Her departure from my life was something I realised I wasgoing to have to get used to with other people in the future. Just as mytomorrows would be everybody else’s yesterdays, I’d be saying goodbye to peoplefor the last time while they were meeting me for the first time.
I hadn’t needed to ask Lauren any more about Josh, as I’dalready found out everything I needed to know from social media. Having checkedout her profile on Facebook, I was pleased to discover that it was open topublic view for all and sundry to browse, friends or not. And she certainly hada lot of friends, as well as followers: mostly male, it seemed.
It was a relatively simple task to find Josh on Lauren’s Friendslist. Before long I knew that his name was Josh Gardner; he was twenty yearsold and a second-year undergraduate at one of Oxford’s most prestigiouscolleges.
I also knew from his profile picture exactly what he lookedlike. All I needed to do now was to work out how to meet him.
By the time I had done this detective work it had been earlyJanuary, and he had gone back to his home town for the Christmas period. So Idecided to wait until mid-December when he would be back at college and thentry to work out a way to approach him.
Social media again proved very useful for this purpose. Justas with email, text messaging and Wikipedia, Facebook was a rich source ofinformation to help guide me through my life.
Josh also had an open profile, and by reading back throughhis status messages I could establish a number of places and times where hewould be. I just needed to pick the right moment. I also needed a good“convincer”.
This was a term I had seen on TV in a programme aboutconfidence tricksters. I was no conman, but I knew if I was to ensure that Joshwas to believe my story, I’d have to find some way of backing it up.
As luck would have it, a scroll back through Josh’s profilerevealed the perfect opportunity. It seemed that one Saturday in early Decemberhe had gone to the races at Cheltenham with his dad and brother.
So, I wouldn’t need to contrive a way of meeting in Oxfordafter all. It looked like I was about to pay my first of many visits to theracetrack.
I had a vague interest in racing from watching it on Channel4, mostly during that first year or so when I hadn’t felt up to leaving thehouse very often.
I got quite a kick out of knowing the results in advance,particularly when I heard the channel’s experts confidently predicting thatsuch and such a horse (usually the favourite) would win when I knew otherwise.
However, there didn’t seem to me to be much point in bettingon it. As I’d explained to Lauren, my winnings would be destined to vanish assoon as the day was out, so why bother?
But on this occasion my goal was not to win money. It was toconvince Josh that I knew the future and the race meeting was the perfectplace. Once I’d tipped him a few winners, I could broach the idea of time travelwith him and see what the response was.
If there was any possibility that he could shed any furtherlight on my situation, I had to find out. Of course there was every chance thatthis would all turn out to be a complete wild-goose chase. I could not be surethat Lauren had not made the whole thing up, but I had nothing to lose bytrying. Her story was no crazier than mine, after all.
I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to get him on his ownwith his brother and father in tow, but I would have to work that out on theday.
At least it shouldn’t be too difficult to find him. He hadbeen tagged in a picture on Facebook standing in front of the bookies, so Iknew exactly what he would be wearing in addition to what he looked like.
On the Sunday I made sure I checked the internet andmemorised the names of all the winners. I was going to have to get myself onthe road bright and early on Saturday morning.
Racing started early at this time of the year in order toget all the races in before it got dark. I wanted to make sure I was at thetrack well before the first race at 12.10pm.
Unfortunately, there was one thing I hadn’t taken intoaccount and that was that not only did I not wake up until nearly 9am onSaturday morning, I also had a hangover. These were things that I had nocontrol over, and as for the alarm clock by the side of my bed, it was about asmuch use to me as a chocolate teapot.
I had planned to get into Oxford early on Saturday morningand kit myself out with some suitable gear, perhaps a new Barbour jacket andsome tweed trousers to make me look like a member of the racing fraternity, butthere was no time for that now.
In the end, I settled for a quick shower and a shave, andthen put on an old suit that had been gathering dust in the wardrobe. The lastthing I wanted to do was turn up looking scruffy and dishevelled: that wouldn’thelp me look convincing at all.
I didn’t look too bad once I’d cleaned myself up, and apartfrom a fair bit of slow-moving traffic on the A40 heading out of Oxford, Imanaged to get to the track in plenty of time.
It was pretty busy at the course as I had expected for themain meeting on a Saturday, but there was plenty of room to move about. All Ihad to do now was to spot Josh and then work out a way to approach him.
It didn’t take too long. I had decided to base myself in thestand above the betting ring so I could watch everyone coming and going.
About five minutes before the first race, I
