Rewind, page 8
They walked on a little, Frank trailing behind. The park was dark, vacated and quiet. Only the sound of the occasional car, using the motorway adjacent, was to be heard. A jogger was trekking off in the distance, briefly illuminated in the streetlights before melding back into the inky darkness.
“Did you like him?” Bridget asked as best friends only can.
“He was nice, it was nice to spend time with someone who wasn’t part of this inbred fucking hillbilly fuckfest…” she gestured to the empty park around them with a dramatic sweep of her arm. Such a way with words, Bridget laughed.
“They’re not all bad,”
“I don’t know, what about Arthur?”
Ooh touché! Bridget’s smile didn’t drop.
“Okay, they’re all fucking assholes…” she agreed.
She linked arms with Max.
“We’re such a fucking state, out walking the fattest pug in our pyjamas,” Max laughed.
“I don’t know about yours, but mine are pretty fashionable pyjamas,”
Max stopped to look. “Fucking Batman ones?” she shrieked.
Bridget laughed.
“You’re such a hipster,” Max shook her head.
“Get fucked, I’m not a hipster! At all!”
“That’s exactly what hipsters say, it’s hip to not be hip…” she furrowed her brow and eyed her suspiciously.
“You, are an asshole Max-in-a-million!”
“Damn right,” Max agreed. She adopted a swagger and thrust her hips around.
Behind them Frank snorted in distaste.
“Come on Frank!” Bridget tugged the lead growing annoyed. She was going to end up carrying the fat lump again…
“What’s that?” Max prodded her side. With her cigarette she was pointing to a speck in the distance. It took Bridget a minute to focus. There was something on the footbridge that spanned the motorway and led back to the housing estate.
Just what was that? Whatever it was, it was all brown and suddenly appeared on the side.
“Is that…” Max couldn’t finish. She was squinting.
“…Oh my god, is that somebody going to jump?” Bridget realised aloud.
“Fuck!” Max threw the cigarette to the floor and broke away.
Bridget had to turn and pluck the reluctant pug up before she could join her.
“Hey! Wait!” Bridget shouted.
Running with Frank wasn’t easy, he had stiffened up and was generally being difficult to carry. She lumped him up onto her hip as she began to run faster.
He groaned and wheezed in protest.
“Hey! STOP!” Max called reaching the footbridge. The girl didn’t respond. She was turned away from Max, her features hidden. She continued to stare forward, teetering on the edge.
“Don’t jump!” Max screamed closing in. Bridget was out of breath as she reached the bridge seconds later. Her arms were killing from holding Frank, damn he was heavy.
The girl, with long brown hair, jumped.
“NOOOO!” Max screamed. She was too late. She reached the wall seconds too late.
There was no scream, just the sound of a body hitting the tarmac. A screeching of tires followed immediately after.
“FUCK!” Max roared. She was peering over the wall.
Bridget came up beside her. “Oh fuck,” she moaned. The girl was dead, she was sprawled out on the concrete in a broken pose. Her long brown hair was wrapped around her face, obscuring her identity. The driver of the car that had nearly hit her was charging across. She was a middle aged woman, dressed in a tracksuit. She dropped to the dead girl’s side and tried to stir life from her. She didn’t respond, it was futile.
“She fucking jumped,” Max murmured in disbelief.
Bridget stepped away from the wall.
What if she could rewind this?
What if she could stop this girl from jumping?
She closed her eyes. How had she done it the first time? She’d felt like she’d stepped outside of herself, like she’d become suspended between life and death. She tried to will it, tired to conjure up that feeling. Slowly a sharp white pain crawled through her brain, like a branch covered in thorns. It hurt and she winced. The world began to spin around her, she could feel it.
She opened her eyes, forcibly snapped them open. The colours had drained, the layers were starting to separate. She could feel herself drifting backwards, could feel Frank lose weight in her arms. She felt the stills slide apart, now she just had to navigate there. She concentrated, focused as far back as she could.
The pain arced across her forehead and she whited out.
********************************
19:47pm 29th October 2015 [redux]
“Thank you for the other night,” Bridget heard her own voice say. She felt her arm tug Frank’s lead. Her ears popped and the pain in her brain stopped. She felt her nose bleed. It seemed to be a common side effect of time travelling. She glanced backward and saw Frank was protesting against this walk. She’d done it again! She’d rewound time. She wiped the blood from her top lip.
“Don’t worry about it, I know you needed me… besides I reckon we had a better time in our little café eating pizza than we’d have had at the party,” Max shrugged.
Bridget turned her attention back to Max.
Frank stalled and tugged backwards. He began frantically tugging at the lead, shaking himself this way and that.
“Stop it Frank!” She scolded tugging against the pug. His one eye was bulging with fear, it had nearly popped itself out of his head. She’d only seen him like this when he was scared. He didn’t do this last time…
“I guess fat-man ain’t interested in his walkies,” Max remarked. She dug into her coat pockets and retrieved a cigarette. What was going on? Why was Frank acting differently? Nothing different had happened yet?
He was frantic, pulling away at the lead. Desperate to get away.
