What Will Be, Will Be

Nathan is visited one evening by a man claiming to be an older version of himself. The visit becomes a turning point in his life. Or does it . . . ?

 

 

Nathan is already running late, but seems set to be delayed further when a man claiming to be his future arrives at his door.

 

The man’s face, a malformed reverse of the familiar that lives in Nathan’s bathroom mirror, shocks him momentarily. His body does indeed resemble the one Nathan has seen in photographs of himself, except that it is conspicuously older: hair white and thin, chin sagging, posture short and stooping, face lined and blotchy. The visitor is wearing a navy blue jacket and trousers made of an odd shimmering material. In a voice not unlike the one Nathan heard during video playbacks on his ‘Public Speaking’ course, the man says he is Nathan himself, precisely 26 years, two months and four days older, and that he has just been dispatched to this hour by a time-travel device.

 

"So where is it then?" asks Nathan.

 

"It isn't a vehicle like in HG Wells," the man replies. "It's still where it will be 26 years from now."

 

Very convenient, thinks Nathan. Not knowing what else to say, he asks his future for some ID. The older man produces a passport, a little plastic wallet, blue with yellow stars. His sister Anna is named as contact in an emergency.

 

"OK," he says finally "it's very clever, but I don’t have time. I’m due to meet someone at seven-thirty, and it’s nearly that now, so . . . "

 

"You’re meeting Jane, I know," his elder interrupts. "No problem, I can talk to you on the way. I don't have long," he adds. "Only ninety-eight minutes."

 

"Could you take your foot out the door please. If time-travel was possible, people from the future would have shown up already. Anyway, you couldn’t be me: we couldn’t both be here. Right, I’m closing the door . . . "

 

"I never said I was you. We’re not the same body. We just have the same genes and the same memories. Like how we both remember that picture of Natasha Kinsky. Yes, that one. When we were 13, we found it in a Sunday supplement magazine. We ripped it out and hid it under our mattress, and at night, after everyone else had gone to bed, we'd get it out and enjoy its company. Of course it was love we felt, not lust."

 

" . . . "

 

"Can I drive? For old times sake? I loved that Vectra."

 

* * *

 

Jane has been shown to a table in Pagliano’s. The waiter has just lit the little red-glass oil lamp in front of her, and she is staring hard at the flame. It is a quarter-to-eight. She is not surprised Nathan hasn’t appeared. She is furious, but there is a sweet centre to her fury. It will be much easier to say what she has to.

 

A man in a suit at a table across the room is looking at her surreptitiously. Whenever she turns to him, he is studying some papers, but when she looks away she feels his eyes on her. She wishes he would come over, ask her to join him. And then let Nathan turn up, and think whatever he likes. If he’s not here by eight, she tells herself, I'm going. No! Tonight, of all nights, she needs to wait.

 

* * *

 

Nathan is full of teasing questions about the world to come. But the older man will not be drawn; he has only one thing on his mind: "You’ve got to persuade Jane to give you another chance," he announces.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"You know very well. You stood her up on Wednesday. You were supposed to meet her at the Ritzy."

 

"I phoned her last night. We talked about it . . . "

 

"Talked about it? No you didn’t. All you did was tell her you had to work late, so busy you didn’t get a chance to call. Which we both know is a lie. And tonight you’re keeping her waiting again! And we know why, don't we? Can you blame her for wanting to break up? Yes, it was tonight at Pagliano’s that Jane told me it was over. At the time I was more pissed off than upset. I thought she’d come crying back to me within days. I can’t believe I was such an arrogant bastard - no offence. Of course she never did. And by the time I realised what I’d lost, it was too late. As for Cheryl, she wasn’t worth it. You’ll see what I mean next week."

 

Nathan is silent. His cheeks are red, and he is frowning. Suddenly, his face contorts in panic as he sees a red light and has to pile his foot down on the brake to bring the car to a screeching halt. His elder asks again if he can drive. Without saying a word, Nathan climbs out of the car and walks round to the passenger side. "OK then," he says, as his older self relearns the use of a gearstick, "tell me this: if what you’re saying is true, why didn’t you travel back further, to warn me . . . "

 

"Warn you! Like Cheryl was the most irresistible woman on the planet! Sorry, I don't want to be mean to you: force of habit I suppose. Well, I was hoping for an earlier arrival, but the technology isn't perfect when I come from. Travelling this deep, there are margins of error weeks either side."

