by Dani Atkins
“Ah, well, Maximilian naturally fell under the spell of my charms and—”
I gave a very unladylike response, before steering him away from humor.
“You know what I’m talking about. Explain to me how I knew everything that I did: how to get here; the names of the landlady, the tenants, past and present—not to mention the hidden key.”
He was silent for so long I almost thought he wasn’t going to answer. When he did, his words came out in a long sigh.
“I can’t.”
I swiveled in my seat then, to study his expression more clearly. I wasn’t used to him sounding so uncertain. I almost felt sorry for the dilemma I was putting him in, knowing how his logical policeman’s mind must be struggling with something that made no sense at all.
He turned the engine on then, finally releasing my hand from his.
“Can you try directing me a little less aggressively this time?”
“Directing you where?”
He looked at me as though I were deliberately being dumb.
“Anderson’s Engineering. That was the name of the place you worked, wasn’t it?”
I nodded, unable to conceal a smile of pure gratitude. Not only had he remembered the name, but more importantly he knew and understood that I needed his help in this impossible quest, without my having to ask for it. And suddenly the journey to seek out the answers didn’t seem nearly so daunting and scary, now that I wasn’t facing it alone.
FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER we were back in central London.
“There’s a small car park tucked away down this side street,” I said, pointing.
Jimmy followed my directions and no longer looked surprised when the small compound was exactly where I had said it would be.
I scoured the faces of passersby as we walked the short distance to the engineering company, looking out for any of my colleagues, but I saw no one I recognized; nor, more importantly, did anyone recognize me.
The building’s access was at the top of a broad flight of concrete steps, and I hesitated for a moment on the pavement before turning to Jimmy.
“Thank you,” I murmured quietly, my words almost whipped away on the December wind.
His responding smile was all the encouragement I needed to begin to climb the steps to the large plate-glass entrance door.
When we reached the top, Jimmy went to press the doorbell, which was sited beneath a sign reading VISITORS PLEASE RING FOR ADMITTANCE.
“Wait,” I urged, nodding my head in the direction of a small silver keypad set into the aluminum frame. My fingers were chilled by the cold weather, but they still flew without hesitation over the buttons, punching in the eight-number entry code for staff.
Behind me I heard Jimmy’s sharp intake of breath as the door responded to the command and opened for me.
I looked at him then, unable to keep from my expression the gauntlet of challenge I was throwing down in the face of all logical explanations.
His face was still a picture of doubts and questions as we entered the building, but once inside the foyer I was the one who drew to a hesitant halt.
“Rachel?” Jimmy queried. “Are you okay?” I looked around at my familiar workplace and gave a helpless sigh.
“What are we doing here? What am I going to do now? Go up to my desk and haul whoever is sitting there out of my chair? Keep insisting I belong here until someone calls security and throws us out?”
It was as if my words had actually summoned them up, for we were both taken by surprise by the arrival of a security guard, who’d walked over to us with such speed and stealth neither of us had seen him coming.
“Can I help you?” the man inquired, his tone sounding anything but helpful. I could only guess that he had seen us access the building, and failing to recognize us as employees, he’d wasted no time leaving his workstation to challenge our entry.
I tried to give a small guileless smile, which didn’t work to thaw out the frostiness in his eyes. I recognized the man vaguely, but could see no reciprocation in his slightly hostile stare. I could only hope he hadn’t already pressed some hidden alert button.
“Oh, hello there. I wonder if you can help us, actually. We’re meeting a friend of mine for lunch; she works here. It was a bit too cold to wait outside. I do hope it was okay to come in?”
The guard’s attitude relaxed the merest fraction, his body language turning down the aggression from boil to simmer. Clearly he now believed my “friend” had given out the company’s entry code to random nonemployees. I think I’d just got my new imaginary friend in a whole heap of trouble.
The guard gave a small noncommittal grunt, which could possibly have been his response or just him clearing his throat. I continued to smile broadly, thinking if he didn’t stop scrutinizing us in that suspicious way very soon, my jaw might actually break from the effort. Fortunately, Jimmy interjected at that moment, adding plausibility to our charade.
“Is it possible to call up and let our friend know we are here?” He really lied most convincingly for an officer of the law, which was somewhat alarming. However, his comment seemed to add enough validity to our story that the guard turned to walk back to reception, motioning that we follow him.
Behind his desk once more, with visitors separated by the appropriate barrier, he clearly felt that order had been restored, for he was far more civil when he inquired, “Your friend who works here, could I have her name, please?”
Without even thinking, I said, “Rachel Wiltshire.”
I saw Jimmy’s eyes close briefly in disbelief even as the guard began running his finger down the W section of the staff list, looking for a name that no longer belonged on that particular sheet.
With his stubby index finger coming to rest at the foot of the directory, the guard looked up at us both, his distrust instantly returning.
“Rachel Wiltshire, you said? We don’t have anyone by that name working here.”
I looked at Jimmy to see if he was going to extricate me from the mess I had just made, but he just flashed me the merest flicker of a smile, which clearly said, You dug this hole—now get out of it!
