Given Time Page 2

  I told myself not to be absurd, there had to be a rational explanation, but nothing came to mind. Then I made a connection. I’d been turning the top half of the ball when the sky had gone dark. It was hard to believe that something so small had caused such a far-reaching event, but it was worth checking it out. I’d let go of the thing when I dropped to the ground, so I went back up to the roof and, using the flashlight on my phone, I found it where it had rolled against the wall.

  I picked it up and went to collect my lunch things from the table, but they weren’t there. I played the light over the floor nearby, but couldn’t see them anywhere. Then it dawned on me: if I’d really gone back in time, I hadn’t yet consumed them. A quick trip to the kitchen proved it. When I looked in the fridge, the unopened sandwich and a full pack of beers sat on the shelves, just as I’d left them when I’d returned from shopping the previous evening.

  After all this I needed a drink, so I pulled out and opened a bottle, taking it with me to the lounge. I took a couple of large gulps and sat the bottle down on the coffee table before examining the strange sphere again. I’d given it a couple of turns, but the line around its middle didn’t appear to have widened, as I might have expected if I’d been unscrewing the top. I was still unconvinced this tiny gadget might have changed time, but I had nothing to lose by trying it again. Having previously moved it without effort in one direction, I assumed I should now be able to turn it back again, but when I attempted to do so it refused to shift. I didn’t take the time to wonder why, but instead turned it easily, about half a turn, the other way – just as there was a power cut.

  The lights and television went off. Rain hammered on the windows, causing me to jump in my seat, and I asked myself if anything else could go wrong on this crazy day. Feeling the need for another gulp of beer, I reached for the bottle but it was gone. With my eyes slowly adjusting to the gloom, I could just make out the table in front of me, but I pulled out my phone to use the flashlight to see more clearly. As I switched on the screen, I saw the clock being corrected by the network, changing from two twenty-nine to twelve-fourteen.

  It was obvious I’d gone back in time again, and just as clear to me that there hadn’t been a power cut after all. I got up and switched the lights back on to see the only item on the table was the remote control for the TV. I turned on the news channel and the clock on the screen concurred with my phone. Shaking my head at this apparent madness, I went back to the kitchen to check in the fridge. Sure enough, the pack of beers was full once more, so I grabbed a bottle and returned to the lounge, considering as I did the foolish prospect that I might never need to buy any more.

  I put the bottle on the table and looked once more at the object, which was patently some kind of time device; the impossibility of such a thing receding from my mind in the face of so much proof. With that knowledge, and the fact that I was apparently unharmed, my fear was replaced by curiosity. Now I just wanted to play with it, and think about how I could use it to my advantage. First, though, I wanted to work out how I could go forward in time. I tried to turn it in the direction that had been unsuccessful before, but the result was the same – it wouldn’t budge. I examined it closely, to see if there was some sort of release mechanism I might have missed, but couldn’t find anything. I tried turning it upside down, thinking maybe the weight might shift inside it and operate a pressure switch or something of the sort, but still could not get it to budge. Finally, I decided to try turning it one way and then quickly back the other, in the hope of freeing the screw thread. I only twisted a small amount, but immediately the lights and TV went off again.

  I switched them back on and checked the time. It was now eleven forty-seven on Friday. My idea of freeing the thread hadn’t worked. I still couldn’t move it in the other direction, so it seemed I could go back in time but not forward. That was frustrating, and in no small way unsettling; now I was going to have to re-live the hours I had turned back. Before I tried anything else, I needed to give it a lot more thought. Once more, the bottle had gone from the table, so I put the device in my pocket and went back to the fridge for another beer or, as it turned out, the same beer again.

  Two thoughts struck me almost simultaneously. The first was worrying but quickly dispelled. I’d gone to bed at just after eleven, and I had the uneasy feeling that having gone back in time, there might now be two of me, but when I looked in my bedroom my bed was empty. I let out the breath I’d been holding. I didn’t know why it should be the case, but I was relieved not to have come face to face with myself. The second thought, confirmed by scanning my computer, was much more annoying. The six or more hours of coding I’d done that morning was no longer there. Having gone back to before I’d started the work, and with no apparent way to go forward again, I was going to have to redo the whole lot. I swore all the way back to the lounge, slumped down in the chair and thumped the beer bottle onto the table.

  Gradually, I calmed down, and my mind continued racing through ways I could use the time device to my advantage. The thought of going back a few years, to see my mother, intrigued me for a few moments, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to save her life; she had lost a short battle with cancer, which at the time had felt interminable. If I couldn’t use the gadget to go forward through time, then it would mean seeing her suffer and die again, and that notion quickly lost its allure. I tried to think of practical uses for it, but all I came up with were stupid ideas like going back for events I’d missed, or showing off to friends by pretending to predict the future. There had to be something better to do with a time machine.

  I’d been staring absently at the beer bottle, but now I picked it up and took a long swallow, draining nearly half before putting it down again. As I came out of my reverie, I saw the news bulletin was finishing and they were moving on to the lottery results. I switched the TV off.

