CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Over the next four days Mitch intentionally kept a low profile avoiding both Albert and Sarah as best he could. Albert rightly predicted the plate would complicate matters and it now consumed Mitch and the less they knew that the better. He couldn’t tease with unconfirmed plans, and if he didn’t confront them, there was no need to lie. It was the easiest way but he missed his friend and someone to share his thoughts with. He missed the drinking too and thankful he didn’t have to explain that abnormality with more lying.

Committed to his new regime Mitch now ran twice a day venturing a little further than before on each outing. Music gave way to a running app gauging his progress, programmed to chime the time taken covering each kilometre. The distinctive tone and computerised words were soon an addiction and everyday he pushed himself one thousand metres further. His ultimate goal to cover the last kilometre in the same time as the first. The pace had to be sustained for over an hour if he was to have any chance of success. Mitch combined a mix of middle distance running on paved roads, with equal time on rocky bush tracks to gain experience and steady his feet under the altering terrain. It was harder than expected and much slower too, but he needed to condition himself under both environments to get the balance right.

During the road runs Mitch kept to his intended route and made the bridge crossing many times to gain familiarity. He noticed nothing majorly different; it looked the same as the suburban streets, but it gave him some comfort learning the new surrounds. One occasion he ventured further and came across some linesmen working in one of the many phone pits dotted along the roads. The area was cordoned off with makeshift barriers and fluorescent witches-hats steering pedestrians around the dangers of work. Three men stood around watching, seemingly in no hurry to contribute, two others in the pit did most of the work. A flatbed truck straddling the road and pathway carried a wooden cylinder on its tray. Resembling a giant cotton reel, it held miles of grey insulated tubing two inches in diameter. It was nothing untoward and Mitch only need slow his pace to get around the site. What he didn’t realise though was the men were installing the fibre optic replacement to the ageing copper telephone cables. Further up the road the team had already serviced dozens of pits to this point.

Between the twice daily runs Peanut was still walked every afternoon. If Mitch had to suffer then so must she he reasoned. Peanut however delighted in the notion and never once refused; she was glad to be out and didn’t seem to notice the change to their regular route. Mitchell intentionally avoided the plate trying a new path every other day. They’d even returned to the solitude of the bush track hoping to inspire another email from Juliana. To no avail.

One afternoon Peanut didn’t get her walk. Instead, Mitch drove to Christina’s school to acquaint himself with the area. Trying not to look like a stalker, he wore his running gear and splashed water over his face to replicate sweat and jogged casually along the footpath toward the school. He heard the bell sound and checked his watch to confirm it was exactly 3:30 pm and hoped the timetable hadn’t changed over the proceeding five years. Slowing to a casual walk, he observed a procession of children leaving the grounds where a lollipop lady marshalled them across the road. Sarah hadn’t mentioned her so Mitch assumed the lady was as a legacy of Christina’s accident and paid little attention to her movements.

The school stood adjacent to a busy road leading into the suburb and had none of the heavy fencing commonly found around schools on more trafficked roads. The kids could cross at any point, however most did the right thing and snaked their way to the other side via the black and white pedestrian crossing. On the opposite side parents used a church car park to meet their children. That saved them the trouble of getting out of their cars and finding another fifteen minutes in their already busy schedule. It was like a fast food drive-thru; cars stopped, children jumped in the back seats, then they drove off making room for the next in line. The entire process was over in twenty minutes save the few stragglers that either walked home or were perhaps asked to stay back by their teachers.

Passing cars mostly abided to the reduced speed limit, however Mitchell noticed some either speeding or paying little attention to the hundreds of children crowding the area. It seemed inevitable one of them would someday be hit. He sighed what a pity that one was Christina.

He chose to wait a little longer and took a seat at the nearby bus shelter. Mitch surveyed the road, the footpath, and in particular the pedestrian crossing. The plan he decided would be simple; arrive well before the school bell, get on the school side of the crossing to wait for Christina, then distract or hold her up before she crossed into the path of the speeding car. He made some brief annotations in his notebook before driving back home.

≈

Preparing for the Saturday morning run was difficult; the intensity of the prior week had taken its toll on Mitchells body. But there could be no respite and he diligently hauled himself out of bed to keep on schedule. As a compromise, he reduced the distance and stayed local with just a shorter run. He also listened to music. Those minor changes and the relaxed pace inadvertently found Mitch heading toward the plate. He’d avoided it all week and would again today by running down the hill toward Ethel’s house. Expectantly, she was out front watering her garden so he stopped to say hello. Removing his earphones to greet her, he heard the whistle of a boiling kettle coming from the recesses of the house. Mitch knew he would be asked to share a cup of tea with the Bartholomew’s and was happy to for several reasons. When Ethel mentioned Lyle was out chasing errands, Mitch sensed an opportunity.

In the atrium the ornate china cups were again presented on the well-used wooden serving tray. Mitch relaxed and accepted the tea thinking how best to mention the plate to a woman who’d find its mystery hard to conceive.