I narrowed my eyes meaningfully at my companion, and resigned myself to having to play the blonde card.
“Oh, sorry, that’s my name!” The guard’s look spoke volumes. “My friend is called Emily. Emily Frost.” I plucked the first name I could think of. “But, actually, you know what, I think we’ll just wait outside after all and then we can … surprise her. Sorry to have bothered you.” I grabbed Jimmy’s coat sleeve and began to drag him toward the exit.
“Smooth,” pronounced Jimmy, allowing himself to be steered toward the doorway. “That certainly didn’t make him suspicious, did it?”
I could still feel the guard’s eyes following us all the way across the foyer. As we reached the door I heard him speak, and thought at first he was about to call us back, but he was only bidding goodbye to a fellow guard who was going to lunch.
“See you later, Joe.”
Hand already on the door handle, I turned back to see a second security guard crossing the foyer, also heading for the exit. He was about my father’s age, with graying hair and a deeply ruddy complexion. My mouth automatically turned up to greet him with a warm smile.
“Hi, Joe. How are you?”
Baffled at first, Joe’s face turned to one of disbelief when I next remarked, “And how is your wife doing? Is she out of hospital yet?”
All color drained from Joe’s face as his eyes darted between Jimmy and me and then back over his shoulder to his colleague. He bustled through the door, forcing us along with him. It wasn’t until all three of us had crossed the threshold and were out of the building that he turned sharply to me, questioning almost belligerently, “Excuse me. What did you just ask me?”
I wasn’t used to hearing him speak to me in that way, forgetting for a moment that to him I was a complete stranger.
“I just asked how Muriel was doing. Her latest round of chem
o must be finished now, mustn’t it? You said you were hoping she would be out of hospital by Christmas.”
Jimmy had taken a small step back, standing to one side and watching our strange interplay with curiosity.
Joe, on the other hand, seemed totally shaken by my words.
“I don’t understand … who are you?”
“I’m Rachel. Rachel Wiltshire.” If I was hoping for recognition, I was going to be waiting a very long time.
“I don’t know you,” Joe announced, shaking his head from side to side. It was a familiar chorus; everyone appeared to be singing it these days. I couldn’t think what to say to him that wouldn’t sound completely deranged.
“But what I really want to know,” Joe continued urgently, “is how the hell you know about Muriel. I’ve not told anybody here about her illness. Not one word.”
JIMMY GOT JOE to the pub on false pretenses. Telling him that if he joined us for a drink we would explain everything was stretching the truth by anyone’s definition. However, when I suggested that we get out of the biting wind and move our discussion to the King George pub, where most of the staff went each day for lunch, Joe reluctantly agreed to go with us.
It was a little disconcerting to see the way he kept sneaking sidelong glances at me as we walked the few hundred yards to the popular watering hole, as though I might be some sort of weird clairvoyant or worse.
The pub was crowded, as it usually was at that time of day, and we struggled to find a table. All around us were small groups of my work colleagues, and I had to bite my lip to stop greeting everyone I passed. Eventually I spotted a vacant table toward the back of the pub and hurried to claim it, with a visibly reluctant Joe following in my wake.
I smiled at him tentatively as we took our seats. Joe and I sat in silence, waiting for Jimmy to fetch our drinks. The awkwardness made me sad because I had always liked this man, long before I realized we had so much in common. Eventually Jimmy returned with a round of drinks, informing us that he had ordered three ploughman’s lunches, which they would bring over shortly. Somehow I doubted that anyone was going to have much of an appetite.
“So who told you about Muriel?” was Joe’s first question, fired out at speed.
I shook my head, thinking I had better not answer that particular question first. Joe was extremely defensive, which was apparent by his next comment.
“I don’t know what your game is but I don’t want anyone making any trouble for me at work about any of this.”
He was exceedingly rattled that his most private secret was known by someone he had never met before. I reached out to pat his hand comfortingly and stopped only when I saw the look of horror on his face.
“We’re not trying to make any trouble for you, Joe,” Jimmy assured him in a very soothing tone.
“I don’t have any money, you know,” Joe advised.
“Of course you don’t,” I agreed without thinking. “Not after putting two kids through university and keeping your mother in that retirement home.”
Half of Joe’s pint of beer slopped over the table as his shaking hand almost dropped his glass.
“That’s it! How do you know all this? Who are you people?”
There was no easy way to begin, but all I could do was tell the truth as I knew it.
“I know you might find it a little hard to believe, but actually, Joe, I’m your friend.”
Joe fixed me with a long hard stare. He then turned a similar look on Jimmy.
“Ah, no,” Jimmy corrected, “I am a total stranger. Rachel’s the one who knows you.”
Once again Joe looked back at me, still so openly confused that I felt sorry we had dragged him into this. He had enough to cope with already.
“If we are friends, then how come I don’t know you? I’ve a good memory, you need it in my job. And I don’t forget a face and I would most definitely remember spilling the details of my private life to some stranger.”
