Time & Time Again

By Mike Crowson

Time & Time Again

The day before her 16th Birthday, Ann runs from the abuse she's suffering at a children's home and ends up cold and wet, sheltering in a bus shelter from the wind and snow. There Chris, whose wife Linda has died and now needs someone to look after two small children, finds her at the end of her tether. Did she run in a blind panic or is something else at work ... why does she look and sound like a younger version of Linda? Why does she know her way around a strange town? Linda's younger sister died of leukaemia a few months before Ann was born. Could she be a reincarnation and could that be why she knows so much about Linda's family and friends?

It doesn't take many episodes of regression for Ann to discover she IS all the people she's been and that she can access all their memories, but she's determined to repair a broken family. Judith saw her mother crushed when a hay lorry overturned but treats Ann as a 'nearly mummy' and little Olivia calls her 'mummy' and will she overcome her abusive upbringing to step into Linda's shoes and marry Chris, in spite of the age difference? The story is about the past and karma, as well as the future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Crowson
• Release date: Dec 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370634743

Mike Crowson

Former teacher, former national secretary of what became the UK Green Party and for 40 years a student of things esoteric and occult. Now an occult and esoteric consultant offering free and unconditional help to those in serious and genuine psychic or occult trouble

Book preview

Time & Time and Again

Determination ::: Reincarnation

and the many lives of Ann

K Crowson

© 2017 K M (Mike) Crowson

Published by K M (Mike) Crowson at Smashwords

The Characters and Events in this book are Fictional

"I am your music, I am your song

Play me time and time again and make me strong ..."

Andante, Andante -ABBA

Chapter 1

A Bus Shelter in the Snow – Chris's account.

It had been a miserable day for driving ever since I'd set out mid morning, lightened briefly by a meeting in Leeds, interesting and productive enough to distract me from the ongoing problems, followed by a late afternoon rapidly becoming more unfriendly. The steady, heavy, soaking drizzle that had marked the day was turning into sleet – at first just the odd flake of snow, then an increasing whiteness. I had my headlights on, even though it was still daylight, because the overcast sky made them necessary and pretty soon the snow was diffusing the beams. The chilly breeze was getting stronger too, turning into a gusty and cutting wind.

Inside the car driving home, with the heater full on, it was almost as miserable, though I'm not sure whether the state of affairs at home hadn't got more to do with my state of mind than the climate. Against that was the turn the weather was taking. When extremities - like my hands for example – were soaked by the wind driven sleet, as they were when I stopped at a filling station Harewood way to top up the fuel tank, and then were not quite dried by that cutting wind, they were so cold that a hot air hand drier in the toilets couldn't warm them much.

As I drove the long hill up into Harrogate on the Leeds road there was more snow in the sleet and driving through the town was cheerless. The few people around in the fading light were muffled up and bent against the wind. I headed out of town, past the Ripley Castle turn and remembered Linda and me and a wedding ceremony there more than seven years ago. It was a happy memory perhaps, but remembering didn't actually make me any feel happier. It had the reverse effect, emphasising my emptiness. I turned left and began the descent in Nidderdale and by then the snow was beginning to settle, and a layer of slush was forming in the road. It wasn't settling much yet, but the headlights reflected like they do in fog and I could occasionally feel the wheels losing their traction, so I slowed right off.

I was thinking I'd better stop long enough to brush off the white stuff accumulating on the windscreen and that in turn reminded me that I still had a couple of letters to post. I had driven straight to Leeds earlier and forgotten to post them, but they had stamps on the envelopes, so any mailbox would do. I vaguely remembered there being one next to the bus shelter in the village and that I was going to pass it on my way home, so when I turned left into the village square I was ready to stop.

I drew up at the roadside alongside the bus shelter and left both the engine and heater on while I hurried over to post my letters. The village square was completely empty and not well lit but, as I was starting back to the car, a small van splashed past and the passing headlights lit up the inside of the bus shelter for a moment. Squeezed up in a corner of the shelter was what looked like a child. I went closer and saw it was a female and both taller and older than I had first thought – she must have been in her mid teens at least.

