“Looks like she’s using all the hot water as well,” Iremarked.
“Will you go and tell her, pet, because last time I went inthere I caught her masturbating with the shower head and it’s not something Iwant to see again,” said Lily, with a disgusted look on her face.
“Don’t you ever…umm, you know?” I asked.
“Maybe I do, but if so it’s in the privacy of my own roomwhen everyone’s out,” she replied.
As she spoke, the sound of the shower shut off, sparingeither of us having to walk in on whatever Phoebe had been up to. Instead, Lilyreturned to our earlier topic of conversation.
“How are you going to get this ticket, then?” she asked.
“Piece of cake,” I said as I headed back to the bedroom,coffee in hand. I had already figured out what I was going to do and wanted toget started.
Pulling out my phone, I got straight on to the Oxford ForSale/Wanted page on Facebook where I posted this.
WANTED: New Year’s Eve ticket for Fever in Oxfordtonight. Willing to pay £100 cash. PM me for details.
There is no way I would normally have paid that sort ofmoney just to get into a nightclub, but the old restrictions no longer applied.If I was only going to be here for forty-eight hours, then money no longer hadany meaning for me. I could spend to my heart’s content. The sky was the limit.Well, five grand was about the actual limit, which was what I could run up onmy credit card.
That was a lot of spending money for two days and the beautyof it was, I’d never have to pay any of it off. As soon as I jumped back intime, the slate would be wiped clean and I could start spending all over again.Just like when I was fantasising about murdering Rob: there were noconsequences.
While I was waiting for the replies to flood in, I rang insick to work, hoping it wouldn’t be Sister Mary who answered. She would give mea right rollicking for calling in sick at New Year, even if I was dying.Technically I was, but not in a way I could explain to her.
Fortunately I got Tessa instead, so I put on my best sickperson voice and bleated pathetically into the phone as I pretended to haveflu.
She seemed to believe me, advising me to wrap up warm and goback to bed, so I thanked her and hung up. Then I turned my attention back toFacebook to discover three people had already messaged me with offers oftickets.
Two of the respondents were male and I didn’t like the lookof either of them from their profile pictures. I don’t know exactly what itwas, but they just looked dodgy, more like police mugshots than socialmedia-friendly portraits.
Trusting my gut feel, I ignored them because as soon as Isaw the third thumbnail, my eyes were drawn instinctively towards it. It was ofa girl called Kacey who looked vaguely familiar. I felt as if I knew her, but Icouldn’t remember where from to begin with.
I read through her message which described a seemingly genuineenough reason for not going out – she had been let down by her babysitter. Shelived close by, just two streets away which was a bonus. I wouldn’t have to gofar out of my way to acquire the ticket.
I looked closely at her picture again. Where did I know thatgirl from? It was bugging me so I went to have a snoop around her profile. Assoon as I enlarged her profile picture to full size, it clicked.
She was the single mother I had comforted in hospital aftertaking an overdose when her kid had been taken into care. Or rather, she wouldbe. All of that was three years from now and there was no indication in thishappy, healthy photo of the traumas that lay ahead.
That settled it – I would definitely be buying the ticketfrom her, and she would be getting more than just money for it. I needed tohave a serious talk with her. Other than fantasising about murdering myex-boyfriend I had been wondering what else I could do with my spontaneoustrips back through time. Now it seemed I had been handed a cast-iron opportunityto be a Good Samaritan.
I messaged Kacey back and arranged to call round to herplace. She sounded thrilled in her reply – and who wouldn’t be in her position?A hundred pounds would go a long way for a single mother.
Dressing quickly, I headed back into the main part of theflat.
“Nailed it,” I said triumphantly to Lily, who was stillmoping around in the kitchen, coffee cup in hand.
“How much did you pay for it?” she asked.
“Oh, enough,” I replied vaguely. I didn’t want to tell herexactly how much. She would have thought I was crazy and would want to knowwhy.
Skipping breakfast for the moment, I stopped briefly in thebathroom, thankfully now Phoebe-free, to clean my teeth and put the shower headback on its holder. I tried not to think about the likely reason it had beenleft dangling over the taps. Then I headed out, a girl on a mission.
My first stop was the cashpoint where I drew out the maximumallowed on my debit card – £500. From a financial perspective, the timing of mytrips back in time couldn’t be better. Not only had I just been paid, as it wasthe end of the month, but also my rent didn’t go out until the 3rd January. Bythat time I’d be long gone. And of course, I had the credit card, too. This alladded up to make me a woman of significant means.
I walked through Headington, along a street that had afamous house with a shark sticking out of its roof, heading for Kacey’s flat.As I strolled along I tried to work out what I was going to say to her. Icouldn’t think of any way of putting it that wouldn’t sound weird, so I wouldjust have to go for it and hope that my message would sink in.
Her flat was on the ground floor of a recently built socialhousing