 

"Couldn't you have waited till they'd developed a better machine . . . "

 

"If only," the man mutters, rather deliberately. "I tell you, hardly a day’s gone by these last 26 years when I haven’t thought of her. She’s the last good chance I had, that you have. Those wonderful nights at The Oak, the Chambers Club; the Peak District, that amazing week in Florida. The way she stood behind me and ran her hands across my head, down my cheeks, down my chest. She’s so damn sexy: don’t you love the way she does the thing . . . and especially the other thing . . . "

 

"I'm not discussing those with you - even if you are who you say you are. Which, by the way, I'm still not convinced . . . "

 

"You are convinced. I know how your mind works."

 

"How can you be so sure? How can you know how you would've acted if someone had knocked on your door claiming to be from the future?"

 

"I know exactly. Before I heard about the technology, and had it shown to me, I would've dismissed time-travel as a fantasy. But then, once I saw it, I surprised myself at how quickly I accepted it. I played the sceptic a lot longer than I was actually sceptical. I never gave the project team a moment's rest, demanding more and more evidence for their claims till they regretted involving me, but all the time I'd already been converted and was planning in my own mind what we might be able to do with it . . .  But listen: Jane, she’s the best, you’ve no idea. The way she looks, the way she smiles, the way she dresses. How we've been able to talk and talk for hours, about everything, anything. And when she tells you something, it stirs you up, makes you think. I can’t tell you how I’ve missed that over the years. There's been lots of things I would've wanted to talk to her about. Lots of difficult questions I needed to have asked of me from someone I cared about, that cared about me."

 

"You always regret the thing you didn't do," Nathan says. "I just wonder if you haven't been thinking too much, turned Jane into something she isn’t. I mean I love her as much as anyone. But you don't always want that intensity, it's exhausting. And she can be so pompous: storming out of that restaurant a few weeks back! The service wasn't that slow! I don't understand her at all sometimes . . . "

 

"Yes, but that’s Jane, it’s what makes her her."

 

"Do you know what happens to Ellie? I really loved Ellie. She was perfect - except she seemed to be allergic to everything. I am arrogant, you're right. Going off in a huff when she volunteered for that charity the summer we graduated, just cos she didn't discuss it with me. It was pathetic. Me and Ellie, we just clicked. That's why I knew it would hurt. I was such a spoilt brat. God, I'd love to see Ellie again. Do you know how I can get back with her?"

 

"So who's wearing the rose-tinted glasses now? Sorry, I may agree with you about Ellie but I can't tell you anything about her. Look, we are where we are. Jane's your best chance now. After tonight, my life got smaller, and if you don't listen to me, so will yours."

 

Nathan is silent. Eventually, his elder speaks again: "It’s actually a rare privilege for you, this. How often do you hear people say: ‘if only I’d known then what I know now.’ Well, now, you do know."

 

"You’re assuming I can turn things around. But what if I can’t? What if she’s made her mind up and nothing I can say will change it? Would I be left knowing I've missed my best chance?"

 

The older man sighs. "I wouldn’t want you to think I’ve wasted my life completely," he says finally. "Actually, the project's been a huge success overall, and I've played a big part in it . . . "

 

"And what right do you have to time-travel anyway? To meddle around with the past like this?"

 

"We asked some philosophers if you want to know. Look at it this way: the present is full of people who are going to change your future, for good and ill. All quite unintentionally. You may never meet them, and the chains of cause and effect might be long and complicated. But you judge them by their motives in living their own lives, not by how it might affect you. So because the consequences of time-travel are unpredictable, and as likely to be positive as negative, they said it was fine to continue as long as our immediate motives were sound."

 

"Ingenious," the younger man admits. "Convenient too."