I smiled to soften my words, hoping he wouldn’t misinterpret the baring of teeth as an act of aggression.
“I know this sounds crazy. But we are friends. Good ones. And the reason I know so much about you and your family, especially about Muriel’s illness, is because I have been going through something similar myself, with my dad.”
For the first time Joe’s expression softened, revealing the kindly man who had been such a support to me as we swapped concerns and worries over loved ones who were battling the same illness.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he mumbled, and at last realizing that we meant no malice here, he continued, “But I still don’t know how you could possibly know those details about Muriel. I’ve been so careful about not letting anyone at work find out. There’ve been so many redundancies recently, I couldn’t risk giving them a reason to let me go.”
“I know,” I said softly. This worry had been a familiar theme to many of our conversations. We had bonded together and both gained strength from discussing our family members’ fights against cancer. It was sad that in this new version of the world, Joe didn’t have anyone he could share his burden with.
“But how do you know all this?” Joe asked once again. “Who was it who told you?”
I couldn’t evade the question a second time.
“You did.”
I DON’T KNOW if we ever managed to convince Joe that we were sincere. All I know is that when I recounted detail after detail of his wife’s battle, which had so closely matched my father’s, he could no longer refute that I was in possession of facts he thought no one else had been told. In the end he struggled to find an explanation he could live with, one that wouldn’t keep him awake at night for years to come.
“It must be the stress that has done this,” he pronounced at last.
“Done what?” Jimmy queried.
“Made it so I don’t remember. Yes, that’s it. All the worry has given me a sort of … amnesia.”
There was a long silence at his words. I looked at Jimmy meaningfully for a moment, before replying solemnly, “There’s a lot of that going around.”
———
WE DIDN’T STAY in the pub for long after our food had arrived. Jimmy seemed to be the only one with any sort of appetite, although I thought Joe might eat more comfortably after we had gone.
I did have one bizarre encounter in the ladies’, when I emerged from a stall to see Emily Frost standing at the mirrored sink unit.
“Hi there,” I greeted, smiling at her warmly, forgetting she knew nothing about our supposed lunch date or indeed who the hell I was. She looked back at me warily in the reflected glass. Suddenly I was tired of being an outsider among people I had known for so long. It was time to go.
JIMMY HELD OUT his hand to Joe.
“It’s been very nice meeting you.”
No one was entirely surprised when Joe didn’t return the comment. His parting to me was slightly warmer after I offered, “I’m sorry if we’ve upset you today. I really do hope everything goes well with Muriel. I’ll be thinking of you both.”
We turned to go then, Jimmy’s hand securely guiding me away from the table.
“Er … Rachel?” called out Joe, startling us both.
I turned around to face the man we had so confounded that day.
“Your dad, Rachel. How is he? How is he doing now?”
I smiled slowly at my old friend.
“He got better, Joe.”
11
“Joe seemed like a nice guy.”
I said nothing, keeping my eyes fixed out of the window at the disappearing London suburbs. Jimmy tried again. “I think we eventually convinced him we weren’t total crackpots.”
Again I didn’t reply.
“You okay?” asked Jimmy kindly, taking his hand briefly off the wheel to give mine a reassuring squeeze.
“He didn’t know me.” My voice was dull and toneless, but Jimmy’s ears still discerned the pain.
“I know.” There was compassion and understanding in his tone.
“I don’t know why I’m surprised, I should have been expecting it. But he was the first person who I’ve approached who I know well, who I really care about. He’s my friend, for God’s sake, and he didn’t know who the hell I was!” I thought of the pub full of familiar faces, none of whom had recognized me. “No one does.”
I couldn’t blame Jimmy for failing to come up with some soothing rejoinder. What on earth could he say that could offer any comfort?
“It’s almost as though it’s not me with amnesia … it’s them! I’ve literally been erased from their memories.”
“Hey, you’re not going all sci-fi on me here, are you?” Clearly his mind was going back to the theory I had first put forward when we were last in London: the one about a parallel world, where everyone still existed, leading a similar but slightly different life than this one.
“It is a theory …,” I offered tentatively.
“A crazy one.”
“But what if it were real, crazy or not? What if something happened to me when I hit my head during the mugging? What if I actually did somehow swap places with another version of me?”
Jimmy laughed. But when I didn’t join in, the amusement quickly died.
“Rachel, you really cannot be serious about this,” he began gently. “I know there are loads of unanswered questions here, but I really don’t believe that people can go zipping about in time and drop in on their other lives.”
“I’m not talking about time travel. Maybe something happened on that night, and it created … I don’t know … some sort of anomaly in the space-time continuum?
“Do you even know what a space-time continuum is?”
“No. But maybe we could find an expert or a scientist in this field. Someone who would have some of the answers.” Someone who wouldn’t think I was totally insane, I finished silently in my head.
“Rachel, honey, that stuff only happens in books and movies. In real life you can’t find Weird Scientist Guy actually listed in the Yellow Pages. Where would we even begin?”
“I don’t know,” I replied mulishly. I knew he was right. I just didn’t want to hear it.
