No True Echo Read online

  ‘Yesterday was Wednesday. Today is Thursday. I imagine tomorrow will be Friday.’

  ‘What happened to half term?’

  ‘That’s next week.’

  ‘What? It’s the Thursday before half term? Hold on, is this a joke?’

  ‘You tell me,’ said Angus. ‘You’re the one saying all this stuff.’

  ‘So you’re telling me that today is two days ago, tomorrow is yesterday and what was today hasn’t happened yet?’

  Angus gave me a small round of applause. ‘Very good.’

  ‘I’m serious,’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’

  Angus looked around him and said in his best Sherlock Holmes voice, ‘It appears to be some kind of school bus. It’s morning and we’re wearing school uniform and therefore, Watson, I conclude that we are going to school.’

  ‘But I’ve done all this before,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ said Angus. ‘This is the old we’ve done this before routine. Very good.’

  All around me, I could see the same people in the same seats, having the same conversations. Angus drew a face in the condensation. The lips dripped down and made it look like a vampire, just as before. We were approaching the spot where we picked up Scarlett, but Bill wasn’t slowing down.

  I stood up. ‘Hey.’

  ‘No standing on the bus,’ shouted Bill.

  ‘You didn’t stop for her,’ I yelled.

  ‘Who?’ replied Bill.

  ‘Scarlett.’

  ‘Who’s Scarlett?’ asked Angus.

  ‘She … She lives … Well, I don’t know where she lives but he’s supposed to stop for her and she’s supposed to get on. That’s what happens. That’s what happened before.’

  ‘Now, Eddie, I’m not saying I’m not enjoying this, but there is a tiny element of it that is a little bit mental.’

  ‘I’ve been here before,’ I said. ‘I’ve already lived through this day.’

  ‘Great. So what’s going to happen then?’ said Angus.

  ‘Er … ’ I had to think. Apart from Scarlett arriving, what had happened on Thursday? ‘We’re going to have a police talk from an officer called … called … What’s her name?’ It seemed ridiculous I could have forgotten, but the more I tried to access it, the further it retreated to the back of my mind.

  ‘You should be careful how you use such a precious gift,’ said Angus. ‘You have obviously been given great knowledge.’

  I ran through everything that I could tell him that would convince him, but once you removed Scarlett, what was there? Should I tell him about the lessons we would sit through or who would get told off for talking? I couldn’t think of anything that he couldn’t put down to a lucky guess.

  ‘So, great and noble time traveller,’ said Angus, ‘tell us about the future. Are there flying cars? Please say there are flying cars.’

  ‘By Saturday? Funnily enough, no, although there is a stolen car with a cat in the back.’

  ‘It’s a start, I suppose.’

  Same Old, Same Old

  The strangest thing about reliving that morning was how it didn’t feel all that strange. I had spent my life reliving the same day over and over, listening to the same names being read off the register by our form teacher, then filing in and out of the same lessons.

  This was only different because it was exactly the same. I studied each repetition with interest. I tried to recall the exact details but a lot of what I saw and heard was new to me. I was beginning to realise how little I listened.

  On the way into the hall, the police officer caught my eye and, for a fleeting moment, I thought she recognised me but she looked away and I understood that we were strangers.

  Seeing Mrs Lewis stand up, we fell quiet and she said, ‘Now, everyone, we have a very special guest so let’s show her what a polite and well-behaved school we are as we welcome Officer Liphook.’

  It was more obvious to me this time how nervous she was.

  ‘Community,’ she began. ‘Who can tell me what that word means?’

  I glanced around. Was I really the only one who had heard all this before? I was still half expecting everyone to start laughing and reveal that it was all an elaborate joke.

  ‘Looking out for each other.’

  Two rows in front of me, a girl played with her friend’s hair before a warning look from a teacher stopped her.

  ‘Being selfless.’

  Along my row, a boy fiddled with a grubby tissue, dropped it, picked it up, then used it to wipe his nose.

