SYSTEM RESTORED

ADAM ECCLES

CONTENTS

About the Author

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Also by Adam Eccles

HIGH SCORE - HALL OF FAME

Author’s Note

Sign up for news

Copyright © 2022 Adam Eccles

* * *

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

* * *

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Even if they seem like things you have actually read online.

Created with Vellum

For Robin & Willow

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Adam Eccles is a sarcastic, cynical, tech-nerd hermit, living in the west of Ireland for the last couple of decades, or so.

www.AdamEcclesBooks.com

Facebook

Twitter

Amazon

CHAPTER ONE

I amble to a standstill and pause, then turn to Rick. “Look around.”

He grins. “You are standing at the intersection of several busy pedestrian walkways and roads. Paths lead off in all directions. There are shops, restaurants, and an assortment of large buildings almost everywhere you look. The urban jungle, ripe with the scent of combusted fossil fuels and grey with the filth of ages.”

“Hmm, look north.”

“Which way is north?” Rick turns to Bethany. She giggles and looks up at the sky.

“Err, that way, I think?” She points towards the Gielgud Theatre.

“Right. To the north, there is a large, old building; ornate and ostentatious. Bards and playwrights dabble and dally within its thick stone walls for the entertainment of others.” Rick shrugs. “Best I could come up with.” Bethany giggles again.

“Look south?”

“To the south is the path that led you here. You recognise the familiar buildings and roads. You stopped and bought a nasty kebab at one restaurant, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Bethany chuckles. I flash her a grin.

“Okay, look east.”

“To the east, a long stretch of road unravels like a, err, fine Chinese silk scarf?” Rick shrugs again. “Dotted regularly with more and more Asian culinary experiences. Each promising to outdo the others with its particular skill and style. You are tired from the long day. You don’t relish the thought of traversing that path, yet.”

I yawn in sympathy with Rick. “Yeah, sod that; I’m parched. That kebab was as salty as the hull of a Dead Sea schooner.”

Rick pulls his phone out and taps at the screen. “Ah, now we’re talking. There’s an inn not far to the northwest, famous for fine ale and comely serving wenches. Would you like to pay a visit?”

Bethany slaps Rick playfully on the arm.

“I most certainly would.”

“Then we shall proceed to The White Horse Inn, posthaste.”

Rick bows with an elegant flourish and points in the direction of the pub. Bethany rolls her eyes and shakes her head, then leads the way. I follow, and Rick catches up with us.

As we enter the bar, we’re hit with the usual, strangely comforting, waft of stale beer and old cigarettes. The stench of fags has never really gone away since the smoking ban. It will forever haunt the carpet of every boozer and club in England’s fair isle, until well after the sun has collapsed, and the Earth is a barren, frozen hell-scape. I turn my nose up and Bethany nods a tiny sympathy smile.

She has paused midway between bar and tables, turning to see where we’ll go. I trundle to a halt behind her.

“Grab a table, Beth. I’ll get these in.” Rick flashes a smile.

“My round.” I offer, but Rick shakes his head.

“Birthday boy doesn’t buy rounds, Derek.” He waves me away. I don’t protest.

We’ve already tarried a merry few hours in various other inns along the way here. It was good of Rick and Bethany to do this. I never bother planning a big birthday event. Feels silly when it’s just me. But Bethany insisted that the big ‘four-oh’ is worthy of celebration. I disagree. It’s just a number. An arbitrary date increment. Still, a piss up with friends never hurts. We don’t get to do this often. Everyone has their own life.

Bethany sits down at a table near a window at the back of the bar. She’s a tiny bit merry, going by the slow sway, the reddened cheeks, the semi-shit-faced stare. She smiles and pats the bench seat next to her for me to sit.

“You doing okay, then, dear Derek, dear?”

She guffaws at her mistake. I join in.

“Yeah, doing great.” I turn to look at her face on, pausing for a moment. “Thanks, you know, for this.” I spread my arms out, indicating the general evening of events.

She waves me away as Rick did. “Our pleasure.”

I feel the familiar, but distant pang of dark emotion start to climb my chest. I swallow it down.

“Besides, we’ve got more surprises yet.”

“Oh?” I look up.

She smirks. Holding a slowly drifting finger up to her lips. “Secret!” Then drops her hand down onto my leg, squeezing gently.

“You two look cosy.”

Startled, we both look up at Rick, who’s balancing three pints and trying to put them down on the table. I cough to hide my burning face, shuffling over an inch as I do. Bethany extends an arm in slow motion towards a pint glass.

Rick flashes me a smile. “We’ll grab a bite after these. Soak up some booze.”

I raise a thumb in acknowledgement.

“The comely serving wenches must be on break, but Kev, the morbid punk, sends his birthday regards.” He sits down opposite and nods to my glass. “Drink up, the world’s about to end.”

Recovering, I smile and pick up a pint. “Cheers, mate.” I take a long sip of cold beer, then look up at Rick. “What secret?”

Bethany elbows me in the side. “SECRET!”

A little worse for wear after another pint and pee, we get up to make a move from the comfortable sanctum of the bar to go to one of the many eateries that London has to offer.

At the door, I offer Bethany to go ahead; ladies first, and all that. But she refuses, making a show of holding it open for Rick and me. I know better than to argue, so I step through after Rick into the still-bright summer evening. I feel a pinch on my arse and turn quickly to see Bethany giggling to herself and pushing me forward. “Secret,” she whispers, and grins, holding a finger to her lips.

“What do you fancy?” Rick turns to me outside the pub.

I shrug. “Don’t mind.”

“Your birthday, mate. Your choice.”

“Err …” I’m terrible at making a decision. Much better at being told what to do, then blindly following. A decision on what food to eat carries all sorts of implications. What do I want? What does that say about me? If I choose something, and Rick or Bethany don’t like it, will they speak up, or will they suffer in silence? I stall for time, parsing all the possible options, but there are so many choices, I can’t calculate all the variables. My mind returns NULL instead of anything useful. “Err …” Rick raises an eyebrow and glances at Bethany. She’s tapping on her phone, not paying any attention to us.

“Well, let’s narrow it down. What continent would you like the cuisine style to come from? The world, as they say, is your oyster.”

“Err …”

“Europe, Asia, North America?”

“Well …”

“South America? Africa?” Rick counts off Earth’s major landmasses on his fingers.

“I don’t …”

“Antarctica, Oceania?”

“What cuisine do they have in Antarctica?”

“No idea. Probably penguin-burgers or something.”

“Yeah, I think we can rule that one out, at least.”

“Right. What, then?”

I scratch my head and look around the streets. My mind is an empty canvas, waiting for someone to paint a big red sign telling me what I want to eat. Nothing comes.

After ten minutes of indecision and animated discussion, followed by walking up and down for another while, then searching for reviews online and not coming to any kind of conclusion, Bethany makes the executive decision for us and walks into the nearest restaurant, not waiting to see if Rick and I follow. We do.

“You can’t really go wrong with Chinese.” She slumps down into a chair.

I nod. “Sorry, I’m just no good at choices. There are so many options, it’s overwhelming.”

Rick sits down, trying to hide his frustration. “This place looks great, anyway.”

A waitress brings a jug of water to the table and I pour myself a glass and take a deep sip. I’m starting to feel the wrong side of tipsy and I know when to stop. I don’t much care for hangovers or even the dizzy drunken out of control feeling. I rarely binge like this. I’m easily broken.

Menus are provided and we each stare at the laminated pages. I’m pretending to ponder, but really I’m staring through the words and pictures, focusing on the evening and the company.

My fortieth birthday, and out of the seven billion humans I share the planet with, only these two care enough to celebrate it with me. Of course, Mum and Dad rang me this morning with the usual awkward and stilted conversation. A thirty quid voucher tucked into a ‘Happy birthday, Son.’ Hallmark card arriving in the post shortly after. That doesn’t count.

I’m lucky to have good friends like Rick and Bethany. I should be more assertive. No one wants to be out with a moaning old whiner. I’m the oldest at our table. Only by a bit, but still, the first to hit forty.

I suppose it doesn’t matter. What difference does a number make? But we attribute so much significance to it that I can’t help but feel some change. Placebo effect, I guess. But the result is the same. What does forty mean in the grand scheme of things? Does anyone care? Should I have achieved something epic by now? Does life, as they say, begin at forty? Do I want it to?

Many questions, no answers. No manual to consult for guidance, only four decades of experience living on this planet to call on as reference.

A waitress comes to the table, expectantly. “You ready to order?”

I look down at my menu, suddenly nervous and once again blank. “I …”

“I know. Why don’t we get the set meal for three? How about that, Derek?” Bethany flashes me a sympathetic smile, throwing me a lifesaver before I drown in the vast sea of choice again.

“That’s a great idea. Yep.”

Rick nods in acceptance and the waitress hurriedly takes the menus and flits away.

Dinner is fine, not epic, not terrible. Fine. And that’s all we really need, isn’t it? I know foodies always want dinner to be spectacular, breaking all previous records of how artistic the plate was, how their taste buds danced like angels had tickled them, one by one. How each bite brought them to new sensations of ecstasy, but really we just need some sustenance that doesn’t taste like boiled rat turds and we’ll be just fine. I eat to live, not the other way around. Most dinners at home are some crap from the microwave in front of the telly. I suspect that the majority of people are the same. They might claim to make fresh food every day, catching rare ducks and home growing their own celeriac, laying an elaborate table and sitting down with the family every night, but I don’t believe a word of it. We don’t live in a Bisto gravy commercial.

I excuse myself to the restroom once the waitress has cleared the table and taken our dessert orders. I made Bethany promise she wouldn’t ask for a birthday cake. That level of embarrassment would likely finish me off. Awkwardness level one-thousand. GAME OVER.

When I get back to the table, Bethany and Rick have big smirks on their faces, and there’s a small box ‘hidden’ underneath my ice-cream bowl.

“Oh, no. Guys, you shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t start that, just open it.” Bethany kicks me gently under the table.

“I have a feeling you’ll like this.” Rick grins and nods towards the present.

Wrapped in ‘My Little Pony’ pink paper, I throw a grimace at Bethany, who chuckles. “Your fave, isn’t it?”

“I’m NOT a ‘Bronie’, Bethany.” I shake my head. “But, thanks, anyway.”

I slide my finger under the tape and carefully peel it off the box. Underneath is a familiar shape. I already had my suspicions. The size and weight of a SNES cartridge box are deadly familiar. I’d know it anywhere. But the box has no branding. Blank grey cardboard. No hint of what’s inside.

I continue the treasure hunt, opening the flap on one side, carefully so as not to distort the card. I slide out the cartridge and turn it over.

My jaw drops open. A flood of adrenaline pulses through me. I look up at Bethany and Rick, who are gurning a huge smile between them.

“Oh, my god!”

“You haven’t got one already, have you?”

“Jesus, no.” I push my chair back an inch, suddenly feeling hot. “Star Fox: Super Weekend. These are unbelievably rare, worth like five-hundred quid.”

“Really?” Bethany smirks.

“I can’t … You didn’t? Oh, my god.” I turn the cartridge over in my hands. The copper connections look pristine, the label is perfect. “Where did you get this?”

Rick taps his nose. “Don’t worry, mate. We know people.” He chuckles. “It wasn’t five-hundred quid, I can tell you that.”

“But, it’s in mint condition.” I check myself. “Thanks, guys. Really, wow. This is amazing.” I clear my throat to stifle back a tear.

“Welcome.” Rick slaps my arm.

“Glad you like it.” Bethany gets up and leans down over me, kissing me on the cheek. I feel the heat of a blush blossom where she touched.

“This has been on my list for ages.” I carefully put it back into the box. Last thing I want is to spill ice cream on it. Of course, I’ve played the game for countless hours already, but this is the special tournament cart, I think something like only a couple of thousand units were ever made. To find one mint like this is incredible. “Bloody hell, all I got you last birthday was a phone charger.” I look up at Rick, embarrassed. He chuckles. His birthday is soon. I should start looking for something equally epic.

“Big four-oh, mate. Worth celebrating in style.”

I nod. “Thanks, guys. Really. Thank you.”

Rick waves a hand dismissively. “We haven’t finished yet.”

I look up. “What? No.”

Bethany giggles. “Secret!”

“That wasn’t the secret?” My mouth drops open again.

“Well, it was one of them.” Rick waves the waitress over for the bill.

“Err, I’m getting this dinner.” I grab the bill before Rick can pull out his wallet. “I insist.”

Rick laughs. “Fair enough, mate.”

Outside the restaurant, the evening has settled into night and the streets are lit with the dull amber glow of lamp posts and shop signs. There’s a drizzle-mist that makes the filth of decades dark and slick on every surface. A softness to the warm summer air forms a barrier around us as we walk in no particular direction. I’m turning over the possible ways that Rick and Bethany could have found a rare Super Nintendo cartridge in such good condition. Rick works for a big liquidation company. Maybe that’s how? He won’t tell, and I don’t like to push too much. It doesn’t matter, but such a find is incredible. I wonder if there’s more where it came from?

Up front, Rick stops walking and turns to me. “You find yourself wandering aimlessly in the streets of London on a misty, warm evening.” I smile in recognition of another of Rick’s famous text adventure game monologues. “All around you the air is filled with energy, smells, possibilities, and laughter. A dog barks, tied to a post outside a grotty sandwich bar. A group of men drunkenly stumble from one pub to another.” Rick nods towards the lads, probably on a stag night. “You pause for a moment and look around you.” I do as he suggests. “Do you see anything interesting?”

“Err, well, not really?”

“No?” Rick tilts his head. “Look again.”

I slowly turn all the way around, looking at the buildings and shop fronts, and then glance at Bethany, who flashes a smirk before returning to her poker face. “What?”

Rick raises an eyebrow. “No? You ponder on the evening so far. You’ve enjoyed the fine ales of many inns, the company of friends, the food of the far east, and we won’t mention the dodgy kebab again.” He chuckles. “What is left for the evening? What more could you want on the fortieth anniversary of your existence?”

I know what I’d really like, but the chances of that are between slim and none. I haven’t had a girlfriend for a long time and I’m not going to bring that up. Last time I mentioned it, Bethany tried to set me up with her friend Alice, and that dinner out was an absolute disaster. I shudder away the thought. No, what comes second best to sex? First, if I’m honest. Games. We haven’t had a gaming party for ages. Same reasons we rarely have nights out, I suppose. No one has the time or the energy. These days I play online with strangers in distant countries. That’s fine, but the fun of a local network party is far better. I used to drag a huge desktop tower and a massive hefty CRT monitor over to Rick’s dorm at college and we’d slaughter each other in games like Doom, Quake and Unreal Tournament all night, but somehow still make it to class the next morning. Those were the days. You really earned the fun.

I look around again, and now it is obvious. Rick has stealthily guided me to this location for a reason. I feel a smile creep onto my face and glance at Rick. He knows I know. A nasty-looking shopfront, garishly lit with a gigantic neon sign, LAS VEGAS. A games arcade.

“Yes!”

Without pause, I bolt for the door and step into the dimly-lit, foul-stinking, greasy-carpeted den of digital addiction. The arcade is the equivalent of the cinema to a DVD at home. The theatre experience to watching soap operas on the telly. The real-life version of retro gaming, not the home console connected with composite video and cabled controllers. This is the real deal. Where it all started. The origin of my obsession. Here, you stand up to play a game. Onlookers crowd around and cheer if you beat a high score. The pinnacle of the gaming experience.

I look around and find Bethany and Rick both beaming a smile at me.

“Happy birthday, mate.”

“Guys, you really went all out this time.”

“Well, appreciate it while you can. You only hit forty once.” Rick slaps me on the back. “Come on, then. Let’s get some coins.”

We descend into the bowels of the garish, vibrant arcade under the streets of London. Into a hell-scape of aliens that need shooting, rallies and races that need to be won, surreal worlds that need exploring. Mushrooms that give extra lives, plants that shoot fireballs, hedgehogs that spin into balls. A world of imagination and no bounds. A trip into the future and past all at once.

* * *

Bethany annihilated me at a dancing game and Street Fighter. Rick came second at MarioKart, but first on some elaborate Japanese racing game. I held my own against computer players bent on beating me up, ending my game and forcing me to insert more coins.

After what seemed like moments, but according to my phone was about two hours, we exit back into the relative peace of London’s streets. A rush of excitement slowly draining out of my body, leaving from my shoes with each step away from the place. We laugh and jostle each other, remembering the complicated moves that led to failure or success. We bask in the dissipating glow of the neon arcade and arrive at Leicester Square Tube Station entrance, where we will depart our separate ways. A wonderful night with best friends. A rare game and a rare treat. I really have had a great birthday.

Rick gives me a manly hug, squeezing the life out of me. Then Bethany embraces me, somewhat softer. I linger long in her arms. The scent of her perfume rising, the warmth of her pressed against me stirring thoughts and ideas I shouldn’t have. I wish things were different, but they aren’t, and I finally let go. Rick flashes me a look. I laugh it off, still drunk on the thrill of the evening.

“See you soon, mate.” Rick waves and grabs Bethany’s hand.

“Yeah, cheers.”

“See you at work, Derek.” Bethany waves with her free hand and blows me a kiss. Rick rolls his eyes and they walk away.

Back at my flat, the silence is deafening. I flop down onto the couch and pause for a few minutes to allow the noise in my head to dull, and the flash of colourful screens, neon signs and flickering lights in my mind’s eye to wash away. Then, I remember the game in my jacket pocket and take it out again, turning it over in my hands, holding a little piece of rare history in a small plastic package. The engineering and imagination that went into it. The culture that has evolved around it. Before I even play the game, it brings me vast amounts of pleasure.

I flick on the TV, then adjust the settings away from the modern Xbox with all its rich graphics, amazing speed and advanced technology, back to the retro world of the Super Nintendo, comparatively terrible graphics, simple sound and toy-like style. But none of that matters. The games of that era forced imagination into the player. The narrative, no matter how simple, was what hooked us. The experience, the world that we inhabited is what made it special. I plug in my rare gift and power on the console. The words ‘Not for resale’ pop up on my screen and another boost of adrenaline floods my veins. This is the real deal.

CHAPTER TWO

I’ll tell you one thing that has definitely changed as I grow ever older; the ability to stay up late playing games, then be none the worse in the morning, has rapidly left me. I’m currently reduced to nothing more than a sack of mostly water and meat, ebbing and flowing instead of living. I was playing my new game, and then various others, until about three in the morning. I simply can’t do that anymore and then get up for work. I’m exhausted, mentally and physically. The world is behind a thick gauze of confusion and delay. My synapses lagging on a ten-second ping.

The summer heat doesn’t do me any good, either. I can’t get any decent sleep in a hot room.

I suppose I just have to face facts. I can’t act like I did as a teenager anymore. I’m forty now, and that rules out all-nighters, or even late-nighters. Whatever next? A mug of cocoa and slippers at eight o’clock and in bed by nine?

I didn’t intend to stay up so late, it just sort of happened. I was close to completing the game I was playing and I wanted to get it done before calling it a night. Turns out that took longer than expected. Time is hard to keep track of when completely engrossed by a narrative. Oh, well. I made my bed, now I have to lie in it. I wish I was lying in it …

I trudge up the stairs to work, still somehow fifteen minutes early, and boot up my computer. The screen flickers and flashes up a logo, then another, then my login prompt. I pause, staring at the words, allowing them to blur and drift, sending a message to my long-term memory, asking for my password. Request denied. I need coffee before I can face it.

There are a few other people dotted around the office. I subtly nod as I pass some familiar faces on the way to the coffee machine, but we don’t speak, thankfully.

I superficially know plenty of people at work, having been here for about nine years now, but the only one I care about is Bethany. She isn’t here yet.

Free is the only good thing about the coffee here. But never mind, the noxious taste is mostly masked if you squirt enough flavoured sugar syrup into it. I slowly plod back to my desk, cup in hand, and sit on my creaking chair.

I log in, reluctantly, having retrieved my login password from the long-term memory vaults, and eventually get to my email and calendar. The last message highlighted was one from Bethany on Friday.

Dear Derek,

As you know, the festivities for your impending anniversary start at 6 pm sharp, at a location that shall be disclosed to you by means of a text message precisely one hour before that. You should prepare yourself for any kind of eventuality. Especially the possibility of imbibing copious quantities of alcoholic beverages.

My associate, Richard Knight, and I shall meet you at this location, whereupon further information shall be available.

Yours sincerely,

Bethany Miller.

Senior vice-chancellor of celebratory activities.

I grin as I read her message back. We certainly imbibed copious quantities of alcohol. I was okay, though. No hangover. I must have flushed it all out before bed.

I hit reply.

Dearest Bethany,

It is with mixed emotion that I write to you this morning. Firstly, it is with great joy that I recount the events that occurred on Friday last, at the location(s) that you indicated.

I greatly enjoyed the day, due in no small part to your company and presence, as well as our mutual associate, Richard Knight. I do hope you will pass on my continued gratitude for your combined efforts in ensuring a pleasurable evening?

Secondly, it is with unending fatigue that I manage to lift my fingers to type this missive. The entertainment package you kindly acquired for me has played a part in keeping me up half the night and has drained all my energy and vitality, not to mention mana. I, therefore, request that you assign me to only simple tasks, if any tasks at all. I am currently swallowing a bucket of hot water, infused with something that smells vaguely like coffee, and a full kilogram of sweet syrup. I trust this elixir should combine to wake my body into some kind of sentience in due course. If not, then may death be a welcome and restful eternity.

Yours achingly,

Derek Cooper.

Principal somnambulant architect.

I hit send and sit back, taking a deep slurp of coffee and feeling the embers of life stir in my chest as it washes down.

The ambient noise level in the office gradually increases as people funnel in. Their wide ties, business suits, slick hair and keen ferret-like noses for sniffing out backstabbing opportunities flitting in and out of my periphery. I feel disconnected. My eyes focus on the screen in front of me, but the world around invades into my realm. I try to block them out, but they persist and pervade. I fish in my pockets for headphones and phone to block out some of the sensory overload, and tap on a playlist of game soundtracks to lull my brain into a false sense of calm and safety.

I glance around me to see if anyone is loitering nearby, but the coast is clear, so I load up my retro gaming forum to see if anything is interesting. I posted a photo of my new prized possession over the weekend and got some envious replies. My suspicions confirmed by scouring around on eBay, the cartridge I have is worth anywhere between four-hundred and a thousand pounds. Since mine is in mint condition, it will definitely be at the top end of that scale. Not that I’ll sell it. They’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands to get it away from me.

I maintain a list of wants and needs, and this particular baby had been near the top for many a year. Rather satisfying to tick that off.

I should thank Rick again. I know the gift was from both of them, but I doubt if Bethany would even know the significance of it. Don’t get me wrong, she’s definitely a gamer-girl, but she’s far more modern game than retro. No, this has to be a Rick special.

Rick,

Thanks again for the game, mate. It’s awesome. Played it way too long last night. Consequently, I’m cream-crackered today. Amazing find though, you sure you don’t want to tell me where you got it? :)

Anyway, brilliant night all round. We should do it more often.

Cheers,

Derek.

Not much of interest on the forum, just a few kids with their little collections, some questions on emulators and a chap who does console repairs posting some new projects.

The thing about old equipment is it was never meant to last twenty, thirty, even forty years. Some kit doesn’t make it. The capacitors leak, the power supplies give up the ghost, rendering the equipment dead as a dodo. That’s not the end of the world, though. Parts can be replaced, systems fixed. Console necromancers make a good few bob doing mail-in repairs, and posting photos and sometimes videos of the work. Fascinating process. I’m fairly handy with a soldering iron, myself. But as motherboards got smaller, the work got harder and you have to be more precise and careful. Not work for the faint-hearted.

Then there are the controllers. That’s a whole different problem. The switches fail, the sticks snap off, sweat and gunge get into the mechanism. Of course, you can get new controllers to replace them, but if you want the full retro and original experience, you have to go to eBay or scour around charity shops and find something that isn’t already equally destroyed. I’ve got a few franken-trollers pieced together from various eBay finds, and a couple that are my everyday use, plus an unopened original Famicom controller from Japan. I’m keeping that as a backup.

My collection is getting to be fairly impressive now and, with the new addition, I should think about upping my contents insurance. I’ve had to invest in shelving and display cabinets, and I easily fill two rooms of my flat. I keep it neat, alphabetically sorted, categorised, with a rotation of featured games I update when the fancy takes me. Then there’s the peripheral merchandise. A three-foot-high Mario, various Sonic the Hedgehog plushies, PAC-MAN, or should I say PAC-MEN and a few Ms PAC-MANs of all shapes and sizes. The list goes on, and on, and on. A life wasted, some would say, but this stuff is history. It makes me happy. It can’t all be a waste, can it?

I know it’s odd for a middle-aged man to devote his life to what are essentially kids’ toys from the ’80s and ‘90s, but people collect far weirder things. I once heard of a chap who collected ‘NOW THAT’S WHAT I CALL MUSIC!’ albums … and they say I’m crazy …

Still, I’m not under any misconceptions. Despite being tidy for the most part, my living space is not exactly female-friendly. Well, at least not any woman who has thus far made it back to my place. Can’t say that it’s a 16-bit number, nor even anywhere close to an 8-bit. Okay, I admit, it’s more of a single digit. Look, let’s just say ONE, and be done with it.

Samantha said she thought it was cool the first time she saw it, but that faded, and so did our relationship. She seemed perfect: smart, pretty, into games … but as with Bethany, she didn’t get the retro fascination. She built state-of-the-art PCs herself, designed to squeeze out every possible instruction per second, air-cooled, water-cooled, even some weird overclocked refrigerated setup she was playing with. All with the goal of upping the graphics to the max, allowing the frame rate to run wild, and displaying as many polygons as the laws of physics will allow, making the experience as realistic as possible, so she said. To me, that’s a crazy distance to go, just to get more swaying leaves on a tree. In retro games, none of that matters. The games didn’t need to be realistic. Everyone knew they weren’t really in a spaceship shooting aliens. The point was to escape the real world.

Of course, I like the modern tech, too, and I have a decent setup myself for the times when I want to see every detail, feel every breath of wind and hear every individual raindrop, but left alone, my heart always returns to the old world of simpler games.

Anyway, Samantha and I parted ways a long time ago, and, well, nothing much apart from sleeping has happened in the bedroom of my flat since.

An email pops in from Bethany. As soon as I see the name on the screen, my heart jumps a little in my chest. I scramble to click it open.

Hey,

Fancy getting lunch at the café over the road?

1:30 okay?

My treat. I’ve got a small favour to ask.

Bethany Miller

Corporate tactics synergist.

Oh, don’t mind if I do. I wonder what she wants?

Hiya,

Yeah, sure. I don’t have any better plans. :)

See you later.

Derek Cooper,

Regional curiosity technician.

* * *

“You feeling more alive now?” Bethany pokes her head over my cubicle wall.

“Hey. Yeah, a bit better after the gallon of coffee.” I lie. I feel like I’ve been run over by a cement truck and then boiled up with road tar. Still, the sight of Bethany stirs the juices and fires up the boiler.

She grins. “Ready?”

“Yeah, cool.” I lock my computer and get up, feeling my back twinge and creak as I do. “Oww. My back … isn’t old age wonderful?”

“Oh, shush, you are hardly old, Derek.”

“Feel old today.”

“Maybe you should go get a massage or something?”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” I mutter.

She rolls her eyes. “A physio massage, not anything more.”

“Right, yeah. Maybe.” Spoiler: I won’t be getting a massage. The thought of stripping off in some upstairs room over a bakery, new age music, scented oils, awkward small talk. No, not for me, thanks. I’ll take a buffered analgesic and have a bath.

“Come on then.”

This café isn’t too bad. Not as pretentious as most places tend to be these days. They have waitress service, without making a fuss about it. Simple enough menu, I opt for my usual, a baguette filled with who-knows what, and a salad, because that surely balances out any unhealthiness. I should probably eat nothing but birdseed and drink urine or some equally ridiculous faddy health plan thing, now I’m forty and over the hill. But I’m not ready for that kind of crap yet. Another coffee, this time tasting a lot better, washes down the alfalfa sprouts.

Bethany isn’t my boss, not in any kind of corporate structure anyway, but she is one of the people who assigns me projects and tasks. I still don’t know what favour she wants from me. I’ve learned not to rush into asking the obvious questions like that with her. She wants to ease into it. Chitchat and food first, then will come the reason for this outing. She’s normally got a line of people waiting to ‘get lunch’ for some bullshit work reason. This is a rare treat for me. I shall savour it.

Bethany slurps the last spoon of her soup and only then picks up her mug of coffee.

“Not a bad chowder. Four stars.”

I smile but grimace internally. Can’t stand chowder.

“Have I mentioned my cousin before?” Bethany eyes me over her coffee cup.

“Umm, no, I don’t think so.”

“Melanie?”

“Not ringing a bell.”

“Oh, right. Well, are you busy this evening?”

I look up. I don’t like where this is going. “Not really busy, so to speak …” I squint at Bethany. “What are you up to?”

“No, nothing dodgy. Melanie’s son, Jacob, he’s got this new graphics card, but he doesn’t know how to fit it. Melanie said there’s a dinner in it for someone who can help. I naturally thought of you.”

“Ah, nice. What card is it?”

“No idea.”

“Good cards are hard to come by now. Big chip shortage.”

“I think it was a gift. He had his birthday recently.”

“How old is he?”

“Nine, I think. Yeah, nine.”

“Nine? What game is he playing, then?”

“Minecraft, I think. Not sure.”

“Don’t need much of a card for that.”

Bethany sighs, gently. “Will you be able to help? He’s really keen to try it out.”

“Sorry, yeah, sure. No problem. Of course.” I fluster.

“Great. I’ll pick you up then this evening. Melanie is a wonderful cook.”

“There’s no need for that. I’ll just grab something at home.” Last thing I want is a fuss. Going into a stranger’s home is awkward enough, let alone having a meal with them and a young child. I have zero experience of how to interact with kids.

“Don’t be silly. She’d be offended if you didn’t stay for dinner.”

I pause. “Right. Okay.” The nuances of polite society are often confusing to me. I’ll trust Bethany to guide me in this.

“I imagine it’s a tower case, and they don’t have an anti-static strap?”

“You no doubt imagine accurately.”

“I’ll bring my tools, then.” A thought occurs to me. “Why doesn’t Rick do it?”

“He had to go to Manchester for some work thing. Back tomorrow evening.”

“Oh. Fair enough. Where does Melanie live?”

“St Albans.”

“What? That’s miles away.”

“Yeah, sorry. No worries, we’ll have a little road trip together.” Bethany smiles.

I nod, while the implications of that information soak into my brain. I’ll be alone with Bethany for a couple of hours at least. Nice.

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good. See you later, then.”

CHAPTER THREE

I am an absolute idiot. A twenty-four-carat, solid-gold, studded with diamonds and presented in an Italian leather case, five-star knob-end.

I let this happen, no — I made it happen. I had heaven within my grasp and I let it slip, gave it away, wasted my opportunity. I’m a supreme twat.

Bethany started at work about five years ago. I was assigned to mentor her in the role. We got on like a house on fire, and I revelled in every second. She’s gorgeous; that’s obvious. But she’s sweet, funny and, more to the point, into games and tech. She’s perfect from every possible angle, and I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. I didn’t think ‘love at first sight’ was a real thing until it whacked me squarely in the face with a cast-iron frying pan.

So, what happened?

I decided early on that I would ask her out for dinner. Just casual, keep it cool, see if she bites, taking it slowly. I am, of course, a gentleman, when it comes down to it.

I tried, over and over, the words sticking in my throat. The right opportunity just never came up, or if it did, I’d baulk and change the subject.

I wrote her hundreds of emails, trying numerous different ways to ask the same thing, without actually asking it. I never sent them. Deleted and discarded, thankfully, because some even featured horrific poetry. Someone should shoot me for my own good, really.

Then I tried just blurting out the words, taking myself off guard. It was getting ridiculous. I’m attracted to a woman. She seems to like me. Why the bloody hell can’t I just ask her for a date? I’m pathetic. Every time I failed, I felt the stomach-churning kick in the nuts. My race is doomed to extinction because there’s no chance we’ll ever be able to procreate.

I stumbled, I stuttered. I royally screwed up. As the words came out of my mouth, I knew it was a horrible mistake, but they were said, and there was nothing I could do.

“I’m meeting my mate, Rick, for drinks later. Would you like to come along? I think you’d like him.”

Why? Why did I say that? Because I’m an idiot; that much is obvious. Those words are etched into my brain now for all eternity. My biggest mistake, my killing words, my undoing.

Of course, Bethany came out for drinks with Rick and me, and I had to make up a fake plan with Rick on the spur of the moment. It intrigued him why I had brought a beautiful woman out to the pub with him in tow, but he wasted no time. They, of course, got on great, and I sat and watched as my plans and hopes were all crushed, broken, torn away from me. For some reason, I felt like I had to keep up the charade of being the catalyst to set them up together. What twisted, weird, backward thoughts made this happen in my brain, I don’t know. But every day I curse my stupidity and feel the pangs of regret throb in my chest.

I was the best man at their wedding not six months later. I still feel the pain every time I see them together. I wanted what he got and, instead, I had to watch and celebrate my failure.

Rick is still my best mate. It wasn’t his fault, I suppose. From his point of view, he didn’t even know I liked her that way. He did nothing wrong. But there’s no denying the horrific jealousy that runs deep in my veins every time I see Bethany, which is almost every day at work.

Now we’re alone, close together, in a car, sitting in traffic on the way to St Albans. She’s quietly singing along to the pop on the radio. I’m looking out of the window, coming up with scenarios where I didn’t make a massive, life-changing mistake, and we’re married instead of her and Rick. We’re going to see her cousin as a couple.

I look over at her and smile. “You sing beautifully, darling.”

She blushes and smacks my leg. “Why thank you, kind sir.” She belts out the chorus of the song at full volume, startling the old bloke in the car next to us.

We guffaw and share a moment. I touch her hand, and I know that tonight when we get home, we’ll enjoy hours of passionate, sweaty sex.

Or not.

I’m woken from my daydream by the loud toot of the horn and Bethany giving the finger to a car that has cut in front of us. “DICKHEAD!”

Melanie lives in what seems like a pleasant area. A quiet street, sizeable gardens, no graffiti or chewing gum on the pavement. Bethany parks outside the house and I get out, lingering for a moment. I have a backpack full of tools and bits I might need to upgrade some kid’s PC so he can play Minecraft better. Bethany flashes a grin at me.

“Thanks for doing this, Derek. She’ll really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no worries.” I smile.

“Jacob’s dad was killed in a motorbike crash when he was only two. So sad. Melanie has had it bad. Small things like this make a huge difference.”

“Oh, shit. That’s awful.”

“It is, but she’s finally getting herself back together.” Bethany sighs. “Come on, then.”

In the car, Bethany had informed me of Melanie’s vital statistics. Thirty-six, black hair, brown eyes, medium height, medium build. Not sure why that information was important? She didn’t mention the widow part.

When I saw her, the first thought that struck me is she looks much older. Still, she’s got a certain attractiveness. She doesn’t go out to work; her house is paid for, her expenses supplemented by some part-time phone marketing.

One kid. The aforementioned Jacob, who is quiet and polite so far.

Melanie makes a cup of tea for us. She and Bethany catch up on family events while I clutch the cup, trying to act casual, looking around the room. There’s a photo on the mantel of a younger version of Melanie in a wedding gown with a handsome-looking chap. Hmm.

“Jako, do you want to show Derek your setup?” I shake myself into consciousness. This is my cue to do my part. “And me and Beth will get on with dinner.”

I stand up, and Jacob gets up off his beanbag, quietly leaving the room. I follow, looking back at Bethany, who smiles and nods.

“Okay … what do you want to install?” I look around the bedroom. Neat, with a little computer desk in one corner. A big tower case underneath and a decent monitor on top.

“Grandma got me this.” He grabs a box from a shelf and hands it to me. An NVIDIA card. A decent one, too.

“Nice.”

“Yeah, she works for them.”

“Really? Wow.” I raise an eyebrow. Jacob remains uninterested. “You want to install it into the desktop?” I motion down towards the tower.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then. Should be easy enough.”

“It was Dad’s computer,” Jacob announces as I bend down to yank it out from under the desk.

“Oh, right.” Now I feel like I’m defiling a grave.

“It’s good, but it’s old now. Grandma said this will make it better.”

“It certainly will.” I kneel next to the desk, taking extra care. “Won’t take long.”

I plug my anti-static strap into the four-way extension socket and put it on my wrist. “This is to stop any static electricity from zapping the chips inside.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jacob sits down on the edge of his bed.

“Okay. Good stuff.”

Inside the tower is the usual dust and crap that always builds up, but the swap is simple. Take out the ancient card, install the new one. I’m done in five minutes. I thought about showing Jacob the process, but he’s busy on an iPad.

I close up the tower and plug all the cables back in, then power it on.

“We’ll need to update the drivers now, get it all nice and optimised. Do you have broadband?”

“Yeah, we have everything.” He shrugs.

No, not everything, mate. I feel sorry for the lad.

I download the driver and install it, with the help of him typing the password. Then he loads his game up and scrolls around the world he’s created. “Ah, brilliant. That’s way better now. Thanks … erm, what was your name?”

“Derek. You are welcome, Jacob.”

He smiles. “Do you want to see my underground cave system?”

“Oh, yeah. Cool.”

“Do you play Minecraft?” He turns to me.

“I have it, but I don’t much. I’m more of a retro gamer. You know, old stuff.”

“Like that?” He points up to a shelf where a mini arcade cabinet sits. PAC-MAN logo emblazoned on the front.

“Oh, cool.”

“It’s boring. Grandma got it for me last Christmas, but I don’t play it.”

“You should. It’s a classic.”

“It’s weird. You just move around eating dots, and when you go off one side, you appear on the other side. That’s stupid.”

I laugh. “That’s how games were, back then.” I stand up and look at the box. “May I?”

He nods, and I grab the miniature machine, setting it down on the floor. I fumble at the back and find a switch, assuming the batteries are good. It flickers on and the familiar PAC-MAN screen appears. My heart sings with joy as the music plays. How can anyone not love this?

“It’s surprisingly hard, and takes mad fast reaction skills to beat.”

Jacob shrugs.

I turn the little box around so he can see and hit the start button. “See, you have to get all the dots, and eat the pills, which scare the ghosts, then you can eat them, too. Plus the fruit.” I guide the little yellow menace around the screen and deftly avoid the angry ghosts that chase around the maze. I slam into reverse after getting a pill and take out two ghosts, then warp through the left screen wormhole and appear on the right, nicely escaping a pair of ghosts who would otherwise have ended my life. “The ghosts have names, you know? Inky, Blinky, Pinky and Clyde.” Jacob laughs.

I get to level three before remembering where I am and what I’m meant to be doing. I let the ghosts eat me and rack up the top high-score on the box.

“You’re really good!” Jacob is standing right behind me now. Enthralled.

“Lot of practice.” I laugh. “Anyway, give it a go, one day. You might find you like it more.” He nods. “Let’s have a look at your cave system.”

“You boys having fun?” Bethany comes into the room and stands in the doorway, hands on her hips, laughing at us. “Dinner is ready.”

“Ah, yeah.” I stand up, embarrassed. “Jacob was just showing me his setup. He’s got an amazing world built up here.”

Bethany nods towards the PAC-MAN cabinet on the floor. “Didn’t take you long to find the arcade machine, did it?” She laughs. “Are you all set, Jako?”

“Yeah, Derek showed me some cool stuff. And he’s amazing at PAC-MAN.”

“Good stuff. Go wash your hands then, and we’ll eat. Maybe you boys can play after dinner.”

Jacob runs out of the room and into another. Bethany grins at me like a baboon. “I think we’ve finally found someone on your level.”

“Shut up.” I laugh. “He’s a good kid.”

“He is.” Bethany comes over and squeezes my arm. “Let’s go eat.”

Lasagne and beer, for me. Bethany is driving. Can’t go wrong with that. Jacob scarfed his grub down in three seconds, then ran off to play on his iPad in the living room. Leaving me with the cousins.

“Have you been to St Albans before, Derek?” Melanie looks over at me, probably feeling like she has to keep me in the conversation. They’ve been chatting about who-knows-what family and woman stuff for a good fifteen minutes while I try to seem interested. Apparently, there’s an uncle in Edinburgh who just won a tidy sum on the lottery. Nice.

“I think so, when I was a kid, on a school trip. The Roman museums and stuff. But not since then.”

“You into history?”

“Not really.” I pause. “Well, outside of the history of video games.”

“Thought you’d be into the retro Roman stuff?” Bethany teases.

“A little too retro for my liking. I mean, it is fascinating how all this old stuff can exist under our feet, literally. But I don’t really think about it.” I shrug.

“I buried some fake Roman coins in the garden last summer for Jako and his mates to treasure hunt. It was great fun.” Melanie picks up a glass of wine. “You got the graphics card installed, okay, then?”

“Yeah, no problem. Works a treat.”

“Thank you for that. I had no idea how to do it, and he was saying the old PC was slow.” Melanie smiles and suddenly I see her real age shining through her features.

“My pleasure. I said I’d join Jacob on his Minecraft level one day, online, you know. If that’s okay? He’s created an amazing world. I don’t have the patience for it, but he must have spent hours at it. Really detailed.”

“Oh, yeah, course you can. He’s always glued to that game.”

“Cool.” Bethany flashes me a look and I feel my cheeks burn.

The ride home is quicker as the traffic has abated a little. Bethany is tired, but she’s got the residual excitement of someone who had a fun evening catching up with family. There’s more to it, though. She’s got a wriggle about her I can’t explain.

“You and Jako hit it off, then.” She glances over at me with a grin on her mug.

“Suppose. I don’t really know many kids.”

“Melanie does her best, but she doesn’t play games. I think Jako had fun talking to someone who understood his point of view.”

“You saying I’m just a big kid at heart?” I laugh.

“Yeah, I think so.” She pauses. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“I don’t get why people talk down to kids as if they are stupid. Jacob is smart. He understood everything I said.”

She nods. “They need a good man in their lives.” Bethany doesn’t turn to me, but I can see a huge grin on her face as she drives. Streetlight amber glimmering on her skin.

“Hang on,” I suddenly realise. “This is a setup? You wanted me to meet Melanie? As in … meet her?”

Bethany pauses, twitching her nose. “Well, Rick and I were talking …”

“Oh, god. Bethany.”

“He said you haven’t had a girlfriend for ages, and we just got to thinking, you know?”

“I … look, thanks, and all, but … I don’t. I’m not …”

“Do you like her?”

I have to ponder on the question for a moment. I mean, she’s not awful, not ugly, not repulsive at all. But do I like her? I don’t know what that means. I love Bethany. I know that much. “I didn’t look at her like that.”

“Well, think about it. You certainly made an impression with Jako, and that goes a long way, let me tell you.”

