"Bren," he said softly. "Your future is with Bob. I've seen the two of you together. I've seen your children. You complete each other. Go to him."
She dropped her cup. Someone at the back gasped. Brenda swayed for a second and then rushed forward, pushing past Graham. He turned and watched. Brenda was in the middle of the room, her eyes darting from face to face.
"Bob!" she cried. "Bob!"
A nervous Bob appeared in the center of the aisle at the back, half-pushed by his neighbor. Brenda walked up to him. The two of them stood a foot or so apart, looking at each other. Seconds passed and then they fell into each other's arms, locked together, rocking from side to side.
Graham scanned every face in the room. They were all people he'd known for years—some for five, some for ten, some for seventeen. He knew them all. Their lives, their histories, their likes and dislikes. He'd seen them on a thousand worlds. He'd observed, he'd listened. He'd overheard their lives—snippets of conversation from rooms and corridors, from queues and lifts. Regurgitated stories from Sharmila and Michael, from Brenda and others.
He'd seen them when they were happy and seen them when they were sad. He knew which relationships worked and which never could.
He knew them better than they knew themselves.
Because he'd been there. He'd seen their "what ifs." The lives they could have led. Their befores and afters. He'd seen the triumph and the tragedy and all that lay in between.
And he could tell them.
He went amongst them. A strange mixture of silence and tumult, awe and expectation. What was he going to do next? He could see it in their eyes. The pleading looks, the shake of the head—no, not me, go to someone else.
He noticed a middle-aged man standing near the back, his head down, trying to be invisible. A state of mind Graham knew all to well.
"Colin," Graham said. The man's head snapped up as though he'd been stung. A path opened up in front of him as people moved aside. Someone fell over a desk in their haste to get out of his way.
No one laughed.
"How's Terry?" Graham asked, part of him hoping that Colin had reconciled his differences with his estranged son.
Colin shrugged, sadness mingling with fear in his eyes. And then panic. "He's not ill, is he?" he shouted, his hands flying to Graham's lapels.
"No," said Graham as soothingly as he could. "I've seen the two of you together. The problems between you can be bridged. It takes time but I've seen it happen. Ring him now. He's waiting."
"Thank you," said Colin, his eyes misting up. He hugged Graham, almost rocking him off his feet, he thanked him again, broke down and then hurried out of the room.
More people appeared in the doorway. Shouts came from the corridor.
Graham spun in the center of the room, looking for the next person to help. Annalise came up to him, tears streaming down her face.
She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you still here?" she whispered.
He was. A fact that worried him. He was changing people's lives. He should have flipped by now. Perhaps he wasn't in the right place? He started spreading out from the center of the room. People stepped out of his way.
Except one. Frank Gledwood. He walked over and placed a hand against Graham's chest.
"Are you drunk?" sneered Frank, looking into Graham's eyes, imparting his usual mix of ridicule and contempt. "Just what the hell do you think you're playing at."
"Leave him alone, Frank," said a voice from the back. "He's got messages for us. He's seen the future."
"Ah, the future, is it?" said Frank, his eyes sparkling, looking like a cat with a fat paw on the tail of a struggling mouse. "And what message have you got for me?"
Graham looked him in the eyes, held him there for two seconds, and said, "Take an AIDS test."
There was a collective gasp. Frank spluttered, shaking his head. His hand fell from Graham's chest. "It's a mistake," he said. No one listened. Graham moved on and a wall of people moved with him.
Annalise pushed her way alongside Graham. "Frank has AIDS?" she hissed into his ear.
Graham shrugged and threw her a smile. "No harm being careful."
The room changed in that instant. People were spread out. They were laughing, talking, drinking. He'd flipped.
He pushed through to the front, looking for Holly. She was talking to Brenda in the corner.
"Holly," he began, "how's your mother?"
Deja vu. The same tearful phone call home, the same headaches, the same shocked silence.
But no matchmaking for Brenda this time—Graham saw Bob's arm wrap around Brenda as soon as Holly rang home.
Graham moved from person to person, asking questions about their lives, their partners, looking for the ones he could help.
