I got up to go to the bathroom, which I instinctively knewwas through the door opposite my bedroom. I paused to examine the chest ofdrawers as I passed. It contained various male grooming items, some familyphotos, a digital radio, and one or two ornaments. None of these things reallytold me anything new.
It was interesting that I knew my way around the house.There was a definite familiarity about my immediate surroundings. Just as withmy wider knowledge of the world, I had the broad knowledge of the structure butnot the detail.
It was as if I’d put together all four sides of a jigsawpuzzle, but none of the pieces in the middle. I knew where the bathroom,kitchen and living room were, but as far as my memory was concerned, they wereempty rooms, devoid of memories.
I still felt as rough as anything as I looked at myself inthe bathroom mirror, but nowhere near as bad as I had in the hospital mirror afew days ago. It looked like I had gone downhill pretty fast between Christmasand New Year.
At least my death had been mercifully swift. I really hopedthat my travelling backwards through time was a permanent arrangement. Icertainly wouldn’t want to have to face the misery of that last week overagain. I shuddered at the thought – to say it had not been pleasant would havebeen an understatement.
I managed to go to the toilet, wash my face and brush myteeth, but as I rinsed, a horrible, hacking cough began, leaving me bent overalmost double in pain. I felt as if I was coughing up what was left of myrotten lungs, and it brought my daughter running to the room in concern.
Fortunately, the attack soon passed, and with her help I wasable to dress and go downstairs to enjoy what was left of the day before whatseemed an unavoidable journey to the hospital. Whatever else I might have thepower to change, at this stage of my life my fate was sealed.
When I awoke the next day it was a relief to wake up onceagain back in my own bed at home. As I had predicted, by Boxing Day evening Ihad found myself in the hospital, after an agonising afternoon of pain whicheven the ministrations of a visiting Macmillan nurse had been unable torelieve.
From the information I had gathered from Stacey, I waspretty sure that from now on things ought to get better. I had not had to stayin hospital before Christmas, and despite having been confined at home for thepast month, the pain management given to me had enabled me to live asemi-normal life.
The time I had at home now would give me the opportunity toplan for my future, all of which seemed destined to take place in the past.
I spent Christmas Day in the company of Stacey and herboyfriend, David. It was clear from the start that she had gone out of her wayto make this day as special for me as possible. There was no denying theelephant in the room, which was that we all knew this was to be my lastChristmas, but the subject was tactfully avoided.
When I woke up on Christmas morning, Stacey was sitting onthe end of the bed holding a large stocking.
“Surprise!” she said, “and Merry Christmas! I thought I’d dowhat you always used to do for me at Christmas when I was small.”
She handed me the stocking, which contained lots of littlefun presents which gave a few more clues to my past life. Amongst the itemswere a small bottle of expensive-looking brandy, a pack of golf balls that weboth knew I’d never get the chance to use, a Chocolate Orange, a satsuma, apacket of Barbecue Beef Flavour Hula Hoops, and a framed photograph of ourfamily.
It was an old photo taken on a beach, showing myself and mywife with Stacey in-between us, aged about seven, a cheeky grin on her faceshowing gaps where she’d lost a couple of baby teeth.
“What’s with the Hula Hoops?” I asked.
“Oh, Dad, you remember, we always used to do this when I waslittle.” She opened the packet and began to place them on her fingers.
The door opened and a smart-looking young man in a green,short-sleeve polo shirt and short-cropped dark hair came in. I assumed he mustbe David. He was carrying a breakfast tray adorned with tea, toast, boiled eggsand orange juice. “Breakfast’s up,” he said. “How are you doing today, Dad?” heasked.
Blimey, I thought, he’s pretty familiar calling me “Dad.”Clearly he had been around a while. He seemed pleasant enough. It wascomforting to think that my daughter seemed to be in good hands, bearing inmind she was about to become an orphan.
“As well as can be expected, David,” I replied.
“David’s going to help me cook the turkey,” said Stacey.“I’ve never cooked a Christmas dinner before. I know you always do it for me,Dad, but it’s high time I learnt to do it myself.”
“Well, OK,” I said, “but I think I should be on hand toadvise,” wondering as I said it if my general knowledge of the world wouldextend to cooking a roast dinner. I hoped so: there were enough things I wasgoing to have to learn again as it was. I wouldn’t know until we got started.
I began to feel quite excited about the day ahead, and cometo that, my life in general. My whole past was stretching out in front of me,one giant adventure with the chapters ready to be rewritten. I couldn’t believethat, forewarned with the knowledge I would surely gain of my past life, I wasdestined to act out my days exactly as I had done before.
For now, I decided to put all these thoughts to one side andenjoy my Christmas Day, reasonably secure in the knowledge that it would not bemy last, even if Stacey and David thought that it was. I was going to be ascheerful as I possibly could: I didn’t want it to be an unhappy day for them.
Stacey cooking the dinner gave me the perfect opportunity totest my level of knowledge. We
