Chapter 1

It all felt so surreal.

That hadn't passed, despite a month coming and going since Simon had opened his eyes for the first time. The air felt slightly unreal, the artificial light giving it the kind of glow that he imagined the ocean would give with a little more nuclear waste to pollute it. The smell of disinfectant stole the humanity from his visitors and turned them into props in the play that was Simon's life.

In the days that followed his exit from the coma he had been able to do very little. It took over a week before the beginning of comprehensible speech returned. In the interim he did a lot of smiling and nodding. He felt a little like a member of the audience at a play, unable to interact with the actors on stage before him but watching them playing up for his benefit.

There were lots of tears and gentle hugs, lots of promises and prayers. When Simon was able to start communicating properly again there was a lot of, 'Yeah?'s and 'Oh's and 'OK's. There were a lot of polite smiles and hours spent listening to the events he'd missed out on during the month he'd been out cold.

Physically he grew stronger day by day. After a week he could start to talk again, movement followed, and finally a few gentle steps. He felt more human now. 'On the road to recovery' was the phrase everyone used. His doctors, his family, his boyfriend, his colleagues, his neighbours - everyone who passed through the door and greeted him with a smile uttered that phrase. It made Simon feel like a really crap roadtrip.

"…And when you get home well have a belated birthday party for dad," his sister, Elaine, told him excitedly, "I know you missed being there for his actual birthday but it's never too late to celebrate."

Simon nodded and smiled.

"OK," he said.

"We went for the power tools in the end," she continued, "you can chip in when you leave hospital."

Simon frowned.

"Oh?"

Elaine took Simon's hand and squeezed it.

"Don't worry about that now though," she continued, "just you keep on getting stronger. That guinea pig of yours needs you home. Don't get me wrong, Robin's been doing a fab job of looking after him but he's been squeaking all hours of the day and night because he misses you."

Simon raised a smile.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Elaine squeezed his hand and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I'd better get going now, I have to pick up the dry cleaning and get a couple of squid in for tonight."

Simon frowned.

"Oh?"

Elaine smiled and picked up her bag, got to her feet and slowly walked to the door.

"See you Saturday, hun," she waved goodbye to Simon and left the room.

Simon leaned back in his hospital bed and gave a sigh. He was still in the Yeah, Oh and OK phase. It just seemed so difficult to know what else to say. He didn't exactly have a lot of news of his own to impart in return, aside from whether his hospital lunch had included extra carrots that day or not. He felt isolated, shut off from the world. He also knew some of that was of his own making.

One in, one out; Simon's father arrived with some grapes for his son and the carousel began again. News from home, tales of all the things they would do when Simon was allowed home, lots of Yeahs and Ohs and Oks and some polite smiles and nods.

"…I'm so sorry you weren't there for my birthday, Son," he said, "but we'll make up for it when you get out of here. The girls have got some sort of dinner planned, and maybe a trip to the theatre. Would you like that, Simon?"

Simon nodded again.

"Yeah," he said.

It was funny, he thought, but not one of them had asked him what he had been through. They asked how he felt and whether his head hurt and when he was getting out but none of them had asked him what it was like, being in a coma. And why would they, he supposed, a coma is a coma. Nothingness. Silence. No thoughts. No visions. No dreams.

Except he had dreamed. He'd dreamed a long and vivid, terrible and wonderful, violent and emotional dream. He'd lived through days of it. He'd felt pain. He'd tasted food and drink. He'd heard voices and seen faces. It felt as real as the hole in his head.

He still expected to look down and find his toes were broken. He still expected that DCI to burst in and ask him for a comfy pair of size elevens. He expected to wake up in 1985 every day and there was a tiny part of him that felt a yearning for it.

Although he had been scared in the strange world that he'd joined he had also learned so much about himself. He felt like he'd grown more in those few days than he had over the last decade. There were strange people, evil people and prejudiced people, but there were also kind people, warm people and people who showed him that he had more courage than he realised.

"I suppose you're getting tired, Son," Simon shook himself back to the real world as his father got to his feet, "I'd better leave. Robin says he'll be along as soon as he can. Has to clean that hamster out first."

Simon closed his eyes for a moment.

"Guinea pig," he corrected.

His father nodded and gave him a warm smile.

"Take care, Son," he said, "I'll be back tomorrow."

Simon could only nod and smile as he watched his father leave. He was tired, but not in the way his dad assumed. He was mentally exhausted. Physically he was doing so much better - aside from having a slightly oddly-shaped head and a phobia of file servers he was on the mend, but he was struggling to adjust to his surroundings. There was a part of his mind that was still stuck in 1985 and he wasn't sure how to disconnect it.

It was the strangest thing but he caught himself thinking every now and again that it might have been real. He felt angry with himself for doing it because he should have known better - he was a DCI, he owned his own flat, he was responsible enough to look after the general public (not to mention a guinea pig) but he kept on asking himself if he had really travelled through time.

"Hey you," Robin's cheerful smile burst through the door, "How are you feeling today? Still on the road to recovery?"

Simon gave a tired smile.

"Yeah," he said.

Robin gently kissed his forehead and sat down beside him.

"Brought you a goody-bag," he said happily, "look what I've got in here…" he placed a carrier bag on the bed and began to unpack it, "grapes…"

Simon rolled his eyes.

"More grapes?" he asked weakly, glancing at the small mountain of green, spherical fruit that had started to pile up beside his bed.