"Don't get back with that man, Rosie. I've seen what he does to you."
"Kath, have your son tested. He may be allergic to nuts."
"Jo, he never leaves his wife."
He flipped again.
Annalise One appeared in front of him, unmistakable with her long black hair.
"You can stop the world unravelling, Graham," she said. "It's not easy but you can do it. We believe in you. Look at all these people around . . ."
Graham put a finger to her lips and smiled. "I know," he said. "Thank you for everything, Annalise."
They hugged, a brief interlude before he went in search of Holly.
Within a minute he'd flipped again.
And then again and again.
Sometimes he saw Annalise, sometimes he didn't. Sometimes she had red hair, sometimes black, blonde, orange or blue.
He hugged them all. And moved on.
He checked his watch. Fourteen minutes gone. Many more to go. He had to keep the momentum going to generate the charge. Continued flipping in the same spot. Starting with the one Graham and spiralling out. Two hundred Annalises keeping it going. Persuading each new Graham to take up the challenge. The two hundred Grahams becoming three then five then a thousand.
Keep it going, he'd begged the Annalises. The Grahams will help and if they don't—ask them a question, force them to make a choice. And with each flip the choices will come easier. A resonance would develop. A resonance that would accord with the Grahams' desire to end the unravelling. A resonance greater than their desire to hide and retreat and withdraw from the world.
One came from hope, the other from fear.
He flipped again.
A sea of faces; expectant, reticent, hopeful, terrified. Was it his imagination or were they growing in number? He moved amongst them, darting in and out of the crowd, selecting people, changing their lives.
What did
they
see? These people, his colleagues. An idiot savant, a prophet, a miracle? A nobody who'd walked in their midst for seventeen years, silent, deaf and retarded? But who could now speak, who came to them with visions of the future, with messages from God?
Were they frightened of him? They moved back whenever he walked towards them. But they didn't run. The room was filling up, more were outside in the corridor. The phones were ringing continuously.
Were they in awe of him? Frightened and attracted in equal measures? Not sure what he'd do next?
He moved to the other side of the room. So many faces. Some he hadn't seen for years. A girl's face caught his eye. Her face so familiar but not from this building. He'd seen her somewhere else. In another context. He stared. She stared back. More deja vu. He'd seen that face staring back at him before.
From the side of a bus.
She was an actress. Josie someone . . . Josie Nelson? She was in a West End play. Her face was everywhere.
He beckoned her over. She obeyed instantly.
"Josie?" he said. "Josie Nelson?"
She nodded.
He laid his hand on the top of her head. "You don't belong here. You're a talented actress. Go."
He removed his hand. She left. Without a word, she spun towards the door and kept walking.
Someone at the back applauded.
He flipped and continued flipping. The interval between the flips diminishing with each exchange. Most times he materialized at a party. Most times he began by finding Holly. But sometimes he flipped to worlds where the party spirit had been replaced by a religious fervor.
Sometimes he didn't even have time to deliver a message. Sometimes the mere fact of selecting a person was enough to send his consciousness streaming from one world to the next. Or his touch on their head enough to send them crashing to the floor. It was like a religious revivalist meeting; he'd touch someone and they'd faint. Overcome by the anticipation, the moment, the belief that something miraculous was about to happen.
The room flashed before him, at times stroboscopic in the speed of change. He closed his eyes, tried to step back and remove himself from the furious pace of change.
He checked his watch—12:28—and blinked. Where had the time gone? He'd barely started. His hand changed before his eyes. A different watch.
He had to leave! He had to run! He had two minutes to get to the third floor. He headed for the door, the crowd so dense, he could barely move.
"Give him some room," someone shouted. "He's coming out."
A man struggled through the door towards him. "Graham," he shouted. "Have you got a message for me?"
The crowd parted and Stephen Leyland threw himself on his knees before Graham.
"Help me," he begged. "My son Jason. Do you know where he is?"
Graham tried to focus on the door, tried to push past but Stephen grabbed his legs. The man was desperate. Graham understood loss and he understood the pain of not knowing whether a loved one was alive or dead. He looked at the door, he looked at Stephen, he looked at the door again.
