Am I Dead?

by C. P. IRVINE, IAN

  “Gone fishing.” She’d reply.

  At this point I’d anticipate the next line, about the black bag. It would usually follow in about three seconds.

  “…And if you don’t clean your bedroom, NOW, I’m going to go into your room with a black bag and fill it with anything I find on the floor, and throw it out!”

  Until now, I’d always focussed on the threat. The black bag. I’d always missed the truth behind the cleaning. It was to help my mum cope with some other problem. It acted as a vent for her frustrations. For her surplus energy. I’d totally missed the therapeutic benefits that cleaning had.

  Now, however, I discover them. In abundance.

  Having rediscovered myself, I turn my frustration on the once beautiful apartment which I have now trashed. Everywhere there is mess. Disorder. Chaos. And DUST!

  SO.

  MUCH.

  DUST!

  From 4 am to 6 am I go round every room of the apartment and remove the chaos, replacing it with order.

  At 6.30 am I leave my apartment, walk down the staircase of my empty building, and start searching the basement until I find a room full of cleaning materials, dusters and VACUUM CLEANERS! Eureka!

  By 9.30 am my apartment is sanitised, polished, and sparkling, and the air in every room has been sucked out and filtered by my big red Henry several times over.

  By 10 am any essence of an urge to drink alcohol which survived my epiphany has been fully replaced with a desire to collapse. To sleep. To go comatose …but naturally. Not in a chemically induced drunken stupor.

  I sleep.

  And sleep.

  And sleep.

  At 4 pm I awake, refreshed, sober. And starving.

  By 5 pm I have just eaten the best meal of my life.

  By 5.30 pm I am on a video call with the Professor.

  The Professor’s tone is serious.

  “I hadn’t anticipated this, James. I am sorry. I feel it’s partially my fault. I should have warned you.” He apologises.

  “But it’s not your fault. Please don’t beat yourself up about it. I’m the drunk, and the one making the choice to drink, not you.”

  “That’s the point, my boy, you’re not a drunk. James 2 is. You’re not him.”

  I look at the scar on my hand. It’s gone now.

  “I don’t understand, Professor. My genes dominated when I first arrived, and the scar healed because I, James 1, don’t have a scar. My dominant genes started replacing those of James 2, and the pattern of who I am took over and corrected the differences between the body of James 2 and James 1. We saw that. So how and why am I suddenly under threat of becoming him?”

  “Just because I won a Nobel prize, James, it doesn’t mean I’m a genius. I don’t know the answer to everything. Yet…” he says, quite seriously. “And, anyway, what would life be like if we knew the answer to everything? It’s little things like this that keep us all on our toes!”

  It’s typical Professor.

  “All good, apart from one thing, Professor. This is my life we’re talking about. I’m not a text-book scientific experiment…”

  “Oh, exactly, my boy, sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that…” The Professor immediately replies, and automatically goes into general damage limitation mode, trying to dig himself out of a small hole, or cavity, as he may put it.

  “It doesn’t matter, I get it.” I reply. “But, I wanted to thank you for asking Caroline to get those pictures for me. It’s helped put things into perspective. And I’m back. Thank you.”

  “That, my boy, is a big relief. I was getting worried I would have to be jumping on a helicopter and flying down to London to rescue you.”

  “And how would you have done that?” I ask, curious.

  “I’d have brought you back to my cottage here and locked you up in the pig shed, while you went… what do you say… cold turkey?”

  I laugh.

  “Well, thankfully that’s not necessary.”

  “So, my boy, what is your plan? And before you say anything, I have changed my mind about what I’d said earlier about meeting Sarah. I think you shouldn’t wait. If not for her sake, but for yours.”

  “I agree. And that’s my plan. It’s the only plan I have. I’m going to meet Sarah. Tomorrow.”

  “So, yes, I understand that Caroline has given you her address and telephone number. I also understand that you now know that she is married. Yes?”

  “Yes. But why didn’t you tell me that she was married?”

  “Because you had just arrived in your new time, and you had so much to get used to. I thought it best not to overwhelm you all at once. First you needed to set down some roots of your own in your new environment.”

  “I’m a big boy now Professor, I can handle these things. You should have told me straight away.”

  “Handle things? Ah…yes. That will explain why you’ve spent the best part of fifteen days completely drunk. You handled the news very well, didn’t you.”

  It wasn’t even a question. And I don’t attempt to provide an answer. One nil to the Professor. Sensing the advantage, the Professor carries on.

  “So, given that she is married, and that everyone is in lock-in, what’s your plan for managing the situation tomorrow when you drive by and knock on her door? And the husband answers the door?”

  Ouch. I hadn’t thought of that.

  “Run?” I joke. But it’s not funny.

  “Or if Sarah answers? What are you going to tell her then?”

  “The truth?”

  “Which is? That you crossed through the portal in an attempt to get back to the other Sarah?”

  “No. I’ll tell her that I had already started to move forward when she started talking to me, and by the time I heard and realised what she had said to me, it was too late. I was already through the door, and the time portal.”

  “So, not the truth then? Just a version of it?” The Professor mocks me, his head cocked slightly to one side, and his eyebrows raised.

