‘The way I see it is, if he finds the letter and decides to take your advice, then one of two things could happen,’ Rachel said.
A trickle of sweat ran down my back as I waited for her to carry on.
‘Either the future is changed from right now and he will still be alive and you could go and tell him about the baby. Or nothing will change until the date of the accident in 2006. Which will be 2026 for us.’
‘I’m not sure that’s how time travel works,’ I said miserably.
Rachel raised her eyebrows. ‘Noneof us know how this works, Em. And besides it’s not really time travel, is it? You haven’t gone anywhere, and neither has he. It’s more that there seems to be a sort of portal between your individual times.’
‘I guess you’re right,’ I said. ‘Which means on that basis, I might have to wait seven years to find out whether I’ve changed anything.’ My heart dropped as realisation dawned.
Even though I’d had the rest of the walk home to let it sink in, now the moment of truth had arrived, I wasn’t sure whether I could actually go ahead with it. There were too many uncertainties. Maybe I should just forget this whole thing, put Nick out of my mind and get on with my life without him.
‘Do you want me to look?’ Rachel said.
‘I…’ I started. I’d been about to say no, let’s forget it. But then an image of my baby had flashed through my mind and I knew I owed it to him or her to do whatever I could to make sure their daddy was part of their life. ‘Yes please.’
She pulled the laptop towards her and typed. My pulse pounded in my ears as she squinted at the screen. She scrolled and squinted again. It was as though time had slowed down, each second like treacle, stretching out and out and?—
She slammed the laptop shut.
‘What is it?’ I said. My head spun, my vision reduced to a tiny pinprick.
Rachel gave a tiny shake of her head. ‘There’s no change,’ she said.
Nick was still dead.
‘Can I see?’ I said, the need to see for myself suddenly overwhelming.
‘I don’t think you should,’ she said.
‘Please.’
She paused a moment, then slid the laptop towards me. My hands shook as I opened it, my heart was in my throat. And then,there it was. The same newspaper article, the same story. The same photo.
I stared at Nick’s picture, and I felt the disappointment like lead in my veins. I shook my head.
‘It didn’t work,’ I whispered.
‘It still could,’ Rachel said, pressing her hand against my arm. ‘It’s not over yet. You know that, don’t you?’
I nodded. It might not be over, but, if Rachel was right, I could be in for a very long wait.
22
NICK
For months after finding it, the letter haunted me. By the time I got home that day I’d calmed down a little so, instead of tearing it up or burning it, I hid it in at the bottom of my wardrobe under a pile of boxes. I’d decide what to do with it another time.
Except that time never seemed to come.
I still couldn’t bring myself to open it: I didn’t care what it said because there was nothing Emma could be telling me that I’d want to hear.
But for some reason I couldn’t bear to throw it away either. It felt too final.
I wished I could talk to Andy about it. Only, for the first time ever, this was something I couldn’t tell him, because I knew what he’d say. That Emma was tricking me. Lying to me.
And so I stewed on it alone, as the thought of it burned a hole inside me, never fully out of mind.
