Borrowed Time

Before I headed back to Mair I slipped my wallet and the two rings into my trouser pocket and checked out my reflection in the small mirror nailed to the back of the door. The bruising around my eyes was starting to come out and my top lip and cheek were stained red with blood.

I ran my fingers through the stubble that was setting in on my face. I quite liked it, though I couldn’t remember the last time I wasn’t clean shaven. My hair was a mess but I tried to smooth it out with my hand to make myself look a little more presentable.

“There, now isn’t that better?” Mair said as I swung the door open and walked back into the main room. She paused near the fireplace and smiled at me, proud of her makeover efforts. “Right, sit, I’ve got you some food,” she said, handing me a bowl and motioning towards the table. “It’s stew.”

I took a seat opposite her and looked down at my bowl. There was evidence of vegetables in there. Carrots, it looked like, and maybe some meat, but the gravy looked like water. It didn’t look particularly appetising but the feeling in my stomach left me too hungry to care so I grabbed my spoon and proceeded to dig in.

“So where are you from, Tom?” she asked, holding her spoon but making no effort to eat. “London, is it?”

“Cambridge,” I said, taking a bite of stew. It was as bad as it looked and I struggled to swallow.

“It’s all the same over that way I suppose,” she said.

“I really need to get back as soon as possible. Is there a train station nearby?”

“Aye in Aberystwyth. You can change in Machynlleth and it’ll take you right on through to Shrewsbury.”

“Shrewsbury?!” I shouted. “Well, I suppose it’ll have to do. How soon can I get there?”

“Monday, now, I should imagine. Unless you want to walk, but that’ll take you a day at least and I dare say you’ll get yourself lost.”

“Why Monday? Why not today? Does nobody around here drive?” I could feel the snappiness in my voice and Mair looked less than impressed with my tone.

“The carriage for town already left this morning and it doesn’t come through here on Sundays.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! How far up the bloody valleys have I ended up?” I threw my spoon in my bowl and cupped my hands over my eyes, frustrated.

“Now look here,” Mair pointed her spoon at me, her accent getting thicker and her tone more serious, “you’re not ‘up the valleys’ you’re in West Wales and you won’t be going nowhere with that attitude. Trying to help you I am. Duw Duw.”

I felt bad and a little embarrassed for snapping at her. She was right, she’d been nothing but helpful since we met. “Sorry. And thank you for letting me borrow the clothes. They’re really nice,” I said, hoping to break the tension. “Are they your husbands’?”

“Dear Lord, no. I’m not married. I haven’t got time for all that. They belong to my brother.”

“Oh? Will he be home soon?”

“No, he works over in the mine and boards with a family near the site. He comes home when he can but I don’t see him as much as I’d like.”

She looked sad about that so I aimed for something lighter. “And what about your parents, do they live in the village?”

“Dead.”

I really wasn't doing well.

“My dad passed three years ago,” she continued, “and Mam went the following winter. It’s just the two of us now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, pursing my lips into a sympathetic smile. “I just lost my father two weeks ago.”

“They’re all resting now,” she said, putting on a smile.

“It’s a lot to deal with so young. How old are you?”

“Did your mam never teach you that it’s rude to ask a lady her age?” she said with a smile before bringing her hand to the side of her mouth as though she was about to tell me a secret. “Let's just say I was born in 1864 and we’ll see how good you are at your sums.”

“You’re funny,” I said, taking a spoonful of soup with a giggle.

“Why’s that then?” she asked, looking bewildered, and for a brief second it seemed like she was actually being serious. I stared at her but she remained blank-faced. “Come on, it’s not that hard, is it? You can add up, can’t you?”

If she didn’t look so sincere I might have thought I was being tricked but she appeared to be genuinely mystified as to why I wasn’t taking her seriously.

“Mair, what year is it?” I hated myself for even asking but something about all this wasn’t adding up. The clothes, the house, her birthday. I felt like I was going crazy?

“Oh, come on,” she laughed. “Arthur didn’t hit you that hard.”

“I’m serious, Mair. What year is it?”

The smile left her face, replaced with a look of concern as though she thought I might actually be losing my mind right there at her dining table.

“It’s 1889, Tom. October 1889.”