(17y) JANUARY 2005, 17.32

The tears were all dried up. The reflection in the mirror had red puffy eyes and hair like he'd been camping for a week. John flattened it then moved over to his bed and sat down. How the fuck did that soldier see him? He shook his head. How did Tom see him? He thought the German soldier running at Tom saw him too.

John needed something real, something he could put his hands on, something to distract him from Tom and the blood and the smell of death. He grabbed the photo album off his bookshelf and opened it. At one of the last pictures ever taken of Dad he paused, feeling its edge with the tip of his finger. This picture was taken seven years ago on the morning of the day his father died, knocked over by a drunk driver. Out of its cover he took it, holding the photo like he was holding the words of a god. A shaky breath escaped his parted lips.

'What cha dooooin?' John's little sister piped up from behind the door.

The photo slipped from John's hand as he jerked up, and floated back to the album. His heart raced and he swore he could hear the bomb ringing in his ears, feel the mud splattering on his face. 'Charlie, what have I told you about sneaking around?'

A little face with an impish grin peered around the door. John smiled, the skin on his face felt stretched and dry from crying. Charlotte was the last gift Dad left them, and he loved her with all his heart. 'Just looking at some photos Charlie. Is Mam downstairs?'

Charlotte nodded then wrinkled her nose. 'Mammie's in a baad mood.'

'Come here you,' John said, and Charlie ran, jumping into his arms. Her blonde pigtails smelled like marshmallows and sugar, and swung in his face. Soft. John carried her out to the landing, spotting bags of shopping in the hallway. Bangs and scrapes came from the kitchen. John pictured Mam slamming cupboard doors as she put shopping away. Damn, she was mad this time for sure.

'John Finnie! John get your bloody arse down here. Get your arse down here now!'

John looked in the landing mirror as he walked past it, and Charlie scrambled from his arms, taking the stairs in full stride. God, he looked like shit. 'Be casual,' he thought as he walked down the stairs. A creaky step alerted Mam of his presence before he could muster a proper casual strut, and she appeared at the bottom of the steps, hands on her hips and a face like thunder.

'What the bloody hell ha...' Mam trailed off when she saw his face. Did he look that bad?

'Have you been crying John?'

'Maa-am,' John groaned and looked down, ashamed at letting Mam see him like this. He was supposed to be the man of the house now.

'Come on,' she said, 'let's have a cup of tea and talk this nonsense through.'

Tea. Jack had brought Tom tea. And Jack was dead. His lifeless body lay in the mud on that desolate field...and Tom. Tom died in John's bloody arms. The sudden want to run back to his bedroom almost overwhelmed him, but instead of bolting up the steps like a frightened cat, he took a deep breath and followed Mam to the kitchen. Charlie came storming out of the living room, giggling and laughing as she ran around him and disappeared into the living room again.

The sweet innocence of his younger sister did little to lift John's soured mood. Death was on his mind as he pulled out a chair. Mam pottered around the kitchen, fussing over the teapot and making the tea just right. John smiled.

'You fuss too much woman,' Dad's words floated into his mind. 'It's just a cup of tea.'

Mam looked up and smiled. She passed the cup over to him and pushed the biscuit barrel towards him. 'Want a biscuit?'

'Yeah, thanks Mam.'

Silence saturated the kitchen, the air heavy with it while they sat together sipping at their cups and dipping their biscuits. By accident, John let one soak up too much tea and it dropped back into the cup. Shit!

'Why John? Why today of all days?' Mam's voice was laced with sorrow. With pain.

John looked down into his tea confused. Today of all days? What did Mam mean by that? He looked around as if the answer would present itself. John's eyes rested on the flowers and he closed his eyes in disbelief. 'Dad's birthday.' He'd forgotten--the thing with Tom had overwhelmed him so much he'd forgotten.

In a barely perceptible voice she whispered, 'You forgot didn't you?'

Ashamed, John confessed. 'Yeah, sorry Mam. Really sorry.'

She reached over the table to him and cupped his hands in hers. 'It's alright. Maybe I just hold on too tight. It's just I really miss him. Every time I look at you or Charlie, all I see is him.'

John grabbed his tea, welcoming the fact that he could close his eyes as he tipped the cup back. That stinging feeling made his eyes feel too raw to cry. 'What time are we going?'

She straightened up. 'You don't mind?' John took her cup, moved over to the sink, and washed both. 'He's my dad, of course I want to go.'

'Thanks John.' Mam curled her arms around him. 'I don't think I could face the cemetery alone.' Her footsteps echoed on the tiled floor, and the bags in the hallway rustled. 'You'll have to change first though,' she called from the hallway. 'Those clothes are filthy.'

John tutted and headed to the stairs. Charlotte sat on the bottom step, arms folded.

'Excuse me Charlie.'

Charlotte stayed put, her arms crossed and her face screwed up. 'Tigger,' she stated.

'Oh Charlie, I can't be bothered.' John sighed.