You all right? I asked.

She shook her head, shivering and cowering in the corner. This was no place for anyone to spend the night.

You know the last bus has gone? I said. The service from Harrogate to Pateley Bridge is is not that brilliant by day and non-existent in the evenings.

I know. It was little more than a whisper.

Where are you going to? I asked – the weather was foul enough for me to be worried about her.

I don't know, she answered with a movement that might have been a shrug.

Well you can't spend a night like this in the cold, I said. Where's home?

I don't have one.

That took me aback. No home? Well, I had to get back to my own home quickly. Apart from the deteriorating state of the road there was a question of leaving the girls on their own at a time like this. Judith had been very clingy this morning, and had wanted to come with me earlier today. I had to get a move on or Mrs Wallace and Linda'a mother would have problems. But that answer shook me. She must have a home somewhere. This was not the time or place for an inquisition or even a follow up question and I couldn't just drive off and leave her to spend the night there. She might well not survive it! I didn't recognise her and I had no idea who might be looking for her. I could always phone the police or her family from home.

Well, like I said, you can't spend the night here, I told her. I only live about five minutes up the lane, so you'd better come back with me and we'll sort it out there.

I thought she might resist getting into a car with a strange man but she came willingly enough, carrying a handbag and another, somewhat larger bag, and climbed gratefully into the car. I got into the other side and looked her over by the interior light. She appeared to be in her late teens, taller now she wasn't huddled up against the cold, very slender to the point of gauntness, rather inappropriately dressed for the weather and thoroughly soaked. She looked cold and bedraggled but her expression was one of what I can only call grim determination.

It won't take us long to get home, I said. Fasten your seat belt. She hesitated, so I added, It's been law since the beginning of the year.

She fumbled with the buckle and was clearly having trouble, so I clipped it in for her. I started the vehicle and felt the wheels slip a little before we pulled away. As I had told her, it wasn't far, but it was uphill and it might be tricky if the snow kept up for long. She was still shivering and her teeth were chattering. I needed to get her somewhere warm pretty quickly.

It's quite a steep hill up to the three cottages Linda and I had knocked into one substantial house, and the wheels were spinning quite a bit by the time I reached our driveway, but I couldn't risk the speed I needed with visibility so poor. I turned in and stopped at the side of the house. I'd have to put the car away smartish, but that could wait a minute or two.

Come on, I said, opening the door on my side. Mrs Wallace or Mrs Gupta will look after you.

She climbed out her side and followed me round the corner to the back door. I held the door and she went ahead of me into the warmth of the house. I ushered her ahead of me, through the conservatory into the substantial country house kitchen, where Mrs Wallace was mixing something in a bowl on the table.

This young lady was huddled in a corner of the bus shelter, I explained to her. I brought her back here because she can't stay all night in this weather where she was. And she claims to have nowhere to go. I don't even know her name.

Ann, the girl or young woman said.

Can you see to her while I put the car away? I said. I know you're busy and it isn't really your job but ...

Well you're soaked through, she remarked to Ann, her accent noticeably Scottish. To me she added, Get me a towel from the airing cupboard and she needs slippers and a dressing gown. She turned back to Ann and added, You'd better take off that coat and stand by the AGA

Mrs Wallace took charge but seemed to expect me to fetch a towel, so I went out into the hall and upstairs. There was several clean bath towels in the airing cupboard so l took one and went into our ... my ... bedroom. I picked up Linda's bathrobe and looked at it: I didn't like the idea of giving Linda's possessions away, but I suppose there was no reason why Linda's things shouldn't be put to use. After all, her mother and I had let them take her heart and her kidneys so why not put her belongings to good use?

