pinched into her skin. She looked around the shop. It seemed to sell a bit of everything. It was nice to be inside away from the fog, she wondered if the woman would let her stay in the shop for a little while.

“There you are, sixpence. Now, be off with you.” She looked down at the small coin the woman had pressed into her palm, swiftly pushing it into her pocket before slipping out of the shop door.

To be concluded

Copyright Suzanna Stanbury 2009 All Rights Reserved