A Lucky Break

By Terry Callister

James Campbell is an ordinary sort of bloke who discovers a portal through time. What can he do with this information?

A Lucky Break is a time travelling romance with comic moments and with some acerbic commentary on life in modern Britain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Terry Callister
• Release date: Feb 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458125118

Terry Callister

Terry Callister was born, raised and educated in Kent, England before moving to London when he was eighteen. He has done a variety of jobs from clearing tables ina restaurant to senior business manager in an offshore financial services company and a lot in between. He lived on the Isle of Man with his two sons for twelve years before settling in the beautiful mountains north of Malaga in southern Spain with his wife and three dogs.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

To read this story correctly you will need to read it with a slight Scottish brogue, Sean Connery ish. So, to start with my name is Campbell, James Campbell, I'm thirty, tall dark and handsome, some people say I'm a bit of a ladies man.

Sorry, this isn't going to work, I've got to come clean and tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I'm not really a Jock, no offence meant to any Scots reading and plus I'm pretty medium in all aspects of my life, medium height, medium build, mousy hair, medium complexion and a modicum of success with the fairer sex. I'm a Londoner born and bred loathe as I am to admit that, I don't want to put off half the potential readership with them thinking here's another book by some Southern nancy boy. I like Northerners, went out with a girl from Blackburn in the heart of Lancashire for a while. Olive skinned Shahirah with big dark almond shaped eyes, she was a great lass but cultural differences got in the way of our relationship. She supported Blackburn Rovers and liked Lancashire Hot Pot whilst I favoured West Ham United and pie and mash, but it was the socio economic differences that really began to tell. Shahirah couldn't get over the fact that down South we had all the jobs and all the money and she claimed we Southerners rode on the backs of the productivity of Northern factories. Having said that, the time I spent up North was very entertaining and they are for the most part nice people. Like most of us from down South I thought there was a mill at the end of every street and everyone wore clogs. That's not the case, it really is quite lovely up there, reminded me of some of the countryside in the Garden of England, that's Kent if any of you are geographically challenged, but I digress. One more complete truth, I'm not in fact a true Londoner, I was born and raised in Bexley a commuter town thirteen miles from Charing Cross on what was British Rail's Dartford Loop Line. I moved up to the big smoke soon after I started work. That's it I've come totally clean and my name really is James Campbell, Jim to my mates but in truth I'm really Billy no mates but that's another story.

So what is this yarn all about? I'll tell you. It all started about eight months ago when a funny thing happened to me on the way to a job interview. What you might ask was I doing going to a job interview, well I'd become one of the great unemployed, a victim of the credit crunch. I worked for a bank.

Serves you bloody well right then. I hear you all say.

I wasn't one of the people who caused it, honestly. I was a mere lowly messenger carrying bits of paper from one bank to another in the City of London. If you want my considered opinion the few thousand bankers throughout the world who caused the financial crisis should be stripped of all their assets then lined up against a wall and shot, enough of that. So as I said I was on the dole and quickly running out of money. There had been no big bonuses for me or huge salaries come to that, a modest income for a modest bloke living, well, modestly. The little savings I had were dwindling fast and the dole, well for a single bloke, it wasn't much. I had applied for loads of jobs against a lot of competition and finally I was on my way for an interview, when IT happened, an event so unexpected, so tumultuous, and so overwhelming that it changed my life for ever.

I'll get to the event in a minute. On the day in question I was wearing my best pulling suit, it had cost me a small fortune at Burtons, double breasted, wide lapels, clean white shirt, a reserved tie, black shoes and my gold cuff links. I felt the business when I wore it, possibly it was bit over the top for a job as security guard at the new shopping precinct I know, but I felt I had to make the effort. I'd caught the bus from my crummy bedsit in Highgate to change onto the tube to get to the precinct, cheering up Gordon Brown and all the Greenies, doing my bit for the environment by using public transport. Actually my personal transport was an old Lambretta and it had started to spit with rain so I didn't want to turn up looking like a drowned rat.

