Flights of Fancy

'Hello, Mark.' She giggled self-consciously as she took a step back and looked at him, Mark suddenly realising that she had probably never seen a man in his state of undress.

'How did you get here?' He asked, 'Is your grandfather here as well?' He looked back towards the house to see if Isaac was on his way.

Beatrice gave the sweetest of laughs as she shook her head. 'No. He has been teaching me how to use the machine and I'm pretty confident now. He's having his snooze, so I thought that I would visit you and be back before he awakes.'

Mark was speechless at first, finally finding his voice. 'But how did you know the right year to come to?'

'I remembered what you told grandpapa on your first visit, plus he had also written it in his notebook. I added a few years and voila, here I am. How old are you now, Mark?'

He told her he was twenty-one. 'That is good because I am now twenty-two.'

Again, Mark was surprised; in the five years since he had discovered the time machine, Beatrice had gone from a young girl of twelve to a beautiful young woman of twenty-two.

She wafted a hand in front of her face, 'It is very warm, is it not, and I did not think to bring my parasol.'

Grabbing her hand, Mark dragged her indoors. Beatrice was both amazed and excited as she got a tour and saw how her home now looked. The first stop was the kitchen upstairs, where he grabbed a couple of cokes from the fridge and popped the tabs. 'Try that,' he said, handing her a can. She laughed at the temperature of the container before putting it to her lips and tasting the sweet cold liquid. Taking a large gulp, it made her burp, Beatrice looking surprised and unladylike for a moment.

'I love it, Mark, it's delicious.'

'Right, let's get you out of those clothes, shall we?' Beatrice looked perturbed. Mark laughed, 'Sorry. It's just the way we speak now. I mean, we will find you something else to wear.

She followed him downstairs, through the house and into the corridor, her hand running over the dado rail. 'I know this part; this is in my home.' He nodded his head, explaining that this was part of the old house. In the storage room, he rummaged through bags, items of clothing his mother no longer wore, plus the clothes his sister had left behind.

In a cupboard, he found items that had never been used looking at Beatrice as he estimated her size, before hoisting the bundle and grabbing her hand again as she followed him up to his bedroom.

Opening the package, he tried to explain, feeling embarrassed. 'This is for up here,' he said, pointing to his chest, 'and these are down here, just like my shorts. Try some of the clothes on and see what fits.'

He went to leave the room, but she stopped him. 'Perhaps you can just turn around. I'm not sure what to do with these items. Taking the bra, he showed her how to hook it in front and then twist it around and pull it into place before turning his back to her.

When she spoke next, asking him to turn around, she was dressed in a summer frock which ended just above her knees and showed her gorgeous legs. 'This is what ladies wear now?' She asked. Mark nodded and opened his wardrobe door so that she could look at herself in the mirror.

Beatrice twisted one way and then the other, finally giving a twirl as she studied her reflection. 'Do I look suitably dressed?' She asked, the words out of Mark's mouth before he realised, 'You look beautiful, Beatrice.'

His face immediately coloured. They came from contrasting times, and while his words and behaviour were acceptable in the present, it wasn't necessarily so in her time. As it was, his reward was a huge hug and then another kiss, this one embarrassingly igniting movement down below as she stepped back and looked at him shyly.

'Give me two minutes to get dressed and I'll show you around,' he promised.

For Beatrice, the short walk into town was one surprise after another, things that she had never dreamt of, appearing around every corner. Cars raced past and aircraft flew high overhead. In town, music came from shops with their doors open and the items they were selling; items that she could never have imagined. Dragging his phone from his pocket, Mark plugged in the earphones and indicated she should do the same as he placed one in his ear and played her some pop music.

It was too much for Beatrice to take in, Mark leading her towards the park where he bought them both an ice cream. Such a simple treat for him, for her, it was as though he had just showered her with diamonds. With the warmth of the day, the park was busy; several young girls in bikinis lay on towels as they sunbathed. She looked at them and then at Mark. 'Is that acceptable?' She asked.

He laughed and nodded his head. 'The world has changed quite a bit Beatrice, beyond all recognition.' As he was speaking, she noticed a young couple kissing, the people walking past, taking no notice of what they were doing. She took Mark by surprise again as she leant forward and kissed him, this time more enthralling and enthusiastic than her previous one.

