unexpectedly in his head and
he paused, thinking he was still woozy from the whisky. But the sensation didn’t pass. It filled out into something more, an inkling of a memory at first, and then it began spooling through
him like a snippet of film and suddenly he was . . .
. . . running towards a door, along a landing laid with deep-pile white carpet, the fluffy threads bulging up over the rims of his brown lace-up shoes.
When he gripped the door handle, it slipped through his fingers and pinged back up because his hands were oily with blood.
After the moment vanished, Daniel stood trying to place it in his life. But he couldn’t. He opened his bedroom cupboard and inspected all the shoes lined up along the
floor, singling out a pair of brown lace-ups that might . . . or might not . . . have been the same ones. Frustrated, he began toying with the idea that the universe had taken so much from him
recently it might want to give him something tiny back, allowing him at least to place one moment in his life. But he recalled nothing else about the memory or when it had happened.
The whisky and sunshine felt heavy on him so he took a shower, inhaling the steam to try and rinse out his lungs. When he stepped out and wrapped a towel about his waist, he wiped the mirror
clear and studied his flat, bony chest, trying to look through the wet skin and the stringy blue veins to see what might be deeper down. He stared harder at his reflection, fingers tightening round
the edge of the basin, trying to invent an explanation that made sense of everything. It was only when he remembered the tramp on the train, and what he had said, that Daniel rocked back on his
heels and let go.
Dressed and with his damp hair drying, Daniel stopped halfway down the stairs and watched through the balustrade as the front door opened then shut. His father stood in the hallway, hanging up
his suit jacket on a peg, his work tie loosened and the top button of his white shirt undone. He plunged his hands in his trouser pockets and looked up. ‘How’s things, Dan?’
‘Not great,’ whispered Daniel and as he watched his father fade he spoke again. ‘I’ll help you, I will. I’ll find out what to do.’
He flinched when the door suddenly opened for real, letting in the evening sunlight. But it was his aunt that looked up at him, her shadow stretching down the hallway, pointed as a blade.
‘How are things, Daniel?’ she asked.
‘Fine,’ he replied.
33
After supper, Daniel went to bed. He lay blinking at the ceiling, unable to sleep, as he thought about his father and Lawson and what Mason had told him he must do. Through
some cranky, twisted thinking, Daniel began to wonder if he had actually died underground and never found a way back to the surface at all, his body left stiff on the rock with the water lapping
beside it, while the rest of him had slipped into some other place without realizing it until now. A hell maybe? Or some inbetween world?
But the bed felt real enough. And the long, uncomfortable silences during supper with his aunt had seemed authentic too.
The only other solution Daniel could imagine to explain what was happening to him was that he had dropped through a hole in the fabric of one universe into another where everything was familiar,
but where his life was not quite the same. He sat up and looked round his bedroom, checking carefully for anything that might seem odd or out of place. But nothing was any different that he could
see.
As he slumped back down, he remembered the strange memory that had come to him before his aunt had returned home. It was difficult to recall it entirely, but there were just enough details for
him to ponder:
the deep pile of a white carpet on a landing . . .
brown lace-up shoes . . .
his hands covered in blood and a door handle slipping through them.
Daniel wondered if it could be a clue that might prove he had indeed fallen from one universe into another. Closing his eyes,
he paused, thinking he was still woozy from the whisky. But the sensation didn’t pass. It filled out into something more, an inkling of a memory at first, and then it began spooling through
him like a snippet of film and suddenly he was . . .
. . . running towards a door, along a landing laid with deep-pile white carpet, the fluffy threads bulging up over the rims of his brown lace-up shoes.
When he gripped the door handle, it slipped through his fingers and pinged back up because his hands were oily with blood.
After the moment vanished, Daniel stood trying to place it in his life. But he couldn’t. He opened his bedroom cupboard and inspected all the shoes lined up along the
floor, singling out a pair of brown lace-ups that might . . . or might not . . . have been the same ones. Frustrated, he began toying with the idea that the universe had taken so much from him
recently it might want to give him something tiny back, allowing him at least to place one moment in his life. But he recalled nothing else about the memory or when it had happened.
The whisky and sunshine felt heavy on him so he took a shower, inhaling the steam to try and rinse out his lungs. When he stepped out and wrapped a towel about his waist, he wiped the mirror
clear and studied his flat, bony chest, trying to look through the wet skin and the stringy blue veins to see what might be deeper down. He stared harder at his reflection, fingers tightening round
the edge of the basin, trying to invent an explanation that made sense of everything. It was only when he remembered the tramp on the train, and what he had said, that Daniel rocked back on his
heels and let go.
Dressed and with his damp hair drying, Daniel stopped halfway down the stairs and watched through the balustrade as the front door opened then shut. His father stood in the hallway, hanging up
his suit jacket on a peg, his work tie loosened and the top button of his white shirt undone. He plunged his hands in his trouser pockets and looked up. ‘How’s things, Dan?’
‘Not great,’ whispered Daniel and as he watched his father fade he spoke again. ‘I’ll help you, I will. I’ll find out what to do.’
He flinched when the door suddenly opened for real, letting in the evening sunlight. But it was his aunt that looked up at him, her shadow stretching down the hallway, pointed as a blade.
‘How are things, Daniel?’ she asked.
‘Fine,’ he replied.
33
After supper, Daniel went to bed. He lay blinking at the ceiling, unable to sleep, as he thought about his father and Lawson and what Mason had told him he must do. Through
some cranky, twisted thinking, Daniel began to wonder if he had actually died underground and never found a way back to the surface at all, his body left stiff on the rock with the water lapping
beside it, while the rest of him had slipped into some other place without realizing it until now. A hell maybe? Or some inbetween world?
But the bed felt real enough. And the long, uncomfortable silences during supper with his aunt had seemed authentic too.
The only other solution Daniel could imagine to explain what was happening to him was that he had dropped through a hole in the fabric of one universe into another where everything was familiar,
but where his life was not quite the same. He sat up and looked round his bedroom, checking carefully for anything that might seem odd or out of place. But nothing was any different that he could
see.
As he slumped back down, he remembered the strange memory that had come to him before his aunt had returned home. It was difficult to recall it entirely, but there were just enough details for
him to ponder:
the deep pile of a white carpet on a landing . . .
brown lace-up shoes . . .
his hands covered in blood and a door handle slipping through them.
Daniel wondered if it could be a clue that might prove he had indeed fallen from one universe into another. Closing his eyes,
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