Second Chance Inc.

“You won’t find us on any comparison site because no one can offer what we do.”

“And what is that?”

“A second chance.”

Nicholas sighed and put down the phone. He hated telemarketers.

“Who was that, darling?”

“Insurance people.”

“Tell them to bugger off!”

“I did. Tea?”

“Please.”

Nicholas boiled the kettle.

“We do need to renew the car insurance though,” said Jemma, as she poured milk into her mug.

“When?”

“It’s up at the end of the month.”

“Fine. I’ll Gocompare or something.”

“There’s the one that does the cinema thing.”

“Good shout.”

“Ok…only…you will do it, won’t you, darling?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re not very good at remembering to do forms, are you?”

Nicholas didn’t try to deny it. He bit his lip, dunked a digestive biscuit into his tea, and returned to his book.

As Jemma predicted, Nicholas let the weeks slip by without consulting any comparison sites. It was felicitous, then, when the same salesperson phoned on the 31st, at midday. This time, Jemma answered:

“Good afternoon. Am I speaking with Miss Ward?”

“Missus.”

“My apologies –”

“Who is this?”

“I am calling from Second Chance Insurance, madam. Are you in need of car insurance today?”

Jemma inhaled deeply. She didn’t need to check with Nicholas.

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Yes, I think I spoke with your husband the other week.”

“Well, to save you time, our renewal quote was £200,” she lied.

“I see. Well, if we could just take some details from you, we can see what we can do.”

She gave them.

“I’ll just be a moment, madam.”

Three moments passed (as Jemma counted them).

“I don’t think we can match £200. That does seem very good.” Jemma thought she caught a note of incredulity in the salesman’s voice.

“I understand. Never mind, then.” She paused, deliberately.

“But I tell you what we might be able to do, Mrs Ward.”

Jemma held the phone away from her ear and waited for him to continue.

“We could offer you our platinum service for £265.”

“And what is your platinum service?”

“We protect your no claims bonus in the event of an accident, and further guarantee, in the event of an accident, that your vehicle will be returned good as new – or else, replaced.”

“So, if it’s written-off . . . ?”

“Do you have GAP insurance, Mrs Ward?”

“No, no, I don’t.”

“Well, this is like that.”

Jemma was too bored to continue the conversation. In truth, their renewal quotation had been closer to £300.

“Fine, sounds good. Can you start it today?”

“Certainly. Let me just read you the terms and conditions . . . “

“No, don’t bother. Can you email them?”

“Yes, but I do recomme–”

“Sorry, I’m in a bit of a rush.”

“I understand. If you are quite happy to go ahead, then, I will just need the long number of your card.”

She acquiesced and fetched her purse from the hall.

“Thank you, Mrs Ward. That’s all gone through. You will receive an email receipt in a few minutes. I am certain you won’t regret it.”

“Well, I always slightly resent paying car insurance. No offence, but I’ve never had an accident and it’s careful drivers who get fleeced for bad ones’ mistakes.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Mrs Ward. The problem is when these people aren’t insured themselves – who would pay out if you were, say, at the traffic lights, and a car drove right through a red light and smashed into you? You can’t do anything about these people. But we can. So you can rest, easy, now. Goodbye.”

It happened in just that way:

Two weeks later (it was a Friday), Jemma was driving back from visiting her sister. The journey was one she had made more times than she cared to count and, admittedly, she was on autopilot as she approached the lights at the top of the hill but she was certain it was green.

It was a bright January day and, as she had approached the roundabout, the winter sun turned her whole windscreen orange. Temporarily blinded, she slowed down and narrowly avoided hitting a car parked (illegally) on the side of the road – which she only saw in her wingmirror after the fact. As she wiped the bead of sweat which had formed over her left eyebrow, the road bent to the right and her vision was restored. She ascended the hill. Unusually, there were no cars in front of her, so she put her foot down on the accelerator and willed the lights to remain green for her.

The red sedan came out of nowhere.

At least, that’s what it seemed like – it had, in fact, come from Jemma’s right. The driver was speeding and hit her on the offside front edge, spinning her car round and wrapping her bonnet round the pole on the pavement. Mercifully there were no other cars in sight. Jemma’s airbag deployed. She had always wondered what it would feel like.

The pain was not immediate. Still fuelled by the adrenaline, Jemma managed to sit up, and unbuckle. The door did not want to open. As she wrestled with it, she could see the driver of the other vehicle. He was wearing a shirt and tie; he could not have been more than thirty – brown, slicked back hair and a chiselled jaw. He seemed not to be badly hurt. She caught his eye. He grimaced and, looking behind him, threw his car into gear and sped off.

She didn’t get the plate.

“A bloody hit and run – you might have been paralysed!” said Nicholas, after he had smothered her with kisses, and heard the news from the hospital staff that her wounds were not life threatening: breaks and cuts only.

“I’m so sorry about the car.”

“Don’t be silly. Not your fault. Cars can be replaced. You can’t.”