 

"I haven't told you much anyway: you'll be free to make all my mistakes for yourself."

 

"Thanks."

 

"Look, when time-travel is possible, your perspective changes. Once, my past self was me, and I just had to accept it. Now he's someone else, he's you. Someone you can't take for granted, someone you have to protect. So when I know something that could help you later in life, it's like I have a moral responsibility to tell you. Not out of self-interest: that's not how it feels at all. It's more like what you would do for a friend." Suddenly the older man winces, and pulls one of his hands to the side of his chest. He jerks the wheel and the car mounts the verge before he regains control. "I'm sorry," he whimpers, "can you drive?"

 

"Are you OK?" asks Nathan.

 

"Old age," his elder replies automatically.

 

"At fifty?"

 

After another swapping of drivers, Nathan's future has recovered some composure: "You’ve got it in you to persuade her," he says.

 

But the younger man looks over to his companion, and is struck by a couple of boils on his face he has not noticed before: he appears less an aged doppelganger than a grotesque caricature. It crosses his mind that Jane might deserve a better fate.

 

* * *

 

From her table by the window, Jane sees Nathan’s car tear into the car park. She looks at her watch. It’s ten past eight. She hears the door, then his voice: "Jane! Hi, sorry I’m late. Really sorry. Didn’t get home till after seven, and then just as I was about to leave, the phone rang! Ah, you’ve got a drink. Good!"

 

"Yes, Mario was upset to see me on my own like this. He brought me some wine on the house. It was lovely of him. So who called? Anyone interesting?"

 

"Eh? Oh, family. Yeah, Dad called. Kept blathering on: I told him, ‘look Dad, I've got to go,’ but . . .  Right I’d better have a look at the menu. Have you ordered yet? What was it you had last time we were here? A fishy pasta thing, wasn’t it? You really loved it, I remember. I’d like to give that a try. I’ve always been able to rely on your judgement when it comes to food - most things actually. Our tastes are so similar."

 

"Are you OK, Nathan? You seem a bit nervous."

 

"Nervous? No. I’m just sorry I was so late. It was inexcusable."

 

"Only you seem distracted, like you need to be somewhere else."

 

"I’ve been rushing, I’ll be more relaxed once I settle down. No, this is definitely the place I need to be right now."

 

" . . . So did your parents like Lisbon?"

 

"Oh, fine, yes, had a great time."

 

"They must have. I can’t imagine your Dad ‘blathering on.’ He's usually rather quiet. You probably remember how it used to bother me until your Mum said he was ‘a man of few words’ and . . . "

 

"Okay, you win," sighs Nathan, closing his menu and laying it firmly on the table. "If you want to know the truth . . . I was trying to get you some flowers, okay? To say sorry. But I couldn’t find any. I even went up the motorway to the services: you know, Toddington. I just feel really, really sorry, for having stood you up on Wednesday. I should’ve called. But I didn’t and I’m bloody angry with myself for it. And I should’ve apologised properly last night. It was unforgivable the way I just told you what happened, all matter-of-fact, like I was expecting you to swallow it no question . . . "

 

"Swallow it? Was it not the truth then?"

 

"Of course it was."

 

"So why shouldn’t I believe what you tell me?"

 

"What I’m saying is, I should’ve said sorry. I was upset that I didn’t. I ended up driving around like a madman looking for somewhere selling flowers. I completely lost track of the time. That’s the truth, Jane."

 

"Yes, I’m sure it is. You wouldn’t lie to me, Nathan. It’s just a shame you didn’t feel sorry earlier. Then you could’ve picked up some flowers in town at lunchtime, saved yourself all that ‘driving around like a madman’ tonight."

 

"For God’s sake, what is this?"

 

"I don’t know Nathan, what is it?"

 

"All I want is to say sorry. I really mean it, Jane. You’re the best thing there’s ever been in my life. I don’t want anything to come between us. What happened on Wednesday was plain wrong, and I was so messed up about it I blew it again tonight. You have to forgive me, Jane, please!"

 

" . . . "

 

"I don’t want to lose you, Jane."

