The Time Bubble Box Set 2, стр. 280
Police have launched a murder investigation after a man’sbody was discovered at a house in Oxford.
36-year-old Gary Welby was found dead when officers werecalled to an address on Jeune Street, at around 6.35pm on New Year’s Eve. Hehad bled to death from a wound to the neck.
Detectives are treating the incident as murder.
A local man who has not been named was arrested at thescene, but later released without bail. Police are currently seeking a woman inconnection with the crime. 34-year-old Amy Reynolds, who it is believed livedat the address, has not been seen since the crime.
As the last sentence was read out, a picture of me appearedon the screen. I recognised it straight away – it was my profile picture fromFacebook and had only recently been taken. This was all I needed, sitting in acrowded café with people all around. I bowed my head, and pulled my hood up,trying to look inconspicuous while the rest of the story played out. Perhaps Ishouldn’t have done that, as I couldn’t have made myself look guiltier if I hadtried.
When I looked up again, I knew I was in trouble.
Not everyone had been paying attention to the TV. There werea lot of young families in the café and most of the parents were far too busytrying to keep their children under control and getting them to eat to watchtelevision.
But as I turned and looked around, I saw the waitress whohad served me leaning in close to another woman at the till, whisperingsomething into her ear. Both of them turned to look at me.
Had they seen? They must have. Had anyone else? I lookedaround the room, catching the eye of an elderly couple at the next table thathad been enjoying the pensioner lunchtime special. Both were looking at me.
Glancing back to the till, I could see the woman theretapping her phone screen, then holding it to her ear. Calling the police?
What I did next probably wasn’t the wisest move, but I waspanicking and just flipped. If the pensioners and the staff had any lingeringdoubts over whether I was or wasn’t the woman on TV, they were about to beswiftly dispelled.
“Had a good look, have you?” I snapped at the old couple asI leapt out of my chair. I needed to get out of this place and fast. I ran forthe door, knocking over some kid’s pushchair which was blocking the aisle inthe process. I didn’t bother apologising – the kid wasn’t in it, after all: hewas in a high chair. Why couldn’t people fold the damned things up when theyweren’t using them?
Nobody tried to stop me as I made my exit, in fact theydidn’t even shout after me about the bill. Perhaps they didn’t fancy tackling asuspected murderess. So that meant I hadn’t paid for my food, so that wasstealing to add to my ever-mounting charge sheet.
In just a few seconds, I was out through the door andrunning down the High Street, not looking back and not really sure what to donext.
There was a bus stop a hundred yards or so down the road,and the last person was just getting onto the bus. I ran for the bus and hoppedon, without even looking to see where it was going. At least it made my runninglook less suspicious – after all, people run for buses all the time.
“Where to, love?” asked the driver, in a Scouse accent. Atany other time I would have been glad to encounter a fellow Scouser, but nottoday. I didn’t want to prolong the conversation any longer than necessary orgive away any clues as to my origins. I’m not sure if the police would include“Scouse accent” in any description going around about me, but I wasn’t takingany risks.
Toning down my accent so he wouldn’t clock where I was from,I said.
“I don’t know. Where does this bus go?”
As soon as I had said it, I knew it was the wrong thing tosay.
“Cheltenham,” he replied, looking at me quizzically and thenadding, “You know, most people normally know where they want to go when theyget on a bus.”
“Cheltenham is it, then,” I replied.
The bus was packed and I had to walk all the way to the backto find a seat. As I did so, I scanned the passengers, looking for any signthat they recognised me from the news. One or two looked up at me as I passedbut there was no hint of recognition. Most were too engrossed in what they weredoing – either fiddling around on their phones or away in their own littleworlds, courtesy of their headphones.
I was safe – for the moment – but my relief was not to lastlong. Someone must have followed me out of the café and seen me get on the bus.
When I arrived at the bus station in Cheltenham, the policewere waiting for me.
Chapter Eleven
2014
It was 4pm in the afternoon on New Year’s Eve and I wasstretched out by the pool at a hotel in Gran Canaria, soaking up the gorgeousafternoon sunshine. Tomorrow, it would be my 29th birthday.
Roughly a week had passed in my own personal timeline sincethe traumatic events surrounding Gary’s death and I was now a further fouryears back in the past. Still feeling awful about what happened, I consoledmyself with the thought that in this time, he was still alive.
I had even sent him a text message just to make sure, whichwas illogical because of course he would be, but it eased my troubled mind.Whilst the traumatic events of that awful day were printed indelibly on mymind, they simply hadn’t happened yet, belonging as they did to only onepossible future. Perhaps they never would.
I had well and truly learnt my lesson as far as Rob wasconcerned and had spent my last few trips getting as far away from him andOxford as possible.
After I had been arrested by the police