Ethel though wasn’t as many suspected. She may have been old, but as a consequence was very wise. She’d experienced many things in her life and lived by the maxim of ‘two ears, one mouth’. She always saw the good in everything and easily found justification for others’ misgivings. Everyone deserved the benefit of doubt she would say, and to never judge another of their actions until you have walked in their shoes. The simple philosophy kept her grounded and never embroiled in others errs.

Mitchell sipped his tea and looked through the window to what seemed an even lusher lemon tree trying to broach the delicate matter.

“Ethel, I need to ask something of you. But I’m not entirely sure you’ll understand the request, nor why I need your help,” he ventured cautiously. Her eyes were riveted on his offering comfort to whatever might be said.

“I want to help a friend of mine, to mend his heart so to speak, and have a way of making that happen. Unfortunately though, I need to do something first and don’t trust anyone else with the task.” Mitch paused to see if the statement had any effect. Seeing her unmoved, he continued.

“About a month ago, this friend and I discovered something uniquely special right here in our backyard. Something attune to a miracle. We’re unsure if anyone else knows, nor have we told anyone about it. But I think it’s time you knew, and what it’s already done for you.” Mitchell took a deep breath and another sip of tea.

“My dear Mitchell. I know what you’ve done for Lyle and I and we cannot thank you enough. I’ll do anything you ask of me but please, have some faith. Tell me what you wish, nothing astonishes me anymore.”

Ethel’s tone was so reassuring it led him to think she already knew about the plate. But before he could continue she excused herself momentarily. On her return she held a small envelope addressed to herself and removed a piece of paper that had been unfolded and folded so many times the crease lines were beginning to wear. It was the hand-written note that twenty years before accompanied the winning lottery ticket. Mitch looked at her feigning surprise but saw his ploy immediately rejected by the wily old woman who now took the seat next to him.

“One day long ago, I was tending my garden and began chatting to a young lady delivering catalogues. She handed ours directly to me, but after she left, I noticed more in the letterbox. I found this envelope buried deep within the folds of the pamphlets.” Mitchell was at least delighted the concealment had worked and he wasn’t spotted hiding them amongst her mail. “The unstamped envelope drew my curiosity, so I opened it on the spot forgetting to remove my gardening gloves. As you can tell by the dirt marks still showing,” Ethel said turning the envelope over like a court exhibit. “But Mitchell, take a closer look at the letter and you’ll understand why your request comes as no surprise,” she finished very casually.

Mitch returned his teacup to its saucer and examined the letter as instructed. His heart sank immediately. He looked at Ethel, this time with genuine surprise.

There are habits that die naturally, and others that stay for life. Mitch had developed a practice of always writing the date in the top right-hand corner of every piece of paper he either wrote or read. Be they university notes, minutes of meetings, or work documents handed for reading. Without thinking, he would scribe the date in short form as a reminder of when it was written or read. Another custom was pressing harder than perhaps necessary on the page when he wrote. That may have originated from his university days, but definitely became practice on work sites when making notes on often crumpled and sodden building plans.

The day Mitch sat by the harbour writing, then rewriting the note to Ethel, he was especially careful not to place the date on the final copy. But on the three or four drafts before, he wasn’t. The pressure from his heavy hand left an indent in the following pages. When Ethel clutched the letter in her gloved hand twenty years ago some dirt scratched across the paper. Like a stone rubbing, it created a lithograph showing the indented date in the negative. It read,

31/10/12

“Mitchell, from the date I suspected the letter came from you. And while I couldn’t explain it, I’ve waited every day since for you to tell me how it came to be.”

Mitch drank the last of his tea and commenced telling Ethel everything about the plate. It didn’t matter now; he’d made the changes for her. He explained the plate’s discovery, finding the coil, professor Hargreaves’ insights, and the many trips taken to the past. Penultimately he ended with the tale of the note in Ethel’s hand and his trip to save Lyle’s life.

Mitch then spoke sincerely of his friendship with Albert.

“So, Mitchell,” Ethel said punctuated by a nip of her tea, “how can I help you?”

Mitch was unsure if Ethel told her husband of the letter, she didn’t say, however he thought it best Lyle wasn’t part of the experiment. He only needed two people anyway. He would have preferred taking Mrs Bartholomew slowly through the process, but timing was tight and Mitch reckoned he had only one chance testing this out.

“Do you have sturdy walking shoes Ethel?” Mitchell asked his bamboozled neighbour, “you’re gonna need them.”

She took the teacups to the kitchen and reluctantly left them on the bench having never done that before. After changing her shoes Ethel escorted Mitch up the hill to a destination only he knew. It was a beautiful day and the pair walked slowly along the concrete path like a mother and son on a leisurely stroll. That alone comforted Mitch remembering his own mother. Lamenting her early passing. He didn’t get the chance to spend time with her as an adult. Would she have been proud? Would things be different if she was still alive? Mrs Bartholomew must have sensed his thoughts and threaded her arm through Mitchell’s.

