old music paper, and had the bottom of an old T-shirt mail order address on it.
He felt distinctly odd; this had been his office, and somewhere out there was another Sparks, who also sold T-shirt designs. There were two Sparks in this world, one of which was him and the other was like him, the same size and smell and everything, with similar thoughts, and lungs and teeth in identical locations. The idea was a lot more disconcerting than the one about not having a tidy office; and Sparks found it harder to dismiss. He wondered if the Sparks in this world knew the Alison in this world, and if they were still together and (he couldn’t stop the thought) if they were doing it right now. This thought made Sparks feel so weird that he had to sit down in the swivel chair which, not being broken, also felt utterly disconcerting, but did enable Sparks to notice a large pile of phone books under the desk just before he fell off the chair.
He pulled the phone books out. There was a totally useless directory for North London businesses, apparently produced under the illusion that people in North London only want to buy things in North London and have no interest in the produce of, say, the simple folk markets of the West End; and there was a proper phone book with the phone numbers of people who lived all over London. Sparks riffled through this one, found the pages he wanted and tore them out like a vandal.
He was just stuffing the pages into his pocket when he heard the outside door click. This caused two things to happen; first, nothing at all, as Sparks’ brain seized up rather than leap into action; and then, when his brain had stopped seizing up and starting being a brain again, Sparks had a thought. This was Sparks’ thought: If this office is my office in an alternative world then the person coming through the door must be… Then, filled with terror, Sparks’ brain seized up again. He had often wondered what it would be like to meet himself. Now that the opportunity had come up, come up the stairs in fact, Sparks found it would be horrible to meet himself. He vaguely remembered from comics that sometimes people exploded when they met themselves. At best, he would have a jazz beard. Sparks did not want to either explode or have a jazz beard, so he quickly opened a window and crawled out onto the low roof.
As he closed the window behind himself, Sparks heard voices entering the office.
“I thought I heard something,” said one voice, adenoidal and harsh. Do I sound like that? thought Sparks.
“Well, there’s no-one here, officer,” said the other voice, and Sparks thought, No, I sound like that. Wow. it’s like hearing yourself on the radio, except I’ve never been on the radio . He felt unpleasant goosebumps on his shoulders. It is one thing to hear your own voice on a tape or a video or, perhaps, singing a number one record, but it is quite another to hear your own voice coming from, as it were, you.
“You’ve got me out of bed for nothing,” said the man who must be the other Sparks, unless he was a voice impressionist with a stupidly obscure repertoire. “I shall report you to your superiors for this. And then sue you.”
Sparks was impressed despite himself, as it were, at this other Sparks, who stood up to police officers and even threatened them with pointless legal action. He was less impressed when, a second later, the sound of hitting ensued, followed by the sound of pleading and falling over.
Clutching his phone directory pages, Sparks sneaked off down the road to sleep in a park. He found the benches all occupied apart from one, so he pushed a weaker-looking tramp to one side, sat down next to him and fell immensely asleep.
Sparks woke as dawn broke. Rosy fingered dawn , he thought to himself, and wondered if that was the name of a film. London was a good place to be in at daybreak, and while Sparks had probably seen Halley’s Comet more times than he had been up at daybreak, he liked the time
He felt distinctly odd; this had been his office, and somewhere out there was another Sparks, who also sold T-shirt designs. There were two Sparks in this world, one of which was him and the other was like him, the same size and smell and everything, with similar thoughts, and lungs and teeth in identical locations. The idea was a lot more disconcerting than the one about not having a tidy office; and Sparks found it harder to dismiss. He wondered if the Sparks in this world knew the Alison in this world, and if they were still together and (he couldn’t stop the thought) if they were doing it right now. This thought made Sparks feel so weird that he had to sit down in the swivel chair which, not being broken, also felt utterly disconcerting, but did enable Sparks to notice a large pile of phone books under the desk just before he fell off the chair.
He pulled the phone books out. There was a totally useless directory for North London businesses, apparently produced under the illusion that people in North London only want to buy things in North London and have no interest in the produce of, say, the simple folk markets of the West End; and there was a proper phone book with the phone numbers of people who lived all over London. Sparks riffled through this one, found the pages he wanted and tore them out like a vandal.
He was just stuffing the pages into his pocket when he heard the outside door click. This caused two things to happen; first, nothing at all, as Sparks’ brain seized up rather than leap into action; and then, when his brain had stopped seizing up and starting being a brain again, Sparks had a thought. This was Sparks’ thought: If this office is my office in an alternative world then the person coming through the door must be… Then, filled with terror, Sparks’ brain seized up again. He had often wondered what it would be like to meet himself. Now that the opportunity had come up, come up the stairs in fact, Sparks found it would be horrible to meet himself. He vaguely remembered from comics that sometimes people exploded when they met themselves. At best, he would have a jazz beard. Sparks did not want to either explode or have a jazz beard, so he quickly opened a window and crawled out onto the low roof.
As he closed the window behind himself, Sparks heard voices entering the office.
“I thought I heard something,” said one voice, adenoidal and harsh. Do I sound like that? thought Sparks.
“Well, there’s no-one here, officer,” said the other voice, and Sparks thought, No, I sound like that. Wow. it’s like hearing yourself on the radio, except I’ve never been on the radio . He felt unpleasant goosebumps on his shoulders. It is one thing to hear your own voice on a tape or a video or, perhaps, singing a number one record, but it is quite another to hear your own voice coming from, as it were, you.
“You’ve got me out of bed for nothing,” said the man who must be the other Sparks, unless he was a voice impressionist with a stupidly obscure repertoire. “I shall report you to your superiors for this. And then sue you.”
Sparks was impressed despite himself, as it were, at this other Sparks, who stood up to police officers and even threatened them with pointless legal action. He was less impressed when, a second later, the sound of hitting ensued, followed by the sound of pleading and falling over.
Clutching his phone directory pages, Sparks sneaked off down the road to sleep in a park. He found the benches all occupied apart from one, so he pushed a weaker-looking tramp to one side, sat down next to him and fell immensely asleep.
Sparks woke as dawn broke. Rosy fingered dawn , he thought to himself, and wondered if that was the name of a film. London was a good place to be in at daybreak, and while Sparks had probably seen Halley’s Comet more times than he had been up at daybreak, he liked the time
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