“Hey Frank,” she collected him up off the floor. He calmed a little but was still straining to be free. What the hell? “What’s up with you Frank?” She began fussing his cheek, usually he calmed down with that.
“What’s up with Frank? Don’t tell me he’s turned into an asshole too?” Max closed in on the pug, kissing him on the forehead. He was slowly beginning to calm down, his eye bulging less manically. “You’re the last good man in the world Frank, don’t let us down,” she kissed him again.
Frank was snorting, his nostrils flaring and his legs were stiffly pushing against Bridget.
What the hell had happened? It made no sense…
Why had he freaked out?
“Heard from Arthur?” Max asked as they both began to walk again. She was trying to distract Bridget, she was looking a little perplexed about something. She was right, Bridget was trying to understand why Frank had freaked out.
The girl! It suddenly sprang to her mind.
“Here, hold Frank!” Bridget handed him to Max quickly. She then tore off running towards the footbridge.
“Bridget…? What the fuck?!” Max called after her. Frank quickly begun wriggling in her arms and nearly knocked her cigarette out of her mouth as he tried to climb off her.
“Bridget…! What the fuck? What are you doing?” She called after her again.
Bridget ignored her. She needed to get to the bridge.
Max saw the figure climb onto the footbridge before Bridget did. It took her a few seconds to realise it was a person. Someone was going to jump off the bridge. Good god, Bridget was running to save her! She spat the cigarette away and began running. Frank was an uncooperative lump, cumbersome and hindering.
Bridget reached the footbridge. She was greatly out of breath and stitch was stabbing its wicked nails into her sides.
“Wait!” she called out breathlessly.
This time the girl heard, she turned around in alarm.
“Please… Please don’t jump,” Bridget staggered forward.
“Bridget?”
That voice was familiar. The girl pulled away the hair blowing around her face.
It was Amy.
What the fuck? Why was Amy about to jump?
“Amy? What the hell are you doing?” She closed in breathlessly. She felt a bit woozy. She knew she wasn’t fit but she didn’t expect to be this unhealthy.
“What are you doing here?”
What was the protocol for talking someone off a bridge? Bridget didn’t have a clue.
“I’m… We… are walking… Frank,” Bridget slumped against the opposite wall. She kept having to take greedy gulps of air. As if on cue Max appeared at the other end of the footbridge, a bright shade of red from lugging the chronically obese pug.
“What are you doing?” Bridget returned trying to normalise her breaths. It sounded stupid aloud, she regretted it instantly.
“Ending it…” Amy answered weakly. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Why? Why?” Bridget sounded a little whiney but she was at a loss for words.
“I can’t take it anymore… Okay,”
“Take what? What’s happened Amy?”
Amy turned her head away, her face disappearing into the mane of hair blowing in the wind. “Tell me Amy, I can make it better…”
“You can’t make it better Bridget, you can’t take it back!” the sound of defeat in Amy’s voice was palpable. It broke Bridget’s heart a little. How could someone feel that low? Only two days ago she’d been alright at the party… Or what appeared to be ok. Suddenly Bridget wasn’t sure of herself.
“Take what back… What happened?” Bridget spied Max slowly creeping closer. What she intended to do Bridget didn’t know. She was still carrying the pug, what good could she do around that swollen lump?
“Jason…” Amy cried.
The blood in Bridget ran cold. Jason? What had he done?
“What did he do Amy?” Bridget pushed. She suspected she already knew. She anticipated the answer coming.
“It’s what he didn’t do…”
“What?” Max’s face was unreadable as she entered the conversation. Some mix between dread, disbelief, curious and anger.
“He didn’t stop…”
Bridget felt her stomach fall. Oh god, she’d spared Max that fate and Amy had filled it in her place. She’d changed the timeline and now Amy had suffered! She’d never considered the fact that the rape might just change target, she’d foolishly presumed she’d cancelled it out completely. Time, or fate, or whatever it was, seemed to be a series of unavoidable events where Bridget could only change the details.
“Please don’t jump, he’s not worth it…” Bridget pleaded in a small voice.
“Fuck him! Don’t you waste your life on that sick of shit!” Max ordered in a booming voice. Frank recoiled and squirmed in her grip. She stilled him and held tight. “He’s not worth it Amy, he’s just a guy. A guy who shouldn’t get away with it. You’re worth more than he is…”
Bridget slowly crawled up the wall back onto her feet.
The world violently shook around her suddenly, this time she’d partially expected it. She held firm as the world vibrated around her. There was a deep rumble ringing in her ears. It still reminded her of a mobile phone vibrating on a glass surface. It was just like that harsh sort of sound.
As quickly as it started it stopped.
Her ears popped and she blinked several times. A pulsing headache unfurled in her temples.
A new nose bleed joined the dried one from earlier.
She’d done it again.
The timeline had been changed.
She looked up and saw Max was helping Amy off the ledge.
They’d both done it. They’d saved her life.
