One moment, Emma Scott is in her college room in 2015, and the next she's in 1921 falling in love with an ex-soldier with a charming smile and a secret...
Emma's an old hand at time travel: the first time she was pulled backwards she was ten years o...
I woke up the next morning having only managed to sleep properly a few hours earlier. I had not shared a bed all that often in my life--occasional holidays with mum, and overnight guests in my college room notwithstanding. My dreams were punctuated by my concern for staying as far on my side of the bed as possible and not bothering Amy with my presence.
When I woke, Amy was standing in front of the nightstand in her knickers, rubbing herself down with a damp washcloth.
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I'd discovered "the lav" out back the previous night, which was shared by five houses along the row. It had been an unpleasant experience. It was therefore unsurprising that the house did not have bathing facilities.
"Morning, duckie," said Amy when she realised I was awake. "Cross yourself and go downstairs. Breakfast is on the table."
Cross myself? At my baffled look, Amy made the gesture with the washcloth: face, breasts, groin, armpits. "Oh, right." I made a performance of getting out of bed so I could look away from Amy's toplessness; she had lean, long legs, small breasts, and wide hips. Her hair floated around her head in a halo of light brown curls.
If I dropped my nightdress before Amy had gone downstairs, she would see the spotted underpants hiding under my demure nightgown. But Amy clearly had a long morning routine: she examined her hair and puffed out a despairing breath, then went over to the wardrobe to rifle through her clothes.
"What about you?" I said.
"Oh, I don't eat breakfast," she replied.
Terrific. I went over to stand by the nightstand, and shrugged out of the nightgown, catching and bunching it up around my hips. Amy pottered around the room, paying me no attention as I dipped the washcloth in the lukewarm water and washed myself in the prescribed fashion.
As soon as I moved away from the nightstand Amy was there, moaning about the state of her hair. I, meanwhile, managed to get my blouse and skirt on without her noticing my unusual undergarments. First item of business: more underwear.
I fiddled with the catch on the thin gold bracelet I wore. I was going to have to sell it to get some cash. Hopefully Mrs. Lawrence would know of a good place to do so. No time to think about the fact that my mother bought it for me for my eighteenth birthday. She would understand that I'd done what I had to.
Leaving Amy coaxing her hair into order with a rattail comb, I went downstairs.
Mrs. Lawrence and Enid were standing by the kitchen table poring over a sewing pattern. "There y'are," said Mrs. Lawrence. "Eggs and ham on the stove, luvvie." Then, to Enid, "I reckon I could let out your blue dress like this, luv. Something nice for after baby comes."
"Cor," said Enid. "I hope it's soon."
Mrs. Lawrence patted her daughter's belly. "Don't be in such an hurry, dearie. Once they're out, time goes by in a blink, and then they's up and grown and you're left wondering what happened."