 

"Something’s not right, Nathan . . .  Look, I’ve been thinking about things. I was upset because of Wednesday, and you didn’t seem to notice when we talked last night. But it’s not just that. I just think you’re bored with me. You don’t seem to be listening when I talk to you. You don’t remember things we’ve done or what we’ve talked about.  . . . And last Saturday night . . . "

 

"I told you, I was tired, it could happen to anybody . . . "

 

"You never call me like you used to, with your little jokes and messages and things . . . "

 

"But . . . no, you’re right, I’m sorry, I’ll try and remember . . . "

 

"I don’t want you to try. If it was still working, you wouldn’t have to. Nathan, you’re not even looking at me!" Jane turns to follow his eyes, but there is no one except an old man in an odd shiny navy blue jacket, his back turned, standing at the bar.

 

Nathan sinks his head in his hands and sighs: "Just give me another chance, Jane. Please!"

 

" . . . I’m sorry, Nathan, but I really think it’s best, for both of us, if we split up and think about things for a while. It’ll be hard for me, maybe for you too, but . . . "

 

"Don’t you love me any more?" Nathan’s voice is pitiful.

 

"Of course I do, I care about you very much . . . "

 

"A rose for the lady sir?" They look up. A man with black moustache and bow tie has crept into the room and is now standing beside their table with a bucket full of cellophane-wrapped flowers.

 

* * *

 

"We need to talk," Nathan growls as he passes the old man at the bar, noticing another boil on the back of his neck. The man finishes his drink and ambles off slowly to the gents, where he finds his youth looking agitated. "Did you hear any of that?"

 

"Enough."

 

"What went wrong? I’ve said sorry, I’ve pleaded with her . . . Perhaps you should talk to her."

 

"Are you kidding? Just look at me!"

 

"Yes, well . . . but I can't believe you’ve been brooding over this for 26 years and never wondered what you should've done different."

 

"I'd have said sorry," the older man says. "I mean, I'd have told her about Cheryl. Admitted I'd been screwing a colleague."

 

"What! You're insane! I thought you wanted to keep us together!"

 

"I did - I do - but seeing her again, I'm starting to think I got this all wrong. It wasn't what she did, it was what I did. The guilt . . . "

 

"There has to be a clue in the future," the younger man continues oblivious. "What happens to her after tonight?"

 

"We talked on the phone a few times. But she didn’t want to meet. She was about to fly off to the Canaries the last time we spoke. Said she’d call when she got back. She never did. And that was that, as far as I was concerned. She got married of course."

 

"Married! Who?"

"I didn’t know him. I’d left town by then. It was two years after we split up. Mum did give me a name: Matt Ravens. I've always remembered it."

 

"Bastard! Never heard of him. They haven’t met - that I know of . . . Is that it?"

 

"She gave up teaching. Not sure when. Before she got married. Mum said she was in the paper. She got a job as Environmental Education Officer at the county council. But that was over twenty years ago. I didn't really keep track . . . "

 

"Strange, considering you missed her so much." But Nathan had been set a challenge and had invested himself in meeting it, and he would rather fail now than give up.

 

* * *

 

The barman looks at the old man, then at Nathan, then back to the old man, as the younger of the pair buys a couple of drinks. Presently, Nathan returns to his table, to which a waiter now comes to ask if he and Jane are ready to order their meals. Nathan asks for more time. He opens his menu again, but once the waiter has left he closes it and raises his eyes to Jane.

 

"You’ve been thinking about things and I respect your decision. But before you make your mind up, just hear me out. Okay, you think the spark has gone from us being together. I know what you mean. But it isn’t what you think. I’m always thinking about us. Not just because I love you; I respect you too. You deserve the best and I want to be able to give it to you. But the way work’s been going, it’s been sapping all my energy, and I just haven’t delivered. I’ve known that and it’s been getting me down. So I’m going to sort things, get my priorities straight. I can do it, Jane, and I will. And okay, I may not have said much, but I’ve noticed things in your life too. You’ve often said how tired you are of the teachers at your school always arguing, and all the paperwork you have to do. Well, I think you need to change direction in your life, to focus on the things that give you the most satisfaction. Working with kids of course, the environment . . . "

 

"What’s got into you, Nathan? First you tell me you’ve been driving around like a madman looking for flowers, now you’re giving me careers advice? Tonight of all nights, I thought you’d at least be real with me."