'Tiiiiiiigger,' she demanded in a higher pitch.

'No.'

'Tigger, Tigger, Tigger, Tigger!' she shouted and held her breath.

Mam peeked into the hallway. 'I think you'll have to do it son. Charlie is going blue.' God, that was just great.

John shook his head and put both hands up in surrender. 'Okay, okay.' Charlotte started breathing again and John rolled his eyes. Here goes nothing.

He started bouncing around the room. 'Come on Roo, join in. Bouncing is fun.' Charlotte followed him as he bounced around the room, giggling and exaggerating her jumps. 'Okay, upstairs next.' Together they bounced up the stairs, and Charlie led the way. This way was safer, just in case she miss-stepped and fell. Mam smiled, standing in the doorway and watching them.

#

The cemetery trip was as grim as it had been for the last seven years. John hated the trips, hated the fact Mam was stuck in the same place. Each time was the same, and he watched as she cried and spoke to the headstone of everything happening in their lives like she always did. Suddenly it dawned on him that he was as stuck in the past as she was. He thought of the photo and couldn't help but give a sad smile as he remembered.

(11y) AUGUST 1998, 7.05

Click!

'Come on Diane, leave me alone I'm an old man!' Dad joked on as he grabbed a triangle of toast off the kitchen table and his work jacket off the chair. With the toast in his mouth, he grinned as Mam took another photo. Click. 'Got it!' she shouted and put the camera down, then flung her arms around her husband's neck. 'I love you Dan Finnie.'

He moved his head back. 'Yeah. And I love toast. Back off woman!'

'Call in sick Dan, call in sick and we'll have a fun day out.'

Dad made an exasperated sigh. 'I would love to Di you know that, but this is overtime and that means double time.'

Mam took her arms off from around his neck. 'You work too hard Dan.' The joy had left her voice.

Dad smiled, determined to make the best of things, and cupped her face in his hands, kissing her. 'I work to better us, woman.'

She kissed him back. 'Yeah I know.'

Dad looked out of the window.

'And to get that heap of shit of a car working again. Public transport isn't reliable...and you little man.' A ten-year-old John stood at his dad's knee, and his dad whipped down fast, swirling him up and around through the air. 'You are never getting to Disneyland if I don't get to work!' He planted a big wet kiss on his son's cheek and set him down.

'Dad!' young John complained, half amused.

(17y) JANUARY 2005, 18.30

John paused the moment in is mind. In hindsight, he would have grabbed his dad and never let go. He knew, however, that hindsight was a bunch of fucking arse. Hindsight didn't exist. If it had, his dad wouldn't have walked out the door. They wouldn't have heard the screech of tyres, the screams. John would never have seen his lovely, protective, cuddle-giving father folded up on the road. Blood ran freely from his body as John watched, and a pedestrian tried in vain to help him. Fuck! John stopped the play in his head, determined not to torture himself further with the harsh memories. He often wondered how much was real, and how much was Blink. Not that it mattered. It was what it was. Shit happens even when you don't want it to--a hard fact John had come to accept.

'Mam, time to go.' He held out his hand and helped her to her feet. She put her arm around him, needing his strength as support. Charlotte skipped ahead, chanting a skipping song as she went. With more than a touch of envy, John smiled as he watched his perfectly oblivious sister skip across the lush green cemetery lawn between the other gravestones. The drive home was silent and depressing.

(17y) JANUARY 2005, 7.50

After all the shit from the day before, John was dreading walking into school. He had a lot of explaining to do, and nobody would believe the truth. So he decided to lie.

He went straight to the Headmasters office; no point in putting off the inevitable. A massive ear chewing coupled with a week of detention, and it was all over. That wasn't so bad. There was one person John really wanted to see, so he made his way through the corridors to his History classroom. It was empty and the door was easy to jimmy open.

The books were back on the shelf. He grabbed one and walked over to a desk, a slight tingle fluttering up his arm. Tom's photo was in there somewhere and John had to see him again. With a deep inhale, John opened it up and began scanning the photos, looking for Tom. There it was. He'd found the photo, and he smiled. This time he was going to Blink out before the shooting started. He just had to see Tom's face, to remember him as he was before the pain and the blood.

John took a deep breath to prepare himself for the Blink. The title for the photo caught his eye in that moment and he coughed, choking on his own spit. "Ghosts in the Trenches" it read.

'Fucking hell!' John's chair flew back as he shot up, backing away from the book.

Bang, thump thump, bang, thump thump.

John felt dizzy, the world blurred around him. He pressed against the back wall of the class for a few minutes, listening to the beat of his own heart, trying to convince himself everything was okay. But it wasn't. That had not been the title of that chapter yesterday.

