‘Ctrl‐Z,’ said Alex. ‘That’s all you have to do. Press Ctrl‐Z.’
Callum gave a little shrug, reached forward and held down the Control key with one finger and pressed Z with another.
Alex found himself standing outside the kitchen door with Mrs Bannister.
‘His father’s put him in charge of the balloons,’ Mrs Bannister was saying in a low voice. She gestured nervously over to the patio. ‘I’m not sure it was wise, but at least he’s where we can see him. Try to make sure he doesn’t… do anything, will you?’
‘Um… OK,’ said Alex, and he walked across to join his friend.
‘You’re early,’ said Callum. ‘Dad isn’t picking up Lilly for an hour yet.’
‘You don’t remember?’ said Alex.
‘Remember what?’ Callum pointed to the bag Alex was carrying. ‘What’s in there?’
‘It’s the computer,’ said Alex. ‘The one I was telling you about. You really don’t remember?’
‘I thought you already had a computer.’ Callum picked up a balloon, attached it to the nozzle of the gas cylinder and opened the valve. ‘Didn’t you get one for Christmas?’
‘Yes, I did,’ said Alex, ‘but it wasn’t like this one. This one…’ He stopped, not quite sure what to say. How could you explain to someone that you had a machine that meant you could go back in time when you were the only person that ever remembered that you had?
‘Dad wants me to do a hundred of these,’ said Callum. He put a clip in the base of the balloon and tied it to the arm of a garden chair to stop it floating away. ‘He wants them all over the garden. Pass me another, will you?’
Alex passed up another balloon from the box on the bench and Callum began filling it with gas. There had to be some way of explaining it, thought Alex, and as Callum filled balloons and chattered about an accident he had had that morning with a hedge‐trimmer, he tried to think what it was.
At the bottom of the garden, Mr Bannister was trying to mow the last bit of lawn, but his mower had stopped and he couldn’t get it started again.
From the open patio doors behind him came the sound of a cricket match on the television and the voice of the commentator saying Flintoff had been caught at mid‐off and England still needed seventeen runs to win.
Mrs Bannister came out of the kitchen with a tray of cutlery, which she carried over to a table set out in the middle of the lawn, and called to her husband to help move it into the shade…
… And suddenly Alex knew exactly what he had to do.
He sat on the bench, opened his laptop, set the time and pressed Ctrl‐Z.
‘What’s in there?’ Callum asked, pointing to the bag Alex was carrying.
‘It’s a computer,’ said Alex, reaching down and lifting out the laptop. ‘I got it this morning.’
Callum picked up a balloon. ‘I thought you already had a computer.’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Alex, ‘but this isn’t like the one I got for Christmas. This one can take you back in time. If you press Ctrl‐Z on it, you go back to an earlier part of the day.’
‘Ah…’ Callum attached the balloon to the nozzle of the gas cylinder and opened the valve. ‘I was going to get one of those,’ he said, ‘but then I thought, no, I’ll save up for an invisibility cloak.’
‘I know you don’t believe me,’ said Alex, ‘but I can prove it.’ He looked at his watch. ‘In about five seconds your dad’s lawnmower is going to stop. He’ll try to get it started again, but it won’t. Then the television will say Flintoff’s out and England still need seventeen runs or something, and then your mother’ll come out of the kitchen with a tray of stuff she’ll put on the table over there and she’ll ask your dad to give her a hand moving it into the shade.’
Callum stared at Alex for a moment and was about to speak when the sound of Mr Bannister’s lawnmowing suddenly stopped. At the far end of the garden, they watched as he tried unsuccessfully to restart the mower.
‘He’s gone!’ came the excited voice of the commentator from the television indoors. ‘Flintoff has gone! Caught at mid‐off by Pritchard and England still need seventeen runs if they are to win this match…’
‘Could you help me move this?’ Mrs Bannister called to her husband, as she put her tray on the table in the middle of the lawn. ‘I think it’d be better in the shade.’
