The Time Bubble Box Set 2, стр. 303

We must have been staying over for New Year. I couldn’trecall this particular visit, but did remember the regular visits here as achild when we lived in Liverpool. I had stayed in the room a number of timesover the years but it was the first time I had found myself here since I hadstarted time-travelling.

I suppose I should have got used to waking up in differentbeds by now, having been in so many during my travels, but it was still asurprise, albeit a pleasant one. It meant I would get to see Oxford one lasttime.

It also meant I would be spoiled rotten by my grandparentswho always bought me loads of treats. My recent return to childhood hadrekindled my sweet tooth. I no longer have had any interest in alcohol orcoffee, instead craving a big bag of Pick’n’Mix from Woolworths in CowleyCentre.

Other than the Millennium party, I hadn’t had anyopportunities to see my grandparents again, as both had died early in the newcentury. I had always enjoyed my childhood times with them.

My grandfather, like most men of his generation who lived inthis area, had worked all his life at one of the car factories thatcharacterised this part of Oxford. I remembered him proudly telling me once howhe had been part of the production line that had produced the very first Mini,way back in 1959.

Keen to see him, I raced down the stairs as fast as myfive-year-old legs would carry me, slamming into him with delight as he stoodpouring out his tea in the kitchen. Such was my exuberance that I almostknocked the tea strainer out of his hand.

“Whoa there, young Amy,” he said, looking down at me withhis friendly eyes, beneath a smooth, bald head decorated with just a few wispsof remaining grey hair.

As he placed the tea strainer in the sink, I recalled howback in this century, many more people used to make real tea that you had topour out and strain. My grandmother would have been horrified at the thought ofallowing a tea bag in the house. She swore blind that tea bags were not asgood. Not being a tea aficionado, I took their word for it.

“Sorry, Gramps,” I said. “I’m just pleased to see you!”

“Would you like some Frosties?” he asked.

I certainly did. Rachel was already sitting at the kitchentable eating hers. We weren’t allowed Frosties at home – or any sugar-coatedcereal, come to that. But I always got what I wanted at my grandparents. I waspretty sure there would also be fish fingers and home-made chips to lookforward to for tea, washed down with jelly and ice cream.

The rest of the day passed very much as expected. Gran tookRachel and me into what we had always called Cowley Centre, despite it nowhaving been rebranded as Templars Square.

I got my Pick’n’Mix, in a cup which I filled up with ColaBottles, Refresher Chews and Dummies. To finish it off, I went for theSmarties, shaking the cup to ensure they all fell down to fill in the gaps. Itall tasted impossibly good. I’m not sure if that was down to my youthful sweettooth, or if it was that sweets had more sugar and E numbers in them in thosedays.

Whilst I was gorging myself on the sweets, I had a suddenshock when one of my front teeth came clean out, embedding itself in thehalf-chewed sweet. I showed my gran who smiled and said.

“It looks like the tooth fairy is due a visit tonight.”

Of course – I had forgotten all about losing my milk teeth.This was all perfectly normal at my current age. There was something else toworry about. Was I going to have to go through teething trouble as a baby, too?

Back at the house we had tea and then Rachel and I sat downto watch TV for the evening. My parents were not staying with us over New Year.They had remained up in Liverpool. My grandparents weren’t strict on bedtimeswhich meant we could stay up. However, I realised fairly early on in theevening as I began yawning that there was no way my little body was going tostay awake until midnight.

Throughout my life I’ve heard people going on about how muchbetter TV was in the old days, but the evening’s viewing was pretty tedious byany era’s standards, especially considering that it was New Year’s Eve.

First there was some dire showbiz programme, featuring mostlylong-dead celebrities I had never heard of. After that it was EastEnders,which had a little nostalgia value as it featured long-departed characters likePauline and Arthur Fowler.

EastEnders was followed by A Question of Sport,something else of little interest to me, though my grandfather loved it and gotnearly all the answers right. Then there was some American movie I had neverheard of called Back to School. By the time that started I was gettingtired and the film was barely ten minutes old before I felt my eyelidsdrooping.

“Do you want me to take you up, Amy?” asked my grandmother.“Big day, tomorrow, remember? It’s your birthday! I can’t believe you are goingto be six. You look so big!”

I didn’t feel big and every other day was my birthday thesedays but I was happy to agree. I was exhausted. She took me up and bathed mewhich was another odd experience, after so many years of looking after myself.The younger I got, the more things people did for me. I never appreciated itduring my childhood first time around, but now I realised just how much effortwent into raising a child.

I was pretty much asleep as soon as I hit the proverbialpillow that night, my youthful body needing increasing amounts of shut-eye witheach passing year.

Before I knew it, I was waking to yet another birthday andyet another New Year. But today was going to be different. I didn’t know ityet, but I was about to encounter someone I had never expected to see again.

After all the usual present opening and birthday congratulations,Gran took us into the centre of Oxford on the bus. It was mild for earlyJanuary, nice enough in