I stay silent. I’m reluctant to be set up like this, but if I think about it, would it be the worst thing in the world? Probably not. Of course, I don’t know if Melanie ‘likes’ me. Oh, hell. See, this is exactly what I want to avoid. I don’t want to be playing these games, wondering if someone is attracted to me, if they want to spend time with me even. There’s a big jump from doing someone a small favour to being in a relationship with them.

Life and society are complicated. I’d much rather stay in my own realm of fantasy. Side-scrolling through life, jumping on the heads of enemies.

I’m not Mario, and she’s not Peach.

“She’s not a gamer.”

“Derek.”

“Sorry, I know. I’m just not … I don’t want to get into a thing.” I sniff. “The last date you set me up on was horrible. I’m scarred for life.”

“Alice was a mistake. I admit. But Melanie is different.”

“A mistake? A bloody big mistake! Alice told me I was a big kid, and I should throw all my — and I quote — ‘stupid toys’ away and grow up.”

Bethany sighs. “I know.”

“She said I’d never get laid as long as I acted like a teenager stuck in the past, and on top of that, she said my Tetris high score was nothing to be proud of.” I feel the old bile and rage building up again as I think about it. It took me countless hours to rack up that score. I’m close to hitting the world record, for heaven’s sake. Nothing to be proud of? I’m practically a legend!

“Derek, I once again apologise for that entire Alice event, but trust me, Melanie is completely different.”

“Hmm.”

Bethany stops the car outside my flat and turns to me. “I think it would do you both good. Just think about it. No pressure.” She smiles and squeezes my leg.

“I …” I want to tell Bethany that I love her, and how can I possibly date her cousin when I feel like this? But saying those words would no doubt ruin the evening, if not my entire life. I have to work with her. She’s my best mate’s wife. I keep my mouth shut and take a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.”

“But how do I know she even likes me?” I raise my eyebrows.

Bethany pulls her phone out of her bag and taps on the screen, then shows me a text from Melanie. It’s a thumbs-up emoji, with a smiley face next to it.

“Right.”

“Sleep on it, okay? I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Night, Bethany.”

CHAPTER FOUR

I fired up my emulator mini-cabinet after we got back from St Albans the other night. It’s basically a tiny computer in a box that can pretend to be pretty much any older console. Not the real thing, but fairly close. I was inspired by the PAC-MAN game that Jacob had casually on his shelf.

I played Defender and Galaga until much too late. I need to get out of this habit. Saying that, sometimes, you have to zap some aliens for a while to let your brain come to terms with things. It is a great stress reliever.

I was set up to meet a woman.

On the surface, there’s nothing wrong with that, but the context is what makes it complicated. Context is king and all that.

I have pondered, while awake and asleep, on what I should do about this situation and, to be honest, I have no good answer. My instinct tells me to go with the flow, allow nature to take its course, seize each day as it comes.

My brain tells me otherwise. Relationships are complicated, expensive, time-consuming. What is the end state and benefit?

The only conclusion I came to, after all this pondering and postulating, is that I’d really like to get a full-size arcade cabinet as soon as possible.

How this connects to a possible relationship is tenuous, but it makes sense in my head: If I were to have a girlfriend, be it Melanie, or anyone else, the chances are that, inevitably, she would not be happy with my future decision to acquire such a hefty chunk of furniture. No, much more likely that IKEA flat-packs are the only heavy slabs of wood that would be permitted to enter my realm. Thus, I speculate that if the equipment was already present and established, there would be far less reason for her to complain. What I’m doing here is planning for a happy future. Knew it made sense.

The best time I’ve had lately was down at the grotty arcade, feeding coins into the machine, leaning on the enormous lump of wood and electronics, hammering on the fire buttons of yore.

In all my years of collecting games, I’ve never had the means, space, or chance to get a genuine, old-fashioned, honest-to-goodness arcade machine. But now, forty-going-on-fifteen, this is my opportunity to get one. I can afford it. I have some space if I shuffle things around, and I didn’t get myself anything for my birthday.

The justification built, albeit on foundations of quicksand, I only had one task remaining. To find a suitable cabinet, within my price range and close to my home. I can’t go dragging a massive box all the way from Penzance. It needs to be around London, or home-counties at a push.

My search began as soon as I got home from work yesterday. I’m ‘watching’ a few machines, but none so far are the perfect beast. There was one Defender machine, but it looked knackered and it was in Birmingham. Too far, too broke, too expensive.

I tweak the search terms on eBay and scroll through another list. There are companies who specialise in these things, and they say they can deliver, but that does sort of push the price out of my range. I’m happy to take something that needs a bit of work to get going. Then it becomes a nice project for me. Research, soldering, testing, even some woodwork. I have no room for that, but Rick might help with some garage space if I need to saw some wood up. I’m getting quite excited about this plan. It wouldn’t just be a silly toy then, more of a restoration project, which could even make me a profit if I got it all shiny and working. The resale value on some machines on eBay now could net me a couple of grand.

A thought occurs to me. I’m looking at eBay as my default, but some people sell stuff on Facebook. I don’t use it anymore, but I know many people still do. I dig around for my login credentials and crack open the dusty app.

I’m not interested in the immediate deluge of junk that it dumps on me, instead, I find the local ads tab and pop in my search terms. ‘Arcade Machine.’

I scroll through the list. Mostly it seems to be home consoles, games, controllers. But, there is the occasional full-size cabinet. I look at each one. The first is just an empty shell. No electronics, only wood. Plus, it’s too far away.

The next is a Galaga machine in perfect condition — but it isn’t an original. Instead, a modern, brand-new replica. Beautiful in its own right, but not what I’m looking for. Next.

This one is interesting. Looks in good condition; I don’t recognise the game though. ‘Time Portal.’ There’s only one photo, but the cabinet looks in good condition. Location: Watford. That isn’t far away.

Looking again at the photo and zooming in on the logo, now I think about it, I have an inkling I’ve seen it somewhere before. Green space-age writing and a little blue ship. The company brand looks familiar. Then again, almost everyone used that futuristic space-invader style back in those days.

I search for the name of the game but find nothing. I dig deeper and try searching on my retro game site. A single page returns. A catalogue entry for the game.

Game Summary

Title: Time Portal

Release date: 1981

Manufacturer: Dolos

Genre: Defender style alien shoot-em-up.

Max Players: 1

Hardware Info:

PCB Model: Unknown

Controls: 1 Joystick / Buttons

Screen: Vertical-mounted CRT monitor

Form Factor: Upright Cabinet

Resolution: Unknown

Colours: Unknown

Rarity: None left in existence.

ROM Dump: Not available

JAMMA compliant: Unknown.

Time Portal, by Dolos, was a one-off run of 256 cabinets in 1981. They featured amazing graphics for the time, wowing players all over the UK.

The gameplay was similar in style to Williams ‘Defender’. Players would fly a small spaceship, shooting aliens who mined and carried ‘Time Crystals’, then collect them as they dropped. Once enough crystals had been collected, a Time Portal would open up, and the ship would warp to the next level. As the levels increased, the game became faster, with more alien ships and types appearing. A high score of 666,666 attributed to ‘SPD’ was hard-coded into each machine, as an incentive to beat it. The theory at the time was it was impossible to beat that score, thus goading players into inserting more and more coins in their fruitless attempts. Good for the arcade owners.

However, all of them were recalled after a player in Manchester was electrocuted by a machine. Luckily, it wasn’t fatal, but when the electrical regulatory people later studied the wiring and circuit boards, it was deemed to be unsafe. Consequently, all the machines were quickly recalled and scrapped for the bare parts.

Dolos declared bankruptcy soon after and Time Portal was lost to the mists of … time.

There’s one grainy photo of the machine; looks like it was taken in a chip shop. The artwork and shape of the cabinet seem to match exactly what’s on the Facebook advert. This has to be the real deal.

Without pause, I grab my phone and with shaky hands, I dial the number on the Facebook advert.

“Hi.” I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m calling about the arcade machine on Facebook. Is it still available?”

“Oh, yeah. It is indeed. I’m asking three-hundred quid for it if that’s okay?” The voice on the other end seems surprised by my call.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll take it. Can you please hold it for me?”

“Sure, no problem. I put that ad up at the weekend and you’re the first to call, to be honest. I was just gonna dump it if I didn’t get any takers by tomorrow. What’s your name, mate?”

I try to act cool, but my heart is racing. This is the find of the century, the rarest of rare. Like finding a missing da Vinci painting. And he was going to dump it? He must not know what it is.

“Derek Cooper. Brilliant, thanks. Whereabouts are you, exactly?”

“I’ll text you the address. We just bought this place. Used to be a pub a long time ago and we’re slowly restoring it. Found the machine down in the cellar and the wife wants to clear it all out. She wants to put in a beauty salon or something.” He laughs. “I fancied it for a card-games room, but I think I’ve been overruled.”

“Okay great. I’ll be in touch soon. Just need to organise a van.”

“Perfect. Just give me a shout when you are on the way. I’m here most of the time. You’ll be doing me a favour getting rid of it.”

“Cheers. Bye.”

I hang up the call and my heart is thumping in my chest. Did that just happen? I just bought a super-rare arcade machine for only three-hundred quid? It could be worth tens of thousands, more maybe. All of them were scrapped, the article said. This one must have been in the pub all that time. Maybe they didn’t mind the dodgy wiring and kept it going, anyway?

I pace up and down my flat. I need to tell someone. This is incredible! A thought suddenly occurs to me. What if it’s broken? I didn’t ask if it actually functioned. Well, never mind, even if it doesn’t work, it’s still worth a fortune and I can patch it up and get it going. This is going to be amazing.

Now, there’s just the small matter of how am I going to get it here?

“Hey, Rick. How you doing, mate?” I put the kettle on, made a cup of tea, and had an epiphany.

“Hi, Derek. Yeah, not bad. How’s that game doing?”

“Ah, it’s brilliant. Love it. Thanks so much for that. Err, but I need to ask for a small favour, if I may?”

Rick pauses but then laughs. “What’s up? Is it about Melanie?”

I had to think for a second. Melanie? In all the arcade excitement, I had forgotten what started this adventure. “Oh. No, not at all.”

I explain to Rick how I decided to get an arcade machine for my flat, and how I had found one that seems perfect, but it’s in Watford. I left out the exciting details that it’s rarer than rocking-horse and unicorn shit, priceless, and was recalled due to dodgy wiring. I’ll explain all that later.

I remembered that years back, Rick could ‘borrow’ a van from work over a weekend when he wanted to move a couch and table from his parents’ house to the tip. Rick seems intrigued, and he says he’ll ask and see if he can get a van at the weekend. I’ll need his muscle as well to heft the bloody thing up my stairs at this side. It won’t be easy, but if it was easy, everybody would be doing it.

A few minutes later, Rick sends me a text that he can get a van, and we’ll go get it on Saturday morning. Perfect.

The logistics more or less sorted, I reply to the seller’s text message that we’ll pick up on Saturday morning. He sends a thumbs up.

Is it that easy? I’m still buzzing from the adrenaline. I go back to the website and look again at the catalogue listing for the machine, comparing it with the photo on Facebook. Definitely the same.

I try to do a bit more digging about the game and origin, but I turn up nothing more than I already know. It seems there’s barely any info online about it. A thought occurs to me. Back in those days, there was no internet to speak of. Information propagated through magazines, newspapers, word of mouth at computer clubs. I’m looking in the wrong place. That must be why I’m barely finding any info.

I have vast stacks of old gamer magazines, neatly organised into brand, issue, year. But sifting through literally hundreds of magazines will not be a very time-efficient process. Luckily, I also have an archive on my computer. Some dedicated people have actually scanned every page of thousands of magazines, making the text searchable, and squirrelling them away as widely shared, downloadable files. Perhaps illegally, but these are decades old. Who cares anymore? I navigate to my backup directory and search for the game title: Time Portal. A pause while the index is scanned, but after a few seconds some hits populate. I step away and leave it running.

In my main game room I’ve got very little spare space. There’s the console corner, where most of the machines sit on a large TV cabinet. A huge clunky old CRT screen sits atop like a crouching Kraken. The thing with retro machines is that they weren’t designed for modern high definition pixel, flat displays. You can get it to work, sure, but it doesn’t ‘look’ right. The big appeal is the whole retro experience, so a behemoth old tube-telly is what’s required. The wonderful thing about that is that no one wants them anymore, and you can find people literally giving them away to anyone mad enough to carry them. You need to have muscular arms to be a retro gamer.

On the other side of the room are my two desks. One houses my modern PC, which is a stonking great tower with two 4K screens connected. Then, the other desk is my nostalgia binge. The current featured system is an Amiga 500. I loved that thing back in the day. It was my only computer system for years in the late ‘80s, through into the early ‘90s. My dad reluctantly got it for me after much pestering. A friend at school had one, and, naturally, I wanted the same.

Stacked on shelves above the desk, basically wherever they will fit are an Atari 1040 ST, a Dragon 32, a Spectrum, of course, a C64, an Acorn Electron, and something I rescued from a skip — a TRS-80. It doesn’t work, but how can you throw out something that beautiful? If I ever move house, it’s going to be quite the event.

The only viable space for the Time Portal machine is behind the door. Currently, that space is occupied by the merch-shelf. Sorry, Mario and Sonic, you boys are going to have to move into my bedroom.

I set about disassembling the display and relocating it all. An opportunity for a clean-up and dust. Some of these chaps could do with a wash.

As I carry the big shelf unit out and through the hallway, it occurs to me that getting the arcade machine down this passage and round the corner is going to be tight. Tight might be the wrong word — impossible might be more accurate. Shit. I grab a tape measure and look back at the photo of the box. I might have to take the door off. No matter, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Getting it up the steps outside is going to be its own barrel of fun.

On my PC, the archive search has stopped running, and there’s a list of about a dozen documents that match. I open each one and search for the words, ‘Time’ and ‘Portal’, and sure enough, I find mention of them in each, but after half an hour of scouring, none of them are about the cabinet I’ll soon own. Well, never mind, I suppose. I’ll be able to dig deeper once I have it. There will be some clues on the circuit board, or somewhere inside, for sure.

I search instead for the company’s name: Dolos. Interestingly, the top Wikipedia article that returns is about a Greek mythology spirit of trickery and deception, but nothing comes back about an arcade machine manufacturer. What on earth am I getting myself into?

CHAPTER FIVE

My sleep was fitful, my dreams repetitive and draining. I woke many times. The confusion of reality each time dragged me into safety, away from the churning, dire, ephemeral nightmares that leeched my sanity and kept me from rest.

This always happens when I’m expecting something big. My brain goes into overload, flooding me with an amplified white noise of information. I try to find a pattern amongst the mess, leading into a constant cycle of irrational, annoying, and ridiculous situations. I should probably try to relax, but I don’t know how to do that.

Eventually, I got up, showered, shaved, and awaited the dawn. I had already drawn out four hundred in cash to cover the cost of the arcade machine and any unforeseen expenditures. My games room is ready, a space clean and cleared for the cabinet of yore. Steve, the bloke with the pub and machine, is expecting us around noon.

I make a scant breakfast and nibble at some toast. Rick won’t be here for a while yet.

Another road trip out to the home counties, but this time it will be a vastly different experience to the trip I took the other day with his dear wife. Which reminds me: Melanie. Rick might ask me about that whole thing, and I don’t really know what to say. The truth is that I have more in common with her son, Jacob than I do with her. Oh, well. I suppose I’ll see how it goes. Or, more likely, doesn’t go.

Instead of sitting around letting my brain run wild, I fire up the good old Sega Mega Drive and play a bit of Sonic the Hedgehog. He can run wild for both of us.

“Bethany!” Rick sent me a text to say they were waiting outside in the van. Bang on time. I grabbed my bag and bolted for the door. I want to get this over with. The build-up is doing my nerves no good at all. But I wasn’t expecting Bethany to be coming with us.

“Hiya.” She smiles and pats the seat next to her in the van. Rick is driving. She’s in the middle, and I will be squashed up next to her on the passenger side. Don’t mind if I do.

“All right, mate?” Rick waits for me to close the door, then revs the engine and sets us off into adventure.

“Yeah. Good, thanks.” I turn to Bethany. “Wasn’t expecting you today.”

“You boys aren’t going to keep all the fun to yourselves. I want in.”

I laugh. “More than welcome. I just thought you’d have something better to do than lug an arcade machine from Watford.”

“Well, I probably do, but that’s not the point.” She pokes me in the ribs.

I notice Rick already has the address programmed into his navigation app, and we’re headed towards destiny. I sit back, and a warm feeling grows in my chest, overwhelming the nerves and anticipation.

“What’s this all about, then?” Rick turns the volume on the radio down to allow me to explain.

I tell them about the game, Time Portal, and the single article I could find online about it, buried deep in a catalogue on my retro-forum. As my only trusted friends, I know I can tell them about the rarity and potential value without the risk of them trying to rip me off or kill me for it.

“That’s amazing. You could end up a millionaire with a find like that.” Rick isn’t a retro obsessive like me, but he is still a gamer at heart.

“What? Nah, I doubt that.”

“Yeah, seriously. Did you hear about the copy of Super Mario 64 that went for something like one-point-five million dollars recently?”

“Right, but that’s about the WATA rating because it was sealed up and in perfect condition. This machine looks decent from the one photo I saw, but it could be broken. I’m expecting to have to do some work on it to get it going.” I chuckle. “It’s as old as me and I’m mostly broken inside.”

Bethany elbows me and laughs. “Will you stop? You are fine, Derek.”

“Well, anyway. It will be a fun project. I’m looking forward to getting the soldering iron out.”

“Fair enough. That ought to keep you busy for a while.” Rick and Bethany share a look.

Traffic is an inevitable pain, but we arrive at the address more or less on time. The building has the feel and shape of a pub about it, but it seems more like a house. The owners have tried to hide the origins by softening the edges, attracting attention to some parts, detracting it from others. There’s a huge old pot plant placed over a cellar beer-barrel chute, and a sign-post sticking out from the fascia that now is draped with hanging baskets, instead of what was likely the pub sign. I’m confused. I had assumed that the arcade machine had been nestling in the bowels of an actual pub for forty years, but it appears this was a home, not an inn.

I bang on the door, and presently it opens. A jovial chap appears, beaming a smile.

“Hiya, I’m Derek, about the arcade machine.”

He sticks out a hand for a shake. “Yeah, I was expecting you. I’m Steve. Pleased to meet you.” He smiles at Rick and Bethany.

“Brought some friends to help.”

Steve leads us into the building, which is now obviously not a pub. There’s a long hallway and a room off to one side with double doors open. A lounge filled with some huge old leather couches and many boxes stacked up. There’s a musty smell, like old empty houses always have. We get to the end of the corridor, then turn left and further down into the bowels of the building.

Steve stops outside a door and flicks on a light switch.

“It’s still down in the cellar. Mind your heads as you go down. Gets a tad low.”

As we descend the narrow wooden stairs, ducking our heads appropriately, Steve reaches the bottom and flicks on another switch. The cellar opens out into a fairly large room. The ceiling is quite low, but there’s loads of space. There’s a big bench along one wall, and down at the end stands the arcade machine in all its retro glory. I recognise the scene from the photo on Facebook. Here she is. I am pulled towards it like a magnet.

‘Time Portal’ emblazoned on the front and sides in a green retro-futuristic space-age logo. A single joystick, and buttons on the other side. I touch the wood and smooth my hands along the surface. It’s real. The screen is dusty, of course, but it looks in good condition. The entire cabinet does, in fact. No knocks or dents, no major scratches. If I didn’t know it was forty years old, I could easily mistake it for being newly made. Using retro parts, of course. The screen is a glass tube, probably about twenty inches diagonal.

I clear my throat. “Brilliant.”

“Yeah, that’s the beast.” Steve laughs. “The wife will be delighted when it has gone. She’s been bugging me for weeks about it.”

“Does it work?” Rick pipes up.

“No idea, mate. No mains down here, now. Only the lights.”

Rick and Bethany walk over and peer at the machine. Rick goes around behind it and attempts a lift.

“It weighs a ton.”

“Should be okay with two or three of us.” I smile.

“Err, how are we going to get it out?” Bethany taps me on the arm. “There’s no way it will get up those stairs. Too wide.”

“Ah, you have a point there.” I put my hands on both sides and estimate the width. She’s right, the stairs are much too narrow.

“Well, it must have got down here somehow?”

Rick pulls out a measuring tape from his pocket and walks over to the stairs.

“The stairs are twenty-three inches wide.” He walks back over to the cabinet to measure the width, but I already know the answer. The default on these classic cabinets was twenty-five inches and about thirty-three deep. Shit.

“Twenty-five.” Rick looks at me with wide eyes.

“Hmm.” I turn to Steve, who shrugs. “This is a problem.”

“Well, that’s a shame. Sorry, mate. I didn’t think to measure it.” Steve puffs out a sigh. “I suppose I’ll just have to break it up and dump it.”

“No!” I feel a thud of adrenaline burst through me. This is a unique rarity, worth who-knows how much, it can’t be destroyed. There must be a way.

“I thought you mentioned this was a pub?”

Steve looks up. “That’s right. A long time ago. The wife and I bought it to restore it back.” He waves around the space. “It was residential for ages. Been empty for a couple of years. I think the last occupant passed away and it’s been sitting intestate or whatever that legal stuff is. We got a bargain in the end. Solicitors wanted rid of it.”

I nod. “Right. Well, when you said that, I assumed the machine was sitting in the pub all this time. But, I guess not?”

Steve shakes his head. “The last public house license on the building that we could find dates back to 1974. I suppose it was residential after that.”

“Interesting.” Perhaps a collector or someone owned it. Maybe it wasn’t an old pub machine, then. I point to the Time Portal cabinet, standing ominously like a huge black monolith. “Well, it must have got in here somehow. So there has to be a way out in one piece.”

“What about the beer-barrel door thing?” Bethany has wandered over to the far side of the room. She points up to the wooden doors of the old barrel chute. “Does it open?”

“Yes!” I shout, a little too excitedly. “Brilliant idea, Bethany.” I turn to Steve.

“Err, no idea. Haven’t tried it, to be honest.”

We go over to stand under it with Bethany. There are two rusty old bolts, but otherwise, it looks intact. That must be how they got it down here in the first place. One mystery solved, anyway.

The bolts slide back after some jiggling, and Steve gave them a spray with WD40 that he got from his car. We try to push the doors open with a cast iron rod that was under the opening and seems to be for the purpose. But they don’t budge.

“The plant … I remember seeing a big pot plant on top of the doors out the front.”

“Ah, yeah.” Steve jogs back upstairs and Rick follows, leaving Bethany and me together in the cellar with the iron rod.

“You nutter.” Bethany shakes her head and pokes me in the ribs as she often does. “All this trouble for an arcade machine?”

“It’s super rare,” I whisper. “Could be worth a fortune.”

“We’re not telling Steve that, I guess?”

I shake my head violently. “No need to complicate things.” Bethany rolls her eyes. “You heard him. His wife just wants to be rid of it and he was about to smash it to bits. They don’t care.”

“Fair enough. What if it doesn’t work?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it going. Looking forward to the project.”

She smiles. “If it makes you happy, I suppose.” I nod. “Did you think about … you know, what we said the other day? Melanie?”

“Oh. I, err, well, I sort of got caught up with all this excitement.” I point to the Time Portal machine. “Sorry, forgot.”

Bethany raises her eyebrows and opens her mouth to say something, but the sound of shuffling interrupts us above. Presumably, the plant being pulled off the doors.

“Try now.” a muffled yell comes through the wood.

I poke the iron rod up at the door and now it opens easily. Daylight flooding down on us like an avalanche. Rick grabs a door and pulls it all the way open, Steve grabs the other. We look up at an opening plenty big enough to get an arcade machine through.

“Now what?” Rick dusts his hands on his jeans.

The cabinet is now balanced on two chairs under the cellar opening. The top of it is just about level with the pavement at ground level.

“You go up there and guide it out. I’ll push up from under it.” I look around the cellar. “Is there an old blanket or something we could wrap around it so it doesn’t get scratched?”

Steve shrugs but goes back up the stairs again. Rick and Bethany follow. I daren’t let go of the machine in case it falls off the chairs.

Rick peers down from the street. “Good job it isn’t raining.”

“God, don’t jinx it.”

Steve reappears with a dull-orange chintzy cloth, probably an old curtain, and a roll of tape. “This should do. The wife was going to burn this as a crime against fashion. Lucky she didn’t get around to it yet.”

We wrap the cloth around, then tape it into place. I have to admit, this is a crazy thing to be doing on a Saturday in Watford, but there you go. Stranger things have happened.

“Ready?” Rick shouts down.

“Yep. On three, we’ll lift and you guide and grab.” I take a deep breath and get under the cabinet. Steve is on the other side. “One, two, LIFT.”

I push up as hard as I can, finding reserves of strength I never knew I had, and strain every muscle in my back and arms, but the cabinet rises out of the ground. I feel it steady as Rick grabs from the top and slides it gently up. I stand on one chair and push again. Immense relief as the bottom of the machine passes through the doors and slides onto the pavement outside. It’s out.

“I’ll get the trolley thing.” Rick puffs out a breath and goes over to the van.

Bethany peers down at us. “You okay?”

“Yeah, bit dusty, but fine.” I smile.

I walk back towards the stairs, but something on the big bench catches my eye and I stop. There’s a layer of dust covering everything, but underneath there’s a load of old electrical parts. Capacitors, resistors, some circuit boards and all manner of wires and switches. A big soldering iron, too. Maybe whoever lived here was actually repairing arcade machines or something?

“Err, are you doing anything with this stuff?” I motion to the bench.

“Nah, mate, I was going to bin it.”

“Mind if I take it? I’ll give you another fifty quid for the lot.”

“Done. I tell you what though, we’ll call it even at three hundred, after all the hassle you’ve gone through to get the bloody thing.”

I smile. “Cheers. These bits may come in useful getting it going. Capacitors and stuff can leak and burn out.”

Steve shrugs. “I know sod-all about that stuff.” He points to his chest. “Plumber, by trade.”

He runs upstairs again and returns with an empty cardboard box, and we dump all the electronics from the bench into it. It’s as though someone was amidst a project and just stopped for dinner, but never returned, and everything has sat here undisturbed for years. Weird.

Outside, Rick has already got the wheely trolley thing wedged under the machine and is ready to roll it into the van.

I pull my wallet out and count three hundred pounds in crisp new fifties and hand it to Steve. “Here you go.”

“Pleasure doing business.” Steve pockets the cash and then closes the cellar doors again with a loud thud. We slide the plant back over them as if we were never here. “Safe drive.”

Steve disappears back into the house … or pub.

Getting the machine into the van is comparatively easy. Wheeled to the back and then slid up on the shiny cloth wrapper. We secure it inside the van with various bungees and set off back to London.

“Thanks, guys. A job well done, I think.”

“There are still the stairs to your flat on the other side, Derek.” Bethany groans.

“Oh, yeah. Well, should be okay. One step at a time.” I grin.

On the drive back, it occurs to me I didn’t clean up my flat with sufficient vigour for a female visit. I wasn’t expecting Bethany to be in my home today. I suppose it isn’t bad, but still. It would have been nice to have fair warning.

Oh, well. She probably already knows I’m a bachelor slob.

Dragging the cabinet up the steps proves to be as much fun as lugging it out of the cellar. But with sweat, swearing, and bursts of energy, we manage to get it up to my flat. Once inside, it is fairly easy to roll down the corridor and negotiate around the bend, in through the door, without having to take it off the hinges, and into position in my games room.

Mission accomplished. I breathe a sigh of relief and stare at the machine nestled in as natural as if it was always there. A real-life arcade cabinet in my room. Thirteen-year-old-me inside my brain leaps and bounces with joy and excitement. I did it!

“Well, are you going to plug it in and give it a go?” Bethany enquires.

“Oh, yeah. Well, I’m not expecting it to work straight away. With old electronics there’s always a risk the capacitors have leaked, the power supply burnt out …” Plus there’s the electrically unsafe part that led to all of these, bar one, being recalled and scrapped, of course, but I won’t remind anyone of that. I’m sure it’s fine. I have earth-leakage breakers. The worst that can happen is it trips the fuse.

“You have to give it a go, after all that.” Rick protests.

“Yeah, you are right.”

I fumble behind the machine and find the plug that we had taped up to stop it from getting ripped out. An extension lead already awaits. I plug in the machine. My finger poised on the switch.

“Stand back.” Rick and Bethany jump back three feet. I chuckle. “Ready?”

“Yes!”

The moment deserves pomp and circumstance, celebration and epic music, Dominik Diamond to cut the ribbon, but instead, I just flick the switch on the machine. Nothing happens.

Bethany raises an eyebrow. Rick points. “Look, it’s coming on!”

A small white circle appears in the middle of the screen, a humming from inside the box. Then a high-pitch whine like the sound of a flashgun charging. I feel a glow of warmth inside me. It works?

I turn to Bethany, a grin on my face.

“What’s that smell?” Rick sniffs the air. I sense it as well, an acrid burning electrical stench. Shit.

I turn back to the machine and instinctively tap at the red buttons.

There’s a loud BANG and the whine, hum and screen all suddenly go dead. Only the stink of burning electronics remains, and a puff of black smoke comes from somewhere behind the machine. I pull the plug out and fumble to open the window. Bethany waves her hands around to clear the smoke.

“Well, I mean, there’s work to do, but it isn’t completely dead.”

CHAPTER SIX

Well, the bad news is that several components on the mainboard, plus the power supply, seem to be totally fried. All the capacitors have leaked over the years, and a fuse blew, probably when I turned it on yesterday.

I shouldn’t have powered it on without checking inside, but the temptation was overpowering. You never know, it could have worked first go with no messing. No matter. The good news is that I can source most of the parts online. Some are already winging their way here from China, others I need to dig a bit for. It will end up a bit of a Franken-Machine, but that’s to be expected for a forty-year-old cabinet.

One thing that is clear: the machine is not JAMMA compliant in any way, shape or form, and it would be from before the spec was dreamed up, anyway. Basically, ‘JAMMA’ was a way to make any board work in any game box, so arcade owners could just swap out the boards and have a new game, instead of having to replace the entire, bloody heavy, cabinet. The ‘Japan Amusement Machine and Marketing Association’ introduced the standard in 1985, which is years after this particular machine was created. What that means is that I can’t swap out the whole motherboard directly for another similar game board. The electronics in this box are unique, and that makes it even more valuable if you ask me. This was made independently, with no care for standards or processes. I’ve compared the circuit boards to contemporary machines I’ve found online and they are nothing like it. It will take some figuring out, for sure. I’m not an expert at electrical engineering by any measure, more of an amateur hobbyist. I can make some fancy LED lights flash, and some motors spin on and off, but something of this magnitude is a novel experience. Best case, I’ll figure it out and get it working. Worst case, I could electrocute myself and burn down the entire street.

It’ll be fine.

The box of bits and bobs I got off the workbench has some interesting things in it. Another load of leaky capacitors, which I dumped. Some spare button switches, and plenty of wire, which will be useful. Some tools, screwdrivers, spanners, wire cutters, and even a nice old soldering iron. Still works. Not much can go wrong with a heating element.

Inside the machine, the boards stack up like levels in Super Mario. I can imagine a character running and jumping over them, avoiding the angry, spitting capacitors and buzzing electronics. Jumping on the heads of enemies, making his way to the exit on the right over green and copper, swinging from dangling wires like jungle creepers.

There’s all the usual cabling, dust and muck that builds up over time, but the interior is neat. The back of the TV tube hangs ominously down into the cabinet, threatening with its high voltage exposed metal. The joystick controls come down in a loom into the mainboard. There’s also a strange thing I can’t identify. A bit like a big transformer, loads of copper wire wound around a wide central tube, and inside that, a couple of dozen small toroidal rings interlocking into a mesh, with copper strung through in every conceivable angle and direction. A pair of red and black wires lead in from the controller loom, and an orange and blue pair lead out to the mainboard. A powerful magnet in there; my screwdriver nearly flew out of my hand when I went near it. My guess is some kind of magnetic-core memory unit. They used these in computers of yore, back in the ‘50s, ‘60s, and into the ‘70s. Huge fridge-sized cores of memory that stored less than a Sinclair ZX81. Archaic tech. At that rate, you would need a massive aircraft hangar full of those things to store one meme GIF of a grumpy cat. This one is about the size of a Thermos flask and has the letters ERBG printed on the side. I’m guessing it’s where the high scores are stored. Incredible.

I pried open the coin-box using a nail file as a lock-pick. I was wondering if there was a stash of old treasure in there, a hoard of ten-pence pieces uncollected from gamers of old. Sadly, it was totally empty, apart from the corpse of a spider. I left it open, so, once I get the machine working, I can rack up credits by flicking the switch without trying to find an old coin that fits the slot. Our money now is useless for this mechanism.

After a bit of a clean and dust, the main cabinet exterior itself is in great condition, as I suspected. They made it with great care, not cheap chipboard, as many old games would be. They made this with solid wood panelling and stainless steel ‘chrome’ on the edges and around the joystick console. All the artwork and decals are pristine. No fading, no doubt because of being in a dark cellar for decades. The ‘Time Portal’ text is bold and vivid. Little purple aliens dot the cabinet. All the art looks hand-painted, but precise and clean. This really is an amazing find. I’m still in awe that I actually own this piece of history.

There’s even a weird ashtray thing for stubbing out cigarettes built into the middle of the controller panel. Thankfully, there are no butts or ash in it, but what a sign of the times.

Until I get my parts, there isn’t much more I can do, other than more online research into electronics and the cabinet itself.

So far, I’ve found nothing more than I already knew. Surely there must be more articles written?

I brew a cuppa and settle down at my desk. Cracking my knuckles and opening up the realms of YouTube where only those adept with solder and wire dare go. The awkward introductions, bad audio, blurriness and long pauses of amateur video are rife, but they impart expert knowledge. You put up with the production values and dirty bedrooms in return for skills not available anywhere else.

I’m startled from my surfing by a text message ding on my phone. Unknown number.

‘Hi, Derek, this is Melanie. Hope you don’t mind, Beth gave me your number :) Just wanted to say thanks again for sorting out Jako’s PC. He’s delighted with it.’

I stare at the screen for a moment, not knowing what to make of this. I thought the thanking was already done, there’s no need for more. I’m glad the kid can play Minecraft, I suppose. One might read between the lines, and extrapolate that the underlying intention of this message isn’t anything to do with the simple graphics card install. I feel a twitch in my eye; I’m still being coerced into something here.

The seconds tick by. She’ll know I’ve read the message, so if I don’t reply quickly, the implication would be that I don’t want to talk to her. Social interaction is complicated. I pick up the phone and type a reply.

‘No problem. Glad it all worked out.’

I pause for a moment before sending and add a smiley face. Otherwise, it may have seemed terse.

She’s typing a reply … … … I feel a tightness well up in my chest.

‘Listen, Jako is at his granny’s for the weekend. I’m just chilling out alone here, made too much food and wondered if you’d like to come over for dinner? Be fun to get to know each other. :)’

My heart thuds, my throat constricts and my guts churn. Do I want to come over for dinner and to get to know Melanie? I stare again at the screen, wishing the words had never appeared. I need time to think. I put the phone down and walk over to my new arcade machine.

I stand in front of it looking at my reflection in the dark glass, and run my fingers over the controls. Do I want to go for dinner alone with Melanie? I don’t know. What implications does that have?

On the one hand, it doesn’t have any. Just dinner and a chat: Getting to know each other, as she says. What could be more normal? But, on the other hand, it could have vast underlying repercussions. Obviously, Bethany will be made aware of all the gory details, good or bad, and I’ll have to endure her questions and comments at work. I can’t upset anyone involved, or I risk my entire social circle, small as it is, collapsing in a sharp, broken and deadly heap. I make a decision and pick up my phone again.

‘Hi Bethany, can I get your advice on something, please? Quickly!’

As I send the message, a tingling electrical pulse trickles through my veins.

My phone rings. Bethany’s number is on the screen. I pick up.

“Hey, Derek. What’s up?” Her voice sounds concerned.

“Oh, hey. How are you?” I fluster. Hearing her voice is always a treat. It throws me off-kilter.

“Fine, thanks. But you sounded urgent. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, no. I’m fine. Just … err, something has come up and I’m not sure what to do.”

I read the messages that Melanie has sent me to Bethany. There’s a silence on her side for a moment, then a giggle.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go.”

“Should I?”

“Well, yeah. Why not?”

“I don’t know. I just … I’m not very good at these things.”

She laughs. “Grab a bottle of wine and get yourself over there. You big ‘nana.”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

My phone buzzes in my hand. Another text message.

“Hold on.”

‘Sorry if that seemed forward. I just thought it would be nice. We’re both alone, I have food … no pressure. But we’re not exactly spring chickens. I’ve had a long gap in my life, and I’m ready to fill it now.’

Suddenly, I feel terrible for pausing and coming up with ridiculous scenarios in my head. She’s just a lonely soul looking for friendship. What sort of miserable sod am I to think anything else. I shudder at myself in anger. Why can’t my brain just leave things alone and uncomplicated?

“Melanie just texted again. Sorry, Bethany. Thanks. You are right. I’ll go.”

“Good.” She pauses for a moment. “Let me know how it goes, okay?”

“Yeah, see you at work tomorrow.”

I hang up and switch back to the messages app.

‘Hi, Melanie. Yes, of course. I’d love to come. I was just checking trains and stuff.’ I pull open the transport app and look at train times to St Albans. ‘I can be there in about 90 minutes, if that’s okay?’ The deal is done. A relief of pressure falls away from my chest.

‘Great. I’ll pick you up at the station. :)’

Melanie is typing … … … ‘Sorry, should have asked. Do you have any allergies or special dietary requirements?’

‘No, I eat anything that’s put in front of me. Thanks.’

‘Good to know… ;)’

I remembered to change out of my sweaty t-shirt and jeans into a slightly less sweaty pair of jeans and a clean work shirt. Also, as Bethany advised, I grabbed a bottle of wine at the offy at the end of my street on the way. No idea if it’s any good, but I doubt it matters.

I should have sent Melanie a text a few minutes before I got here, I suppose. Didn’t think ahead. Instead, I spent the journey revolving scenarios around in my brain. What does she want? What do I want? Can I deal with a young child? Would I need to? What was her husband like? Am I suitable boyfriend material?

My head is buzzing with all the questions. No answers. I want to see the last boss before I’ve even played level one. Patience is not one of my strong points.

I’m loitering outside the station, waiting for her to pick me up. A billboard advertises the Roman ruins and museums that the town is famous for. The Verulamium Theatre and Cathedral, excavations and ancient relics. History was never my thing.

Instead, I study the map on the wall. I like to know my escape route if needed. I’m not the best company for anyone, but I suppose I am company if someone is in need. I shouldn’t have questioned her intentions. I shake away the bad feelings. Try to relax, Derek. Should have grabbed a pint on the way.

I jump as a car horn beeps behind me. Here we go.

Melanie waves and smiles from a huge, black BMW. I hop in.

“Hiya.”

I stick out a hand to shake, just as she leans forward, as if for a kiss. She stops, grabs my hand, right as I try to correct myself and move towards her. I back up. Well, I royally screwed that up, didn’t I … handshake, Derek? This isn’t a work meeting. Pull yourself together. She laughs. I feel a reddening in my cheeks, but she blows it off.

“Were you waiting long?”

“Oh. No, just a couple of minutes. Thanks for collecting me. I could have got a taxi.”

“Not at all. It’s no problem.” She pulls out of the station and speeds off towards her home. Nice car. Must have cost a fortune.

We quickly arrive at her house, and she parks in the driveway. She doesn’t hang about, but I noticed she significantly slowed down as a motorbike passed us at one point.

“Home, sweet home.” She leads me up the garden path, so to speak, and unlocks the door. “Come on, then.”

She closes the door, then turns to me. “Now, shall we try that greeting again?” She sniggers. “I’m going to kiss your cheek, just so you know.”

I feel a blush again. “Right. Thanks for the warning.”

She does as she says, and it feels rather nice, I must admit. I reciprocate.

“There we go. Much better.” She laughs, then flicks on various lights and leads me into the living room.

“Grab a seat, flick on the telly, whatever. I’ll be right back. You hungry?”

“Thanks, yeah, I am a bit.” I hold out the bottle of wine in a brown paper bag. “Hope this is suitable?”

She peeks into the bag. “It’s liquid and in a bottle, so yes. Suitable.” She laughs, then flits off.

I sit down on the plush couch. The TV opposite is huge and mounted on the wall, but there are no game consoles to be seen anywhere. Hmm.

The house is pleasant. Clearly, she has ample money, and I can’t imagine this sort of cash comes from the part-time phone marketing job she has.

Melanie comes back into the room. She’s changed her outfit, now wearing a long, dark-red dress and her hair is down. There’s a scent of something alluring about her. She smiles and twirls around for my benefit. “What do you think?”

“Oh, err, yeah. Great.” I cough. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I meant to say, beautiful.” I feel the burn again in my cheeks.

Melanie nods and dashes off again, reappearing a moment later with my bottle of red and two glasses. She sits down next to me on the couch and pours us a glass each. She hands me one, then picks up the other.

“A toast to new beginnings.” She smiles again, and I have to admit, she is beautiful, in a way quite different from Bethany. I clink my glass on hers. “New beginnings. Indeed.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“We’d been talking for a few weeks online, the usual text messages back and forth. I’d sent a couple of photos …” Melanie, after we had demolished the bottle of wine, plus another, opened up about her recent dating life, and the horrors that lurk for single women. I sat enthralled, also a bit drunk, and enjoying the conversation. I raised my eyebrows when she mentioned photos. “All very safe for work. Don’t worry.” She chuckled. “But then he said we should meet for a drink and meal. You know, the normal stuff. This was my first date since Thom …” She paused and frowned. “Well, first date in a very long time.”

