The train ride passes peacefully as I mutter half memorised songs under my breath and stare out the window at the scenery rushing by beside me. It's been a long time since I was last on a train – at least 5 years, maybe more – and I'd almost forgotten what it felt like. When me and Chris were younger we'd sneak off and trainspot together on the old bridge over the goods track. I remember 'im writing down the serial numbers in a little red notebook as I peered over 'is shoulder.
I 'aven't seen Chris in such a long while, not since I almost "died", though I'm not entirely sure. Occasionally I've felt like someone's watching me and I couple of times I were certain 'e was calling my name but when I went to look 'e wasn't there. The world's a large mess, anyway, time 'asn't behaved the same for many months and I'm always scared of what will 'appen next if I make one move out of line.
I sigh and pick up one of the ham sandwiches Patty made me for the train journey down, biting into the white bread and chew as I look out the window again and wish for the umpteenth time I 'ad something to listen to music on, and that I could drive so I could borrow some's car with an 8 track player so I could do it myself. The sun's just beginning to set, I close my eyes and let everything sink deep down.
I stand in a meadow field in the pouring rain, a straw 'at perched on top of my 'ead as I search my eyes over the grass that gently curves until it meets the top of the trees far down below. Somehow I know it were sunny, but now the clouds are gathering darkly above my 'ead as a drop runs down the side of my 'ead. Stark black umbrella 'eads begin to appear as I turn my 'ead to look after Manchester, though the sounds don't change and everything still sounds exactly the same as it always did.
Two children run up the grass, both aged around 8 though one looks younger than the other. A boy with curly ginger 'air and freckles runs ahead of a girl with long brown-black 'air and a ribbon tied behind it to keep it out of the way.
"Johnny!"
I follow the girl with my eyes, trying to pinpoint the familiarity I find in 'er, until she looks right at me and I'm 'it with it. It's me, such a long time ago that I didn't recognise 'er. If I'm right by the weather and that I'm with my old friend Johnny, it's around early august 1966. August was notoriously wet but at this point it wasn't too bad, it would get worse and worse until the month ended with the thunderstorms I remember from that fateful weekend.
"Johnny, wait!"
"You can catch me Rosy, come on!"
"I can't, Johnny!"
Something's wrong, I see 'er stop to my right as she turns to look at the 'ill.
"Look at it." She whispers, and raises 'er arms to the side.
"Emma, please!"
I look around for the sound of a familiar voice, one that sounds so desperate and so lost my 'eart twists in my chest.
"Help me, Emma!"
"Chris!" I yell. "Where are you?!"
"No, no, no. Emma!"
An agonising scream echoes across the field, and I know it's Chris'. A tear falls from my cheek as I spin round and round in circles trying to locate it and 'im.
"You've got to choose, Emma."
My 7-year-old self's voice is dark, deep and much too old for the figure in front of me.
"There's not much time left."
"What do you mean?" I cry.
She looks straight at me, meets my eyes. 'er eyes seem like they're a millennia old.
"You'll know, soon enough."
She walks over towards me, gives me a knowing smile and, with unhuman power, pushes me. I fly through the air at speed, through dark and deep, life flashing in front of me as I feel wind around me, plummeting for eternity. My mouth makes one more silent, desperate plea as I feel myself approaching the ground.
"Miss, the train terminates 'ere."
Someone shakes me awake, I rub my eyes and find that my 'ead as been leaning against the window for so long that there's a warm patch where it used to be cold.
"You need to get off the train, maybe find a hotel for the night." A cleaner smiles at me, I look around frantically.
"We're 'ere? Already?" It feels like I only just got on the train.
'e smiles. "You're quite far from 'ome, aren't you."
I look up at 'im and narrow my eyes. 'e gestures for me to get off the train. I pick up my suitcase from beside me and get up, never taking my gaze off of 'im as I move down the corridor.
"Good luck!" 'e calls.
"Thanks." I reply.
"You're going to bloody need it." I 'ear 'im mutter under 'is breath before I step onto the concrete of the platform.
You can taste the salt from the promenade, the sea stretching on for miles around the little cove. The sand is pearly white but untouched by human feet. There's just a couple of artists sitting there painting.
I turn to watch the sparse amount of people strolling past. A lifetime ago, I would 'ave longed for the city but after all the time I've spent in the pub the amount of people feels right. If anything, I feel there's too many.
I look around for any sign of someone familiar, sigh, and pick up my bag from where I dropped it on the concrete beneath me. It's an old bag that Nelson found behind the bar and even 'ere it looks ancient. I didn't think I'd ever be back 'ere again, to be honest, nor in 1974 if I ever did.
I move across the promenade and up the steps to the 'ouses above, ducking into the entrance of a 'otel just as the rain begins to fall and hits the rooftops in a silent patter.