Anyway I was walking along minding my own business when two guys standing at the entrance to a narrow alleyway between two buildings called me over. Now I like to think I'm a bit street savvy, but for some reason I went over to see what they wanted. One was a tall black guy well built with the latest designer hoody, loose jeans and a pair of trainers that looked like they had cost the best part of my last week's wages. His mate reminded me of a Rottweiler, short squat and as ugly as sin.

Want some gear mate? The tall one asked.

Now I've smoked a couple of joints in my time, but to be accosted on the street like this in broad daylight totally out of the blue knocked me sideways, but not half so much as the push in the back that another of their mates gave me while I was stood open mouthed following their business proposition. I ended up ten feet up the alleyway on my hands and knees. Two hands grabbed the shoulders of my jacket and dragged me further up the alleyway behind a couple of wheelie bins. All I could see were two shiny black calf length Doc Martens with dark blue heavy cotton trousers tucked into the tops, for some obscure reason I was reminded of the Policía Local who wandered around the Plazas in Torremolinos, looking hard in their Ray-Ban's, during my two weeks there last summer. Next thing the boots and trainers were flying into me from all directions. I managed to curl up into the foetal position and gave a bit of protection to my head and face. The kicking felt like it went on for two hours and fifty six minutes but it was probably only a few seconds. Then hands were searching my jacket pockets, they pulled out my wallet then my mobile, and then thankfully all I could hear was the sound of running feet and laughing.

I sat up slowly with my back against the wall and carefully checked myself over. It bloody hurt. I didn't think anything was broken, but the state of me. My suit was ruined, there was a big tear under one arm pit, it was wet and muddy from the rain, plus it smelt. I think the lads had dragged me through something rather nasty. My head was swimming. I stood up and that was when 'IT' happened. I didn't realise 'IT' had happened at the time, that came later. I didn't know what 'IT' was until later, but believe me 'IT' did happen.

CHAPTER TWO

As I stood up I remember thinking that tomorrow was going to be the start of my new life and here I am looking like shit. I wobbled a bit and put a hand out to the wall to steady myself and that was when 'IT' happened. As I touched the wall I seemed to pass through it. Not my physical self, that would be silly, no my spiritual self. I didn't feel as though I had gone anywhere, I hadn't entered whatever was the other side of the wall, but I had definitely experienced something. The feeling lasted only for a second or two then things returned to normal. I was suffering from concussion, I must be, that could be the only explanation for this out of body experience. I leant against the wall and gathered my thoughts. What was I going to do now?

This interview might be my only chance of any sort of a job for the foreseeable future. Unemployment was rising by the day. Small, medium and large companies were ditching people according to every news bulletin you heard. I had to go on. I decided that I would explain I had been mugged on the way, who knows they might admire my resilience and give me the job anyway. It was worth a try. Next problem I had no money for the tube fare. Then I smiled, the muggers were in for a disappointment when they opened my wallet. I may have looked like a million dollars but the sum cash total of the contents of my wallet was one single solitary five pound note. My Visa and MasterCard were there too, but they were both maxed out to the limit and besides I was one of those clever sods that actually remembered his PIN numbers. No little piece of paper with the PIN numbers noted down, oh no sir. Now most stores used chip and pin so the cards were quite safe. I checked my top jacket pocket and there was the unmistakeable feel of a bank note. I pulled it out and there was a tenner; three weeks before I had taken a bird out for a drink that I met at the Job Centre. When I bought a round with a twenty, I put the tenner in my suit pocket. The Gods were smiling on me, if you can call finding your own tenner in your own jacket lucky after being mugged. At least I had the means of getting to the interview.

Forty five minutes later I walked into the shopping mail, Westfield, the newest in Europe, it had only opened its doors to the public a few days before and there were already doubts about its viability having opened in a recession. What did I care, if it gave me a job and the chance to earn some dosh, so what. I found the Customer Information desk and introduced myself to the young lady there with my winningest smile. She looked at me like I was the creature from the Black Lagoon. Who could blame her? I pulled the letter from my back pocket and announced as pleasantly as I could.