Was this real? Was any of this weird shit real? Or was he crazy? He took a step forward, flinching from the book, but convinced himself to read the title again. Damn, it hadn't changed from a few minutes ago. "Ghost's in the Trenches". Fuck. This was real. He sat down and read the chapter:

"From July to the end of November, the Allies tried time and again to drive a wedge through the German lines but failed miserably. The rains started to fall and turn the dry shell-riddled fields into a morass of glutinous mud, a problem as deadly as the dreaded gas attacks. The Second Battalion was sent straight into this hellhole, and on the 5th of November, something strange occurred, testified to by the men of this Battalion.

"Captain Berrin was holding a part of the line against German counter-attacks. He had very few men to lead as they were coming to the end of their stint on the front line. Soon they would return to base for reinforcements and rest. At midnight on the 4th – 5th of November the Germans attempted to retake their trenches with a small probing attack easily repulsed by British rifle fire (the best in the world, even in 1942). A little later that day, the Germans returned en masse, but before the Suffolk were overwhelmed, a ghost appeared before the lines--a single spirit being--although the witnesses (including Berrin's official report) described it as being a brilliant white light, some affirmed it wore clothes unlike any of that day and age. According to eyewitness accounts, the spectral figure rose as if from underground and floated along the front of the trenches for about one thousand yards, then stopped, floated up into the sky, and turned to look towards the Germans (who by now had become fixated on its presence too). It then turned and looked at the British manning the trenches. With it still being early morning, the British were firing flares to illuminate the Germans. Each time a flare passed close to this ghost it seemed to stand out more prominently. Red flares were fired, signalling Artillery help, and soon British shells were falling on no-mans-land. Before long, the German attack had been beaten off. Some of the eyewitnesses claimed that the being bore the soul of one private soldier, a "Thomas Farnsworth" away, as it waited for him to die before disappearing.

"Ghost or mass hysteria? Whatever it was, it undoubtedly saved the lives of countless soldiers that day, both English and German, as the attack was called off prematurely."

John felt sick. He sat back in the chair and tried to calm his breathing but failed miserably. Cold sweat dripped off his face and down his back.

What is happening? What the hell is happening?

John read the chapter again and again. 'That didn't happen the first time, I'm sure.'

The school bell startled John; he looked away from the text. Feeling like a Zombie, he walked out of the classroom and attended his first lesson. The world was glazed, his thoughts trained on the impossible but real fact that he had changed the past with the Blink. Numb, that's what it felt like. From his fingertips to deep in his stomach, he felt numb.

Marty was next on his list. Lying to a close friend was always harder, and considering the crazy discovery he had made about what the Blink could do, he decided to tell the truth. He walked across the school yard, knowing where Marty would be during dinner break. Smokers' corner was an almost derelict shed at the far end of the school. And of course Marty leaned against it, sharing a cigarette with a very cute blonde-haired girl.

'John,' Marty said, spotting him. He flicked the cigarette onto the floor and stubbed it out. 'You big bloody girl, what was all that about yesterday?'

Some of the smokers in the smokers' corner looked up, but most were too busy getting their fix before the next lesson to be bothered. 'I have issues Marty, you know that.'

Marty punched him on the shoulder hard. 'Normally being a fuckin' nuisance in lessons mate. Not running out tipping tables over.'

John smiled. 'I'm escalating.'

Marty shook his head. 'Haven't a fuckin' clue what that's supposed to mean.' Hands in their pockets, they left the shed and made their way to their usual spot.

With their backs up against the gym wall, they sat together. Marty picked up small stones and flung them at the smaller kids. One swore at him, and he sniggered and gave the kid the finger, obviously gaining much pleasure from the experience. Mind you, it was a bit funny. A snicker escaped John's mouth too as he watched Marty pelt the kids.

(17y) JANUARY 2005, 10.28

'Come on then John, out with it. You've sat there fidgeting for the last ten minutes without saying a word.' John put his head back against the gym wall and tried to work out the words. How do I explain to someone what I can do? 'Yeah Marty, I do have something to tell you.'

Marty looked concerned. 'Don't tell me, you're fucking gay.'

'No, I'm not gay.'

'You sure?'

'Fucking positive.'

Marty smiled. 'Cause if you are, I will have to start calling you Joanne or something.'

John looked down. 'For fuck's sake mate.'

Marty put his hand on John's knee. 'It's okay little man, be brave. Come out with it, it must be claustrophobic in that closet.'

John knocked his hand away. 'Fuck off.'

They sat for a few minutes in silence. John took a deep breath. 'I can look at a photo and enter it. I mean really enter it. It's like I am really there. That's how I know all the little details. That's how I can join in the chat about the ski trips, and that's why I am so good at English.'

Marty sat there saying nothing, as if he was having problems processing what John had just said.

Well, he'd started, so he could just as well go all the way.

'I don't know how I do it, but I can look at a photo and enter that time. Is it real? Hell I don't know, but something happened last time. Something weird. I think I can change time and that fucking scares me.'

Marty took a deep breath, letting it vibrate his lips as he exhaled. 'I would have preferred it if you'd said you're gay. Now I just think you're fucking mental.'

© Steve Ford & Joy Cronjé 2018