When he came up for air, he kissed the tip of her nose. 'Well Trixie, we'll make a twenty-first-century woman of you yet.'

Walking through town, hand in hand, Beatrice was floating on air when a strange honking sound interrupted her thoughts, and a car pulled into the side of the road.

'Hi Mark, are you heading home? Fancy a lift?' He bent down by the car window, 'No, it's ok, mum. We are just having a stroll.'

'Are you not going to introduce me?'

'Mum, this is Beatrice, Beatrice, my mum.' The two women said hello. 'Why don't you invite Beatrice to tea? Right, I'll let you get on, see you later, Beatrice.' And with that, she was gone as the car roared away.

Mark rolled his eyes. 'Mothers! Would you like to come for tea, or dinner, as you may say, we call it our tea?'

Beatrice took a moment and then grinned as she nodded her head.

'You realise that you are going to get interrogated, so we had better get our stories straight. You live with your grandfather on the other side of town, and we met at college.' They discussed other things; she may be asked as they strolled towards his home.

As he had predicted, his mother posed question after question; most answered easily with a harmless lie or some simple fabrication. It was only when she asked what Beatrice was studying at college that Mark was stumped, he hadn't a clue if she had even received any schooling.

"The Classics," Beatrice said. 'Many of the famous poets at the moment.' And without any effort, recited a poem by Byron

Mark exhaled slowly; it was something he had never considered. He knew extraordinarily little of her life and what it may have been like for her growing up, and she knew nothing of the modern world. On the face of it, Beatrice was nearly a hundred and fifty years old. He chuckled silently, 'she looked bloody good for an old woman.'

They sat with his parents long enough to be polite before finally disappearing up to his room as Beatrice looked and touched all of the items and gadgets which were strewn around.

'It's about time I returned home, Mark.' He understood completely, as much as he enjoyed the time with her and her grandfather, with his mother, and with his sister, he was always glad to be back in his own time and with his family. Taking her clothes, he folded them neatly and placed them in a bag. 'You can change when you are home. Keep those clothes in case you want to visit again,'

'Would you like me to?' She asked shyly

This time it was Mark's turn to wrap his arms around her as they kissed. 'I promise to visit more, but anytime to want to come here, just appear like today, but be careful.'

He went up to tell his parents that he was walking Beatrice home, and then together they opened the panel and disappeared down the steps. It was only moments before she was gone, Mark coming back up to the corridor and then jumping out of the storage room window.

Hanging around, he was lost in thought, needing to stay out long enough to have walked her home. Stupidly, his life had become an impossibility; the three women he now cared about were products of another time, and while he could see and visit them, he could never have a proper relationship with them in that sense.

Several months had passed, and Mark was now dividing his time, between college and the solicitors he was working at. He was still seeing his sister in the same way as he had with his mother, advancing the days slowly. Sex with her wasn't as easy; he was nervous about chancing his arm by allowing her to use their home, but he had nowhere of his own to take her. Thankfully, when the weather was nice, she was not averse to sex outdoors and they had indulged themselves on many occasions.

With the summer over, however, that slowly started to diminish, and he was considering that the time may be ripe for him to use the same excuse that he had with his mother and tell her he had to move away. He would have liked a longer time with both of them, but they already had predestined futures, and he was scared of doing something that may change that.

For a period, the machine was forgotten, Mark concentrating on his work and studies instead of flitting through time, little knowing that a tsunami was incoming.

Growing up locally, Abigail had stayed in contact with her friends from her teenage years and tonight, as her husband was away for a couple of days, and they hadn't seen each other for nearly ten years, they were meeting up at her home for drinks and nibbles. Mark was giving her a hand when the first one arrived, Maisie being introduced to him as he poured her a drink. There was something odd about her, he was thinking, because every time he glanced in her direction, she was staring at him intently. What was even more puzzling was that when Laura arrived, she did the same, the two women whispering to each other. Mark opened the door to the last of his mother's guests. Sandra stood with a gaping mouth as she stared at him. 'Holy shit!'

For a moment, he was taken aback. 'Sorry,' she said. 'Who are you?'

