by Ross Sayers
When ah reach the street, ah take a sharp right and hide behind the bushes. Ah definitely looked oot the windae that day fur a gid thirty seconds tae make sure somebdy hudnae been in ma flat. Ah wis waitin fur the postie tae emerge fae the close but he niver did. Ah thought ah wis losin the plot but noo ah’m no so sure.
Hunched behind the bush, watchin a spider danglin and cyclin its legs, ah decide ah need help. If Frances and Sam don’t recognise me, ah hink ah can rule oot goin tae any mair ae ma pals, and ah can only imagine the party Siobhan wid huv if ah turnt up at her office and telt her ah’m huvin hallucinations. She’ll probably tell me it’s cause ae Steven’s death as she’s tenderly wrappin the straightjaiket aroond me.
You could go to your mum if she didn’t hate your guts. She wouldn’t recognise you with this face. She barely recognises you these days.
Ah don’t need that the noo. Ah need somebdy that can actually help me. Ah need somebdy who might be able tae explain whit’s goin on.
Ah walk aw the way back intae toon centre, avoidin reflective surfaces whaurever possible. Ah don’t plan on ridin the subway again jist yet.
Ma jumper’s thick but the air’s freezin and ah wish ah’d hud time tae grab a jaiket afore ah left the flat. Ah pull ma arms oot the sleeves and cross them across ma chest inside the jumper. The sleeves dangle and sway as ah walk and occasionally bump intae ma belly.
Thur’s closer stations ah could go tae. Hillhead, Kelvinbridge, or the scene ae the crime itsel: Cowcaddens. But Buchanan Street is basically the main station and Yotta said she usually works at HQ so that’s me pittin two and two thigether.
It’s so cauld ma breath nearly turns solid in the air. Ah reach ma hawn oot and it disappears behind the fog. Patches ae ice dot the pavement and ah huv tae slow doon tae avoid goin erse ower tit. Every other shop hus a tiny sprinklin ae grit at the entrance so folk urr safe on thur feet fur that yard and a hauf and cannae sue if they fall ower.
Ah continue on ma way. Folk on Buchanan Street don’t tend tae move oot yer road. Ah feel lit ah’m gettin mair stares than usual. Well, ah’m no. Fake Daisy is. Whoever this person is that ah currently look lit. Ah need a new name fur this new face. Whit’s like a daisy? A rose? Rose. It’s as gid a name as any. Whit’s in a name and aw that.
Ah pass by a kind-lookin auld lady. Her jaiket’s open and the Christmas tree on her jumper twinkles wi wee coloured bulbs.
‘Excuse me,’ ah say. ‘Whit’s the day’s date?’
‘Eh, hing on,’ she says, grabbin her mobile fae her handbag. She flips open the phone case and peers at the screen ower her glasses. ‘It’s the 6th.’
‘Oh,’ ah reply. ‘Urr… ye sure?’
‘Ah’m no blind yet, hen.’
‘Course no, thanks.’
Ah walk further doon the street. Daft auld bat. She’s obviously got the wrong settins on her phone and nae grandkids tae fix it fur her. Ah wait until a woman ma age comes up Buchanan Street and ah ask the same question.
‘The date?’ she replies, slippin her phone fae her back pocket. ‘Ah hink it’s the 6th.’
She checks the phone.
‘Aye, the 6th.’
Ma heart sinks, lit it’s been dunked in a bucket ae cauld water.
‘…ae December?’
The woman pits her phone away.
‘Och, ah’ve nae time fur this. Bloody students, wastin ma time.’
She powers past me. It’s wan hing askin the date but askin the month makes folk hink ye’re a bit funny.
A thought occurs tae me. Mibbe ah’m in wan ae they mad Derren Brown programmes whaur everyone’s in on it apart fae me. Whaur he’s testin how far he can push a person’s mental state afore they crack. He’s hypnotised me so ah don’t recognise ma ain face in the mirror. Ah’ve iways thought they programmes might be fake but this certainly isnae fake. And ah’d watch this. Sendin a lassie back in time and she disnae recognise her face? Ah’d watch that, fur sure.
But how wid he fake every single person on Buchanan Street, a few days afore Christmas no less, pretendin it’s December the 6th? He surely couldnae fake everybody. Surely no aw the folk workin in the shops as well.
So let’s test it oot, Daisy. I mean… Rose. Ah look aroond the shops and pick yin at random. Sainsbury’s.
Ah go inside. The temperature disnae seem aw that different fae ootside. Two members ae staff wear black gloves as they stock chicken and mince intae the fridges. Ah’m no askin them, that’s too obvious. Ah’ll go deeper intae the shop.