Good morning I'm here to see Amanda Johnston, head of Human Resources.

In that state?

Yea, I was mugged on the way here.

That's unfortunate.

I didn't plan it.

No I don't suppose you did. She paused for a moment, turning up her nose. I think you ought to go and clean yourself up a bit, you don't half niff.

I bent my head down and sniffed myself.

Thought I had a good bit of room on the tube.

Not surprising really. The toilets are that way. She said pointing to the right.

I wandered off and found the chrome and ceramic toilets. Very posh, it was a shame the graffiti artists had already been at work. I would have poured a sink full of water but of course there were no plugs in the sinks and no paper towels to wet and wipe my clothes. I got a handful of toilet paper and wet that and began to wipe down my suit, but you know what wet toilet paper is like it soon began to break up and added to the mess on my dark suit. When I had fallen over my right knee had definitely made contact with something some huge animal had left behind and very unpleasant it was too. With persistence and a fair amount of gagging I got the worst of it off and managed to straighten myself out to some degree. I still looked like shit but I was here now so let's go for it.

When I got back to the Customer Services desk the young lady promptly announced.

I told you the toilets were to the right.

I know, I said, I've been.

You have?

Thanks. I mumbled. Can you tell Ms Johnston I'm here please, I'm already a bit late.

On your head be it.

Five minutes later I was rising in a glass lift to the administrative floor for the complex. The two other occupants seemed to be pressing themselves into the far wall trying to get as far away from me as possible.

I was shown into a large office with a wonderful view over the car park. Ms Johnston was sat behind an imitation leather desk resplendent in formal jacket, shirt and tie; she didn't look to be a happy person.

Mr Campbell, she said in accusing tone.

That's me, I replied.

Are you Scottish, you don't sound Scottish?

No I'm English from London, well just outside.

I see.

She had a querulous look on her face. I had an unfortunate experience when I was younger, while I was wearing a tartan ra ra skirt. It's made me wary of anything North of the border ever since.

It was then I had the bright idea to apply some knowledge I had gained from a year old women's magazine that I had read whilst waiting for very expensive dental treatment. The magazine suggested that a good interviewee technique was to try and get the interviewer to talk about themselves. Apparently people like nothing better than to tell you all about their own persona. It was worth a try.

What was that then? I asked with a concerned look on my face.

With that her eyes filled up and tears began streaming down her face. I reached into my pocket to give her a handkerchief, but all I had was a soggy piece of kitchen roll that looked decidedly the worst for wear. I pushed it back into my pocket. Fortunately she was well prepared and took a tissue from her desk.

I'm sorry, I said mumbling an abject apology. I didn't mean to upset you.

It's not your fault you weren't to know. She sniffed again. The memories are so fresh in my mind.

She was fifty if she was a day so how the memories were still fresh I don't know. I decided I had better turn this interview along another direction.

I'm sorry I'm late but I was mugged on the way here this morning. I don't normally look like this.

Ms Johnston's whole demeanour changed. The tears were gone and she viewed me with critical eyes. What has you being mugged this morning got anything to do with you being late for your interview?

Well I would have been here on time but between the bus and the tube I was set upon by three thugs. They took my wallet and phone, gave me a good kicking and ruined my suit. This job is important to me so I decided to press on even though I knew I would be, I glanced at my watch. Twenty five minutes late.

Twenty five minutes, twenty five minutes. Her voice rose in a crescendo. Don't you mean one day and twenty five minutes.

I looked at her quizzically. I'm sorry but I'm not with you.

She looked down at her desk diary. You were due here for an interview at 11.45 on Tuesday the 4th of November.

Yes, and here I am twenty five minutes late.

What is your game Mr Campbell? Had too much drink the night before, overslept, and missed the bus. So you thought you would try it on with me today.

