Acme Time Travel Incorporated - Volume 2
His wife survives him 18th Dec 2017

Ginny’s flat – Clacton-on-Sea

“We’re going to need some paint, and a gate-thing and ...,” Gabriel said.

“I know,” Ginny said.

“Barney said he’s got ...”

“I know ... you mentioned it. It’s very kind of him.”

“I asked him if I could work some over-time, but he said he didn’t think ...”

“Don’t worry,” Ginny said. “We’ll manage.”

“I’m really sorry,” Vicky said.

“What about?” Ginny said.

“Well ... when we tried to request some money. It looks as though ACME INC have chosen not to provide any further currency requests,” Vicky said.

“Well, they’ve obviously kept the system going for other things,” Gabriel pointed out, “but the things they are happy to provide are just not the sort of things that we are going to need.”

“We’ll be ok,” Ginny said. “Don’t worry.” Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Yeah ... ok,” Gabriel said, unconvinced.

“I checked again about John ... I checked yesterday,” Ginny said, trying to change the conversation.

“And?” said Gabriel.

“Nobody has heard of him,” Ginny said. “He isn’t in the records at all. It’s like he never lived there.”

“A time anomaly then?” Gabriel said.

“It might be,” Vicky said. “ACME INC were always very reluctant to allow anyone to make fundamental changes to past events. You never know what might happen.”

They heard a cautious knocking on the door of their flat. Not like the robust knocking of a postman or a delivery man, where time really matters. This sounded like someone altogether more timid.

“Can you get it, please, Gabriel?” Ginny said.

Gabriel smiled. He dropped the washing-up sponge into the sink and picked up the small towel hanging on the hook next to the sink. He dried his hands whilst walking through to answer the door.

He opened the door.

Two old gentlemen were standing there. They were very formally dressed, in a very old-fashioned way. They were both carrying an umbrella in one hand and a briefcase in the other.

“Can I help you?” Gabriel said.

“Gabriel Jones?” asked one of the old men.

“Erm, yes, that’s me,” said Gabriel.

“And is Ginny Peters here also?” said the other old man.

“Ginny?” Gabriel shouted.

Ginny came through to the doorway.

“These gentlemen are here to see us,” Gabriel explained.

“Please come in,” Ginny said. She immediately dashed back into the small living room, hurriedly picking up and tidying away several tea cups and newspapers.

The old gentlemen moved over to the sofa and sat down alongside each other.

Gabriel and Ginny pulled two simple wooden chairs across the room, so that they could sit facing the two old men.

“We are here to represent ...,” said one of the old men.

“Just a minute,” interrupted the other, smiling. Then, “My name is Mr Willoughby, and this is my colleague Mr Toby.” He gestured back to the other man to continue.

“I am sorry,” said Mr Toby. “We are quite excited.”

Gabriel smiled over to Ginny, who smiled back.

“We are here to represent the wishes,” Mr Toby continued, “of a long-standing client of ours. He wished to give you something.”

“Who?” said Gabriel.

“There is a package for each of you,” said Mr Willoughby. “We don’t know what they contain.”

“Though we have had many guesses over the years,” Mr Toby said.

“Yes ... quite,” Mr Willoughby said.

“Over how many years?” Ginny asked.

“The packages were deposited with us in 1968,” said Mr Willoughby. “I believe that our company was chosen because of our long and dependable service to ...”

“Quite so,” said Mr Toby.

“Ah, yes,” said Mr Willoughby, colouring slightly.

“It’s John,” Ginny whispered to Gabriel.

“And so, without further ado,” said Mr Toby.

He pulled his briefcase onto his knee and unclipped the flap.

He took a package out of it.

He checked the label, then ceremonially handed it over to Ginny.

Mr Willoughby watched this little scene, then took an identical package from his own briefcase.

He handed his to Gabriel.

Ginny watched as both the old men sat back into the sofa. They didn’t appear to be preparing to get up or leave. They both seemed to be trembling with excitement.

“So, you don’t know what is in the packages?” Ginny asked.

The two old men shook their heads in acknowledgment.

“Well, you’d best be going then,” Gabriel said, chuckling to himself.

Both the old men looked close to tears.

Ginny gave Gabriel a wry look.

“I’m sorry, guys,” Gabriel said. “I was only joking. I think that the very least we can do is to let you see what’s in the packages. After all, you’ve looked after them for us for all this time.”

Mr Toby pulled a small handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and wiped his eyes.

Gabriel looked over at Ginny. “You first,” he said.

She broke open the sealing wax, then tugged on the tiny knot.

It remained firm.

“You could maybe use this,” said Mr Willoughby, holding a small knife. He carefully prised out a small pair of scissors from a slot at the back of the blade.

He handed it over to Ginny.