Ah make ma way tae the pizza counter at the very back.
‘Excuse me,’ ah say tae the lassie, who looks lit she’d rather be anywhaur else.
‘Two seconds,’ she says, slidin a huge tray intae the oven and wipin her hawns on her pinny. ‘Whit urr ye huvin, hen?’
‘Ah jist wanted tae ask if ye… knew the date the day?’
She looks tae the calendar on the wall behind her.
‘It’s the 6th.’
Ah clench ma eyes shut. Ah haud them shut so tight ma ears rumble lit ah’m underwater. A few seconds pass then ah open them again.
‘Ye’re sure?’ ah ask.
‘Aye, ah can tell cause yesterday wis the 5th, see. Ma brother’s birthday. Selfish if ye ask me, that close tae Christmas, he shidnae huv been expectin a present, but then oor Dale’s iways been a bit selfish. Anyway, he got a tenner in a caird and he can like it or lump it. So, that aw ye’re wantin?’
Ah nod.
‘Unless,’ ah say. ‘Urr ye… a friend ae Derren Brown? Cause if ye urr… ah’ve worked it oot and yeese can aw stop noo. Ye can turn the cameras aff.’
‘Whit urr ye gibberin aboot? Ye wantin a pizza or no?’
‘Niver mind.’
Nae mair messin aboot. Only wan person can help me noo, and her name’s Yotta. Y-o-t-t-a.
16
Ah linger ootside the entrance tae the Buchanan Street subway. Folk seep aff the escalator in batches, bags-fur -life tucked under thur oxters.
Ma mum iways tells me ah shid appreciate bein a student while ah can, cause ah can go tae the shops while everybody else is at work. And someday ah’ll huv a nine tae five, Monday tae Friday office job and ah’ll need tae fight the crowds on the weekend.
It’s funny, even though ah’ve niver hud any particular talents or abilities, in high school it seemed lit that widnae be ma life. Ah wis certain that ah wis special. No that ah pit in any extra work lit the Duke ae Edinburgh folk but ah knew fur sure that ah wis different fae the rest ae them in ma year. And ever since ah started uni it feels lit the countdown clock hus started and it’s countin towards me applyin fur Tesco Bank cause ma Auntie Jean can get me an interview. And then that’ll be me fur fifty years. Tick tock.
I can’t believe you thought you were special. You have nothing unique about you and it’s already too late.
The escalator carries me doon tae the subway. Ah skip by the self-service machines and approach the main counter. The guy on the other side ae the glass is an aulder man. He flicks through a thick pile ae pre-printed tickets lit a blackjack dealer.
‘Hullo,’ ah say.
He disnae reply but raises his eyebrows in anticipation ae me sayin single, return or all day. A few seconds pass in silence. His eyebrows go even higher tae hurry me along.
‘Ah’m Rose,’ ah say finally. ‘That’s ma name the day. Every day, actually. Ah’ve jist got the wan name, obviously, cause ah’m normal. Jist a normal woman huvin a normal day. Ah’m named efter a rose. Lit the floo’r. Jist a wee rose. Whit’s your name?’
‘Walter,’ the man says. ‘Urr ye wantin a ticket?’
‘Well, no really. It’s jist, ah’ve a sort ae… complaint.’
‘Oh aye, did ye leave suhin on the subway?’
‘Kind ae. Wid ah be able tae speak tae Yotta? Is she in the day?’
He lo
oks as bored as it’s possible fur a human tae look.
‘Ah dunno who that is,’ he says.
‘She’s new, ah hink. Sort ae… medium height, long flowin white hair, talks in riddles, works the late shifts?’
‘Niver heard ae her.’ Walter turns tae the back ae the booth and shouts tae somebdy ah cannae see. ‘Here, Donna, dae we huv a new start called… Lotta?’
‘Yotta,’ ah correct him.
‘Yotta,’ he shouts.
‘No tae ma knowledge,’ comes the reply.
He swivels back roond and shrugs. Lit that is the maist he possibly could’ve done in the circumstances.
‘Well, can ah speak tae somebdy then?’ ah ask.
‘Ye’re speakin tae someone right noo, urr ye no? Dae ah no count?’
‘Ah suppose, but it’s quite a specific complaint. Is thur a special person that deals wi complaints?’
‘Ah hink ye’re overestimatin the workforce aroond here, hen.’