Mark looked at her, puzzled. 'Mark, Abigail's son. I think the last time you saw me I was maybe twelve or thirteen. I've grown a bit since then.'

Taking her coat, he showed her through to the lounge. His mother was in the kitchen finishing bits and pieces, and the room went quiet as he entered with Sandra, all three women exchanging glances as though there was something about him that disturbed them.

And then the realisation hit him. He had got to know them all reasonably well, and they had all been the same age of eighteen. Just like his mother, they were now approaching or had reached fifty, while he must look almost identical, only three years older than when he had become part of their group for a while.

'Right, they are all here and everything is done. I'm going to disappear, enjoy yourself.'

He noticed the look from all three as he went back through the lounge and then bolted for his section of the house.

'Shit! Shit! Shit!' His mother had never noticed, and neither had his sister, and so Mark had given it no thought, but her friends it seemed, had recognised him. He had gone back into the past and intermingled with them, and although it had not been within his timeline, the three women had still recognised him after all those years.

All evening there had been whispers, Abigail noticing it eventually because they were getting drunk, and the cryptic questions were getting nearer to the bone.

It was Sandra that came to the point 'Remember that lad you went out with for a while, Abigail, what was his name?'

'Mark. Why?'

'The same name as your son? Did you ever see him again after you were married?'

'No! I've never seen him since the day he left. My god, how many years ago was that? What were we, eighteen, nineteen? Why do you ask.'

It was Maisie who jumped in. 'Because your son is the perfect likeness to Mark back then...... identical in fact...... enough to be the same person, and you gave him the same name.'

Abigail looked at the faces of her three friends, each of them confirming that they thought the same.

'You didn't have an affair with him after you married Anthony, did you? Honestly, Abby, he looks exactly as I remember him.' It was Laura, this time, confirming what each of them was thinking.

'Rubbish, he doesn't look anything like him. I'll prove it. I have an old picture somewhere.'

Abigail was a little unsteady on her feet when she got up to fetch the photo albums; all of them had been hitting the bottle regularly since they arrived.

Plonking several of them next to her, she began to leaf through them. 'No, it was before that,' she put the album to one side and picked up another. 'Here, give me a hand.'

It was Abigail that eventually found it as the girls crowded around. 'This is the one that he took of the four of us near the Cyclone ride, do you remember that? When he wasn't aware, I snapped......'

Her voice suddenly trailed off as she stared at the picture. There he was, her Mark, back then, thirty-five years ago. She struggled to breathe and despite having consumed plenty, she felt sober. She was staring at a picture of the boy she first fell in love with. Looking roughly in her direction, she could have sworn it was her son Mark.

She had tried to laugh it off, telling them she must have got the pictures mixed up, but she could tell that they didn't believe her. In a way, it soured the evening, and her little soirée broke up soon afterwards.

Alone she poured another glass of wine and studied the photograph. It was the boy she had first loved and then lost. 'What was it he had said, maybe we will meet again someday?' The face in the picture was of Mark, her son; she even recognised some of his clothes from a few years back, convinced that he still had that same t-shirt.

'That's impossible; her Mark from back then would be fifty now, Mark, her son, was twenty-one.' It was an impossibility, and yet she couldn't shake the feeling that back then, she had somehow had sex with her son.

Uncertain of what she should do, she put the photo albums to one side. It didn't make sense and simply wasn't possible; her son wasn't born until long after that. 'It must just be a coincidence.' She thought, 'They do say that everyone has a doppelganger somewhere in the world.'

The following day, things only got worse. Elizabeth had popped in and was leafing through the top photo album while her mother was in the bathroom. Coming across a picture, she waited for her return.

'How come you have a picture of Andrew?' She asked.

Abigail looked at her daughter, unsure of what she was asking. 'Who is Andrew?'

'Oh, just a lad I went out with for a while, there is a picture of him in this photo album. I didn't think you'd ever met him.'

She held the album open so that her mother could see the picture to which she was pointing. Abigail felt weak at the knees, her voice tight in her throat and the words struggling to come out.

'That's Mark, from when I was eighteen; remember me telling you about him a while back.'

'That's strange,' Elizabeth remarked, I wonder if they were twins because he is the perfect likeness to Andrew.'

