back upstairs to their offices. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, shaking their hands. ‘I’m sure I don’t deserve it, though.’
‘Well, we’re sure you do,’ Walter Maxwell says. ‘In fact, I know you deserve it. Chances like this don’t come around more than once in a lifetime, you know.’ He nods knowingly at me, and gives my hand a little squeeze before letting it go.
I look at him. There are so many questions I want to ask him right now, but I can’t, I need to get him on his own.
‘So, do you know who you’ll take with you?’ Sir Joseph asks. ‘I hope you know someone who’s a huge Beatles fan?’
I’m about to ask them if it might be possible to have two tickets because there’s no way I’ll be able to choose between Ellie and Harry, when I stop.
‘You know something, I know just the person…’
Ten
As I hurry along the King’s Road, my mind is whizzing as fast as my legs. I haven’t got long; George will be shutting up his shop soon. He always stays open a bit later on a Friday night to try and catch keen music buyers on their way home from work with their weekly pay packets clutched in their hot little hands. He’s been doing it for years, he once told me. It was one of the best things he ever did when he first started up, and he’s been doing it ever since.
I can see now how George has kept that shop running for so long; he was way ahead of his time even back then – by which I mean now. Oh, this time travel thing is still confusing me, and I’ve been living in 1963 for nearly a week.
When I told Ellie and Harry what I was going to do with my spare ticket they were fully behind me. As Harry pointed out, he’d have enough excitement on Monday auditioning for George Martin without anything else happening, and Ellie’s response was much the same.
‘Jo-Jo, I’ll be up to me neck in flour and icing sugar on Sunday making these cakes for Sir Joseph’s niece on Tuesday. What sort of state would I be in for meeting the Beatles? You go and take George with you. He’ll really enjoy himself – you know what a huge fan he is.’
So here I am, hurrying towards Groovy Records. But there’s something else bothering me too as I walk. I’ve seen another newspaper with a photo of John F. Kennedy on the front, and I’ve worked out why this bothered me in the pub last night. 1963 was the year JFK was assassinated. I knew this because I’d had to do a project on American history at school and dates always stuck in my head. They’re numbers, aren’t they? And I’ve never had a problem remembering numbers. This event that will shape US history, probably world history, is going to happen a week today, on the twenty-second of November; in fact, the same day the second Beatles album is released. Is there anything I can do to prevent the assassination happening? And more to the point
should
I do something? Every time travel TV show or movie I’ve ever watched has always warned against changing the future. But now I’m here it seems different. Can I live with myself, knowing that something of that magnitude is about to occur, and not at least
trying
to do something to prevent it?
As I arrive at the zebra crossing opposite the World’s End pub, my mind is racing with this new dilemma. There’s already a mother pushing a big old-fashioned pram over the crossing in front of me. She’s managing to do this with one hand, because her other one is gripping tightly to the small hand of a young boy wearing school uniform. He’s wriggling and squirming as they cross, and just as they’re about to reach the other side I notice the boy has dropped something on the crossing.
I see him try to wrestle himself from his mother’s grip, so he can go back and retrieve it, and to prevent this I take a quick look either side of me and step out confidently on to the stripes, quickly picking up the dropped item as I cross. As I lift it up I’m surprised to see it’s an issue of
‘Thank you,’ I say, shaking their hands. ‘I’m sure I don’t deserve it, though.’
‘Well, we’re sure you do,’ Walter Maxwell says. ‘In fact, I know you deserve it. Chances like this don’t come around more than once in a lifetime, you know.’ He nods knowingly at me, and gives my hand a little squeeze before letting it go.
I look at him. There are so many questions I want to ask him right now, but I can’t, I need to get him on his own.
‘So, do you know who you’ll take with you?’ Sir Joseph asks. ‘I hope you know someone who’s a huge Beatles fan?’
I’m about to ask them if it might be possible to have two tickets because there’s no way I’ll be able to choose between Ellie and Harry, when I stop.
‘You know something, I know just the person…’
Ten
As I hurry along the King’s Road, my mind is whizzing as fast as my legs. I haven’t got long; George will be shutting up his shop soon. He always stays open a bit later on a Friday night to try and catch keen music buyers on their way home from work with their weekly pay packets clutched in their hot little hands. He’s been doing it for years, he once told me. It was one of the best things he ever did when he first started up, and he’s been doing it ever since.
I can see now how George has kept that shop running for so long; he was way ahead of his time even back then – by which I mean now. Oh, this time travel thing is still confusing me, and I’ve been living in 1963 for nearly a week.
When I told Ellie and Harry what I was going to do with my spare ticket they were fully behind me. As Harry pointed out, he’d have enough excitement on Monday auditioning for George Martin without anything else happening, and Ellie’s response was much the same.
‘Jo-Jo, I’ll be up to me neck in flour and icing sugar on Sunday making these cakes for Sir Joseph’s niece on Tuesday. What sort of state would I be in for meeting the Beatles? You go and take George with you. He’ll really enjoy himself – you know what a huge fan he is.’
So here I am, hurrying towards Groovy Records. But there’s something else bothering me too as I walk. I’ve seen another newspaper with a photo of John F. Kennedy on the front, and I’ve worked out why this bothered me in the pub last night. 1963 was the year JFK was assassinated. I knew this because I’d had to do a project on American history at school and dates always stuck in my head. They’re numbers, aren’t they? And I’ve never had a problem remembering numbers. This event that will shape US history, probably world history, is going to happen a week today, on the twenty-second of November; in fact, the same day the second Beatles album is released. Is there anything I can do to prevent the assassination happening? And more to the point
should
I do something? Every time travel TV show or movie I’ve ever watched has always warned against changing the future. But now I’m here it seems different. Can I live with myself, knowing that something of that magnitude is about to occur, and not at least
trying
to do something to prevent it?
As I arrive at the zebra crossing opposite the World’s End pub, my mind is racing with this new dilemma. There’s already a mother pushing a big old-fashioned pram over the crossing in front of me. She’s managing to do this with one hand, because her other one is gripping tightly to the small hand of a young boy wearing school uniform. He’s wriggling and squirming as they cross, and just as they’re about to reach the other side I notice the boy has dropped something on the crossing.
I see him try to wrestle himself from his mother’s grip, so he can go back and retrieve it, and to prevent this I take a quick look either side of me and step out confidently on to the stripes, quickly picking up the dropped item as I cross. As I lift it up I’m surprised to see it’s an issue of
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