Mum clears the plates away and then starts rifling about noisily inside the fridge. ‘Right,’ she says, ‘it’s after midday, it’s Christmas Eve …’ She turns around cradling a large bottle of cava. ‘I think we are obliged to start drinking.’
‘Hear, hear,’ says Daphne.
I get up to fetch some glasses, realising yet again that everything – right down to the cartoonish squeal Mum makes as the cork pops – is happening exactly as I remember it first time round. And as incredible as it is to be with Mum again, I can’t help thinking: what is the point?
What is the point of seeing her again and then having her torn away from me a second time? What is the point of seeing how right for each other Daphne and I once seemed, only to end up drunk in our attic again thinking about Alice?
What is the point of any of this? It just feels like the universe rubbing my face in the mistakes to come, and I can’t for the life of me work out why.
Mum opens the oven to check on the sizzling beef, and then – just as I could have told you she would – she remembers that we don’t have any mustard, and orders me out to the shops to get some.
I shrug my coat on in the hallway and open the front door, feeling the crisp winter air hit me full in the face. Digging my hands into my pockets, I start trudging up towards the high road, confusion and anger still doing battle in my brain.
I’m not even halfway to the shops when I spot a little wooden barrow stall parked on the corner of the street, with a man standing behind it. The stall is decorated with tinsel and twinkling lights, and there’s a sloppily painted sign above it that reads: HOT ROASTED CHESTNUTS! Why its owner thinks that a suburban street corner in Acton is the best place to flog his wares is beyond me. But one thing’s for sure: he was not here on this day originally.
I’m almost at the cart now, but I still can’t see the man’s face – it’s hidden beneath the tinsel-strewn awning. His tie, though …
‘Ah, there you are!’ he cries, and as soon as I hear his gravelly voice, my stomach back-flips.
He pops his head out, and sure enough, two bright blue eyes are twinkling at me through a tangle of rusty grey hair.
‘Can I interest you in a bag of chestnuts?’
Chapter Sixteen
This at least I didn’t see coming.
I stand rooted to the spot for a moment, gawping at the watch-seller. I can’t believe he’s actually here! My brain is a blizzard of questions, but for some reason the first thing that tumbles out of my mouth is:
‘You’re … still wearing the same tie?’
The old man frowns down at the cartoon reindeer. ‘Don’t you like it? I know novelty neckwear isn’t to everyone’s taste, but I think it’s rather jolly.’
I have a go at formulating a more sensible question. ‘Who are you?’ I splutter.
The old man takes out a metal spoon and starts prodding chestnuts around the grill. ‘Oh, let’s just say I’m a concerned bystander. I only wanted to check in and see how you were doing. I imagine all this must be rather disconcerting.’
I stare at him. ‘Rather disconcerting? I’ve spent the past twenty-four hours wondering if I’ve lost my mind!’
He chuckles. ‘Let me reassure you that you very much haven’t. I was going to pop over and say hello back in the bar at York, but you looked rather busy talking to that young lady.’
‘That was you in the bar? I thought I’d imagined it.’
‘It was indeed.’ He wrinkles his nose slightly. ‘I was glad to get out of there, truth be told. The smell of sambuca was overpowering.’
‘I can’t believe this,’ I murmur.
There’s something so familiar about him. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.
‘So … you remember meeting me in that pub on Christmas Eve?’ I ask.
‘Oh yes. Christmas Eve 2020.’
‘But that hasn’t happened yet,’ I hiss. ‘That’s fourteen years from now!’
‘Mmm. It is indeed.’ He pops a chestnut in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. ‘Needs more salt.’
I take a deep breath and try to compose myself. ‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but would you mind please just telling me what is happening?’
The old man purses his lips as he sprinkles salt over the chestnuts. ‘I noticed you were at something of a crossroads that night in the pub. You were feeling lost and confused. And I wanted to help.’
‘Right. And your method of helping was to give me a time-travelling watch?’
‘That’s about the long and short of it.’ He grins and taps the grill with his spoon. ‘Did you want a chestnut?’
I exhale and squeeze the bridge of my nose. ‘What happens if I eat one? Do I get whisked back to the Renaissance or something?’
He bursts out laughing. ‘The Renaissance! Very good. No, these are just your average common-or-garden chestnuts. Well, above average, actually. Extremely tasty, in fact.’ He holds one up to me, but I shake my head. ‘Suit yourself,’ he shrugs. ‘I’m sure you’re full of questions and we haven’t got long. So, fire away.’
That ‘haven’t got long’ remark makes me think of the time frozen on my watch. I hold it up to him. ‘Why is it stuck at one minute to twelve?’
A crumpled smile cuts through his scruffy beard, and his blue eyes sparkle at me. ‘I think you’ve already worked that out, haven’t you?’
‘Because one minute to midnight is when my time here is up?’ I say, slowly. ‘It’s when I … jump again?’
The old man beams and nods, like a teacher who’s just coaxed the correct answer out of a particularly dim student.
‘So, I will jump again, then?’ I ask him.
‘It’s highly likely.’
‘Where to?’
The old man sighs. ‘That, I can’t tell you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you already know the answer.’
‘Trust me, I don’t.’
He jabs at the chestnuts with his spoon. ‘I’m confident it will come to you.’
I lean my head back in frustration. ‘Look … I get that being vague and mysterious is sort of your thing. But I could really do with some proper, concrete answers right now.’
He laughs through his nose. ‘The most important thing to ask yourself is why you might be revisiting these particular moments. Perhaps after experiencing them a second time you might feel differently about them. Or perhaps you won’t.’
‘But … will I get back to the present at some point?’
He opens his mouth to answer this, but a voice rings out behind us.
‘Excuse me?’
I turn around to see three old ladies smiling at us. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ one of them says. ‘We were after a few chestnuts.’
The watch-seller claps his hands and grins at them. ‘Finally! Some paying customers.’ He looks back at me. ‘You’d better be on your way.’
‘But … hang on,’ I stammer. ‘I need to know—’
He cuts me off by raising his hand and checking his own watch. His eyebrows leap up into his scruffy hair. ‘It’s getting on a bit. Time to head back to your mother’s.’