His eyes drift away fae me and ontae his computer screen. His hawn creeps across the desk tae his moose and he clicks it wan time, then again. He switches his gaze back tae me and looks disappointed ah’ve no skulked away.
‘Ah’d like tae speak tae somebdy in charge,’ ah say, hatin the fact that ah’ve turned intae the very hing ah hate the maist. But this isnae really me. This is Rose. Rose asks tae speak tae the manager and disnae feel uncomfortable aboot it. Rose complains her way tae a discount she shidnae really get jist cause the staff want rid ae her.
‘Ah’ll get ye a manager if ye tell me whit ye’re moanin aboot,’ Walter says.
Wi ma eyes closed, ah take a deep breath. Remember, Daisy, this isnae you sayin this. This is Rose.
‘Ah fell asleep on the subway last night,’ ah say. ‘And when ah woke up, ah wis a different person and ah’d went back in time. So if ye can point me in the direction ae someone who can help me wi that, ah’d greatly appreciate it.’
Ah smile. Walter pits his pile ae tickets doon. His fing’rs adjust his watch, movin it slightly up his wrist tae reveal a lighter strip ae skin, then movin it back intae place.
‘That right, aye?’
‘Aye, that’s right.’
‘Aye?’
‘Aye.’
He smiles and leans in closer tae the glass. Ah go on ma tiptoes and lean in as well. Ma nose is a few inches fae the circular pattern ae airholes in the glass.
Walter lowers his voice tae a whisper.
‘You escape fae somewhere, doll?’
Ah lower masel back doon, ma calves untightenin.
‘One, ah’m no a doll, and two, ah’ll escape yer face in a minute if ye don’t start bein mair understandin, Walter.’
He raises his hawn and points behind me.
‘Sorry, Rose, thur’s folk waitin. And they’re no on psychedelic drugs like yersel.’
And lit that, the wife behind me barges me oot the way and asks fur a single. Her and Walter huv a chuckle as he prints her ticket and takes her change. Ah hink aboot smashin her heid through the windae. If ah wis lucky ah could crash thur nappers thigether. It widnae even be me daein it. It’d be Rose. Ye cannae pit a fake person in the jail.
Thur clearly gettin weirded oot cause ah’m still no leavin. Ma legs don’t want tae take me away though. Cause ah’ve naewhaur tae go. Yotta wis the only yin that could help me. If ah leave the subway, ah don’t huv a clue whit ah’m supposed tae dae next.
‘Here,’ Walter says, pressed up against the glass. ‘Get oot or ah’ll phone security.’
Ma feet move slowly and ah’m barely aware ae whit direction thur takin me in.
So whit next, Daisy? Come on, hink aboot it. Whit huv ye got up yer sleeve? Big bad Daisy who disnae have feelings. Whit next?
By the time ah reach the top ae the escalator back ontae Buchanan Street, ma heid is spinnin. Ah jump up and sit on the ledge at the entrance. Ah pull ma feet up as well and tuck them under me lit a wean at assembly. If it wisnae so cauld, ah’m sure ah could sleep here.
The chill ae the wind soon works its way under ma shoes and socks. Ah curl ma toes back and forth as quick as ah can tae keep the blood in them.
In ma mind, ah picture the Strathclyde Uni buildings, tryin tae work oot whaur ah could go and mibbe huv a sleep. Level 2’s iways roastin, that could be a shout. Then again, there’s the abandoned labs in the Royal College Building. It disnae smell great in there but it’s better than nuhin. Ah can go and get a bit ae warmth at least. If ah get a full night’s sleep, rather than jist a nap, it might make hings go back tae the way they shid be.
Ah’m mentally gearin masel up tae hop aff the ledge when ah hear a voice.
‘Excuse me?’
A woman aboot ten years aulder than me stands in front ae me. The orange ae her high-vis vest glimmers against the grey ae the street.
‘Oh hullo,’ ah say. ‘Sorry, dae ye need me tae move? Ah wis jist goin.’
‘Don’t worry aboot it,’ she says.
The lassie produces a flask and pours hot tea intae the lid, the steam risin and disappearin afore oor eyes. She smiles as she passes the cup tae me and ah say thanks. Ah’ve nae clue why she’s daein this, especially efter ah’ve jist been turned away by wan ae her colleagues. She must hink ah’ve a screw loose. Ah’ll let her believe it if it gets me a free tea.
‘Ah’m Rose,’ ah say, takin a sip. It’s fuckin dynamite and warms ma chest lit a spilled pint spreadin across a pub table.
‘Jill O’Brien,’ the gurl says, hoppin up next tae me. ‘Well, it’s Jill O’Brien noo. Ma name used tae be Elouise Green. Afore ah went back in time on the subway.’