  I took the device out again and tried in vain to turn it the other way. I stared at it for a while before giving it another tiny turn the only way it would move. The television came back on, startling me as it did so, and as I reached for the remote, I noticed my beer bottle was full again.

  I pressed the off button for the TV just as the news was giving way to the lottery, and a silly thought occurred to me. I’d always considered the lottery to be a mug’s game, and I’d lectured my brother a number of times when he’d bought a ticket. I’d explained the odds to him using the image of a line of pennies, stretching from one end of the country to the other; the chances of him winning were the same as finding the one penny with a cross on its underside. His response was always that people did win, so there was a chance he might, and then he would ignore my reasoning that the possibility was so small it might as well be nil. It amused me to think that I could memorise the numbers, go back in time to phone Drew just before the draw took place, and then tell him which ball was going to come out of the machine each time, just before it did. It would be a cruel trick, and after some consideration, I knew I wouldn’t do it.

  I reached for my beer, but before I grabbed the bottle, I froze, gaping at the blank television screen.

  Three

  I suppose it was a combination of the impossible events and trying to make some sort of sense of them that had caused me to be so slow-witted, but with the connection made, I could barely breathe. I slowly leaned back in my seat, my beer forgotten, as I realised the enormity of the concept, and my head started to ache with the excitement of it. If I knew the numbers, I could do more than play a practical joke on my brother; I could go back in time and buy a ticket. I was going to win the lottery.

  Now I needed that drink. I drained half the bottle before putting it back on the table and turning back time a few minutes. The TV came on and my beer bottle was full again, but I was no longer surprised. I took out my phone and opened a memo app to key in the lottery results. After reading the numbers, the voice-over announced that there were no winning tickets and the ninety-five-million-pound jackpot would roll over to the next draw. I gaspe
d. I had no idea it would be that much, and with no other winners I wouldn’t have to share it.

  All I had to do now was go back in time and buy the ticket. But then the doubts started. Surely it couldn’t be that simple. If I went back in time, would the numbers still be in the phone? Not a problem: I could commit them to memory. If I knew what the numbers were, would the draw be different? I didn’t see how my actions could affect it, but I just couldn’t accept that I could get that lucky.

  I didn’t want to waste my time unless I was sure of the result, but I could test it by going back a little way again. I held onto the phone and turned the device. I travelled just a few minutes, and the news was back on. The numbers were still in my phone, so the first part of the plan was okay. I just had to check that fate wasn’t going to make a fool of me by changing the draw.

  A couple of minutes seemed like hours while I waited, but when they came up the numbers were still the same. It hadn’t registered that I’d been holding my breath, but now I blew it out in a long, excited sigh of relief. It was time to put the plan into action.

  I didn’t want to turn back any more than necessary, because I was too wound up to wait a long time for the results. I knew the ticket sales closed at seven-thirty, so if I went back to around seven, it would give me time to reach the shop and complete the transaction.

  I wasn’t sure how much to turn the device, so I tried it in small stages. The first turn took me back just over an hour, and the next almost an hour and a half, so I made the movements smaller, for fear of overshooting where I wanted to be. On the fourth turn I was startled momentarily when the night was abruptly replaced with twilight, and I struggled to get my head around that it was evening rather than morning. Even so, it still felt particularly weird that the light was coming from the west rather than the east. The next turn brought proper daylight. I was getting the hang of the device. One more turn, and I’d gone back to three minutes past seven. Close enough.

  I grabbed for a last gulp of beer before heading to the shop, but the bottle was gone. I went to the fridge, but there were no beers in there either. That made sense, because it was now earlier than when I’d come back from shopping. I took a swallow of orange juice straight from the carton, and stopping only to collect my wristwatch from my bedside cabinet and my jacket from the hallway, I went out to buy my first and hopefully last ever lottery ticket.

  It was only a five-minute walk to my local shop. I rushed inside to fill in the slip, but my hands were shaking with the excitement and I struggled to keep the tip of the pen within the boxes. After I’d put the marks on the paper it all started to feel more real, but at the same time the doubts redoubled and my head filled with questions. Could it really be that simple? Was I really about to become a multi-millionaire? Now I’d committed the numbers to the slip, would the result somehow be changed? Surely, fate was playing some kind of trick on me, wasn’t it?

  I knew I was being hysterical and I shook my head, trying without much success to dispel the pessimism.

  My mouth had gone dry, so I picked up a big bottle of mineral water and headed to the checkout. The kid at the till barely registered my presence as he took my money and printed out the lottery ticket, then gave me my change without a word. I felt like telling him he had just made me a millionaire, but unless I was planning to share the winnings, I don’t suppose he would have cared, even if he had believed me. In any case, I guessed people said that sort of thing to him all the time.

  All that remained was to wait for the results. I checked the lottery website to find the draw was nearly two hours away, and I knew it was going to be the longest wait of my life. I contemplated going back to my flat, but I couldn’t sit about killing time for that long. And I was far too wound up to behave nonchalantly with my friends in the pub across the road, so I walked the few hundred metres down to Barnes Bridge station for the first train into Waterloo.