  ‘Sticking to the rules.’

  Why was I back here? Had I been shot dead? Was this what happened after death? Were the dead forced to relive the last few days of their lives and, if that was the case, why wasn’t Scarlett here?

  Scarlett, I thought. She was the key. Her absence was the main difference, as far as I could tell. If she wasn’t here then I wasn’t reliving the exact same day after all. I was reliving a different version of it. I remembered her saying something to Cornish about different versions back at the farmhouse. What did any of it mean, and how was I supposed to make sense of it?

  ‘Eddie Dane,’ said Mrs Lewis. ‘Have you a question for Officer Liphook?’

  Everyone turned to look at me. It took me a moment to realise why. I had my hand up. I think I had been trying to prove to myself that I could do things differently.

  ‘What’s your question?’ asked PC Liphook.

  I had sat through the same speech twice, yet I had no idea what she had been saying. ‘I have a question about car theft,’ I said. It was the first thing that came to mind.

  ‘Yes? What is it?’

  I wondered if PC Liphook actually looked grateful for the interruption.

  ‘Er, how serious a crime is it?’

  ‘Very serious,’ replied PC Liphook.

  Mrs Lewis was giving me a warning stare but I continued, ‘What’s worst out of stealing a car, breaking into a house, driving without a license or accidentally kidnapping a cat?’

  The question got a big laugh and a thumbs-up from Angus but a threatening snarl from Mrs Lewis.

  ‘That’s quite a list,’ said PC Liphook. ‘May I ask the reason for your question?’

  Mrs Lewis answered for me. ‘Sorry, Officer Liphook, you appear to be the lucky recipient of one of Eddie’s jokes.’

  ‘It’s not a joke,’ I said. ‘I’m interested. I mean, what if the keys were left in the car?’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Mrs Lewis.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said PC Liphook. ‘I can answer that one. Opportunity is not an excuse. It is a reason. Most crimes are opportunistic. That doesn’t make them any less serious.’

  ‘But you said that murder is the worst crime because it’s done on purpose. That means you think it’s worse to kill someone after thinking about it rather than just because you had the opportunity.’

  ‘Did I say that?’

  She had not said that. Not on this Thursday.

  Mrs Lewis was on her feet again. ‘I think, Eddie, that rather than second-guessing what our guest is going to say maybe you should try listening. With your ears. At the end, I’m sure PC Liphook will happily take your questions.’

  ‘Er … ’ Liphook looked down at her notes and flicked through several cards, then said, ‘Maybe this is a good time for questions.’

  She picked the first hand to go up. ‘Yes, what’s your question?’

  ‘Have you ever shot anyone?’

  Monstrous Things

  It was just a game for Angus.

  ‘It’s good, this I’ve been here before stuff,’ he said, chewing a meatball.

  I had spent the morning making predictions about lesson subjects and who would get told off for what, but it was hardly proof.

  ‘I didn’t fully get the thing you did in assembly, if I’m honest,’ said Angus, ‘but it was still funny.’

  ‘It wasn’t meant to be funny,’ I said.

  ‘What did we talk about last time we were here, then?’


  ‘Meatballs,’ I replied, ‘and how they want to be eaten.’

  Angus laughed. ‘Hold on. Was that meant to be funny?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Angus skewered another meatball with his fork. ‘It’s interesting, though, this whole act, because it kind of shows how predictable everything is.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  Without Scarlett, the afternoon dragged until finally we reached the last lesson. English. I watched Cornish bustle around the room, and remembered the look of hatred in his eyes as he fired the gun.

  ‘Monsters,’ he said. ‘I want us to name as many monsters as we can, comrades.’

  I was surprised when I heard my own voice answer. ‘You.’

  ‘Are you calling me a monster, Eddie?’ He sounded amused.

  ‘I … No … I meant humans.’

  Cornish twisted around on his heel. ‘Interesting answer, Eddie,’ he said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because humans do monstrous things. Humans make guns. Humans shoot people.’ I don’t know what had taken control of me. What could I possibly hope to achieve?