I smiled. She can tell me her history when she feels comfortable about it. There’s no need to rush. “I was a bit rusty. But it all seemed legit. Jako went to his gran’s, and I did myself up like a dog’s dinner.” She batted her eyelashes at me. I flustered and felt a wave of heat burn through me. A sweat on my brow. I had to open my top shirt button; the wine, I suppose … “Anyway, I got to the pub early. Didn’t mean to, but I was ready and I thought I’d grab a glass of wine to get started.” She picked up her empty glass for emphasis. I dutifully topped it up from the bottle. “Thank you.” I smiled and topped my glass up, waiting for the punchline of her story. “So I sat somewhere inconspicuous and sipped my drink. See, the thing about being a woman all done up and sitting at a bar alone for anything more than five minutes is that you tend to attract the wrong attention. You know, ‘Been stood up, love?’ and it usually gets worse from there …” She took a big gulp of wine. I made my sympathy face. “Anyway, the bloke, Matt, I think his name was, arrived about fifteen minutes late. No texts, no apologies, and he’s stinking of booze already. Looked about four inches shorter than I’d imagined, too.” She laughed. “And straight away I was a bit suspicious, but you know, I was there, he was there … may as well see what happens?” She rolled her eyes. “He gets himself a double Jack Daniel’s and me another glass of wine, then he goes off to the toilets without even sitting down. When he came back, he was bouncing around like a pinball machine. Couldn’t stay still for a second.” I raised my eyebrows again. “I was like: Hello, what’s going on here, you know?” I nodded. “Then, out of nowhere, he talks about a ‘video’ company he’s working for that does ‘niche’ videos.” She took another sip of wine. “Can you tell where this is going?” She shook her head. My eyes were wide. “He takes out his phone, taps at the screen, and then shows me a website. I think it was something like ‘Classy-MILFs-UK’ and he plays a video of a voluptuous woman stripping off.” My mouth dropped open at this point. Melanie was finding it hard to get the words out due to a fit of giggles. It was infectious, and I joined in. Eventually, she wiped her eyes and carried on. “So, clearly this was going nowhere! But then, as I’m sitting there, incredulous, shocked, and planning my getaway, he takes out a wad of cash and slaps it on the table. Then he says, ‘Three-grand to get your kit off, Mel. What do you reckon?’”

“Serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you do it?” I laughed. “JOKE!” Melanie slapped me playfully on the arm.

“No, I did not!”

“I know. But, wow … and you had no idea it wasn’t just a normal date?”

“None. All the chats up to that point had been standard stuff. He told me about his dog, his ex … never mentioned he was a pornographer.” She shook her head again. “People … you just don’t know, do you?”

“Indeed.”

She looked at me sideways. “You aren’t one, are you?”

“Me?” I feigned a look of shock. “I don’t even have a pornograph.”

She burst out laughing at my terrible joke. I felt a warmth flow over me again.

“I know. Only joking. Beth has told me all about you.” She eyed me over the top of her glass.

“Oh, has she now?” I made a mental note to question Bethany on this subject later.

“She has.” Melanie nodded. “Well, what about you? Any disastrous dates and funny stories?”

I told her the story of Alice, the last woman that Bethany had set me up with, that ended with me walking out of the restaurant and blocking Alice on every social media site I could think of. “She told me I was a big kid, playing with stupid toys. Clearly, it wouldn’t work out.” My face was extremely flushed and red at this stage.

“Oh, yes. You are into all the old video games and stuff, aren’t you? Cool.”

A valve opened in my brain, a sudden torrent of excitement. She said old games were cool. I looked up at her, eyes wide.

“I just got a new, well old, but new to me, arcade machine. Would you like to hear about it?”

Maybe she sensed my enthusiasm, maybe she was just being nice, but she sat and listened while I explained the intricate details. I told her Bethany and Rick helped me get it, and that it currently sits dead and waiting for spare parts in my games room. ‘Time Portal’, the arcade machine no one seems to know about. Rare as unicorn poop and possibly worth an absolute fortune. Melanie was interested. Genuinely interested. I couldn’t help myself and I blabbed on about the electronics, the parts that are fried, the type of game it is and every other silly detail I could remember. She didn’t stop me, so I just carried on.

“I don’t know much about that stuff myself, but I’d love to see it when you get it going.”

“Really?” My mouth dropped open again. Was she winding me up? No, she seemed sincere.

“Yeah, I mean, it obviously means a lot to you. Why not?”

A thought occurred to me. “Tell you what, I should have a little unveiling party, when it’s all fixed and up and running. You, Rick, Bethany. I’ll make some food, we can play some games, a few bottles of wine.”

“That sounds awesome.” Melanie smiled, and I felt like the world was suddenly a better place.

The tube arrives at my stop and I’m yanked from my daydream memories into dull reality. I trudge through the station and down the familiar paths and streets that lead to my place of work. Could it be that I’ve finally found a woman who understands me? I dare not hope too much, because these houses of cards are easily blown over. Maybe she was just being nice. Will it last? Will she get bored and tell me I’m a big kid once the novelty wears off?

I won’t allow myself to get too involved. But I’m definitely going to be working on the arcade machine this evening when I get home. The idea of a little games-party in my flat sounds lovely now I think more about it. Just friends who understand and care. I’m rather looking forward to it.

I slump down into my chair and power on my computer. The cloudy fog of a red-wine hangover drifts in circles around my brain. Two buffered analgesics already this morning have barely made a dent. I get back up and automatically perambulate towards the coffee machine. I’m reminded of the text adventure games that Rick and I would always play. Go north, locate coffee machine, make coffee, drink coffee. My head can only cope with simple commands at the moment.

“Thought I’d find you here.” Bethany startles me from behind, almost making me drop the cup that I just picked up. I turn to face her. She’s beaming a telling grin that clearly means she wants information and details.

“Bloody hell, Bethany. You scared the life out of me.”

“Sorry.” She chuckles and takes a deep breath. “Good morning, Mr Cooper. How are you today?”

I shuffle out of the kitchen area, allowing a colleague access to the coffee machine. Bethany follows me. “Fine, thank you, Ms Miller. Aside from the throbbing head-pain and delicate guts.”

“That’s to be expected, I suppose.” She smirks.

“What?” I look her in the eyes. “What do you know?”

“I know nothing, dearest Derek. Why don’t you enlighten me?” She feigns innocence unconvincingly.

I eye her suspiciously. I’m quite sure that isn’t true. “Hmm.”

She motions towards the tables and chairs near the kitchen that no one ever uses, preferring instead to take their beverages and sandwiches back to their desks. “Shall we take a moment to catch up on recent events?”

“I haven’t even logged into my PC yet, but I get the impression you won’t take no for an answer?”

“You surmise correctly, Mr Cooper.”

“Right, well, don’t blame me when my report is late.”

“You can be excused, just this once.” Bethany emulates an authoritative poise as if we are having a job interview together. She takes a seat and nods towards the chair opposite for me to sit. I acquiesce.

“What is it you want to know?” I look up at her over my cup as I take a deep sip. The warmth grows in my chest as it flows down, gradually breathing life into my undead body.

“How was your evening yesterday?” She releases the words into the universe, easily, freely. The question I knew she wanted answers for, but was coyly avoiding, and I suspect she already has one side of the story, in whatever summary form Melanie delivered it in.

“It was fine, thank you. Nice.”

“Fine? That’s it? Fine?”

“No, I said it was nice. It was great, actually. I had a lovely time.”

The smirk flashes back on Bethany’s face. “That’s better.” She scrunches her nose in that devastatingly cute way she has. “Come on then, don’t make me beg.”

“What? I mean, that’s it. I went to Melanie’s house. We had a nice dinner, chilli and rice, not too spicy, but decent …” I pause. I know Bethany doesn’t want this kind of detail, but now I’m enjoying making her wait. “Oh, there was a salad. I think she bought it pre-made. It came in a plastic bucket thing. Marks & Spencer.”

“Derek. How would you like to do the stock check this weekend with the interns?” She pouts at me.

“All right, all right.” I chuckle. “We drank wine. A lot of wine …” I clutch at the back of my head in throbbing remembrance and take another gulp of coffee. “I mean, that’s all there is to tell. She told me stories of her horrible date, we drank more wine, I told her about my arcade machine and games and stuff, then I got a taxi home about midnight.” I shrug. “We had a lovely evening, thank you. She’s great. Oh, that reminds me, I’m going to plan a little party at my flat when I get the Time Portal machine working. Melanie was really interested. You and Rick are invited, of course.”

“See, that’s the part I have trouble with, Derek dearest.”

“What? The party?”

“No, no. The part about the taxi home.”

“Oh, that’s simple to explain. I missed the last train. Cost me a fortune, but what could I do?”

Bethany strokes her chin and looks at me. “Why didn’t you stay?”

“Stay there?” I look up. “Well, I had work in the morning. I didn’t even have a toothbrush. I wasn’t planning on an overnight event.”

“Melanie said you should stay, but you insisted on ringing for a taxi.”

“Well, yes, but as I said, I didn’t even have a toothbrush, let alone a change of clothes. It wasn’t practical.” I pause. “How do you know what she said?”

Bethany taps her nose. “Most men would forego clean teeth and clothes for the chance of sex.” She raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not most men.” I finish my coffee in one last gulp. “Hang on. Sex? I thought she meant sleep on the couch or in a spare room or something. I mean, I’ve only just met her … I didn’t think … oh.”

Bethany smiles. “You really are a sweet, innocent man, aren’t you, Derek?”

“Err, well, if you say so …” A dawning realisation spreads out the rays of a distant sun in my brain. Pale fingers of energy poke at the dull nerves and senses that normally sit idle. Now I think about it, remembering the circumstances and the way it was phrased. Perhaps Melanie meant sleep with her, in the non-sleep type of way. I may have royally buggered that up. Oops.

“Well, anyway. You had a nice evening, and you made plans to meet again?”

“Yeah, I mentioned the game-party thing. I thought it would be nice to have an event to celebrate getting my arcade machine coming back to life.”

“Fair enough. That sounds lovely. When do you think it will be?”

“Not sure yet. I have some parts arriving soon, and I need to do some more research, but it shouldn’t be very long.”

“Good. I’ve got to run for a meeting, but I’m glad we had a chat, Derek.” She smiles. “Send Mel a text soon. I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear from you again. Catch you later.” Bethany checks the time on her phone, then squeezes my arm and walks away.

“Right. See you later, then.”

* * *

A package lay waiting for me in my postbox when I got home. A new multimeter thingy for testing resistance and voltage on all the circuits on the Time Portal machine. You can read the values on some components in either text or colour codes. Brown, black, red, violet, for example, means 1K Ohms. I learned that from a video yesterday. But it’s good to have the meter for proof and where the data is missing.

While I wait for the other box of parts to arrive from China, I’m going to take out the joystick panel to make sure all those parts work as expected. Hopefully, that will be a relatively simple way to start work on actual electronics. It’s mainly just switches and I have some spares from the box of bits. I fumble inside the cabinet and find the nuts that clamp the panel down. Then, shining a torch up into the box, undo and release the panel. Now I can simply lift it from the front. I’ve already disconnected the loom of wires from a connection block inside. I think I’m getting the hang of this. As long as you pay attention and take care, it isn’t that complicated.

I set up the multimeter to test resistance and start mapping the wire colours to the associated functions. Joystick up, down, left and right. They common on a black wire, but each direction has a different colour. I’m building a local wiki database on my PC that contains all the information I have about the machine. I enter the colours and wires into the document, with a photo for reference. This is painstaking and tedious, but in a way, it is also soothing. I’m learning as I go and recording this piece of history in a way it never has been before. I assume the maker had some kind of blueprint for the electronics and cabling, but I doubt that was readily accessible in digital form. So far, all the controls work as expected. I sprayed a bit of WD40 around the connections before I began, but there’s no sign of corrosion or burnout on these parts. On the other side of the panel, the two red buttons are equally functional. I note down the colours of the wires. Another black common. Purple and green for the other two wires.

Something I didn’t expect to find as I lifted the control panel unit out; the ashtray thing has two wires going out from it, down into the main loom. What possible reason would you have to wire up an ashtray? Maybe to deliver a shock to the smoker? Probably not.

The wires are black and red. I follow them down to the connector and note the pin positions, then on the other side, another black and red pair lead away to the weird coil thing I found before. Interesting. The metal slot on the top of the machine must not be an ashtray, after all. If the coil is some kind of memory device, then maybe the metal slot is how you either program or reset the memory? I look again at the slot. It’s small, about the width of a pound coin, and twelve-sided: a dodecagon. Maybe two inches deep. The two wires connect to the bottom of the metal. One side is copper, but the other is something else. Tin, maybe, Not sure. I stick my finger into the hole and feel around. Nothing special, a smooth surface.

Strange. I suppose this means that I’m missing a part. Something that goes into that slot. Maybe it was a way of changing the program without having to take the entire unit apart. A sort of data-port thing. I need a modem or similar to interface with the memory.

I scan through the box of junk I picked up, but there’s nothing of the right size and shape, and I’ve never seen anything like this before on any console or computer. Curiouser and curiouser.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I should probably book myself an eye test. It seems that my advancing years have dulled the edge of my vision, and focusing on the tiny wires and components, soldering new parts in where old dead parts have been removed, is proving much harder than I expected. Not because the work itself is hard, it certainly is tricky, yet not insurmountable, but because I can’t find a distance from my eye to the part in question where my eyes will bring it into clarity. Too close and everything is blurry, too far away and I can’t see the tiny pins well enough. There’s no sweet spot. No Goldilocks zone.

I’ve had to make do by strapping a magnifying glass to my wrist, using an old kitchen roll tube and plenty of duct tape. I look like a crazy professor from an ‘80s kids’ pseudo-science comedy. Not ideal, plus my hands have developed a noticeable shake since the last time I checked. Who knows why? Stress, nerves, general deterioration? Consequently, I am not the world’s best wielder of soldering irons.

However, through the swearing and cursing, the mistakes and burns on my fingers, I am making progress. Slow and unsteady, but progress, nonetheless.

My parts from China and some others from eBay arrived a couple of days ago, and I’ve poured every spare hour into this work since then. For every faulty part, I’m photographing in place, and carefully melting the solder connections and removing it. Then, one by one, replacing the old, dead components with a shiny new and functional equivalent. Finally testing my work with my multimeter.

There were sixty-seven apparently dead parts in total on the various circuit boards, and I have replaced thirty-five so far. Tough going.

I take a break and open the window to get some fresh air into the room. The stink of hot solder and burning flux is acrid. I slide the magnifying glass off my wrist and gulp down a glass of water, then stand back to survey the scene; an arcade cabinet turned around to face the wall, its guts spewing from the open back in a mess of multicoloured wires, green circuits, copper tracks, dull orange components and rows of black chips. On the floor are carefully organised piles of spare parts placed on A4 sheets, labelled with their type and rating. On my retro desk, a space cleared where a Commodore Amiga sat before. The detritus of wire cuttings, solder flicks and burns, and dead components like swatted insects with their metal legs in the air, line the periphery. I puff out a sigh. It is possible that I have taken on a job too complex for my knowledge and skills.

I snap a photo of the chaotic scene with my phone and send it to Melanie with a ‘lol’. I’ve been keeping her up to date on my progress, because, for some bizarre and unknown reason, she seems to be interested and has asked how I’m doing several times. I was cautious at first. I know that people often say they are interested, but when you give them the information they seem to want in detail, they usually realise they didn’t actually care, after all. So far, Melanie hasn’t done that, nor run away screaming. My phone buzzes with a reply.

‘Oh, wow. It’s like a scene from the Matrix. You are clever. I wouldn’t know where to start.’

At this stage, I don’t think ‘clever’ is the correct adjective. Maybe ‘insane’ would fit better.

I send back a smiley face.

I haven’t seen Melanie since the dinner at her house, but we’ve been sending messages back and forth at all hours. She’s a bit of a night-owl, and it isn’t uncommon for me to wake in the morning with a string of thoughts, comments, jokes and funny photos that have accumulated in the small hours.

She’s funny, in a quirky kind of way. I may be warming to her.

After a break for lunch — microwave lasagne, not a patch on Melanie’s cooking — I buckle down, crank up some tunes, and get into the production-line flow of de-soldering, removing, cleaning, documenting, and inserting new components. There’s a pattern, albeit convoluted.

As with everything, once you find your sweet spot, you can coast for a while before hitting a block. After who-knows how long, I hold the final capacitor in my hand, 47μF, 25V. I bend the pins into shape, slide them into the circuit board, and dab on a tiny dewdrop of solder on both of its spindly legs. I think I’m finished. I wait for a few seconds so the solder is set, then test the circuit again for the millionth time with my meter. Studying the lines of copper on the board, I don’t think I have any short circuits, no blobs, no dry joints. I stand up to admire my work and my back crunches as I do so. “Oww!” I straighten out from my stoop and my spine notches painfully back into place. Maybe I do need a massage. I wonder if Melanie …? No.

I take a photo of the entire board I’ve been working on from the top down. It is a work of art in itself. I send the photo to Melanie with a note ‘I think it’s done.’ As I put down my phone, I notice the time. Six hours have passed since I last checked. Damn. I take a much-needed bio-break.

I probably should have set up my phone to shoot a time-lapse movie of my progress. Bit late now. I never think about these things until after the fact.

Never mind. I set about slotting and plugging everything back into the cabinet, referencing all the photos I took before I removed everything. It all seems to fit. There are no major parts left over. I do a last check of all the cables and clear up the mess of papers and packets from the floor. I think I’m ready to turn it on. Now, this, I will video, if for no other reason than to aid the fire brigade with discovering the source of the explosion that took out the entire street.

I prop my phone up with a couple of books and point it at the cabinet, then tap record and walk into the frame. The cabinet is still open at the back, and pointing at the wall. I gently twist it around to face the camera and fumble for the power cord, which I also completely replaced, just in case.

Again, I feel the moment deserves more pomp and circumstance than it’s getting, but I’m here alone, so what more can I do? I clear my throat and talk to the camera. “Err, it’s about seven-thirty pm, Saturday the fourth of September, 2021. I’m Derek Cooper, and I’ve been restoring this rare arcade cabinet ‘Time Portal’ from 1981. After hours of replacing dead components, I think I’m finally ready to switch it on.” I bend down and grab the extension socket. “Here we go …” I tentatively plug it in and turn to face the cabinet. Nothing happens. I take a breath, give it a second. There’s a high pitch whistle like a flashgun charging, and suddenly a circle of light appears in the middle of the screen. A flash and pulse of the ultrasonic whine out of my audible range and the screen is suddenly flooded with graphics.

A bright green logo showing the words ‘Time Portal’ is central, gently bobbing up and down, with a pixelated star-scape galaxy in the background, slowly moving from left to right. A small blue spaceship zooms across the screen and then a purple alien flying saucer descends from the top. The view pans down and a landscape comes into view at the bottom of the screen. Craggy and sharp, the grey stone of the planet is where the alien is headed. It drops to the ground and pulses with light for a moment, before heading back up the screen.

The blue spaceship has been hovering over the logo, but now it fires its engines and flies in the saucer’s direction, which is carrying what seems to be a green crystal underneath. The blue ship shoots a laser at the alien, but it darts out of range quickly and fires its lasers back at the ship, but misses by a mile. The ship doesn’t give up and quickly flies up to where the saucer heads and waits for a second until it comes into range again, then it delivers a battery of shots in a spread that can’t fail to hit the target. The alien ship is hit and explodes in a spray of purple light and the green crystal falls from its grasp.

The blue ship speeds towards it as it drops, and just as the crystal is about to impact the grey rock landscape, it’s scooped up by the ship, which then deftly zooms up and avoids smashing into the mountains itself. The ship pulses in purple for a moment then rises to the top-middle of the screen and shoots a green laser into space. This time, a black circle of emptiness appears where the laser is shooting, growing bigger and bigger, until there’s a black hole in the backdrop of stars and nebula, rimmed around with a green and purple glow. The laser stops firing and the blue ship seems to be pulled towards the black hole, increasing speed as it nears the centre.

As it reaches the middle of the hole, it rapidly shrinks down to nothing and vanishes with a twinkle.

The screen goes totally black and nothing happens for a portentous second while I hold my breath. Suddenly, the screen glows back into life with the ‘Time Portal’ logo at the top and a ‘Hall of Fame’ list of high scores underneath, most of the score slots are empty, but number one on the list is a score of 666,666 attributed to ‘SPD’.

At the bottom of the screen is the Dolos logo, which is phasing in and out of clarity. In the middle of the screen, the words I’ve been waiting to see pop up, clear and simple.

‘INSERT COINS’

“It works!” I can’t help myself and pump the air with a fist, jumping literally for joy. It actually works. I can’t believe it. This is incredible. How long has this game been dormant in the timeless oblivion of cyber-stasis? And now, with love and care, sweat, pain and some burns, I have brought it back to life. Adrenaline floods my veins. I knew it would be cool to get this beast going again, but I had no idea the result would be this emotional. Tears prick at my eyes. I blink them away and look back at the screen again, suddenly realising there was no sound at all during the little game demo that was showing.

I go behind the cabinet and stoop down to look inside. I forgot to plug in the speaker. Doh!

I stop the video recording and then unplug the machine again. I daren’t reach into the back with the power on. Even when off, you have to be careful as the screen capacitors can hold a very high voltage. I tentatively reach in and find the speaker cables and plug them into the board.

Take two. This time I set the phone up to video just the screen of the arcade machine and plug into power again. The same demo appears, but this time accompanied by delightful music and sound effects. When I say music, I mean a few notes that are repeated over and over. A tune that reminds me of the first few bars of the Dr Who theme. The sound effects are what you’d expect. Laser blasts and explosions, and a low throbbing sound when the alien saucer is flying. A deep thrust sound accompanies the blue ship as it fires its engines, and when the black hole opens up there’s an ominous heartbeat of two tones that grow faster as it expands, and then, as the blue ship vanishes into the hole, a crescendo of sound releases with a boom that rattles the speaker in its housing and throbs at my legs. The speaker is about knee-height at the front of the cabinet, just under the coin box. As the screen is replaced with the high-score Hall of Fame, the sound changes to a slow version of the ‘heartbeat’. Quiet and almost unnoticeable. Calming, actually. A womb-like throb.

I stop recording again and, with trembling fingers, tap out a message to Melanie, including both videos. I also send the same thing to Rick and Bethany. I’m sure no one cares as much as I do, but still. I don’t have anyone else to tell and I had to tell someone.

I might try to find some old coins on eBay or something. Flicking the switch manually to rack up credits isn’t quite the same. It would be more fun to pop in two old ten-pence coins into the slot every time I wanted to play. Sure, it isn’t important, but it helps create the atmosphere. Bit of fun. Why not? They probably aren’t expensive and I’d only need a handful. It will be the same as any kid going to the arcade in the ‘80s. A handful of coins scraped together from collecting bottles and taking them back for recycling or scrounged from parents, saved from pocket money and not immediately blown on penny-sweets and comic books. Innocent times. Being addicted to video games back then was an expensive habit. Mind you, it still costs me a decent chunk even now. Better than smoking, I suppose.

Of course, I play a game of Time Portal. I didn’t do all this work for nothing. I die within about twenty seconds on the first go, but I had to try it. I will still have an official unveiling when the guys can come over, but by then, I want to be expert enough to show off my skills and at least get to a decently high level.

This game is tough. After a half-dozen more attempts, my first high score sits dismally at the number-two slot under ‘SPD’ at only 2,200 to their 666,666. I thought I was doing well. I shot down a good few aliens and caught a couple of the time crystals but then smashed my ship to smithereens on the harsh mountainside. The controls are delicate and sensitive. A tiny motion on the joystick has a significant effect on the little spaceship. Thrust and fire are the two red buttons and I can press both at once. Holding down fire doesn’t work. It needs a constant tap to activate the lasers. I know that pre-loaded high-score is going to be tough to beat, but I’m already committed. I will beat ‘SPD’ whoever that is and get the number one slot on this legendary arcade machine. I use the abbreviation ‘RET’ when I enter my scores. Short for ‘Retro’, as I don’t like any version that’s short for Derek. DEK, DRK or DER don’t seem cool enough. I don’t have a middle name, so DC is too short.

I play a few more games and nudge my high score up to a lousy 3,000.

Who is ‘SPD’, anyway? Was that the programmer, or just a kid who devoted a fair chunk of his life to playing this game? I haven’t calculated the time per play yet, but I imagine racking up a score that high is going to take considerable hours. Maybe a full day’s work. I can see it now, at the arcade, surrounded by friends, smashing the fire buttons and jamming the joystick up and down with lightning reflexes. Sweat pouring from their brow. Someone carefully places a straw in their mouth so they can sip at a drink and not dehydrate. Slaughtering countless aliens, catching infinite crystals. Opening portal after portal to new levels. Each harder, faster, and more pressure to not lose. When you go through a portal, you earn an extra life. The key to success will be to keep those lives intact as long as you can. Once you lose, the momentum is disrupted and mistakes happen more frequently. You see the number of little blue ships in the top left of the screen decrease, three, two, one … you dart your way through lasers and bombs dropped by aliens that buzz like angry wasps around your vessel. You slam from descent to ascent as you grab a crystal just before it shatters on the mountainside and rise above the jutting ledges, narrowly avoiding certain death on the sharp ground, only to be culled from above by a looming mothership that appeared from nowhere.

GAME OVER.

You slam your fists onto the wooden cabinet and back away as the surrounding people cheer and yell. ENTER NAME on the Hall of Fame and still don’t make that number one slot. 590,050 coming in at number two, just under that teasingly high 666,666.

I have to beat it. There’s no other desirable outcome. Who knows, I may be the first person in the world to manage it?

CHAPTER NINE

Saturday evening didn’t work for everyone. Apparently, normal people have commitments and plans, schedules to keep. Appointments, sessions, dance classes, gym workouts, extra-curricular activities, and all manner of complications. The ‘Time Portal’ reanimation ceremony was scheduled for Friday night, instead. Doesn’t matter. Not as if I had any other Friday-night plans. In one way it’s better, as I don’t have to fuss and panic all day while waiting.

I’m reminded of my teens and twenties when I’d foolishly chase girls and they’d always tell me ‘I don’t know what I’m doing yet’ when I’d casually ask if they’d like to go out one evening. Any evening. Their retorts were always along those lines. Hanging out with me was the last resort, only taken up when all other offers had failed. I was never what someone was ‘doing’. I shake away those feelings. This is different, of course it is. These are friends, there are no social head-games to play now. Plenty of video games, instead.

I sneak out of work a little early and grab the final few bits for my party on the way home. Booze and some nibbles. I’ve stocked up, prepared as best I can, deep cleaned the living room, games room, bathroom and even bedroom. I mean, you never know, do you? Although, Melanie is staying over with Bethany and Rick. Unlikely my bedroom will see anything other than a pile of coats.

The air hangs heavy with a mist of fine drizzle, teetering on the brink of proper rain as I walk down the street to my flat, clutching the plastic bags of booze as they cut through my fingers. The rain holds back, building up more strength before delivering a deluge in the next few days, no doubt. Still warm for the start of autumn. I’m breaking a sweat in my jacket.

Not wishing to be embarrassed by my culinary skills in comparison to Melanie’s delicious fare, I’ve opted to buy in food from a restaurant already established and known to produce decent output. It will be delivered to the house at the appropriate time. The wonders of modern civilisation; I didn’t even need to interact with a human to organise it.

As I get home, I drop my bags and put away the booze in the fridge, then strip and stand under a cool shower to wash away the filth of London and the sweat that the warm, humid air has wrung from my skin. The solvent of all known life feels good as it melts away the dirt. I’m rejuvenated and ready for the evening.

I breathe. Pause for a few beats, so as not to seem in a rush, and casually open the front door. A doorbell ring summoned me promptly at seven.

“Hiya.” I flash a smile at Melanie, who stands on my doorstep, alone. I immediately smell her perfume as it wafts towards me on the breeze the door caused. She’s wearing a black suede jacket with tassels hanging down the chest and likely the same at the back. It hangs open and I glimpse a peek of cleavage under a sweeping pink top, above tight blue jeans. I notice she’s a tad taller than before, due, no doubt, to the heels she’s donned. She notices me eyeing her up and smirks. “Like what you see?” She blows a raspberry and brandishes a paper bag at me. I nod, with a coy smile, taking the bag and nosing inside. Wine, of course. “Can I come in then?” She puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head.

“Yes, of course. Sorry. Do come in.” I stand aside and she nudges past. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

She stands in the light of the hallway and I can see she’s delicately applied makeup. Dark around her eyes, drawing my gaze in. “May I take your jacket? It’s lovely, by the way. You look very stylish.”

“You may. Thank you.” She slips out of her jacket and hands it to me. A little damp from the mist, but it must be waterproofed as the droplets bead and shake off easily. I don’t have a hook, so I do indeed crack open my bedroom door and throw her jacket on my bed. For a microsecond, a sad image of a middle-aged man sniffing his bed later for traces of a woman’s lingering perfume enters my head. I shake it away. I’m not that desperate, am I?

Melanie has found her way into the living room. I drop the wine into the kitchen and then join her.

“Not a bad place you got here.” She pointedly looks around the meagre room. I worked my arse off cleaning up for this moment, and now I’m glad I did. The spillage of games and games-related paraphernalia can’t be helped, but it’s all neat, clean and categorised alphabetically. She studies the rows of SNES cartridges on a shelf unit. I have blasted the room with a green-tea scented air freshener and aired it out as much as possible before that. Woman-friendly, more or less.

“You weren’t kidding about the game stuff, were you?”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” I smile and resist adding ‘baby’ to the end of that phrase. Her eyes widen.

“This is only what won’t fit into the games room. But all in good time. I want to do the unveiling when everyone is here.”

She nods and sits down on the couch, tucking her handbag neatly at the side. It matches her jacket in black suede and is big enough that warring Pygmy tribes may inhabit its lower regions.

I suddenly remember my manners. I’m not used to entertaining. “Err, can I get you a drink?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” She smiles. “Glass of wine would be lovely.”

“Sorry. Yeah, of course.”

I scuttle to the kitchen and pluck two clean glasses from a cupboard and then examine the wine that Melanie brought. It looks posher than mine, although I don’t know much about wine. Red or white, sweet or dry, that’s the sum of my knowledge. Instead, I open my offy special white, which is more like clear, pale-yellow-gold than white, if you ask me, and pour us two measures.

I hand Melanie her glass, which she takes without looking away from my showcase cabinet of Nintendo handhelds. I’ve got almost every original Game & Watch, plus every iteration of GameBoy, including the DS types and all the European variations, up to and including the latest Switch. All clean and neat, behind glass with an LED colour changing light illuminating the display. I’m proud to say that every one of those gadgets works perfectly and is in as good a condition as can be expected. Some were mine from childhood, others I acquired over the years from charity shops, eBay, jumble sales, car-boot sales and the like. I’m always on the lookout for a new old-toy.

I slump down into my favourite armchair. Then I realise I should toast something or ask Melanie pointless questions to break the ice. I’m useless at this stuff. I won’t ask the utterly superfluous question of ‘did she find the place okay?’ Clearly, she did.

“Jacob okay with his gran?” Melanie had mentioned that she was going to drop Jako off for the weekend after school today. She had some reservations that he would be happy with the arrangement.

“Oh, yeah, he was fine in the end. Mum always spoils him rotten.” She grimaces.

“Good stuff.” I feel guilty somehow for taking her away from her kid. She pulls her phone out of the cavernous bag, checks the screen, then drops it onto the coffee table.

“This is nice.” She holds up the wineglass.

“Yeah?” I take a sip. It tastes like any old white wine to me. “Local offy special white of the week, or something.” I shrug. “Why do they call it white? Milk is white. This is definitely not white.” I hold my glass up to the light.

She takes another gulp. “That is a good question. I don’t know.” She seems a little nervous. Different from when we were at her place. I’ve got the home-field advantage now. I’m the one who can be casual and suave. Sure. I laugh inside at the thought.

“I’ve got some nibbles if you’d like?”

She smirks as she looks up at me. “Yeah, why not? Wouldn’t mind a little nibble.”

I stand as she flashes me a wink. Another ring of the doorbell startles me.

“Ah, that’s probably Rick and Bethany.” I breathe a small sigh of relief at the distraction. “Be right back.”

At the door, it is indeed Rick and Bethany. We hug and shake hands, and Bethany kisses me three times on each cheek. Over the top, but I don’t object. Rick brandishes another bag of booze and they flood into the living room. I deploy more soggy coats on my bed along the way.

“Hey, Mel.” Bethany and Melanie squeal and hug each other, then Rick pecks Melanie on the cheek and backs away, breaking eye contact. He turns to me.

“Congrats, mate, for getting the machine going. Well done. We gonna get a go, or what?”

“Patience, Grasshopper. All will be revealed soon.” Melanie stands close next to me. I breathe her perfume and notice her warmth. “Drinks?” I raise an eyebrow at Bethany and Rick.

“Load me up.” Bethany holds out her hand, waiting for alcohol.

When I get back with two more glasses, and the rest of the bottle, Rick has slumped into my armchair and the two girls are on either side of the couch, talking about Melanie’s hair, which now I look again, seems to be styled and cut recently. Maybe even today. I probably should have complimented her more. I smile and nod. “Looks very modern.” I realise I have no idea what that even means, so shut up before I dig myself a hole. I turn to Rick.

“There’s grub coming soon, don’t worry.” I flash a grin and he’s stirred from an obvious daydream.

“Ha, you chose something, then?” He smirks.

“Just the Asian place down the road. But they are pretty good. Got some sushi and stuff.”

“Oooh, fancy.” Bethany perks up.

“Oh. Sorry, Melanie, I should have asked if you have any special dietary requirements?” She grins in recognition of what she asked me when I went to hers for dinner.

“Nope. I eat whatever is put in front of me.” She looks at me over the top of her wineglass as she takes a sip. I’m sure there is mischief in those eyes. Interesting.

With nowhere else to sit, I flop down between the girls. Don’t mind if I do. We natter for a while about a movie that I have cued up to watch after we eat, and the intricacies of what I had to do to get the Time Portal game working. I didn’t want to go into much detail, but they asked, so I answered. Usually, people don’t want to know, but I should stop being paranoid. These are good friends. They’d tell me if they were bored and wanted me to shut up. Wouldn’t they?

“Come on, Derek. Don’t leave us in suspense all night.” Rick complains.

I laugh. “Fair enough.” I stand up, reluctantly leaving the warmth of two female bodies behind. “Ladies, gentleman, shall we adjourn?” I gesture towards the door and the games room beyond.

In the door, I pick up a stack of coins from a shelf and wave everyone through. Melanie is genuinely agape as she looks around the room at all the games, consoles, computers, screens, and general junk that line the walls. Then she turns around to the Time Portal cabinet and smiles.

“The new baby!” She squeals.

I’ve covered it with a white bedsheet for the unveiling event. Rick and Bethany stand waiting.

“Here, everyone gets twenty pence.” I hand them all two old ten-pence coins and receive back a chuckle.

“Where did you get these?” Rick holds the coins up and studies them. “Haven’t seen one of these for ages.”

“I travelled back in time to 1981 and picked a few up at the local arcade, of course.” I grin. “Got to be authentic.”

I flick off the main room light, leaving only the dim coloured lights around the room to cast a blue and red hue, then bend down and plug the cabinet into the extension socket and turn back to the audience, clutching their coins of yore.

“Ready?” I can’t help but feel a grin spread on my chops as I hold the corner of the sheet. A glow of green light comes from under the white cloth.

“Yes!” Comes the impatient yell from all three of them.

I yank the sheet down and stand back. There’s a cheer from everyone and the girls yelp. Rick claps. Bethany reaches over and squeezes my arm, Melanie strokes my back. I melt a little from the touches.

The game demo plays out on the screen, the green logo large and proud at the centre as the little ships do their pre-meditated dance around it. I watch as everyone gapes in awe. A warm flood of adrenaline burns through me, endorphins kick in and I know this is the moment I’ve been working for. I brought this machine back to life, more or less on a whim, and now it brings joy and happiness to us just by existing. Games are awesome.

“Well, who wants to go first?” I look at Melanie with wide eyes.

“Oh, no. I am useless at games.”

“No matter, just have a go. Insert coins, as the screen says.” I nod down to the coin slot.

She giggles, but puts down her drink on my desk, then with the two ten-pence coins, bends down to slot them in the coin box.

‘CREDITS: 1’

Appears on the screen, and Melanie takes her place at the machine. Joystick in her left hand. Her right on the two buttons. Thrust and Fire.

“Hit that right button, that’s fire and it will start the game.”

“What do I do?”

“Well, you pilot the little blue spaceship, and you need to avoid being shot down by the aliens, who are in a variety of purple flying saucers. Also, don’t touch down on the landscape. The aliens will drop to the ground occasionally and mine a green crystal. You let them do that because you need those crystals to warp to the next level. Once they pick one up, you need to shoot them and grab the falling crystal before it smashes on the landscape.”

“Right.”

Melanie hits the start button and flies the ship in a hopeless path. “Careful. The controls are really sensitive.”

“I’ll say!” She squeals. An alien vessel appears and fires a few shots towards her. She flies straight into the oncoming lasers, seemingly going out of her way to get shot. She loses a life.

“Oops.”

Bethany chuckles behind me.

“Your turn next, Bethany.” I don’t look away from the screen as Melanie tries again on her second life.

As it happens, Melanie was bang on accurate in her earlier assessment that she’s useless at games. She loses all her lives in a matter of seconds. I grin as she turns away from the screen and the ‘GAME OVER’ message pops up. She grabs her glass of wine and whimpers. “Well, I tried.”

I pat her on the back. “Well done.” I turn to Bethany with a grin. “Your turn.”

Bethany takes a deep breath and plonks her wine down on the desk. “Here goes nothing.”

She bends down and inserts her coins, then takes the controls.

She’s all over the place. Flying the ship directly into the mountainside, obliterating it into shards of colour that spread out across the screen. “Oh, my god. It really is sensitive. I barely touched it and it just exploded.”

Melanie giggles this time from behind us. I resist the smirk that is playing at my lips. Rick quietly mutters, “That’s what she said.”

“Ease into it. Smooth and gentle.” I place my hand over Bethany’s on the joystick and guide her slowly around the screen. “See?”

Bethany nods, and I release my grip. She guides the ship a little slower now and keeps it stable, then fires off a few rounds of lasers, but nowhere near the alien ships.

Rick is watching intently. His turn next.

Bethany shoots an alien with a loud whoop. “Well done, but you didn’t give him a chance to mine a crystal …”

“Oh. Bugger.”

“Never mind, try again. Hover over on the left side and wait for them to do their business.”

A map on the bottom left shows an alien approaching from off-screen. “Hold tight, here one comes.”

Sure enough, the flying saucer appears on the screen opposite where Bethany is hovering. She squeals and backs her ship away. “Don’t panic. He’ll be going to mine for a crystal now.”

The saucer descends to a flat in the landscape and pulses colour for a moment, before rising again with a green crystal underneath.

“Give him a second to fly up a bit … now SHOOT.”

Bethany blasts out a volley of shots vaguely in the alien’s direction. Amazingly, one of them hits home, and she whoops with joy as the alien explodes with a fuzzy bang from the speaker. The crystal immediately drops towards the ground.

“Quickly, get that crystal.”

Bethany zooms across the screen like lightning and by fluke, more than skill, she actually catches the crystal. Her ship pulses green and points rack up on her score. However, the celebration is short-lived as she doesn’t stop, and pummels into the mountainside at full speed, destroying her ship once again.

“Shit!”

On her last life, I can tell she’s less interested. She waits again for an alien, repeats the process and once again, smashes her ship on the mountain.

“You have to be ready to zoom straight up once you have the crystal.” I say but to deaf ears. Bethany turns to me with a sulky face and then switches to a grin.

“It’s awesome, Derek. But really hard.” She picks up her wineglass and stands back.

“Yeah, well, if it was easy, everyone would be doing it.”

“Right.” Rick rubs his hands together and cracks his knuckles. “My turn. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Rick swaggers towards the machine and pops in his coins, cracking his knuckles again. He’s observed the girls play and now he thinks he knows what he’s doing. Think again, buddy.

Rick actually does quite well. He shoots down a few aliens, grabs two crystals and then hovers, waiting for another to emerge. You need three crystals on the first level to enable the Time Portal to open. On the map, I can see a mothership coming from behind.

“Watch out!”

“I see her, don’t worry.”

Rick dives to avoid the massive mothership, but in so doing, neglects to acknowledge the rocky landscape below, and smashes his ship to pieces. I laugh, but I did exactly the same when I first tried it. He’s doing better than my first go.

He tries again on his second life. This time he gets a third crystal and can now open up a Time Portal.

“Okay, now get up and out of the way, and blast both buttons.”

Rick does, and a thick green laser shoots out of the ship. A black hole opens up across the screen and he’s drifting towards it until sucked through the hole.

“Well done!”

On the second level, the aliens come a little faster and more furious. They destroy Rick in a few seconds and take out all his remaining lives.

“Not bad, mate.” I clear my throat and turn to the ladies. “But allow me to show you how it’s done properly.”

I insert my two coins and start blasting away. I’ve been practising, of course, and these early levels are easy now. I get through to level two in thirty seconds. My ship is a blur as I speed around, shooting, defending, harvesting and opening portals. I’m vaguely aware of the whoops and cheers from behind me, but they dim out and all my focus is on the screen and the controls. There is no other world, only me in my blue ship and the evil purple aliens. They come faster, more annoyed, buzzing like angry bottle-bank wasps around me. I blast them away and speed through the level, leaving them to burn in my thruster.

I slam the joystick into reverse and come back for the remainder, swooping in low, blasting up a volley of laser across the whole screen, taking out every one of them, then breathe. Relax and wait for the next wave. I need three more crystals to get out of here.

“Holy shit, Derek.” Melanie is standing next to me. I can feel her warmth and smell her scent. “You are amazing!”

“Thanks.”

But I have no time for compliments. I need to be ready. I can see a wave of the sods coming on the map. Three, two, one, BOOM!

I’m startled into reality by the harsh ring of the doorbell.

“Oh, that will be dinner.”

I leave the controls and almost instantly hear my ship being destroyed by the incoming alien fleet. No matter. I was nowhere near my best high score yet.

I run to the door and get the food, then plop it down in the kitchen.

“Dinner is served.”

* * *

Food is good, as expected, and we all cram around my tiny kitchen dining table to eat. I crack open some beer and more wine and we’re all feeling quite merry. Melanie gushes about how amazing I am at the game, and I can’t deny, I like the feeling of pride and attention. It’s just practice though. If they stuck at it, they could all be as good. Rick glances at Melanie once or twice, then back to Bethany with a smile. Is there something? No. Must just be the alcohol.

After dinner, I’ve got a movie for us to watch. A sci-fi blaster to complete the theme. Rick again bagsies the armchair before I can get to it, and I’m stuck in between the two rather beautiful women. You won’t hear me complaining about that. Melanie grabs my leg during the scary parts of the movie. Still no complaints.

“We’d better head off” Rick stands up and stretches. He’s a little drunk, but not wasted. The girls have gone to the bathroom.

“Thanks for coming, Rick. Great night.”

“I’m still amazed you got that thing going. Fair play to you. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“YouTube, and forums, mostly. Google is very useful.”

Rick nods. The cousins return from their toilet break and Rick glances pointedly at his watch. “Better head, Beth.”

“Yeah. We’re all getting tired in our old age.” She chuckles.

Melanie slaps her playfully. “Speak for yourself.”

“Derek. Can I talk to you quickly about a work thing in the kitchen?” Bethany asks me.

“Bit too drunk to focus on work …”

She grabs my arm and yanks me towards the kitchen. I follow with a shrug.