 

"What’s more real than the future, Jane? You need someone behind you, someone to hold onto, who loves you and cares about you, who can help you through changes in your life. I want to be that person. I want to be there for you." But Nathan sees a glistening in her eyes, the flesh around them reddening. " . . . I just wanted you in my future, that’s all."

 

"Don’t talk to me about the future!" comes her wounded voice. She brings her hand to her face, shoots out of her chair, grabs her coat from the stand and rushes out of the room. Nathan follows her through the bar, past the old man standing there, and out into the car park.

 

The old man lifts his chin from the hand into which it has sunk, and follows in his turn. He grabs the younger Nathan back from the chase, pulls him out of the light, and stands beside him, obscured by a bush. And, with a brittle voice, he begins to speak: "It wasn’t easy for me to come here tonight, Jane, after all that’s happened. I knew what you were going to say, and I knew you had every right. I told myself I came back to change your mind. But really it was so I could say sorry, for the things I didn't do . . . and the things I shouldn't have done. And just to see and hear you again. Don’t forget me, that’s all. At least let me think you miss me sometimes."

 

"I won’t forget you, Nathan."

 

"Remember the Peak District," the old man continues, "Dovedale wasn't it? When we turned to each other at the same time and said the exact same thing? And you said we should make a wish. That was what your Grandma taught you, when you were little. So we joined hands and closed our eyes, and we each made a wish. Do you remember what you wished for, Jane? I remember mine. I always will."

 

Nathan’s voice has a heartfelt tone she has not noticed before. " ‘Do you want me to carry your pack?’ " she reminisced. "That’s what we said to each other. You were still recovering from your fractured foot, and I’d hurt my ankle." She gives a wet, sniffling laugh and moves back toward Nathan. The elder Nathan shoves the younger forward to meet her. She hugs and kisses him. "I’ll never stop loving you, Nathan. I’ll never forget you."

 

Nathan feels her tears on his cheek. "I love you," he says.

 

But Jane extricates herself from him, and though she smiles, and though she lingers - holding his fingers in hers - she says goodbye and promises to call sometime. Nathan stands there silently as she drives off.

 

The older man emerges from his hiding place. "We didn't deserve her really," he says.

 

"That went well didn't it!" replies the younger sarcastically.

 

"Believe me, that was a better ending than the one I remember. I didn't mention Cheryl of course; that's something only you can do."

 

"Well it's all bloody academic now, isn't it?"

 

"Maybe, maybe not. Don’t get depressed about what I said before. I was your future, but never your fate. I'm leaving you in a different place than where I was. Who knows where it might lead."

 

"Don’t you need to be going somewhere?"

 

" . . . "

 

"Your 98 minutes must be nearly up. You’ll have to go back to the future."

 

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere. When my time runs out, I’ll just vanish into thin air. Sort of like death - although technically I've died several times already."

 

"What!"

 

"I don't think I'm giving too much away if I tell you the system works by annihilating you at source and transmitting you as code to the target time, when you are reassembled. Not perfectly so far, but that's another story. Our previous trips have been months at most. This far back, transmission takes nearly as much power as we can get away with, so there's nothing left to reverse the process and bring me back."

 

"So why can't they just leave you here, now?"

 

"Transmission is only half the story. What you see of me now isn't stable. There's an inscription process to plant a subject in a time once it's been transmitted. We use it to leave chronometers for example. But it's out of the question for something as complex as a human body, especially at this depth."

 

"I don't get it. You came back - you threw your life away - for this?"

