‘Since when do you ask before speaking?’
He raises an eyebrow sardonically. ‘You think it’s you, don’t you? On the mural.’
I let out a long breath, meet his eyes and give a small nod. ‘I know what it sounds like, Spence. Really, I do. But there are just so many things that he says, too many coincidences to not consider if I was, somehow, there. If we’re connected somehow.’
He rubs his chin. Tongue in his cheek. ‘You know you’re talking about time travel, right?’
I swallow hard with a nod. ‘I know. But I’ve been researching time walking and this theory about sleepwalking and… What if it’s possible? It would mean he was waiting for me. To write back, I mean.’
‘Or therealAlice.’
‘Or the real Alice.’ I nudge him with my shoulder. ‘I haven’t completely lost my mind, you know. I’m looking for her too.’ I admonish myself because I know I’ve been focusing on Michael more than Alice.
The train slows into Milton Keynes. I close the laptop screen and turn my body to face him, trying to find the words to explain what this means to me. ‘There’s just so much he knows about me and… You know that feeling when you walk into a room and you’re looking for something, but you can’t remember what it was, and then you walk back out and the thought comes to you and you say, oh yes, that was it!’ Spence quirks an eyebrow but nods. ‘That’s kind of what it feels like, as though I’m living my life, but in the back of my mind, I know I’m looking for something.’
‘Have you got his letters with you?’
I hesitate as if trying to remember but know full well that they are sitting in the inside pocket of my laptop bag. ‘Yeah.’
‘Can I read them?’
‘Why?’
‘Because I want to know. I want to know what it is about this man you’ve never met, and who’s probably got liver spots, a shake, and quite possibly a hearing aid… What is it that makes you feel like you know him.’
‘I just do.’
I take out the letters and pass them to Spence, my hand holding on to them for a fraction before I release them.
The train jerks into motion, and I let it take me.
And even though I’m further away from Yorkshire than ever, I feel like I’m being pulled closer.
22
MICHAEL
17 June 1985
A tapping sound wakes me up. My eyes blink as light leaks through the gap in the curtains that never bleedin’ close properly. I shut my eyes and try to drift off to sleep, but there it is again. It takes me a moment. I know what the sound is. I climb down the bunk bed ladder, pull back the curtain and there, as I knew she would be, is Kate. Just like when we were teens.
I crack open the window, looking down. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice down.
‘I need to talk to you!’ she says in a very loud whisper.
‘Now?’ I cut a glance at Carl as he mutters in his sleep.
‘Now.’
I nod, old instincts kicking in as I throw on an Echo and the Bunnymen T-shirt, pull up a pair of jeans and open my bedroom door quietly. Carl rolls over, his arse sticking up in the air. Would it kill him to wear a pair of boxers? I sneak through without opening the door far enough to squeak, dodge the creaky stair and tread through the kitchen. Toast crumbs from the cool lino stick to my feet as I open the back door.
Kate’s long blonde hair is pulled back, smudges of mascara beneath her eyes. I open the door wider and she comes inside. I lock the door quietly behind her. She paces a few steps, hands ringing, her lips pushed together like she’s trying to keep inside what has brought her to my door at three in the morning.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, leaning against the kitchen counter.
‘I…’ Tears fill her eyes and she shakes her head. I step towards her, my arms pulling her close. She smells like she always does, of Vosene shampoo and just… Kate. I rest my chin on top of her head, my hands rubbing her warm back beneath her white shirt. She doesn’t say anything for a while, but her shoulders are shaking. I bring my arms tighter around her until the tears have subsided. She steps back, looking at where her mascara is smudged against my T-shirt.
‘Sorry.’ She wafts her hand towards the imprint.