It was only then that the realisation struck Elizabeth. Of course, they couldn't be twins; this person her mother had known, was four or five years before she was even born. She was now experiencing the same sickening feeling, watching as her mother fumbled with another photo album, leafing through it until she found what she wanted.

Turning it around so that her daughter could see. 'That's Mark, my son, your brother, a few years ago.' The two women stared incredulously at the picture; they were the same person. 'Years ago, when I asked if you'd had someone here one time, it was him, wasn't it, that was Andrew, or Mark or whoever he is.

Elizabeth nodded, 'He was always mysterious. He seemed to know so much about me, trivial things that I wouldn't have told anyone. When I met him, he said his name was the same as Mark's middle name, Andrew.'

Both women were shaking. 'So, to me, he was Mark; to you he was Andrew. Did you sleep with him?'

Her daughter bashfully nodded her head. 'Did you mum?' This time it was Abigail's turn to nod and turn red. 'This is ridiculous.' Elizabeth said, there is no way that either of us has slept with our Mark in the past; that's impossible, it couldn't happen; it must be a coincidence that they look similar.

'That's the point.' Abigail said, starting to get upset. 'They don't look similar; they look identical, even down to the clothes they are wearing.' Elizabeth stared at the picture; sure enough, the person in both pictures was wearing the same t-shirt.

Neither of the women could say anything; it was too outlandish, but in the run-up to Christmas that year, tensions bubbled beneath the surface.

After the new year and with his father back at work, both women summoned him to a sit down one morning. Elizabeth was there early, and the two of them had been whispering to each other before he was told to take a seat. Neither of them knew how to start the conversation, so his mother had simply produced two photographs. 'This is nineteen eighty-six, and this is twenty-twenty-one. Notice anything?'

Mark stared at the two prints; they were both pictures of him, years apart as he steeled himself for what was coming but tried to appear nonchalant.

'Would you agree that they are the same person?' His mother asked.

Before he could answer, the doorbell rang, Abigail going to answer it. She was confronted by a young woman, wearing nothing but a summer dress, one Abigail had seen previously, and frozen to the bone as her teeth chattered. 'Is Mark here?' She asked.

Ushering Beatrice inside, she took her up to the lounge. 'Mark, it's your friend and she's frozen. I'll get her a blanket.' She disappeared and returned with one, draping it around the young woman's shoulders.

'I need to speak to you, it's important.' Beatrice said, looking fearfully at the two women, unsure because it looked like she had interrupted something.

'Give me five minutes,' he said to his mother and sister, taking Beatrice by the hand and leading her to his bedroom.

She was warming up but appeared upset. What's wrong,' he asked.

Slowly and with many tears, she explained what had happened. 'My grandfather has passed away and now I am alone. There is no money, and I can't afford to keep living in the house, so I will have to move out. I've found lodgings in town, but it means I can no longer visit you and I won't be there if you try and visit me. I will hide the crystal in this room so that in the future, you will find it. So, I have come to say goodbye to you, my Mark.' Her hand went to his cheek as she caressed his face, tears streaming down her cheeks.

'Stay here,' he said, 'there are some things I need to sort out, and then I will return.'

Returning to the lounge, he took a seat. 'What is it you want to ask?'

'Is Beatrice, ok?' His mother asked, Mark, nodding his head.

'You were asking about the pictures. It looks like the same person in both.'

Have you an explanation?' His mother asked.

'Not one you are going to believe.'

Try us,' this time it was his sister.

Taking a deep breath, Mark began his story. 'Beatrice and I have a time machine, well, really, her grandfather and I have a time machine, but now, I suppose it is Beatrice and me because her grandfather has passed away.' He was rambling and both women were looking at him in disbelief.

'Many years after I found it, I managed to end up in the past and I met Beatrice and her grandfather Isaac. He taught me how to use the machine, but it was scary, so I practised, taking short jumps in time. I heard a conversation between you two, about someone you had met, mom, and decided to take a look for myself. I had no idea that something was going to happen, even when you asked me to take a picture of you and the girls. One thing led to another, and yes, we did, though if I remember rightly, you couldn't wait to get me into bed.'