  The journey was one I’d taken many times before, but this was the first time I would complete it in a daze. The twenty-five-minute trip felt as though it dragged on forever. As I rode into town, oblivious to the familiar landmarks, I lost count of the number of times I checked the ticket to make sure I’d got the numbers right, and how many times I checked my watch, which seemed to be going slower than ever. Several times I took out the device and tried to make time go forward, but still it wasn’t having any of it; I just had to wait it out. Yet, by the time I walked from the station concourse and towards Waterloo Bridge, it seemed as though the endless train ride had gone past in a flash.

  Twilight had returned, deepening quickly, and the city had thrown off its grey and sand coloured daytime garb in favour of sparkling, electric evening wear. The flamboyant multi-hued flashes of light against a rapidly blackening background gave the surroundings a party-like atmosphere that would have echoed my frame of mind was I not concerned that something would go wrong. I took the steps down towards the Queen’s Walk, and as I passed the London Eye and County Hall, I tried to think of what I would do with the money to distract myself from my pessimism, but couldn’t do it.

  I climbed up to Westminster Bridge, and halfway across I stopped to lean on the railings and watch the inky water flow underneath. The scattered fragments of reflected lights seemed to mirror the disjointed thoughts in my head.

  It had been a warm day but now night had fallen and it was starting to get chilly. Not so cold that I was uncomfortable, but cool enough to stop me from standing in this exposed location for too long.

  Opposite the Palace of Westminster, I turned my back on Parliament to stroll along the embankment. This was my favourite part of a walk that I’d taken countless times since moving from Suffolk to London. I came here at least twice a week, not just for the exercise, but often because it helped clear my head if I had a tricky piece of coding to work on. I loved the juxtaposition of the tranquil pace of the wide footpath and the frenetic dash of the traffic just beyond the cycle lane, while on the other side the grey-brown Thames lumbered along under the bridges, untroubled by the parade of river craft that crossed its surface. Now I wished my mind were equally untroubled by the thoughts that crossed it.

  Normally, I would conclude my walk along the embankment at Blackfriars Bridge, crossing the river and heading back to Waterloo along the Thames path, but this time I kept going east until I reached the Millennium Bridge. From there I strolled into the city to find a coffee shop, and maybe a little conversation to take my mind off things. With some time still to wait for the results, I bought a large latte, and having quickly seen that any chance of company was non-existent, I sat in a secluded corner. There were about twenty other customers in the place, but no one was talking. They were all busy concentrating on their phones, occasionally looking up to reach for their drinks. I looked around in amusement, but then with a wry smile I took out my phone and did exactly the same.

  I checked my voicemail and text messages with a small amount of guilty pleasure. My phone had rung just as I’d left Waterloo, and I saw it was my demanding client. I had been about to accept the call, ready to make excuses for having not yet completed his work, when it occurred to me that this was his original call coming in, so with no apology needed, I’d changed my mind and pressed the reject button. His voice message was quite polite, although it left no doubt about the urgency of his call, but his three texts became increasingly frantic. I laughed at the last one before I remembered I was in a public place, my embarrassment soon evaporating when I glanced around to see that no one had looked up from what they were doing.

  I considered responding in kind to the rudeness of his last text, but I could see that degenerating into a flame war, so I decided to let the guy stew overnight and call him with excuses in the morning. Then I remembered that by the morning I might no longer need his business, and I returned to the dreamlike state I had been inhabiting since finding the device.

  After what felt like a lifetime, the result of the draw was due, so I loaded the lottery website, but instead of the num
bers there was a message saying the site was experiencing technical difficulties and to try again later. My face dropped and excitement gave way to panic. Somehow it had all gone wrong. My meddling with time must have caused a glitch in the system and maybe they were having to re-run the draw. I knew it was too good to be true. I could never get that lucky! Yet, as I refreshed the page, I knew I was being irrational. The problems might have nothing to do with me – but still the doubts wouldn’t go away. All I could do was wait and hope.

  It was over an hour before the error message disappeared, by which time I’d refreshed the page several hundred times and tried Facebook and some of the news websites, but with no joy. They too had been waiting for the results from the lottery.

  At last the numbers were displayed and the result confirmed: the figures were the same as those on my ticket, and now there was one jackpot winner. Even so, I checked between the slip of paper and my phone several times. There was no mistake; the numbers hadn’t changed. As the doubts receded, astonishment set in. I had done it. I was a multi-millionaire.

  To my amazement, I was completely calm. Instead of leaping up and down, punching the air and whooping, as I imagined I might have done, I sat quietly staring at my phone and wondered what to do next. The logical thing would have been to go home and get some sleep before calling to secure my winnings the next day, but as the excitement kicked in I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep. I was far from tired. I realised that the time travelling had given me a type of jet-lag – my body thought it was only around seven in the evening.