The Ghosts of Christmas Past by Andy Conway

Author:Andy Conway [Conway, Andy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wallbank
Published: 2019-12-17T22:00:00+00:00

— 21 —

FRED WATCHED MRS HUDSON set off down New Street and wondered if he ought to let her loose on her own. It was a dangerous place and not the city either of them knew. He recognized almost nothing. He could make out the outline of St Philip’s dome up there, which was something you just couldn’t see from here in his time as New Street was lined with tall Victorian buildings. And up at the top of the street, the Town Hall stood guard with its Parthenon pillars. He’d attended concerts there all his life. Had Belle said it was a new building? To think of it as something new, when in his life it was the oldest building on New Street: the one constant of the city centre that had stood while all around it changed.

Mrs Hudson disappeared in the pavement crowd. She was adrift. Alone in a Birmingham she didn’t recognize. And so was he.

He pushed on up the street. Nothing for it now. The important thing was to find Belle.

On the opposite side of the street stood the portico of the Society of Artists. Yes, that was still there too in his own time. He passed a chestnut seller and got a hot blast of heat and fragrance that made his belly roar. He’d eaten nothing today. He was starving.

Only he wasn’t. There really were people here who were starving.

He came up to the top of New Street and was knocked back by the force of what was there. Or what wasn’t.

There was no Council House. Instead, there was a great ugly church squatting where Victoria Square should be, and a mean row of houses that almost touched the corner of the Town Hall and spilled out to a little square where a street lamp sat. It was a village square, nothing like the great civic square he knew, guarded by Queen Victoria’s statue.

Carol singers huddled in the cold at the steps of the church and a gaggle of boys threw snowballs.

The street sign said Ann Street. Could there ever have been a time when the Council House hadn’t stood here? He was drawn to the first shop in the row. Suffield’s Pharmacy. Coloured bottles of liquid glowing in the window. The building was topped with battlements.

He looked all around but there was no sign of Belle.

If he found her now, he would tell her how he felt. He definitely would.

The carol singers rattled a tin. He shrugged and indicated his empty pockets. Did his costume look like that of a rich gentleman? It was painfully thin and he could have done with a greatcoat, the cold was so bitter.

The mouth of the church invited him. Would she be in there? He didn’t think so, but then, he didn’t know her, not really, not at all. For all he knew she might be in there praying devoutly.

He retreated along the curve of the church wall, shops inlaid. Across the road, the mouth of Pinfold Street, dark and foreboding.

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