The Pickpocket

Chapter 3 - Turn The Clock Back

I eventually fell asleep, despite my brain whirring with questions. Nearly all of them were about the pocket watch but a few were about Dad. What’s he doing here? I wondered as my eyes began to shut. And what the heck happened with that pocket watch?

 

*

 

What felt like a minute later, I was being woken up again. Dad was shaking my arm urgently.

“Jamie. Jamie. Jamie, wake up!” Dad hissed into my ear. I blinked open my eyes and stretched. Dad dodged my arm and flicked my nose.

“Jamie, this is important,” Dad continued, his tone quick and urgent. “We ain’t in normal time anymore!”

“Whaddya mean?” I asked, yawning. I sat up and realised that I’d fallen asleep in my pickpocket costume from the day before. Harsh sunlight flooded into the room and I shielded my eyes.

“I mean, Jamie, that we ain’t in the twenty-first century anymore,” Dad said, trying to keep his voice calm. His eyes were full of worry and he was shivering in the cold. I began to shiver too.

“Why isn’t the heating on?” I asked, wrapping my arms around myself. Dad mimicked me and I noticed that his jacket had been replaced by an ragged waistcoat. His dark blue jeans had also vanished, three-quarter length trousers taking their place. I frowned but my eyebrows shot back up when I realised what had happened.

“We’re in Victorian London!” I yelled, diving for the window. There was no glass and we were on the ground floor. Dad followed me, dragging me away from the curious stares of passers-by.

“That’s not the only thing,” Dad said in a low voice. “I went out, asked a few questions. The year is 1901. The same time that damn pocket watch was stuck on yesterday. I think that we might’ve gone back in time an’ I’m losin’ my voice. I guess they don’t get many Texans round here, eh?”

“What do you mean?” I was fully awake by now and on the alert. My dad looked at me sadly.

“You haven’t noticed yet, but your accent ain’t Texan anymore,” he replied. “Your accent has turned Cockney cuz you can do it. I can’t. Jamie, I think I know how to get us back to normal time. You need to-” Dad’s voice vanished but his mouth kept on moving for a few more seconds. Dad’s eyes grew wide and he clutched at his throat. I could see he was going into a panic, so…

“Cut it out,” I said, giving him a kick to the shin. Dad fell over and glared at me. I smiled sweetly. “You were telling me ‘ow we can get back. So, how?” Dad spat on his finger and started to write on the floor. Pulling a face, I knelt down to read.

“‘You need to pick everyone’s pockets until you find the pocket watch. Set it to 2014 and hopefully, we should go back. It might only work every time you brain resets itself though. As in, every time you sleep’,” I read. “Dad, are you sure about this? I’m an actor. I only act out the part of a pickpocket. I can’t do it in reality!”

Dad nodded frantically. I sighed. “Alright,” I muttered. “But if I get caught, you’re busting me out, okay?” Dad grunted and got to his feet. I followed suit. Dad lead the way to the doorway, walking with confidence. His dark brown eyes seemed to glitter in the November sun, causing several people to shy away from us. I grinned. If his eyes were glittering, mine definitely were. And I’m a lot creepier when I want to be. (Which was then.)

“‘Ello ‘ello ‘ello, what ‘ave we ‘ere?” a voice boomed. I spun around and Dad froze. An almost exact copy of Old Sam stood behind us, hands on hips and in a policeman’s uniform. I smiled nervously.

“Nuttin’ much,” I replied. “Jest me and me pa.” I may have been smiling on the outside, but on the inside I was shocked. I hadn’t known that my Cockney accent was that good, never mind the dialect!

“Where are yers goin’ then?” Old Sam-cop replied, taking a step closer. I’d never really noticed how tall Old Sam was. I noticed that now.

“I dunno,” I said nervously, my eyes getting wider as Old Sam-cop got closer. “Ask me pa.”

“Where are ye goin’, mister?” Old Sam-cop asked Dad. Dad made a slightly strangled noise and grabbed my wrist.

“Okay, I’m faking losing my voice, but my accent makes me stand out too much and the folks around here don’t trust me cuz of it,” he whispered into my ear. “What should I do, kid?!”

“I’m afraid pa ‘as lost ‘is voice,” I said loudly. Old Sam-cop turned to look at me and shoved me backwards, into the wall. All the breath left my body and I fell to the floor.

“Now, ‘ows about you tell me what you’re doin’ ‘ere, or you two gets nicked!” Old Sam-cop roared. Dad glanced at me and I rolled my eyes.

“Alright, pal, I’ll tell you what we’re doin’,” Dad hissed, twisting Old Sam-cop’s arm behind his back and pressing him into another wall. “We’re gettin’ outta here and you ain’t stoppin’ us. Got it?” Old Sam made a growling noise and his arm flew back. Dad slammed into the wall next to me.

“Now we’re both toast,” I muttered, elbowing Dad in the ribs. He gasped and made a choking noise.

“S...s…sorry…ki…kid…kiddo…” Dad gasped. I elbowed him again.

 

*

 

“I’m takin’ you two to a ‘friend’ of mine,” Old Sam-cop said, leering at us through the cell bars. Dad ignored him and I spat in Old Sam-cop’s face. He recoiled and jabbed me in the ribs with his truncheon. I groaned in pain.

“C’mon,” Old Sam-cop continued, wiping my spit from his face. He dragged us from the cells, holding my ear and Dad’s collar. Dad made a funny noise and I twisted my head to look at him. He was limping and didn’t seem to be able to breathe properly. I frowned and hissed in pain as my ear was twisted.

“Dad, you okay?” I asked. He nodded and tried a weak smile. Old Sam-cop growled at me to ‘get a move on’ so I stopped walking altogether.

“Dad, you’re injured,” I continued, “thanks to this oaf throwin’ ye against a wall. Right?” Dad nodded and pointed to my ear. I shook my head slightly and felt blood trickle down my neck. Dad raised an eyebrow and smiled. I scowled at him. Old Sam-cop yanked me forwards and I cried out in pain as my ear was almost wrenched off.

“Ow!” I yelled. Old Sam-cop turned to me, ready to cuff me around the head, but Dad moved first. Kicking Old Sam-cop’s legs out from under him and pulling me free at the same time, Dad settled into a martial arts stance. He grinned, his eyes flashing wickedly. Old Sam-cop got to his feet, pulling his truncheon from his belt. Dad reached behind him and pulled out an old-fashioned revolver. I opened my mouth to speak but Dad cut me off with a single word.

“Run.”