“You okay?” She looks up at me through tipsy eyes.

“Fine, yeah. I had a great time this evening.”

“You do like Mel, don’t you?”

“Err, yeah, she’s great.” I get the feeling this conversation will not be about work.

Bethany grabs both my hands. “I mean, you LIKE her?”

“Yes, I LIKE her.” I laugh. “What’s this about?”

Bethany bites her bottom lip. “She’d like to stay here tonight if that’s okay with you?”

“I … err. Oh! Yes, sure. I mean, why not? Lovely. Yes. Certainly.” I panic. Does this mean … sex?

CHAPTER TEN

Incredibly, despite all my bungling and incompetence, my inability to seem natural and cool, and my general awkwardness at the situation, it did mean sex.

We stood at the front door together and waved as Rick and Bethany departed. Then, as I gently closed it when they had passed out of view down the street, I turned to Melanie, and the inevitability struck me like a church-tower bell-clapper ringing out at noon.

We didn’t even make it back to the living room. As my eyes met hers in the dimly lit hallway, a tsunami of lust burst from our respective dams and we caved in to the whim of the flow. Without pause or ponder, I felt our lips impact with force, and our clawing, searching hands grasping and smoothing over clothes that had to know their time for wearing was almost over.

We stumbled and tickled our way to the couch where a pleasant hour of heavy petting and more alcohol laid the path that inevitably led to my bedroom.

The pack of condoms in my bedside cabinet, long since out of date, was no problem. Melanie, with efficient and pragmatic planning, had procured suitable equipment and had it stashed in her Tardis-like bag.

I lay back afterwards, out of breath. A sweat of passion glimmering on my skin and swamping in between my arse cheeks. I stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes, letting the endorphins swim their lanes around my brain and gradually dissipate. The only light was from the bedside lamp that Melanie had covered with her pink top, so it wasn’t glaring. “I need some modesty, at my age,” she had said. But there was nothing to be ashamed of. Her body was perfectly alluring. The minor imperfections only increasing her charm and magnetism.

“I needed that,” she announced, eventually breaking the silence. I turned to face her, naked, her skin glowing pink in the light, her cheeks flushed. She laughed and reached down to my flaccid old chap. “You ready for another go?” She giggled and grasped. I felt the sharpness of her fingernails dig in a little as blood flowed into place beneath her moist squeeze. “Oh, I think you are! Where do I put my two ten-pence coins?” She shrieked with laughter and arose, then straddled me.

The room, the flat, the world around me melted away from my perception. Melanie was my world, and my focus was on her bouncing breasts as she swayed above me.

No idea what time it was when we eventually fell asleep, tangled in each other’s limbs, but I woke with an immense feeling of pride, achievement, well-being and satisfaction. Almost like completing a hard game, I got to the end boss, and instead of dying a hundred times, I took her to my bed.

She was turned away from me when I woke, her hair tickling my nose as I gently decoupled and rose, leaving her to sleep while I blearily stumbled to the bathroom. Ablutions complete, I carried on to the kitchen and filled the kettle, realising I was still naked and smelling like raw, animal sex. A smile filled my soul, but I grabbed my dressing gown from the bedroom. After all, I certainly need my modesty at my depressing age.

“Morning.” Melanie yawned from the living room doorway, interrupting me from a quick blast of Super Mario while I waited for her to wake. I jumped up. She was in a t-shirt. One of mine probably grabbed from the pile of laundry in my bedroom. It was long enough to cover her but short enough to provoke another pang of lust from my groin as I noticed her bare legs. “Got any coffee?” She blinked and rubbed her eyes.

“Yeah, just made a pot.” I smiled and kissed her as I passed to the kitchen to get her a cup.

“Are you playing a game?” She laughed incredulously when I came back, pointing at the TV. She was on the couch, her legs tucked under her, the t-shirt more revealing than covering. I averted my eyes, embarrassed in case she noticed me looking.

“Not really, just messing while I waited for you.” I flicked the TV off, but left the SNES on, and sat down next to her.

She chuckled and shook her head gently, then sipped at the coffee with a sigh of relief. “Well, could be worse, I suppose. At least you aren’t obsessed with football or something.”

“Hate sport. No idea why anyone would care about it, to be honest.”

“Thom would always watch the motocross or something on Saturday mornings.” Her eyes blurred out of focus and she paused for a split second, then took another gulp of coffee. “Anyway, thank you, Derek, for a lovely night.”

She reached over and squeezed my arm.

“Same. I mean, my pleasure. It was amazing!” I gushed, then tried to play it cool. “You’re welcome.” My hand gravitated to her legs and gently stroked upwards.

Melanie grinned, but then batted me away. “Men!” She laughed. “No, I want to, but I need to go get Jako.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course.” I stood up. “Do you have time for some breakfast?”

I yawn and slump down into my office chair, gripping the familiar worn foam of the arm rests as I lean back. I shouldn’t have but, yet again, I was up half the night playing games on a work night. I’m doing myself no favours but, in the moment, deep into a good groove, close to beating a high score, a few more minutes turns into a few more hours, and before I know it, three-in-the-morning looms darkly and tugs at my eyelids. I slept midst the fading, but fragrant scent of Melanie. The warmth of her body was now missing, but the memory of that night lingering and tantalising.

We ate left-overs at the kitchen table before Melanie showered and departed, back to the tube and train and her young son who needed her attention more than I did. I walked her to the tube, then meandered back home after a lingering kiss goodbye. The familiar path now seen in a different light. I looked up at the roofs of houses and the strip of dull grey sky instead of down at the usual, filthy ground.

Of course, I finished my game when I got back to my flat. No sense in wasting lives. Then I cleaned up, showered and sat back on the couch and settled into a cosy text message conversation with Melanie, charting her progress along the train lines to her home with silly observations and pictures from the window, punctuated with a full-stop as she arrived at St Albans and sent me a photo of the station sign, then off to her car and her normal life.

I open my email and scan down the list of junk and tasks that permeate my working existence. One stands out, glowing and highlighted in my mind by the name that it comes from. Miller, Bethany. I click it open at once.

Dear Derek,

I trust you are in good health and cheer after the weekend of jolliment?

I have an abundance of meetings today, but I certainly would like to squeeze you in and take a moment to catch up. Can you meet me for a quick coffee at noon?

Warmest regards.

Bethany Miller.

Recipe for ‘warm regards’: preheat an oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit / 180 degrees Celsius. Mix all ingredients in a large bowl, form into heart shapes. Bake for 15-20 minutes. Allow to cool a little. Sprinkle with icing sugar.

Voilà — Golden, toasted warm regards. Enjoy.

I reply with a grin that, yes, I can meet her at noon. Not as if I’m going to be doing much work today. When I stare at my screen, I see through the thin LCD panel, and instead of emails, the purple alien flying saucers from ‘Time Portal’ fly around my field of vision. Like an old arcade screen left on for decades, my mind retains the flight path, burnt into my retinas. I’m going to beat that high score, though. I can feel it coming. I’m up to about 100,000 now, the levels getting ever more dangerous as the ships get faster and more cunning. I’m learning the patterns, routines, and honing my methods and skills. I can almost do the first levels blindfolded now. I will beat ‘SPD’ from the number one slot in the hall of fame.

Bethany has a grin slapped across her face as wide as the Atlantic when she sidles up to me in the canteen area.

“Hello.” She oozes out the word as if it’s covered in treacle. “How are you?” She’s using her sing-song intonation that signifies she has been in contact with Melanie over the weekend. She grabs my arm and sidles up very close. I am treated to a whiff of her perfume and I think she’s had her hair done a little differently.

“Fine, thanks.” I shall make her work for the gossip. “Well, tired, but that’s fairly normal these days.”

“Still tired? Wow, what DID you get up to?” Her eyes widen. We sit down at the interrogation table. I had already got us both a coffee.

I shake my head. “Oh, no. My fault. I was playing Time Portal till late last night. I think I’m getting addicted or something.”

She makes a tut-tutting noise and takes a sip of her coffee. “Never mind that. I want to know how Friday night went.”

“You were there for a good deal of it, surely you remember?” I feign confusion and concern and relish the flirty tease of the situation.

“After we left, I mean.”

“Ahh, well, why didn’t you say?”

“Derek Cooper, you know very well what I meant.” She huffs.

I flash a smile. “Well, my dearest Bethany, what if a gentleman doesn’t wish to elucidate on the subject?”

She cackles. “A gentleman? Where is he?” She looks around the room. I roll my eyes. “Come on, spill the beans, mate.”

“No, really. I’m sure Melanie told you everything already?”

“I’d like both sides of the story, so I can draw my own conclusions.”

“Well, maybe you should have been there to experience it firsthand.” A flash of threesome fantasy with Melanie and Bethany imprints itself on my mind, and I bat it away as quick as it came. Good grief. I can’t allow that train of thought. Still … no.

She almost spits a mouthful of coffee at me. “Derek!”

I smile. “Sorry, that just blurted out.”

She raises an eyebrow and sits back in her chair. “So you aren’t going to tell me anything?”

“Melanie and I had a lovely night. I don’t think I need to paint more of a picture, do I?” I shuffle awkwardly in my chair. The last thing I want to do is discuss my sexual encounters with Bethany. I sniff to add a full stop and hope the matter is closed.

“You going to see her again?”

“Well, I imagine, but no plans as yet.” I shrug. “She has Jacob to deal with. I’m sure it’s tough to organise things.”

Bethany sips her coffee again and eyes me over the rim of her cup. “Well, fair enough.” She seems put out and slides her chair back, getting ready to leave.

“Sorry, Bethany. I … I’m just tired.” I flash a half-hearted smile. I don’t want her to go, but I don’t want to talk about Melanie. Not with her.

“No problem. I better be off, anyway. Million things to do today. Catch you later, Derek.”

“Yeah, see you.” And she walks away, taking a tiny piece of my heart with her as she goes.

Instead of lunch, I go for a walk around the streets and a tiny park to wake myself up a bit. It doesn’t work, but I ponder on the nature of the universe, as I currently see it. Do I have a girlfriend now? If so, why does the sight of Bethany still disturb the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy? You can’t simply wipe out years of desire in one lustful night, can you? Especially if you don’t want to.

Maybe I shouldn’t have let it happen. Knowing my own feelings for Melanie’s cousin, I should have been responsible and taken control of the situation. I don’t want to hurt Melanie. She’s done nothing wrong, and she certainly deserves some fun in her life. Perhaps that’s all it is, a bit of fun. No need to complicate matters with love?

I get back to my desk depressed, confused and more tired than ever. An email waits for me from Rick. I click it open.

Hey, mate. I’m passing by your office tonight, but Beth is doing some late thing, so I’ve got a couple of hours to kill. Fancy a quick couple of pints?

Just what the doctor ordered.

* * *

The work local is a decent enough place. A typical London boozer, thankfully not ruined by a proliferation of blaring sport or music from massive TVs on every wall. A quiet haven from the stress of work. I used to pop over for lunch sometimes with Bethany. That was when she was new, before she married Rick. Somehow, that ritual faded out. I don’t think I’ve been in here for a couple of years. Yeah, a work Christmas party where I utterly failed to get off with anyone, and someone in sales fell asleep on the toilet, only waking up sometime during the night, locked in and forgotten by us and staff alike.

Rick saunters in a few minutes after I arrive. I’ve been awkwardly wondering if I should get a drink while I wait, but thankfully, they have a couple of arcade machines tucked into a corner. Not games, unfortunately, but a garish fruit machine and another in the style of a quiz game-show with a top prize of £100. I fed the quiz machine a couple of quid and lost it soon after. My general sports knowledge is somewhat lacking. I should have known.

“All right, mate?” Rick approaches with his typical casual gusto.

I let out a sigh. “Yeah, not bad. Tired, you know? Getting old.”

He guffaws. “Yeah, I know the feeling.” He nods towards the bar. “Pint?”

“That’ll do nicely.”

We sit down at the back of the bar, near the fruit machines, but also the door to the bogs, and the stink of ancient urine mixed with cheap bleach lingers at the back of every breath. Should probably move, but the Englishman in me is too committed to an arbitrary choice to go back on it now. ‘Where shall we sit?’ is such a complicated question.

I take a deep gulp of beer. “That hits the spot.” I look up. “Cheers, Rick.”

“We haven’t done this for ages.” He looks around the pub. “Just us blokes, I mean. A man-to-man pint.”

“Yeah, well, life and everything.” I shrug. “I know it’s hard to find the time for relaxation and stuff.”

“True. Still, we should make a point to do it more often.” He clinks my pint glass with his. I know he means well, but I’m sure we won’t do this more often. In fact, now he’s said it, we may never get to do it again.

“Yeah.” I flash a dismissive smile.

“What you been up to, mate?”

“What, since Friday?” I laugh. “Not much, to be honest. Playing Time Portal, getting laid. Work. You know?” I feel a smirk playing on my lips.

“Oh yeah. I heard. You and Melanie, eh?” He raises his eyebrows. “How did that play out?” He leans forward.

“Err, well, the usual, I expect. Bit of kissing and playing around, then the full monty, as it were.” I shuffle awkwardly.

“Is that it?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it was our first time. We didn’t go straight into the full-blown BDSM and role-play stuff. Give us a chance!”

He laughs. “No, I mean. Well, I thought you’d elaborate a bit.”

“Did Bethany send you to interrogate me?”

“Hey? No, not at all. I was just curious.” His turn to squirm now. “Just thought, your first girlfriend in a long time. Maybe you wanted to talk about it?”

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m a bit old for telling all now.” I yawn. “Sorry, mate. I’m just knackered. I was up till late playing the game. I can’t get away from it once I start playing.”

He nods, understanding. “Remember when you’d come over to my dorm and we’d connect our computers together and play all night network games?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking about that recently. Couldn’t do an all-nighter now.” I yawn again. “I’d actually be completely wrecked.”

“In bed by eleven, most nights.” Rick points to his chest.

“Well, at least you have a beautiful woman with you.”

Rick drifts away in thought for a moment. “Yeah…” He sits forward suddenly. “Remember that girl who came over once, for one of our gaming nights?”

I have to think for a second. “Erm, I think so. What was her name? Susan?”

“Suzie. Yeah.”

“She was bored to death if I remember correctly.”

“Yeah, but she wasn’t the next day.” Rick winks. “We skipped classes all day and shagged like absolute bunnies. She was really … adventurous, shall we put it.”

“Really?” I laugh. “Nice one. I had no idea.”

“One-night stand. We never really spoke after that. Dunno why.”

“These things happen.” They happen to other people, anyway. I’m hoping my one night with Melanie blossoms into more nights.

“Yeah…” Rick’s eyes drift away again, out of focus. I take a swig from my pint. He shakes back to reality. “You and Melanie, eh?” he repeats.

“Me and Melanie.” I confirm.

“You make a good couple.” He nods. “Hope it all works out for you, mate. I really do.”

“Cheers, Rick.”

“Look after her, yeah? She’s had it rough and … you know. You sometimes make poor decisions …” Rick tails off and picks up his glass, emptying it.

“I’ll do my best, mate.”

“Another pint?”

“Yeah, why not? My round, though.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LEVEL 42. 156,020

My current high score is over half a million points short of the number one slot on the board. Must try harder. The frustrating thing is that once I’m in a groove, as it were, I can coast along, racking up points almost on autopilot. Things like the ping sound of my phone, or an urgent bladder emergency, are what’s keeping me from that coveted ranking position. I need to set aside time and, perhaps more importantly, I need to rest. Rest is high on my list. My reaction speeds are suffering from my tiredness. Every night this week I’ve found myself standing at the Time Portal machine, battling purple aliens until the small hours, against my better judgement. Every evening I intend to play a quick game and then go to bed for the sleep my body craves. Every evening I’ve failed that plan. Once I get going, the temptation of this being the game where I rack up points, explode aliens, mine crystals beyond all other games is too much for my weak will. Winning is a powerful driver, an obsessive addiction. Time passes without my knowledge. Hours flicker by like the explosion of a purple ship. A split second blur of colour and light. I am powerless. Resistance is futile.

Conversely, the hours at work have been rather less rapid. I feel the desperate tug of my eyelids forcing themselves down as I watch the time slowly increment on my computer screen, and a deep, throbbing ache within me, begging and pleading that I immediately lay down and rest. More than once, I have nodded off at my desk. Everyone around me seems distant, faded as if viewed from behind a veil. They are non-player-characters, and when they speak, I hear noise; an electric buzz, but no words. I smile and nod. They eventually go away.

When I do finally lay down in my bed, the purple aliens don’t care. They still continue their flights and mining in my mind’s eye. Over and over, shooting lasers, mining crystals, exploding when I hit them with my barrages. They linger, they call me. I think I have a problem.

“Derek?”

Startled, I turn around and look up. “Bethany.” I mumble.

“What’s going on?” She seems flustered.

“Huh?”

“You are late for the team meeting.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I tell my legs to stand, but nothing happens. I remain seated.

“Never mind now. What the bloody hell is going on with you?”

I wave a hand. Flicker a smile. “Just a bit tired.”

“Derek, you haven’t turned in any assignments all week. Have you done anything at all lately?”

The words drift around in my brain for a while. Assignments. She must mean my work. The reason I sit at this desk. “Err, I’m not sure.”

“I think you should go home and get some rest. Maybe see a doctor? You don’t look good at all.” Her face crinkles into a frown.

“Yeah. Rest.” I nod and slide forward on the chair and manage to stand, but I wobble. I grab the cubicle wall to steady myself.

“Jesus, will you be alright? Do you want me to give you a lift home?”

“Lift, yeah.”

It’s all I can do to not fall asleep in her car. She has the heat turned way up and we make slow progress in the afternoon London traffic. Only the sound of her voice keeps me tacked to reality.

“You sure you don’t need a doctor?”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“Why are you so tired? Is everything okay?”

“Just been playing games too much.” I wave a hand.

Bethany turns to me with a scowl. “Derek, for god’s sake. There’s a limit, you know. You aren’t a kid at school.” She pierces me with harsh eyes. “I thought there was something genuinely wrong with you!”

I stay silent. I don’t know what to say. I know this is my fault and I’m in the wrong. I don’t even mean to do it. It just somehow happens. I’m drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Knowing it will burn me.

“Melanie says you haven’t been answering her messages.”

“Oh. Yeah. Meant to.” I reach for my phone but find it powered off. I must have forgotten to charge it last night. “Battery dead.” I roll my eyes.

“Right, well, never mind now. I want you to go straight to bed and sleep. No more games, okay?”

I nod. “Yes, Mum.” I snigger.

“Derek, this isn’t funny.” She stops the car outside my flat. “I had to lie to say you weren’t feeling well and that I was taking you to a doctor. I don’t have time to babysit you. Get your shit together, or I won’t cover for you again.”

In all the years I have known Bethany, loved Bethany, this is the first time she’s used this tone and been so upset. A pulse of adrenaline courses through me, waking me up with a jolt.

“I’m sorry, Bethany. I think I have a problem. I’m addicted or something.”

She stares at me for a long moment. Her face softens a little. “Turn the game off, go straight to bed, sleep. Okay?”

“Yeah. You’re right. Of course.”

* * *

I did turn the game off, I did sleep, and I did remember to charge my phone. I woke bursting for the toilet. My dreams have been surreal and disconcerting. My brain is tangled in nightmares and circling thoughts as I stumble in the dim light to the bathroom. Aliens, crystals. Space ships fly around me as I relieve myself and wash my face. I bat them away with a hand.

I grab my phone when I get back to the bedroom: 6:37 am. Good grief, I slept for about fifteen straight hours. I’m starving and dehydrated. There’s a message from Bethany and several from Melanie. I read Bethany’s first.

‘How are you feeling now?’

Probably a bit early on a Saturday morning to reply yet. I put the phone down and move to the kitchen. Coffee and food are high on the list of requirements.

Toast and eggs washed down with a bucket of coffee, a long shower, and I’m feeling much better. I pick up my phone again and read the messages from Melanie. She was concerned, then a little irritated, and then the last message was; ‘Text when you are feeling better. Beth told me you had to go home sick. Hope you are okay? xxx’

I tap out a reply; ‘Hi, sorry. Had a bit of an awful week. Feeling much better now. How are you?’

I send a similar message to Bethany as well. I suppose I should be thankful that I have two beautiful women caring about my welfare.

The way to beat this type of game is to learn the sequence and flow. It becomes muscle memory after a while and only when something changes, which it tends to do every few levels, do you slip up and lose a life. Mastering the controls was simple. Mastering the game is harder. I need to become one with the CPU, feel the pulse of the processor and be one step ahead. The equipment in this machine is deathly slow compared to modern computers. I should be able to think faster than this beast.

Refreshed, fed, hydrated and ready for battle, I plug the Time Portal machine in and watch the familiar demo screen fizz into life. There’s something quite magical about these early machines. The technology seems ahead of its time, especially this particular game. When you compare the graphics of Time Portal to similar games of the era, Galaga, PAC-MAN, Defender and the like, there is no competition. Time Portal could be anything from five to ten years ahead in the graphics capability. It’s a real shame that the company Dolos went out of business. If they had stayed afloat and continued to create games like this, the ‘80s and ‘90s game market could have been very different. Who knows, they could have dominated the home console market as well. Instead of a PlayStation, you could have a Dolos-Box or something under your TV. I suppose there are many such ‘what if’ stories out there. Even now, after so many years studying the industry, I still occasionally learn about a company or device that I’ve never heard of before. The world of games is vast and deep. That’s why it’s amazing.

I gave up feeding the same coins into the machine over and over. That was fine for the novelty effect, but I’m over that. Way over. Now I flip the switch in the coin-box rapidly and rack myself up a dozen credits. That should keep me going for a while.

I set up my phone in a clamp-mount to point directly at the Time Portal screen. I’m going to video this entire game, so later I can watch back, pause, slow the frame rate and study where I go wrong. Cheating, a little, but it might help me adapt my technique and beat the high score.

I settle into my battle stance, take a sip of water from my bottle, and hit the start button.

The first six levels fly by in relative nanoseconds. I’m not even trying and the purple aliens are knocked back at my whim. I playfully glide my ship in a victory circle around the portal to level seven as it opens up and sucks me in. Now the tactics change slightly. Motherships come more frequently, and from both sides. I rattle the joystick back and forth and keep my ship in the centre of the screen, poised for action. I own that blue ship. I am one with the controls. The landscape of barren rock glides under me like smooth train tracks. I blast, harvest, fly and spin and flip to level eight, then nine, ten, and before I know it, LEVEL 20 appears in green letters. I have a few seconds to gulp some water before the onslaught continues. A sweat forms on my brow, my palms too. I wipe my hands on my jeans and take a deep breath. Calm. The frequency changes now. The rhythm is different. I adjust to the new beat. I hear cheers as I blast the aliens. A crowd of onlookers rooting for my success. The stench of stale sweat and cigarettes fills my nostrils, flashing lights at my periphery. I concentrate, block out the arcade around me, double flip and blast a mothership to oblivion.

I portal jump. There’s another cheer and I grab a drink again. I brave a look around and all I see is my games-room, dim. Curtains drawn and the glimmer of morning light seeping in at the edges. I turn back to the game and fire a barrage at the oncoming evil. An alien drops to the ground and pulses. I’m on his tail, sliding off the screen, letting him rise with that precious cargo, watching on the radar map as he slowly climbs, unaware of the digital oblivion that is his destiny in less than a second. I shoot a single laser and immediately swoop towards the spot where my ship would intercept the crystal. He explodes, and even before the purple shrapnel has dissipated, the crystal is mine. I hear a cheer from around me. I feel the heat of bodies near me, the eyes of onlookers staring at my screen with nervous anticipation. I wipe a line of sweat from my lip and press on. More and more aliens come, and then quickly die. More crystals, more levels. Jeers as I slip up and lose a life. Yelps as I narrowly avoid death on the harsh landscape. Roars as I clear another level. I am in sync with the hardware. My brainwaves are in harmony with the CPU frequency. I feel the changes in the pattern before they come. I blast through my previous high score and keep going. On and on. I grind the levels. I surf the tsunami wave and zap my way to portal glory.

Then I die and die and die and die.

I messed up, lost the momentum, became overwhelmed and bungled the rhythm. I failed.

Shit.

CHAPTER TWELVE

LEVEL 51, 243,010

Dr Armitage peers at me over his steepled fingers for an extended moment. Far too long for my liking. I try to seem as normal as possible, whatever ‘normal’ means.

He leans back in his chair, still pondering, apparently. Then suddenly zooms forward and pecks slowly with a long, beak-like finger at his laptop keyboard on the desk.

“Let’s see. Derek Cooper, forty years old, five-foot-eleven, thirteen-stone. With the company since June, 2012. No known allergies, no history of drug abuse.” He glances up at me as he reads from his screen. “Alcohol?” He tilts his head.

“Err, well, no more than anyone. I don’t have a problem if that’s what you mean?”

“Good, good.” He turns back to his screen. “Infrequent medical leave, no history of epilepsy, narcolepsy, or any other kind of ‘lepsy’?” He forces a dry smile.

“No, none.” I shake my head.

“Smoke?”

“Never.”

He glares at me from under thick eyebrows. “You were found asleep at your desk by Ms Miller.”

“Yes.” I shuffle in my chair. Black leather, worn in patches. I look away from Dr Armitage’s eyes, down at the green leather mat on his thick oak desk. He’s an old-school company doctor, from a different generation. Stethoscope around his neck, white coat over his shirt and tie.

“… For the third time this week. Anxiety? Something wrong at home? Work pressure or stress? Woman trouble?” His eyes are wide now.

“I don’t think so…” I pause. “Just starting a new relationship, sort of. I think. Maybe.”

He raises one of his thicket eyebrows a notch. “Any concerns relating to that situation? Erectile dysfunction?” He sounds out every syllable in the words slowly and clearly.

“Good grief, no. All perfectly functional, thank you.”

“Excellent.” He turns back to the screen briefly. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“Err, well. Insomnia, I suppose. I can’t get to sleep at night.” I lie, but it isn’t really a lie. “I stare at the ceiling for hours. My body can’t seem to remember how to fall asleep.” I wonder if I should mention the hallucinations, the noises I hear, the constant flight of purple aliens, even now, around this tiny office on the third floor of our building. Alien ships I have to ignore and pretend don’t exist. I quickly blow those thoughts away.

As it stands, all that happened is I fell asleep at my desk. Bethany found me drooling onto my keyboard and insisted I immediately visit the company doctor for assessment. She didn’t tell him about Time Portal, and I certainly won’t. If he found out about that, this would swiftly change from a medical concern to a disciplinary procedure and I’d be out on my ear. I flash a nervous smile, hoping my cheeks aren’t a fiery red after my slight distortion of the truth. It’s not as if I particularly like this job, but finding a new one would be a nightmare, plus, Bethany wouldn’t be at any other workplace. “I’ve tried all sorts of things; ambient noise, counting sheep, glass of milk before bed. Nothing works.” I shrug. “Thoughts swirl around my head, over and over. It’s like the more I think about going to sleep, the more my brain wakes up and wants to ponder on ridiculous things. When I do finally drift off, it seems like only five minutes pass before my alarm wakes me up again. I’m absolutely exhausted, honestly.”

“Hmm.” Dr Armitage mumbles into his fingertips, once again steepled at his lips. “Insomnia is a symptom, not a cause. We need to get to the nub of it.” He pauses and glances back at the screen. “I’m going to recommend you take two weeks away from work. Try to avoid tea or coffee after five in the evening. Eat earlier. And, I know this will be the hard one for you, put down your phone and computers in the evening.” He stares at me with accusing eyes. “Read a book, put on some calming music. Get your body ready for sleep. Get into a habit. Go to bed and get up at the same time every day. You need a routine for your circadian rhythm to follow.”

A free two-week holiday? Nice. I try not to show my excitement. “Yes, doctor. That seems like solid advice. Thank you.” Aside from the odd bout of man-flu with a couple of days where I’m too snotty to come into work, this is the first proper sick leave I think I’ve ever had to take. Age, I suppose. Is this my new middle-aged baseline?

“Go for a decent walk every day, out in the daylight. Get plenty of fresh air, drink plenty of water. Come back to me after that and we can see how things are progressing, hmm?”

“Absolutely. I hope this helps. I’ve been tired every day now for a long time.”

“Yes … we might just take a quick reading of your blood pressure since we’re here. Would you mind rolling up your sleeve?”

“Certainly.”

He rolls his chair around to my side of the desk and puts the blood-pressure band around my arm, then pumps it up, peering over his nose at the measurements. “A tad high.” He looks up at me. “Do you eat a lot of salty foods? Takeaway, fast food, that sort of thing?”

“Well, not a lot … I mean, occasionally.”

“I’d also recommend some more fruit and vegetables in your diet. Try to get your ‘five a day’” He does air quotes to emphasise the point.

“Will do. Err, perhaps you can give me some sleeping pills?”

He shakes his head. “No, that will only make it all worse. Your body can take care of sleep cycles naturally if you take care of it.”

“Right. Okay.”

“We’ll check blood and urine when you come back if things haven’t improved.” He slides back to his side of the desk, taps at his laptop again with one crooked finger, then looks up at me. “Off you trot, then. I’ll send a note to your department head and tell them to expect you back at your desk in two weeks, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

I stand up. “Great, thank you.” By the speed of his typing, it might be two weeks before he sends the email.

He turns back to the laptop, and I exit, stage left.

“What did he say?” Bethany was waiting for me outside the office.

“Oh, you didn’t need to stick around.” Startled, I fluster. Wasn’t expecting to see her. “Well, he said to take two weeks off and get into a better sleep routine.” I flash a smile. “That’s all, really.”

“You what? Did you tell him about the game playing?”

“No!” I hiss and walk swiftly away from the doctor’s office. “I said it was insomnia.”

“Derek … I thought you were concerned about your game addiction?”

“Well, yeah, I suppose. But he would stick me in a loony bin or something if I said that. Or worse, get me fired. No thanks.”

“You might need professional help.” Bethany stops in front of me, a genuine look of concern in her eyes.

“Nah. I’ll be fine, Bethany. I just need to get back into my normal sleep routine, like the doc said.” I turn my palms up. “I’ve played games my whole life. This is just a glitch or something.”

“You said you’d stop playing until all hours last week, but you didn’t.” She pouts.

“Yes, but I did cut down. It’s fine, really.” A little stretch of the truth.

She pauses but seems to give up the train of thought she was on. “Fine, just make sure you do what the doctor said.” She sighs, “I’m worried about you, Derek.”

I force a smile. “I appreciate that, really. But I’ll be fine now. I mean, he didn’t tell me anything ground-breaking, but now it has been said, sort of officially, I will make sure to listen to his advice.”

“Okay, well, I’ll check in on you in a couple of days.” This is a statement, not a request.

“Sure.”

“Would you like a lift home?”

“No, no. Thanks, Bethany, but I can’t put you to that trouble again. I’ll just jump on the tube. I feel better now. Really.”

The beauty of this medical leave is that I can work on my game, and still do what the doctor ordered. I have an additional nine or ten hours every weekday to hone my Time Portal skills and then have a light meal, read a book and go to bed. Perfect plan. I’ll get into a sleep routine, beat that bloody high score and get on with my life. I might even get to see Melanie again if she has the time. I expect Bethany has already told her about my little drama, so I better do some damage control.

‘Hi, Melanie. Hope you are good? I’m on two weeks medical leave … nothing bad, the doc just wants me to get my sleep routine sorted. xxx’

I stop off at the supermarket on the way home and grab some fresh broccoli, carrots, strawberries, and blueberries. Can’t hurt to get some fibre, after all.

Back at home, I stash my food supplies and flop down on the couch. It feels like playing truant from school, being at home on a workday; not even lunch-time yet. I resist the powerful urge to play a couple of games of Time Portal, and instead switch on the TV and let the incessant droning gibberish numb my senses. I could lie down now and sleep for hours, but that would throw me further out of the normal rhythm. Couch napping during the day makes it harder to get to sleep at night. I need to stay awake, maybe go for a walk in a bit. I need a few minutes of peace before I do anything.

I’ve watched my Time Portal game-play videos several times now. I flip through them, analysing frame by frame at the points where I lose lives. Every time it’s a case of fumbling the controls, missing an obvious alien barrage, or some distraction causing me to slam into a mountainside. Silly mistakes. But once I make one, they seem to snowball and I just keep losing until it’s GAME OVER. I need to focus, but also allow the play to come naturally. I need to be one with the machine, and not tense up when under pressure. Breathe. Easier said than done. I scroll through the videos on my phone again and the calling comes back. Beat the high score, get to number one on the Hall of Fame, become the master of Time Portal. I don’t know why this has become such an obsession. I have completed many games in my time, but this one feels bigger, harder to beat, more significant. Getting that number one position is important. No one else has ever achieved it. I’ll become a legend in the gaming world. Failing is not an option.

I’m in two minds about discussing the game on my forum. I want to keep it secret, for reasons I can’t explain. It just feels dangerous to put it out there for the world to see. I mean, it is sort of illegal if the Time Portal machines were all recalled. It gives this one a forbidden fruit quality, as well as all the care and love I poured into it to get it working. This is my baby. On the other hand, I’d love to show it off to the world. Perhaps someone would recognise the game and share some tips or info on the history. For now, I will keep it to myself. When I beat that high score, that will be news worth posting online.

Of course, Melanie, Bethany and Rick have all played the game with me, but they weren’t particularly impressed. I don’t think even Rick saw the importance of it. They don’t see the bigger picture. They don’t feel the pull of winning.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. A text message from Melanie. ‘Oh, are you okay?’

I reply immediately. ‘Yeah, absolutely fine. Just not been sleeping well lately.’

‘Perhaps I can help with that? :) You want to come over tonight? Xxx’

Maybe that is a good idea. Get away from things for a bit. Sometimes, the best way to progress is to step away. Allow my brain to calm down. A break from my normal world can’t hurt every so often.

‘Sounds great.’

* * *

Jacob is in the back seat when Melanie arrives to collect me from St Albans station. I wasn’t expecting that, but I probably should have. No matter, I suppose. I clamber into her vehicle. Melanie leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “Hiya. How are you feeling?”

“Great, now. Thank you. A bit tired, but I’ll be fine.” I flash a smile and turn around to Jacob. “Hey, mate. How are you doing with PAC-MAN and Minecraft?”

“Oh, I haven’t played PAC-MAN, sorry.”

I chuckle. “No problem.”

“But I’ve got a cool new world in Minecraft. I can show you if you want?”

“Yeah, great.”

“Aren’t you meant to be off the games?” Melanie smirks as she drives us out of the station, back to her house.

“Minecraft isn’t a game, so to speak. More of a creative world where you can build anything you like.”

“That’s right!” Jacob says excitedly.

“You both know what I mean.” Melanie shakes her head. “Boys and their toys. You can play for a bit while I make dinner.”

“Thanks, Mum.” He says from the back. I turn and give him a wink and a thumbs up. He smiles.

“This is amazing, Jacob. Really cool.” I’m genuinely impressed with what the little chap has built. A blocky replica of the Roman Verulamium Theatre that’s here in St Albans. Apparently, his school went for a trip to see it all recently and he built his own version inside Minecraft.

“This is where they did combat and beast shows.” He flies over an accurate rendition of an outdoor stage as it would have looked in Roman times, with banks of seats on each side. “It’s the only one like it in England.” He’s done his research. He zooms up and away, then swoops down. “And this is a secret shrine they found later.”

“A secret shrine? That sounds cool. Are you interested in history?”

“A bit, yeah. It’s cool that this stuff is here. I mean, the Pyramids in Egypt are great, but that’s miles away. I can’t go see those.”

“Maybe you can, one day?”

“Mum doesn’t like sand.” He laughs.

“Well, they aren’t going anywhere. I’m sure you’ll get to visit at some point.”

“That would be awesome.”

“Yeah, and there’s plenty of old Roman stuff in Rome. That’s a bit closer to home.”

“Oh, yeah. Cool. Do you know much about history?”

“Well, not really. Apart from the history of computer games.” I chuckle.

“Dinner’s ready.” A sing-song voice comes up the stairs. Jacob and I reluctantly leave the world of ancient warriors doing battle for the entertainment of others and go down to the dining room.

Melanie, a wonderful cook, has made her prize-winning lasagne with heaps of buttery garlic bread and, of course, a bottle of Chianti to round things off for the adults.

“Smells delicious.”

“Mum, can I take mine upstairs?”

Melanie squints at Jacob but nods in agreement. “Okay, Jako, but make sure you eat, and bring your plate down after, yeah?”

“I will.” He grabs his plate and vanishes back up, presumably to work on his Minecraft game some more.

“He’s really good, you know? He’s made an incredible replica of the Roman stuff you have here in the city. Amazingly detailed.”

“Yeah, he’s never off that thing.”

“He’s very talented. It’s a real skill he’s building.”

“Maybe, but he should be outside, doing boy stuff, not staring at a screen in his room all the time.” She sighs.

“Well, I …” I was going to say that I was the exact same when I was a kid, in fact, I’m still the exact same, and it hasn’t done me any harm. However, looking back at my day, falling asleep at my desk, getting kicked out on two weeks medical leave to sort myself out, hallucinating aliens and crowds of people cheering me as I play, as if I’m actually in an arcade with an audience, I can’t say that now. “I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe we can go to a park or something tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that would be nice.” Melanie melts a little. “Glass of wine?”

“Go on then, you’ve twisted my arm.” I laugh and sit down at the table. Melanie sits opposite. “This looks great. Thank you. I’m not used to being fussed over and having food made for me.”

“Welcome. I try to cook us a proper meal almost every day. Nice to have some company for a change.” She smiles and picks up her glass. “You, err, brought a toothbrush and a change of underwear this time, did you?” She licks her lips and tilts her head.

“Yes, I did.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I put it down to the good food, the wine, and, probably more likely, the previous week or more without a decent night of rest, but I’m afraid to say that I fell asleep. I suppose it was inevitable. My candle is burnt completely out from both ends.

Melanie prodded me awake on the couch after the movie we watched. Well, she watched, then I clambered up to her bedroom with her, but I think I passed out minutes later. I woke with the shock of unfamiliarity, a moment of panic, and then the realisation of where I was.

Melanie is asleep next to me. Still early, a pale shimmer of sunrise burns through her curtains. I wonder if I’m the first man to sleep in this bed since her husband passed away. I leave the warmth of her body and slither out of the satin sheets to find the bathroom.

I must say, however, that after a splash of cold water on my face, I do feel much better today. I don’t recall any dreams, and the purple aliens no longer swarm in front of my eyes. I grab my jeans and t-shirt and sneak downstairs to locate the coffee machine.

Awkward, in a strange house, before anyone else has woken, I quietly take a cup of black nectar to the living room and nestle into the soft couch. It’s a nice place she has here. Could do with some games consoles, but aside from that obvious gap, she has all the creature comforts that a modern human could want. Still, there’s more to life than the things we own. Melanie may have a nice house and car, a son, and apparently enough money to get by comfortably, but she doesn’t have the full deck of cards that make up a happy family. I wonder if I fit into that deck? If I am the sort of chap who could complete someone’s life and grow old with them. One day, perhaps celebrating a big anniversary on a trip away, just us, memories and good food. Is that what I want, what I need? Would a girlfriend, or even wife, be enough of a distraction to take me away from the games I’ve collected and devoted my life to?

Can’t you have both? A hobby and a family? People must make it work, somehow. I suppose life is all about a healthy balance.

Of course, there’s also Jacob to consider. I’m sure he is well looked after, but does he need a father figure in his life? Am I in any way qualified for that position? What if I want to have kids of my own? Is it too late? Even if I started here and now by storming upstairs and sowing my seeds, I’d be an old fart before the kid was a teenager. Is that fair to any of us?

So many questions, no answers. I didn’t plan on this cup of coffee sparking an introspective look at my life and goals, but there you go.

The sound of a toilet flush from upstairs drags me back to reality. I grab another cup and take it up to Melanie.

“Good morning.” I hand her the cup as she gets back into bed.

“Oh, thank you. Good morning.” She puts the cup down and rubs her eyes. “You’re up early.” She glances at the clock.

“Yeah, woke a bit ago. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You feeling better now?”

“I am, yeah. Feel great, actually.” I smile.

“Good.” Melanie pats the bed next to her. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come back to bed.” She giggles.

“Oh, don’t mind if I do.”

“So …” Melanie picks up her cup.

“So?”

“Yeah, I dunno …” She blushes a little in the dim light, then runs her hand down my leg. “I mean, you fell asleep last night … and …”

“Sorry about that. I was unbelievably tired.”

“Well, we have some unfinished business, don’t we?” She squeezes my leg and grins.

“Oh, yes. I think we do …”

As it happens, morning sex is even better than night sex, and it sets you up for the day. We showered together afterwards in Melanie’s amply big corner-bath en-suite. Hot water gushed over us as we kissed and caressed, extending the passion one more time before breakfast. Before her son woke and we had to become adults again, instead of acting like curious and dizzy teenagers, discovering the delights of the opposite sex for the first time.

Sated, for now at least, we dressed and embraced in her bedroom before heading downstairs to get breakfast.

“You still up for a trip to the park later, Derek?” Melanie drops a plate of toast and scrambled eggs down in front of me. I must say, I’m enjoying being spoiled. This is like a holiday from reality. A break that I needed.

“Yeah, for sure. Be good to get out.”

“Lovely day.”

“Can we go to the Roman ruins?” Jacob pipes up. He’s been quiet. I don’t think he expected to see me this morning. His child’s brain has surely put two and two together by now. “I want to check something for my model.”

Melanie laughs. “Yeah, sure.”

I nod. “Good idea. Check the accuracy of your simulacra.”

“The what?” Jacob looks at me quizzically.

“The simulacrum is never that which conceals the truth, it is the truth which conceals that there is none. The simulacrum is true.”

“What are you on about?”

“Just a little Jean Baudrillard quote.”

“Bit early for philosophy, Derek.” Melanie laughs.

“Sorry. I mean, we can see how well you’ve made your Minecraft model, Jacob.”

“Cool.”

I haven’t been to these ancient ruins since I was a kid at school but, of course, they haven’t changed much, being thousands of years old. Brings back memories of the journey; firing rubber-band pellets down the length of the coach. Ducking down behind the seat when the teacher looked back. I wasn’t one of the cool kids, but I thought I was at the time. I was always good at games, and I hacked the school computers to play Doom over the local network, despite it being banned, so I’d become a bit of a legend. Didn’t last long, however, only until the next fad came along and I was a boring nerd again.

I desperately fancied a girl called Caroline back then. I never plucked up the courage to tell her, obviously. She was sitting in the row in front of me on that school trip to the Roman ruins, not by coincidence. She was studying a book about artefacts and history. I was studying the complicated plait in her hair that was always so neat and perfect. Caroline Watson. Prim and proper, always had a brown-bread sandwich wrapped in tinfoil and an apple for lunch. I can picture her lunch box with vivid clarity even now — a battered pink ‘My Little Pony’ box, with a matching flask. On the lid of the flask, she had a ‘Hello Kitty’ sticker. Funny what you remember. Wonder what she’s doing now? Probably married, kids, house, car, holidays in Majorca. All the normal stuff that I have somehow avoided. Hard to say which is the better life choice.

