Yeah, right. ‘I’m good, but thanks.’ I turn to go, then pause, and say, ‘And Mr Finkley, thank you for trying to sort the bathroom, and I’m sorry for shouting at you yesterday. I was just really tired.’
He nods, then whispers, ‘Would you like a drink? I think you would.’
As I’m trying to think of a polite way to decline, I realise he is not talking to me, he’s talking to the plants, so I run to catch up with Zoya.
‘Telling the others went better than expected,’ she says on our walk to the tube, ‘and you’re sure you really don’t mind me moving out?’
‘Zoya, I will you miss you terribly, but things can’t stay the same forever.’ I pause. ‘Please tell me you’ll stay south of the river, though?’
She holds my hand and swings it back and forth. ‘Of course I’ll stay south of the river. So, tell me what happened last night. How come you got in so late, and why is there a spring in your step? Did you meet someone?’
‘It was a weird night, horrible really. I was miserable after you left, I drank too much, walked all the way home, found myself on a LondonLove date with this flasher called Dale, oh, and then I met this crazy lady in a newsagent’s, I have to tell you all about her. But what’s strange is that despite my hideous evening, I woke up this morning with this feeling that all was right with the world. Do you ever get that?’
‘I do – whenever you start a story with “I have to tell you about this crazy lady I met . . .” ’
Flush from payday, I treat us both to a coffee from the café near the tube. A song comes on the radio as we’re waiting at the counter; I’ve never heard it before but something about it grabs my attention.
‘What’s this song?’
‘The new Lex single, “The Promise of You”，’ says Zoya. ‘Radio One are obsessed, why?’
‘Déjà vu. Do you ever get that with songs?’
‘All the time. What are you going to do about Melanie?’ Zoya asks.
‘I’ll give it to the end of the series, then start sending my CV out – apply for some proper junior researcher jobs. I think I’ve been too set on staying at When TV, on proving myself to Melanie.’
‘Stockholm syndrome,’ Zoya says, nodding. ‘Hey, there’s a train in four minutes, do you want to run for it?’ she asks, checking the transport app on her phone.
‘No, let’s get the next one. I’m not in a rush.’
‘Good. I want to hear all the details of your adventure last night.’
So we walk slowly, sipping our coffees, soaking in the spring sunshine, and I tell Zoya all about Dale, about walking home with no shoes and going a bit nuts in a newsagent’s making a crazy wish on a wishing machine, which of course did not come true.
Epilogue
Five Years Later
‘Where to next?’ asks Faye as the four of us fall out of a bar on Upper Street.
‘You decide, you’re the birthday girl,’ Zoya says, draping an arm around my shoulder. ‘This gold minidress is really working for you by the way. We should go out out, we should go dancing.’
‘Yes! Let’s pick up some men,’ Roisin shouts into the grey night sky.
‘Don’t let your husband hear you say that,’ says Faye.
‘Not for me, for you. I can be your wing woman.’
‘Well, Zoya is all loved up, I’m sworn off men for the moment, so that only leaves Lucy,’ says Faye.
‘I’m swearing off men too,’ I tell them. ‘Thirty-one is going to be my year of abstinence and sobriety. All the time I would have spent dating and drinking, I’m going to spend reading books and trying new hobbies. I might become amazing at macramé, or roller-skating – get ready for a whole new me.’
‘Well, I’m here for your new me, your old me, whatever me you want to be,’ says Faye, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
‘Abstinence and sobriety, fuck off, Lucy!’ Roisin laughs into the sky.
‘Why is she being so shouty?’ Faye asks. ‘Can I vote no for clubbing? I might be up for a bar, but I do need to get some sleep this weekend.’
‘You can sleep when you’re dead,’ Zoya says, suddenly stopping on the street and turning around to face the rest of us. ‘Let’s make a pact right now, that whatever else changes in life – marriage, kids, careers, travel – we’ll always have this. We’ll always make time for each other. I want us to be having nights out like this in twenty, thirty, fifty years’ time.’
‘I already feel too old for nights like this. Can we do a nice pub lunch for my birthday?’ asks Faye. ‘Maybe a relaxing spa day.’
‘Fine, it’s not about where we go, it’s about prioritising each other, whatever else comes for us in life. Men come and go, but this’ – she moves a finger back and forth between us – ‘this is forever.’
‘Count me in,’ I say.
‘Me too,’ says Roisin.
‘Me three,’ says Faye, and we all huddle in for a group hug.
‘Right, seriously, Lucy – where are we going? Club, bar, macramé sex dungeon?’ Zoya asks.
‘Let’s find a karaoke bar,’ I say. ‘I’m in the mood to sing.’
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Acknowledgements
Firstly, I need to acknowledge the multitude of classic films this book takes inspiration from; Big, 13 Going on 30, The Family Man and even Freaky Friday. （Wow, the 90s and early 2000s were a great period for cinema, weren’t they?） Rewatching these films got me thinking about life leaps – and wondering if the difference between being a young adult and being middle-aged isn’t just as marked as the leap from being a child to a grown up. I have always loved rom coms with a side of fantasy/magical realism, so once I’d imagined a time leap in the vein of 26 going on 42, it was an idea that just wouldn’t let go. So, thank you to nineties cinema for being so awesome, and yes, I am that woman who sits watching old films muttering to myself, ‘They just don’t make films like this any more. Sigh.’
I must thank my friends Natalie and Rids who are always such helpful early readers. I particularly loved the long conversations I had with you Rids about the logic of magic portals. It’s always good to talk to someone who LOVES time travel books when writing one, as they will pull you up on everything. We talked a lot about what happens in the future timeline when Lucy goes back. I said, ‘But does it matter?’ and Rids said, ‘Yes, it absolutely matters,’ and I conceded she was right. I had to know, even if Lucy never knows, even if it never appears in the book.
A thank you to my children R and B who inspired much of Felix’s conversation. They invented Pocket Day, and we still celebrate it today. Children really do come up with funnier things than I could ever invent, and I could easily have written about fifty more pages of Lucy and Felix chatting. Lucky for you, I didn’t. Thanks to my family for their continued support – especially my mother who still buys everyone she knows my books for Christmas.
Thank you to my editors Kim Atkins and Kate Dresser for holding my hand through rewrites and providing such brilliant notes. I love collaborating with you both. To my agent Clare Wallace, who is not only a fab agent, but also an inspiring friend. All my lovely writer friends, who make this crazy job less lonely and are such an uplifting and supportive community.