  “Perhaps. Maybe. I don’t completely know. If I’m brutally honest, I think I had made up my mind to go home to my world, but then the news from Sarah was just too sudden. I carried on as intended, but the moment I was through the portal, that’s when I got the first chance to think about what happened.”

  “James, perhaps you need to think about it a bit more. You’ll only have one chance with Sarah. You need to have a story to tell her, and it needs to be one that you can passionately defend. Whatever you say to her has to come with conviction from you. If it doesn’t, then she will have no chance of believing it. Think carefully. Very carefully. And stay sober so that you can think this through properly. It’s obvious that you haven’t given it as much thought as you need to, my boy. You need to get your act together young man.”

  He’s right.

  As usual the Professor is spot on.

  “Maybe you should call her for me. She last spoke to you. You could maybe lay the groundwork for me. Perhaps even arrange for me to meet her, away from her husband.”

  “Now, that it is a better plan. I was hoping you’d come up with it.”

  “Perhaps it might even be a good idea to invite her here? I could send my car round to pick her up. She gets in, the car brings her back here, and we chat here in peace and quiet on my patio overlooking the Thames. No one will disturb us. We’ll get the space we need to resolve things.”

  “And her husband, James, my boy?”

  “Don’t invite him…”

  “I didn’t mean that. Obviously, that would be a bad idea. Bad. Very bad. Really very bad… But what I meant was, how do you think her husband would mind if he knew that his wife was just going off somewhere to visit another man?”

  “Don’t tell him. Can you not think of an excuse that the Government or you, need to interview Sarah in connection with your project and that as she once knew someone involved in the project, i.e. me, that she needs to be interviewed, officially. Perhaps even get a police car to pick her up when
she comes over to meet me, instead of me sending my car over?”

  “I think the latter suggestion is best. Yes, James, my boy, that is what we shall do. I shall call Sarah. I’ll talk with Caroline and then arrange for a car to bring Sarah to you. It may be tomorrow, or the next day. I shall let you know.”

  “Can she bring Kenneth with her too?” I ask, hopefully.

  “That’s not for me to decide. I will leave that decision with Sarah. However, I think that for now, it may be best if you would just meet Sarah alone. Together you can then decide what to do with regard to Kenneth.”

  He’s right. Pushing to see Kenneth straight away may be a bridge too far for now.

  So, the plan is now set: the Professor will speak to Sarah, and then call me back as soon as we have a time agreed for her to visit me.

  We hang up.

  And I immediately start to clean the apartment again.

  Chapter Forty Two

  Nerves

  .

  The evening that follows is tense. My new found sobriety is tested to the max.

  A constant nagging thought circulates round and around within my brain: “What if Sarah refuses to see me?”

  Every time I hear myself wonder it, I try my best to turn the negativity around, and spin it the other way: “What happens if she does agree to see me?”

  And then ever more positively, “What happens if she wants to see me?”

  They are valiant attempts, but the doubt and fear circle round time after time and eventually I give up trying to fight it.

  Instead, I go to bed, switch off the light and try to let sleep find me.

  It’s only 9.30 pm.

  At 10.35 pm, just after I’ve fallen asleep, the SP rings.

  It’s the Professor.

  “I spoke with her…”

  “When?” I immediately interrupt.

  “About 7.30…”

  “You’ve waited until now to tell me? Have you any idea what I’ve been going through…?”

  “James, when I spoke to her earlier, she was very shocked and quite scared when I told her you were here. She got quite upset. She wanted to hang up quite quickly so her husband didn’t realise what was happening. Before she hung up, I asked her if she would consider meeting you tomorrow. She immediately said no. I pushed a little, but then she wanted to hang up, so I let her. I didn’t think putting pressure on her was a good idea. She needed some time to get to terms with what I’d told her.”

  “She said ‘No!?’…” I repeat the words which the professor just told me, like the idiot I am.

  “Yes, James, she did…” He confirms my worst fears… “BUT, James, she just called me back. Two minutes ago, and she changed her mind! She’s agreed to come and see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  “WHAT?” I blurt out, my heart almost jumping out my mouth with excitement. “She’s coming here?”

  “Yes, James. Sarah is coming to see you tomorrow afternoon!” he pauses to let the news completely sink in. “I’m going to leave it to you to arrange a car to pick her up. Either you send your car, or you can call the number on the back of your Blue Pass, and they will arrange it for you. You already have her address, don’t you? She agreed to be picked up at three o’clock.”

  “Yes,…yes, I’ve got her address,” I nod, jumping out of my bed and starting to pace the room. “Why did she change her mind?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t probe any further, James. I thought best to quit while I was ahead. Anyway, the bottom line is that Sarah is coming to see you tomorrow, at three o’clock… and between now and then you need to plan exactly what you’re going to say to her. You may only have one chance, so get it right!”

  --------------------

  I’m awake before the sun rises.

  After lying in my bed tossing and turning most of the night, I finally managed to fall asleep, only to start having nightmares.

  First, I dream that when Sarah turns up at my apartment she is accompanied by her husband,… and that Sarah is pregnant, with twins. Two new sons for a new husband.

