Comfortably Numb

Chapter One - In The Flesh?

Ron was asleep when Yvonne came into the shop, his feet up on the counter. Yvonne tiptoed up to him, then banged her hands down on the counter just as he had years ago when Gary had been the proprietor. He woke, flustered.

"Yvonne! My lady and mistress! I was just... er... stocktaking," he mumbled.

Yvonne winced. "Thank you, Ron. I've now got a picture in my head of myself as your mistress, and it's not one I want to remain there, specially as I've just had my lunch. If you've finished taking stock, I have an errand for you."

"Anything for you, most noble lady," said Ron, hastily hiding a half-eaten burger under the counter.

"Skip the flattery, Ron. Time is of the essence. I want you to pick up a dress that I've ordered. I'd go myself but I have to speak to a natural therapy conference in Canary Wharf in half an hour, and I need it for tonight."

"Tonight?"

Yvonne sighed. "Sometimes, Ron, I wonder if there is any intelligence in that fat Scouse head of yours. Live 8? Big rock concert with lots of bands on?"

Ron went white. "Don't tell me you've got VIP tickets."

"Ticket, Ron, singular." She looked at Ron's hang-dog expression and sighed again. "And if you're thinking - "

"Oh, Yvonne, please. Pleeeeease. Pretty, pretty, pretty please." Before she could say anything in reply, he went on, "When have I ever asked anything of you, Yvonne?"

"About sixteen times every week. Oh, go on then. I'm allowed a plus one. Though in your case, it's more like a plus one and a half."

Ron nearly fell off his chair with excitement. "This is peaching! Absolutely peaching! Thank you so, so much, Yvonne. I am your slave for life."

Yvonne felt a surge of nausea in her throat. "Now that's a mental picture I really can't stomach." She wrote the address of the dressmaker's and the details on a piece of Nature Futura notepaper on the counter. "I'll be back here for about 3 to collect it."

"Collect what?" Ron's mind was completely focussed on hob-nobbing with the likes of Paul McCartney, Bono and Dave Gilmour.

"The dress, Ron," said Yvonne wearily, and went out.

The shop was very different to how it had been six years ago, when it had been Gary's shop, Blitz And Pieces. After Gary disappeared Yvonne had taken ownership, and after starting a new and better natural therapy company called Nature Futura, had turned it into a therapy salon where the rich and famous could be pampered at high cost. There hadn't been much point in carrying on Gary's memorabilia business, since most if not all of the stock had come through a time portal from the 1940s and the time portal had closed. This had left Ron without a job again, but Ron had begged Yvonne to let him stay on as manager of the shop. "You know, just in case he ever..." he'd said. Yvonne had taken pity on him - not for the first time - and employed him as branch manager. Fortunately it wasn't one of the larger, more important branches.

There weren't any customers that lunchtime, although some TV talent show contestant was booked to come in for a facial at 4. Ron picked up Yvonne's note and went out, locking the door behind him.

Yvonne dropped Ron off at his house, then headed back to her penthouse apartment. It had been a good evening, apart from... Ron. While she had been chatting to Roger Waters, Pink Floyd's one-time and returning bass player, who cared about many of the same issues that she did and she found to be very much a kindred spirit, Ron had cornered Nick Mason, the Floyd's drummer, and was regaling him with his "knowledge" of cars. Nick had nodded politely, smiled and even laughed at Ron's "jokes", but when she caught his glance, it said "Rescue me, please!" While stopped at some lights she rummaged in her bag for her personal phone and couldn't find it. "Damn, I must have left it at the shop when I picked up the dress." So she made a detour to Whitechapel.

Sergeant Commissionaire Reg Deadman was feeling melon - mela - sad. He didn't know why. Life was good. Home life was bliss. He had a good job. He enjoyed his conversations with the residents, especially Gary and Phoebe, and Noel Coward. But... he missed something. Something from the old days, when he'd been a copper on the beat, round the East End. He'd liked his uniform and the authority it had given him. So now, six years after the war ended, whenever he felt mellun - melchior - sad, he liked to wander down Duckett's Passage, just like the old days.

