Who Stole My Life?

by C. P. IRVINE, IAN

  "But when it happened last time, I could not make it to the doors, because the other people prevented me."

  "So, from now on, you just make sure you are always the closest to the doors!"

  An obvious solution.

  "But why do the others not see what I do, and why am I not affected like them? They are frozen solid, almost as if time is standing still for them."

  "And so it is. You see, for them, they are on the correct timeline. For them, there is no attraction to the other timeline. They do not experience it as you do. This is, after all, their world. It is you who are the stranger. Nature is not inviting them to leave. Only you."

  "Why do I get the sudden feeling that I am like an asylum seeker, seeking sanctuary in this world. I've lost mine, and have wandered into this one. Only you don’t want me here, and someone is trying to gently prod me to leave."

  "Aha. A good analogy. And if I may, being the good customs official that I am, I should just warn you, that if you do not go home on either of the next two timeline collisions, you will lose your physical passport and be stuck here for good."

  "But how will I know when these timeline collisions will take place again, or that they haven't happened already?" I ask, suddenly worried that they may have already happened but I wasn't travelling on the Jubilee Line at the time when they occurred.

  "Ah… I know what you are thinking. Don’t worry. These events are centered around you. They will not happen when you are not there. The fact is that you will be aware when it happens. You will be at the centre of the timeline collision. You will be the cause of it occurring. We know it seems to happen on the Jubilee Line, but as to the question of when? That I cannot tell you. It will be random. The stupid thing is that it could be tomorrow, next year, or even in ten years' time. Time is, after all, relative. In the great scheme of things, there is little difference between tomorrow or next century. All I can say is, watch, wait, and be ready. You have two more chances, James. That's all. Miss them and you are stuck here for good."

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Tuesday night

  .

  The flight back down to London passes quickly, my mind lost in a forest of thoughts. The Professor has given me hope, hope which he has dangled in front of me like a carrot, but at the same time, depressing me with the threat that such hope comes with a warning: two more chances. Miss them and I can forget my old life forever.

  Thoughts of Sarah soon lead me to pondering once again, why on earth it was that I started looking elsewhere, and why I started to feel the necessity for chasing after another woman. I love Sarah. Why did I do what I did??? Why?

  I'm old enough and ugly enough to know that somewhere there is a good reason. And although stupidity was my middle name, I know now that I must figure out the 'what' and the 'why' of Sarah and my relationship. There is no point in finding Sarah again, without first understanding why it went wrong the first time around. If I find her… I have to make sure the same thing doesn’t happen again. That I do not make the same mistake twice.

  As soon as I start on that track of thought, I find myself conjuring up the smiling face of Sarah in my mind, and once again I see her running down the garden path at home, laughing, hurrying to answer Keira's calls, who is screaming for mummy to push her on the swing. I smile at the memory again, the same memory I had not so long ago, and I long for Sarah. I need her.

  Then she turns towards me as I call out for her to let me take a photograph, and as she turns towards me her swollen womb swings into view.

  The smile dies on my lips, and sadness fills me again, a feeling of dread surging through my mind and body. The attraction I felt to the vision of Sarah, so strong and so physical, vanishes in a flash, and I quickly switch off the picture, fighting to bring my breathing back into line, adrenaline pumping through my body.

  Worse than before, far worse. Is this what a panic attack is?

  As the plane turns in a sweeping arc high above Heathrow, the passenger beside me notices me gripping the hand-rest tightly and breathing heavily. He turns towards me, touching me lightly on the arm.

  "Excuse me, are you okay? Are you scared of flying…" he asks, genuinely concerned for my well-being.

  I stare at him, without replying, the face of Sarah being replaced by that of the man beside me.

  "Don't worry mate. I promise you, there's nothing to be afraid of… and we'll be on the ground in a few minutes…"

  Rather rudely, I turn away from him, muttering a word or two of thanks, and start to stare blankly out of the little porthole beside me.

  Far below, the little cars dart up and down the M25, thousands of people heading home from work. Driving home to loved ones, and to their families.

  So just what is it in the mental picture of Sarah being pregnant that causes me to react to so physically?

  What?

  --------------------

  On Tuesday night we were all invited around to Jane's parents to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary. My parents were invited too.

  I made it back to the house just in time to shower and change, and then drive the family over to Chiswick for 7 pm. Jane was in a good mood, excited about the evening, and pleased with the presents she had bought them. Presents which she had bought several months ago, apparently with my help, although I have never seen them before.

  This would be only the second time I had met Jane's parents, the first being last week, when they popped around to our house briefly one night. Her mother was all over me, showing genuine concern for the state of my health, but probably more worried about her daughter, and worrying about the future of our marriage. I wonder just how much Jane has told her about our relationship and my affairs?