My 'ome away from 'ome is a small room in the attic of my distant cousin Agatha's 'otel. She couldn't be more different from my branch of the family – tall, blonde 'aired with skin that tans with the slightest amount of sun. She's nice, though, which is better than I 'oped for.
A metal-framed bed sits in one corner and I throw the quilt Grandma made for me when I was born on top of it. It's all in different shades of blue because my family thought I were going to be a boy, but I love it anyway. I place my bag on top of the bed as a cloud of dust puffs up and look around a little more. There's a small chest of drawers, a desk and an old wooden chair in the corner. The only good thing about the room is a rickety old turntable that looks like it's been made in the 1950s, but there's a chance of music so to every cloud. The ceiling slopes with beautiful old wooden beams and a window set right in the centre.
I sigh and collapse onto my bed, the moon rising 'igh above the skylight and illuminating the room. In a second I'm grabbing the old polaroid camera Patty gave me to take down 'ere and snap a photo of the moonlight in the dark. I place the photo on my bedside table and watch it develop as I get into my pyjamas, give my teeth a quick once-over with a toothbrush and curl up on my bed to drift off into sleep.
'elp me! Please!
When I see Emma in person for the first time it's mid-morning and I've just come down the stairs slowly after an unsettled nights sleep. It's been so long since I've felt the sun on my skin or even needed to sleep that I stood by the window in my room for longer than I should 'ave drinking in the clear air and standing in the sun.
She's eating a slice of toast and reading a book when I enter the breakfast room. 'er dark 'air is tied back with a black band and she's wearing a plain shirt with the top button undone and a jumper. The crumbs from the toast are all over 'er book as she's not paying attention to it, just occasionally taking a bite every once in a while.
"Is this seat taken?" I ask kindly.
She looks up at me with a lost look in 'er eyes for a split second, looks around the empty room then back at me.
"No." She replies.
I flash 'er a quick smile but she's already got 'er 'ead back in 'er book. I sit there silently for a moment before 'olding my 'and out.
"I'm Annie. Annie Cartwright."
She gives me an exasperated look, closes the cover of 'er book and shakes my 'and with a straight face.
"Emma Skelton."
"You're not from around 'ere, are yer?"
"Neither are you." She 'its back.
I smile. "Point taken."
She glares at me and moves 'er 'and over to 'er book.
"When did you get 'ere?" I ask in an attempt to keep 'er attention.
"What do you want from me?"
"I just wanted someone to talk to while I 'ad my breakfast." I laugh.
"You don't 'ave any food in front of you."
My face falls for a moment. A 'int of a smirk touches 'er lips.
"There's toast over there." She nods over at a counter. "There's butter too."
"Thanks." I mutter and get up to fetch my own.
I'm still buttering my toast at the counter when I 'ear the footsteps of someone coming in.
"Would you like me to take this away for you, Ma'am?"
There is the chinking of a plate, and the woman must brush 'er 'air out 'er face because a small gasp comes from Emma.
"Miss Granger?!" She exclaims.
I turn around to face the two of them. Emma is looking at the woman with surprise and shock written all over 'er face. The woman, who 'as a long dark 'air but, even from 'ere, I can tell it's definitely Sharon.
"What?" She stutters out. "'ow did you know my last name?"
Emma's face turns into a deep confusion and sadness, like she was 'alf-expecting this to 'appen.
"You taught me English – last month, don't you remember?" She sounds desperate, lost and vulnerable. I get a sense that the Emma I spoke to just now was a facade put up so no one saw the damaged, confused person beneath.
Sharon laughs nervously. "I don't think I did" She says. "'can't stand children. I've been workin' 'ere since I was 16."
Emma shoots a scared glance at no one in particular and Sharon takes the chance to walk away, shaking 'er 'ead. I try not to look at 'er but I can't 'elp it, especially as she's now kneading 'er 'ands on 'er jeans and trying to fight back tears.
The more I think about this, the more I think that whoever's doing this is treating this as a game. A horrible, devasting one, but a game all the same. And if Sharon's been changed as part of this game this easily, then it would only take a moment to change me as well and then all would be lost.
"Is everything okay, Emma?" I come over with my plate of toast.
She nods, but a tear slips down 'er cheek.
Everything inside me wants to grab 'er 'and and tell 'er everything's going to be alright, but I know that it's not the right time.
I smile and wolf down my toast before leaving, passing a mirror in the hallway where I spend too much time looking at myself because I could 'ave sworn I saw Chris in it.
Even I can tell that the world's falling apart, the details that keep the world turning are changing too fast. At the rate things are changing, it's only a matter of time before reality fractures into millions of tiny, broken pieces.