A voice shouted to him from the end of the alley. "Oi! Get out o' here! UXB!"

"I'm an ex-police officer," replied Reg huffily.

"No, UXB! Unexploded bomb, you daft apeth!"

"Unexploded wha - ?"

There was a huge explosion and Reg was blown into the air. He landed on the cobbles and his head cracked against them. Blood poured from the wound. In a daze, he looked around for something to press against his head, to stop the bleeding. Then he remembered his scarf. He took it off and tied it round his head. Everything was blurry.

Yvonne picked up her phone from the counter of the shop and was heading for the door when she heard... nothing. But it wasn't nothing. It was like a displacement of the air, rather than a sound. It had come from behind the shop, in the yard. Trembling slightly, she took off one of her shoes with the slender high heels and brandished it like a weapon, then unlocked the back door of the shop and went into the yard.

There was no-one there. But there was a cloud of dust, gradually settling on the ground. She moved closer. Now there was an odd thing. The dust was scattered in all directions - except one. Just before the security gates, the dust ended in a sharp straight line. She traced her fingers over the line.

The ends of her fingers disappeared.

In shock, she drew her hand back. Her fingers were fine. So she tentatively moved her hand towards the line. As it crossed the line, it disappeared. She drew her hand back again and it rematerialised. Yvonne giggled. "I wonder whether this is Gary's time portal," she said to herself. "Well, only one way to find out..." She squared her shoulders and walked forward, shutting her eyes as she expected to collide with the gates. She didn't.

Reg was still feeling woozy. For a moment he thought he saw a disembodied hand in the air in front of him. The he blinked and shook his head as a woman appeared in the darkness.

"Ooh, are you alright?" She offered a hand to help him up.

"Fine, I'm fine," said Reg, staggering to his feet with the woman's help.

"What's been going on 'ere, then?" The woman had a Northern accent. She looked to be in her late thirties maybe, and was very well dressed.

"Unexploded bomb," said Reg indistinctly. "Only now, it's more of an exploded bomb. You shouldn't be wandering around a place like this, miss, it's dangerous."

"I'm not a miss, I'm a Mrs," said the woman. "Sparrow. Baroness Sparrow, actually."

"Sparrow! I know a Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow. Lovely couple, Gary and Phoebe."

Yvonne's blood ran cold. "Did you say Gary?"

"Yes."

"Tall, skinny, looks like he's not all there half the time?"

"You know him? Are you related? Well I suppose you must be, with the same surname. Are you his sister?"

"No," Yvonne replied in an icy voice. "I'm his wife."

"Let me get this straight," said Reg. He and Yvonne were sitting in a lounge at the Ritz, sipping coffee. His head was now properly bandaged. The cut on the back of his head was quite small; the bleeding had seemed worse than it really was. "You've been married to Gary for... how long?"

"Twelve years. Though I haven't seen him for the past six."

"Since the war ended? He's been living with Phoebe in their flat in Mayfair."

"I know," said Yvonne. "I've been there."

"But I thought you said you haven't seen him."

"I haven't. You see, I - we - I mean, Gary and I - we're from..." she tailed off into silence.

"Yes?"

"Oh never mind, it's a bit complicated to explain, and you've had a bash on the head, you poor thing. Was the bomb left over from the war?"

"Yeah. There's a lot of 'em about. I reckon it'll be years before they find them all."

"Where do you live?"

"At the same place as Gary and Phoebe. I'm the Sergeant Commissionaire," he added proudly.

Yvonne smiled. "Excellent. I've got two rooms here for the night, and then in the morning we can pay a visit on Gary and Phoebe."

"'Ere," said Reg. "How did you manage to get rooms here at this time of night?"

"Didn't I tell you?" Yvonne smiled even more sweetly. "I'm a Baroness."