Am I Dead?

by C. P. IRVINE, IAN

  And I hear Jane tell her that the answer is ‘yes’ and ‘no’, perhaps just protecting Elspeth from further confusion, or maybe also revealing to her daughter just exactly how she feels.

  It’s interesting.

  Now I feel no pressure from the children, for the first time ever I truly look at them. I truly see them.

  They’ve grown a lot. They’re both beautiful young ladies. Clever. Sensitive. Charming.

  Jane has done an amazing job.

  But what’s most incredible of all, is that I see myself in them. They take their beauty from Jane, but I also see that they look like me. Or more truthfully, my mother and my father.

  I sit with them.

  I talk with them.

  We play an amazing game called Rummikub.

  They win. I lose. Repeatedly.

  At one point something amazing happens. Something incredible.

  Something wonderful.

  We all laugh at the same time.

  On third day, the lock-ins end.

  I am there, with Jane, and Elspeth and Allison, as all the doors of the street are thrown-open, and people step outside.

  Slowly, at first hesitantly, but then more bravely, creatures, called humans, begin to emerge from their caves.

  Wearing masks, keeping a social distance of three metres from each other, neighbours, friends, and loved ones, greet each other in the streets at the end of their gardens.

  A few people climb into cars, only to find that their batteries are now dead and they can’t start their engines.

  People begin to walk. Everywhere.

  Anywhere but the buildings in which they have been imprisoned for the past few months.

  But always, always, staying a respectful distance away from each other.

  We watch on the news as we learn that long queues have grown outside the shops. Everyone is nervous. Worried about being too close to anyone else.

  But everyone, EVERYONE, is happy to be outside again.

  Outside, a party atmosphere develops, and you can literally feel the electricity in the air.

  In some ways, this is all madness. Although the virus has been suppressed, ending the lock-ins is not the end, but just the beginning of a new wave of infection that will start to grow from the moment the lock-ins end.

  But with deaths from starvation now eclipsing deaths from the virus, although it’s

  madness to end the lock-ins, it’s even greater madness to let them carry on.

  On the fourth day, a police officer turns up at Jane’s house, asking for me.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, revealing that he is simply conducting a check to ensure that I had not gone missing, died, or had an accident. It turns out that being a Blue Pass Holder also entails constant surveillance.

  “How did you know I was here?” I ask.

  The officer refuses to reply, but just smiles, and acknowledges that they did.

  On our fourth night together, we hold a barbeque in Jane’s garden.

  We drink. We laugh. We play stupid games.

  On the fifth day, I feel good. Not brilliant. But much, much better.

  After lunch in the garden, with the girls, Jane senses that I am ready to leave. She knows that I may not come back. Or that I might. But even so, I do not actually myself know if she would want me to.

  There are no expectations.

  As I leave, and just before I climb back into Ralph, I hold her hand, kiss her once on the lips, and say, “I will always remember this Jane. Always.”

  I’m about to say something else, when Jane raises her hand and places a forefinger on my lips.

  She doesn’t say goodbye. Or ask any questions.

  She just smiles.

  And I leave.

  --------------------

  I arrive back in my apartment shortly before three o’clock. As I walk past the reception desk the lady behind it catches my attention and informs me that the Home Secretary would like me to call her, ‘as soon as it is convenient’.

  Well, it’s not convenient for a few hours. I want to take some time to myself, to unwind, have a drink on the patio – it’s a beautiful day – and then call the Professor.

  Upstairs, just inside my door, is a new stock of alcohol, delivered according to my request as per my phone call to the front desk yesterday.

  I take a couple of beers and head out onto the patio.

  I’m immediately struck by how noisy it is outside. The smell is also different.

  Since the lock-ins ended, London has come alive again. Instead of the thirty minutes it took me to get back here from Surbiton, it took almost an hour. The A3 was back to its normal self. It’s as if the Prime Minister pushed a button and the world just changed. Which it did. Everyone has been let out of prison. The PM posted bail for everyone.

  Standing on the patio looking down at the city beneath I see roads full of cars, a river full of boats, and thousands of tiny little ants running around, infecting each other and being infected.

  From up here, with my global view of the world, I can see the next wave of infection developing before my eyes.

  It’s not a question of ‘if’, but ‘when’.

  And how many will die next time round?

  The smell of the fumes hits me immediately. Strangely, I would probably have never noticed it before, but now, having been fume-free since the day I arrived in 2021, I can’t believe how bad the pollution in London is. Already. After only a few days.

  Lastly, the noise.

  It’s loud!!!!!

  It’s a shame. Until now, this apartment had been amazing. Having had the opportunity to live here for a while, and experience the luxury and incredible views has been brilliant. But now… now the lock-ins are gone… I almost long for the simplicity and quiet of my mother’s house in Kingston.

  So, before I call the Professor, I go to the website for B&Q, surprisingly the same massive one-stop hardware and do-it-yourself decoration shop for everything in this world as it is in mine, and I see if they are now open and taking orders.