Jacob wanders around the grounds, snapping a load of photos on his phone, while Melanie and I vaguely follow. It’s just good to get out into the fresh air for a walk.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

I look up, startled from my daydream. “Oh, I was just remembering when I came here on a school trip, million years ago now.”

“I nearly got expelled after a school trip.” Melanie laughs.

“Really? Didn’t think you’d be the rebellious type.”

“It was on a trip to the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in Stratford. Me, Jenny and Marion all snuck off to try to meet the actors, but really it was to smoke a fag.”

“Didn’t know you smoked?”

“Gave up a long time ago.” She shakes her head. “We used to bum fags off blokes outside the pubs in town. Amazing what a short skirt and a smile can get you.”

“Oh, you minx!”

“I know, terrible isn’t it?” She chuckles. “Anyway, of course, we got caught by Miss Browne. Detention for a month and letters home with threats of expulsion and legal action. It all blew over, of course.”

“I never once got detention.”

“Oh, yeah? Were you always a good boy?” She pokes me in the ribs.

“Nah, I just didn’t get caught.” I smile.

“You hungry? There’s a nice café near here.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Furnished with a decent toasted sandwich and a half-pint of ale, since it’s the weekend and I’m meant to be relaxing, I’m almost feeling like a normal human for a change. This is what people do, isn’t it? Enjoy the day, meander and wander, then stop for a meal. I must admit, a glowing sense of enjoyment fills my chest instead of the usual angst.

Jacob sits opposite me and flicks through his photos. “Did you get the reference material you needed, Jacob?”

“I think so.” He shows me his phone screen. “I think my sacred shrine was the wrong shape. This should help.”

“Do you have a drone? Be good to get a top-down view of the whole place.”

“We aren’t getting a drone.” Melanie slaps me on the wrist.

“Oops, sorry.”

“Mum says I can’t get one until I’m older.”

“Last thing we need is him causing a plane crash or something.”

“You might not be allowed to fly over here, anyway. I’m not sure what the rules are.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just have to make do with these photos.” Jacob winks.

“Is your burger okay, Jako?” Melanie changes the subject and gives me a wide-eyed stare.

“Yeah, not bad.” He takes a bite. “Remember when we came here with Rick before?”

“Oh … yeah, that’s right. A long time ago.” Melanie flushes red.

“Rick and Bethany came to the ruins with you?”

“No, just Rick. We came for breakfast once.” Jacob holds a chip up and scrutinises it before dunking it into ketchup.

“Err, yeah. Rick was helping me with a computer thing. Years ago. Beth was away on a work trip or something.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I’m surprised you remember that, Jako. You were tiny, then.”

“Yeah, I do. I got a burger that day, too, even though it was too early for a burger, really.”

* * *

Melanie was subdued on the way back to her house. Lost in thought, perhaps. I didn’t push it. I sensed the mood had changed. I grabbed my bag and made my excuses. I ordered a taxi to the station. She didn’t object.

We kissed goodbye, but there was something strange in the air between us. I’m not sure what happened, but I sense it has something to do with Rick having been at the café for breakfast with Melanie and Jacob several years ago, without Bethany.

On the train home, I stare out of the window at the passing landscape; parallax effect, very realistic. The simulacra is reality. Are we living in the real world, or a perfect simulation of it. How would we know, and would it even matter? Something feels off in my world now. The reality that I’m experiencing doesn’t seem right. The joy that woke with me this morning has ebbed away, and I’m unsure of anything.

I pull out my phone and send a text message to Rick.

‘How well do you know Melanie?’

The train passes a station before a reply pops up on my screen.

‘Err, dunno, a bit I suppose. She’s Beth’s cousin. We’ve met a few times. What’s up?’

‘Can we meet for a drink? I’m coming back to London now. Wetherspoons in the station?’

‘I was planning a quiet night in, actually … another time, maybe?’

‘I think it would be best today, mate.’

Rick is typing … … … ‘Right, yeah. Okay.’

Rick is already at the pub when I arrive. He’s standing at the bar with a glass of what looks like whisky.

“All right, mate?” He waves me over.

“Hi, Rick. Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah, no worries. Pint?”

“Please. What’s that you’re drinking?” I nod towards his glass.

“Fancied a wee dram to warm me up. You want one?”

“Nah, beer will do. Cheers.”

Rick beckons the barman over and gets me a pint. I take a long sip and savour the cool flow that filters down through my throat into my chest. “That hits the spot. Cheers.”

“What’s this about, then?”

I’ve rehearsed this moment on the train journey. Of course, Rick will want to know why I called an emergency meeting at the Wetherspoons, and I imagine he has some suspicions, but he’s playing it cool. I could go the scenic route and avoid the obvious, then spend my life trying to extrapolate meanings from nuances, but sod that. I’m aiming for the bullseye. No point in beating around the bush.

“Have you slept with Melanie?”

Rick almost spits out his whisky. I probably should have timed that better. He coughs and splutters.

Rick wipes his face with the back of his hand. “What?” He looks around the bar furtively, but we’re the only people within earshot. “What the bloody hell are you on about, Derek?”

“It’s pretty simple. Have you had sex with Melanie? Maybe a few years ago. Or more recently? I don’t know.”

Rick pauses, takes another gulp of his drink, then waves the barman over for another. He pays, then picks up his drink. “Err, shall we go somewhere more private?” He heads towards the back of the pub. I follow. “Is there a specific reason you would ask me something like that?”

“Yeah, there is.”

“… and would you like to elaborate?”

“No. I just want to know the answer to my question.” I have evidence, but I’m not going to drop my cards on the table immediately. This could change the entire landscape, my world. Everything I care about is at stake.

Rick wipes his brow and runs a hand through his hair. I’ve known him for a long time, and this is certainly his guilty stance. “Err, Derek, you know, sometimes in life, you make choices. You do the wrong thing, for the right reasons… I mean, you get lost in a moment, you get carried away. Things just sometimes happen.”

“So, you have?”

“It was one night, one mistake. One stupid, regretful mistake.”

I remain silent. But a volcano erupts in my chest. Earlier today, I pondered on if I was the first man to have slept in Melanie’s bed since her husband passed away. I suppose I’m not.

“Mel had a problem with her PC. Beth was on a trip somewhere. I can’t remember what it was now. Anyway, I went over. Beth had asked me to help … I sorted out the PC, no problem, but Mel had made dinner. We had a glass of wine that led to another … you know how it goes?”

I nod. I do know. But I’m not married to Bethany.

“She was lonely. It was still raw for her about Thom dying. She needed some comfort, and I was there. I didn’t mean for anything to happen, but it just did.” He gulps down his drink. “We both cried after. It was awful. Really awful. We said we’d never ever bring it up again. Forget it. No harm done.” He looks up at me. “How did you find out? She didn’t tell you, did she?”

“No. Jacob did.”

“Jacob?”

“We went out for lunch today. He said he remembered when you had been there in the café with them one day for breakfast years ago. I put two and two together.”

“Jesus, he was barely bigger than a toddler.”

“Smart kid.”

“Too smart.” Rick bites his lip. “Look, I’m sorry, mate. I truly am. But please do me a favour and never mention this to Beth?”

I shake my head. “God, no. I just wanted to know.”

“I love her, you know that. It was just a stupid one-night stand. Meant nothing.”

I can forgive Rick and Melanie. If it was just a one-off mistake, triggered by emotions and alcohol, I’m sure many people would have done the same thing. The trouble with all this is that I also love Bethany but, just like with Caroline Watson in my class at school, I’ve never had the guts to tell her. Maybe if I had told Bethany all those years ago, things would be totally different now. Maybe it would be me married to Bethany, and what if Rick ended up with Melanie instead? Perhaps in an alternate universe, that’s exactly what happened. I know I wouldn’t ever shag around if I was married to Bethany, no matter what the circumstances. There’s a difference between giving someone an emotional hug and getting naked with them and doing the dirty.

I sip at my pint. Somehow the taste is bitter now, no longer enjoyable.

“Skeletons in the cupboard, yeah? Everyone has them.”

“Yeah.” Rick laughs, nervously.

“Just once, right? I mean, with Melanie. Anyone else?”

“God, no. Just that time. I swear. You know me, mate. I’m not exactly Casanova.”

I chuckle. “No, but I never knew about that girl in your dorm room, Suzie?”

He sighs. “In my whole life, I’ve had exactly two one-night-stands, and now you know about both of them.”

“Fair enough.”

“Look, I better go. Told Beth I was just popping out for a quick one with you to catch up on things.” He clears his throat. “We’re cool, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. No worries.” I wave a hand. “Ancient Roman history, isn’t it?”

He guffaws. “Yeah. Good one, mate.”

* * *

The thing about repetitive games like Time Portal is that you distract yourself from the world. The complicated rules of society, the chemical stimulations of emotion, the confusion and stress that boils in your brain is calmed and dulled by the patterns. Shoot, fly, dive, collect. You become one with the circuits and processes, the graphics on the screen refresh at the same frequency as your brainwaves, and you fizzle out the pain. Up, down, left, right. Fire and thrust. That’s all there is. No emotions, no backstabbing or treachery, no pain and no worries.

457,035

Instead of purple aliens, I see Rick’s face flying his looping pattern, diving to the grey landscape to collect his crystal, but when he pulls it out of the ground, it isn’t a crystal, it’s Melanie, tiny and pixelated, but Melanie nonetheless. She squirms in his pincer grip and tries to break free. I swoop down and shoot at the Rick-alien. He explodes into shards. Melanie drops like a stone, and I dive to catch her. She’s enveloped into my embrace. Another Rick appears. This time, his face contorted, writhing in anger. He plunges and digs into the mountainside, pulling out another crystal-woman, but now he drags out Bethany and rises into the sky. I shoot at him but miss. I slam the controls up and fly straight into him, letting loose a massive barrage of lasers, pulverising him into oblivion. Bethany drops from his grasp and I catch her, as well. My ship pulses with her warmth.

620,700

I warp to the next level, which is swarming with aliens. They have the faces of Rick, Melanie and Bethany, all leering at me. All hiding something, all trying to act normal, when the world is anything but normal.

I drop to ground level and smash the fire button with vigour. I clear them all out, but one straggler comes in from behind. A Bethany alien rams into my ship, and I explode into a million fragments.

I have one life remaining. I wipe my palms on my jeans, take a deep breath, and once again face the horde.

I check the radar, take my position, and blast out a staccato retort on the fire button. The aliens rain down shrapnel onto the ground, but another wave follows quickly. I swoop and swerve, dive and climb, narrowly avoiding disaster a thousand times in as many milliseconds. Time slows down and I see the paths as clear as if they were painted on the screen. I nudge my ship and sail the parabolic curves through the torment, through the army of evil to safety. I am one with the machine. I run the show. I am locked into the cycles of the processor.

I blast away the stragglers and wait for a crystal to be harvested. My quarry drops to the ground and pulses his ship, then slowly, tentatively rises with his load. A green crystal hangs from his ship. I shoot, then immediately dip down under the cargo, catching it as it falls. My ship glows and quivers and I slam down the fire and thrust buttons, burning out a laser beam into the cold night sky. A black portal opens to another time, another dimension, and I am sucked into the void.

I glance up at the score as the landscape changes under me.

700,000

I stand back from the machine. I did it, I can’t believe it. Is this real? I beat the high score. I beat SPD! I’m frozen. I stare in awe at the display. Yes, it’s really true. I can die in peace now.

I hear the Time Portal machine beep and buzz with the sounds of the aliens approaching and then the blast of static that indicates they have shot my ship down, followed by the GAME OVER jingle. I’m taken to the Hall of Fame screen where I enter my name, ‘RET’, and watch as it takes the number one slot, forcing SPD down a notch with his measly 666,666 points. A throb of adrenaline fills my veins. I want to scream and shout, jump for joy, tell someone my achievement. I pull out my phone and snap a photo of the screen.

There’s a loud pop and a smell of electrical burning. The screen goes deathly black, the game music abruptly stops. My legs turn to rubber under me, my head spinning with vertigo, my hands tremble, and I fall ungracefully to the floor.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

My senses gradually flowed back to me after my epic win. I slowly creaked my way up and walked away from the Time Portal machine to my bed, exhausted and burned out. Alone, but still warm and comfortable. No complication in my bed. Merely a place to sleep, not a place of chaos, heartbreak and misery.

I wake early and immediately test the Time Portal game, but it’s dead as a dodo. A throb of pain warps through me. Have I broken it, played too much, burned out the circuits as I burned out myself? I tug it away from the wall, turn it around, open the back panel, and shine a light over the circuit boards I know so well at this stage. After ten minutes of running my eyes over the intricate details, I conclude they seem fine. No visible damage, at least. A faint smell of electrical burning remains.

Then I check the fuse close to the power supply, and it’s totally charred black. Just a fuse, that’s all. No damage otherwise. Something must have caused a surge in current. I replace it with a thirteen amp instead of the five I had before and put everything back, then power on the machine. The usual demo scene plays out, but when I press the start button, strangely, a new interface is displayed. A block of purple text, gently swaying up and down in the middle of the screen, tantalising and intriguing. As the text appeared, there was a terrible static sound from the speakers, a low throbbing bark as if it’s the sound of aliens speaking.

Some kind of new level, new game mode? This is incredible! I must have triggered a secret level or something by beating the high score.

We are Aionites. We not exist in your realm. We travel far. Not spin on static rock. We look at you. We have questions.

Why you kill our ships?

Why you take our crystals?

We came with no harm. Why do you harm us?

Why you lock up your spirits?

Why you live for secrets?

We will judge your race based on your actions. Choose well, for your time depends on it.

There’s only one option. To hit the fire button and continue the message.

Of course, I do, and the first block of text vanishes and more text appears on the screen. This time, there is no buzz or sound. Just the flashing cursor at the end of the paragraph.

You are standing in a dimly lit street. It is 5:37 am. Sunrise is over an hour away. There is no one around, the houses on each side of the street are quiet. No lights come from any windows.

A lamp post flickers, a gentle breeze chills you. You shiver slightly and hug yourself. The silence envelops you with an eerie presence. You don’t recall how you came to be here.

Underneath the text are what look like buttons. I can select them with the joystick. They are labelled:

North, South, East, West.

Look, Use, Inventory, Exit.

I select the ‘Look’ button and hit fire. The same text reappears on the screen. I nudge right onto ‘Inventory’ and hit the fire button.

You check your pockets. You have:

A sheet of paper folded up.

Pocket-lint

Interesting. I move the selection to ‘Use’ and hit fire. It brings up another menu where I can choose: Paper or Lint. I choose paper and hit fire.

You unfold the paper. There is a note handwritten on the inside.

RET. Thank heaven you got here! Just in time. I’m afraid the Aionites are a bit angry at me, not without cause, I suppose. But these things are bound to happen. I’m an inventor, you see, and I came across these interesting looking batteries that … well, they are quite powerful. Let’s just leave it at that. I didn’t realise at the time how important they were to the Aionites and their entire way of life. If you can call it that. Strange creatures, but a little too sensitive, if you ask me. Anyway, I have to admit, I’ve actually mislaid three of these Ouroboros batteries. Don’t ask me how. Some of my experiments can do strange things to one’s memory. Delia, of course, is always telling me to stop it. She says I’m eccentric. I maintain I’m just trying to push the boundaries of science, and we all know there’re risks and dangers involved.

Anyway, they are little green things, twelve-sided, about two inches tall. If you wouldn’t mind having a look around and see if you can find them for me, I’d be endlessly grateful. I need to give them back to the Aionites before they … well, never mind. We won’t think about what could happen.

Once you have found all three, come back to 42 Arcadia Street and I’ll let you know what to do with them.

Much appreciated.

SPD.

P.S. I almost forgot, be careful. Things aren’t always what they seem. Hurry back.

How exciting. I snap a photo of the screen. This is amazing. An adventure game hidden behind the arcade shooter. A totally different game that maybe no one else in the world even knows about, let alone has in front of them ready to play. I’m buzzing with the energy of it. The note is signed SPD, which are the initials that the high-score holder had. So this must have happened because I beat it. I knew it was possible. Wow, this is so cool!

I read the text of the note again and it looks like I’m meant to explore the game and find these batteries. Strange plot, but fair enough. I love these kinds of adventure games. Rick does, as well. He’d cream his pants if he knew about this. If it weren’t for recent discoveries, I’d be sending him a video of this right now and asking him to come over, but … I don’t know what to think about the real world now, so I’m going to stay in this game world. Rules and logic exist in the game world. Out in the real world, nothing makes any sense.

I need to find three batteries. I am in a street, early morning. No one around. I check the other item in my pocket. Highlighting the Lint option and hitting fire.

Fuzzy

Hilarious. I suppose SPD has a sense of humour. Right, I need to do some exploration. I try going North.

You can’t go that way.

South? Same message. Okay, that leaves East and West. I try West.

Walking along the quiet street, you are suddenly startled from behind by a loud beep and a flash of lights. You jump and turn around as a heavily laden milk float almost knocks you over. You scramble to get out of the way as the driver waves his fist at you and yells out. “Watch where you’re going!” You step back to the safety of the pavement and take a moment to catch your breath. The milk float speeds away silently down the road. Only the faint jingle of glass bottles can be heard as it vanishes out of sight around a corner. You look around.

There’s a red phone box under a flickering lamp post.

A sign on the wall reads ‘Arcadia Street’

Obviously, I need to go into the phone box. The thing about adventure games is to notice every detail. Inspect everything because clues can be hidden anywhere. SPD even said in his note, things aren’t always what they seem. Is it really a phone box, or is it a portal? We’ll see.

Use Phone-Box.

The heavy door of the phone box creaks open and you step inside. There’s a damp smell, but the cutting wind no longer chills your bones as the door slowly closes.

There’s a telephone, a yellow directory book and a coin slot.

Just a normal old phone box. Okay. Use Telephone.

No idea who I’m going to call, but what else would you do in a phone box?

You pick up the receiver and hold it to your ear. There’s a purring dial-tone. You wait, feeling rather foolish.

Nice. Maybe I need to use the phone book to find a number? I haven’t touched a phone book for years, let alone been inside a phone box. You can certainly tell this game was written at a different time.

Use Directory.

You open the thick book and flick through the pages. A number stands out. SPD 4291.

Another option appears on the list of actions. I select Use Number.

You dial the number, it rings. After a long time, there is no answer. You put the receiver back on the telephone cradle.

Hmm, well, okay. Maybe something else has to happen first. Also, I don’t think I have any money in the game, and presumably, I would need to insert a coin to make a call. That gives me an idea. Use Coin slot.

You find two ten-pence coins in the returned coins slot. You pocket them.

Nice! I check my inventory again.

You check your pockets. You have:

A folded up note.

Two ten-pence coins.

Pocket-lint.

Getting somewhere now. I’m not sure what I’m doing yet, but I’m making progress. This is fun.

I realise I haven’t had any breakfast, so I leave the game and rustle up some eggs and toast and a mug of coffee. I think about sending a message to Melanie, but when I pick up my phone, I’ve gone off the idea. I just need to ponder on that whole thing for a while. I’m not blaming Melanie for what happened, or Rick, really. Even so, somehow it all feels wrong and the only thing I can think about is Bethany, and how I would never have done that to her if it was me and her married.

I pull up the few photos I have of Bethany on my phone, from work things and days out and silly selfies she’s sometimes sent me. She’s an angel, a work of art, and a thorn stuck in my heart.

I go back to the Time Portal cabinet and the screen still shows the text from my last interaction. My poor character has been stuck in a phone box for a while now. Time to move on.

I exit the booth and I’m back on the street where the milk float almost ran me down. The original electric vehicle. Haven’t seen one of those for a long time. This really is a trip down memory lane.

I continue West.

You come to an intersection. To the north looms a large school building. You can just make out a light at the entrance, but the rest is still dark. To the south is a small park and beyond is a wooded area that extends to the edge of the town.

A school and a park. I suppose this game was meant to be played by kids, or teenagers at least, not forty-year-old men. Still, I don’t fancy the school. Never did like school. I head south, towards the park.

A pale shimmer of first light peers over the tops of the trees to the east as you enter the park, casting a long shadow over the neatly trimmed grass. In the middle of the clearing, a tall oak stands proud and alone. In the distance, you can see a small playground behind a fence.

I’m reminded of the walk in the park with Melanie and Jacob. How I was happy, until we stopped at the café for food, and the stomach-churning truth came from the innocent mouth of a babe. I shake my head to clear away the thought and concentrate on the game. I’m in a park. There’s a tree and a playground. I suppose I should start with the tree. As it has been mentioned by the narrative, I’m sure it’s important. Use Tree.

You stand under the ancient oak. There’s an acorn on the ground underneath, and on the side of the tree, slats have been nailed to form a crude ladder.

Another button is on the screen, ‘Pick up’. I nudge the joystick to select it and then pick up the acorn. I must need it for something later. Always get everything, just in case. I wonder if I have infinite space in my pockets?

I expect I’m meant to climb the ladder up into the tree, but I wonder if I should examine the park first? I think back to many, many years ago playing Zork. In that game, there was an egg encrusted with precious jewels in a bird’s nest in the tree. That was a key element in the game-play and it was early on. If memory serves, Zork was released in 1980, so about a year before Time Portal. Interesting. Use Ladder.

You ascend the tree carefully as the ladder rungs seem loose and fragile. Some are completely rotten and break away as you climb. You arrive at the large branch where the rungs end.

A grey squirrel eyes you suspiciously from further along the branch. It looks like he’s holding something in his tiny hands.

Ah, this has to be what the acorn is for. To bribe the squirrel for whatever it is he’s holding. I sense a smile creep onto my face. This is so cool! Use Acorn.

You edge along the branch and drop the acorn, then you edge back away. The squirrel nervously approaches towards the acorn and grabs it, dropping the item he was holding in favour of the tasty acorn. He bounds away into the tree. A key now lays where the acorn was.

Pick up Key. Awesome. I’ll definitely need this later on for something. I think that’s all there is to do in the tree, so I Use Ladder again and climb down.

The rungs disintegrate as you step on them, and you fall ungracefully to the ground. You aren’t hurt badly. You stand up and brush yourself off.

I suppose that’s the end of the tree’s usefulness. I look around again and there’s an exit to the north or south to the playground. Let’s see what’s in the playground.

The gate to the playground is not locked and you enter, remembering to close it behind you. There’s a set of swings, a Merry-Go-Round and a bike chained to a stand. No one is around at this early hour. The grass is encrusted with a million dewdrop jewels in the misty air. It glistens in the morning light.

I try the swings first.

You enjoy the rush as you swing back and forth. This is fun!

The merry-go-round?

You feel dizzy as you spin around. You get off before you become sick.

Yeah, I have to agree with that plan. Never could deal with those things. Deathtraps in kids’ playgrounds, too. I try the bike. Maybe the key fits the bike chain and I can use it to travel around faster?

The bike is small, pink, and has a basket at the front. The key is the wrong shape for the lock. It won’t budge from the stand.

Hmm, a little girl’s bike, chained to a stand. My key doesn’t fit the lock. Is there another key somewhere? Maybe not. Perhaps that isn’t the point. There’s another option now on the screen. Examine. So I check the basket.

A small wicker basket is fixed on the front of the bike. Inside there is something bright orange. You pick it up. It’s a Speak & Spell.

A what? I have a vague memory, but I pull out my phone and Google for the term. Yes, that’s it. A very primitive tablet kid’s toy for learning to spell. They used it in the iconic E.T. Movie. I suppose this was the cool kid’s toy back in the early ‘80s. The movie came out in 1982, though. I can’t be expected to use this device to contact the aliens, can I? Use Speak & Spell.

It doesn’t work.

Fair enough. But then why is it here? Examine Speak & Spell.

You turn the device over in your hands. On the back is a door for the batteries. You notice that the door is not closed properly.

Ah, now this is something. Batteries are what I’m meant to be looking for. Examine Door.

The battery door pops open and an Ouroboros battery falls out. Green and twelve-sided, about two inches tall. You put it into your pocket. Congratulations, you found one of the Aionites batteries. Only two more to go.

I feel the thrill I always get when completing a task in a game. The little zap of endorphins that flashes around your brain to keep you enthralled and entertained. More tasks await, but I’m progressing nicely. I grab another cup of coffee and take a bio break before going back to the Time Portal machine. Who would have thought that this enormous lump of wood and electronics could be so much fun?

I play through the rest of the game, exploring and completing the tasks. All quite simple, really, but I’m pretty sure this is meant for a kid to be playing. The key was for a locker in the school, and in the locker was a torch, and of course, inside the torch was another of the strange green batteries. The final one turned out to be in a clock on the wall of a café on the other side of the street. I found it because the clock was acting strangely; the hands darting backwards and forwards.

Once I had all three, I went back to the starting point, in the middle of Arcadia Street, where I found another note from SPD in the red phone box.

He told me to put one battery into the slot on top of the Time Portal arcade machines that were in the café, pub, and arcade, all on the east side of the street. A bit recursive; I could play a game of Time Portal, on the Time Portal machine, inside the adventure game on the real Time Portal machine using the game coins I found inside the phone box. SPD certainly has a sense of humour.

Turns out that the slot on the top of the Time Portal cabinet that I initially thought was an ashtray, is actually for these green, twelve-sided Ouroboros batteries. You slot them in and the game screen flashes green. Why, I don’t yet understand.

I googled for the word, Ouroboros. According to Wikipedia, it’s an ancient symbol depicting a serpent or dragon eating its own tail. The term derives from ancient Greek and is a symbol of an eternal cycle. Life, death, rebirth. Infinity. Presumably, an Ouroboros battery is a power source that never runs out? Interesting.

I’m in the adventure game arcade, ready to drop the final battery into the slot on the Time Portal cabinet. Use Battery.

A chime plays on the speakers, and the screen flashes in red, then white, then green. The colours fade away and a block of text appears.

RET You did it! Good work. The Aionites will be satisfied, for a while at least.

But this is just the start. You passed this simple test, but now you must try your hand at the real challenge. Few have come this far. You are elite. The best of the best. The cream of the crop. I know you can do this, and free me from this eternal time prison that the Aionites have locked me in. I now exist outside of time, and only you have the skills and knowledge of how to free me. The Aionites are real, and they are furious. I took their batteries, and I used them to make this game. Now they want them back. Please, RET, accept the challenge. Find the batteries and activate the portals. I will be waiting, forever waiting.

PapaDolos. (SPD)

The screen fades away and I grab my phone and try to snap a photo, but I’m too late. Another dreadful static blast of noise comes from the speakers as a new block of text appears in purple.

We are Aionites. We not exist in your realm. We not exist in your time.

We hold PapaDolos under Time Freeze. Return our batteries to us, or you will join PapaDolos in Time Freeze for what you know as forever. When you return our batteries, your system will be restored. You have 72 units to complete the challenge. Do you accept?

Another secret level? I mean, what else can I do? I select the big green YES on the screen and hit the fire button. The screen glows bright white. There’s a whining sound from inside the machine, like the sound of a flashgun charging. I feel static electricity building up in the room, the hairs on my arms and neck raise up. There’s a smell like a storm; ionised air, tense and critical, laden with energy. The screen flashes quickly, black then white, green, purple, blue, white again, faster, faster, faster until all I can see is a blur of colour. The whining sound intensifies and goes beyond my level of hearing, but now I can feel it like pressure in my chest. There’s a whoosh as all the air in the room suddenly burns away and I am knocked backwards across the room by some invisible force. I feel my head impact hard on something as I fall to the floor, and the room around me blurs and fades into a deep, deathly silent, black nothingness.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Eughhhhhh… I groan myself out of a violently strange and vivid dream. Colours spinning, intense white noise, and an overwhelming dire feeling of dread and something not being right.

My poor head. My poor body. My poor everything. What the hell happened? I shiver as a chilly breeze seems to wash over me. I try to open my eyes, slowly, carefully. They reject the request. I’m freezing cold and uncomfortable. My head is throbbing. Everything is throbbing. I pause and take a deep breath. Cool air fills my lungs. Outside air. Man, am I thirsty.

I force my eyes to open. What the … where am I?

I’m slumped on a cold pavement outside a brick building, somewhere in the middle of a street. There’s a flickering lamp post above me, casting a sodium glare and gently ticking back and forth in the wind, but otherwise, there’s no sign of life. No lights in any windows, no people around. Dark.

I shiver again. How did I get here? Where is here? I try to stand up, but every muscle in my body is having its own little party at the moment, and it seems I’m not invited. Not that I’d want to go to such an event.

There’s a tingle that runs through me, like lightning has struck me, or I’ve been electrocuted. I once touched a copper pipe that was live with mains electricity due to a wiring fault, and got a solid belt up the arm. This is like that, but different. It’s all over my body, and less like being clubbed to near-death by a relentless shaven-headed thug, more like an intense adrenaline buzz from a rollercoaster ride. I close my eyes again and breathe, slowly. In, pause, out. The buzz subsides a little. Fuzzy psychedelic patterns cast rainbow shadows to a non-existent acid-house music video on my inner eyelids. Party-hosts in various areas of my body stand up and look at their watches, hinting to languid drunks that it might well be time to go home and to bed, or at least just bugger off and let them clean up. I need to find a drink of water.

I stand up, but not without the aid of the wall behind me. I slide up the rough bricks and tentatively find my balance. Am I dead? I open and close my hands in front of me and try to focus on them. Seems as though I’m alive … but that’s what they want you to think.

Looking around, I can see rows of houses on both sides of the road. They seem to bear down on me. No lights on anywhere, no sounds. I can’t tell if this is late night or early morning. How long was I blacked out?

Last thing I remember, I was playing the Time Portal game; I won the adventure game secret level by slotting in the last battery, then the machine went a bit strange, pulsing, whining, buzzing, and I was thrown back by … something? A jolt, or a force. Hard to remember now.

How did I get outside? This isn’t my street, so where the bloody hell am I? If I was unconscious, did someone find me, drag me here? If so, where are they? Why here? Shouldn’t I be in a hospital or at least an ambulance? Many questions, no answers.

I pat my pocket for my phone. Not there. I dig into all my pockets. Still no phone, but I pull out a wallet, a small U-shaped red magnet — the type that ACME brand might make for a cartoon coyote — and a folded-up sheet of paper. None of these things are mine, and I’m wearing a jacket that I don’t recognise. It has big front pockets. In the left side pocket, there’s a chunky red plastic clock with a small LCD screen that seems to count down time. It says 23:57:42, and the seconds are decreasing. 41, 40, 39 … there are no buttons to stop it. I can barely see the numbers in the sodium streetlight glow. In the other pocket, there’s an old paper map covering Hertfordshire. Strange. Where did I get all this stuff?

I unfold the sheet of paper. It’s a note, but not much of a note. Handwritten in elaborate calligraphy.

“Ancient beasts and men see red, where others gaze in awe. A secret shrine to gods of old. A lesson in the halls.”

What is this, a riddle? A poem? I turn it over. On the other side of the sheet it says:

Ouroboros. 24Hrs. Slot in to a TP. PapaDolos.

I’m getting a bit freaked out now. That’s stuff from the Time Portal game I was just playing. Did I write it down? Doesn’t look like my writing, and I have no memory of doing it. I realise I’m tensing up and grinding my teeth. I try to relax and look at this situation rationally. There must be a logical explanation for this predicament. I just don’t know what it is yet. No need to panic. No Vogons trying to wipe out the planet, just a gap in my memory, that’s all. Deep breaths. Calm.

In the wallet, there are a few coins and a couple of notes. But, old money. Huge coins, like the ones I got from eBay for my arcade coin-box at home. Weird colour notes. I haven’t seen currency like this for a long time. English pounds, but from a different era. There’s about twenty-five quid, but I doubt anyone will accept this now. Maybe a bank, if it is still legal tender? Where did it come from? There’s nothing else in the wallet, no ID, no cards. It’s simple black leather. I put it back in my pocket.

With no real idea what I’m doing, how I came to be here, or what time or day it is, I decide I can’t just stand here under a lamp post on a residential street. Eventually, someone will see me and think I’m up to no good. I head off down the road, towards what seems like the most likely direction for … what? I don’t know.

I step out onto the road to get a better look at the lights and buildings in the distance. Maybe if I can see a street name, I’ll get my bearings. Maybe I sleep-walked out of my flat for some bizarre reason, mugged someone, took their jacket and wallet, and then fell asleep on the side of the road. I have had some weird sleep issues lately. It wouldn’t surprise me if I’m still suffering. I probably shouldn’t have gone straight back to the Time Portal game. Bethany will tell me she told me so … Bethany … my heart sinks again at the thought of her.

“Oi, watch where you’re going, bloody spazza!”

My heart jumps out of my chest and there’s a loud beep and flash of lights from behind me. I scramble out of the way as a milk float almost knocks me over.

“Get out of the road. You been sniffing glue or something? Go home to bed, you wazzock!”

I watch, open-mouthed, as the little electric truck whizzes past, the faint jingle of glass bottles ringing as the milkman in a white coat sticks up two fingers in a ‘V’ sign at me and trundles away down the road.

“Sorry!” I cough and splutter out, dry-mouthed, but he doesn’t look back.

Spazza and Wazzock? Bit of a non-PC choice of insults. It’s usually ‘bell-end’, ‘wanker’ or ‘dickhead’.

Come to think of it, I haven’t seen a milkman on a milk float for a long time. Have they come back into fashion? I suppose this at least gives me one frame of reference. It must be early morning, before sunrise.

I continue walking down the road, sticking firmly to the pavement this time and curiously passing an old-style red phone box, but still none the wiser where I am. I should have flagged down the milkman and asked for directions, or a pint of milk, but he didn’t seem friendly.

At the end of the street, there’s a large car-park, and, at the far end, a light illuminating what looks like a dodgy greasy-spoon café, but with a mouth as dry as a camel’s hoof and nowhere else around, I have little choice but to go in for a drink.

Bright fluorescent strip-lights interfere with my brainwaves. Moths dance around the tubes. Large chaps, probably truckers given the vehicles in the car-park outside, inhabit a few dirty-white tables. There’s a counter, and a jovial lady beams a smile in my direction.

“Morning, love. What can I get you?”

“Err, coffee, please.”

“That it?”

I look at the menu, written on a chalkboard behind her. Hearty English breakfasts in varying styles, all with the full works. Don’t think I can face food just yet.

“Glass of water as well please.” I croak out the words. “Sorry, really thirsty.”

She hands me a glass of water, poured from a tap at a sink behind her, which I gulp down immediately, then she pours out a mug of dark coffee for me. “Milk and sugar over there.” She points to a shelf.

“Cheers.”

“That’s twenty-five pence, love, when you’re ready.”

I suddenly realise I don’t have any real money, only that old currency I somehow acquired. I pull the wallet out of my pocket.

“Ahh, sorry, you’re going to think I’m taking the Mickey, but this is all I have.” I hand her two of the ten-pence coins and a thistle five-pence coin from my change.

She tilts her head and squints at me. “That’s all right, love.” She takes the coins and puts them into her cash drawer.

“Oh, right, thanks.” I smile. Bloody cheap coffee, anyway.

I move to the milk and sugar shelf. I don’t take milk in coffee, and a flashback of nearly being run over by a milkman gives me a shudder. The sugar is in a thing like a salt cellar, but with a bigger spout. I pour out two, no, three spoons and stir it in, then take a seat away from the other folks and take a deep, long sip. Much needed.

There’s a newspaper on the table, but the headline doesn’t seem right.

‘Women at Greenham Common Face Eviction Threats.’

Greenham Common? That was the military-base peace-protest thing, wasn’t it? I thought that was a long time ago. Decades ago, even. Didn’t they shut down the RAF base there a while back? If I had my phone, I could look it up instantly. I check the date on the newspaper. Ah, that explains it. This newspaper is about forty years old. The date on the top is Wednesday, 21st October 1981. This must be a joke or something. They leave old papers on the tables as a talking point. Strange though, as it doesn’t seem like that sort of café. I glance over at one of the burly trucker chaps who’s gulping down an enormous plate of fried breakfast. There’s something not right here… I try to glance casually around the room at all the other folks, and it dawns on me what the problem is. Not one of these half a dozen people has a phone in their hand, or on the table.

Well, okay. Maybe it’s just an unwritten rule in this dining area that phones aren’t allowed. But, again, it just doesn’t seem like that sort of place. I look around the room, trying not to seem like a weirdo. There is a phone, but it’s a payphone and it’s attached to the wall.

I slurp down the rest of my coffee and go back to the lady behind the counter.

“Hi, would you have today’s paper, by any chance?”

“They ain’t come in yet, love.” She looks up from a book she’s been reading under the counter.

“Right. Er, well, do you know what the date is?”

“Twenty-second.” She nods. “I know because it’s my Alf’s birthday.”

“Twenty-second, of?”

“October.” She tilts her head at me again.

I thought it was September. I know I’ve been distant lately, but I can’t have lost a month? Something isn’t adding up here.

“Okay, and, err, what year is it?”

She squints, then a big grin breaks out on her face. “You pulling my leg?” Then her face falls. “Oh, sorry, do you have some weird memory disease? I shouldn’t make fun.”

“Yeah, err, something like that.”

“It’s 1981, love. Same as it was yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that …”

“Sorry, did you say 1981?” I try not to seem surprised.

“That’s right. You need me to ring someone for you? You look a bit lost?”

“No, no. I’m fine. Fine.” I pause. “Actually, can I ask where I am?”

Her eyes widen. “You’re in Watford, love. Hertfordshire.” She talks loud and slow as if I’m a foreigner. “England.” She adds. “This is the White Owl Café on Vicarage Road.”

“Watford? How did I get here?” I mumble, mostly to myself.

“Dunno, love. You sure you are okay?” She stands up and puts down her book.

“Yeah. No, I mean, just having a bit of a turn. Be fine in a minute.” I smile reassuringly.

“Oh, Lordy. Sit down, love. I’ll get you another drink. You need an ambulance?”

“No, no. I’m fine, really.” I smile and wave a hand. “Nah, it’s just my memory, yeah. It’s all coming back now. Watford, 1981. Course! Absolutely fine.”

She seems happy. Last thing I need is a fuss.

“Right, well, you want that coffee?”

“No, thank you. I’ll be on my way. Thanks again for your help.” I point to my head and roll my eyes.

I nod another redundant thanks and walk away before she can protest. Back into the outside world where the sun is barely peeking over the muted town backdrop, and a pale-pink hue lends some energy to the dullest of greys that make up every city centre.

I walk in a direction guided by my nose, and I ponder.

Watford, 1981. There are only two explanations as far as I can make out.

One, I’m hallucinating or dreaming.

Two, I’m really in Watford, in 1981.

Whilst I can’t entirely rule out option one, it seems unlikely. Everything is real, vivid. I can smell the fumes, breathe the air.

Walking along a road and, now that the sun is slowly making its way up the sky, I notice that all the cars seem boxy and old looking. I pass a couple more red phone boxes and a jam-sandwich police car wails a nee-naw siren as it goes by.

That leaves option two. I have travelled back in time to 1981 and been dumped on a street in the middle of the night in Watford, of all places. Perhaps I fell through a … Time Portal?

The milkman, the old currency, the newspaper and the lack of mobile phones all lead me to believe this must be true.

A flood of adrenaline bursts through my veins. This is absolutely incredible!

I stop and grab the paper note from my pocket again.

“Ancient beasts and men see red, where others gaze in awe. A secret shrine to gods of old. A lesson in the halls.”

And on the other side:

Ouroboros. 24Hrs. Slot in to a TP. PapaDolos.

It must mean the Ouroboros batteries from the adventure game, and that name, PapaDolos. If I recall correctly, that was the name mentioned at the end of the game, and it was suffixed (SPD). SPD must be the same person as PapaDolos. The inventor of this game? The inventor of the Time Portal?

Am I now playing a real-world version of the adventure game?

I pull the clock from my jacket pocket. It now says 22:01:15. Presumably, this is the time I have left to figure out the riddle, and slot the battery into a Time Portal machine.

These batteries seem to be important. Something to do with the aliens that I’ve been shooting at, the Aionites. PapaDolos or SPD had taken these power cell Ouroboros batteries, and now the aliens want them back. It said something about PapaDolos being locked in ‘Time Freeze’ until I return the batteries.

If I don’t succeed, what will happen? I think the message suggested I would join PapaDolos in Time Freeze. Yikes.

Not sure what Time Freeze is exactly, but it doesn’t sound good. I suppose I better get my arse in gear and find the batteries.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Having wasted about two hours of my time already, and not knowing anything about my location or task, I should probably get a shift on. However, the wild and amazing situation I find myself in is rather distracting. I mean, I seem to have somehow travelled forty years back in time and everything around me is therefore transformed from the mundane to the extraordinary.

Not to mention the technical achievement that this brings to light. The arcade machine that was stored in a cellar for decades, its siblings recalled and destroyed, and then slowly decayed to the point of chemical goop leaking from the main components, finally, lovingly and painstakingly restored by yours truly, not knowing the power contained within. I knew there was something special about the cabinet the second I saw it on that Facebook advert. Time Portal … talk about hiding in plain sight. The game literally is a Time Portal.

I walked until I found myself in a high street. Shops and businesses were setting up for the day, and I passed by a Woolworths, Tandy, BHS, Lunn Poly, C&A and Rumbelows with my mouth agape. These shops are now wiped from the face of the high-street, only existing in memories and photographs. I thought about popping into the Woolies to steal some pick and mix, just for old time’s sake, but then thought better of it. I have no identification, and me of this era is only about two months old. If I get in trouble with the police, things could get very complicated. In fact, I’m trying to avoid interaction with anyone, if possible, for fear of what it could do to the universe. I’ve watched enough sci-fi to know that you shouldn’t mess around with the timelines. I’ve already made a fool of myself with the lady in the greasy spoon. Best try to avoid anything further. Don’t mess with the Non-Player Characters.

Walking through the town is incredible in itself. I can’t possibly be dreaming all this vivid detail? The people, the hairstyles, the clothes and cars, the shops and buses. Everything around me is weird and amazing. I’m really here! This is utterly ridiculous and unbelievable, yet here I am. Time travel has been possible all along, and it was locked away inside an old arcade machine, almost smashed to bits by the previous owner, hidden in a dark cellar for forty years … a cellar … in Watford, for forty years … something clicks into place in my brain. Now things make sense. It’s no coincidence that I’m back in 1981, Watford. That’s where and when this machine was invented.

I find another café, less greasy this time, and settle down with more coffee and some food to try to gather my thoughts. I study the riddle note again and try to make sense of it, but staring at the words doesn’t do much for me. I’ve never been much good at riddles. I try to break it down into sections.

