Random 12

By his own measure, Alf had only been away from the city a couple of years. A good while, certainly, especially given what he'd been through in that time, but not enough to prepare him for all that had changed in his absence. The mothership -- he thought of it that way now, despite the lack of any real blood connection -- had travelled far and wide, and Alf's true home, London, had aged much faster than he. Stepping out of a spacefaring black taxi into the Kensington High Street of 1986 came as something of a shock.

Alf had never been further west than Cleveland Street in his own time -- and that for purposes better not discussed -- but he was reasonably certain the Royal Boroughs had been nothing like this back then. His own attire, which had seemed indecent when his hosts presented it to him -- why, he wasn't even wearing a hat! -- was as nothing to the garb of the harlots and cutpurses who swarmed the place without let or hindrance; and though he had learned, somewhat, to get by in alien environments -- to be self-sufficient -- he couldn't help but wish his old companions were by his side in the face of such bewildering depravity. Fred, though, was long gone, having returned, just a few months ago, to the England of 1948; while Jack and Alfred would, most likely, not see their planet again in his lifetime. Alf understood clear enough that he was quite alone.

"Oi, grandad! Nice outfit. Did you knit it yourself?"

The girl's accent was familiar, not unlike the Limehouse prostitutes he'd known, but distorted somehow, off-key, as if she were acting a part she didn't really know. An affectation.

"Don't be foolish, lass. Have some respect for your elders and betters. What are you, seventeen?"

"Ha ha! You talk as old-fashioned as you dress. Been asleep the past hundred years or something?"

No woman had ever spoken to him like this. Her observation caught him off-guard.

"Something like that, girl. Something like that."

"Well, it's a fucked-up look, but it works okay. Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"Takes something to stand out in this crowd."

"I'd imagine so. Why are you wearing so much black?"

"I'm in mourning for my life."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Have you suffered a recent loss?"

The girl rolled her kohl-rimmed eyes.

"It's a line from a play. Don't you know it? It's famous."

"I'm afraid I'm a bit out of touch with the music hall."

"Music hall? You do talk funny. The Good Old Days and all that? The boy I love is up in the gallery? You've never seen a bloomin' family so stuck up before?"

Alf had seen Marie Lloyd at the Hackney Empire not so long ago, but found himself completely out of his depth now. Having nothing to say, he remained silent.

"Not that kind of play. Serious, you know? Russian." She was trying for harshness, but, faced with his blank expression, she softened. "Tell the truth, I've never seen it either. I just pretend, sometimes. What's your name?"

"Alfred. Alf."

"Yeah, that goes with the look right enough." She grinned and extended a hand gloved in delicate black lace. "I'm Aggie. Pleased to meet you."

They shook.

"Welcome to 1986."
Posted by matt at October 13, 2005 11:08 PM