Chapter 3 #3
‘You said you don’t particularly like your job or your boss. So why stay?’
I considered his words before answering.
‘It’s just been easier, to stay,’ I said carefully.
‘And my boss isn’t that bad, just a bit mad sometimes.
’ The truth was, the thought of trying to find another job while I was still in the depths of grief had felt like attempting to climb a mountain without a scrap of equipment.
But now, I could see that Nick was probably right, and that a new job should probably be next on my to-do list.
‘I don’t know. I need to get the house sorted first. I mean, I’ve been there three months and there are still boxes that need unpacking in the smallest bedroom.’
He nodded. ‘Ah yes, I know that feeling,’ he said. ‘I put off clearing out Dawn’s things for a long time. But I got it done in the end and you will too, when you’re ready.’
‘Moving was harder than I thought it would be,’ I admitted. ‘Leaving the place that Greg and I had bought together and buying this house, it’s been a lot…’
He nodded. ‘Is it nearby, where you live now?’
I nodded. ‘Just down the road, on Cherry Tree Close.’
There was a moment’s silence and when I looked round Nick had a surprised expression on his face, his skin a little flushed.
‘You live on Cherry Tree Close?’
‘I do. Why?’
‘I live there too.’
I stared at him. The close was only small, about a dozen or so houses. And although I hadn’t met all the neighbours yet, it seemed strange that we hadn’t at least seen each other in passing in all that time.
‘How weird,’ I said.
‘It is.’
‘Perhaps we leave at completely different times every day.’
‘Maybe. I don’t remember anyone moving in recently though.’ His voice sounded tight. ‘Must be going mad. Which number are you?’
‘Number five.’
His face drained of colour and he scooted away, moving across the bench as far away from me as he could get.
‘Is this a joke?’ he said. He looked round, his eyes wide. ‘Is Jeremy Beadle about to jump out on me?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You live at number five, do you?’ There was an edge to his voice that I didn’t understand.
‘Yes. Why? Nick, what’s going on?’ He looked furious, but my mind couldn’t seem to work out where this conversation had so quickly gone off track.
He stood, picked up his bag and clutched it against his belly. ‘I think I’m going to go now.’
I stood too. ‘Wait! Tell me what’s happening here. Please.’
‘Number five Cherry Tree Close is my house. I’ve lived there for eight years.’
Time stood still. Oxygen was sucked out of the air. Everything around us stopped moving, the world suspended.
‘But… how can you?’ I stammered.
‘Because I do. And I assume you already know that, which means I’ve clearly misread this whole thing.’
‘But… no! Of course I don’t know that. I… I don’t know what to say.’
His gaze was fixed on me, his eyes wild.
‘Please, sit down and talk to me.’
He hesitated for a moment, not moving. Then in one swift movement he threw his bag back down and perched on the very edge of the wooden slats at one end of the bench. I sat too, right at the other end, as far away from him as possible.
‘So, we both live in the same house, apparently,’ I said.
I was trying for light-hearted but it fell flat.
I squirmed beneath his glare. ‘Maybe there are two number fives,’ I said.
‘Maybe, you know, when they built the houses, they used some strange numbering pattern, some weird superstition, like on those housing estates where they don’t build a number thirteen in case it brings bad luck. That must be it, right?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m fairly certain there’s only one number five.
’ His voice was flat. I was tempted to get up and leave him there, but he looked so upset I couldn’t bear to just walk away.
Besides, there must be some perfectly reasonable explanation for this. We just needed to work out what it was.
I had an idea. ‘Hang on.’ I opened my bag and pulled out my phone and scrolled back through my camera roll until I found the photo I was looking for. I held it out and he stared at it with a confused look on his face.
‘What the hell is this?’ he said.
‘Just look at the photos,’ I said.
He glanced down at the phone as though it was a bomb that was about to explode, and his frown deepened. ‘This is my house,’ he said.
I turned it round and looked at it. ‘Are you totally sure?’
‘Absolutely. I laid those paving slabs myself.’
I peered at the mossy path leading up to the front door and turned the phone to face him again. ‘This path here?’
He nodded, and looked at the photo more closely. ‘Although they look much more worn and old here.’
I turned it back to look at it again. My mind was all over the place, trying to find a reasonable explanation for what might be happening.
The only answers I could come up with were either that there were two houses that looked exactly the same on two different streets with the same name – or that Nick was mentally ill.
‘Anyway, what the hell is that thing?’
I looked up. ‘What thing?’
‘That… computer thing in your hand.’
I looked down at my iPhone, then back up at Nick. He seemed deadly serious, and suddenly I felt a little afraid. I glanced round. A man was walking past with his pug on a lead, and a couple strolled a little further away, chatting. I was okay, I wasn’t alone with him.
‘This is my phone, Nick,’ I said gently.
He held his hand out. ‘Can I have a look?’
I hesitated. What was the worst that could happen? I handed it over and watched as he poked at the screen. The photo of my house on the day I’d moved in glowed from the screen, then disappeared, the screen turning black.
‘I’ve never seen anything like this,’ he said.
‘It’s just an iPhone,’ I said. It wasn’t even a new one.
‘You see, you’re saying that as if I should know what that is, but I’ve never heard of it.’ He crossed his arms.
‘I…’ I stopped. ‘I honestly don’t know what to say. I mean, these are pretty ubiquitous.’
He looked down at it again and held it up to his face. ‘I don’t get it. Is it a camera or a phone?’
‘It’s both. Look.’ I gently prised the phone from his hands and swiped my fingers across the screen, which sprang back to life instantly.
Surely he was going to laugh at any moment and tell me he was only kidding.
But he just kept staring at the phone in wonder and the more he stared the more my anxiety grew.
‘Can I ask you something?’ he said.
‘Sure,’ I said.
‘Don’t freak out, but what year do you think it is?’
‘What year?’
He nodded.
‘It’s 2019,’ I said.
He didn’t reply for a moment, and I held my breath, wondering what on earth he was going to say next.
Was he about to admit he was mentally unwell, that he lived in some sort of fantasy world?
I tried to marry this up with the Nick I’d been speaking to over the last couple of weeks, and it just didn’t seem to match.
But then again, how else could this strange behaviour be explained?
‘It’s 1999,’ he said.
I stared at him. How did I respond to that?
‘What do you mean? What’s 1999?’
‘Today,’ he said. ‘Right now. The year I’m living in is 1999.’