Callum turned to Alex, his mouth hanging open. ‘How… How did you know all that?’
‘Because I’ve done all this before,’ said Alex. ‘It’s the computer. It lets me go back in time.’ And he was about to explain how, with Ctrl‐Z he could do this, when he noticed that the chair with the balloons was now three metres in the air and still rising.
The garden chair, to which Callum had carefully attached forty‐three balloons filled with helium, was made of lightweight aluminium. A moment before, there had been no indication that forty‐three balloons might be enough to make it float up into the air, but that was because, until then, Mojo the dog had been curled up on the seat. Seeing Mrs Bannister come out of the kitchen with a tray, however, Mojo had got down to investigate. In his experience, trays and tables meant there was a possibility of food.
Without his weight, the helium in the forty‐three balloons had been enough to lift the chair into the sky and, as the boys watched, it bumped into the satellite dish on the wall just under the guttering.
There was a cry from indoors as Callum’s grandfather called out to say the picture had disappeared on the television.
The balloons, with the chair swinging beneath them, continued to rise and then began drifting down the garden, carried on the breeze.
Callum’s grandfather appeared on the patio. ‘Something’s happened to the television,’ he said. ‘The picture’s gone. We only needed seventeen runs and –’ He paused, looking round the patio. ‘Where’s my jacket?’
‘What?’ Callum tore his eyes away from the floating chair.
‘I left my jacket on the back of a chair out here,’ said Grandad. He looked suspiciously at Callum. ‘What have you done with it?’
‘I‐I haven’t done anything…’ Callum sounded understandably nervous.
‘Well, where is it, then?’ demanded Grandad.
‘It’s all right!’ said Alex. ‘It’s coming down!’
He pointed excitedly down the garden to where the chair was indeed losing height. Some of the balloons had snagged on the branches of a tree and popped, with the result that the chair, with Grandad’s jacket hanging on the back, was losing height. Losing height quite rapidly.
Callum was the first to spot the danger. ‘Dad!’ he called out. ‘Dad, watch out!’
Carrying one end of the table, Mr Bannister turned, looked around and then looked up – unfortunately just in time for the metal base of the garden chair to hit him squarely on the bridge of his nose.
With a cry, he toppled backwards into a patch of nettles as the chair continued its downward journey to land with a splash in the pond.
‘My jacket!’ Grandad began running down the garden. ‘I’ve got my ticket for Australia in there!’
‘Arnold!’ Mrs Bannister was kneeling beside her husband who was bleeding profusely from the nose. ‘Arnold, are you all right?’
Callum stared out at the scene. ‘Why?’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Why do these things always happen to me?’
Alex, however, did not answer. He was sitting on the bench, tapping busily at the keys on his laptop.
‘Try to make sure he doesn’t… do anything, will you?’ Mrs Bannister was saying.
It took Alex a moment to remember when he was. ‘Um… right,’ he said, and walked across the patio to Callum.
‘You’re early,’ said Callum. ‘Dad isn’t picking up Lilly for an hour yet.’
‘I know,’ said Alex. ‘Now, listen. First of all, it’s a mistake to tie those balloons to that chair because when the dog jumps off it’s going to float away, right?’
‘What? What are you talking about?’ Callum
looked puzzled.
‘We’ll do the balloons first and get round to the explanations later,’ said Alex, ‘and when we do, I want you to pay attention because I’m only going to explain this once more.’
Even when Alex had explained everything twice, starting with what had happened at home when the parcel containing the computer had first arrived and finishing with the chair floating off into the air, Callum did not find it easy to believe.
‘You saw the balloons lift the chair?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Alex patiently.
‘And it knocked into the satellite dish and floated off down the garden?’
‘That’s right,’ said Alex. ‘Then the balloons punctured on some trees, the chair landed on your dad’s nose and your grandad’s jacket fell into the pond.’