Ancient beasts and men see red.

Ancient beasts … dinosaurs? But dinosaurs and men weren’t around at the same time. See red … blood? Dead beasts … a butcher’s shop? An abattoir?

No, that doesn’t fit with ‘Others gaze in awe.’

I shrug and sigh, finish my plate of food, then lay out all the items from my inventory on the table. As with all adventure games, everything has some significance.

A wallet containing some money. Simple enough, I need money to interact with the world.

A horseshoe magnet. This is a strange one. Could be used for anything, I suppose. Will I need to move something, pull something out of a narrow hole, or pick up the battery? It will either be something mundane like that, or something wildly esoteric that I can’t possibly explain yet. I put the magnet aside for further pondering.

A map of Hertfordshire. Well, that’s where I am. All good games should have a map.

A clock counting down time. Again, this is obvious. It shows how long I have left to complete the task.

And the riddle written on a piece of folded paper. There’s nothing odd about the paper itself, only the words written on it have significance.

I’m not much further forward, but at least I have inspected my inventory.

I’m searching for Ouroboros batteries and then an arcade machine to slot them into. Presumably, the riddle tells me where to find the battery, but what about the arcade machine?

I unfold the map.

It covers the small table and there’s an inset with a detailed street map of Watford and Hemel Hempstead, and then a general view of the rest of the county. There’s an X marked in red on the Watford street map. Seriously? X marks the spot? Next to it is a handwritten ‘TP’.

Bingo. I’d bet that is where a Time Portal machine sits, waiting for my battery to fit into the slot.

If my cartography and orienteering skills are any good, which they aren’t, then I reckon I’m about a five-minute walk away from the arcade machine. Before I go on with the riddle, it would make sense to establish my final destination and get familiar with the route. I still have plenty of time, assuming I can actually find the battery and it isn’t somewhere ridiculous like Scotland.

What I wouldn’t give for Google Maps now. I finish my drink, pay the waitress with my weird currency and avoid any kind of small talk, then head off towards the Time Portal machine.

I can’t help the grin that’s plastered on my face. I’m casually walking through history and all the people around me have no idea that I’m out of time, displaced from my reality, and proving or disproving all manner of physicists’ theories just by existing here. I mean, I didn’t just jump through time; I shifted about twenty miles north, too. I also gained physical objects and a jacket. If I could figure out exactly how this works, the potential is absolutely limitless, not only for personal gain but for the good of humanity and all that. Killing baby Hitler, stopping Chapman before he shot Lennon … the list goes on and on, yet here I am playing an elaborate adventure game instead. It seems a tad frivolous, now I think about it. The grin fades, but the situation is still incredible, no matter what the reason.

I consult the map as I reach an intersection and I’m going the right way. I turn left and meander off the High Street, onto a less busy and more grotty road where the Time Portal machine should be a few hundred yards away. There are no businesses shown on the map, however. No street-view I can tap and see exactly which building I need to go into. What if it’s someone’s house, or behind a locked door? I guess I will find out shortly.

As I near the X on the map, I peer into every likely doorway as I pass. Another café and a chip-shop. They had some arcade machines, but none were the Time Portal cabinet I know so well.

I keep walking, and suddenly it becomes obvious. I see a garish sign for an amusement arcade on the opposite side of the street to me. Watford Game-Junction.

I’m drawn to it like the magnet in my pocket and I almost get knocked down again as I run across the road.

The excitement is short-lived, however, as the arcade is closed. The sign on the door informs opening hours are ten ’til ten. I’m not sure exactly what the time is, but I check the countdown clock in my pocket. 19:47:20. I’ve used over four hours now. Wow, doesn’t time fly when you are having fun? In fairness to myself, I didn’t know what I was doing at first and I spent a lot of time wandering around aimlessly. If I had prepared, then I’d be a lot more efficient.

I peer through the window, but inside is dark and I can’t make out much. There are plenty of arcade machines, but I can’t see the titles. Everything is switched off.

I don’t have a watch on and I can’t see a clock on any of the buildings here. How do I find out the current time? A thought occurs to me — ask someone. What a ridiculous concept.

I turn around to face the street where I came from. A few folks dart around, doing their normal business, not expecting to have a time traveller ask them the time. That’s what will happen to one poor unsuspecting person, but no one is close enough. I swivel around and I’m suddenly face to face with a young chap. A kid who all but bumps into me.

“Sorry!” He steps back, rigid in his movement.

“Ah, no problem.” He smiles and then checks his watch. Just what I need. “Sorry, what time is it?” I nod towards his wrist.

“Ten to ten. I like to get here first.” He points towards the door of the arcade.

“Oh, really?”

“Have to make sure no one has beaten my high scores.” He grins as wide as a bus that simultaneously passes by. “They’ll be open in a minute. Simon and Darren run a tight ship.”

“Right.” I nod.

“You going to play? Haven’t seen you before.” This last part was more of a statement than a question. He continues to grin like a baboon. I remember my policy of non-interaction and nod a simple yes. He must be sixteen or seventeen, glasses, short brown hair, blue jeans and a dirty white t-shirt. Same as every teenager in the world, but there’s something familiar about him I can’t put my finger on.

“What’s your favourite game? I’m playing a lot of Galaga now, but I’ve been trying Frogger. I like the original style.”

“I …” I recognise something in this kid. He’s basically a younger version of me. Extremely enthusiastic about old, well, new for him, games. I could probably spend hours chatting to the lad and while away the day, but I’m here for a reason. To make sure the Time Portal machine is here and functioning, and then solve a weird riddle, grab a battery and bring it back here to the machine. I can’t get sidetracked now. “I’m just going to have a look around.” I smile.

“My Dad says I should stop hanging around here and get a job, now I’ve been chucked out of school, but he doesn’t realise this is the future. Games are going to be massive. I just know it.”

I raise an eyebrow. The kid has insight. I nod, turning away, wondering if I should just come back a bit later. But the door will open shortly and I can check the machine and move on then. Plus, there’s no need to be rude. Aside from the likeness to myself, there’s still something very familiar about this kid. Like I know him, but not really. He’s rabbiting on about PAC-MAN now, and how he prefers the original to the sequel, Ms PAC-MAN. I can’t help but nod in agreement.

“I’m gonna learn how to make games,” he puffs out the conclusion to his rant and beams a smile.

“Good for you, mate. Programming is a solid skill. I wish I had gone into it more when I had the chance.”

“Do you have a computer?”

I chuckle. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Dad won’t let me get one,” he downheartedly says, staring at the ground.

“That’s a shame. Can you go to college or something?”

“Need to get a job and earn my keep. That’s what Dad says, anyway.”

“Maybe you can get a job in a programming environment and learn as you earn?”

“Really? Is that possible?”

I shrug. “Sure, why not? Most people at my work haven’t got a clue what they are doing, but they somehow still get paid.” I chuckle and the kid goes all misty-eyed. I suddenly realise I’ve just violated the prime directive and quite possibly changed the course of history. Oops. I should keep my mouth shut.

I catch sight of someone behind the glass door of the arcade and thankfully turn away from the kid. The door opens.

“Morning, Jonny.” The young lad, presumably Jonny, slips into the arcade.

“Hey, Darren.”

The room absolutely reeks of stale cigarette smoke, and as I walk past the lines of machines, I notice there are ashtrays, full and empty, on the front of nearly every machine. It’s quite revolting, but back in this time, it was to be expected. The man, I guess he’s the owner, flips on each machine as he walks towards the back of the room. I linger, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself. I don’t want to play a game now, but it will seem strange if I come to an arcade first thing and then don’t actually play anything. I look down the line of machines to see if I can spot the Time Portal machine, and there it is, near the back.

I traverse the filthy room towards my quarry and get there just as Darren switches it on. The familiar music now filling the room with all the other games. It’s much more used than my machine. Worn and kick-marked, but underneath, it’s exactly the same as my Time Portal.

The man disappears off behind the counter and I’m left alone with the machine. It shows the demo screen that’s embedded on my retinas by now and then flips to the Hall of Fame screen. SPD is the top score with his eternal 666,666. Underneath, the closest score is a paltry 201,403, attributed to ‘RDE’. I snort at the scores. I know now that I must be the first-ever person to have beaten SPD. I’m a bloody legend.

I can’t help myself and I fish for two ten-pence coins in my wallet and insert them into the machine.

The controls are looser than mine, probably having seen more greasy hands slamming them back and forth. Mine, although used, are cared for lovingly. I throw down a few levels with ease and get into the flow. I could probably rack up the high score on this machine, but I can’t let myself get carried away. Remember, I’m here for a reason.

“Wow, you are good at this!” I turn, distracted and find the young lad, Jonny, staring at my screen. “I tried this game a few times and got nowhere.”

I laugh and stand back a pace, letting my ship be zapped to death by purple aliens. “It’s just practice. I’ve played a lot.”

“They say no one has ever beaten the high score.” Jonny chirps.

“Do they, now?” I can’t resist a smirk.

“Have you?”

I want to tell the kid all about the high score, and the adventure game that is hidden behind it, then the situation I find myself in now. But, of course, I can’t do all that. I doubt he’d believe me, for one thing. I tap my nose, instead.

He grins, knowingly. Then, suddenly it hits me. I know who he is.

“You’re Jonny Thomson, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah. How’d you know?” He seems taken aback. Shit. Now I have to explain myself. The reason he seemed so familiar is that I’ve listened to his podcast for the last five or more years, every two weeks. ‘The Game-Pod.’

He’s a legend in gaming. He’s Jonny Thomson! Lead software engineer on many ‘90s hit games. His name was credited on dozens of Amiga games throughout the ‘90s, and then he went on to some journalism, and then the podcast when magazines dried up. I can’t believe it! I’ve met him before he was famous. And, thinking about my words earlier, what if it was me who pushed him to get into the industry. Oh, my god.

I stutter. “Err, ahh, yeah, I must have heard someone say it.” I cough and try to change the subject. “Do you know much about this game?” I point to the Time Portal machine.

“Not much, really. This company, Dolos,” he nods towards the logo emblazoned on the front of the cabinet, “is new to the scene. They make them right here in Watford.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, a bloke called Silas Papadopoulos started the company.”

“Silas Papado… SPD.”

“Yeah. That’s him.”

“PapaDolos!” I exclaim, putting two and two together.

“Sorry?” Jonny tilts his head at me.

“Ah, no, nothing. Do you know where exactly the factory is?”

Jonny shakes his head. “Nah.”

“Right.”

I find myself staring at the lad and look away. I can’t believe I’ve met one of my gaming idols, but before he was a legend. Way before, given his adolescent demeanour. This is insane.

“Sorry, I better be off. Work to do. Err, but it was nice to meet you, Jonny. I’m Derek, by the way.” I stick out a hand. Can’t resist. He shakes it firmly. “Oh, one thing. If you ever somehow get yourself into the game industry, and you happen to work on a game one day called ‘Demon Legacy’ for the Amiga, do everyone a favour and make sure that at the end of level five, it is actually possible to jump over the final boss once you defeat him, and get to the exit portal. Otherwise, you know, that could be really frustrating for players. Just saying …”

Jonny looks at me like I’m insane. “Err, right, okay … nice to meet you, too, Derek.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I turn around as I exit the arcade and double-check the opening times, ten ’til ten. Then I realise I don’t have about nineteen hours left to complete the challenge as per my clock. If I have to come back here to this arcade and plug in the battery, then I only have until closing time, assuming I don’t want to break in after hours, which I don’t plan on doing. I have less than twelve hours, and I still have no clue where it might be. Well, no, I have a clue, but I just don’t understand it yet. A ponder is what’s needed, but I’m still hyped up about this whole situation. I’m not sure it has sunk in. I’m actually back in time. Can this be real? Is it all some weird simulation? Am I part of an elaborate experiment? I shake away the thoughts. No, everything around me is real, vivid. Solid and, in its own strange way, makes sense. Dreams or hallucinations aren’t logical. I’m either inside the Matrix, or this is the real deal.

I need to focus and come up with a plan, so I sit down on a wall outside a corner shop and stare up at the sky, clearing my head.

They make the Time Portal cabinets right here in Watford, and I landed here in Watford earlier this morning … it makes sense that I would land at the factory as a sort of base location. As good a place as any, I suppose.

It was pitch dark when I left that street this morning, and I wasn’t expecting to be transported to outside an arcade machine factory. Come to think of it, I wasn’t expecting to be transported at all. How it was possible, I do not know.

It may be worth going back to where this started. Maybe I can find this Silas chap and get some answers.

I retrace my steps across the town, this time without dawdling and meandering, and I make it back in about thirty minutes, going by my countdown clock. I’m a bit out of breath and sweaty, despite the cool October air, but I’m more or less back where I started. I should have made a note of the house numbers, but I pass by the red phone box I noted earlier, then along the road to where I woke up from my blackout, or whatever it was. Post-time-travel coma?

I look around, and now everything makes sense. This is the house/pub where I got the Time Portal cabinet from just a few weeks ago with Rick and Bethany. I recognise the barrel chute doors where we lifted the cabinet out from, the sign on the side of the building and the distinctive pub-like structure. I’ve come full circle. I probably should have looked around better when I woke up earlier, but I had other things on my mind, like what the bloody hell happened.

That must mean the cabinet was in the cellar all that time. Amazing.

With little idea of what I’ll say, I go up to the front door where I knocked or will knock, in about forty years to buy the cabinet that started this whole adventure. I reach forward, but before my knuckle hits the wood, the door swings back, and a woman steps out, almost bumping into me.

“Oh, sorry!” She steps back.

“No, no. I’m sorry.” I fluster. She’s wearing a grey skin-tight outfight that reminds me of Deanna Troi in Star Trek: The Next Generation. Mid-thirties, at a guess, very pretty with big piercing brown eyes. Plentiful, dark, curly hair tied back. I guess she was just going out for a run or something.

“Well, no harm done. Can I help you?” She smiles.

My mind goes blank for a moment. I clear my throat. “Err, yeah. I’m looking for Silas Papadopoulos. Sorry, I hope I’m pronouncing that right? Is he here?”

She smiles. “He’s not, no. What’s it about?”

“Well, this is going to sound strange, but I’m playing a game called Time Portal …”

She interrupts me. “Ahh … are you R.E.T?”

I have to think for a second. R.E.T? “Oh! Yes, RET. That’s my high-score handle. I’m actually Derek. RET is for retro.” How did she know? She disappears back into the hallway, then reappears with an envelope which she hands to me. On the front, it’s addressed to R.E.T.

“Silas said someone might call. I think he was expecting someone younger, but never mind.” She grins. “He’s away for a few days on business, but he said if someone should call about the game, give them this.” She nods to the envelope.

“Right, thank you.” A thousand questions run through my mind. “Do you know much about the game?”

“No, not really. I leave all that to my husband.”

“It’s just that … err, well … it’s not what I expected. It’s very impressive.” I want to tell her I’m from forty years in the future, and I come to be here now because her husband’s game sent me back through an actual time portal, but if she knows nothing about the game, would she know what it was capable of? Would she think I’m off my rocker and call the police? Am I off my rocker? Who knows?

“Thank you. He works ever so hard on it. I’ve barely seen him the last year, in fact. He’s always down in his cellar, beavering away.”

“Is that where he makes the machines?”

“Yes. They are all gone now. I never set foot down there, all the wires and bits all over the place.” She shakes her head with a smile. “Glad to have some space back in my hallway.” She motions behind her.

A thought occurs to me; in that case, I’ve got Silas’s soldering iron and his cabinet. This is all insanely weird. “Right. Do you know what’s in the envelope?”

“No idea.” She shrugs. “I’m just popping out for a jog. Are you all set?”

“Oh, err, yes. Of course. Thank you.”

She pulls the door closed and turns to face me. “I’m Delia, pleased to meet you, Derek. I hope you find what you need. Silas can be such a tease.” She offers her hand for a shake with a glowing smile.

“Yes, I’m beginning to realise that. Thank you again, Delia.”

She jogs off down the path and away along the road, turning to wave goodbye as I’m still standing on the pavement outside her house. I look down at the envelope in my hand and waste no more time. I tear it open and find another handwritten note inside.

What have the Romans ever done for us?

That’s it. Nothing else. A sheet of white paper with a handwritten note bang in the middle. What have the Roman’s ever done for us? A quote from Monty Python’s ‘The Life of Brian’ I think. What? This Silas chap is indeed a bit of a tease. I bet he’s laughing his arse off somewhere, thinking about the wild goose chase he’s putting me through.

I pull out the first note from my pocket and compare the writing.

“Ancient beasts and men see red, where others gaze in awe. A secret shrine to gods of old. A lesson in the halls.”

Identical. At least now I know they were both written by Silas, SPD, ‘PapaDolos.’

What have the Romans … ohhh, Romans!

I slap my forehead as suddenly the jigsaw pieces fall into place in my brain. Romans, St Albans. Secret shrine to gods of old. Others gaze in awe. It’s the Verulamium. The battery is somewhere at the Roman ruins in St Albans. Yes!

I was just there the other day. Well, in about forty years I’ll be there, with Melanie and Jacob … which is where and when I find out about Rick and Melanie. Full circle again.

I shake my head. I should have figured that out from the first note, and I’d probably have the battery by now and be back at the arcade.

Do I get extra points for completing early? Come to think of it, what do I get for completing the task? Is Silas really in ‘Time Freeze’ as the aliens said? Delia said he was away on business for a few days. Hmm.

Well, never mind. It’s a game, and I need to complete it. I pull out my map and trace a route to the railway station. Not far, so I set off immediately. No time to waste.

On the train, I ponder on my task. I know the battery is at the Verulamium now, but that’s a large area of grounds and the battery thing is small.

If I recall correctly, the note seems to refer to three separate areas of the ruins. The theatre, the shrine, and the museums. ‘A lesson in the halls.’ The question remains: where exactly is it?

I arrive at St Albans and exit into the familiar, yet different station. Not much changes with the train tracks and platforms, but the style of everything, ticket office, shop, even the map on the wall, is totally different now … or then? I can’t keep up with my tenses.

The walk to the ruins is only about fifteen minutes. I set off promptly, trying to avoid interaction as much as possible. I check the time remaining on my clock and calculate the real time left. I still have about nine and a half hours. Seems plenty, but I have to find the battery and then get back to Watford and the arcade. It could end up being tight.

The grounds are practically deserted when I arrive. Good thing, as I’m sure it would be harder to carry out my weird treasure hunt if the place was heaving. I traverse the familiar paths into the green and stop near the information kiosk. Looking around, there’s nothing super obvious, like a massive X painted in red on the grass, so I’ll need to get hunting. But there’s no way I can walk the entire grounds looking for a battery in time. It would take forever.

No, it can’t be that torturous. There’s got to be another clue somewhere. Logic and reason, not brute force.

I sit down on a bench and pull out my inventory again. I look over the map once more. Nothing is marked on top of the St Albans area at all. I empty the wallet again. I still have a bit of cash left; turns out twenty-five quid went a long way in 1981. But, aside from the coins and notes, there’s nothing else in the wallet.

I grab the magnet. This has to be important. Is there something metal around here? An iron statue or something where I could stick the magnet? A simple schoolroom red-painted magnet with two poles. North and south. I turn it over in my hands. Hang on … it should have north and south poles, but this one doesn’t. Both poles are marked with an S. Weird. Two south poles? Is that significant? Is it even possible?

I get up and walk over to the information kiosk and find what I need. A free leaflet of the Verulamium that opens out into a detailed drawn map of the grounds. In the southernmost part of the grounds is the ‘Secret Shrine’, or what’s left of it. SS, south. That has to be it.

I walked the same path with Melanie and Jacob. He wanted to get better photos so he could make his Minecraft model of the place. I don’t recall anything particularly interesting about the shrine on that trip, but I hit the path again and thank any listening deities that it isn’t raining. This is the only lead I have. Hopefully, it bears fruit … or batteries.

The shrine itself is just a load of low stone walls. Nothing interesting on the surface. There’s an information board in front of it which tells about the history, but, more interestingly, chained to the pole holding up the board, there’s a child’s bicycle. Pink, and it has a basket on the front. This rings a bell — no pun intended.

In the text adventure game, one battery was in a similar bike. I run over to it.

Again, I’m thankful no one is around because it would seem odd for a grown man to be messing with a child’s pink bicycle. But, as I look down into the basket, a huge grin floods across my face. There’s an iconic, bright-orange ‘Speak & Spell’ toy in the basket. I grab it and press the buttons, but it doesn’t work. Why? Because, when I turn it over and look in the battery slot, the plastic door opens, and a small, green, twelve-sided Ouroboros battery falls out into my hand. YES!

There’s no point in hanging around. I set off straight back to the station. I have a brief wait for the next train back to Watford, so I find a pub for some lunch.

This is getting quite exciting now. I solved the puzzle, albeit with the help of some extra clues, and I found the first battery. Now all I have to do is slot it into the arcade machine, and … then what?

Will I just vanish into thin air? As I remember, the time-travel process wasn’t particularly pleasant, and I was horribly thirsty when I woke this morning. I wonder if I can mitigate that somehow by perhaps downing a few beers before I travel? Can’t hurt?

I order a pint at the bar and pull out the battery from my pocket. Strange little thing. Metal, but it feels warm to the touch. There’s a repeating pattern engraved all over the sides: a circular snake biting its own tail. The serpent symbol. On the top and bottom is solid black metal with a bigger version of the same cyclical snake embossed into it. If I hold the two black sides between my fingers, there’s a sort of electrical buzzing feeling, but nothing painful. Very interesting. I wish I had my multimeter to test the voltage this thing holds. Where on Earth did Silas get it from? Did he make it, or is it not from Earth at all, and really from an alien source? He got it from the Aionites, he said. I pop it safely back into my pocket. I hope I can meet Silas at some point in this adventure. I have a lot of questions.

I sip at my pint and try to ignore the stinking cigarette smoke that comes from more or less everyone else in the pub.

Back in Watford, off the train, I still have plenty of time to spare. I reach the arcade at roughly four o’clock, according to my countdown, and I’m getting tired now. It has been a long and strange day. One peek in the door of the place repels me, however. It’s jammed with kids. Every machine, including the Time Portal I need, has a group of teenagers surrounding it.

This isn’t ideal. I can’t exactly sweep them all aside and then mess around slotting a battery into the top with all these people here. I still don’t know what will happen when I do. If I just vanish into thin air in front of a room full of people, that will most definitely cause a commotion.

I notice my buddy, Jonny Thomson, is playing on a Galaga machine with a few lads watching and egging him on, and a warm glow pulses through my chest. This was truly the golden age of arcades. Sure, the tech was low; the rooms filled with smoke. But this was all new and amazing at this time. A cool place to hang out with your friends and blast away aliens. The rush of excitement when a new game came to town and the endless chore of earning or finding a few quid to keep you playing all afternoon. I envy these lads in one way. They have an amazing future ahead of them with more and more innovative and incredible machines yet to be dreamed up. Racing games with a seat, steering wheel and pedals, shoot-em-ups with light-guns, even all the attempts at virtual reality that involve weird headsets and full 360-degree motion. It’s all yet to come, and each iteration brings new thrills and amazing breakthrough technology.

I retreat to a nearby pub to ponder on my next move and to stock up on fluids and muscle relaxants in the form of fine ale.

My third pint brings with it the seed of an idea. I need to wait until the arcade has closed and then do my business. Anything else will be risky. How I do this, I don’t yet know. But I gulp down my drink and head back to the arcade for a reconnoitre.

Breaking and entering hasn’t been a part of my life up to this point, and I don’t fancy the prospect of smashing a window or picking a lock. Instead, I think I need to find a way to just stay inside the arcade after they lock up and go home. There’s probably no video camera surveillance here in this era. I can be relatively sure I won’t be seen once the doors are locked. I just need somewhere to hide.

The arcade still busy, I mingle into the crowd and marvel in awe at all the games once again. No matter how many times I see them, the endorphins still rush. But I can’t get distracted by that now.

There are no toilets, which would have been ideal. But a peek behind the counter at the back of the building reveals there is a tiny staff kitchen area with a curtain that blocks it off from the main arcade game area. I change a fifty-pence coin into tens from the chap, Darren I think his name was, and wait for him to leave his post while I pretend to be waiting on a PAC-MAN machine to free up nearby. He lethargically, between cigarettes, eventually gets up and walks a round of the arcade and I snap up my chance. I dive through the curtain and into the little kitchen. There’s a sink and cupboard underneath, but nowhere near enough space for me to squeeze. I turn around and there’s a thin broom-cupboard door next to the curtain. Bingo! I open it and find a stinking mop and bucket, a broom, a dustpan and brush hanging up, and very little space, but there’s just enough room for me to get in and pull the door shut, leaving me cramped, and in pitch black. Great.

For future reference, waiting in a broom-cupboard for about four hours, with no space to sit, trying to remain silent, and increasingly wishing I hadn’t just downed three pints of ale, isn’t as much fun as it sounds. In fact, probably a lot less. My bladder bursting, eventually I had no choice, and I wish I could apologise to future Darren when he finds his mop bucket is half full of piss, but needs must, and all that. I did have the forethought to take the mop out … it’s hardly my fault there’s no toilet in the building.

My eyes adjusted after a while, and the slit of light from under the door was enough to show me the time on the clock if I bent down and held it opposite.

Now, after what seems like a million years, I notice the noise level coming from the arcade suddenly die down, then some banging of doors, switching off of machines and a general exodus. Finally, the kitchen light goes out, leaving me once again in total darkness. I pause and strain my ears to listen. There’s nothing for a minute or so, but then what is likely the front door opening, then closing, and a series of bolts being slammed shut. I wait another minute. Every breath sounds like an ocean wave rolling in on the still silence of the dark cupboard.

I try the door, slowly and gently turning it open and stiffly stepping out into the kitchen. Dark, but with a glow of orange lamp post light coming in through a small window … thank god, I think I’m clear. I stretch my arms and legs and creak my ancient bones.

I wonder about pouring out the bucket of piss into the sink, but that seems even more disgusting, so I just leave it. My gift to the people of the ‘80s.

I peek through the curtain into the arcade, and, sure enough, it’s empty and dark. I pad through to the Time Portal cabinet, now powered off, like all the others. If I turn it on, it’s going to make light and sound. I don’t want to draw attention to the place. If someone walked by and saw just one light on, they would likely call the police, and the sound from the game could equally attract attention. I have an idea. I know the inside of this cabinet like the back of my hand at this point. I could easily disconnect the speaker, which would take care of one problem. The other, I can mitigate with my jacket draped over the screen. I can stick my head under the jacket and pop in the battery and then … vanish?

A quick delve around behind the counter furnishes me with a suitable screwdriver that I need to take the back panel off the cabinet. I pull it out from the wall and creep in behind.

Feeling, more than seeing the screws in the dim light, I’m now grateful for all the hours I spent inside an identical cabinet, as the task is simple. I avoid electrocuting myself on the monitor capacitors and reach in to pull out the speaker cable, then pop the panel back on, push the cabinet back into place, and return the screwdriver. No need to leave evidence around that someone was tampering. They will undoubtedly wonder how the speaker could have come unplugged tomorrow when they switch the machine on, but that’s someone else’s problem now.

I drape my jacket over the screen and reach for the power switch. As the screen comes on, a little light escapes around the side, but it shouldn’t be a big deal. No sound, just like the first time I switched on my cabinet when I forgot to plug in the speaker.

I grab the battery from my pocket and stick my head under the jacket.

The demo screen plays out and I wonder if I need to pop in coins to play a game before I can use the battery? Can’t hurt, I suppose. I pop in two ten-pence coins. That can go toward the cost of a new mop bucket.

I don’t press the fire button to start a game, instead, I slide the battery into the slot. I checked first in case it was full of fag ash, but thankfully not.

Nothing happens.

I jiggle the battery, but nothing continues to happen. Hmm.

I take it out of the slot again and feel around inside. It seems just like the one in my room at home. Smooth inside with two types of metal that meet. Perhaps the battery needs to go in the other way around? I pop it back in and still, nothing happens. Shit.

I take it out again and turn it around so the head of the snake is at the top as I look down on it, then slide it back into the slot.

Something happens.

Well done! You have found the first Ouroboros battery!

The words silently appear on the screen. I imagine there would be a congratulatory trumpet sound or something if the speaker was connected.

The Aionites will be pleased, but there are still two more to find.

The text slowly scrolls up, and a small purple ship flies across the screen as a green crystal falls from the top. The ship collects it and pulses for a few seconds then glows bright white before flashing and suddenly vanishing away.

Are you ready to return before your next challenge?

There’s a YES and NO option button on the screen. I nudge the joystick to the YES and hit fire. Here we go…

The screen glows. There’s a whining sound from inside the machine, the flashgun charging sound. This is just like the last time after I completed the text adventure game.

I feel static electricity building up and the hairs on my arms and neck raise up. The screen flashes quickly, faster and faster until all I can see is a blur of colour under the jacket. My chest feels tight as the high-pitch whining intensifies, and I feel my hands gripping tightly on the controls.

There’s a whoosh as all the air suddenly burns away and I am knocked backwards by some invisible force. The room around me blurs and fades into a deep, deathly silent, black nothingness.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I found myself slumped against the wall when I regained consciousness. It wasn’t sleep I was in, or a coma, but some kind of disassociation from reality. At least, the thing we think of as reality. Hard to describe, but not a dream, not a memory. Just something different.

Aridly thirsty once again, seems the beer didn’t help. I cautiously opened one eye and then the other. I breathed a sigh of relief to find I was back safely in my flat.

I say safely, but the definition of the word may be open to interpretation in this context. I was alive and home. That was enough.

My Time Portal cabinet loomed in front of me, but it was all I could do to drag myself to the kitchen and gulp down several pints of water, then fall ungracefully into bed, curled up next to Mario and Sonic. I was exhausted, cold, creaky, but still somehow thrilled and excited. I just went back in time forty years, for heaven’s sake!

I remembered to check the time on my phone as I picked it up from the desk. Barely any time had passed, yet I was gone for something like seventeen hours. Incredible.

This morning I woke feeling fresh. I showered, refuelled on caffeine and eggs, then I couldn’t resist and went back to check on the Time Portal machine. The screen was still on and showing the message I ignored when I got back.

Well done! You have completed the first challenge. Are you ready for the next one?

I certainly wasn’t, and I’m still not, either. I want to do some research before I touch anything, and I want to tell someone what happened. This is likely the most important discovery of the century, but who, realistically, can I tell without being locked up in an asylum or my Time Portal being taken away and dismantled by government agents? I need someone I can trust, which sadly leaves the pool of candidates rather sparsely populated. I’m not sure if Melanie would believe me. Rick? Well, maybe, but I have a better idea.

I send a text message to Bethany. ‘Hi, can you come over to my flat today? I have to tell you something kinda crazy.’

She replies immediately. ‘You okay? Yeah, I suppose I can come after work?’

‘Yeah, all fine. It’s just easier to talk than text. See you later. :)’

That suits me perfectly as I have a load of things to do before.

Back in Watford, but this time in the present day, I walk the now-familiar path from the station to the ‘Watford Game-Junction’ arcade. Of course, when I get there, it no longer exists. Replaced probably dozens of times over the last forty years. The current iteration is a twenty-four-hour laundry. There’s no sign it was ever an arcade. Even the windows and doors are totally different. I have to assume the broom-cupboard I spent an uncomfortable four hours standing in has also long gone.

I notice the pub I went to yesterday, as I count, but forty years ago in reality, is still there, more or less the same. Some things never change.

Instead, I walk back towards the source of all this confusion. The house where Dolos had their headquarters, and the Time Portals were all made. I know the current owners aren’t the same people, but perhaps they know something about what went on there before?

On the way, I detour to where the greasy-spoon café was, but as with the arcade, it no longer exists. This time, there’s only an empty carpark where the building once stood.

No red phone box, either, but I shortly find myself back at the pub/house and it’s quite refreshing to find that not much has changed.

I probably should have rung ahead, but I was nervous, to be honest. I need answers, and the best way to get them is to just arrive and ask. A phone call could be ignored and forgotten.

I knock once again on the door. This time, a different woman answers. I presume she’s the wife of Steve, who sold me the cabinet. Dirty-blonde, heaps of makeup.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, hello. Err, would Steve be around?”

“Nope. What’s it about?”

“Right. I’m Derek Cooper. I bought an arcade machine from Steve not long ago. We picked it up from the cellar.”

“Oh, yeah? No refunds, I’m afraid, if it’s broken. Sold as seen.”

“No, no. I don’t want a refund. I was just wondering if you knew much about the previous owners of this building.”

“The pub?” She raises her eyebrows.

“Yeah, see, I think they actually made the arcade machines right here, and I was just trying to trace the business name and details.” I try a disarming smile. “I’m a collector, you see, and I’m putting together research notes for a book I’m working on. The history of gaming in the UK.” I hope my little exaggeration is convincing. “Would you have any paperwork that maybe shows the names of the owners that would have been here in the ‘80s?”

“Right.” She seems to soften. “We bought the place via a solicitor, see, I think the previous owner passed away some time ago. There were all sorts of complications with ownership. Took them years to figure it all out.”

I try playing my card. “Does the name Papadopoulos perhaps ring any bells?”

“Oh! Yeah, now you say it. I remember seeing that somewhere. I remember thinking it was unusual.”

“Greek, I think.”

“Yeah. Probably.” She hesitates. “Hold on a minute. I think I have a copy of the documents somewhere.”

I nod and smile. Progress. She doesn’t close the door but disappears into the front room. “Come through,” she shouts back.

I join her in the living room, where she’s digging through a pile of documents in an archive box. “Excuse the mess. We’re still getting everything sorted. So much work to do.”

“No problem. I appreciate your help.” I nod towards the box she’s elbow deep in now.

“Steve is rubbish at anything with paperwork. I take care of it all.” She rolls her eyes. “I know I’ve seen that name though … I have a system. Ah, here we go.” She pulls out a sheet of paper triumphantly, then scans the text. “Blah blah blah, previous occupant, blah blah, Papadopoulos. Yes!”

“Excellent. Was there a first name? Silas, by any chance?”

“Err, no, not Silas. It says Delia.” She shows me the sheet. An official-looking letter from a solicitor’s office in Watford. Previous occupant, Delia Papadopoulos, passed away in 2019.

Damn … I just talked to Delia yesterday. I feel a stab of emotion in my chest. She was so young and fit looking. That was forty years ago, I have to keep reminding myself. Wow.

“Thank you, err?”

“I’m Janine.” She smiles.

“Thank you, Janine. That’s very useful information. By chance, have you ever seen the name Silas Papadopoulos on anything?”

“Don’t think so, no.”

“Okay, well, can I leave you my number, just in case you do?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

I give her my details. “Many thanks. I won’t take up any more of your time, Janine. Thanks again.”

“Is that name useful, then? For your research.”

“Oh, yes. The company that made the arcade machines was called Dolos, and it was run by Silas Papadopoulos, right here in the cellar. Delia was his wife. Trouble is, I have no idea yet what happened to Silas.”

“Interesting. I’d love to read your book when you have it done. Might be good for the pub history, you know? People love a good back story.”

“Sure, I’ll definitely let you have a copy when it’s finished.” I smile, knowing I’ll never make good on that promise.

“Did you get it working? That machine Steve sold you?”

“I did, yes. It’s quite amazing, really.”

“Nice. Maybe we should get some, you know, for the pub. Do they make money?”

“Yeah, they do. Good idea. People love games. Well, I sure do, anyway.”

“Interesting. Maybe Steve was right about the cellar gaming room.”

I nod. “I’ll be your best customer if you set that up.”

On the train back to London, I ponder on my findings. Delia died in 2019, but no mention of Silas. What happened to him? What happened to the company, Dolos? I flip back to the one page I originally found about the game on my retro forum. The last paragraph says it all.

However, all of them were recalled after a player in Manchester was electrocuted by the machine. Luckily, it wasn’t fatal, but when the electrical regulatory people later studied the wiring and circuit boards, it was deemed to be unsafe. Consequently, all the machines were quickly recalled and scrapped for the bare parts.

Dolos declared bankruptcy soon after and Time Portal was lost to the mists of … time.

What I hadn’t noticed last time was who wrote this article. It’s attributed simply to JT. Could that be Jonny Thomson? Interesting.

I switch to my podcast app and find Jonny’s show. The Game-Pod. There are 152 episodes, and I’ve listened to every single one, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard him mention Time Portal before. But this one article is the only thing I can find online, anywhere. If anyone knows more about it, it’s bound to be Jonny. He knew about it in 1981, at least … I flip to his website and compose a feedback email. He sometimes reads out listener emails on his show, so I know he gets plenty.

Dear Jonny,

You won’t remember me, but I once met you in an arcade in Watford in 1981. I was playing the Time Portal arcade machine, and you mentioned the name of the man who made it, Silas Papadopoulos, or SPD, as he was known on the high-score hall of fame.

I was wondering if you know exactly what happened to the company, Dolos, who made it, and what happened to Silas?

I’m putting together some research for a possible book on the history of obscure arcade machines and Time Portal is going to be a big feature as well as urban legends like Polybius.

Appreciate any information you may have in your vast knowledge and memory.

Warm regards,

Derek Cooper

A bit cheeky to throw in that I met him. I mean, I would be eighty years old by now if I had stayed in that timeline. In fact, I’m actually much younger than Jonny. I hesitate over the send button but tap it with a shrug. He may not even read it, let alone reply, but it was worth a shot. Now I think about it, my little white lie about writing a book on retro video games may actually be a good idea … hmm.

Back home, I just have enough time to grab a bite and make the place presentable before Bethany arrives. I don’t know what I’m going to say, but I need to tell someone, just to prove to myself that it all happened.

Bethany arrives earlier than I expected.

“Hey, you okay?” She seems flustered as I open the door to her.

“Yeah.” I smile. “And you?”

“Ugh, yeah, fine. Just traffic and stress, you know?”

“Cuppa?”

“Please.” She flops down on my couch and I drift into a reality where this happens every day after work because Bethany lives here, with me, not with Rick miles away … I shake away the thoughts and boil the kettle.

“What’s this about, then?” Bethany looks at me, eyes wide. “Melanie said you stayed over and then you all went for a walk around the park and stuff. Going well?” she smiles.

“Oh, yeah …” The park and Melanie. That feels like it was a million years ago now, but it was yesterday in real-time. “No, it isn’t about that.” I pause.

“No?”

“No … err, I’m not sure how to say this now.” As I run the thoughts around my head, they sound utterly ridiculous. I take a deep breath. “I just came back from a trip to 1981.” I blurt out the words, and even as I taste them escaping from my mouth, I know it was a huge mistake.

“What?” Bethany laughs.

“The Time Portal machine.” I wave towards my games room. “It is a Time Portal. I really did travel in time to 1981.”

Bethany tilts her head at me.

“I should start at the beginning …”

“Please do.”

“I beat the high score after I came back from Melanie’s. You know, the 666,666 that was on the machine. Turns out it was hard-coded on all of them. The handle, SPD, next to it was the name of the inventor, Silas Papadopoulos … SPD. He made them in that cellar of the pub in Watford.” Bethany’s face is wide-eyed in confusion. I carry on. “Well, after that, the game totally changed. Instead of the alien shooter game, it switched into a cool text adventure. Look …” I show her the photos I took on my phone of the screens. Then I explain the plot of the game, how you had to find three batteries for these aliens. She nods and frowns.

“Okay, and how exactly does this relate to you travelling in time to 1981?”

“After I completed the adventure game, it changed again. There was a message asking if I wanted to accept a challenge or something.”

“Weren’t you meant to be cutting down on the game playing, Derek?”

“Yes, well, I wasn’t playing it late at night anymore. Only during the day.”

“I don’t think that was the point!”

“Yes, the doctor said just make sure I get rest at night … anyway, I accepted the challenge.”

“Derek …”

“A load of stuff happened. The machine made a weird noise, then I was knocked backwards by some kind of, I don’t know, force … then I woke up and I found myself in a street in Watford, early morning, October 1981.”

“A force?”

“Hard to explain. But, yes. Some kind of force. A buzzing, electrical, weird effect. I was really thirsty and ached all over. But then I found a note in my pocket, with some other stuff. A wallet with some money from that time, a magnet, a map, a clue … it was like playing a real-life adventure game.”

“Have you been to a doctor? It sounds like you were shocked. Maybe you have a concussion. Did you bang your head? That bloody game is a death trap!”

“No, no. I’m fine. It was real, Bethany. It all happened.”

“Derek! This is serious now. You are sitting there telling me you travelled in time after you got some kind of shock from a dodgy arcade machine that was recalled for electrical issues. We should never have gone and got that bloody thing. You should scrap it now.”

“No. Bethany, it’s incredible. It’s maybe the most important finding ever!”

She shakes her head. “What happened, exactly?”

I tell her about my trip to 1981, including as much detail as I can remember. The note with the clue on it, the café, the money, the shops and cars, the milkman and his out of time insults. The arcade where I met Jonny Thomson. Even Bethany has heard of Jonny Thomson. Then how I went back to the pub and met Delia and she gave me a note addressed to R.E.T, and it had another clue. Then I tell her about the Ouroboros battery and how I figured out where it was, at the Roman ruins in St Albans, and finally, how I had to hide in a cupboard for hours until the arcade closed so I could warp back home. I take a deep breath after my tirade and slump back into my chair.

Bethany stares at me in disbelief. “Derek … all that stuff is memories from your real life. You were hallucinating or something. You dreamed it all up because you got a belt from that bloody machine. You were knocked out.”

“That possibility occurred to me, but no.” I shake my head. “It was real, Bethany.”

“Derek!”

“Today, I went back to the pub in Watford. I went to the arcade, too, but it’s a laundrette now. But I asked the new owner, Janine, if she had heard of the name Papadopoulos. She had. She showed me a letter from a solicitor about the previous owner. Delia Papadopoulos. How could I have dreamed that up? I met her.”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe you saw it somewhere and subconsciously stored it in your memory. Doesn’t that make more sense than travelling in time to 1981 and meeting the woman?” Bethany throws up her arms. “Derek, I’m not having a great day as it is. I thought you wanted to talk about Melanie. That’s why I came over. Not to listen to your fever dreams about that stupid arcade machine.”

“It wasn’t a dream,” I mutter quietly.

“Well, have you got any proof? Other than Delia?”

I shrug. “No.”

“What happened to the note, the jacket, the magnet, the battery?”

“Well, I was hiding under the jacket, not wearing it. All the stuff was in the pockets, and the battery, I had to put that into the machine. The Aionites wanted it back.”

“The Aionites?”

“The aliens from the machine. That’s their race. They talk weird, make a buzzing noise, and these batteries are theirs. Silas said he took the batteries, and now they want them back. I have to complete three challenges, I think, to get them all and then they will release Silas from ‘Time Freeze’”

“Derek, do you realise how insane this all sounds?”