I didn't know what this poor deluded woman was on about. I racked my brains trying to think. On Sunday I had watched the Brazilian F1 Grand Prix memorable because Lewis Hamilton won the world championship at only his second attempt. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it Ferrari and the F1 hierarchy. That was the second of November. The following day I had watched Emmerdale, Corry, Eastenders, the second Corry and finally Silent Witness; Monday's schedule. Sad I know but that is how I can tell one day of the week from the next. When you are unemployed each day becomes much the same as the next. I had then woken up this morning Tuesday 4th of November ready to come to this interview. I produced the invitation letter which fortunately had been in my back pocket trousers.

Here look, Tuesday 4th November at 11.45. It's there in black and white.

She shook her head. Look there on the wall Mr Campbell.

I turned to where she pointed and there in letters nearly a foot tall was a clock calendar.

Wednesday 5th November 12.10. It shouted at me.

5th of November, I can tell you fireworks went off in my head. I looked again. That was definitely the date, or was it? Was this some kind of new interviewing technique thought up by some Human Resources psychologist and sprung on the unsuspecting to put them off their game. I turned and smiled at Ms Johnston.

Nice try, but you can't fool me. I know it's Tuesday.

No Mr Campbell it is Wednesday.

I smiled again and wagged my finger at her which some might consider a provocative act. However I didn't think it would provoke the reaction it did. Five minutes later I was thrown out of Westfield by the very security people I had hoped to join.

CHAPTER THREE

What the hell was that all about? I racked my brains trying to think. The highlight of my Tuesdays were either an hour of Emmerdale then Eastenders on BBC3 at 10.00, or half an hour of Emmerdale followed immediately by Eastenders then the second part of Silent Witness. I would have remembered those. Alright I occasionally dose off but never for that long and I definitely wouldn't have slept for twenty four hours straight. Something was going on.

I trudged my dejected way to the tube station. The rain was getting harder and I was getting wetter. I'd left my umbrella on the tube months ago. There was a paper shop at the entrance to the tube and I scanned the racks looking for clues. Every newspaper said Wednesday 5th November 2008. If this was some great ruse thought up by a new reality TV show and I was the victim then they had done a very thorough job. Surely not though, even the depths these shows had descended to would not have inflicted a good kicking on a participant. Which reminded me if I needed it, I was beginning to ache something fearsome. I bought a copy of The Sun and went down to the platform. There was nothing in the paper to indicate anything untoward happening in the world other than the usual doom and gloom surrounding the credit crunch.

I got off the tube and up the escalator to get the bus home. The world seemed as it was. As I passed the scene of the mugging I began to wonder if I should report the crime to the police. What was the point, if they did manage to catch the guys what would happen to them, a fine possibly or perhaps some community service? My best bet would be to get onto the credit card companies and get them stopped. I reached into my pocket and remembered they had taken my phone. Bugger, that had the numbers for the credit card companies, it had my life on it. I caught the bus to my bedsit and checked my pockets. I had enough for a pint so went into my local The Kings Arms and sat at the bar watching Sky News nursing the one drink I could afford. No clue on Sky, there had been no cataclysmic force at large causing the world to lose a day.

That night I watched TV with only half an eye on the box, but it was confirmed, I had missed an episode of my favourite soaps that was for sure. Something strange was going on and I didn't know what. After a couple of paracetamols I went to bed early and had a restless night as I tried to get comfortable. It seemed that every position I laid in was only comfortable for a few seconds then the aches and pains would start again.

The next morning after breakfast, two Weetabix, I'm a creature of habit, I walked to my local bank and spoke to a customer advisor.

I'm sorry Mr Campbell we can't give you an overdraft. These are difficult times as you know.

Err I'm having a difficult time. What about all the billions of pounds the government has borrowed to put into the banking system?

That is for us to use prudently and quite frankly you do not seem a particularly good risk at this moment. We are responsible lenders after all.

