Could It Be Magic?. Melanie Rose

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      I stared blankly at the computer screen as it flickered into life before me, recalling how we’d muddled along in that unsatisfactory fashion until rumours reached me that he was seeing a female barrister on a regular basis. I knew it wasn’t so much the lies or the fact that he was cheating on me that prompted me to move out and put a down-payment on a flat of my own, but the fact that the news hadn’t bothered me anywhere near as much as I knew it ought to have done if I’d really cared for him.

      It seemed that Stephen had felt much the same way, and somehow we’d made the difficult transition from lovers to friends, because I loved my job, even if I had to admit I had never really loved him.

      Glancing at the clock on the wall, I knew how fortunate I was that the working day began late at Chisleworth & Partners. Stephen never put in an appearance until after ten o’clock, and as long as I was in the office slightly before him he didn’t seem to mind what time I arrived.

      This morning he squeezed my shoulder affectionately as he passed my desk, which was a mistake as the high-voltage burn was still pretty tender. I winced with pain, and he was instantly contrite, asking what on earth was the matter. I told him about the lightning strike and he was suitably horrified.

      Not as horrified as he would have been if he’d known I’d spent my sleeping hours since Saturday in the body of another woman, I thought to myself, as he asked me solicitously if I was well enough to be working. The nightmare seemed unreal, even laughable now, in the familiar surroundings of the shabby office, with the coffee machine gurgling away in the corner and the computer blinking up at me.

      I assured him I was fine, and he vanished into his office with the undisguised relief of a man who had thought I might have wanted him to do something about it if I hadn’t been.

      There were two other girls working with me: Clara, who was secretary to Rory Chisleworth himself, and Delores, who answered the telephone, made coffee for clients and spent the rest of the day bitching about her boyfriend to anyone who would listen. As soon as the office door closed behind Stephen’s smart but rather dated blue pinstripe suit, I got up and grabbed the newspaper from Clara’s desk, my eyes flicking straight to the date. Monday, 20 October. And there was the article about the royal family. How could I possibly have dreamed that?

      ‘Help yourself,’ Clara smiled, with a touch of friendly sarcasm, handing me a cup of coffee before I’d even had time to assimilate all that the date meant.

      I sat down at my desk and sipped the hot drink thoughtfully. Monday again, and with the same news. I’d already lived through Monday as Lauren. So what kind of a dream had this sort of continuity? The thoughts that had plagued me earlier returned, reducing my legs to jelly. I’d certainly never heard of anyone picking up a dream from where they’d left off the previous night and living it as if it were an alternate life.

      There was that other possibility, I told myself uneasily. It was even more frightening than the dream theory. It might explain why when I was here I was Jessica, and when I was asleep I became Lauren. I knew I couldn’t keep blocking out the awful dawning suspicion forever. Sooner or later I would have to face the inconceivable…Could it be that somehow my life force—my soul—had been split by the simultaneous lightning strike, so that it now inhabited both bodies alternately?

      The outlandish idea caused me to suck in a quick intake of breath, which in turn caused a coughing fit as the coffee slid down the wrong way. Clara, who I believe had been talking to me, came and held out a tissue, which I took gratefully. I wiped my eyes and then gave my nose a good blow, which seemed to calm everything down.

      ‘Are you sure you’re okay to be working?’ she asked, perching on the corner of my desk. ‘You look very pale.’

      ‘I’m fine, honestly,’ I assured her untruthfully.

      She’d heard me telling Stephen about the lightning strike, and wanted to know the details. I told her about meeting Dan and how he’d given me a lift back to my car the next day. She grinned at me and looked as if she was about to interrogate me further when Delores appeared from reception.

      ‘Mr Chisleworth’s ten thirty is here,’ she announced. Clara returned to her desk with a knowing glance at me, and there was no more opportunity for small talk as the working day began.

      Today, unfortunately, Stephen was preparing a case for court. That meant that I would be working closely with him, getting the files together, and would probably not leave the office until after six o’clock, except for my hour-long lunch break when I walked the ten minutes home again to see Frankie.

      As it happened, Stephen wanted to work right through lunch, but he knew I walked Frankie in my break and begrudgingly allowed me half an hour to hurry home. I let Frankie out and sat on the wall that surrounded my little courtyard, eating the egg and cress sandwich I’d bought from the sandwich girl at the office before I left.

      Everything was so familiar, so normal. I began to think that my experiences as Lauren must simply have been a very real-seeming dream after all.

      Back in the office, Stephen was panicking over some mislaid notes, and I hardly had time to grab a cup of afternoon tea, let alone dwell on the workings of the sleeping brain, or the outlandish theory of shared souls. By the time I returned to my flat after Frankie’s evening walk, it was after seven o’clock. I kicked my shoes off in the hallway and walked in stockinged feet into the kitchen to throw a ready-meal into the oven, then flopped down in my armchair with a glass of orange juice.

      I glanced anxiously at the clock, allowing my thoughts to return to the forbidden territory of ‘what if?’. So far, if I assumed the worst—that Lauren and I both really coexisted in some way—then it had worked quite well logistically until now because Lauren and I had been keeping strange hours, due to the fact that we’d both been in hospital. What would happen, I wondered—providing she was real—if she was ready to wake up before I was ready to go to bed? Could both of us be awake at the same time? I couldn’t see that it was possible, given that there was only one me, one consciousness—even if I had started flitting between two bodies like something out of a horror movie.

      After eating the cardboard-flavoured shepherd’s pie and giving Frankie her supper, I curled up in my chair to see what was on the television, flicking through the channels without much success. I was about to give up and see if there was any ice cream in the freezer, when the phone rang.

      It was Dan.

      ‘How are you today?’ he asked solicitously. ‘Feeling better?’

      I could feel the adrenaline flooding my body at the sound of his voice. There was a discernible tightening in my chest and my palms became so clammy I thought the phone was going to slip right out of my grasp. My voice sounded strained when I tried to use it, so I cleared my throat and tried again.

      ‘I’m much better, thank you. I went in to work today. I’ve only been home just over an hour.’

      ‘Do you feel well enough to come out for a drink this evening?’

      I was about to say I’d love to, when I glanced again at the clock. Eight thirty might not be late in evening terms, but it was getting late to be sleeping in the morning.

      I was about to refuse his invitation, when I remembered Nurse Sally’s voice speaking to me as I’d woken as Lauren the previous morning. She’d complained that I was an incredibly heavy sleeper, and that she hadn’t been able to rouse me. Did that mean that Lauren couldn’t wake until I went to sleep?

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