  ‘It’s true, guns are a monstrous invention,’ he agreed. ‘They turn those who use them into monsters.’

  ‘So what would it take?’ I asked. ‘I mean, for you to fire a gun at someone? For you to kill?’

  ‘I hope I never find out,’ said Cornish, ‘but to answer your question, I would do all I could to avoid using violence, but if it came to it and if the cause justified it, yes, I think I would pick up a gun. Thankfully, we can choose not to be monsters. We have free will, which brings us to the book we will be looking at for the next few weeks.’

  When he distributed the books I got the same copy with the picture of the yellow-faced old man on the cover.

  ‘Why are these books all different? Mine’s falling apart,’ complained the same girl as before.

  ‘Don’t panic, comrades, they all have the same words on the inside.’

  ‘But we all know this story,’ said Angus.

  ‘You mean you know what happens,’ said Cornish. ‘That isn’t the same as knowing the story, and I will want the books back at the end of the term, so please treat them with respect.’

  He snatched the same book from the same girl.

  ‘So can anyone tell me this book’s alternative title?’

  ‘The Modern Prometheus,’ said a voice behind me.

  For one hopeful moment I thought it was Scarlett, but I turned to find it was a girl called Rosi who had spoken.

  ‘Very good,’ said Cornish.

  ‘It’s printed on the front of my book,’ replied Rosi. ‘Who’s Prometheus, then?’

  ‘Prometheus is from Greek mythology,’ explained Cornish. ‘He stole fire from the gods. You see, comrades, ever since we crawled out of the primordial sludge, humans have created imaginary monsters … ’

  The rest of Cornish’s speech was little more than background noise, drowned out by the confused thoughts racing through my head as I tried to understand what was happening to me.

  Lauren Bliss

  Thinking back to that night in the hospital, it was difficult to remember the precise order of events. As far as Liphook could recall, Lauren Bliss was the first to come out of the coma. Her parents were still on their way, so Liphook went in alone to talk to her.

  ‘Where am I?’ Lauren’s blond hair had been flattened by the red wig. She looked scared and tired and extremely confused.

  Liphook sat down by her bed and picked up the red wig on the side table. ‘You’re in hospital. You’re fine, but you have been shot.’

  ‘Shot? With a gun, shot?’

  Liphook nodded. ‘Do you remember what happened?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you remember why you were wearing this wig?’ She picked it up from the bedside table.

  ‘No. This doesn’t make any sense. Where are my parents?’

  ‘They’re on their way. They’ll be here soon.’

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘Wellcome Valley Hospital.’

  ‘Wellcome Valley? That’s not possible.’

  ‘You put on this wig and caught a train here. You pretended your name was Scarlett White. Are you telling me you don’t remember any of this?’ Liphook had decided against making notes but now she wondered if she should be treating this as an official statement after all.

  ‘I don’t remember a thing,’ said Lauren.

  ‘You don’t remember stealing a car with your boyfriend?’

  ‘My boyfriend?’ Lauren sat up in bed and looked at the boy lying in the bed next to her. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘His name is Eddie.’

  ‘The last thing I remember I was at home.’

  ‘But you have been to the valley before, yes? You came during the summer.’

  ‘Yes, Mum and Dad rented a holiday cottage. It was nice.’

  ‘Did you meet Eddie then?’

  ‘I didn’t meet anyone. I don’t think I met anyone. Maybe I did. I don’t know. Every time I try to remember I get this burning pain in my head. What does it mean? What’s happening to me?’

  At the time, Liphook had thought nothing of it. Memory loss was unsurprising give the circumstances. Now, when she looked back on this moment, she realised that it wasn’t memory loss that she had been witnessing.

  It was memory theft.