‘But I don’t remember any of that.’ Callum shook his head as if it might jog a memory back into his mind. ‘I don’t remember anything like that at all.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ said Alex. ‘I told you. When I use Ctrl‐Z, nobody except me remembers anything.’
‘Yes…’ Callum nodded doubtfully. It would be simplest to think that his friend was making the whole thing up, but apart from the fact that Alex didn’t make things up, there was the problem of explaining how his friend knew about the balloons, and the lawnmower stopping, and what the score would be in the cricket on television…
‘Can I try it?’ he asked.
‘You already did,’ said Alex. ‘It’s no good. It only works for me.’
‘How about,’ said Callum slowly, ‘if we put my name in the computer instead of yours? We can change it back to yours after,’ he added hastily, seeing the look on Alex’s face. ‘It’d only be so I can try it.’
A little reluctantly Alex agreed, but when they tried they found it was impossible. Alex’s name could not be altered. The only thing you could change on that page was the time and when Callum insisted on doing that and then pressing Ctrl‐Z himself, the result was the same as before. Only Alex had any memory of going back a minute.
The trouble was that once he’d gone back in time, Callum didn’t know that he’d tried it and was back to when he was asking if he could try it, and Alex had to explain that he already had, twice now, and that he would have to accept the fact that the only person affected by Ctrl‐Z was Alex.
‘That’s a shame, that is.’ Callum was visibly disappointed. ‘Because there are times when something like that would be really useful to someone like me.’
‘You mean like when you’ve had one of your accidents?’
‘Yes.’ Callum sat down on the bench and stared thoughtfully down the garden.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Alex. ‘I can do it for you. Any time something happens to you, all you have to do is tell me and I’ll go back and stop it.’
Callum considered this. ‘You mean, if I sat down on this bench and broke something, for instance, you could go back to before I’d done it?’
‘Yes,’ said Alex. ‘Exactly. All you have to do is ask.’ He looked at his friend. ‘What have you sat on then?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Callum reached behind him and produced the bag Alex had brought. From inside he took out a small, squashed box, wrapped in gold paper.
‘That’s the welcome home present I got for Lilly,’ said Alex.
‘Ah…’ Callum shook the box, which made a rattling, tinkling noise. ‘Is it supposed to sound like that?’
‘Not really,’ said Alex. ‘It was a china dog.’ He reached for the computer. ‘Hang on…’
‘That’s a shame, that is.’ Callum was visibly disappointed. ‘Because there are times when something like that would be really useful to someone like me.’
‘You mean like when you’ve had one of your accidents?’ Alex reached out to move his bag from the bench.
‘Yes.’ Callum sat down and stared thoughtfully down the garden. He turned to his friend. ‘What are you going to do with it?’
Alex hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. Godfather John said in his email I should use it to have fun and make mistakes.’
‘Make mistakes?’
Alex gave a shrug. ‘That’s what he said.’
‘I should be able to help you there,’ said Callum. ‘I can probably make enough mistakes for both of us.’
CHAPTER THREE
The party was a great success. When Mr Bannister came back from the hospital with Lilly, you could see how thrilled she was to be home, and how pleased she was to see the balloons and decorations spread out over the garden. Everyone cheered as she came over the grass in her wheelchair – it would be a few weeks yet before her legs had completely recovered – and for the next hour she was busy opening all her welcome home presents.
The eating and the fun and the games went on for most of the afternoon. Alex stayed, at Mrs Bannister’s request, to help with passing round food and organizing the games Lilly wanted to play with her friends – and it was as well that he did. He had to use Ctrl‐Z three times that afternoon: once when Callum accidentally spilt a jug of Ribena on to the sound system Mr Bannister had set up; once when he tripped on a tree root, dropping a tray of cutlery on to the head of one of Lilly’s friends; and a third time when he set fire to the sitting room.
The fire happened when Callum’s mother asked him to tie up Mojo so that he didn’t bother the guests, some of whom were rather nervous of a large dog bounding round the garden. Callum tied him to the barbecue, which was all right until Mojo decided to drag himself (and the barbecue) indoors and set light to the sitting‐room curtains. Happily, on all three occasions, Alex was able to go back to before the accidents had happened and make sure that they didn’t.