“Yes,” I admit. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

She puts down her cup on the table and stands up. “I have to go … but I want you to get some help, Derek. Go to a doctor, a hospital, a shrink or something. For your own safety.”

“No, please …” I have an idea. “Look, I can’t tell anyone else … just come and see it?”

“What?”

“The machine. Maybe you’ll believe it more if you see it happen?”

“I’m not getting involved. I can’t deal with this now … first Rick, then work driving me mad. Now you and your time travel!”

“What’s up with Rick?”

“Oh, nothing …” She shoots me a look of daggers, and I know enough to back down.

“Please, Bethany, if only to prove to me it is all in my head, then?”

She sighs. “Right, fine. Come on, then.”

Well done! You have completed the first challenge. Are you ready for the next one?

The words still burn into the screen, just as I left it.

“I’ll press YES, and you’ll see what happens. I’ll vanish, or something, back to 1981 and the next challenge.”

She laughs. “Sure, okay, McFly …”

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be …”

I hit the YES button and wait. The screen changes and a horrible buzzy noise comes from the speaker.

We are Aionites. We not exist in your realm. We not exist in your time.

We hold PapaDolos under Time Freeze. You have returned one battery so far, we still need the other two. Return our batteries to us, or you will join PapaDolos in Time Freeze for what you know as forever. When you return our batteries, your system will be restored. You have 48 units to complete the challenges. Do you accept?

I look over at Bethany, who is reading the screen.

“See, Aionites.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s just text on the screen and an awful noise. Still doesn’t prove anything.”

“Hold on. Here we go.”

I move the joystick to the YES and bang on the fire button. The machine starts its process. The screen flashes colours, the whine of the capacitors filling up like a flashgun starts, the smell of storm ozone floods the room and I brace myself for the inevitable.

“What’s going on?” Bethany looks panicked.

“It’s just doing whatever it needs to do to open the portal. Hold on.”

“Derek, get away from it!”

“No, no. It’s meant to do that.”

The intensity ramps up, and the screen is flashing now in a blur of colours so fast all I can see is white. The whine becomes so high I can no longer hear it. The hairs on my arms stand up and I feel a pressure building and flowing through me.

“Derek, GET BACK!”

“Don’t worry.”

I turn as I feel Bethany grab my arm and try to pull me away, but I hold tight on to the machine.

“It’s going to explode!” She pulls harder, but I stay firm.

There’s a whoosh as all the air suddenly burns away and we are both knocked away from the machine. The room around us blurs and fades into a deep, cold, silent black nothingness.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Derek!” I hear my name, but it comes from some part of me that doesn’t seem like my ears. “Derek!” There it is again. That voice sounds familiar … “DEREK!” I feel myself being shaken, but it’s as if I’m outside of my body and feeling everything through a thick blanket.

“Derek, for god’s sake, wake up!”

I fall, suddenly, into myself with a start and shudder. I tentatively open my eyes.

“Bethany.” She’s leaning over me, close and flustered.

“Oh thank god, I thought you were dead!”

“No, I don’t think so, but I’m not a doctor qualified to make that judgement.” Bethany backs away, and the world comes into view. My eyes adjust to the light. “Where are we?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

“Hang on. You are here, with me … you travelled, as well? Oh, my god.”

“What the bloody hell is going on?”

“Err, I’m not sure. Give me a second.” I look around. We are sitting, well, slumping, on a park bench near what looks like an enormous church. Maybe a cathedral. There’s no one around, but there’s plenty of light. Morning, perhaps. There’s a bite of cold in the air. The sky is grey, but there’s no rain. A slight breeze.

A path leads through the neatly manicured grounds towards the church and beyond. We are sheltered under a copse of trees.

“It seems like we’re in a church grounds, sometime in the morning.”

Bethany scowls at me. “That much I had established. How did we get here?”

“Well, the game … the Time Portal.” I shrug. “You grabbed on to me just as the portal activated. I guess you got pulled along.”

“Derek.” Bethany stands up, but sways a little and falls back down. “Where are we?”

“Well, last time, it was Watford. But I don’t think this is Watford.” I smile. “Maybe level two is harder.”

“What?”

“Take it easy for a minute. Are you thirsty? I could drink a whole bath.”

“Yes, I am. But I want to know what happened. What was in that coffee?”

“Hey?”

“We were at your flat, you gave me a cup of coffee, then we looked at your stupid game, then … I wake up here in some churchyard? What the hell is going on, Derek? Did you Rohypnol me or something?”

“Jesus, no, Bethany. Of course not. How could you? Oh, my god.”

“Sorry, but how else can you explain this?” She waves her hands at the church.

“Well, people are religious. They built structures like this in which to worship their invented deities. It makes them feel better.”

Bethany scowls at me again. “Not the church, Derek. How did we get here?” She throws her arms up.

“I told you. The Time Portal.” I stand up, a bit wobbly, but the weird feelings are wearing off. “It isn’t just where, but when.” I offer my hand. “Can you stand up? We should figure out what the challenge is and get going. Need to find a café or something, first.”

Bethany reluctantly takes my hand and pulls herself up.

“I’m parched.” She rasps out a cough.

“Yeah, come on.”

We walk down the path towards the church, but continue onwards to a street with a few people around, doing their normal day-to-day life stuff. A few cars go by that give away the era with no doubt. We are back in 1981.

I look Bethany up and down. Seems she’s wearing her normal clothes, jeans and a blouse, but there’s nothing too weird that would mark us as out of time. She looks cold, though. I got the jacket again. I check the pockets.

I have the red plastic clock, and it’s counting down twenty-four hours. Currently showing 23:55:07. There’s a small key on a keyring with a pebble on a chain, but no markings, and a wallet that has fifty pounds in it. More money, no note.

“You look chilly. Would you like my jacket?”

Bethany smiles but shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. Let’s just find a café.”

We don’t have to walk far, as there’s a café more or less opposite the church. I can see now it is far bigger and more elaborate than a simple church.

“That’s Salisbury Cathedral.” Bethany looks over in awe, mouth agape.

“Ah, there we are then. We’re in Salisbury.”

“But, how?”

“Not sure about the how. Would love to know.”

“We were in London!”

“Now we’re in Salisbury. Have you noticed anything else?”

“What?”

“Look at the cars.” Bethany glances up and down the road.

“Jesus, they are all weird. Boxy and old looking. What’s going on?”

“Well, going on my previous trip, I’d say that we’re in 1981.” Bethany looks at me, mouth open, but no words come out. “Come on, let’s get a drink in here.”

We choose a seat near the back, away from the windows. There are a few other patrons dotted around the Cathedral Café, but it’s quiet.

“We need to stay low profile. Out of sight. Blend in.” I tell Bethany as the lady hobbles away to get our tea and cakes. She convinced us that was what we needed on this chilly morning, with a smile.

“Right …” Bethany is still dumbstruck and quiet.

“Do you have any inventory?”

“Sorry?” She looks up at me.

“Any items in your pockets or whatever?”

“Oh.” She glances around. “Where’s my bag?”

“Probably back in my living room.”

“Shit. My phone is in there.”

“Yeah. Mine is on my desk in my games room.”

“We need to tell someone. Call for help?”

“Tell who?”

“I don’t know. The police?”

I laugh. “Hello, I’d like to report a time travelling incident … yeah, we’d be in the funny farm before lunch.”

“Derek, we’ve been abducted or something. This is serious.”

“Nah, it was the game. This is an adventure.”

“What, like virtual reality?”

“No.” I shake my head. “There’s no way virtual reality existed at all in 1981, let alone to this level of detail. No, this is actual reality.”

“But …”

“Don’t worry. I was disorientated at first.”

The lady brings our pot of tea and a selection of cakes with a smile. “Here you go. This will sort you out.”

“Thank you.” I have a thought. “Oh, would you have today’s paper?”

“Yes, dear. I’ll fetch one for you.”

I pour us each a cup of tea from the pot. Bethany takes a tentative sip, then a huge gulp.

“Ugh. I needed that.”

“Same.” I look her in the eye. “It’s okay. We’re fine, just need to figure out the puzzle and then we’ll be whisked back home.”

She looks blank.

“Anything in your pockets?”

Bethany reaches into her jeans pocket and pulls out a sheet of paper. “What’s this?”

“Ah, that could be the clue.”

“I didn’t have that before. How did it get in my pocket?”

“No idea. But I have stuff too.” I take out my clock, key on a keyring, and wallet and put them on the table.

Bethany opens the paper. “Infinite power within ancient stone. Chase a flying V, then plug-in.” She looks up at me. “What the hell?” She hands me the sheet. Same handwriting as before in blue ink.

“That’s the clue.”

“What does it mean?”

“Dunno. That’s what we have to figure out. Like a riddle.”

The waitress brings us a newspaper. “Here you are, dear.” I nod thanks and look at the date. Friday, 23 October 1981.

“See. I was right.” I show Bethany the paper. “It’s the day after I was in Watford.”

“Opinion polls show Thatcher unpopular.” Bethany looks at me agape, reading the headline.

I smirk. “Don’t think they needed a poll to find that out.”

“Oh, my god. We are really here, in 1981.”

“Yup.” I resist the urge to say ‘I told you so.’

“Well, now what?” Bethany pours herself another cup of tea and picks up a slice of cake.

“We figure out the clue, get the battery, then slot it into a Time Portal machine.” I pause and check my pockets again. “Oh, but there’s no map this time, showing me where the cabinet is. You don’t have a map, by any chance?”

Bethany shakes her head. “No, I always use my phone.”

“Yeah, well, that wouldn’t do us much good here, anyway.”

Bethany picks up the note and reads it again. “Infinite power within ancient stone. Chase a flying V, then plug-in.” She shrugs. “That must mean the cathedral.” She points across the road. “Infinite power within ancient stone.”

“Oh, yeah. Maybe.”

“What about the second part? Chase a flying V, then plug-in.”

“A flying V … hmm, dunno.”

“What’s that key for?” She picks it up.

“No idea. Maybe to unlock something where the battery is inside.” I think about the locker in the text adventure game. A squirrel gave me a key that opened a locker, and inside was a torch, and inside that was the battery. “Well, maybe there’s a locker or something in the cathedral?”

“Worth a try…”

“How did you know it was Salisbury Cathedral?”

Bethany shrugs. “School, history, documentaries … they hold a copy of the Magna Carta here. You know?”

“Oh. Never been much interested in history.”

“I know, apart from the history of computer games,” She grins, then her face falls. “Which is how we come to be in this mess.”

“You can thank me later.”

“Thank you? You wait ‘til we get home, mister. I’ll … I don’t know. This is insanity.”

I lower my voice. “We’re time travellers, Bethany. Think about that for a second. We’re actual, honest-to-goodness time travellers.”

Bethany pouts. “Hmm.” She picks up the red plastic clock. “What’s this?”

“I think it counts down how much time we have left to solve the puzzle.” It currently shows 23:15:58.

“Oh, yikes. And if we don’t?”

“Dunno …”

“Do we die?”

I shake my head. “No. Well, I assume not. I mean, I don’t know. I solved the last one in about seventeen hours, so I didn’t need to find out.” I decide not to complicate things at the moment with mentions of ‘Time Freeze.’ The other theory I have is that we’d just stay here, in 1981, and live out the rest of our lives together … that has some appeal, I must say. At this time, Bethany, Rick and Melanie haven’t even been born yet, and I’d have the upper hand on all the wonderful games that are yet to be released. Could be worse.

“Bloody hell … let’s get going.”

“Right.”

“Look, there’s a tourist guide thing going on. We can sneak in with them.” Bethany nudges me as we walk over to the cathedral.

“Do we need to sneak into a holy place? I mean, aren’t they just open to anyone?”

“Oh, yeah,” Bethany laughs. “Sorry, must be getting caught up in the adventure.”

I look over at her. “You’ve come around, then? Earlier, well, earlier for us at least, you thought I was a nut or something. Now you want to play the game.”

“I’m still not convinced all this is real, but, you know, here we are … may as well try to enjoy it.”

“That’s the spirit. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you are here with me. This is way more fun than doing it alone.”

“I like adventures, and anything with a friend is better.” She smiles, and I sense something in her eyes. A moment? No?

There’s something humbling about any huge ornate building. Even as a staunch atheist, I can’t help but feel the vastness and potency that these walls hold. Millions of prayers no doubt spoken, millions of wishes and hopes let out into the ether here. The unfathomable amount of work that must have gone into the building, the artwork, the reverence of the place. It echoes within one’s soul as much as it does in the halls. Infinite power? I’m not sure. But some.

“Wow, where do we start?” Bethany turns and whispers to me after we gaze at the architecture for a moment.

I puff out a sigh. “Absolutely no idea.” I look around at the overly elaborate, intricate gothic textures everywhere. “To be honest, I don’t think this is the sort of place where they have lockers. I don’t think they would fit the theme they were going for.”

“You could be right. But then, what’s the key for?”

I fish it out of my pocket again, heavy, chained to the pebble, I suppose, so we don’t lose it. The key is small, silvery-coloured. Probably fits something like a cash box, maybe an old, well, contemporary for now, car or motorbike? There are no markings on it other than some crosshatching to make it easier to grip. I’m none the wiser.

We walk around the cathedral for a while, on the lookout for anything that this key might fit, but mostly just gawping like tourists and trying to avoid interaction with anyone. It occurs to me we’re wasting time and we could easily come back to Salisbury Cathedral for a day out, even in our normal time. I doubt anything much has changed. Still, might as well have a gander while we’re here.

There’s nothing obvious to unlock here, and now I think about it more, I don’t think the clue hinted at the cathedral. Maybe a red herring to have us appear next to it. It seems too convenient. This is level two of the game. It can’t be that easy. No, I think we need to look further afield.

“Do you know much about Salisbury?” I turn to Bethany, breaking the silence of reverence.

“No, not really.”

“I think we need to look elsewhere.”

“Yeah, you could be right. Too obvious.”

“Exactly.”

Outside, we take stock of the situation again. We have 22:45:14 left on the clock, a key, some money, a vague note, and no plan.

“Well, there must be some other ancient stones around here. Is there a tourist info place or something?” Bethany looks up and down the road.

“Could be. Let’s head into the main High Street and see what’s around. Be useful to find a map, as well.”

“Cool.”

We meander towards what seems like the town centre. Bethany marvels at all the strangeness of the world. The clothes, the hair, the cars and buses. Everything is just that bit different from what we are used to. We pass a businessman wearing a bowler hat and carrying a briefcase and umbrella and she can’t help but burst out laughing at the poor chap.

“Ah, here we go.” I spot a WHSmith’s along the High Street. “They’ll have a map.”

“Good thinking, Batman.” Bethany giggles. I think she’s warming to the experience. It is rather wonderful, when you think about it and much better with Bethany here with me.

We find the maps easily and I grab a copy of Ordnance Survey for Wiltshire, checking it covers Salisbury in detail. Then I see something that makes my jaw drop.

“Oh, my … Bethany, look!”

“What?” She comes over to where I’m now standing and drooling. “Ah, I see,” She laughs. “No, Derek, you can’t have a Sinclair ZX81.”

I’m staring at a display setup of a brand new, pristine, delightful little computer with all the accessories, playing a demo of 3D Defender on a tiny black-and-white monitor. There’s a stack of unboxed computers behind it.

“This would be worth an absolute fortune back home.” A massive stash of loot lies before me, but even if I could afford one, I don’t know how I’d get it home with me.

“Seventy quid now.” Bethany looks at the price tag.

“Think of all the stuff I could get here if I could bring a load of cash.”

“We can’t get sidetracked with that now. Remember the riddle.”

“I know, we don’t have enough money anyway, but … just look at it!”

“It’s very cute, yes.” Bethany grins and squeezes my arm.

A salesman spots us gawping and comes over. Oops.

“Good morning, sir, madam. Are you interested in the Sinclair ZX81?”

I glance at Bethany, and she shakes her head.

“Very popular. The latest in home computing with one kilobyte of memory.” I stifle a guffaw with a cough. “We also have the cassette system with a stunning two-hundred and fifty bits per second transfer rate and the monochrome display.”

“Thank you, I would love one, but we’re just looking at the moment.”

“Very well.” The chap backs off. “Let me know if you’d like any more technical details. We have some excellent books and magazines on the subject to get you started in the world of home computing.”

“Yes, thank you.”

I turn to Bethany as the chap walks away. “Should I tell him I could probably recite every technical detail of this, and dozens of other machines of the era?” I snigger.

“No.” She rolls her eyes. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before you get talked into a deal.”

“Fine.”

We go up to the counter at the front of the shop and I plop down the map as a lady types the price into a till. No barcode scanners here.

There’s a display of local touristy crap on the counter: scarves, key-rings, books about the local area … and … I turn to Bethany and her eyes light up at the same time. “Stonehenge!” We both blurt out in unison.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“This pebble on the key ring should have given it away.” I show Bethany the little polished stone as we travel to the historical site. We found a bus depot on the map, then had a pub lunch while we waited, and now we’re enjoying the Wiltshire countryside whizzing by, crammed into a double-seat.

“Oh, yeah.” She takes the key and studies it. “Didn’t think of that.” She’s been quiet on the coach, staring out of the window in contemplation.

“In adventure games, every little detail is meaningful. I should have realised.” I slap my forehead.

“Like life …” Bethany hands me back the key. “There are always signs, and if you don’t pay attention, you miss them.” She turns back to the window.

“How do you mean?” I get a sense that she’s miffed about something.

“Oh, nothing.” She lets out a sigh. “We still don’t know what the key fits.”

“No, but I’m sure it will become obvious when we get there.”

“When we get back home, to our time I mean, what are we going to tell Rick and Melanie?”

“Good question. I have no idea.” I turn to look at Bethany. “Maybe we say nothing. I mean, you didn’t believe this until you got here. They’d probably assume we took acid and went on a crazy trip or something.”

“Yeah … say nothing.” Bethany looks out through the window again but then turns around. “Well, if we are going to say nothing, then this weird day out of time, out of place, out of sanity, is just ours … I mean, maybe this isn’t even real and I’m hallucinating, dreaming or something but, for the moment, let’s assume we’re here, having a day out at Stonehenge in 1981. Just you and me.”

I smile. “Okay.”

“Well, then, Derek, dearest. Here’s something to make it memorable.” Bethany grabs my arm, pulls me towards her, then leans over to me and plants a long, soft, hot, and wet kiss on my lips. I feel my heart pounding in my chest, stunned for a moment, but then I respond and kiss back, lingering, feeling all the years of yearning evaporate in a single moment. The lust, the wishing, the pain of seeing her with my best mate for all those years. I kiss Bethany with every ounce of my soul, letting the dam of love burst and gush over her through that simple act. Then she leans back in her seat and smiles at me. “How’s that for a sign?”

I try to speak, but no words come out. I just stare at her beautiful face and let my brain catch up with what just happened.

“I … wow. Bethany … I …” But I don’t know what to say.

“Do you ever wonder about what if things had worked out differently?”

“Every day.” I find her hand and squeeze it. “Every bloody day, Bethany.” I feel moisture in my eyes and a burning in my throat.

“Well, today can be that alternative world.” She squeezes me back.

“We could stay here, in 1981. Never go back.”

Bethany shakes her head. “Nah. We’ve got no identification, no home, no money, no jobs. We can’t survive here for long.”

“We’d figure it out. We’re both smart. I’m sure we’ll get jobs easily.”

“And sleep on the park bench until we do?” She laughs. “No, we don’t belong here. We have to go back.” She turns to me with a massive grin on her face. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but … we have to go back to the future.”

I shake my head. “I also can’t believe you said that. No rush, though.” I laugh and pull her close into a cuddle and we spend the rest of the coach trip snogging like teenagers.

“Stonehenge. A true wonder from a prehistoric age. Comprising an outer ring of vertical sarsen standing stones, each around thirteen feet high, seven feet wide and weighing around twenty-five tons, topped with a connecting lintel.” The tour guide shouts out his patter to an awestruck crowd of tourists from our coach. “Inside is a smaller ring of bluestones, and inside that again are free-standing trilithons. The whole monument is orientated towards the sunrise on the summer solstice.” He smiles and points towards the east. “We are standing amid the densest complex of Neolithic and Bronze-Age monuments in England.” The crowd Ooh and Ahh and look around at the landscape. I hold Bethany’s hand and marvel at how the world can change in such a short time. All it took was a trip forty years back in time to create an opportunity. Why didn’t I think of that before? “You’ll note that, as of about four years ago, the stones themselves are behind a roped-off area to preserve the history, but we can still enjoy the ruins from a safe distance.”

Bethany turns to me. “Well, this is fascinating and everything, but it isn’t helping us find the whatsit thingy.”

“Ouroboros battery, you mean?”

“Yeah, that. What is it, exactly?”

“Wish I had my phone, then and now. I could have grabbed a photo and shown you. It’s a battery, basically, but it has flat sides, twelve of them. Sort of dull green, and there’s a snake eating itself pattern all over it. Made of some kind of metal, not sure exactly. It slots into the top of the Time Portal machine and seems to activate the, err, time portal …”

“Okay, and what’s an Ouroboros?”

“Greek mythology. See, the inventor chap, Silas — I think he’s Greek, well, at least the name Papadopoulos is Greek, I think — anyway, it’s a symbol of infinity or everlasting. The snake eating its own tail symbolises the eternal cycle. Presumably, the Ouroboros batteries last forever.”

“Wow. Thought you didn’t like history?” Bethany smirks as we drift away from the tour guide and towards the stones. We’re holding hands, and there’s a good proportion of my brain that’s currently trying to figure out ways to make this day last forever.

“Ha. I did some research.”

“Shame you can’t go up to the Stones anymore, even now.”

“Yeah, but people destroy stuff. It’s for the best.”

“True, but where is the battery thingy, then?”

“Good question. Let’s see the riddle again?”

Bethany pulls the note out from her pocket and opens it up. “Oh, what’s this?” A white square falls out from the folded paper onto the grass. I reach down and pick it up.

“A photo? One of those instant ones … Polaroid.” I show Bethany the photo. A bird sitting on a twig.

“That’s not mine, and it wasn’t there earlier.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, you had the note as well. Wow, this is weird.”

“It is a bit.”

“Are you pulling my leg, Derek? Did you slip that into my pocket when we were … you know, on the bus?”

“No. I swear, I’ve never seen this photo before.”

Bethany squints at me. “Fine, we warped to 1981 and now stuff magically appears in my pocket. All totally normal.”

I shrug. “A photo of a bird … it must be a clue.”

“Do you know what type of bird that is?”

“No idea. Not much of a bird watcher. Twitchers, aren’t they called?”

“We’re useless at this.” Bethany laughs.

“If the clues were about games of the era, which would be much more fitting, I reckon, I’d have solved this ages ago.”

“Let’s ask someone.”

“Ask them what? If they know where an alien everlasting battery is stashed, somewhere around here?”

“No, you fool. What kind of bird this is. Oh, I bet that tour guide chap knows. He looks the type.”

“Ah, yes. Better plan. You’re right, he does look the type. You ask. You’ll get a better response than me.”

“Why?”

“You are much prettier than I, and this is 1981, and he’s an old country type.”

Bethany twitches her nose. “You are probably right.”

“Excuse me.” Bethany smiles at the tour guide once he’s finished his lengthy speech about the stones.

“Yes, my dear?” His Wiltshire accent now much heavier than during his talk.

“Err, would you by any chance know what bird this is?” Bethany shows him the photo.

“I most certainly would, yes.” He smiles.

There’s a pause. Bethany and I exchange glances. “… and would you please tell us what it is?”

“Ahh, you have to be specific.” He chuckles and taps his nose. “That, my dear, is a cuckoo. A fine example of the bird, if I may add.”

“A cuckoo,” I repeat. “Why would we have a photo of a cuckoo?”

“Well, I can’t imagine,” says the tour guide. “Maybe if you was bird watching?”

“No, it’s a clue.”

“A clue? Are you hunting for treasure?” He laughs.

“Err, no. We’re doing an orienteering thing.” Last thing we need is for word to get out that there’s something of value around here. “It’s for charity,” I add.

“Ah, well, maybe it’s something to do with the cuckoo stone, then.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Cuckoo stone?”

“Yes, over by Woodhenge, the sister site to our Stonehenge here. There’s a little stone nearby they call the Cuckoo Stone.” He pauses. “You’d have known that if you’d listened to my talk earlier.” He grins.

Bethany grimaces. “Sorry.”

“Not a problem. I can go on a bit.”

“Where exactly is it?” I pull out our map.

“Well, let’s see.” He pulls out a pair of spectacles and then looks over the top of them at the map. “Now, then.” He runs his finger over the page, folded to Stonehenge and surrounding area, then jabs at the paper. “Right here. Less than two miles, as the crow … or cuckoo, flies. More like two and a half on the paths. See?”

My turn to grimace. Two and a half miles? At least it isn’t raining. “Thank you. That’s very helpful.”

Bethany smiles, and the chap seems happy.

“I’m not dressed for hiking.” Bethany complains as we make our way across a field.

“Sorry. Do you want the jacket now?”

“No, I’m working up a sweat here.” I glance at her and don’t say what I wanted to say.

“Oi, you. I know what you are thinking, you dirty sod.”

I feign innocence. “Dunno what you mean?”

“Sure.” Bethany laughs.

“I mean, I saw a hay-barn back there … if you wanted a quick roll, you know?”

She slaps me on the arm. “Derek!”

“Sorry.” I sheepishly say.

“Let’s find this bloody cuckoo stone, and hopefully that’s the end of the clues and chasing.”

“Silas is a bit of a tease, according to his wife.”

“She’s not wrong. If I ever meet him … well, I’ll be less than polite.”

“I can’t imagine that.” I laugh. “Anyway, I think he expected a teenager to do these challenges. That’s what Delia hinted at, and I suppose it makes sense since they came from an arcade machine that kids would normally play.”

“Yeah, I bet he wasn’t expecting a forty-year-old man from the future.”

“No one expects a forty-year-old man from the future.” I do my terrible Monty Python, Spanish Inquisition impression. “Sorry, I’ll get my coat…”

“Derek!” Bethany slaps me again and then runs ahead a few paces, inviting me to chase her, which I happily do.

“That’s it?” Bethany points at a small lump of rock that’s more or less like any other lump of rock, but this one is alone in a field.

“Apparently.” I shrug.

“Why is it called a cuckoo stone?”

“Absolutely no idea.”

“Hmm. Right, well, now what?”

We are both sweaty now, after a bit of a trudge. Thankfully, still not raining, or this would have been pretty miserable.

“Err, there must be something here. Oh, check your pockets again.” I do the same.

“Nothing new, this time.”

“Me neither.”

Bethany walks around the stone. “Ah, here.” She jumps up and down and squeals in a devastatingly cute way. I join her.

“Yes!” There’s a green metal box thing jammed under the rock. I pull out the key on the pebble chain and note that the stone looks suspiciously like this cuckoo stone.

“See if it fits.” Bethany grits her teeth.

“Hold on, I’m trying.” I laugh.

I bend down and pull the box out from under the stone, hopefully not disturbing either a mole, mouse, badger or ancient Neolithic shrine in the process. I fumble the key into the lock and turn. It opens. I look up at Bethany. “Pray to whatever deity you believe in that there’s a battery in here, and not another clue, riddle, photo of an albatross or something.”

“Open it.”

I do as she says.

“A torch?” Bethany sighs.

“Yes, but …” I twist open the battery compartment as I had to do in the text adventure game. “… and, voila.” I pull out the familiar green, twelve-sided Ouroboros battery and a pulse of adrenaline courses through my veins.

“Yay!” Bethany jumps up and down on the spot. “We did it!” I stand up and she throws her arms around me and we indulge in another spot of heavy petting for a moment.

I hand her the battery. “This weird little thing is the Ouroboros battery.”

She holds it in her palm. “Wow, it’s warm.”

“Yeah, the last one was, as well. Must be something to do with the chemicals inside. An exothermic reaction.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Dunno. Doubt it.”

Bethany hands it back to me. “You keep it then, in your jacket pocket.” She laughs.

“Right.”

“Well, now what?”

“Now, part two. We have to figure out the second part of the clue, then find where there’s an arcade, or chippy or something where we can plug this in and go back home.”

“How long have we got left?”

I check the clock. “Seventeen hours, thirty-six minutes and five, four, three, two, one second.”

“Plenty of time.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Another short hike takes us to a nearby town of Durrington, and the first pub that we see. I think we deserve a swift pint after the events of the day. I drop the drinks down on the table near an open fireplace where Bethany is waiting.

“Two pints, guess how much it cost?” I say with a grin.

“Err, dunno, fiver?”

“One pound and two pence.”

“Bloody hell, things were cheap, weren’t they?”

“Amazing. We could both get rat-arsed and have change of a tenner.”

“Sounds like another challenge. This one I’ll be good at.” Bethany laughs.

“Challenge accepted.” I nod and stick out my hand for her to shake. She giggles but shakes.

“Don’t forget, we still need to figure out the next part of the clue.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just enjoying the moment.”

Bethany tilts her head. “You are different here, Derek.”

“Hey?”

“Hard to say what exactly, but there’s just something … different about you here in this weird anomaly time.”

“Okay, well, is it good different or bad different?”

“Oh, good for sure.” She smiles. “More assertive, maybe? More focused.”

“I like a challenge. This is a game, isn’t it? I’m playing to win.”

“Hmm.” Bethany stares into my eyes for a moment. “Well, I like it.”

“Perhaps I should try to be more assertive in my everyday life … but I don’t know how to live in the normal world.”

“Course you do.” She slaps my arm playfully. “You are just a bit … well, how can I put it? Understated.”

“I appreciate the tactfulness.” I laugh. “Yeah, I know. But …” I shrug.

Bethany frowns. “Derek, you do like Melanie, don’t you?”

My heart sinks. I was trying to avoid thinking about her. “Yes, I do … but …”

“But?”

“Well, she’s not you.” I feel a flush in my cheeks as I say it, but it’s said now. There’s no going back.

Bethany reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “I know about Rick and Melanie. He told me yesterday, well, yesterday in my normal life.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, shit is the right word. I don’t know what to think. I mean, water under the bridge and all that. It was years ago. They were drunk, blah, blah, blah.”

“Still, doesn’t excuse it, and it must have been a shock.”

“Yeah … Rick said you found out through Jacob, and that he thought it should be out in the open now. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Oh, well, it wasn’t my place to say, but mostly, I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Sweet Derek …” Bethany smiles. “Thank you.”

We sit, holding hands, warm by the fire and staring into each other’s teary eyes for what seems like an eternity.

* * *

“Chase a flying V …” Back on another bus to Salisbury, a little worse for wear after a couple of pints, we study the clue once again. “What’s a flying V?”

“When did Branson start his Virgin airline company?”

“A flying virgin?” Bethany bursts out laughing.

“Well, what else?” I shrug.

“No idea. I don’t think it was this early, though.”

“Probably not that, then. What else flies?”

“Vampires?”

“Vampires!” I laugh. “Well, I guess since we’re already in some kind of weird universe, anything is possible … so, what. Do we need to get a bus to Transylvania? I wonder if they run on Fridays?”

“Shush, you.” Bethany slaps my leg. “Got any better ideas?”

“I do, but it involves you and a hotel room or something …” I grin and wink at Bethany.

“Derek!”

“Well, you said you liked me being assertive.”

“Just … wait for the right moment, okay? I need a little time.”

“Yes, okay, of course.” I ponder. “How about chips and another pint while we figure out this clue?”

“Now, that’s an idea.”

14:29:54 remains on the clock. It’s been a long and eventful day already, but we still have no idea where to plug in the battery and warp back home.

Sat on a wall outside a chippy, stabbing at chips from a paper parcel with a wooden fork, is the perfect way to spend an evening in 1981. We watch the world go by and munch in silence. The warmth of alcohol and fried potatoes keep us toasty in the chill breeze that has drifted in.

“It isn’t a bad time, 1981.” I break the silence.

“I’m not even born yet!” Bethany exclaims.

“Well, no, but I mean, if we just stayed here.”

“My God, we could meet our parents.” Bethany stares at me, wide-eyed.

“Probably not a good plan. How on earth do we explain it?”

“My mum and dad weren’t even together yet.”

“No?”

“Nope. I think Dad was still up in Scotland. He lived in Edinburgh until he was about twenty-five.”

“Didn’t know that.”

Bethany looks at me. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Derek, dear.”

I smile. “Well, then there are a lot of things I’d like to find out.”

She smiles. “Anyway, we can’t stay here. Like I said, we have to go back to the future, to our normal lives and try to make sense of the real world.”

“Shame.”

Bethany reaches over and squeezes my leg. “Things will all work out fine, somehow.”

“You know, there’s still another challenge after this one. There are three batteries to get. This is only the second one.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the weird little thing.

“Oh, yeah, right.”

“Will you come back with me? It’s been way more fun with you here.”

“I dunno, Derek. I need to get stuff sorted at home and work.”

“We’ll go back exactly when we left, you know? No time is passing back at home. No one will even miss us for a second.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, time travel is crazy.” I explode my hand over my head. “Brain-frying trying to work it out.”

“I’ll see, then. Will it be back here?”

“No idea. But I’d guess not. I’m sure Silas has something crazy in store for us. Could be anywhere.”

“Amazing. How is it possible?”

“I have no idea. He’s probably some kind of genius. I tried to find out what happened to him, back home, but there’s no sign of him anywhere. Delia, his wife, passed away, and Dolos, his company, went bankrupt, but there are no records that I could find about Silas anywhere. It’s as if he just vanished one day.”

“Weird.”

I nod. “You ready for another pint?”

Bethany laughs. “Race you to the pub.”

We find another delightful, if somewhat smoky, pub and linger with more beer. I don’t want this day to end, but at the back of my mind is the constant niggle it will, and we’ll be back in our normal lives once this is over. I don’t know what I’ll say to Melanie now. What will Bethany do? Will she leave Rick? Will she be with me? Will Rick and Melanie get together?

The chess game in my head wants to know the final outcome, but the rational part of me knows we just have to play the game and see where it leads us. You can’t take on the last boss before you have reached a high enough level. You’d be killed immediately. Patience, grinding through experience, gradual and proper levelling up is how you beat a hard game.

“Does the battery thing work in any Time Portal machine?” Bethany asks.

“Err, well, I’m not sure. Maybe?”

“Well, perhaps we just need to find an arcade like you did before, in Watford.”

“That, my dearest Bethany, is a solid plan.” I nod. “Can’t hurt to try, anyway.”

“After this pint, yeah?” She giggles. “And maybe another one after?”

I laugh. “Yeah, sure.”

“Oh, I know. Let’s find some good tunes on the jukebox.”

“Good plan.”

We hunch over the jukebox and flip through the list of music, still an old vinyl player, not CDs or digital. We howl and laugh as we point at the tunes we remember from childhood, which to the locals are new and fresh. ‘Brass in Pocket’, ‘My Sharona’, ‘Heart of Glass’, ‘I Wanna be Your Lover’ by Prince. I chose that one more as a statement than something I knew. Bethany chooses ‘He’s So Shy’ by The Pointer Sisters and squeezes my hand. I counter with ‘Every Little Thing She Does is Magic’ and attempt to pat her on the bum, but bail out before I touch denim.

“This is awesome!” Bethany sways next to me as we play the tunes.

“You know I could put this exact playlist together on my phone in about two minutes back home.”

“Not the same.” Bethany pokes me in the ribs. “You should understand that better than anyone, Mr Retro,” she teases.

“Suppose.”

“Derek,” Bethany taps me on the shoulder and stares deep into my eyes, gently undulating, and with that merry glow of tipsy blurring and dilating her pupils. She’s red-cheeked and red-lipped, moist and warm.

“Yes, Bethany?” I wonder if she’s going to tell me something poignant and unique, something dangerous and rare, something undeniably true and yet very wrong. Dare I even allow the thought to exist, something like ‘I love you’?

“I’m bursting for a pee.”

“Ah, well, the toilet is over there.” I point and chuckle.

“Also, get another round in.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Bethany turns to go, then turns back and pulls me close. “Also, thank you …”

“For what?”

“This.” She throws her arms up and motions around. “The music, the beer, the trip to Stonehenge, the cathedral, the whole time travel thing. It is amazing.”

“Well, it was sort of an accident that you are here, but you are welcome. No one better to spend the day with.”

“It wasn’t an accident that you asked me to come to your flat.”

“No, I suppose not.”

She nods. “Thank you for asking me.”

“My pleasure.”

“Put on one last song, yeah? Just the Two of Us by Grover Washington. I saw it earlier.”

“Good choice.”

She smiles, plants a long kiss on my cheek, then swaggers, sashays and sways away to the ladies.

“How are we going to find an arcade in a strange town, in a strange time, without a phone sat-nav map?” As I wander aimlessly around the sodium-yellow lamp-lit streets of Salisbury, with Bethany entangled in my arm, I worry we’re going to get stuck here because we still haven’t got a clue where we’re going. I pull the clock from my pocket. “We have about thirteen hours left. But it’s getting late now. Places are going to be closed.”

“Ah. Didn’t think of that.”

“I should have because the same thing happened before. Sorry, got carried away with all the music and beer …”

“We’ll smash down a door if we have to.” Bethany laughs. “By the time the police arrive, we’ll be warped out of here, won’t we?”

“Well, yeah, but still. I’d rather not.”

“We’ll ask someone for directions then.”

“Ask someone?” I scoff. “How utterly ridiculous.”

Bethany sticks her tongue out at me. “Getting chilly now, is your jacket still on offer?”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” I slip out of the warm jacket and drape it around Bethany.

“Thank you. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” I shrug. “Not that cold, anyway.” I lie.

Bethany spots a likely-looking kid approaching in a duffel coat and glasses. “This chap, I bet he knows.”

“Bit stereotypical, isn’t he?”

“Exactly. Just what we need.” She waves at the lad and he looks scared out of his skin. “Excuse me,” Bethany smiles, and he stops, looking less nervous as he sees Bethany.

“Yes?”

“We’re looking for a games arcade. Do you know if there’s one here in Salisbury?”

“Yes, there is, just came from there,” he smiles. “Funland, on Salt Lane, not far.” He points back the way he came. “Take the next right, and keep going.”

“Brilliant, thank you.” Bethany beams and the lad nods and walks away. “See, that wasn’t so hard.” She turns to me.

“You win. I would never have thought to ask someone.”

“Why ever not?”

I shrug. “Dunno. Don’t trust people, I suppose.”

“Most people aren’t malicious.” She rolls her eyes.

“No, just inept.”

“Well, yes … anyway, we got what we need. Come on.” And for the second time in as many months, Bethany guides me towards a games arcade.

“Remember, I had to hide in the broom cupboard in the last place?”

“Oh, yeah.” She laughs.

“It wasn’t fun. I had to pee in a mop bucket.”

“We’ll try to avoid that situation today.”

Funland is your typical lesser-frequented, greasy-carpeted, smoke-stinking dive of a place. A few youths congregate outside, but inside is almost empty.

“Looks fabulous …” Bethany jokes.

“We’ll hopefully not be here long. Come on.”

I do a quick walk around the machines and there’s all the usual, Galaga, PAC-MAN, Donkey Kong, a few others, but rather devastatingly, no Time Portal machine. I go round again, just to be sure and poke into corners, but nope. We’re out of luck.

“Shit.” I turn to Bethany. “Now what?”

“Err, dunno.” Bethany looks a bit worried now. “How long do we have left?”

“Twelve hours, forty-seven minutes.”

“No problem.”

“But we still don’t know where the machine is … I mean, there must be one here, somewhere? Silas wouldn’t send us to a town that didn’t have a machine, would he?”

“Oh, no. Course not.” Bethany doesn’t sound sure. I’m regretting the booze and fun now. We should have been paying attention and focusing on solving the riddle. Now we’re going to be stranded here, or worse, locked in Time Freeze, whatever that means. “We’ll go for a wander. Something will come to us. I know it will.”

“Okay.”

We exit the arcade and carry on down the same street, for want of a better plan. I try to think about the clue again, ‘Chase a flying V, then plug-in.’ I guess the plug-in part relates to slotting in the battery, but flying V? I have no idea. Silas, you sneaky sod, you’ve stumped us.

“Derek!” Bethany stops dead and grabs my arm.

“What?”

She points. “The pub.”

“Bethany, it’s getting serious now. We need to concentrate.”

“No, Derek, look.”

I look at the pub. A Tudor-style building with black beams all over it. Old and cosy looking. “What?”

“The name, Derek. What’s the name of the pub?”

“The Wild Goose Inn.” I shrug.

“The Wild Goose Inn!” Bethany exclaims. “Don’t you get it?”

“Get what?”

“We’ve been sent on a wild goose chase. Chase the V. Geese fly in a V shape.”

“Ah. Didn’t know that.” A flood of endorphins rush through my brain, but then a wave of sadness, as part of me did want to be stranded here with Bethany. “Oh, well done. You are right, you have to be.”

“Come on.” Bethany rushes towards the pub, pulling me with her. Silas really is a devilish tease.

“Now, don’t mess around this time. Go ask the barman if they have a game.”

“Right.” I head up to the bar. There are a few people around, but it’s quiet. The pubs here are great. No huge TVs on the walls, blaring out music or sport, no rowdy folk, no drama. Just a few friendly people enjoying a drink.

“Yes, sir.” The barman comes over immediately. Suddenly I feel bad for not asking for a drink first.

“Two pints of ale, please.”

“Certainly.”

“And do you, by chance, have any arcade games?”

“We do, yes. At the back.” He points behind him. “That room, opposite the gents.”

“Great, thank you.” A pang of adrenaline stabs me in the chest. I can’t wait any longer. “Be right back.”

I wave Bethany over and then head down to where the room is. Inside, there’s three arcade machines and very little else. Seems like they are just experimenting with games as a money-making sideline. There’s a dartboard on one wall, a Galaga machine, Asteroids, and YES, a Time Portal cabinet. “Oh, thank god.” I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Check it works.” Bethany nudges me.

“Yeah, good idea.” I slot in two ten-pence coins and hit fire. The familiar game starts and I can’t help but fly around for a moment before realising where I am and letting my ship crash on the mountainside. “Seems okay.”

“Phew.” Bethany wipes her brow. “See, told you something would come up.”

I smile. “I never doubted you for a second.”

“And it’s isolated, away from the bar. As long as no one else comes in, we can warp out of here unnoticed.”

“Good point.”

“Time for a pint first?” She grins.

“Definitely.”

Our last pint together in 1981 is tough. I know we need to leave, but I also want to drag it out as long as possible. My time with Bethany; my day away from reality. Who knows what will happen when we go back? Will she avoid me? Will we have messed up our working, friendly relationship? Is Rick going to hate me? Have I ruined things with Melanie? Many questions, no answers. Just have to play it all by ear, I suppose. Still, I can’t help but wish there was an easy way we could just stay here and never have to face all those dramas.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Bethany squeezes my arm.