 

"I hadn't much of a future anyway. The only place I wanted to go was the past. To meet you, to see Jane again. Coming back here, I feel better about myself. I don't blame anyone for the way things have gone. They warned me: the continuous re-transmission, being a virtual prisoner in the project compound, and of course I'm drugged up to the eyeballs to control the side-effects. And in the end, the costs have been mounting for them too. But at the start, we were all very excited and I had no reason or desire to say no . . . "  The older man turns as a car pulls into the car park. "Well, as you say, I don't have long. But it would be safer if we could go somewhere quiet."

 

The Nathans return to their car. Shortly after pulling out onto the main road, the older man clears his throat: "Before I go, I'd like to leave you with something. Something to give to Professor Luke Fiddeman when you meet him." He reaches into an inner pocket of his jacket and produces a small metal case. He opens it and takes out a short syringe-like object which he presses into a finger. "I have to ask you not to go out looking for him," the man says as he replaces the object inside the case. "Just wait for him to find you. And when he does, tell him it's from me."

 

"Mind if I ask what it is?"

 

"A blood sample," says the older man. He taps the case on its side; it bleeps in reply. "To prove I am - I was - exactly who I'm telling you."

 

"But if you are, your blood will be the same as mine, so how does that prove anything?"

 

"It's the vial that's the key thing. The precise way it dates and preserves sample material. Luke's invention. By the time you give it to him, he'll have a prototype hidden away. Take care of it, and be grateful: it's the 98 minutes it's taking to inscribe it here - it and a few drops of blood - that's giving us the chance to talk."

 

"What? So is this just an experiment? Nothing to do with me or Jane after all?"

 

"This trip had several motives," sighs the older man. "Some were given to me - the cost of the ticket - and some were my reasons for travelling. You shouldn't devalue my personal motives for coming here just because I'm not willing to dodge the fare."

 

"Do you remember our Neil Armstrong fantasy?" asks Nathan.

 

"Eh? What?"

 

"When we were very young."

 

"We wanted to be him."

 

"We wanted to be the first man on the moon," Nathan corrects. "We fantasised about it, even though there had already been a first man on the moon. Facts didn't get in the way of imagination when we were a child. So I suppose that if the opportunity came to be the first person to travel back in time and meet yourself, with evidence of course . . . "  He nods at the metal case on the older man's lap. "I know you've told me you won't be around to enjoy all the acclaim. But it does guarantee you immortality. Like Neil Armstrong."

 

"All the more reflected glory for you to bask in," mutters Nathan's former future.

 

By now, they are travelling between fields. The older Nathan directs his former past self into a layby beside a wood, and once they are stopped he gets out of the car, leaving the metal case on the passenger seat behind him. "I'm going in there," he says, indicating the blackness behind the trees. "You’d better go. There'll be a nasty dose of radiation. You don’t want to be around."

 

"Aren’t you scared?" asks the younger Nathan in more compassionate tones as he steps out of the car.

 

"Yes . . . but everything has its time, and this is the right time for me."

 

Nathan approaches his former future. Simultaneously, each man offers his right hand.

 

"Do remember me," says the older man. "Try and live a life you'll smile to look back on. And when you talk to Jane again, say sorry - properly. For both of us. I know she'll be hurt but it'll hurt her more one day if you don't. She said she would always love us, so it's the least you can do. The thing about love is, it's not just what it gives you, it's the crap it keeps you safe from."

 

As Nathan pulls out of the layby, he is conscious of a flash across the night. But it is quicker than lightning, so brief that anyone else would probably mistake it for an internal sensation.

 

* * *

 

At this moment begins the rest of Nathan’s life: here’s how it looks . . .

 

He will be lost in thought the next few days. Even his break-up with Jane will feel remote, like it happened to a friend. He re-reads everything he can find on the practicalities of time-travel: the objections to it are insuperable. How could his visitor really have been who he said? Nathan takes a couple of radiation detectors from his gadget collection and returns to the place where he left his former future; radiation levels there are not unusual. But on Wednesday evening, the older man's story is apparently confirmed when Nathan enters a colleague’s office and finds him and Cheryl thrashing about excitedly on the floor.

