‘Oh, right. Thanks.’
The train screeches to a stop, and I exit when the doors open. But when it moves off and I look back through the window, a man in a beige trench coat is sitting in my seat, reading a paper; and the woman isn’t there.
I emerge into a bright, breezy afternoon in the full bloom of spring, the leaves on the trees rustling above my head.
This is so weird, I think as I start walking. How have I managed to go two stops north to Belsize Park when I was sure I was heading south?
And what the heck is that?
I bring up a laminated card that’s dangling against my chest and look at it. It’s a photo ID for a media conference, and staring back at me is a person who vaguely looks like me yet is a lot more attractive. But it’s the name that almost gives me a heart attack:
Jade Delaney.
I drop the ID as cold chills run over my body; fuck fuck, I’m back in the present! And I’m not the old me. I’m someone new.
I lean against the nearest tree, my legs shaking as my brain whirs. Delaney. Rach must’ve married Ash. Ash is now my father. That’s why my cheekbones look so defined! I sort of knew the timeline was heading that way when I left the flat, but it’s still shocking the heck out of me.
As does my reflection when I catch sight of myself in a shop window. I’m taller, my hair is long and bouncy, and I’m wearing a smart grey designer skirt suit with a crisp white shirt and heels. Wow, I look great! Sexy! Shrugging off the suit jacket, I peer at the label: Gucci. I cackle.Of course it is.
Noticing that I have a black leather handbag, I fumble through it, looking for more information. Do I live in Belsize Park? The latest silver iPhone that I find in there opens when I hold it up to my face. Eagerly, I scroll through the contacts app, but there are no clues to my address. Only a bunch of people I don’t know. I guess Jade Delaney wouldn’t put her own address in her contacts. There’s also no Sebastian Burns. It’s hard to see that, but I was expecting it. It stings, but I can handle it. Especially when I see a contact number for MUM and an address in Acton.
Excitedly, I ring the number. She answers on the third ring.
‘Jade! How did it go, darling?’ Rach’s familiar voice chimes in my ear, and I have to put my fist against my mouth to stop myself from crying out. My throat closes up, and I can’t speak.
‘Jade? Are you there?’ She sounds uncertain.
‘I’m here, Mum,’ I choke out. ‘I’m here. Just got off the Tube.’
‘Ah, no wonder the line went weird. How was it? Did you have a good time? I’ve been thinking about you all morning.’
For a minute, I think she’s talking about my walk, the one I told her I was taking in the 1980s. But we’re decades on from that.
‘Yeees,’ I say slowly, thinking about the media pass around my neck. I must’ve been to a conference. ‘It was great. Interesting talks, and I met lots of people. Plus there was yummy food,’ I add, knowing that Rach will appreciate that.
‘Wonderful!’ she breathes. ‘You can tell me all about it when you come round tonight for dinner. I’m making your favourite.’
‘Will ... will Dad be there?’ I ask.Please please don’t let Ash have done a runner on her.
There’s a pause, then a huff of laughter. ‘Of course. Where else would he be when I’m making steak and ale pie? He’s looking forward to seeing you and hearing all your news.’
I blow out a long, slow breath of relief. Ash, you absolutely brilliant man! Now for the awkward part.
‘Mum, I know this is going to sound weird, but can you tell me my address?’
She laughs. ‘Did you have too much free fizz?’
‘Something like that,’ I say, wishing that was the case. The truth is too weird to even contemplate.
My heels tap smartly on the pavement as I follow the address Mum gave me in Google Maps. I’m breathing hard. Who the fuck am I? What do I do to afford Gucci and live in Belsize Park?
I couldn’t ask Mum too many questions about my life; otherwise, she’d think I was off my rocker. I’ll have to wait until I get home. Hopefully, Jade Delaney has a dossier about herself lying around, though I haven’t had too much luck with those so far.
Stopping short outside a cute powder-blue three-storey semi, I check the address and gulp at how posh it looks. Bloody hell. I live here? At least I don’t have to break in and risk getting arrested—I have a key.
Inserting it in the lock, I open the white door and step into a neat entranceway with black-and-white tiles. Carpeted wooden stairs set against the right-hand wall lead up to another level. I poke my head into the door on the left and discover a lounge with a big TV, a comfy-looking couch, candles, and a bookshelf. The room exudes calm, and I can feel myself relaxing already. It looks like the kind of place I’d dream up for myself. But I feel like I’m trespassing in someone else’s home. A thought strikes me.
Bloody hell. Do I live here alone? Or with someone?