Thanks for nothing. I drew out my last fifty quid and went next door to the café for a cup of tea and a think. It was now Thursday 6th November and Tuesday the 4th still hadn't reappeared. Refreshed with a big mug of Quick Brew and four sugars I decided to retrace my steps on Tuesday to see if I could find an answer to this mystery. I caught the bus outside the café and alighted at the same stop I had on that fateful day. At the alleyway there were no muggers but I still looked carefully up it before I dared enter. There were some things I didn't want to retrace. It was quiet. Four feet wide with the same wheelie bins stacked against the right hand wall. With a last look down the street I slowly entered. The rain had stopped yesterday evening so the floor was dry. I think it had looked better wet. That was a considered opinion; I had seen it close to remember. There was nothing to give any indication to what had occurred. I looked at the floor and you could see the skid mark through some dog's muck where my knee had slid, again I didn't want to retrace things that closely. I looked at the spot where I had stood up and remembered I had put my hand out to steady myself. I did the same and nothing. I closed my eyes thinking. It was Tuesday when I came here and suddenly IT happened. I felt myself falling through the wall, again only my spirit self. A few moments later IT had passed. I spun around at the sound of running feet and laughing. There were the gang of three running out of the alley and then I looked down, there I was curled in a ball my suit in tatters. What was I to do? I reached down and as I touched my form lying on the ground, I joined my body and quickly felt the pain of the kicking I had just endured.

I hadn't been to the hospital or the doctors, perhaps this was some sort of relapse caused by a concussion. The pain felt real enough. As I stood up I steadfastly avoided touching the wall and just walked slowly to the end of the alley. I gave my assailants a minute before I dared to leave. Even then I surreptitiously looked up and down the street to make sure they had gone. This was too much. I crossed the street to get the next bus home. I suddenly remembered, and checked my top jacket pocket, the tenner was still there. I was going home to have a rest. The mugging had taken more out of me than I had expected. I went upstairs on the bus and sat looking out of the window when a man sat down on the other side of the bus but a seat in front. He unfolded his newspaper and Tuesday's headlines were staring me in the face. I stood up and snatched the paper off him. Tuesday 4th November.

Oy what the bloody hell is your game mush?

With that he stood up and punched me straight on the nose. I went down like a sack of spuds, both hands wrapped around my aching snoz. The blood started running moments later and tears were streaming down my face. Believe it or not I was then ejected off the bus. Chucked out of two places in the same week; life had definitely changed for me.

After cleaning myself up and making a cup of coffee I sat down to consider the situation. What had occurred, was I going crazy. I felt a visit to the Whittington Hospital would be a wise move. After a four and a half hour wait an X-ray, then another hour the Doctor in A & E declared that I was a reasonably fit young man, a bit battered and bruised but otherwise fine. Nothing was wrong with my brain and no concussion. Now I was even more bemused. It was getting late so I headed home. Switching on the TV I heard the opening strains of the Emmerdale theme, it was the Tuesday evening schedule. Tuesday had returned, so where the bloody hell did I get that extra Wednesday from? When I wake up in the morning will it be Wednesday. These and many other questions will be answered in the next chapter.

CHAPTER FOUR

The first thing I did on waking was groan. I ached all over; those lads seemed to know what they were doing when they laid into me. There wasn't one bit that didn't seem to ache. I relaxed for a while looking up at the ceiling. The usual cracks were there, a vague map of Europe but with the toe of the Italian boot missing, nothing had changed there. My body was injured but my mind was in full flow, what the hell had happened to me? I'm quite a logical type of bloke. I don't go in for any airy fairy nonsense. I don't believe in ghosts, imps, spooks or anything of that nonsense and yet this had been real. It felt real or could it all have been some fantastic dream. I decided to get up, slowly. Every joint groaned with the pain, every limb felt like lead.

I switched on the TV to

Reviews for A Lucky Break

[imyknott · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I thought this book was great. Both humorous and with a good ethos/ending. I loved it and will re-read.