 

Thursday evening, Jane will call. She tells him she’s been thinking about him and the things he said. She is especially touched he remembered the wishes they made on that walk through Dovedale. Perhaps they could meet up and talk. They meet up and talk. Perhaps they can get back together - as friends. They get back together. Perhaps they can take a trip to the sun – for old times sake. They make plans for the next half-term holiday: a friend of Jane’s offers her the use of an apartment - in Gran Canaria. Nathan has to stifle a laugh when he hears that.

 

The apartment is beautiful, but Nathan will feel uncomfortable. It is not just that he knows he needs to come clean about Cheryl. Something in what his former future told him, that Jane was his last chance, has sapped his affection for her. What should have been joy in being together now feels like necessity. And if all that weren't bad enough, Nathan wakes up one blinding bright morning and wonders if, in that now apparently superseded future, Jane and Matt Ravens had any children. Children promised to the world who would no longer be born because his older self had refashioned it. Could Nathan let himself be complicit in that? The heat on his skin as he lies on the beach scalds him like guilt.

 

Of course, Jane knows something is up: Nathan is broody, irritable. She checks if he is okay a couple of times, but she doesn't press him. This trip was her idea; it is her time and her place, and there are lots of other people here. She sparkles as she enjoys 70s Nite in a nearby disco. Her smile and the red satin dress clinging to her elegant figure seem to delight the whole male contingent here, not least this Adonis with wavy blond hair: who does he think he is? He has already swept Jane round the dance-floor twice, and each time it’s left her flushed and grinning. Now it turns out he’s from Hemel, not twenty minutes from her home. He buys the pair a drink and joins them at their table, and soon he has them both in stitches. Nathan cannot bring himself to despise him.

 

‘Are you alone?’ Jane will ask. ‘No,’ he replies, ‘my girlfriend’s in bed with tummy trouble. She should be down later.’ The three of them chat for nearly an hour before Jane realises they haven’t exchanged names: ‘I’m Max,’ he tells them, ‘Max Ravens.’

 

Nathan hears laughter somewhere. He retreats silently into himself as Max and Jane enjoy a real heart-to-heart. He does not notice Max wave to attract the attention of his girlfriend. Suddenly, Nathan sees her, standing in front of him: ‘Ellie? Wow! Ellie! How’ve you been?’

 

All in good time comes his marriage, his children and his specialist instrumentation business, with its blue-chip government and academic clientele, and their audacious (and secretive) projects. And a day comes when one Professor Luke Fiddeman appears with specifications for components for a machine unlike anything he has seen before. The professor is amazed by Nathan's astute speculations as to its purpose and it becomes the start of a close working relationship.

 

Then a day will come when the professor turns up at Nathan's office and says no one understands the operations of the machine better than he - so would he like to be its first human pilot? Nathan assumes the question is a joke. For although they have been able to transmit objects into the past, even to inscribe them in it, they have not yet worked out how to return them to the present. But the professor has decided that to solve that problem they must build machines in the past. All that is needed is a labour force willing to be transmitted there with the machine's components and power extraction systems, and to vanish once these are fully inscribed and installed.

 

"Well if you really think I'm the expert," he says, "I should be the last one you send back. What you need are lots of me!" Nathan is only humouring the professor, but in a flash the idea comes to him: "Could the machine produce clones?"

 

Professor Fiddeman is laughing loudly: "what will be, will be!" He has already told Nathan that the blood sample left by his former future showed him to be genetically identical to Nathan himself. But the whole truth he has been saving for just this moment: that there were tiny differences, strangely regular patterns of junk DNA, which he interprets as a marker of some kind. Nathan's visitor had been a clone.

 

"No, he was me!" Nathan will insist. "Another me, a real me. The life I would've had if . . . "

 

"That's right my friend," says the professor. "And those are precisely the memories we'll give him! All of them! What will be, will be!"

 

There is a photograph on Nathan's desk of him and Ellie standing on the Great Wall of China. It was taken by Max last year; Jane is in the background, looking out over the Wall through a pair of binoculars. After the professor has left the room, Nathan stares at the image of himself, at how life and time have thinned his hair, sagged his chin and lined his face, and sees how they are transforming him into the likeness of a bizarre figure from his past.