Ah turn tae face her. She stares at her shoes.
‘Ah heard whit ye said tae Walter,’ she says, then turns and looks in ma eyes. ‘We shid go somewhaur and talk.’
17
Highway to Hell is playin in the Hard Rock Café. Ah respect that they don’t change their playlist fur suhin silly lit Christmas. A signed guitar, black wi white roond the ootside, sits in a display case hung on the wall next tae me. Ah don’t recognise the guy in the photie next tae it.
Ah sit in a booth and fold a napkin intae a wee cup. Ah begged ma mum fur an origami book and aw the fancy coloured paper when ah wis younger. She got me it aw and ah niver made it past the cup on page two.
Jill returns tae the table wi oor drinks. Pint ae Heineken fur me, pint ae Coke fur her. She’s on her lunch break so ah let her aff wi it. She sits doon opposite.
‘Cheers. Shid ah call ye Jill?’ ah ask. ‘Or Elouise?’
‘Let’s stick wi Jill,’ she says. ‘Naebdy’s called me Elouise in years.’
Ah take a swig ae lager.
‘Jill, last night ah fell asleep on the subway and woke up lookin kind ae lit me but no me.’
Ah roll ma sleeves up and pit ma arms oot in front ae me tae inspect them properly. Roughly aboot the same amoont ae hair but a touch lighter and a new mole on the crook ae ma left arm that Rose might want tae get checked.
‘And noo,’ ah continue. ‘Naebdy recognises me. It’s apparently the 6th even though it shid be the 23rd. Up is doon, black is white, etcetera. So… can ye help me?’
The bartender passes by the table and ah remind masel tae keep ma voice a bit lower when ah’m discussin time travel.
Jill’s red and white straw turns broon as Coke shoots up it and intae her mooth.
‘On the 4th ae March 2012, ah went oot fur a drink wi ma pals,’ she says. ‘That turnt intae two drinks which turnt intae us absolutely steamin by teatime.’ She smiles and stares at the table, pausin fur a second. ‘Ah stumbled oot ae Sloans at some time efter eleven and decided ah could make the last subway back tae Shields Road. Ma flat used tae be right near the station.’
She plays wi her straw. It’s awready splittin and tearin at the top. Her fing’rnails urr red and gleamin, p
robably hud them done in the last day or two.
‘When ah got tae St Enoch station, the guy wis closin ower the big gates tae shut up fur the night. Ah snuck by him and doon the escalator. Another guy tried tae stop me once ah got doon there but, ah dunno, the drink makes ye a bit quicker than normal ah reckon. Passed him and jumped the barriers. The next escalator hud been turnt aff and ah nearly snapped ma neck stumblin doon the stairs.’
AC/DC fades intae the Foo Fighters. The TV screens show the video fur Learn to Fly. A group ae folk come in the entrance, takin aff gloves and scarves. Thur here fur thur Christmas lunch. They get ushered tae the furthest away corner.
‘Anyway, the screen said ah’d missed the last subway,’ Jill says. ‘Then this… subway worker appeared and telt me ah could get the next yin. Roger, his name wis. He wis talkin aw sorts ae nonsense but he ended up bein right. Wan pulled up a minute later. Thur wis naebdy on it.
‘Ah wis hauf cut, so ah didnae question it and ah got on. Six, seven oors later ah wake up wi a dug lickin ma face. Big Alsatian type hing. So ah get aff and tell them ah’ve lost ma ticket and they let me through the barriers. Ah thought ah’d got lucky since ah’d woken up at Shields Road. Ah got hame withoot seein anyone ah knew or catchin ma reflection or anyhin. Ah wis fairly sure ah looked a state so ah didnae want tae see whit ah looked lit, tae be honest.
‘Ma front door key didnae work in the lock, so ah used the spare under the doormat and went tae sleep aff the hangover.’
Ah nod. Ah’m glad ah’m no the only yin who solves maist ae ma problems by goin tae ma scratcher and hopin hings huv magically fixed themsels by the time ah wake up.
‘Ye’ll niver guess who woke me up this time?’ Jill asks me.
‘Another Alsatian?’
‘That wid’ve been better. It wis… me.’
‘You?’
‘Aye, me.’
‘Whit d’ye mean, ‘you’?’
‘Ah mean… ah opened ma eyes and… it wis me, Elouise, standin over me.’
Ah hink aboot the gurl sittin on ma couch, watchin ma telly and drinkin ma hot chocolate.