“I’ve met many people in my time Mitchell. Some good, others bad. And plenty who never see the bigger picture of life. But you, you are genuine. You bring joy to people. I can tell by your attitude and kind nature. You might not know it, may not even realise it, but you do. Regardless of what your head is telling you right now, take comfort knowing we see it. Your parents would be extremely proud.”

From obscurity a matriarch emerged. Ethel’s motherly words instantly eradicated any misgivings he’d carried through his often solitary life. They were uncontrived, from the heart, hiding no ulterior meaning. Her sincerity was timely; an assurance he was on the right path. Mitch thanked her for the kindness but she continued.

“I would like to tell you about Megan and how you brought her back to our family,” she said quite expectantly.

Megan grew up in the shadow of her older sister, and like most siblings, believed herself less capable and less loved than the over achieving Alison. Disillusioned, she took up with the wrong crowd at the wrong time and found herself slipping down a path to ultimate ruin. Ethel didn’t go into detail, but admitted Megan was self-destructing.

The Bartholomew’s started their family unusually late in life, and the girls were given independence earlier than many of their friends. As older parents, Ethel and Lyle found it difficult relating to the change and choose to give their daughters wider freedom in the hope their decisions would be sensible. The generational gap of the 1970’s was wider than those of later decades. Alison used the trust wisely, but Megan took the opportunity to experiment. She abused the freedom and her parents struggled to reign in her ways.

When Lyle took ill, Ethel was preoccupied with his wellbeing and things between Megan deteriorated further. When Lyle passed Megan was only twenty-six and would prove a turning point in the young girls already rocky life. Ethel suffered heavily from the loss and did her best maintaining the family harmony on her own. But with Alison becoming more distant, it was a difficult time for them all.

Megan’s demise soon spiralled and her choice of friends didn’t help her judgments. Returning from what Ethel thought was an overseas holiday, she was caught with two grams of Cocaine on her person and sentenced to sixteen years jail. Her life changed forever. The only photo of her in the atrium when Mitch first visited was of a young woman in her early twenties. No other evidence or mention of her at all.

Jail has any number of stigmas, and to older generations something not spoken of outside the family. Perhaps it was the reason Ethel was so forgiving of others? Understanding that when people lose faith in someone, that someone loses faith in themselves. Everyone just needs another to believe in them and to forgive.

But only part of that ever happened.

Mitchell’s selfless gesture changed their timeline when Megan needed her father the most. Lyle stood behind his daughter. Newly retired, he spent weeks and then months with her rebuilding their relationship, providing her strength, and reason, to change her path in life. Lyle showed Megan she was as loved as anyone in their family and it was never too late to start believing again. Ethel would never know the extent of her daughter’s downfall, but Mitchell sensed she was astute enough to know where things were headed.

“I don’t know where we’d be without you Mitchell? You saved us all.”

Mitch was humbled and simply smiled as they’d thankfully reached the plate.

“Mrs Bartholomew, do you recall the afternoon I met Megan?”

They had actually first met at the anniversary lunch but to Mitch that never took place.

“Remember we were saying goodbye on your porch and you held my face thanking me. I need you to think of that exact moment.”

“Of course I do. I am thinking of it right now.”

“Good. Hold my hand tightly because we are going on a little journey.” Hopefully together Mitch added uncertainly to himself. “We are going to step forward onto that metal plate and when we’re in the middle, I want you to stop and stay perfectly still.”

Mitch considered reversing from the plate but doubted Ethel would cope with the obscurity; let alone survive the return journey. It seemed safest to stand on the plate as Albert had done many times to see if they could do this together.

“Are you ready?” Mitchell asked his companion who replied only with a nod. They slowly stepped onto the plate holding the memory of the same event in each of their thoughts.

Ethel didn’t notice the slight change in temperature and sky above. She was oblivious to what just happened. Mitch though could tell it had worked. The parked cars changed positions and the sounds were different. They were in the past, and at that same moment, disappearing from the steps of Ethel’s house while Lyle was on the phone to New York. Just as suspected, the plate transported both of them back to the same point in time equally remembered.

To be sure, Mitch asked Ethel the colour of a car parked immediately in front of them - it wasn’t there two minutes ago - she confirmed it was yellow. He then asked if she if was alright, placed his arm around her waist, and instructed her to walk forward off the plate.

There was no purple and blue flash of light which Mitch was appreciative of. One less thing needing explanation...

“Are you OK Ethel?”

Mrs Bartholomew had travelled back in time, albeit only days, and didn’t ask a single question other than,

“Did I help you Mitchell?”

“You most certainly did Ethel, and this time I cannot thank you enough,” he replied with a gentle kiss on her forehead.

His plan was now only reliant on Colin Barnett.

Mitch escorted his neighbour home well before Lyle retuned from his errands and quickly left to jog back to the plate. There he recalled running down the hill an hour earlier and stepped onto the plate to stop anything that just happened from occurring.

It would be over an hour and a half before Mitchell finally made it home exhausted.

≈