‘Right, sorry,’ I say, clearing my throat, which is now drier than sandpaper. ‘When I think of my own childhood, I think of den building, of make-believe, of hide-and-seek and treasure hunts that my dad used to lay around the house. Simple games, fuelled by imagination. Your bed could be a pirate ship, the sofa a rocket flying to outer space.’ I take a breath, I need to slow down, my heart is beating too loud in my ears. ‘Children can make a game out of anything, their imaginations can create the fiercest foes. I don’t think kids want to be treated like grown-ups, I think kids want to be kids. I want them to be kids. As a mum, I know childhood is only too short.’
Looking out at all the faces in the crowd, my eyes land on Callum, his eyes so full of faith in me. Then it hits me. Why am I trying to do this alone? We came up with this idea together. If we’re the Cardinals, we can’t win this with one batsman.
‘What were you scared of as a child, Callum?’ I ask.
He looks back in surprise, but then he says, ‘Being sucked down the plughole in the bath by a giant squid.’ People laugh.
‘Dominique?’ I ask, finding Dominique on the front row.
‘The attic, it was all cold and dusty and full of spiders.’
‘Melanie? What were you scared of?’
Melanie looks at me blankly, and I’m sure she’s going to say ‘nothing’, but then she says, ‘The noise of the boiler in the laundry room. It made me imagine a creature made of laundry with huge grinding metal teeth and boiling hot eyes.’
‘Okay, Trey, do you think we could create a laundry-room monster right now?’
Trey stares at me wide-eyed. He’s dressed in a cream jumpsuit today, and in my eyes, he looks like the angel of salvation. I’m really putting him on the spot here, but I know he can do it. This will be more impressive, showing Melanie her monster, rather than the ones we’ve pre-animated. Trey nods. He quickly sketches the monster Melanie described, then brings it to life right in front of our eyes. There are ‘oohs’ from the audience, and I see Melanie tilt her head in appreciation.
‘We’ll give children a chance to beat the demons of their imagination, playing a game only they could come up with. But I’m going to stop talking and let my team show you what we mean. Leon, Dominique, get up here.’
This wasn’t planned either, but after only a moment’s pause, they both jump up, knowing what I’m asking them to do. They start to improvise, walking into an imaginary house, describing what they’re scared of: a dark cupboard full of spiders, a sofa that eats people. As fast as they can talk, Trey draws, creating what they’re imagining and projecting it for us to see. It creates a far better sense of the game than I could ever describe with words.
‘Callum, tell them how the scoring is going to work,’ I say, beckoning Callum to join us on stage. He devised the scoring; he should be part of this too. Callum explains, stuttering and nervous, but his passion for the project shines though. The whole presentation is messy and chaotic, but it’s fun and real, and it captures the buzz of what we all love about it.
When the demo is finished, Michael starts clapping and punching the air and then the whole room joins in.
‘Well, thank you both for those,’ Melanie says, her voice giving nothing away. ‘I’ll consult with Gary. We’ll let you know.’
As she leaves the room, Melanie turns and catches my eye, then she gives me the smallest nod. I know that nod, it means we did it. Once Melanie and Gary have left the room, Coleson and his Ferrets look on in disdain as my team all run in for a group hug and start jumping up and down.
‘Monsters under the bed, that’s really the best you’ve got?’ Coleson sneers, but he’s lost some of his bravado.
‘Team, that was masterful,’ says Michael. ‘I could watch you do that all day. That’s got to count for something.’
‘I can’t believe I got to explain the scoring,’ Callum says, a hand over his mouth to hide his grin. ‘I wasn’t prepared.’
Trey pulls me to one side as the others celebrate. ‘What’s the deal with Michael?’ he asks.
‘Jane,’ I say darkly.
‘Jane,’ he says, pushing a fist into his other hand.
I look for Coleson, I want to shake his hand, to make peace, but he’s already gone. Michael has perked up considerably and wants to take the team out for lunch.
‘Lucy?’ he asks. ‘You coming?’
‘I’m so sorry, I have to run, there’s somewhere I need to be.’
Hailing a cab in the street, I ask the driver, ‘Please, can you take me to Baskin Place?’
My heart is pounding in my chest, and my hand shakes as I try to buckle my seat belt. What if Dave is wrong? What if it isn’t there or if it isn’t a portal at all? But then a greater anxiety takes hold – What if it is?
Chapter 32
It’s here, the street that looks identical to Baskin Road, only here the buildings are all still standing. There, a few doors down, is the newsagent’s. It doesn’t have the blue and white awning any more, and the outside has been repainted. It is a completely unremarkable corner shop. I’m not sure I would have recognised it even if I had been on the right street. Thanking the cab driver, I run in, immediately recognising the shape of the small rectangular shop, with only two aisles and shelves piled high to the ceiling. There is no one behind the till and no other customers. As I dart around the corner aisle, my heart jumps into my throat, because there it is, the wishing machine, looking exactly as it did all those weeks – years? – ago.
Rushing to touch it, I want to check it’s real, not some optical illusion. But then, as my hands curl around the cold metal, I try to temper my excitement. The existence of this machine does not mean that it is a portal to the past.
‘I thought I might see you again,’ comes a voice with a soft Scottish lilt. My head darts sideways to see the old woman. Same white hair, same tartan waistcoat.
‘You?’
‘Hello, duckie,’ she says, giving me a broad smile.
‘Is this real? Are you real? Is this a figment of my imagination?’
‘It’s as real as it needs to be,’ she says, offering me a brown paper bag of green boiled sweets. ‘Soor ploom?’
‘Did I jump through time, or did I lose my memory?’ I ask, waving away the brown bag.
She takes one of the sweets herself, sucking on it for a moment before saying, ‘What do you think, duckie?’
I want to explode that I just want a straight answer, to shake her until she tells me what’s going on, but she’s so gently-spoken and calm, this little sweet-eating Yoda, that I can’t bring myself to raise my voice.
‘I jumped,’ I hear myself saying. Is that what I’ve thought all along? Or has finding the shop, the machine, her, let me finally believe it?
‘And how are you liking this new life of yours, the good part, where everything’s sorted?’
‘Ha! Life is never sorted.’ I narrow my eyes at the old woman. ‘Was that the lesson I was supposed to learn? Because if it was, you could have just told me that, I am very receptive to feedback.’
‘You wished it. So, tell me, is it a grand improvement on before?’ she asks calmly, taking a pocket watch out of her waistcoat and checking the time.
‘Yes, and no. It’s complicated.’ Then I look down at my wedding ring and say, ‘But also kind of wonderful.’