I took the towel, a bath robe and a pair of her slippers downstairs to our housekeeper feeling empty again. Mrs Wallace was a relatively new acquisition, necessary now after Linda's accident, but proving a kindly soul. She had a Scottish accent as I said before, but I'd say it must be one picked up from her parents or perhaps she had moved when she was young, because the accent was not a strong one.

I went back into the kitchen. Ann had taken off the inadequate coat, her shoes and her stockings. She stood, still looking rather bedraggled, in bare feet, in front of the stove, sipping a drink.

You best leave us a while, Mrs Wallace said, taking the towel. I laid the dressing gown and slippers on the edge of the table as she continued, She's wet through to the blouse and skirt. We're going to have to almost strip her to dry her properly. Then she added to Ann, You don't want to undress in front a stranger, even Mr. Hammond.

I'll have to put the car away anyway, I said, and left the two of them as I went back out into the snow to put it away in the garage, knowing as soon as I got outside that I'd have a struggle getting the garage door open: it was snowing steadily and settling!

A Bus Shelter in the Snow – Ann's Account

I'd come to hate that place and I had to get away from it! Time was running out until it was the last day The weather was foul, but it had to be that day whatever the weather. 'That place' was supposed to be a 'Children's Home' but it was more a place where children lived when they hadn't got a home. Actually it wasn't too bad when I was little. Mostly the women who looked after us back then were caring and kind enough, but it isn't the same as being part of a family and loved by a mother. I imagine life is still okay-ish for the young ones, though being without a mum, or any family at all, is pretty lonely sometimes. Partly I made up for it by trying to be a mother or a sister to the little ones, and it did help me a bit, though whether it helped them I'm not sure. Sylvia, my one real friend in the home, was a few years younger than me.

I don't remember anything about my own mother, though I must have had one, of course. One of the many house mothers that came and went over the years told me when I was about eight that my mother had died when I was a year and a bit old and that there hadn't seemed to be any family to step in at the time, and there didn't appear to be any to contact at that time either. Anyway, I was about eleven or twelve before the real trouble started.

Some of the older girls got presents like cigarettes and alcohol from blokes in exchange for what they called 'favours'. Some of the girls even said sex was really nice, but I was never sure how much of the talk was genuine and how much was just bravado. As I got older and was allowed out or sneaked out I was offered presents like the others but I didn't like smoking and I didn't drink much alcohol because I don't like hangovers. I suppose I sound a bit of a prude but I don't think I am really. I even went with boys once or twice but that wasn't anything like they said. Then the trouble started.

There was this fat bloke everyone referred to as Gus; Gus Baker I think he was. I know he was not one of the staff and not part of Social Services either as far as I know, but he came quite often and seemed to have the run of the place. He was always a bit too friendly, patting my bum and and things, and several times he went much further. Like, one day, when I was fifteen he came into my room when nobody else was around. He cornered me and started kissing me and forcing himself on me much more than that. After that he came a quite a few times and wanted to do the same thing. You can guess I didn't like it, but I kept thinking that I could go somewhere a long way off in a few months, when I was sixteen. Why didn't I complain to someone at the time or even mention it to anyone but Sylvia? I'd learnt by then that no one takes notice of a kid with no parents. On your own you're just a non-entity.

Just after Christmas, when I got near to sixteen, my housemother called me in to discuss what I should do after my birthday. There was a Social Worker there, looking very pleased with herself.

We were discussing your immediate future, my housemother said. Miss Cousins from the Council Social Welfare Department has the ideal solution for you,

Interesting of course, but one thing a Children's Home teaches you is to be generally rather sceptical and cautious, so I waited.

Yes, the Social Worker enthusiastically – presumably this was Miss Cousins, but I'd never seen her before. "There is a flat above Councillor Baker's Chicken Takeaway he's prepared to rent cheap and the Council will pay until you get an income. That seems an ideal place, and with a responsible adult keeping an eye on you.

Is that the one everybody calls Gus? I asked.

