The Time Traveller
11: Darton 28-03-84
“You see Pete? Have I not proved it? There it was! The truth!”
“I saw something, I’ll admit that, but -“
“Come on, Pete! Don’t you believe your own eyes?”
“Vision can be manipulated. Illusion -“
“How can you purport to be so eminent, yet constantly deny the proof? The very truth as is presented? To you? Only you?”
“It’s not that I’m not impressed. It’s that it proves nothing of time travel. It only proves, if science can prove anything definitively, that you are quite insane. And I must be, to entertain anything you’re trying to -“
“Did they deny Forteski? Mellesca? Bronhelm? Professor Rankin -“
“As far as I know, yes. Though I’ve not heard of some of those names.”
“Then you condemn them as you condemn me.”
“You can’t time travel! Do you understand this? I mean really, dig deep! Are you getting this? How are we to fix this -”
“There is nothing to fix, Pete, my old friend. We are what we are. See?”
“I can’t entertain this delusion anymore.”
“Pete! Where are you going?”
“To get you help.”
“I don’t need help, Pete! I have the truth!”
“Your truth is a lie, my friend. The sooner you see that, the better. Now - let go. I have to find someone before this gets out of hand.”
“Oh, it already is, Pete. We’re beyond it all now. Come, step over here, and let us travel the time stream forever.”
And so he did, because he had no choice, not in the end.
#
Loffie and Eddy. Loffie and Eddie. It was inevitable, obviously. I mean, the way she pined after him? The lust he had simply evaporating along with his alcohol breath was all the incentive he needed to pounce on the poor girl. Of course she didn't see it like that. She was giddy, excited. She had finally gotten what she wanted. Eddy Drew. Bassist and songwriter for Woodrowe. Naturally, all Eddy gained was a notch on his bedpost. But at least for Loffie it meant much more. I only hope she doesn't get hurt by him. Eddy Drew. What a tragic figure. But that’s for the future. I think. It’s all getting very confusing again.
“I see they didn't waste time.” commented Susie. Her hands were all over Comfy.
“Neither did you?” countered Ben from his place in the shadows.
“Hey, I am here, you know.” added Comfy, not at all seriously.
“Don’t we know it kid. Isn’t this supposed to be a Rock ’N’ Roll band? When did we turn into a creche?” asked Ben, pointing with the drumstick he held in his hand, periodically and almost tribally banging out a beat to music in his head.
“You’re only five years older than me.” said Comfy, a touch of seriousness creeping into his normally calm demeanour.
“And look what five years do, kid.” grinned Ben.
All of a sudden from some place previously hidden, Callum thrust his head through the pulled curtains into another section of the coach. I could just about make out Freddie beyond. He looked tired, “You know, your mouth moves too much for a drummer.”
“And you’re very free with your affections, Cal.” Ben jabbered, suddenly remembering himself and flashing a sense he had gone too far.
“Want to make something of it?” asked Callum, his bare and all boned chest following his head through the gap in the curtains.
“And you call us kids?” interrupted Viv, muttered yet heard.
“This party can stop very quickly you know kid.” said Ben dangerously.
“Leave them alone, Ben. Doesn't do us any harm to remind ourselves of why we’re here. And who we’re with.” added Susie, seeing something in Comfy’s eyes compelling her to grab him to her.
“Easy for you to say, girl.” snorted Ben, some of his composure returning.
“Hey! If it wasn't for these loyal fans - no, friends - we would be nowhere!” said Callum, from behind the now sealed again curtains.
“Wow. Something for someone else, Cal? You’ve changed.” Ben just couldn't help himself.
“And so have you - Brother. We used to be close, you and me. Remember?” said Callum, now coming into the compartment fully, the curtains thrust aside.
“Then this happened.” Ben waved his drumstick about.
“What is your problem?” asked Callum, seeing something he recognised in his Brother.
“I - oh, forget it.” Ben then went to his bunk, where the muted sounds of some blues band came from a stereo within.
Is this how it was? Is this how the real backstage was? Where were the dancing girls? Where was the debauchery and the hotels wrecked, toilets blocked and TVs thrust from windows? Where were the motorbikes down the hotel corridors, and the food fights? Or was that simply wish fulfilment? Or - was this?
I’m actually not sure. I think I’m afraid, and I don’t know why.
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