He couldn't leave.
He pulled Stephen to his feet. "There's a hostel in Camberwell," he said quickly. "I've seen him there before."
"Thank you, thank you so much. Thank . . ." Stephen broke down. Graham caught him before he fell and pulled him towards him.
He flipped again, Stephen Leyland morphing into an Annalise with braided, honey blonde hair.
"One Eight Seven?" he said, leaning back.
She tilted her head to one side. "How do you . . . ?"
"No time," he said. "I have to find Fifteen." He pulled himself away and pushed through the crowd by the door.
Guilt hit him before he'd reached the door. He hadn't even thanked One Eight Seven. And there was so much left undone. All those people. He wanted to talk to all the Stephens and the Hollys and the Colins. He wanted to give them hope, spare them pain, end their torment. He wanted to stay and thank all the Annalises. He wanted to see the flips through to the end.
But he
needed
to save Fifteen.
Someone shoved him hard from behind and kept shoving. "Go," said Annalise. "You're needed elsewhere."
He started to walk, pushing towards the back stairs.
"Give him room," shouted Annalise. "He needs a break. Wait here and he'll be back in five minutes."
The crowd parted. He checked his watch. Twelve-thirty. He was late. He should have been there already. He started to run, faster and faster. Had he blown it? Would the other Graham have left by now? He sent the stair door flying, panic and frustration smashing it back against the wall. He launched himself through, took the steps two at time, three at the landing, pushing off from the handrail, swinging down. Flight after flight. The staircase resonating to the sound of his clattering feet.
He leapt onto the third floor landing, clearing four steps, landed heavily, almost driving his knee up into his chin as he folded and sprang back up again. He reached out, found the stair door, pushed and drove through, sliding on the polished tile as he tried to turn right. The door to the Ladies beckoned. His meeting place. His goal. The place he should have been a minute ago.
He ducked inside, not caring if it was occupied or not. He ran to the first stall, locked himself inside and waited.
He checked his watch. Two minutes late. Would the other Graham have waited? Was his watch right? He gave it a shake. And then wondered what he'd expected to happen? The digits to roll back to half past?
He dug in his pockets, hoping to find the two pages from his web site that Fifteen had given him, but they weren't there. He went through his wallet, maybe he'd put them in there instead. He hadn't.
He looked at his note. Name, job and address. His whole life summed up in so few words. But not any more. He took out a pen. The other Graham would need far more than this.
He pressed the note flat against the wall and started to write.
Go to room 501. Annalise is there. She's blonde this time. She'll tell you what to do.
He checked his watch again. 12:33. He stood up, sat down, climbed on the seat. He made choice after choice. He wrote on the cubicle door, "If Jason Leyland goes missing, check hostel in Camberwell."
He checked his clothing, he prayed, he waited. He switched the contents of all his pockets. He should have flipped by now. He was in the first stall on the third floor. Exactly as agreed. Hadn't the other Graham made it in time? Had there been trouble? Had the stall been occupied?
He'd try the other stalls, he reached for the door, he . . .
His hand froze in midair. The writing on the door had disappeared. He'd flipped. He threw life back into his hand, reached for the stall door, opened it, dived through, ran to the far corner and pressed himself flat against the wall. He couldn't flip again. He had to stay in this world.
He fumbled in his pockets. If he was in the right world, there'd be a note to prove it. He found three pieces of paper, his fingers growing three sizes as he tried to unfold the first one. They shook, they moved independently of his thought. He fumbled, he tore, he . . . stopped.
It wasn't his web page.
It was a list of instructions.
IMPORTANT—DO NOT read until 12:30 EXACTLY.
You have to make as many choices as you can in five minutes. Act on those choices. Choose to untie your shoes, empty your pockets, stand up. Anything you can think of. The only rule is you have to STAY IN THE STALL until 12:35.
Do this and the world will unravel but DON'T be afraid. It's the only way to make the world settle down. If you make the world unravel enough in a short space of time it will STOP unravelling FOREVER.
This is the TRU
TH.
GOOD LUCK
Annalise