That's right, my housemother said, Though I believe Gus is just a nickname. At any rate a week or so and you can move into the flat and he'll be responsible for you.

Oh I said. And what about finishing at school. It's my exams in May this year?

I think you'll have to start work. There's a job at the Takeaway, but the Council will pay night school fees for you.

My life wasn't all that good to start with and school was one of the few good bits, but suddenly it was all taking a turn for the worse. For one thing I had a pretty good idea of what Gus Baker was planning for me and I had no intention of being available for anything like that, but I felt it wiser to keep my opinions to myself. After all, I had no proof of anything and who would take the word of an orphan against that of a Councillor? My best bet was to disappear quietly, so I said something non-committal and started looking for alternatives.

My sixteenth birthday was only a couple of weeks away and the event was getting closer. I still hadn't arranged anything, but I got together what bit of cash I had and the day before my birthday I stuffed a few clothes and things into a bag, said 'Goodbye' to Sylvia and promised to write. With that I took off to the railway station. I didn't know where I was going but when I found I hadn't the fare to London I picked York. I'd been there once on a trip from the home, walking round the walls and visiting the museum and the minster. I didn't actually know anybody in York but at least I'd heard of it.

It was a miserable day and raining and I felt miserable too, but I wasn't going back to fat Gus. I changed trains at Doncaster and it only took another half hour more to York. I got wet waiting on Doncaster station while York station was big, covered and dry but it was just as cold and cheerless. I didn't consciously decide that the idea of a city wasn't so enticing. I only had a ticket to York but I saw there was a train to Harrogate leaving in a few minutes Now I don't know why I thought Harrogate be better but events showed that what seemed a random thought might not have been. In fact, it probably wasn't. I saw I could get on the Harrogate train without going through any barriers, so I did. Travelling without paying I should have been thrown off the train, but nobody asked me for a ticket so I got as far as Harrogate.

Harrogate was cold when I left the station, there was sleet driven on a nasty wind, and I was hungry, so I went into the bus station cafe and had egg, chips and beans and a cup of tea. I was feeling a little less miserable once I'd eaten but it was a heartless day and I had nowhere to go. People were all wrapped up and rushing about their business, with no time for me. I considered the police, but they'd have just sent me back to the home. I think I may have had some idea that in a smaller town or a big village folk might have more time for me. Anyway, I looked at the buses in the bus station but most of the place names meant nothing. As it happens I chose the only one where things could turn out well, though it didn't seem like that at first.

The bus was going to Pateley Bridge, wherever that was – of course I know now, but first seeing the place name all those years ago brought back what seemed to be memories. On the other hand, at the time I didn't know the area at all. I got on the bus and heard a man in front of me ask the conductor for 'the stop before Dacre village square'. I thought about asking him for help, but I didn't like look of him, so I just asked for Dacre village square, thinking I'd get off the stop after this bloke. At least I'd know where I was! There weren't many passengers to start with and soon the bus was nearly empty. By the time we were going down a long steep hill it was snowing hard and when this bloke got off, I got off at the next stop. I stood in the village square in the snow and watched bus trundle off into the last of the fading light. It was pretty near dark and cold as well as snowing. The only shelter was the bus shelter so I huddled into a corner, out of the wind feeling like this was really the end of the road. By morning I'd be dead.

I was thinking about whether being dead would be better than living with Fat Gus, which it probably would be, when this car pulled up. A bloke got out holding something and almost ran just out of sight. He came back a moment later empty handed. Maybe he'd been posting a letter or something, but it was an odd time of day for that sort of thing. I was wondering whether to approach him when something passed and he must have seen me in the headlights 'cos he came over.

You all right? he asked. I felt that was a bloody stupid question – here I was cold and wet in a bus shelter in the snow. I shook my head.

You know the last bus has gone, he said.

I should, I thought, I was on the bloody thing, but I just said I know.