CHAPTER EIGHT:
13:15pm 30th October 2015
The café was situated a short walk from the college, it was their favourite spot. It resembled an American diner, complete with leather seats and gaudy décor. The floor was black and white chequered tiles, the windows filled with neon signs that promised good food and better service. Bridget and Max loved it. It was their favourite spot in the world, they loved to kick back and watch the world go by from a window booth. They would eat pizza, the best pizza in town, and swig hot chocolate. They were such regular visitors they were on first name basis with most of the staff; it was Wendy and George on today. Bridget clocked them as she entered, a cute little bell rang overhead. Wendy was hustling back and forth from the counter carrying orders and George was flipping burgers. Wendy was sixty-eight and still going strong. She never complained once, instead she worked as hard as she ever did. She was a widow, lost her husband to cancer several years ago. It was a damn shame, she was an amazing woman. She reminded Bridget of Gran-Pat, only a much broader and squarer version. Wendy acknowledged Bridget’s arrival with a puff of hot air and an eye roll. George was getting “under her grill” again, as she liked to call it.
They had a love/hate relationship in the workplace. They drove each other up the wall.
George was a Polish, middle aged man who simply didn’t understand the old fashioned ways Wendy had. It was war of the cultures. He was a good man, very chatty and dedicated to making England a home for him and his family. Bridget and Max had sometimes given him small English lessons, he was an attentive student.
He was too busy flipping burgers to notice her, but he would’ve waved if he’d have seen her. The café was moderately full, plenty of office workers tip-tapping on their mobile phones waiting for their lunch to arrive. A couple of students were hanging around the jukebox, they were laughing and joking. The ancient selection of 70’s to 80’s music was an assault to their modern sensibilities.
What Bridget loved most about this place was the smell. The warm cocktail of greasy food and pancakes. She took a deep inhale and savoured it.
She found Max in their usual spot. She’d not spoken to her since last night, she’d not even returned Bridget’s messages. Bridget knew Max had gone to class, she hadn’t completely shutdown, she had simply avoided her best friend. It was cool, Bridget knew her well enough to give her a little space.
Now, she was going to confront the issue. She’d had enough wallowing time.
She was scowling into a cup of hot chocolate, her eyes burning lasers into the dirty white porcelain cup. Bridget took the seat opposite. The kids guffawing over the jukebox were behind her, the entrance in front of her.
“Hey,” Bridget greeted with a little meek smile.
Max took a breath that meant “I acknowledge you’re here but I’m not ready to talk,”
Bridget removed her coat. She was wearing a black tank top under a red and black open shirt today, finishing the look off with skinny jeans and red converse. Her blonde hair was fixed into a plait that hung down one side.
Max hadn’t put so much effort into her appearance today. She was wearing a green hooded top, light denim jeans and mucky white trainers. Her hair was bunched unceremoniously at the base of her skull. Her eye make up was minimal.
Bridget had only dressed so well and laboured over her own eye make up because she’d had too much time to kill this morning. She’d struggled to sleep. The events kept looping and looping in her mind. Because she had spared Max the fate of being raped by Jason, now Amy had suffered it. She had merely moved fate, swapped destinies.
It was a difficult realisation to swallow. She had indirectly caused Amy pain. She had realised she felt guilty, even though she’d justified it by sparing Max’s death she couldn’t shake the feeling it was her fault. It was a good thing she happened to be around to reverse Amy’s suicide. She could correct that wrong. The wrong made from correcting the last wrong. There was a faint wisp of an idea that perhaps there would be a growing list of wrongs to correct.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes, this one has been sulking in her hot chocolate since she got here,” Wendy appeared brandishing a fresh cup of hot chocolate. She extended the cup, gave Max a concerned look and then left. She disappeared back into the folds of work almost as quickly as she emerged from them.
A silence fell between them. A silence filled with the bustling hum of the café. The students had finally finished laughing the jukebox off and had taken seats at the other end of the café. Their first choice of song was an Erasure hit. She wasn’t sure if these kids would even know who they were?
“Have you heard the news?” Max finally broke the silence after a few more pregnant minutes. She sipped her hot chocolate.
Bridget shook her head. She sipped hers. Too hot, damn it was far too hot! She’d burnt her lips. She deposited the mug and rubbed her lips together.
“They’re looking for him… He’s disappeared.”
They both knew “he” was Jason.
“They’re looking for him?” that meant Amy had gone to the police. That was good.
Bridget had left Amy in Max’s hands after the bridge, knowing that Max needed to see her home. She knew Max well enough to know she would look after Amy, probably even dig to the bottom of the problem. Dig into the truth.
Why? Because Max was a good person, and also because she would feel guilty. Jason was her love interest and he had raped Amy. She would feel partially responsible. Bridget couldn’t comprehend how Max would feel if she knew that originally Jason raped her. How would she react if Bridget told her that Amy was raped only because Max wasn’t?
“A girl named Sofia, she called it in Friday night…”
Bridget’s brow furrowed. Friday night?
“He raped her too, before he went to the party actually…” Max’s voice was monotone.
Bridget flinched. Jesus Christ, what a revelation. Max took another sip of her cocoa. She looked shell-shocked. As anyone would if they learnt they’d that. He’d arrived at the party moments after he raped a poor girl, she’d kissed him after he’d committed a heinous crime like that. She’d been oblivious.