  About forty people had been invited to the party, and an excellent buffet had been laid on, along with copious amounts of drink. About half way through the evening, Jane's dad made an emotional speech about how lucky he had been in love, and how important and wonderful it was to find the right person. Something he wished everyone else could do too. Perhaps not the best advice he could be giving me, his son-in-law, given the circumstances.

  As the evening drew to a close, I offered to take my parents home, after dropping Jane and the kids off first. I wanted the chance to talk to my dad alone, and to tell him about my visit to Edinburgh once mum had gone to bed.

  Over a cup of hot chocolate I went over everything I had learned.

  "…so you see…there could be some sort of weird physical explanation for all of this after all," I said, finishing up.

  My father got up from our seats in front of the fire, and went to get some fresh tobacco for his pipe. He came back, filled it, and then sat silently a little longer. Eventually, the silence began to annoy me.

  "So, dad. What do you think?" I ask.

  "What do you want me to think? I'm both scared and happy for you."

  "What do you mean?" I question, puzzled.

  "Listen, James. I'm a simple old man now. I don’t understand all this science stuff. I was born before they invented the helicopter or the hovercraft or color television or spacecraft. My generation just had bicycles, spam and black and white movies. And to be quite honest, I still don’t know if I believe all this stuff you are telling me. I mean, how can I? I know it is real to you, but to me? It’s just way beyond anything I can ever grasp. No, stop, listen and let me finish," he says, raising his hand to stop me speaking when I try to interrupt him. "…but I will do everything I can to support you. You are my son, and I love you. I want you to be happy. Okay, now just imagine for a second that this is all true. Imagine everything you have said to me is correct. Then the way I see it, we have two problems. Two big problems. Not the least of these is that, if your happiness now depends upon making 'the jump', as you so quaintly describe it, and this professor chappie of yours is correct, then you now only have two more chances to 'jump' from this world to your own. Two. Miss them, and you are stuck here for good. And then you lose what you perceive as the only ch
ance you have left for happiness. And that is the last thing I want to happen to you. I want you to be happy, son. And I'm scared that if you miss either of these opportunities, then you will never find happiness again in this life. And that is something that would make me very, very unhappy. Which means that I must then advise you, to make as many preparations as you can, to make sure you are ready whenever the next occasion arises…"

  I try to speak again. But he cuts me short once more.

  "No. I've not finished yet. This all leaves me with a big dilemma. I'm encouraging you to go after something which you believe to be real. But from my side, I can’t see how it is. So, in a way I'm encouraging you to go after something which I don’t think can happen, knowing full well that when it doesn’t, you will be heartbroken! I'm in no-man’s land here, son. So, what do I do? Support you on your holy quest, or encourage you now to give it up? Of course, there is the possibility that you're right, that I'm wrong, and that this 'jump' thing is completely possible. Which takes us into a whole new area. James, what happens if you make this 'jump?' What happens if you do successfully cross over to your other world? What happens to us? To your mother and I? Did your professor friend tell you what happens to the people you leave behind? It would kill your mother if you suddenly disappeared from her life. One minute you're there, the next you're gone! And who would look after Jane and the kids?"

  Ouch. I hadn't thought of that.

  "James, if your marriage is over with Jane, that's one thing. But are you sure that you and your subconscious are not just making this whole thing up to help you run away from your problems, and from your marriage? Think about it, the mind is a very powerful thing. Have you thought…"

  "Dad, I have thought about all these things. And I'm not mad. Honestly. Please, please believe me. But what can I do? This is not my world…I don't belong here!"

  Emotions are beginning to rise. Both of us are on our feet, pacing the room, my father puffing furiously on his pipe, blue smoke filling the room. My father's face is red, and for the first time I wonder if I should be bothering an old man with all of this. Am I asking too much of my dad?

  I'm a man of science, and if I'm struggling to get my head around this, what hope has my dad got?

  "James, please, come sit down." He waves at my seat. "Let me ask you one question. Do you think you can save your marriage to Jane? Honestly…"

  "No dad. I don't think I can. All I can do now is to prepare her for the future. I just don’t think that I could continue in a marriage that is not one of my own choosing. For a start, I never proposed to her…"

  "Okay. Okay. If that is what you seriously believe, then my advice to you now is still the same as I gave you before. And I think it’s the only way to go that keeps everyone as happy as possible. You must find this woman Sarah, your real wife. And you must make a life with her here. In this world."

  "But what if she doesn't call me when she gets back from her trip to Cuba?"

  "What did I say before?"

  "One bridge at a time?"

  "Exactly."

  --------------------

  I decide two things on the way home in my car.

  Firstly, I can't talk to my dad about this anymore…

  And secondly, despite the concern my dad might have about me going back to my world, I have to do everything I can to tie up my affairs here, and to make all the preparations I need so that I can make the jump back at the next opportunity that presents itself.

