Chapter Three

Harry's sense of relief was soon broken. The brightness of the room seemed to grow in intensity, so much so that it hurt his eyes. He heard a soft, female voice whisper, "Hello, Harry". Shit, he was still dreaming. Had he been drugged? Squinting, he peered into the blinding light, but couldn't make out a form. His hair stood on end as he suddenly felt a cool, thin hand slip into his own. He felt himself being dragged from the couch, pulled forward, then outside. He was unable to resist. It was as though his mind and limbs were two separate entities. He was watching himself being pulled rapidly up, over, through the streets of London, he knew not how. Yet he also felt the crisp air rush past him, stinging his face, as the thin hand towed him along.

The pace slowed. Harry couldn't work out how long they'd been gliding through the night. It could have been seconds, or hours. The hand began to loosen its magnetic grip. Harry felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, almost like being in a lift. His feet brushed the ground, and he stumbled slightly in his effort to stay upright. The blinding light had dissipated, so he chanced a look at the figure to his right. Instantly recognizing her, he inhaled sharply and managed to utter only a single word: "Jo".

She gave him one of her gentle smiles. She was beautiful, radiant, dressed in what appeared to be a flowing, white gown. Her hair was longer than when he'd last seen her. She looked once more like the young, feminine woman she'd been when she first started working on the Grid. Harry looked away, suddenly reminded of the horrible way in which she'd died. Another innocent he'd lost. He gritted his teeth as a lump formed in his throat and tears welled in his eyes.

"What's wrong, Harry?" she asked in a quiet voice. "Don't you want to see this place?"

"Where am I?" he asked, voice raspy in the cold air. He looked about, but saw little. His surroundings appeared to be shrouded in black. Suddenly the light began to grow, seeping about him until it was as bright as it had been in his sitting room. He shut his eyes against it. He could hear the sound of children's voices, distant at first, then becoming louder, more raucous. He heard Jo say, "Look, Harry". He opened his eyes once more, and was amazed by what he saw.

He was standing in a field near his childhood home. It was a crisp winter's day. The sun sparkled on the light snow that had fallen and dusted everything in sight. He could see a group of small boys playing a few yards away. They were scooping the snow with their hands and throwing it into the air, laughing as it flaked down upon them. One of the boys shouted "Flabby, look at this!" and attempted to do a cartwheel in the snow. Harry looked incredulously from one ruddy little face to another. "My God, Jo, how can this be?" She stayed silent, but turned her head to smile at him serenely. She made him feel calm, accepting. He wasn't afraid anymore.

Harry's face lightened as the memories flooded in. He started speaking excitedly, explaining the scene to Jo. "There's my brother and his friend, George. And that little fellow is my cousin, Alan. He was always the smallest of the lot. And that fellow there is Flabby Fuller. Not the most PC name nowadays, I suppose, but we didn't call him that to make fun. I've never met a bigger daredevil in my life. He was two years older than me, but it might have been twenty. And there I am – the failed cart-wheeler." He pointed to a small boy who had blond hair that peeked around a grey woolen hat. The boy was laughing, wiping a runny nose with the back of his hand, and looking utterly content. Harry grew silent, lost in the nostalgic moment. Yes, he thought, I was innocent once, a long time ago – and happy. He realized that he had forgotten what happiness felt like. He looked towards his quiet companion. "Thank you, Jo, for bringing me here. I still don't really understand all this", he said, sweeping his arm in front of him, "but … thank you".

"We're not done yet, Harry."

Harry looked back at the boys, but the light was rapidly failing. He felt Jo's thin hand reach towards him. He willingly grasped it this time. The world began to spin, jumbling the scene before him until it melted into a screen of white. Harry once again found himself moving, uncontrollably, towards an unknown destination.

. . .

Seconds, minutes, hours – again, Harry was unable to say how much time had passed since they'd left his boyhood friends. At some point Jo decided to alight once more, and Harry felt his feet hit solid ground. There was no stunningly bright light this time – just a darkness that slowly dispersed until Harry found himself staring at a familiar house in the early twilight of a December evening.

"Would you like to go in, Harry?"

Unable to speak, he simply nodded. Jo led the way. Harry couldn't remember opening a door or walking through a passageway. Yet somehow he found himself standing in a small sitting room that was decorated for Christmas. There was a tiny, tinsel-covered tree glowing in the corner. Two little children played on the rug before the unlit fireplace. Two children he had known quite well, many years ago, for their names were Catherine and Graham. Not for the first time that night, Harry was overwhelmed with emotion.

The children were sweet and beautiful. Catherine looked to be about five years old, Graham two. Both were wearing pajamas; it was almost bed-time. Catherine was smiling shyly as she rearranged the figures in a crèche. "I think the cow should go there, don't you, Graham?" Graham clutched a little train engine. He hummed and grinned at the world as he alternated between driving and chewing on the toy in his hand. Harry had a vague memory of having bought the engine. Yes, that's right, he'd found it in a little shop that sold hand-made wooden toys, in some European city he'd been passing through – Vienna, perhaps?

Harry jumped as Jane suddenly strode into the room. He heard Jo whisper, "Don't worry, she can't see you." Jane was smiling, lovely, young. She held two red stocking hats in her hand. "Now, sweethearts, let's put on our special Christmas hats and Mummy will take a picture." Catherine obediently put on her hat, but Jane struggled to fit the other on Graham. He pulled it off immediately and threw it, a shout of "No hat!" echoing around the room. Harry couldn't help but laugh. He remembered the photograph – in it, Catherine looked cute and proper, while Graham sported a tousled mess of blond curls that hadn't yet seen scissors. He'd kept the photo for several years, until he'd lost it in one of his many moves.

He heard the camera shutter click several times as Jane photographed the children. He also heard a noise from elsewhere in the house – a door opening, then closing. Jane and the children stopped and glanced towards the entrance to the room. The children's faces bore expectant smiles, Jane's a worried look. Jane suddenly seemed tired, sad; her shoulders drooped. She placed the camera on a nearby table and absent-mindedly straightened her clothing. Harry froze as he watched his younger self breeze in. "Daddy, you're back!" Catherine ran towards the younger Harry and hugged him round the waist. Graham climbed into his arms. The younger Harry laughed and affectionately rubbed his children's hair, then looked at Jane, who stood there in silence. "Harry" was the only thing she said. She looked hurt and relieved, angry and resigned, all rolled into one. The younger Harry said nothing. And that, Harry realised, had always been the problem. He was sorely tempted to walk over and give himself a thrashing – to try and shake this younger, idiotic version of himself to his senses. But he knew there was no point – he wasn't really there, he was looking at something long finished. He exhaled and clenched his fists in frustration. "Let's leave, Jo."

Catherine skipped away and grabbed a toy from the corner of the room. "Look at this, Daddy." She picked up a top and set it spinning on the floor. Harry had never seen a top spin so fast for so long. He watched as it travelled hypnotically throughout the room. He couldn't see Jo, or Jane, or the children anymore, just the top. He stared at it as it kept spinning and spinning and spinning, until the room began to spin with it, and Harry was lost in the bright light once more.