  Scanning through the website, I order a million tins of paint of different colours, and a myriad of tools and materials that I will need to help repair and redecorate my mum’s home. I arrange for a delivery several days later, then I fetch my third beer.

  Planning for the future is thirsty work.

  Over the past few days at Jane’s I spoke briefly with the Professor several times. He seemed pleased that I was back at Jane’s, and he could sense that something was going on.

  He was right.

  But I didn’t tell him anything more… I thought I’d string him along for a bit. In return, he insisted that he didn’t have any news for me yet… again, the emphasis on the ‘yet’ but he told me to call again soon. Very soon.

  Which is what I’m doing now.

  He answers almost immediately.

  “James, you got my message?” he shouts down the phone at me.

  “What message?” I reply.

  “The message to call me. As soon as you got my message…”

  “What message?”

  “My email, my SMS, and the one I left with Caroline?”

  “Caroline is not my keeper, Professor. Why didn’t you call Jane?”

  “I did. You’d left.”

  “When was this?”

  “About twenty minutes ago!” he replies.

  “In which case, I didn’t get that message, but I’m calling you now…”

  “Why?”

  “Because… never mind! Professor, I’m guessing you have that big news for me?”

  “Almost… almost… I just want to be sure. Go and weigh yourself and tell me your exact weight. Call me straight back.”

  “Nope… stay on the line… there’s a scale in my bathroom…”

  I head through, pull it out, zero the centre reading by pressing a button at the front of the scale until it reads ‘zero’ and then I step on it.

  “You are seventy-three and a quarter kilograms,” an
electronic voice informs me.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Yes… seventy-three… kilograms… yes?”

  “And a quarter…”

  “Excellent, I’ll call you back… soon, very soon, my boy, James…” he says.

  He hangs up, but his excitement is infectious.

  From his fascination with my weight, my exact weight, I know what this is about.

  He knows when I am going home.

  The Professor has almost finished his calculations.

  He KNOWS when I am going home!

  Chapter Fifty Three

  .

  At five o’clock I sit down at my computer and launch a video call session with Richard Cohen.

  We spend an hour catching up on business and agree that it’s time for me to start meeting some of the clients, at least, by video call if not in person.

  But first thing next week we both agree that I should meet Rachel, the other partner in the firm. Monday morning. 10am.

  Richard promises to also get his personal assistant to set up a series of customer meetings for the next week.

  “In a week or two, we should also consider whether to hire a new PA for you, or initially share mine, or Rachel’s. It’s up to you. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. In the meantime, the other big date to put in your diary is the group video call next Friday afternoon. Now the lock-ins are finished, we’re going back from monthly team calls to weekly. It’s really exciting, James. You’ve come back to us just at the right moment. We need you!”

  I know I should be more excited. But sadly I’m not.

  I really struggle to keep my attention going during the call with Richard.

  All I can think of is what the Professor is going to tell me when he rings next.

  After the call, I take a shower, and relax as I let the high-power pulsing water jet pound into my forehead, and then the back of my neck.

  Stepping out, towelling myself down, I hear a knock on the door to my apartment.

  Wrapping the towel around my waist, I walk through my apartment and open the door.

  It’s Caroline.

  “Wow…I’ve arrived, just at the right time.” She smiles, looking up at me from her wheelchair.

  “I was just getting dressed… I didn’t expect you.” I say, opening the door to let her in.

  “Don’t bother getting dressed. You’re fine as you are!” she laughs.

  We make our way through to the lounge.

  “How’s things?” she asks.

  “Good. And you? How are you feeling?” I ask, my eyes dropping to her stomach.

  “It’s only a few weeks, James. There’s nothing to see yet.”

  She takes off her jacket and hangs it from the back of her chair.

  “So, I was worried about you. You dropped off the Grid for a few days…”

  “Not really. I was just visiting…”

  “Jane. How is she? Are you two an item again? After four days…?”

  I look at her.

  “How did you know I was there, Caroline?” I stupidly enquire, although I already know what the answer will be.

  “I’m the Home Secretary. You’re a Blue Card Holder. You’re monitored constantly. And you’re the father of my child…”

  “Really?” I ask, no longer able to hold back the question in my mind.

  “What do you mean by that?” Caroline asks, leaning forward slightly in her chair and fixing me with a serious look. One that I haven’t seen before. It’s slightly aggressive.

  “I mean, are you really pregnant? You were drinking a lot of alcohol the other night. In fact, you got drunk.”

  “Ah…” she replies, nodding. “It’s a fair cop. I was. Guilty as charged.”

  “And? Is that all you’re going to say about it?”

  “What do you want me to say? That I won’t do it again? That I was a bad mother, potentially getting our unborn son or daughter drunk?”

  “No… but it’s worse than that. You could harm the baby…”

  “Not yet. Not according the latest research I’ve done. The very latest research…”

  “That’s rubbish. You’re taking a chance with the baby’s life, if there is a baby, and that’s unacceptable.”