‘We’re so grateful to you!’ Mrs Bannister told him when Lilly had been sent indoors to rest and Alex was about to go home. ‘It’s been the most wonderful afternoon and we couldn’t have done it without you.’
‘Me?’ Alex wondered for a moment if Callum had told her about his computer. ‘I didn’t do anything… really.’
‘Oh yes, you did.’ Mrs Bannister beamed down at him. ‘I saw the way you kept watching Callum, making sure that nothing happened that could spoil everything, and nothing did! We’re very grateful to you!’
She gave him a large piece of cake and a giant bottle of fizzy orange and, as Alex walked home with his laptop tucked under his arm, he was filled with the sense that it had been a good day.
A very good day.
Turning into the drive that led up to his own house, his mother lifted her head from under the bonnet of her car and asked how the party had been.
‘It was brilliant,’ said Alex. ‘Lilly had a really good time.’
‘That’s nice…’ Alex’s mother held up a spark plug and examined it carefully. For two years now she had been doing up an old Triumph TR4, and although the work was almost finished, the engine still didn’t run as smoothly as she’d like. ‘And how many accidents did Callum have?’
‘None,’ said Alex. ‘He didn’t have any.’
‘That must be a first.’ Mrs Howard was checking the gap in the plug with a micron gauge, but then peered over the top of the car at Alex. ‘You’re not hungry or anything, are you? Only I’d quite like to finish this.’
Alex said he had had plenty to eat at the party and went indoors. He got himself a glass from the kitchen and took it with the fizzy orange and the computer upstairs to his room.
Walking home from the Bannisters’, he had had an idea. If he set the clock on the laptop for a time later in the day rather than earlier, maybe Ctrl‐Z could send him forward to a time in the future, instead of the past. He could think of several ways this might be useful. If you were going to the dentist, say, or didn’t want to do some homework, skipping forward to after it had happened and missing out all the uncomfortable bits would be kind of neat.
Disappointingly, when he tried it, nothing happened. Sitting at the desk in his bedroom, he typed in a time thirty minutes in the future and pressed Ctrl‐Z, but in
stead of finding himself doing whatever he would be doing in half an hour, the time on the computer simply returned to what it had been before and Alex remained firmly in the present.
He was equally unsuccessful when he tried changing the date. He thought it might be fun to move to a different day in the future or the past, but quickly discovered that the date, like his name, could not be altered. The only thing he could change was the time on the clock to something earlier.
He drank his fizzy orange and wondered why this should be. It was only one of a growing list of questions to which he wanted to know the answer. Like what happened to the times that no longer existed because he had gone back and changed them? What, for instance, happened to the time when the balloons had floated off with the garden chair? Where did it go?
The only person he knew who might be able to tell him was Godfather John, and Alex was wondering about the best way to contact him when he heard the sound of his parents’ voices in the kitchen downstairs.
The voices were raised and he realized, with a sinking feeling, that they were arguing.
Again.
Alex could remember a time when his parents never argued at all. In fact, for most of his life he could hardly remember them even getting upset. Other children might have parents who quarrelled, got angry and shouted at each other, but life at number 17 Oakwood Close had always been remarkably quiet and peaceful.
And then, a few months before, they had started having these arguments – not all the time, just occasionally and about the silliest things. They argued about who hadn’t hung up a bath towel, or who hadn’t turned off a light, and they had even had one argument that lasted over an hour about whether a screwdriver had been put back in the right drawer in the utility room.
Alex crept out on to the landing so that he could hear what they were saying and found that this time they seemed to be arguing about supper.
‘You were the one who suggested it.’ His father’s voice came up from the kitchen. ‘You were the one who said you wanted to cook a proper meal.’
‘I’m sorry!’ said his mother. ‘I was working on the car and I forgot.’
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