  Whatever the cost, whenever it happens, whether it's this year, next year, or in ten years' time, I'm going home.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Thursday -The Osprey Rooms

  .

  With the arrangements and all the final preparations for the Olympics PR conference completed by the end of play on Wednesday, I wake up on the Thursday morning, and am looking forward to the day ahead.

  Really looking forward to it…

  Stu Roberts and some of the other important officials from the British Olympic Committee all arrive promptly at 9.00 am, and I immediately recognize the faces of a couple of them, one a famous Olympic medal winner from my university days, and another a famous politician. Both as famous in this world, as they are in mine.

  The Osprey Room is well organized, rows and rows of seats lined up in front of the raised stage, above which an impressive overhead presentation system proudly projects the famous five rings of the Olympics and the words LONDON 2016 underneath.

  The press begin to arrive at 9.30 am, and my new PA, Tracy, runs around like mad, making sure that everyone is happy, has some refreshments, and has received a copy of the Press Pack she has put together. It's her first big job for me, and I must say that I'm really impressed. She worked with Stu to pull this all together at a moment's notice, and giving credit where credit is due, she has done a marvelous job.

  By 10 am people are seated, and Richard gets up and welcomes everybody to the meeting. A short speech then it's over to me. Without enough time to become as knowledgeable on all the details as I would like to be, I have arranged to quickly hand over to Stu, so that he can field most of the questions. His presentation is flawless, and the press lap it up, every drop of it. By the time the Chairman of the Olympic Committee -Sir Alexander Breston O.B.E-, gets up, all of us are really excited about the coming Olympics, Britain's chances, the benefits it will bring to Britain, and the opportunity that Cohen’s have to run the whole promotion and advertising campaign, ...both here and abroad. A truly international affair. As I sit listening to the presenters I begin to tot up the figures in my mind, and with a shock, I realize that our previous estimate of how much it might be worth to us is a gross miscalculation. More like double, the international rights being something that I had not properly thought through. What's more, Cohen's will become internationally famous into the bargain: the Saatchi and Saatchi of the new millennium! Impressively, the press pack that we give out to the assembled media, PR and journalists, contains a comprehensive breakdown on the success of Cohen's over the years, including substantial emphasis on two other recent wins: the Scotia Telecom deal, and the Dome deal.

  The session breaks up at 10.38 am and everyone starts to mingle and circulate, helping themselves to the plentiful supply of champagne and orange juice which has just been brought in.

  At 10.48 am precisely my mobile goes off. It's Helen. She's in reception with the rest of the Partners from PHI.

  "Come on up." I invite her. The Osprey Rooms. We're all up here!"

  Three minutes later, the doors at the back of the conference room open up and Helen walks in, followed by four of the firm's Senior Partners. She is smiling broadly, looking as happy as ever I have seen her. She steps aside just inside the door and lets the other Partners file past her into the room. I walk over to her to greet them.

  There is, by this time, quite a lot of commotion going on in the room, everyone present taking as much advantage of the free alcohol as possible. It's turning into quite a party. And I suspect, it's just about to get somewhat hotter.

  "Welcome. Welcome. I'm glad you could all come," I announce as they form a small semi-circle around me. Helen starts introducing them all to me, and I shake their hands and smile, enjoying the moment immensely.

  "So, when do we begin?" Helen asks loudly, and then stepping forward and speaking a little more quietly into my left ear, "...And wouldn't it have been better if you had kept the drinks until the end?"

  Suddenly, there is some loud laughter coming from the side of the stage, and we all look to its source. A little gap opens up amidst the people in front of us, who were previously shielding the other end of the room from sight.

  Another laugh, and we all see its owner. Richard. He's patting Sir Alexander Breston on the back, and they are both shaking hands, and smiling, whilst a round of camera flashes light up the room.

  Helen's jaw drops, and she turns to me, ashen faced.

  "What's Richard doing here? What's going on James?"

  She sees a
Press Pack lying on one of the chairs in front of her, leans forward and picks it up. She opens it to the front page, reads the first couple of paragraphs, and drops it on the floor.

  "You BASTARD!" she screams, stepping forward, her right arm swinging upwards to my face, as if to slap me.

  I grab her arm in mid air, catching it just inches from my cheek, my grip on her wrist tight and strong.

  "So, I'm a bastard am I? That's interesting. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I must go and join Richard and the Olympic Committee, …and the international press. I think they want to take some pictures for tomorrow's newspapers. And I get the feeling you might have a little bit of explaining to do to your Partners? So I'll leave you to it. Anyway, thanks for coming. So refreshing to see our competition willing to come along and celebrate our good fortune with us. Help yourself to drinks. Stay awhile…"