  “Unacceptable to whom? What have you got to do with it? I thought I’d made it very clear that I don’t need you to take any responsibility for it.”

  “It? I thought we agreed it’s not an it? It’s a little human. He or she will be my baby too whether you like it or not, and I do have a say as to what happens to him or her.”

  “So, you care? You want the baby after all?”

  “I never said that. I just…”

  “And given that you are not going to be around, maybe not at all, and that I’m certainly not going to let him or her have anything to do with that other failure that shares your name and DNA, then maybe this is all down to me. And not to you. So back off!”

  “Back off? You stop drinking and start caring! Start taking Folic acid and getting exercise and sleep…”

  Caroline is smiling, Not quite laughing. But suddenly I realise that maybe I’m being played.

  “James, listen, it’s okay. I won’t be drinking again. It’s a mistake. One last hurrah before years of abstinence. I won’t be drinking while breast feeding either. So… don’t worry. I might be a rubbish runner, a cripple, useless at most other things, but I will be a great mother. Just wait and see.”

  I look at her. I can see the sincerity on her face. She means it.

  “Okay… fine. But I’m not comfortable with you monitoring where I am all the time. It’s a bit sinister. What do you want from me? Are you jealous of Jane?” I reply, getting another concern off my chest.

  “It’s like we talked about before, James. Friends with benefits with baby socks. Nothing more. If you and Jane are having regular sex, good for you. I might be a little jealous,… but I hope that if we ever spend some nice times together, you may still feel comfortable enough to …”

  “Sleep with you? Make love to you? Or to just ‘fuck’ you.”

  “Actually, all of the above. Depending upon the mood, the occasion, and, to be honest, the time of the month. Sometimes I… I can be quite demanding. It’s the hormones. And the fact you look great naked…”

  I laugh. I realise that I’m still only wearing a towel.

  “So,” I ask, “Just for the record, and so we both know…what time of the month is it now?”

  She laughs.

  “You’re wondering if I’ve come round to jump your bones again, or if there’s another reason?”

  I nod.

  “I wanted to give you this…” She says, reaching into a pocket on the side of her chair and pulling out a brown envelope.

  “What is it?” I ask, opening it up and removing several sheets of paper covered with a matrix of numbers, columns and rows.”

  “It’s the time table for the reopening of the underground. The first week is the trial runs, and testing. The second week is a reduced timetable as we scale things back up and allow for some engineering work.”

  “This is fantastic. Thanks!” I say, studying the lists.

  “I’ve highlighted the Jubilee Line test runs in yellow… And given you the telephone numbers of those on duty, and access codes to the keypads at the entrances to several of the stations, just in case you need to get in and the gates are closed.”

  “They’ve already started?”

  “A few days ago. I tried to reach you, but when I realised you were busy ‘fucking’ Jane… I thought I’d leave you to it.”

  I look at her, but quickly realise that she’s teasing me. She laughs.

  “James. Any day… on any of these opportunities to travel on the Jubilee Line…it could happen…Who knows?... I may never see you again!”

  I nod.

  She may be right.

  “Alternatively, I may be stuck with you for a long time yet. At this point in time, we don’t know when it may happen.
It could be years.”

  “That’s true…but my gut feeling is that’s not going to happen.”

  “It can’t come soon enough,” I say. “I need to get back to some form of reality. I can’t keep living like this.” I stand up and start pacing the room.

  “James, everyone’s been going through a bad time. And the news isn’t going to get any better. If you watch the news on I-Vision tonight, you might be shocked. But… honestly, you’ve got it a lot better than most people.”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s not just ‘The ’18’. It’s all this business of not knowing how long I’ve got here, and having no certainty... living someone else’s life... It’s really getting me down.”

  “James. It’s sounds like you’ve got PPTTSD.” Caroline interrupts me.

  “What? I think you mean PTSD.” I reply, correcting her.

  “No. I don’t mean Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I mean you’ve got Pre and Post Time Travel Stress Disorder. You’re confused and depressed because you know you’ve got some time-travel coming up but don’t know when, and you’re depressed and confused and angry because you’ve already time-travelled against your will and are still trying to come to terms with it. It affects all time-travellers. There’s nothing unique about you. Don’t worry. It will pass.”

  I stare at her.

  “It affects all time travellers? How many others are there?”

  She laughs.

  “You’re it. The only one. So all time travellers have it. Statistically it’s normal!”

  I laugh. A little. I know she’s doing her best to be kind, but it doesn’t manage to blow away the cloud that’s been following me around for days.

  “Okay… I can see that I’m not completely welcome just now, so it’s probably best if I leave.”

  She looks at me, perhaps waiting for me to contradict her. To tell her she’s welcome. Or maybe to even make a move on her. But I don’t.

  I promise to call her sometime. To keep her informed about anything that happens.