Free The Accidental Time Traveller by Janis Mackay Page B

was an even better aim than Dad. It occurred to me, seeing her running around, scooping up snow and hurling her snowballs through the air, that she was a tomboy. And maybe in 1812 it wasn’t so easy for a girl to be tomboy? Maybe me and Agatha could stay pals and she could stay in the future for ever? She was better fun than Robbie and Will (Robbie, who at this very moment would be skating like a pro with a hot-dog in his hand in Edinburgh’s Winter Wonderland…).
    I tried not to think about Winter Wonderland. After we’d pelted each other with snow for ages, Agatha suddenly shouted out, “Let us make a snowman!”
    Dad was in the middle of brushing snow off his jacket. He glanced up at Agatha, looking a bit bewildered that voiceless Randolph had suddenly recovered. “Let us make a snowman!” I yelled, trying to sound just like Agatha.
    Dad scratched his head and looked from me to Agatha. Then he grinned and joined in. “Yeah, let us make a snowman!”
    And that’s what we did. Dad rolled the biggest bit for the body. I patted it smooth and Agatha rolled up the head. She lifted the round white ball and plonked it down on top of the body. Then we all ran around finding branches for arms, and pebbles for eyes, and I ran into the kitchen and found a carrot for a nose. Agatha carved lips into the face, and ran her fingers across the top of the head, giving the snowman hair. It was a great snowman. Agatha couldn’t keep a huge smile off her face.
    When we eventually went inside Dad made everyone hot chocolate, then, without warning, he picked up the remote control and flicked on the TV. Suddenly men were running across a football pitch chasing a ball and the crowd was cheering. Poor Agatha dropped her hot chocolate, screamed and turned pale.
    As I gaped at the pool of brown liquid on the carpet, I thought maybe I would have to change some bits of the essay. Children from the past, though they are quite brave, would be scared by things we are used to, things that are fast or loud. Agatha, I was learning, was very scared of modern inventions. Cars made her scream. Fizzy juice made her sneeze. TV made her panic. The phone ringing made her jump out of her skin.
    I looked from the puddle of hot chocolate, to her black-laced boots, then up to her pale face. She was still shivering with the shock of the TV and Dad, down on his hands and knees, was once again cleaning up after her. Agatha, her teeth chattering, couldn’t peel her eyes away from the screen. I found the remote control and switched it off. She slumped back and seemed to relax after that. Then seeing my dad on his hands and knees she gasped, jumped up and helped him. So did I, mumbling how poor Randolph was not himself, tonsils and all that.
    After the TV fiasco I took Agatha to my room and set about explaining life in the twenty-first century to her. I showed her the radiator, which, although it was painted white, was hot like a fire. She touched it, yelped and jumped backwards. I laughed and so did she. That’s something I liked about her. She had a good sense of humour. I showed her my phone and flicked through photos, mostly of me, Robbie and Will making silly faces.
    She looked discombobulated (I like that word). I told her so, thinking I would impress her. She just nodded and said if I was transported 200 years would not I also be feeling discombobulated? She peered at the phone, scratched her head and said, “But how does this work?”
    “It’s simple,” I said, “you just click this button.”
    She shook her head. “No, Saul. But how does this little contraption make these likenesses?”
    “Well… umm…” my voice trailed off. “It’s chips,” I answered, lamely.
    She looked confused. “Chips?”
    I shrugged. “It’s like your dad’s time travel. It’s a mystery.”
    She touched the screen and winced. “It isna really you. It is like someone painted your likeness. And it has a bleak feel.”
    “It’s called technology,” I said,