Ginny snipped the twine with the miniature scissors. She handed the knife back to Mr Willoughby, then pulled the twine free from the package. She gently pulled the brown wrapping paper open, revealing a leather-bound book. The leather was a very pale tan colour.

Inscribed in gothic black lettering on the front cover were the words;

Journal of Intergalactic Mining / Transhipment

Version 12.3.2 Published on June 2183 AD

Published by Steinberg & Scott,

Broadwater Square, Basildon.

United Kingdom. Earth.

There was a piece of paper loosely inserted into the first page. She lifted it out. It looked as though it had been written with an old-fashioned ink pen. The sort of pen that you filled from a bottle. The sort where you dipped the nib into the ink bottle and then pulled a little plunger to draw in the liquid.

And it looked as though it had been written by someone in a time when penmanship counted for something.

The note read;

To Ginny (I’m thinking Virginia, but you introduced yourself to me as Ginny, so that is what I shall refer to you as).

It was wonderful to meet you (and your close friend Gabriel, both). Words fail me ... I can’t begin to describe how I feel ... that you were prepared to go through so much, in order to bring back the means by which my wife, Mary, could remain fit and healthy.

I don’t know if we shall ever meet again. Vicky explained to me that ‘time sorts itself out’. I worry now that what you have done for Mary and myself may well be detrimental to you. I have thought to give you this small gift (timed to be roughly when you said you knew me), partly so that I could re-iterate our sincere thanks, and partly because I don’t know whether you will need assistance.

Anyway, I thought that, maybe ... no ... enough said (Mary always says I tend to ramble on).

With my very deepest thanks

John Cullen

“It’s a note from John,” Ginny said, handing the book and the note across to Gabriel, so that he could read it too.

As she handed the book over, another piece of paper fell out onto the floor. Mr Willoughby picked it up and handed it to Ginny. She looked at it.

“I don’t understand it,” she said, scanning the piece of paper.

“Shall I?” said Mr Willoughby, holding out his hand.

Ginny handed him the piece of paper.

“It’s a receipt for the purchase of stocks and bonds,” said Mr Willoughby. “It would seem that a Mr John Cullen deposited a large sum of money into a long-term managed fund. He did this in 1968. This note says that the value of this fund, if any, should be put at your disposal on the ... well ... on the date that this package was delivered and formally received.”

“Do you think the fund would be worth anything?” Ginny asked Mr Willoughby.

“If you so wish, I could use the details on this receipt to check for you,” Mr Willoughby suggested.

Ginny nodded her agreement.

Willoughby lifted his briefcase and pulled out a slim leather pouch. It opened, revealing a shiny computer tablet.

“I’m afraid that we need to use these sorts of things sometimes,” Mr Willoughby said apologetically.

He switched the tablet on. The screen lit up. It showed two young boys playing in a garden.

“My great-grand-children ...” he said, smiling. “They are called ...”

“Mr Willoughby?”

“Ah, yes ... sorry,” Willoughby said, looking apologetically over to Toby

Willoughby turned to the tablet. He clicked through a few screens until he found what he was looking for.

“It would seem,” he said, “that the bulk of your managed fund was heavily invested into an initial public offering back in 1986.”

Ginny looked downcast.

“It was an IPO for a company working in emerging technologies,” continued Willoughby.

“Oh well,” said Ginny, sadly. “You see, we’ve been trying to save up for ... well ... I was just wondering if it might be worth ...”

“Well, as it transpired, the company that the fund was invested in was called the Microsoft Corporation. I believe that most people would have called that a very good investment,” Willoughby said, chuckling to himself.

Willoughby clicked and dragged through a few further screens, referencing back to the account details on the receipt.

“It would seem,” Willoughby continued, “that your funds are probably worth in the region of ... oh ... oh my word ...”

Toby looked across at his colleague, ready to assist if necessary.

“If you would allow me to say so,” Willoughby continued, “our company would be very pleased, indeed honoured, to assist you in redeeming and managing these funds.”

Toby allowed himself a small smile. “Did you realise,” he said, “that the same Mr John Cullen who set up this managed fund was the very person, our client, who deposited these packages with us? I must say that I find it hard to understand how you could have known him ... or indeed that he could have known that you would be here ... here in Clacton, at this very point in time.”

“I met him a long time ago,” Ginny said.

“I fear that you may be speaking of a different man,” Toby said. “Our client died in 1998. He died in an automobile accident.”

Ginny looked at Gabriel.

“He died sooner ... because of us,” she whispered.

“His wife survives him, still,” Toby said.

“Mary is still alive?” Ginny said.

“Yes. She lives in a care home in Frinton.”

“Sunny Vale?” Ginny said.

“Yes. How did you know?” Toby said.

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