  Then, having woken then fallen straight back to sleep, I dream that Sarah doesn’t come. Instead a police officer turns up and informs me that Sarah has died of The ’18.

  The incredibly intense feeling of loss and emptiness I experience in my dream upon hearing that news does not leave me when I open my eyes at 5.48 am. On the contrary, it seems to grow more intense as the morning develops and then drags on, with my eyes checking my watch and the clocks in the apartment over and over again.

  I spend more time than necessary thinking about how to transport Sarah from her home to the apartment. For a while I consider driving over to her house and picking her up myself. But then decide against it. There’s a possibility that as soon as she sees me, she may bolt back into her house and refuse to come out.

  In the end, I decide to kill two birds with one stone. So, knowing that I owe someone special a visit, I ask the receptionist to arrange a bouquet of Irises for me and then walk back up to Trafalgar Square and over to the police station where I spent my first night in London. When I get there, I show my Blue Pass and demand to see officer Sue Alexander. She’s duly summoned and even though she is on patrol in a car somewhere, fifteen minutes later she walks back into the police station in response to my request. Or order. Depending upon how you viewed it.

  As she approaches me down the corridor where I am waiting, I stand up and from behind my back I pull out the hidden bunch of flowers.

  Her eyes light up when she sees them, and she laughs.

  “You remembered!” she claps her hands with glee.

  “I certainly did.”

  “That one was for helping save my life last week. And this one,” I say, “ …is for perhaps agreeing to save my life again today?”

  I give her a cheeky smile, and a small wink, and whereas I hold out the first bouquet towards her, I withhold the second one and push it slightly backwards, then raise my eyebrows questioningly.

  “Okay, okay, what can I do for you…” She laughs, taking the first bouquet and gesturing as if to grab the second one.

  “Could you please go and arrest my wife and bring her to me?” I say, keeping a straight face as I say it.

  “Arrest your what?” she coughs. “But you’re not married!”

  “Technically, I think you may be right. To be honest, I don’t know if I am or not. But that would be to another woman, anyway. I’ll need to check on that later.” I reply, immediately realising that I actually don’t know if I am still married in this world or not. Did Jane divorce me already? “But, actually, if possible, and you agree, I’d really appreciate it if you could go and collect my future wife from her current husband, and bring her to my apartment in Whitehall so that I can propose to her.”

  I say it with as straight a face as possible. It has the desired effect. The look on Sue’s face is priceless.

  “What…?”

  But then I crumble and put her out of her misery.

  “Actually, I would appreciate it if you could go and collect my ex-wife from an address I’ll give you, and then bring her to me, but during the drive over, if possible, I’d appreciate it if you could vouch for me that I’m quite a nice man, and explain to her that I was arrested early last week having been discovered wandering lost around Trafalgar Square after I escaped from the underground tube tunnels. If you can do that, I can do the rest!” I lie.

  “Okay, fine. And I’ll grant you this, James Quinn. Life doesn’t seem to ever be boring with you, does it?”

  If only she knew the truth.

  --------------------

  I know that Sarah values punctuality, so I speak again with Sue later as she confirms that she is on the way to Sarah’s house, and that she will be there on time. She agrees that she’ll send me a simple text message when Sarah is in the police car and they’re on their way over.

  Back in my apartment, I get ready.

  I’m freshly shaved, showered, and dressed i
n the best casual clothes I have. I know Sarah has always thought I looked good in a black shirt, and she likes brown leather shoes, so that’s what I wear.

  I have a bottle of her favourite red wine ready, and some delicious cakes and snacks.

  I arrange everything on the table on the patio, along with some fresh flowers in the lounge and in front of the mirror in the hallway. Everything is supplied to me by the front desk of the building, simply by requesting it.

  Which is good news, because it signifies that I’m still being considered a valid Blue Pass holder.

  At 3.05 pm I begin to worry that Sarah has changed her mind. Sue hasn’t texted me yet. I consider calling her, but decide against it.

  I wait.

  And wait.

  By 3.20 I’m getting quite concerned.

  At 3.25 my heart jumps when my phone finally beeps.

  It’s a simple message but one that couldn’t have been more important or valuable.

  “Sarah in car. We’re on our way. ETA 4.00pm.”

  Although I already know the time, I check my watch again.

  Thirty-five minutes to go.

  I’m a time-traveller. If only I could jump forward in time now. I can’t wait to see Sarah!

  Twenty minutes to go.

  I am sweating.

  Images of the last times we met… of our first date in W2… of my first time making love to her in this world… of the moment she shouted to me on the underground that she was pregnant… they all come flashing back to me.

  I stand in the corridor behind the door to my apartment.

  Waiting.

  Waiting.

  For the first time since I stepped through the portal, I feel an intense guilt building up inside me.

  Guilt that I did the wrong thing by stepping through the portal.

  Guilt that…

  I hear the elevator ping.

  Leaning forward, I peer through the spyhole on the door…

  I feel suddenly weak…

  It’s her!

  I watch as she steps out of the elevator door, stops, looks around and orientates herself.