Every so often, Alice’s message pops into my head, but I make a concerted effort to chuck it straight back out again. I’ve told myself to just ignore it. I’ve cancelled the date, that’s the important thing. Now it’s time to forget about Alice and focus on Daphne.
We all settle down in the living room to watch the carpet become a multicoloured sea of wrapping paper as Charlie and Fred tear their way through their presents.
Kat and Joe are slumped on the sofa next to me, while Daff sits with her mum and dad on the other one. Charlie and Fred have just uncovered our gifts to them – a pair of matching Nerf Zombie Strike FlipFury Blasters – and are scrambling to load them with foam bullets.
‘These are BRILLIANT!’ shouts Fred.
‘I bet you can’t hit me,’ I say, and their eyes light up as they start chasing me round the room, firing wildly.
I’m hit again and again and I dramatically flop to the ground to a backdrop of excited shrieks. The boys pile on top of me, and Daff’s mum, Clio, laughs.
‘You’re so good with them, Ben. Isn’t he good, Daphne?’
‘Yes, Mum.’ Daff sighs obediently, and we both exchange a grin. Clio, being Greek, is hilariously blunt. Within minutes of stepping through the door, she’s usually asking when Daphne and I are going to give her some more grandchildren. To be honest, I’m surprised she hasn’t broached the subject yet today.
Kat giggles as the twins continue to maul me on the carpet. ‘Seriously, though, Ben, if you want to take them for a couple of days, please be our guest. We could do with a break.’
‘Amen to that,’ says Joe.
Clio clicks her tongue. ‘Take yours? They should have some of their own!’
Everyone cracks up, and Daff’s dad chuckles and shakes his head. ‘Clio, honestly.’
This has been their dynamic as long as I’ve known them: Clio says crazy, forthright things and Michael (being English) feigns embarrassment on her behalf. It sounds weird, but it works. For some reason, they complement each other perfectly, and they’re clearly still head over heels in love. I suddenly wish Mum was here too, to complete this family Christmas. She always got on brilliantly with Daphne’s parents.
Clio thumps the sofa arm, refusing to be deterred. ‘I’m serious!’ she cries. ‘When are you two going to give Charlie and Fred a little cousin?’
‘All right, Mum, maybe leave it for today?’ Daff says with a smile.
Clio flaps her hand in a vague gesture of comedic frustration, and the twins take this as a cue to launch a new assault on me. Under heavy fire from Nerf ammo, I scramble up from the floor. ‘Right, you two, see if you can catch me!’
I leap over the sofa and sprint out into the corridor, the sound of little footsteps thundering behind me.
The three of us pile into the kitchen, where the twins unload their entire foam arsenal into my chest. I fall to the ground clutching my stomach as they leap on top of me.
‘AGAIN! AGAIN! AGAIN!’ Fred screams.
‘In a minute!’ I plead. ‘Don’t you guys want pudding?’
‘YES!’ they cry at the same time.
I load up bowls with ice cream and strawberries, and we take them back through to the living room.
Charlie barges the door open with the announcement: ‘Ice cream!’ But no one reacts. It feels like everyone has stopped talking the moment we enter, and there’s a strange, stilted silence in the room.
‘Ben. What is this?’
Daff stands up and comes towards me. Her eyes are glistening and her jaw is set tightly, like she’s trying hard not to cry. I feel a sharp sting of panic in my chest. She’s holding something in her hand. My phone. I pat my empty pocket instinctively. It must have slipped out while I was rolling around under Nerf fire.
‘Ice cream!’ Charlie shouts again, holding a bowl up to Daphne. Kat pulls him gently towards her. ‘Not now, sweetheart.’
Her whole family is looking at me now, frowns plastered across their faces. My heart is thudding in my chest and my neck suddenly feels boiling hot.
‘What’s going on?’ I say, even though, deep down, I think I know.
Daff says nothing. She just hands me my phone.
There on the screen is my entire message chain with Alice.
At the bottom, there’s a new picture message, sent one minute ago. It shows the two of us in the photo booth at Marek’s wedding, our eyes closed, our lips pressed together.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I sit at a corner table in The Raven, two glasses of Guinness in front of me, trying very hard to ignore the glances I’m getting from the solo drinkers at the bar.
I’m not surprised they’re staring. I must look an absolute state: red-eyed and tear-stained, as I sip my fourth pint in three hours. But fuck it: let them stare. Things can’t be going too well for them either if they’re sitting alone in a pub on Christmas Day.
I take a big gulp of Guinness and flinch as it washes stickily down my throat. My head is woozy, I’m definitely drunk, and all I want to do is stop thinking. But I can’t. I can’t get that look out of my head: the one on Daphne’s face as she handed me the phone. The hurt shining in her brown eyes like she just couldn’t believe this was happening. All those jokes she’s made over the years about Alice fancying me. All the times I laughed along at them. The betrayal, the humiliation she must have felt reading those messages and seeing that picture. I can’t even bear to think about it.
In that split second, the whole world crashed down around me. It felt a little like waking up after an 11.59 p.m. jump: the combination of confusion, dizziness and motion sickness, as if I’d just been swung around and then punched hard in the stomach.
Before all this time-travel madness began, I thought that maybe this was what I wanted. Up in the attic on Christmas Eve, I dreamed of a blank canvas, getting the chance to start all over again. I wondered if, maybe, Daphne and me splitting up might be for the best.
Well now I know: it’s not. Not for me, anyway.
I can’t bear the idea that I’ve lost her, and no matter how much I drink, the stabbing pain of it won’t go away.
I take another sip and realise that I’m crying again, the tears dropping steadily onto the sticky table. I don’t even bother to wipe my face. I can’t find the strength to care about what I must look like.
‘Are you all right, son?’
I look up, half expecting to see the watch-seller standing over me. But it’s not him. Just another old bloke with a kindly smile.
‘Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Thank you.’
He pats me on the arm and walks back to the bar.
The door opens and Harv enters in his comically huge parka, cold wind rushing in behind him. I scrub my eyes hard on my sleeve and try to pull myself together.
Harv’s face is already etched with concern before he even spots me. Fair enough, really, since I wasn’t clear about why I urgently needed to see him at 8 p.m. on Christmas Day, in the very same pub we met up in last night.
As he sits down, I slide the full pint towards him.
‘Guinness?’ He wrinkles his nose. ‘Didn’t we have this conversation yesterday?’
‘Shit, yeah. Sorry. I forgot.’
He pushes the glass aside and looks at me. ‘How many of these have you had?’