He said I couldn't spend the night where I was, which was true, but when he asked me where home was I realised then that I didn't have a home at all. I wasn't going back to fat Gus and in the morning I'd be homeless. I told him I hadn't got one, which seemed to surprise and puzzle him. He said he didn't live far away and that I'd better come back with him and 'sort it out'.

I know all about the risks of a girl getting into a car with a strange man, but the choice was take a risk or freeze to death, so I got into the car. In the inside light I could see he was about thirty or so, quite tall and thin and rather sad looking. He looked a better bet than fat Gus, anyway, and he didn't look dangerous or anything. I had a real struggle with my seat belt because my hands were so cold, but he helped and then we drove off. It can't have been much more than five minutes before we stopped alongside a stone built building. He held the door and I went ahead of him into a big kitchen.

The first thing I noticed was the warmth: I was still shivering. A middle aged woman was mixing something in a bowl on the table. There was a rack thing for drying clothes hanging from the ceiling and door at the far end was open, so I could see a dining table set for tea and a high chair. This looked like a real home.

This young lady was huddled in a corner of the bus shelter, the bloke explained to her. I brought her back here because she can't stay there all night there in this weather. And she claims to have nowhere to go. I don't even know her name.

That's 'cos you never asked me I thought, but I just said, Ann Lieseaux.

In the better light I could see he was, like I'd thought, about thirty or a bit older. The woman looked too old to be his wife, and wondered whether she be his mother, except he referred to her as Mrs something or other, not mum. Then he said to her, I know you're busy and it isn't really your job to sort her out, but I'd better put the car away.

Well, Ann you're soaked through, she remarked to me in a Scottish accent and added, to the bloke Get me a towel from the airing cupboard and she needs slippers and a dressing gown. As he went off like she told him she turned back to me and continued, I'm Mrs Wallace the housekeeper and you'd better take off that coat and stand by the AGA.

Who's the bloke? I asked, taking off my raincoat. My thick cardigan was soaked too, so I took that off as well.

The gentleman is Christopher Hammond, Mrs Wallace replied, taking my coat and cardigan and hanging them up on the rack. He's a writer and this is his house. Will you have a warm drink. Hot chocolate maybe.

I was beginning to get warmed through and the thought of a drink was nice. Yes please, I agreed as the door opened and Christopher – probably Chris to most people - came in carrying a towel, a bath robe and a pair of slippers.

These were Linda's, he said. I looked him over more carefully this time. He was moderately tall with curly hair longer than most blokes, and glasses. At least he was a huge improvement on Fat Gus and he was really nice to me. He looked as if he might be someone I could like, though I wasn't sure I would be around him long.

You'd best leave us a while, Mrs Wallace said, taking the towel. He laid the dressing gown and slippers on the edge of the table as she continued, She's wet through to the blouse and skirt. We're going to have to almost strip her to dry her properly. Then she added to me, You don't want to undress in front a stranger, even Mr. Hammond.

I'll have to put the car away anyway, he said, left the two of us in the kitchen and went back out into the snow.

Chapter 2

Judith, Olivia and Linda's Mother – Chris's Account

When I'd put car away in the garage I switched on the little heater. It doesn't do a lot to heat the place, but it keeps it from actually freezing in cold weather. I switched out the light, closed the garage doors and headed back to the house, but wasn't sure whether or not Ann was respectable yet, so I played safe: I went back into the house through the conservatory, but I unlocked the door leading into my study and went through there into the long living room. Judith was sitting amongst scattered toys, like some building bricks, a teddy bear and a doll, reading, or at least looking at, a picture story book, while Olivia was just sitting there trying to balance one brick on another. Judith saw me, almost threw down the book and yelled Daddy! She jumped up and ran to me.

Judith is four and old enough to have more than a vague idea of what was going on, and saw the accident as well, which must have been traumatic. Olivia not quite two and couldn't understand why her mother was no longer there. I picked both of them up, but they're getting too heavy to hold for long. Where's nanny? I asked.

"She wented to