Chapter Seventeen
SEVENTEEN
Was it really that simple? Dispatch Hamish properly and all my problems are solved? I’m not sure. In fact, I find myself feeling downright wary, glancing furtively about in case something or someone tries to kill me in the middle of a Heathrow terminal.
Terminated at the terminal
Nutty Nina meets her doom
Stop it.
Everything seems pretty normal, in as much as a Monday from ten years ago can. I even still need to stock up on tissues, just like last time. Not because I’d cried myself silly over saying goodbye to Hamish, but because I’ve got the sneezes.
Hay fever in September? An allergic reaction to time travel?
Whatever it is, I cannot stop sneezing as I follow signs for the London Underground.
I’ve decided to go through the motions and head back to Cornwall, which feels extremely odd.
Heading home to the flat I shared with Mum until I left for London.
I picture my bedroom, festooned with pink fairy lights, the walls covered in posters.
My bedside table with the lava lamp on it.
The wardrobe with the door that creaked every time I opened it.
Inside, a drawer filled with scraps of material masquerading as underwear.
I’ve been back to stay plenty of times since I moved to London, but it still feels very strange indeed to be heading home now.
The idea of going back makes me nervous, I realize, and strangely reluctant too.
A few days ago, I would have literally jumped at the chance to head back in time and relive what I thought were my glory days. Now, I’m not so sure.
I head down to the Tube, trying to tamp down the deep sadness that comes with the understanding that there’s nothing in London for me as it stands right now.
No beautiful, bossy, fiercely loyal Penny with her insistence on making sauerkraut and her cowboy obsession.
No job at Kat Moretti to put the fire in my belly.
There’s no razor-sharp, quick-witted, kind-hearted, maddening, thoughtful, utterly handsome Callum Bang with his pointed looks and intoxicating presence.
Ouch.
Will it really be nine and a half years until I meet him? The idea of that much time stretching ahead of me, without him, makes my body ache with sadness and frustration.
I find myself wondering, on the off chance that I have just reset the course of my life, what I would do differently next time around, when he shows up at the office.
I guess incorrectly accusing him of being an office party pervert and a condescending bastard would be the first things to go.
Will we still argue? Will he continue to irritate the crap out of me?
Or will we somehow get it right next time, building a strong foundation of friendship that leads on to, you know, a lot of sex.
Because this connection we have is undeniable now and I find myself yearning for a future where I get to have Callum by my side.
And yet, that’s all such a long way off. I’ve got plenty of time to get it right with Callum this time around, and if I’ve learned anything from this time loop, it’s that I need to appreciate what I have right now.
As I follow the signs for the Piccadilly Line my mood shifts and I become much more upbeat.
I feel quietly confident that I’m taking the right steps forward.
Today has absolutely helped me to understand that I definitely did not need to rely on Hamish for my entire future happiness (and also escape from a time loop).
I feel free.
I feel empowered.
I do also feel regret that I’m wearing this ridiculously long dress, I think, tripping over it for the umpteenth time.
It will take me another few years to learn that my diminutive stature does not combine well with the maxi dress, especially when teamed with the old Havaianas I insisted on wearing absolutely everywhere aged twenty.
Wow, Monday Six (Ten Years Ago) is proving to be really insightful! I actually feel wise today, and very appreciative of how much I’ve learned over the years. And not just for the fashion evolution, either. Not everything’s about good clothes and excellent hair, am I right?!
I’m just extremely hashtag grateful that I’m growing as a person. Learning. Becoming. Just look at me! I catch a quick glimpse of myself in the window of a train approaching the platform. Limp, over-ironed hair aside, I’m feeling good.
Hello, future! Here I come.
One final step forward sees me trip, once again, over the bloody maxi dress, only this time I can’t right myself. I feel my arms flailing about for support as I skitter face first towards the dusty underground platform. My arms get tangled up, my legs buckle underneath me.
And the next thing I know, the lights have gone out. Again.