"…Magazines," Robin continued, placing copies of DCI Monthly and What Guinea Pig? magazine in his lap, "a can of Pepsi, a packet of Jaffa Cakes, some fresh soap, and the piece de resistance…" he held aloft a familiar item.

"My iPhone!" Simon cried. He reached out to take it excitedly but as he moved a bitter memory shot into his mind.

"Messages from home rarely mean anything. If you want messages…"

A clear image of Keats filled his mind, blasting into his vision like an explosion of trench coat and spectacles. He flinched and gasped a little, replaying the moment where Keats played to him the messages that seemed to prove his life was ebbing away. His fingers fumbled around the phone as though they couldn't quite bear to hold it and it fell onto the bed.

"Oops," Robin said quietly, "don't worry, Si, your co-ordination is still a little out, that's all."

Simon closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted to cry, he just wanted to weep and let out some of the pent-up emotion he'd been trying to hide but he couldn't allow himself to cave. He took a deep breath and looked at Robin.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "I'm just tired. Lots of visitors today."

Robin gave him a sympathetic smile and gently rubbed his shoulder.

"One step at a time," he said, "just take things slowly. You'll be out of here before you know it. We've got so much to look forward to. There's your dad's belated birthday stuff, we've still got that Boy George thing to watch, and the summer's coming up. How about we take a holiday? Just you and me? Get away from it all."

Simon nodded tiredly.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"We could go somewhere hot, soak up the sun, forget about all of this," Robin continued.

Simon gave a slight sigh.

"Yeah," he said again.

He let Robin talk for some time about all the wonderful things they would do when he came home, but he'd zoned out almost before he started. He didn't feel like he could think that far ahead. He couldn't even get his head out of 1985, let alone off to the continent somewhere.

"…You look really tired, so I think I'd better go," Robin concluded after a little while.

Simon closed his eyes for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm exhausted today. Not sleeping well."

"Maybe the doctor can give you some sleeping pills," Robin suggested.

Simon briefly remembered the pills he'd been given in 1985 and gave a gentle laugh. Now those were good.

"Maybe," he said with a smile.

Robin smiled back.

"Now that's what I wanted to see," he grinned. He got to his feet and gave Simon a soft kiss. "I'll leave you in peace, Si. I'll be back tomorrow."

Simon nodded and waved as he watched Robin leave. Alone at last, he gave a sigh of relief. He felt like an act at a freak show, the constant stream of visitors, prodding and poking him and telling him about all the goodies that lay beyond the hospital walls. He tried hard to pretend that he wasn't only interested in working out the treasures that he uncovered inside his own mind while he was 'away'.

He reached for the remote control and switched the television on. It was only Freeview and only half the channels worked but it would distract him for a little while at least. The chirpy, inane mess of Cbeebies greeted him. He glanced around nervously, not wanting to admit that he'd watch the occasional bit of preschool programming when there was nothing else on and settled down to watch Something Special.

Justin Fletcher was busy indicating some household items and demonstrating their sign in Makaton.

"Oh look!" he cried excitedly, "A table! You sign Table."

Half heartedly Simon signed 'Table' then felt rather silly, glancing around to check no one had seen him. Luckily he was in the clear.

Ping!

"Look!" Justin smiled, "Chair! You sign Chair!"

"Oh well, in for a penny in for a pound," sighed Simon, copying the sign.

Ping!

"Ahh!" smiled a happy Justin, "Sofa! You sign Sofa!"

"If I must," Simon mumbled, signing along.

Ping!

Justin gave a gasp of excitement.

"Oh look - Jim Keats!"

Simon almost vomited right there and then.

"You what?"

"YOU sign Jim Keats!"

Simon's heart thumped and his lunch threatened desperately to escape. He grabbed for the remote and pounded at the buttons to change the channel quickly. He turned to Dave where Dragon's Den was showing.

Peter Jones was looking thoughtful.

"I like you," he said, "I like your product. I think you could go far." He paused. "I'm going to make you an offer."

A nervous-looking man started to smile.

"Thank you!" he said.

"I'm going to offer you all of the money…" Peter Jones began, "…for Thirty-five percent of Jim Keats."

"Shit!" cried Simon, punching at the buttons again and QVC came on.

"…This lovely pair of Jim Keats earrings…" a chirpy presenter greeted him.

"Fuck!" Simon began to sweat with fear. He attacked the remote one more time and BBC News 24 came on. On the main screen a presenter was waffling nineteen to the dozen about a politician who'd been caught with his trousers down, but Simon's attention was drawn to the bar at the bottom of the screen;

"BREAKING NEWS: Jim Keats Jim Keats Jim Keats Jim Keats Jim Keats Jim Keats Jim Keats Jim Keats Jim Keats Jim Keats …"

With one swift movement Simon drew back his arm and threw the remote across the room where it smashed against the wall sending a shower of buttons and batteries to the floor. He grabbed for his iPhone to call someone, anyone, but to his horror found someone had downloaded a Jim Keats app.

With a gasp of desperation Simon threw his head into his hands and cried. He sobbed loudly, letting out the fear and the memories that had been plaguing him ever since his eyes had opened a few short weeks before. He might not be in 1985 any more but 1985 was still in him, and it didn't seem to be going anywhere. If 1985 wasn't going to leave him then how was he supposed to move on?