All About Us. Tom Ellen

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СКАЧАТЬ the proper, extended-family stuff on January the first.’

      I nod. ‘Greeks are all about the new year, right?’

      She freezes with the mug halfway to her lips. ‘How did you know my mum’s Greek?’

      Oh God. This is a minefield.

      ‘Erm … just another guess,’ I stammer. ‘You kind of … look Greek?’

      Which is true, to be fair. She narrows her eyes at me. ‘Are you sure you haven’t been stalking me on Myspace, Not-Naked Ben?’

      The mention of Myspace makes me laugh out loud. If I ever doubted that I am genuinely in 2005, here is the conclusive proof.

      ‘So, what about you?’ she asks. ‘What are you up to for Christmas? At home with your mum and dad?’

      ‘Well, I …’ I have to stop suddenly, because the thought of Mum almost makes me choke up. But I take a deep breath and manage to keep it together. ‘My mum goes mad for Christmas, so it’ll be the full whack – turkey, all the trimmings, tinsel everywhere …’

      ‘What about your dad? Is he into it too?’

      I shrug. ‘He’s not really in the picture, actually.’

      She looks down at the duvet. ‘Oh. Right. Sorry.’

      I shake my head. ‘No, don’t be. I mean … hopefully, some day, that might change.’

      She looks at me fondly, and then yawns again. As she stretches, a few more curls escape and tumble gently around her shoulders.

      God, she looks amazing.

      ‘I feel knackered suddenly,’ she says quietly.

      And this time I can’t stop myself. I move in to kiss her again. She leans forward to meet me, and we’re locked into each other once more, kissing hungrily, her hands on the back of my neck, my hands tangled in her long black curls.

      And then she breaks away.

      ‘Ben, I don’t know if I want to … you know?’ she says. ‘We’ve only just met …’

      ‘Yeah, no, of course! Of course not. I mean, if you want to head back …’

      She shakes her head. ‘I don’t want to go.’

      She pulls me gently towards her, and we both lean back slowly until our heads are resting on my squashy foam pillow. For a while, we just lie there, fully clothed, on top of the duvet in my tiny single bed, looking into each other’s eyes and smiling. And then I shift round and wrap my arm around her, so that her head is resting on my chest. Her hand finds mine and our fingers interlock. She lets out a tired, contented sigh. And despite all the madness and chaos that this day has brought, I feel totally at peace. Calm and happy and in control. Like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

      ‘Almost midnight,’ Daff mumbles.

      I glance up at the clock above the door. It’s not far off the time that’s frozen on my watch. I think suddenly of that piss-take sales line the old man gave me: How else will you know when the clock strikes midnight? A flicker of that strange feeling I felt in the pub passes through me, but I’m too tired to properly examine it.

      Daff nuzzles further into my neck. ‘This should feel weird,’ she says, sleepily. ‘I mean, I hardly know you. But it doesn’t.’

      I feel my eyelids starting to droop. ‘Yeah,’ I murmur. ‘The fact that it isn’t weird is, in itself, weird.’

      We both laugh softly. I pull her even closer and gently kiss her forehead.

      And before I know it, I’m asleep.

Chapter Twelve

      I must have been dreaming about that kiss in the maze, because now, as I stir suddenly awake, it’s like I can still hear the rustle of the leaves around me. I can almost taste Daphne’s lips on mine.

      For some reason, I feel dizzy and slightly winded, like I’ve just been flung from an out-of-control merry-go-round. I didn’t even feel that drunk last night, but I guess those pints of snakebite were stronger than I thought.

      With my eyes still closed, I groan softly into the pillow and flip it over to the cold side. I lie groggily under the duvet, still half asleep, feeling a weird combination of things: warm and fuzzy and happy after what happened last night, but also – somewhere in the pit of my stomach – fraught and scared and anxious. Because as right as it felt – as perfect as we seemed for each other – I know exactly how things will pan out. How sour our relationship will eventually become.

      I nuzzle my face further into the cold pillow, wishing I could get my head around what’s happening. I half open my eyes, remembering that at any moment now, Harv will be pounding my door down, demanding one final bacon-heavy fry-up before we head home for the Christmas holidays.

      I reach across instinctively for Daphne. But she’s not there.

      I open my eyes fully and squint at the daylight streaming in through the curtains. The first thing I focus on, propped up against the lamp on the bedside table, is an advent calendar. Nearly every window is already open on the front of it, but rather than revealing badly drawn images of the infant Christ, they contain cut-out magazine pictures of an actress I used to have a major crush on: Larisa Oleynik.

      For the second time in as many days, I shoot bolt upright in bed, suddenly wide awake and breathing heavily. I stare wildly around the room, which is much more instantly familiar than my university dorm, but feels far less comforting to be waking up in right now.

      Clothes are strewn haphazardly across the frayed carpet, a PlayStation 2 is buried under a molehill of games in the corner, and the walls are decorated with ragged Blu-Tacked posters: a mixture of scowling New York rappers and gurning mid-air skateboarders.

      Daphne is gone, and I’m in my bedroom at home. Home home. The home I grew up in.

      I have jumped forward this time, instead of backward, and thanks to the single unopened window on the advent calendar, I know exactly which date I’ve landed on.

      This must be December 24th, 2006.

      I squeeze the bridge of my nose tightly, and a shard of sunlight bounces off my watch. I’m still wearing it. I am now naked except for a pair of boxer shorts I don’t recognise, and yet I am still wearing this watch. The hands are stuck in the exact same place – one minute to midnight.

      The watch-seller’s weirdly cryptic line about the clock striking midnight flashes into my head again. I looked at the watch last night, just before Daff and I fell asleep. That must have been when it happened: last night, when the real time matched up with the time on my watch … that must have been when I ‘jumped’ again! I guess I was already asleep by then, because I definitely don’t remember it.

      I feel a momentary burst of pride at having potentially figured out the logistics of this time-hopping madness – although it’s quickly buried under a fresh heap of confusion as I remember I have no idea how this is happening, СКАЧАТЬ