  Reality and Emotions

  Maybe I had been looking at things the wrong way. Instead of trying to spot similarities, should I have been looking for the differences? How was this Thursday different from the last one? Apart from Scarlett’s absence, the main difference was my behaviour. If I tried to do things the same as last time, maybe I would be able to see what else had changed. So when Cornish asked me if I wanted a lift home I said, ‘Thanks.’

  ‘How about you, Angus?’ he said.

  ‘I’m getting picked up by the noise-mobile,’ replied Angus.

  ‘Just you and me, then, Eddie,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you by the car once I’m done here.’

  I followed Angus out into the drizzly car park.

  ‘So what happens now, future man?’ he asked.

  ‘Your mum comes to pick you up. She parks outside the gates and flashes her headlights. One of the twins opens a door but she yells at the wrong one while the baby screams his head off. After you’ve gone, Cornish comes out, only he’s forgotten who I am.’

  ‘That sounds like a fun trip home for the both of us, then.’

  ‘Last call for anywhere but here,’ yelled Bill, closing the bus doors.

  ‘Never gets old,’ said Angus.

  The car lights flashed and the door opened, releasing the noise from within. Angus looked impressed. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said. I watched him run to his car.

  The other thought that had occurred to me was that this was a dream, but it didn’t feel like a dream. It was too plodding. Too slow. Too real. All of which left only one explanation. I had travelled back in time.

  ‘Hi, Eddie.’ Mr Cornish jangled his keys. ‘Get in, then.’

  I stared back at him. ‘You remember you’re giving me a lift, sir?’ I said.

  He laughed. ‘I’m not that old,’ he replied.

  I got into the car.

  ‘You were quick with that monster question,’ he said. ‘I was expecting a whole list before we got to humans.’

  ‘Sorry, sir.’

  He laughed. ‘Don’t apologise for being smart, Eddie.’

  There was no confusion this time as he slipped the car into gear and reversed out of the space.

  ‘Sir, can I ask you something? Do you believe in time travel?’

  He thought before replying. ‘I certainly believe that books can transport us back in time, yes. I think that memories can be triggered by our senses. I have experienced déjà vu – that’s thinking you’ve visited a place before when you haven’t. But do I believe it is possible to transport a human back in time? No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Becau
se if anyone had invented time travel, someone would have come back and told us about it.’

  ‘Perhaps they’re not allowed to. Perhaps there are protocols.’

  ‘Protocols,’ repeated Cornish with a smile. ‘I like that. Are you writing a story about this?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Maybe you should. Writing helps, you know.’

  ‘Helps what, sir?’

  ‘It helps you tackle problems. It helps you figure out how you feel.’

  I didn’t know what to say to this so I didn’t say anything.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean to be insensitive but you should understand that feelings are complicated for everyone. It’s all right to feel sad sometimes. I know you like to make jokes and pretend everything is fine but you can talk to me about things any time you want.’

  ‘You’re talking about Melody,’ I said.

  ‘You can tell me to shut up if you like.’

  ‘Actually, I think this does have something to do with her.’

  ‘The time-travel story?’

  Cornish hadn’t attempted to turn the radio on this time so the only sound, apart from our voices, was that of the wheels on the road, the rain on the roof and the swish of the windscreen wipers.

  ‘It’s not a story. It’s something real that is happening to me and I think it has something to do with her.’

  He considered this. ‘Emotions are real.’

  ‘I’m not talking about emotions. I’m talking about the fact that I’ve lived through this day already and I’m scared about what it means.’

  ‘Life can be scary,’ he agreed.

  There was no point. No one was going to help me understand.

  ‘Are you going to try to read the book, then, do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘I might. Do you know which chapter has Frankenstein making the monster?’

  ‘Chapter five,’ he replied. ‘Why?’

  ‘I was thinking I might just skip to that bit.’

  He laughed. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’

  ‘Because, that’s where it gets interesting.’

  History Matters

  The first thing I did when I got home was go into the kitchen to turn off the hob, then pick up a dustpan and brush. I went into the living room and switched on the light.