Jemma knew Nicholas was putting a brave face on it – the car was his pride and joy and he had only finished paying it off last month.

“Without knowing his details, I doubt the insurance company will pay out,” said Jemma, wincing as she tried to sit up.

“Don’t worry. We’ll sort it out later,” he said, and adjusted the pillow behind her, bending down to kiss her head. He hovered for the slightest of moments and Jemma could sense the disappointment in his eyes which he was trying to hide.

“We do need to report it sooner than later, though,” said Nicholas. “Want me to?”

“No – I’d better do it. Might just close my eyes first for a few.”

When she woke and checked her phone, she saw she had a missed call from an unknown number and a voicemail. It was a soft, female voice with a Welsh accent:

“Mrs Ward. This is Jessica from Second Chance Insurance. I was sorry to hear of your accident. Please call us back and we can go through the details. I am certain we can help. Do take care of yourself. In case you need our number, it’s –”

“Did you ring them?”

“Who?”

“The insurance company. They just left me a voicemail.”

“Oh? No. That’s odd. How could they –?”

Before Nicholas could finish the sentence, he heard a cough from outside the curtain that had been pulled around them.

“Yes?”

The curtain was opened and a small man in a blue, double-breasted, pinstripe suit poked his head through.

“Excuse me, Mr and Mrs Ward? I’m Douglas. From Second Chance.”

He extended his hand. Nicholas took it, automatically.

“What are you doing here? How did you –?” said Jemma. Her tone was defensive, almost accusatory.

“I’m very sorry to have startled you, Mrs Ward. It’s just that, time is of the essence, as you might say. I’ve come to explain exactly what it is that we do.”

If it hadn’t been for the cocktail of drugs she was on, the wry smile on Douglas’ lips, and the calming presence of her husband, Jemma might have lunged at him and demanded to know what he meant. As it was, Nicholas turned and said:

“I beg your pardon?”

Douglas took a step forward. He did not seem threatening. In fact, he seemed a little nervous.

“The truth of the matter is, Mr and Mrs Ward . . . Second Chance is no ordinary insurance firm. We are not in the business of merely compensating our clients. We want them to live as if they had never had an accident.”

“It sounds like a lot of preamble for a settlement figure, of which I expect you take a cut,” said Nicholas, and sniffed. He disliked dishonest salesmen. He wished he had sorted the insurance out before Jemma had talked on the phone to them. He didn’t like the pinstripe suit, or the patent leather shoes Douglas was wearing. They seemed almost anachronistic.

“Oh, no – I’m afraid you quite misunderstand me. In fact, if it were money you were after, I’m afraid we don’t have any. We’re not in this business for the money. We just want to help people out who – well, who deserve it.”

Jemma tried to ease the pain in her back by shifting. Nicholas saw her grimace and snapped at Douglas:

“Look, can’t you see my wife is in pain? Just spit it out, will you, or else, clear off.”

Douglas cleared his throat and adopted a crisper tone.

“Very well. To come to the point then. We have the technology to undo your accident.”

“Come again?”

“To put it simply: we are time travellers. We investigate collisions or accidents where the injured party was innocent and offer our services. The historical record is a little incomplete, though, which is why we need you to fill in some details for us. Then, we go back, and make sure the accident never happens.”

Neither Jemma nor Nicholas knew quite what to say, so she laughed. Douglas joined in.

“I know, it sounds preposterous, believe me – ”

“We don’t,” said Nicholas, cutting him off, and taking Douglas by his left elbow.

“Please, Mr Ward; I assure you, I am neither mad, nor evil. I’m simply here to collect some more information and then, assuming you agree to the procedure, you will never hear from me again.”

“Nicholas, let him stay,” said Jemma. She hadn’t wanted to tell Nicholas, but the pain had been getting worse.

“I suppose a demonstration is out of the question?”

“I’m afraid so, Mr Ward. As I said, I only collect data. My Chronosphere is only a temporal shield. It’s my superiors who would be doing the time travel.”

“Your what?”

“Chronosphere. It’s the technology that enables time travel.” Nicholas released Douglas’ elbow and Douglas reached into the right, inside, pocket of jacket and brought out a small, white, egg-shaped device.

“Well, seeing as you’ve come equipped with a prop I suppose we might as well play along,” said Nicholas.

Silence.

“Mrs Ward, perhaps you would be so good as to tell me precisely what happened, at what time, and any other details you might remember? Take your time.”

Jemma closed her eyes and recounted as much as she could, as Douglas eagerly scribbled everything down in a small notebook he produced from the other inside pocket.

“Thank you. I think that’s about it. Assuming everything is in order, you shan’t see me again.

He made a bow and disappeared behind the curtain.

*

In the distance, Jemma could see the green light. It had been a narrow miss with the parked car and her heart was still racing. She accelerated and made it through the junction just as the lights changed. There was no one coming from the other direction anyway. Still, she probably shouldn’t take any more risks with the winter sun. She didn’t want to have any faff with claiming on the insurance, did she? She reduced her speed and turned up the volume on the radio.