I try a few painful blinks, but as my surroundings swim gradually into focus, I find there is simply too much worrying information here to process. The first piece of worrying information is that I definitely do not recognise the bed or, indeed, bedroom I am currently in. The second, more worrying piece of information is that I definitely do recognise the half-naked woman sitting next to me.
All I can manage to say is: ‘Alice …’
She wrinkles her forehead, and clambers out of bed. ‘I’ll go and get you some Nurofen. You can’t be ill today, Ben. You seriously can’t. It’ll be so embarrassing.’
She wriggles into a dressing gown and clomps out of the room.
I lie in the unfamiliar bed, in the unfamiliar room, paralysed with panic. Alice was right: I really am shivering – trembling all over – and I can’t seem to stop. I thought that by now I’d be used to it – the abrupt madness of finding myself suddenly transported to a different time and place. But this is something else. This is somewhere completely new, somewhere I’ve never been before.
I’ve only woken up next to Alice once in my entire life, and that was in her Paris flat.
This is not her Paris flat.
Which means …
I look down at my wrist to check the watch is still there. It very much is, the hands stuck in the exact same place. I reach slowly for the unfamiliar iPhone on the bedside table. I can hardly bring myself to touch the screen.
I must have imagined it. Surely.
I tap the phone tentatively with my thumb, and as the screen lights up, my stomach drops out from under me like I’ve just plunged into the first loop of a roller coaster.
The date reads: 25 December 2023.
I click the phone off and then on again. The date still reads 25 December 2023.
My heart is now beating so fast I think I might actually pass out. ‘After Christmas past comes Christmas present,’ the watch-seller told me outside the pub. But I never stopped to think about what comes after that …
On the chest of drawers opposite me, there’s another phone charging – it must be Alice’s. I run over to check the screen. The date reads: 25 December 2023.
There’s no doubt about it: I am standing in a bedroom I don’t recognise at just after 9 a.m. on Christmas morning three whole years into the future.
I drop back down onto the edge of the bed and put my head in my hands. The shock is so severe that I can’t really feel anything – my whole body is numb, and my thought process currently resembles a fish on dry land, unable to do much more than just flap pointlessly from side to side.
Is this it? Is this where I’ve finally washed up? Have I just sleepwalked through three whole years of my life and ended up here, with Alice?
I can hear her footsteps pounding back down the hallway. The bedroom door opens and she sweeps in, holding a glass of water and two small white pills.
‘God, you really don’t look good. How do you feel?’ She doesn’t bother to wait for an answer, which is probably for the best since I’m unable to give one. Instead, she presses the glass and the pills into my hands, and says, ‘Just take them, OK? I’m going to get breakfast started. They’re going to be here at half eleven.’ She snaps her fingers irritably in front of my face. ‘Ben? OK?’
‘Yeah, OK,’ I croak.
And with that, she sweeps back out of the room.
It’s still not fully light in the room, but even with the drawn curtains, I could tell how different she looks. Most obviously, her hair is much longer – the French Amélie bob she was still sporting at Marek’s wedding is long gone, and her dark blonde locks now hang down past her shoulders.
I stare at the glass of water and the pills. My head is throbbing, and I do now genuinely feel a bit sick, so I decide it’s probably a good idea to take them. As I chase them down with the lukewarm water, all that’s going through my mind is: where is Daphne? What the hell happened to land me here?
I stand up unsteadily and pull some clothes on, before venturing out into the corridor, and the not-too-distant future.
Chapter Forty-One
At first sight, 2023 doesn’t seem hugely different to 2020.
A quick glance through the upstairs window at the street below reveals a disappointing lack of hover cars, and there’s not a single jetpack to be seen either. Closer inspection of the unfamiliar phone by my bed has revealed it to be an iPhone 13 – which would be quite exciting if it wasn’t exactly the same as my old iPhone 8, albeit with a slightly shinier back.
Cars still can’t hover, people still can’t fly and Apple continues to massively rip us all off: clearly, three years is not sufficient time for the planet to undergo any genuinely seismic changes.
I creep down the stairs, which are lined with photos of Alice and people who are presumably members of Alice’s family, and as I catch another glimpse of the street outside, I realise I have absolutely no idea where I am. Am I even still in London?
I check Google Maps on my trusty iPhone 13 to find that I’m currently in Hammersmith. Only a few miles from Daff’s and my flat in Kensal Rise.
Which, surely, is no longer Daff’s and my flat …
Panic ripples through me again. Is she there now? What is she doing?
I get the sudden urge to call her, but I’m instantly distracted from this idea by the sight of my reflection in the hallway mirror. I actually have to stop myself letting out an audible gasp as I see it. If the outside world appears unchanged, the same can definitely not be said for my face.
My hair has shuffled
