STALKER

Chapter 28 - 21st July 1997 London

Monday came around quickly. The temperature had dropped even more and as warm as my bed was I felt I needed a distraction from my thoughts. Weirdo finding out about granddad and offering to rid me of him, had kept me awake half the night. So I brought forward my shopping trip. Normally, shopping is high on my list of things I avoid. It's up there with church, dentists, and class reunions. However, my attitude has changed of late, considering I can now go back and buy a Van Gogh from the man himself; or jump a little further back and rub shoulders with Da Vinci and collect his doodles for a few ducats.

I checked the weather for my destination and it was at least warmer than home. I packed my satchel, maps and details of my destination; my phone; wallet with date-appropriate currency, cigarettes, and my pocket diary.

My clothes didn't need to be anything special this time, so I wore a white cable jumper, black jeans, and runners. The runners might stand out but they are nothing obvious. It was an outfit that covers a few decades safely. I stood in front of the mirror to add the final touch and this was purely because at heart I'm a nerd. I couldn't help buying it when I saw it on one of my searches. I pulled it out of its packaging and wrapped it around my neck. The familiar, original I might add, yellow and cranberry colours were totally unfashionable but fuck it, I'm a big fan.

I checked the time 10 am.

I lit a cigarette and took a drag. Then I was off.

Next second I arrived in 1997, 4 pm on 21st July, and exhaled a perfect 2022 smoke ring, which amused me no end. It was a clear afternoon and a chilly 15 degrees according to old weather records; a Summers day in London.

I was standing in front of The Baytree Book Shop, Waterlooville. To be honest I was more nervous than when I bought the Rolex. This purchase was personal, a part of my childhood, with the bonus of making me a lot of money. I'm a grown man but I felt I was going to hyperventilate with excitement. There was zero danger of any kind involved in this jump, nothing epic, but still, the kid in me was jumping up and down and pushing me through the door.

I looked at the storefront and it was exactly like the few photos I found of it on the internet, white letters on a green background. I walked in. I have no idea why I tried to look casual as I walked up and down the aisles. It wasn't as if anyone could imagine the real reason I was there.

Glancing in the second-hand section I saw something interesting and made a note to go back and check it out properly once I had my treasure in my hands. I turned up the last aisle and saw the section for New Releases. I walked over and I think I was practically drooling. There in front of me were three brand new, perfect 1st editions of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. Three of only 200 that went to bookshops from the very first print. I died and went to heaven.

I grabbed two. One I would sell and one I would keep. Can you tell I'm a BIG fan? My brothers and I read all the Harry Potter books until they were ragged and pages fell out. I was a terrible kid and tortured my books, especially the ones I loved the most. I'd chewed on the corners, and broke the spines, a librarians nightmare. I remember Adam my eldest brother reading this book to me when I was about 5 or 6. As I said this is a very personal purchase.

I went back and stood for a while in one of the aisles. I was waiting for something, not sure if I had the timing right. While doing my research I found a news article about the sale of a 1st Edition of this book. The chap who was selling it told the story of how his father had heard a radio announcer, while  he was driving home from work, talking about a popular new children's book about a young boy called Harry Potter. He'd rushed to this very shop and bought a copy to take home to his son, whose name was Harry Potter. The story tickled my fancy and I wanted to see it for myself.

While I waited I went back to the Second-Hand books. I picked out a small volume from the poetry shelf...The Poems of Mallarmé. It was cheap and I could afford it as well as the other two. I browsed a little more but it looked like I wasn't in luck when it came to watching the "Dad Story" live. I went to the counter, I couldn't stop smiling and stroking my Hogwarts scarf.   Give it a couple of years and every nerdy 12-year-old HP fan would be wearing one.

"The kids seem to like this book." The guy behind the counter mumbled as he put my purchases in a plastic bag.

"Hmmm...Harry is going to become famous. These books will be worth a small fortune." I handed over the cash. He looked at me as if I was a little touched.

"If you say so." He handed me the bag.

I headed for the door clutching my plastic bag, nothing could wipe the smile from my face. Once outside I looked around for somewhere quiet to jump. I heard a car drive into the car park, and stop in front of the shop. The next minute a chap jumps out. He was walking/running towards the book store. It must have been "The Dad". He flung the door open and I saw him disappear inside.  If he only knew the consequences of his buying that little book.  My day couldn't get any better. I went around the corner where no one was around...HOME.

.....

The jump took an instant and although my legs were shaky and I was a little breathless, my body was becoming used to the side effects and they weren't as debilitating as before. I checked my phone. It was still beyond me how time hadn't moved on. It was still 10 am and I had the whole day ahead of me. If it wasn't for the plastic bag in my hand there would be nothing to show where I had been.

I pulled out my laptop and did a final check of the books, that they had all the required details that identified them as a 1st edition. Opening the books I looked at the first edition number line... check. Then page 53, 1 wand.....check.

I went upstairs to the main bedroom and opened the panel. It still irks me every time I do it but I grit my teeth and get on with it. I put the books inside and closed the panel. I'll contact Christie's tomorrow and hopefully one in mint condition 1st edition will get me $200,000, if I'm lucky, possibly more. With that sort of money I can do all the things I need to do, pay bills, actually have food in the house, furnish the bedroom; God damn it I'd buy a heater for every bloody room in the house, so I don't freeze my arse off anymore.  I can't wait.

Back downstairs my stomach is growling, I'm starving and there's nothing much to eat. Even though I have a small fortune locked away upstairs I'm still currently dirt poor. The Rolex goes up for auction next week and then I'll have some cash. For the time being there's only one thing to do...go home and let mum feed me.   

I went to my room before I headed out. I took off the scarf and grab my coat and beanie.   I pocketed the book of poetry, which I had only glanced at in the bookshop.  The impulse buy was because of a random memory that had popped into my head.  I recalled Martin mocking John for reading poetry and I thought it might make a nice birthday present.

Note.  The bit in the story about the chap buying the book for his son is true.  Obviously embellished to fit into my chapter but still...it is based on truth.  The book ended up being sold for $38,000 it cost 11 pounds originally.