Time Travelling with a Hamster by Ross Welford

Author:Ross Welford [Ross Welford]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2015-11-26T05:00:00+00:00

Standing outside the vet’s, the absolute lunacy of handing over my mobile phone to Macca has begun to seep into my head and I comfort myself (very slightly) with the knowledge that there wasn’t much battery life left, and he won’t be able to do much with it. But I will have to get it back, I know that.

I’m also now very keen to get back to my world, my time. The idea of flipping between the two as I wish, of setting destination and return times according to convenience, is something I’m only just becoming familiar with, and I’m very, very far from relaxed about the whole thing. You’d be the same. No one is born with an instinctive understanding of multi-dimensional time travel. Not yet at any rate. There’s also the risk element. It’s the breaking in, sneaking around, lying, hiding and stealing stuff that’s doing my head in, as much as the time travel itself. (Mind you, the time travel would be enough on its own, believe me.)

I wait till Macca and Pye have headed up the road away from the house and there is no one around in Chesterton Road. Then I head back to the bunker under his/my house.

Remember, several hours ago but thirty years in the future, I had only just escaped being found in this same bunker by Graham, who was trying to force the door.

I’d had the brilliant idea of using the time machine to escape imminent danger. Brilliant, cunning … and completely stupid. Because I’m now sitting in front of the laptop with nowhere to go.

Returning before I had left was a non-starter because of Dad’s Law of Doppelgangers. Remember? I would risk bumping into myself and that’s not possible. And returning after I had left doesn’t work either – for the same reason.

That leaves the option I had rejected before as Graham was forcing the metal door: find somewhere to hide in the bunker and I would have only seconds to do it. I scan the layout of the little underground room. There’s only one possible hiding place, and it’s pretty pathetic.

I set the time coordinates for the time I left.

And then I hesitate, going through all the what-ifs I can think of. What if Graham just waits by the door? What if he locked the door from the outside? The main one, of course, is: What if he finds me … what if … what if …?

Sometimes, despite the what-ifs, you just have to act. I can’t be here forever, driving myself nuts with indecision. Instead, reclaiming Alan Shearer from the drawer and stashing him safely in my hoodie pocket, I climb into the tub, grip the laptop tightly, and press ‘enter’.

Seconds later, I’m back where I left. I can again hear the pieces of broomstick clattering to the floor, and the wheel that opens the door is turning rustily. One piece of wood remains stuck, jamming the door’s mechanism for a vital few seconds as I climb out of the tin tub and hit the light switch just as the final bit of wood gives way.

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