The Time Bubble Box Set 2, стр. 302
Despite falling back into my childlike state, I hadn’t lostmy grip on the reality of what was happening to me. Although I was resigned tomy fate, it didn’t stop the fear from persisting.
Not only was there the unknown horror of childbirth toendure, but also all sorts of worries about other things that were going tohappen before that. Would I lose all my memories by the time I reached infancy,or retain some inkling of what was going on?
What about my body? Would I find at two years old that I wasnow incontinent and back in nappies? The thought of that disgusted me. Whatabout my language and vocabulary? Would I be able to hold a conversation at ayear old, or would those abilities go, too?
Whatever happened, it was certainly going to be weirdexperiencing life as a baby, looking out into the adult world which I had oncebeen a part of. Would I have any understanding by then of what I had beenthrough, or would I have been reduced to a babbling, incomprehensible infant?
I found it difficult to sleep on the night before my seventhbirthday, as I was beset by vivid dreams that haunted me with snapshots of theadult life I had left behind, interspersed with visions of what was still tocome.
I dreamt of Lily and Phoebe, and the obscene cake they hadbaked me, the three of us falling about laughing together.
Then, the dream changed as the two of them metamorphosedinto my parents, the cake also changing into a cute teddy bear. I was tiny inthe dream and sitting in a high chair as my parents stood over me, urging me toblow out the single candle on it with my puny, year-old lungs.
Then I felt a hot and wet feeling between my legs. Lookingdown, I saw that I was wearing a nappy which I had just filled with urine. Itwas then that I woke up with a start to discover I hadn’t just lost control ofmy bladder in the dream.
I was seven years old and I had just wet the bed.
I cried then, huge sobs of despair and desperation at thehopelessness of my situation. It was early morning and still dark, but mymother heard me from her room and came in to comfort me.
“It’s OK, Amy, it was just a bad dream,” she said, in anattempt to soothe me, putting her arms around me as she did so, and notscolding me for wetting the bed.
I wish I could have opened up then and told her everything.This was a much kinder and more loving mother than the alcoholic, wretched messshe would eventually turn into.
Despite my desperation, I did find comfort in her words,even though I knew that it wasn’t simply a bad dream. Lily and Phoebe werereal, and maybe the memory of my one-year-old self was real, too, dredged upfrom some long-forgotten archive somewhere in the back of my mind.
Of course, it would be pointless attempting to explain thetruth. It was hard enough trying to convince people about time-travelling as anadult. At this age, it would simply be humoured or dismissed as the overactiveimagination of a seven-year-old girl. All I could do was meekly accept thecomfort on offer as she ran a bath for me and stripped the sodden sheets frommy bed.
Despite my unpleasant night, I did my utmost to banishnegative thoughts from my mind and enjoy the day, for my family’s sake ifnothing else. Mum took me, Rachel and Siobhan to the cinema to see HomeAlone 2. Afterwards we went to McDonald’s for a special birthday tea.
Realising that this might well be the last Happy Meal Iwould ever have, I made sure I savoured every mouthful. It was just anothermilestone in a long series of “lasts”.
This had been a good birthday and I went to bed feeling moresettled than on the previous evening. I knew the next day, I would be back in1991 as a five-year-old, but there was no point stressing over it. Just as Ialways had, I would have to take each year as it came.
Then something happened which changed everything.
Chapter Nineteen
1991
When I woke up on New Year’s Eve, 1991, I wasn’t where Iexpected to be.
Instead of my Liverpool home, surrounded by my toys andDisney wallpaper, I was in a room that was briefly unfamiliar. It was dark inthe room, with just a tiny gap in the curtains letting in a single ray ofmorning sunlight. It made the dust in the gap sparkle, but it didn’t shine muchlight as to my location.
The unexpected nature of my surroundings gave me a briefflash of hope that I might have broken out of the time loop, but a quick glancedown at my body dashed those. I was another year younger, and smaller thanever.
I leapt out of bed with all the energy of a five-year-oldand ran over to the door in search of a light switch, fumbling around until Iremembered that I was so small now that I had to reach up for light switches.
Once the room was illuminated, I quickly realised where Iwas. This was not a child’s room, but a large room in an old house. The wallswere decorated with yellow, floral wallpaper, which even back in 1991 wasprobably a good decade or two out of date.
The whole of the front of the room was dominated by a baywindow, in front of which stood a large dressing table. The main feature of thetable was an old-fashioned, ornate, three-panel mirror, ordained with a brassframe. Scattered around in front were various colourful boxes.
As my memories flooded back I recalled that these containedvarious trinkets of jewellery, sewing equipment and make-up items. I used toplay with all this when I stayed in this room as a child. This was mygrandmother’s parlour room,