“Oh, just wishing the world was different.”

“I know what you mean.” She pauses. “Things will work out again. You’ll see.”

“I know you literally just proved that to me, but this time, I’m not sure. So many variables.”

“We had a lovely day together, and now we have to go back and face the music.” She shrugs. “Are you going to keep playing, do the third battery?”

“Oh, yeah. I have to finish the game.”

“Fair enough. You ready, then?”

“Suppose.”

We walk to the back room where the games are. Thankfully, still no one else in there. I shut the door after us and go to the Time Portal machine, back on the demo screen.

“What do you have to do?”

“Well, last time, I put in two coins, then just slotted in the battery.”

“Okay. Fire away.”

“Sure you don’t want to stay here?” I throw out my last hope.

“No, silly.” She throws her arms around me and pulls me down for a long, sensual kiss again. “We have to go back.”

“Okay.”

I drop two more coins in the slot, then get the battery from my pocket, turn it the right way up, and push it into the slot.

Well done! You have found the second Ouroboros battery!

The words appear on the screen with a joyful sounding chime.

The Aionites will be pleased, but there’s still one more to find.

The text scrolls up, and a small purple ship flies across the screen as a green crystal falls from the top. The ship flies over and catches the crystal.

Are you ready to return before your next challenge?

There are ‘YES’ and ‘NO’ option buttons on the screen. I nudge the joystick to the YES.

“Okay, here it comes. Hold on tight.”

Bethany throws her arms around me and clings on. I hit the fire button.

The screen glows bright white. There’s a whining sound from inside the machine. I feel static electricity building up.

The screen flashes quickly and my chest feels tight as the high-pitch whining warps out of my hearing range. There’s a sudden whoosh and we’re knocked backwards in a swirl of colour and noise. The room fades away into a deep, deathly silent, black nothingness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“Ughhhhh.” It doesn’t get any easier. Arcade machine time travel is not up there with the most comfortable forms of trans-location. I’m guessing the DeLorean method is at least easier with the sports seats. I wait for my senses to catch up and assess the damage. Seems all is well.

“Bethany, you okay?” I open my eyes and gradually sit up. I’m back in my flat. Thank goodness. I look around. “Bethany?”

There’s no sign of her. Maybe she came to before me and got a drink. As usual, I’m as thirsty as a salted kipper. “Bethany?” I call out. No answer. A stab of adrenaline in my heart tells me something is not right. “BETHANY!”

I get to my feet, albeit shakily, and rush around my flat. There’s no sign of her. Oh, my god. What happened?

I check in my living room. Bethany’s bag is still there on the couch. She hasn’t already left. So, where is she?

I run back to the Time Portal cabinet. “Oh, no … oh, no … NO, NO, NO!”

It’s totally dead. No screen, no power, no sound. There’s a smell. Burning electrical. This is not good.

I unplug the cabinet and pull it out from the wall, spinning it around and yanking the back off quickly. The fuse. It must have blown again. Maybe sending two people was too much for it? Maybe Bethany is trapped in the works, somehow? How on earth would that even happen? Is she stuck in some kind of gap between realities, or still in 1981?

I don’t have the tools to even begin to debug this problem. I yank out the thirteen-amp fuse I put in before. It’s charred and still hot. I replace it and plug the machine back in. Nothing happens. Oh, holy shit. “Bethany!”

After forcing myself to pause, calm, take a deep breath and assess the situation, I’m no better off. I’ve pulled out two of the circuit boards from the machine and found a heap of charred components. There’s a load of capacitors that are oozing black nasty stuff, and some resistors that are smoked. I don’t even know if I have all the spares to fix this mess.

This is terrible. My time machine is broken and Bethany is missing, presumably in some kind of temporal rift. How the hell do I explain this to Rick, Melanie, work, and then the police? I can’t.

No time to waste. I grab my soldering iron and the box of spares I have. I match up the components that are fried with spares that I have and the meticulous photos and documents I made when I put it all back together in the first place. Thanks to my nerdy obsession, I quickly have a complete list of what I need. The trouble is, I’m missing several parts. Normally, I’d just browse online or eBay and order up a box of bits, but I can’t wait days for stuff to come from China now, not with Bethany missing in time.

I panic, I try not to, but it doesn’t stop when I take several deep breaths and stick my head out of the window for some fresh air. This is awful. The woman I love is somewhere displaced from reality and I haven’t got a clue how to get her back. Every nerve in my body is tense. I feel sick, my guts ache and there’s a ball of pain welling in my throat. Shit. This was all such a bad idea, and it’s all my fault. I should never have got this machine, wasted time repairing it, then obsessed over beating the high-score, and then I should never have let Bethany get involved, even after I knew it was dangerous. I’m such an idiot!

Shit, shit, shit.

My phone buzzes on my desk. A text message from Rick. ‘Hey, mate. Have you seen Bethany? Only, we had a bit of a thing, and … well, I can’t get hold of her. Just wondering if she popped to yours?’

Oh, god. I can’t exactly tell him she’s trapped somewhere inside my Time Portal machine after we spent a day snogging in Salisbury in 1981. There’s no reasonable way I can explain this to Rick without him assuming I’ve finally lost the plot, or worse, immediately calling the police.

If this cabinet gets ripped apart by the authorities, there’s no way I’ll ever get Bethany back. I have to ignore the phone, focus on the problem, figure out how to get spare parts and go back to 1981 and find her.

I set about replacing the parts that I can, for now. I can do most of one board with the left-over capacitors I have, and a couple on another. I think one is the power supply board, while the other seems to connect to the weird coil thing that I found before. At the time, I assumed it was something to do with core memory, but as that flask-sized tube of weirdness connects directly to the battery slot, now I think it must be one of the time-travel elements. Exactly how it works, I don’t know, but there’s a whole load of toroid cores in there, wrapped around in copper wires. The ‘flux capacitor’, if you like, that makes this portal possible. Silas was definitely some kind of insane genius at best; at worst, a complete nut job.

If, by some miracle, I ever get to meet him, I shall have words. If Bethany is in any way harmed … no, I don’t even want to entertain the possibility. She’s fine, just missing. I’ll get her back. As she said, things will work out fine in the end.

I spend a troubled few hours melting solder and replacing parts. I haven’t eaten and I’m still feeling the after effects of the time jump. I haven’t drunk enough water, and my mouth feels like a camel’s arsehole. I pause. I should let everything cool down, anyway. I’m making progress, throwing away the dead parts and keeping a photographic record of every change I make. Just in case.

I got it working before, and it was in a much worse state. I just need to take it steady, not rush and make a mistake and breathe. Remember to breathe.

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and drain the whole thing in two gulps. Back to work.

I’m interrupted by another buzz from my phone. I haven’t replied to Rick yet, and I don’t know what to say if he rings me. I’ll have to send something back soon, anyway, even if it’s a lie to say I don’t know where Bethany is. Maybe he’ll assume she went to her mum’s house or something to get away from things.

I pick up my phone. It’s Melanie this time. ‘Hiya, hope you are doing okay? I know we left things a bit weird yesterday … but my uncle just offered me a free trip up to his new place in Edinburgh. He’s the one who won the lottery recently. I know it’s forward, but I was wondering if a weekend away sounds good? Just the two of us, Jako could go to his grans’ :) xxx’

Oh, god. What do I say to that? ‘Just the two of us.’ The song that Bethany asked me to play in the pub, forty years and a few hours ago.

Jesus. I’m in a mess now.

Yesterday … it feels like a million years ago. So much has happened.

My heart pounds in my chest. Under normal circumstances, I’d probably umm and ahh, and then ask Bethany, and she’d tell me to stop being a dick and just go with it, and I’d go and enjoy myself. But now … Bethany and those tender kisses. My world has changed and I don’t know what to think. Not to mention, I’ve managed to get Bethany erased from history. I can’t get side-tracked by this now.

‘That sounds great. Let me ponder on it. Still need to get my sleep schedule fixed so I can get back to work. All fine, otherwise :) x’

Hopefully, that buys me some time. I reply to Rick, while I have the phone in my hand. ‘No, haven’t seen her, mate. Maybe she went to her mum’s or something?’ I send the message.

Just as I sit back down at my desk, I hear another phone dinging across the flat. Bethany’s phone is in her bag. Rick is probably messaging her. Oh, shit, what if they have the location sharing thing set up, and he discovers her phone at my flat when I just said I haven’t seen her? I clench my fists and take another deep breath.

I feel weird, digging in Bethany’s bag, but needs must. I reach in without looking, grab her phone and hold the power button until it goes off. Better to be safe than sorry. If Rick turns up at my door in a rage, demanding to see Bethany, I’m back to trying to explain myself again, and I see a huge red GAME OVER logo looming in that direction.

Calm. I need to stay calm and rational. I can fix this machine and get Bethany back if I’m just given some peace. I turn my phone off as well and sit back down.

Another torturous hour passes and I’ve soldered and tested all the parts I had spare. One board is fixed, I hope. The other has quite a few gaps I need to fill. I’ve sort of got a plan, but it will need a whole heap of luck. I turn to my collection of old equipment. Monitors, CRT TVs, computers and consoles. Somewhere inside these beautiful old beasts are the parts I need to repair my Time Portal and get my love back. Sacrificing one obsession for another. I think I’m making the right choice.

I start with a hefty old monitor that I rarely use. The first to be culled. The last thing I’ll take from the stash is my prized possession; the Apple LISA that’s under a dust cover, high up on my shelves. A beautiful and clean model that I picked up for only fifty quid at a car-boot sale once. Amazing find. Anyway, I rip the back cover away from the monitor and scan the boards for parts.

* * *

I sit within a scrap heap of plastic and silicon. A towering, precarious monument to years of devotion and joy, destroyed, some beyond repair, some just missing parts. I’ve taken apart my life’s work to save the love of my life. At least I didn’t have to break into the LISA, but many other machines have lost all their sealed and working value.

I could cry, but, rather ironically, I’m repairing a time machine and I’m running out of time. It won’t be long before Rick, Melanie, or the police show up at my door. It occurred to me that phones send out a location ping as they are being turned off, so if Rick goes looking for Bethany, she’ll still show up here as the last known place, even though her phone is off.

Jesus. How did I get myself into this? A rapid escalation from a gaming obsession to a missing person’s police case.

I stare at the surrounding mess. No matter, I can sort it out later. The point is that I think I have all the components I need now to fix the Time Portal circuit boards, donated like living organs from functional old computers and screens. A capacitor here, a resistor there. A few diodes and a helping of transistors. An army of spindly-legged insects that will work together to breathe life back into my machine. Each component doing its own little thing, over and over, utterly oblivious to the whole circuit and the magical output that they bring together.

I clear away the detritus and once again fire up the soldering iron.

My eyes are closing. I check the time; two in the morning. I’ve been doing this for something like eight hours and I have lost count of how many hours I’ve been awake, including all the time we spent in Salisbury. We must have walked about ten miles, on top of all the stress and beer. I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep while Bethany is missing. Still, as I solder the last salvaged diode into place and triple check all the connections, I think I have earned a cuppa and a short break. The next step is to put everything back into the machine and pray to mythical deities that everything has worked and the Time Portal remembers where I left off.

I pour my coffee and look out of the window at the dark, empty street. If I can’t get Bethany back, I have no idea what I’ll do. That is simply not an option. She’s not going to vanish like Silas did.

With all my fingers and toes crossed, I plug in the cabinet having carefully and delicately plugged all the circuits back in and closed up the back opening. I pause, take a deep breath yet again, and flick on the power.

“YES!” Light comes from the screen and my heart stands still while life breathes back into the Time Portal machine. The familiar music plays and the demo screen appears. We’re back in business!

I wipe the sweat from my brow and wait for a moment to make sure nothing blows as it warms up. I dare not move, let alone hit the buttons. A minute passes, two minutes. The demo repeats, over and over, three minutes, four, five. All is well.

Right. Let’s get this party started. I flick the coin-box switch and rack myself up a few quid of credit, then smack the fire button.

A deathly crackle buzz comes from the speakers as a screen of text appears.

Level 3 is a single-player challenge.

We are Aionites. We not exist in your realm. We not exist in your time.

We hold PapaDolos and Player 2 under Time Freeze. You have returned two batteries so far, we still need one more. Return our batteries to us, or you will join PapaDolos and Player 2 in Time Freeze for what you know as forever. When you return our battery, your system will be restored. You have 24 units to complete the challenge. Do you accept?

Player 2? They must mean Bethany.

Level 3 is a single-player challenge? What is going on? This is ridiculous now. Maybe Bethany was right, and this is abduction. They can’t just take a player away like that, can they? Well, I intend to get her back, one way or another. This time I remember to get my phone, then bang on the YES button and prepare for impact.

Another screen of text appears.

RET! Thank goodness you made it. The Aionites are furious now. They’ve taken Player 2 and held them in Time Freeze. You need to complete the last challenge and only then will they release me and Player 2 back to normal time. We’re safe, don’t worry, but it isn’t much fun stuck in Time Freeze for all eternity. I wish you the best of luck, and remember, not everything is as it seems to be.

Your friend, PapaDolos.

Those bloody Aionites will pay for this! I smash on the CONTINUE button and the now-familiar process starts. The screen flashes colours, the whining of the capacitors charging, the throb in my chest and the smell of ionisation. I hope with every fibre of my being that my repairs hold out, or maybe all of us will be trapped forever in this bloody Time Freeze.

I feel the whoosh coming and I brace myself. The pressure rises in my guts now; the whining passes what my ears can register and I’m thrown backwards by a powerful force as the room around me fades into black and an eerie, silent nothingness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I don’t have time for pain and suffering this round. No pausing to speculate on the nature of the universe, no languishing in self-pity. I have a woman to save, a damsel in distress. Princess Peach, captured by Bowser and held in his deadly castle. I’m Mario on a mission. A strange mission, but a mission nonetheless.

With considerable effort, mental and physical, I manage to flick open an eye, forcing through the gummy elastic that holds it tightly closed. I shiver.

I’m outside. Daylight, but the sun is setting. I’m thirsty as all hell, tired, stressed and likely bedraggled, but I’m alive, I think.

“You okay, pal?” I jump and open both eyes, turning my head towards the voice. “Where did you come fae?”

A Scottish accent, if I’m not mistaken. A chap in his thirties, abundant greasy red curly hair, matted in tangles. Dark-brown face-fungus, faded clothes, grimy skin. He’s sitting next to me on a park bench with a brown paper bag around a bottle in his hand. Oops, I’ve landed in hobo-land.

I croak out a response. “Err, yeah.”

“One minute I was here alone, minding my own business, like-say. The next, you wis here next to us.” He tilts his head.

“Sorry, yeah. Just needed to sit for a minute.”

“Aye, but …” He glances down at the bottle in his hand, then shakes his head.

I take a second to look around. I’m in a park, on the bench, next to this wino chap. I can see the tops of buildings through some trees. I’d guess I’m in a city park, late afternoon. But I can’t tell which city. I suppose it has been pure luck before that I haven’t suddenly beamed in next to an unsuspecting stranger. I don’t want to freak out the poor fellow, but I need answers.

I remember Bethany’s advice. ‘Ask someone.’ I take a deep breath. This man doesn’t look as though he’s the most reliable source of information, but he’s here and engaged already …

“Sorry, can I ask where is this?”

“Heh?”

“Where am I?”

He looks me up and down for a moment. “Earth, pal.” He coughs out a guttural laugh and almost brings up a lung. I see I have encountered a comedian out in the wild. How delightful.

“Can you be more specific?”

“Edinburgh, the fine city of Edwin’s fort. The Meadows Park.” He waves his arms around at the general area. “Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it, except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.” He takes a gulp from his bottle after his reverent speech, then offers it to me. Thirsty as I am, I think I’ll pass.

“Err, no, thank you. I better be off, anyway. Thanks for the info.” Edinburgh, what the bloody hell am I doing here?

“Where is it you’re heading, pal?”

I don’t want to linger with this chap, but I have a sense he’s the sort who could start some hassle if he thinks I’m being rude.

His question is valid. I have no idea where I’m headed. Well, I had a vague plan; I was going to try ringing the pub in Salisbury to ask if they had seen Bethany after we, well, I, left. That plan is sort of null, now, since I saw the message on the Time Portal screen. It looks like Silas knows exactly where Bethany is, and that isn’t the pub in Salisbury. Wild Goose chase or not.

“I’m not sure.”

“Heh? You don’t know where you are, or where you’re going?”

“No.” I admit.

“And they say I’m mad …” He coughs out another tar-coated laugh, then pats his pockets looking for something. “Ah, I do appear to have left my cigarillos in my other smoking jacket.” He fakes a posh accent. “Kind sir, do you perchance have a fag I can bum?”

“No, don’t smoke. Sorry.”

“Course you don’t,” he scoffs.

“I better be going, anyway, thanks.”

“No so fast, sonny Jim. You seem in an awful rush for a fella who dinnae ken where he’s going.”

I don’t have time to waste on this wino. I need to extricate myself as quickly and cleanly as possible. I decide to wing it.

“I’m playing a game. A sort of hunt. I need to look for clues and stuff. Sorry, I was dropped off here with no idea where to go next. I need to ponder for a second.”

“Oh, aye? A game, like-say?”

“Yeah …”

“Is there money in it?”

“No, no. Not at all.”

He sniffs. “No much of a game, then.” He looks me over. “Where are you from, yersel?”

“Oh, London.”

“London?” He raises his eyebrows. “And you find yersel all the way up here in bonnie Scotland?”

“Indeed.”

“Well, isn’t this quite the turn of events?” He sticks out a grimy hand. “Robert Nathair McAdder, at your service.”

I look at the hand in what must have come across as disgust. He wipes it on his trousers and holds it out again. I tentatively shake. “Derek.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Derek. Everyone calls me Bob.”

A thought occurs to me. “One more question, if I may, Bob? What day and time is it?”

He double-takes. “So, you don’t know where you are, where you’re going, or what day it is?” He laughs. “You are in a state, pal. Lucky you met me!”

“I think I would have got by, but thanks, all the same.”

“Saturday, about five o’clock.”

“Saturday the twenty-fourth?”

He nods. “Aye.”

“… of October 1981?”

He nods again as he takes a swig of whatever the hell is in his paper bag.

“Right. Thanks again.” The day after. I had guessed, but nice to have it confirmed.

“Were you expecting something different?”

“No, no. That makes sense.” As much as anything can make sense anymore.

Bob pauses, then looks over at me, pointedly. “Clues, you say?”

“Yeah, usually a riddle or something.”

“Aye? I love riddles. You could say I’m a bit of a riddle ma’sel.”

“Really?”

“Oh, aye. Riddle Bob, they call me. Or Bob Riddle, one or the other.” He points to his chest with the thumb of his free hand, the other still clutching the bottle.

“Thought they just called you Bob?”

“Smart fella, are ye?” He puffs up his chest.

I don’t need this hassle. “Look, I need to get going. Thanks for your help.”

“Haud yer horses, pal, haud yer horses. I’m only messing with ye. Riddles, that’s mah thing.” He beams a smile. “Mibbe I can be of service, for a small fee, of course?”

I ponder for a moment. I have never been to Edinburgh before. I know nothing about the place. Maybe if the clues relate to this location, this tramp may be helpful.

“I don’t know how much money I have.” I think about checking my pockets, but I don’t want him to grab my wallet and run off. Then again, looking at him, half-drunk and coughing up mythical creatures, I’m sure I could catch up with him easily, tired as I am.

I’m exhausted, come to think of it. I probably should have tried to get at least an hour’s sleep before I jumped back through the portal, but ironically, time is of the essence, as it were.

I stand up and check my pockets. I realise I’m wearing the same jacket as Bethany was wearing. The 1981 time jacket that I’ve had on every trip. Bethany was wearing it in Salisbury, so how did it get here on me? I’m glad of it, too. It’s brass monkeys weather.

In my inventory, I have the usual red clock, counting down from twenty-four hours. I’ve wasted fifteen minutes already talking to Bob McRiddles.

In the usual wallet, I seem to have about a hundred pounds, which I counted surreptitiously, without taking it out. I guess this challenge needs more cash than previously. I also have a note. Nothing else. I pat my jeans pocket and find that my phone is there. Thank god for that, although it won’t be much use as a phone or even a navigation device, but at least I can take photos of things. I leave it in my pocket, for now, no point in confusing Bob here with future technology.

I open the note as he watches me in fascination.

Tak’ tent o’time ere time be tint.

“What the …?”

“Whits it say?” Bob no doubt sees my look of befuddlement.

“Tak’ tent o’time ere time be tint.” I shrug.

Bob chuckles silently with a grin. “Oh, aye?”

“What does it mean?”

“Is that it?”

I turn over the paper.

Follow the shadow, cross the green, your destination shall be seen.

Ah, now this is more like it. Destination is what I’m interested in. I read it out for Bob. He snorts a laugh.

“Do you know what it means, Bob Riddle?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Aye.” He takes a sip from his bottle. “Of course.”

“How much?” I can tell there are no freebies here.

“Pound.” He doesn’t hesitate.

“Fair enough. Deal.” I reach into my pocket for the wallet.

“Woah there, Derek, laddie.” He holds his hand up. “Dinnae be so keen.”

“Huh? I thought you wanted the money.”

“Aye, I do, but don’t you want the chance to figure it out, yersel?”

“Err, well, normally, I would. But there’s more at stake this time.” Shit, I didn’t mean to give myself away like that.

Bob strokes his chin. “If it’s no money, then it must be something even better …” He looks up at me. “A wumman?”

He’s good. “Sort of, yes.”

“Now I have ye, pal. Two quid for the clue. Or one if you try to figure it yersel first.” He winks. “The student discount, eh?”

I want to hand over the money, but I don’t think that would work. He wants to play the game. I weigh up the options. “Fine. I’ll give it a go.”

I look back at the note. ‘Tak’ tent o’time.’ Tent? Camping? No.

‘Ere time be tint.’ Tint, as in colour? I’m at a loss. Scots dialect was never my strong point and I’m guessing, based on the location, that’s what this is. I flip the sheet over.

“Naw, naw, pal. That’s the side ye want first.” He nods to the paper.

“Huh?”

“The first part will help with the second part. Ye cannae do it the wrang way around.”

“Right.” I stare at the words.

“I’ll gie you a free clue, eh? I mean, another clue, for the clue.” He chuckles.

“Please do.”

“Take heed of time, before your time is taken.” He says in a perfect southern accent, out of nowhere.

“Sorry?”

“That’s what it means for you, London laddie.”

“Oh, right.” I ponder. Take heed of time, before your time is taken. I have wasted some time here already, but I never would have got that from the obscure Scots dialect myself. I still don’t know what it means, or where I should go. I look slowly around the park.

“Time and tide wait for no man. Time is the chrysalis of eternity. Time, as he passes us, has a dove’s wing, unsoiled and swift, and of a silken sound.”

“Huh?” I look at Bob, rattling off these phrases.

He raises his eyebrows. “I mark but the hours of sunshine.” He tilts his head to his right. I follow his direction. There’s a stone obelisk with a sort of metal circle on top, surrounded by a fence, just a few yards away from our bench.

“A sundial?”

“You got it, well done, laddie. A sundial, indeed.”

I head towards it. Bob stands up and follows me. I wish he wouldn’t, but he did help me rather a lot.

“Erected by Prince Albert Victor to commemorate the International Festival here in 1886.”

I get to the sundial. It stands tall, bulbous on the top, with words carved into the stone sides. I read the ones in front of me and they’re the phrases that Bob was reciting earlier, and at the top around the edges is the phrase that’s on my note. He must spend a lot of time in this park.

“I owe you a pound. Thank you, Bob.”

“Double or nothing if you can figure out the rest.”

I look back at the note. “Follow the shadow, cross the green, your destination shall be seen. Well, this is simple now. The shadow of the sundial, walk across the park in the direction it is pointing, and there will be something obvious for my destination.”

“Very good. But do you notice the position of the sun now?”

“Almost gone, yes.”

“The first clue was more than just a pointer. Take heed of time, before your time is taken. Without the sunlight, your second clue would have been useless.”

“Indeed. Thanks for your help, in that case, as it would have taken me a lot longer to figure that out.”

“There’s hidden meaning in everything. Deception, trickery, cunning and guile.”

“Right.” I take two pounds from my wallet and hand them to Bob.

“That’s the ticket, son.” He grins from ear to ear. “Right, away across the park, then. That way.” He points towards the edge of the park. Due west, I presume.

“Thanks again, Bob. I can take it from here.” I wave goodbye and set off.

“Is it that simple, your game?” Bob pads along beside me. Shit, I was hoping I’d be rid of him, but no such luck. Again, he makes a good point. There’s no way a level three challenge would be this simple. Last time had us hiking all over Wiltshire, so I’m expecting multiple clues or obstacles to overcome. Maybe Bob will be useful.

“You’re right, it isn’t that simple.”

“Well, then you won’t mind if I tag along. See if I can be of any more use tae ye.”

“Right, appreciate it, Bob.”

“What is it, anyway? The destination.”

“I’m looking for a battery.”

“A battery? Like-say, from Woolies?”

I have to think for a second. He means the shop, Woolworths that closed down years back. They sold all sorts of things. No doubt batteries were one of their lines.

“No, probably not.” I chuckle. “A bit of a strange battery. I’m not sure exactly where it will be, but it may become obvious.”

“Aye. Right enough.” Bob pauses for a moment. “Is she pretty?”

“Sorry, who?”

“The woman you’re chasing, laddie, of course.”

An image of Bethany flashes in my mind involuntarily. “She’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“Worth the game, then?”

“Yeah, worth everything.”

“Fair do’s.” Bob rubs his hands together. “Where there’s love, there’s fools, and fools are easily parted from their money.” He laughs his guttural roar again and spends the rest of the jaunt across the lawn coughing and spluttering between swigs of drink. As we exit the green onto a pavement, he drops his empty bottle into a bin and then waits for me.

“Right. Something here should be my destination.” I look around the road ahead. The usual kind of five-storey, mid-city Georgian buildings line the street, with the ground floor used as a variety of business premises. A Chinese takeaway, a laundrette, some boarded up empty, and … a garish, loud and obnoxious frontage with the word AMUSEMENTS lit up like a flare. Bingo. “There, that’s it.” I set off, not waiting around for Bob, but he swiftly catches up.

“An arcade is your destination?”

“Yup.” I don’t hesitate and go in through the double doors.

“Interesting.” Bob is at my elbow again. I don’t know how I’m going to shake him off now.

A rapid blast around the pretty large arcade floor is almost immediately fruitful. I am treated to a delightful display of not one, but three gleaming Time Portal cabinets lined up next to each other. All functional, two of them being played on by youths of the era, rather badly, I note. Excellent. I now know precisely where I need to come once I have the battery.

“This,” I point at the cabinets, “Is my destination.”

“Time Portal?” He studies the artwork.

“Yup.”

“A space invader game?”

“Oh, it’s much more than that. Very deep. Strategy, control and timing go into the play as much as dexterity and cunning. To beat the high score you need to plan, practice, practice and more practice. You need to dedicate a chunk of your life to it to even be within a chance of winning.”

“You did that?”

I nod. “I did. Perhaps foolishly, now I think about it.”

“Each to their own, I suppose.” Bob stares at the screens. “Don’t see the attraction, ma’sel.”

“I beat SPD, and now I’m in this mess.” I throw up my arms.

Bob raises an eyebrow. “You aren’t enjoying this game? The clues, the adventure?”

“I was until they took Bethany.”

“Bethany, your girlfriend?”

I hesitate. I prefer accuracy, but there’s no need to explain myself to Bob McRiddles, the tramp. I wish she was my girlfriend, so that’s enough. “Sort of.”

“Who took her?”

“The Aionites.” I suddenly realise I’m sounding like a nutcase and I move away from the crowd forming around the games. “The aliens in the game. Well, probably not them.” I look up at Bob, who is staring at me intently. “It’s complicated.” I sigh. “Look, I’m thirsty as hell. Do you fancy a drink?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Bob McRiddles guides me to a nearby pub that he’s familiar with. “Cheap pints,” he said. But all pints seem to be cheap in this time. I follow, because I’m too tired to object, and I desperately need liquid.

I get myself a pint of water, an orange juice, and, of course, a pint of ale for Bob. He sat down at a table near the back. Out of the way, out of sight. The bar is quite busy, and no one pays us any attention, thankfully.

What the hell am I doing in a pub in Edinburgh with a hobo? I sigh and shake my head. I’m here to find out how to get Bethany back. Nothing else matters.

I drop the drinks down on the table. Bob grins and waits for me to sit down before gulping down half his drink.

I want to do the same with the water, but I pace myself and take a series of sips. The cold water feels good, hydrating my dry body. I wonder why the time travel dries us out so much? There don’t seem to be any other side-effects, well, aside from getting your friend lost in some kind of weird Time Freeze thing, of course.

“So.” Bob looks up at me once he’s sated. “Aliens took your girlfriend, eh?” I look up at him, straight-faced, with no hint of sarcasm.

“Well, that’s what the message said, but they aren’t real. I mean, they are part of the game.”

“The arcade game, Time Portal?”

I nod. “Yes. They are the aliens you shoot down.”

“Stands to reason they’d be annoyed at you, then, and retaliate.”

“I suppose. But really, it’s a chap called Silas who is doing all the, err, weird stuff.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Silas?”

“The inventor. He must be some kind of mad genius or something …”

“Really? A genius?”

I shrug. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Well, if I’m going to be able to help you, laddie, maybe you should tell me the full story?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Bob, I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

“Try me. I’ve seen some weird stuff in mah time.”

“I don’t think you’ve seen anything this weird.” I shake my head.

“Well, up tae you, pal. But I’m offering to help you, for a price, and all you need to do is tell me the story.” He sits back and folds his arms.

I ponder for a moment and puff out a deep sigh. I suppose I’ve got nothing to lose. “Okay, then. I’ve got about a hundred pounds, minus what I already gave you, and the drinks. I have no idea how much I’m going to need on this mission. I can’t just hand it all over now, but if you can help me get the battery and get out of here, I will leave you every penny of whatever is left. I won’t need it where I’m going. How does that sound?”

Bob rubs his stubbly chin with a grimy hand. “Well, I dare say that seems like a fine deal, Derek, old chap.” He sticks out his hand again and I shake without hesitation.

“But,” he adds. “I have one rule.”

“What’s that?”

“You have to tell me everything, nitty-gritty details and truth. Or I cannae help you.”

“Fair enough.”

“Okay. Best you get another round in, then, eh?” He smiles.

I get myself a beer as well this time. I need to chill out. I’m aching all over and tense, as well as cold. A pint should soften me up a bit. I’m getting hungry, and I could sleep like the dead, but I can’t waste that much time. My red clock counts down the seconds regardless of my physical state. Time and tide wait for no man, as they say.

I drop the drinks down and sit opposite Bob again. He’s a strange chap. Furtive, but somehow relaxed as well. I can’t help but wonder how he got to be living rough in a park, as it seems as though his mind is agile. He knew the answer to my riddle immediately, and he says that riddles are his thing.

Other than that, I know nothing about this man, yet he’s committed to helping me save Bethany. I wonder why? Perhaps he has nothing else to do and my arrival gave him an opportunity he rarely sees, or maybe it’s just the sniff of money.

“Here you go. But that’s it, okay? I don’t want you getting wasted and puking up in the gutter or something.”

Bob looks up. “Dinnae you worry about me, sonny. I can handle a pint or two.”

“I’m clearly older than you, Bob. Don’t call me sonny.”

He laughs and holds up his hands. “I mean no harm.”

“Sorry, I’m just tense. I have a deadline, and a woman to save. I can’t get stuck here in bloody 1981 Edinburgh with a drunk in a pub.”

“Ahm no a drunk, pal!” He takes offence.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Watch your words, eh?”

“I met you on a park bench drinking from a paper bag. What was I meant to think?”

He laughs. “That was water.”

“Water?”

“Aye, plain old water. Perrier, actually.” He folds his arms again.

I shrug. “Sorry. Why was it in a paper bag then?” A tramp swigging Perrier water? This has to be a first.

“That’s how they sold it to me.” He shrugs. “About that bench,” he peers at me. “Where did you come from? Truth now, like I said.”

I sit back. “All right. I’m going to tell you the truth, Bob, and I swear this is the truth. Okay?”

“Aye, okay.”

“I’m from the future.”

Bob almost spits out a mouthful of beer. “Oh, aye?”

“I’m from 2021, to be precise. I was born in 1981. Here, today I’m about two months old, in north London. Yet, I’m forty years old in 2021, and here I am, aged forty back in 1981. I’m a time-traveller.”

Bob scratches his beard and studies me silently.

“It all started when I bought an arcade machine, the same one we looked at in the arcade: Time Portal.” I look around the pub in case there’s a machine in here, but there isn’t that I can tell. “See, I’m a retro gamer.” I pause. “Err, that is, I’m very much into old games. Games from this time. The ‘80s and ‘90s. It’s a big thing in my world. We crave nostalgia or something. I don’t know. It just seems to me and a lot of others that the games from this time,” I hold out my hands, “were a lot better than the new stuff we see in my time.”

Bob tilts his head but says nothing.

“Well, it’s more complicated than that, but you get the idea.”

He nods.

“It was broken, the arcade machine. It had sat idle for forty-odd years, and the circuit boards were littered with dead parts. I studied it, bought replacements, documented every last detail. Then, I gradually, carefully and painstakingly, brought it back to life. I got it going, and it was absolutely amazing.” I smile in memory of that moment that I switched it on and showed it to Bethany, Melanie and Rick in my flat. “Anyway, the game was challenging. You saw it in the arcade there. You have to shoot the aliens, then grab the time crystals, then you warp to the next level. Simple and repetitive, but it gets harder at each level. To beat the high-score that was hard-coded on each machine took hours and hours of play, dedication and obsession.” I pause and look up. “I’m obsessed. Bethany told me to stop, but I didn’t listen. At that point, I had no idea it was also a time machine of sorts.” I take a gulp of my beer. “I’m an idiot. I got her into this, and I need to get her out.”

I explain to Bob how the game changed after I beat the high score, then turned into a text adventure game, then after that, how the Aionites demanded that I return their batteries and that Silas, ‘SPD’, was somehow also stuck in this Time Freeze that they say Bethany is in.

I tell him about the challenge in Watford, how I had to find the battery from the clues at the Verulamium in St Albans, then take it to the arcade and plug it in, then how Bethany and I landed in Salisbury and had to navigate the Wiltshire countryside until we found the Wild Goose Inn and plugged in the battery.

Then, how I got back home and found Bethany missing and my machine burned out and damaged, probably due to some kind of power overload, and how I had to fix it in a panic using spare parts from machines I happened to have lying around.

I leave out some stuff, like how Bethany and I ended up kissing on the bus to Stonehenge, and the excess of alcohol, the dancing at the jukebox, and the complications of Melanie and Rick. Now he knows the bulk of my story and he hasn’t said a word, nor made facial expressions that indicate he doesn’t believe me. I sit back finally and gulp down the rest of my drink.

“A fine story, Derek, laddie. A fine story, indeed.”

“Do you believe me?” I suddenly remember my phone in my pocket. If he needs proof, at least I have something that should help convince him. I don’t want to take it out here, though, in a busy pub.

“Forty years,” He seems to ponder on this. “That’s a long time.”

“It is.”

“And you say games like those in the arcade are still popular in forty years?”

“Oh, yes. Very much. Some of those cabinets would go for an absolute fortune in my time.”

“Interesting.”

“Indeed. So, what do you think?”

“I believe you, laddie. I one-hundred-per-cent believe you.” He smiles.

“Oh, well, good.”

“Now what?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “There’s usually a clue that leads me to find the battery, with diversions and complications, but there’s usually something.”

“You already had a clue?”

“The sundial, yes, but that seems to have fizzled out.”

“It said your destination shall be seen. The arcade?”

“Right, but that’s the arcade where I have to plug in the battery. But where do I get it from?”

Bob rubs his chin, deep in thought.

“This is the third level in the game. It is bound to be more complicated, and I have more cash this time. There’s probably some obscure thing I have to do or place I have to go to find the next clue.”

“Aye.” Bob looks up. “You know, there’s another sundial with the same carving on it. Tak’ tent o’time ere time be tint.”

“Really? Why didn’t you say?”

“Just thought of it.” He shrugs.

“Where is it?”

“Behind the National Museum of Edinburgh. In a wee courtyard.”

“Is that far away?”

“Nah, about five minutes’ walk.”

I jump up. “Come on then. No time to waste.”

Bob gulps down his pint and then gets up.

A brisk walk brings us to the Museum of Edinburgh, as Bob promised. It’s closed, of course, but there’s a little tunnel passageway under the building next to it that leads behind and to the courtyard through a gate. I’m glad Bob knows the way as, again, I would be utterly lost without his guidance. How could I possibly know about a courtyard behind a museum where a sundial stands with no map or clues? Silas, you didn’t think this one through.

We enter the courtyard, empty and dark, only lit by the street beyond. I look around. There’s the sundial, as promised with the inscription, but no sun to cast a shadow now. There are some weird stones and sculptures, twisted and evil looking. A little scary, in the cold darkness.

A grimacing stone face, green with algae, and a headless statue that seems to be bound and tied forever in some kind of brutal punishment. It reminds me of the Tower of London and the horrific torture devices. I shudder at the thought.

“Well, here we are.” Bob throws his arms up.

“Indeed.” I look around again in the darkness. Hard to see, so I take a risk and pull out my phone. It’s still powered off since when I was avoiding Rick and Melanie. I switch it on. I only want the torch function, but Bob notices and stares at it intently.

“What’s that?”

“Future technology. I probably shouldn’t show you.”

“What does it do?”

“It’s a phone.”

“Go on? Really?”

“Well, much more than that. It’s a powerful supercomputer in portable form. It plays music, shoots photos, video and connects to the … err, it connects people to a worldwide network of computers. We call it the internet. Oh, and probably more importantly, it’s how most people play games in my time. Almost everyone has one, or something like it.” I’m sure I’m breaking some kind of protocol here, but Bob the hobo is unlikely to spring up a Google rival and alter the course of history after I tell him this. He probably doesn’t even know what I’m talking about. “I only need the little torch it has for now.” I shine it around the courtyard at all the statues and stones for a long few minutes before giving up. “I don’t see a clue.”

“Maybe everything is a clue. Maybe nothing is.” Bob shrugs. “Maybe it’s a red herring?”

I feel a lump of stress balling in my throat, tension in my chest and cramp in my stomach. I’m starving and tired. I can’t think straight. I’m getting nowhere here.

“Is there anywhere nearby to get some food?”

“Oh, aye. Plenty. Come on.” Bob cheers up at this prospect.

We don’t have to walk far. Bob leads me to a pub opposite the Museum. The Tolbooth Tavern. An olde world pub that in better times would be a welcome retreat. Now, I slump down at another pub table after ordering a plate of fish and chips for us both at the bar, and another couple of pints. The pub is full of smoke, of course, and I notice Bob gazing jealously at a cigarette vending machine in the corner.

“They’ll kill you, you know?”

“Heh?” He looks over at me.

“The fags. Bad for you. Cause cancer and god knows what.”

“Ah, you are probably right, laddie, but needs must as the devil drives, and all that.”

“Have you thought about giving up?”

He lolls his head back. “Have you thought about shutting up?” He laughs. “Do people no smoke in the future, then?”

“No, they still do, but they are banished to do it outdoors, in most places. Smoking bans indoors.”

“Is that so?” Bob looks up at me in shock.

“Yeah, and fags are crazy expensive, too. A lot of people have switched to vaping instead.”

“Vaping?”

I shrug. “Nicotine liquid in some kind of fruity-flavoured solution, and a little electronic device vaporises it into a cloud so it can be inhaled, like smoke. Meant to be less harmful, but who knows?”

“Fascinating.” He goes blank for a moment. “What else is different?”

I laugh. “How long have you got? Everything.” If I had infinite time, I’d explain how microcomputers took over the world, the evolution and proliferation of the internet, the ongoing ruin of the planet by greed and commercialism … but I don’t. I shake my head. “Basically, everything, Bob, but also not that much when you think about people. People are the same, seemingly whenever you go.”

“Aye, people all have basic needs when you break it down; love, food and warmth … that’s all someone needs, in the end.”

I suddenly think about Bethany again and a pang of pain kicks me in the stomach. Bethany, somewhere frozen in time. Is she safe? Is she happy? And on top of that, does she love me in the same way I love her?

When I rescue her — which I most certainly will, by any means I can, or die trying — I wonder what will happen when we go back to our normal lives? Maybe we’ll drift apart, or maybe become closer because of this?

God, I wish she were here, now.

“Here you go, gentlemen.” A lady puts down two enormous plates of food in front of us and my eyes widen. My mouth waters and my stomach gurgles.

“That wee thing you have, the phone in your pocket.” We’ve been eating in silence, but Bob has clearly been pondering.

“Yeah?”

“You say people play games on it?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“How? It’s so small.”

“Ah, well, the screen is a touch interface. You tap with your fingers and manipulate things.”

“Interesting. Do you have one of these games that you touch?”

“Dozens, yeah.”

He looks up. “Are you rich? I mean, in your time.”

“No, not particularly. I mean, I have a good enough job, but a lot of the games are free.”

“Free?”

“Ad-supported.”

Bob looks blank.

“Advertisers pay to show their wares inside the game, or a screen before or after you play. Annoying, I always pay to get rid of them if I can, but even then, it’s only a couple of quid.”

“This is all very strange, you know, laddie.”

“I’m sure it must be.”

“Can I see?” Bob pleads. “Promise I won’t steal it or run off or something.”

I laugh. “For some reason, I trust you, Bob, but I can’t take it out in here with people around. I’d be burnt as a witch or something.”

“Oh, aye. Fair do’s.” He nods.

“How do the games get into the phone?”

I smile. “You seem very curious about this?”

“Aye, well, it’s a fascinating subject. Just trying to get my head around it.”

“It really is.” Maybe I’ve finally found someone I can relate to? “People program the games and then they are downloaded into the phones over the internet.” Bob scratches his head. “For example, if I wanted to play PAC-MAN, I’d log into the app store, type in and search for ‘PAC-MAN’ then download it, and within a few seconds I’d have that software on my phone.”

“You’ve got PAC-MAN on that tiny thing in your pocket?”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “PAC-MAN is a classic.”

He raises his eyebrows. “What about that other game, the one you are playing, Time Portal? Is that on your phone?”

“No.” I shake my head. “The company, Dolos, that made it, vanished decades ago. Bankrupt, apparently. No one has ever heard of them or Time Portal in my time.”

“Is that so?” Bob stands up. “You’ll have tae excuse me, I must go powder my nose.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“I could talk about games for hours.” I somehow got side-tracked into educating Bob the hobo about the history of video games over the last forty years. He didn’t stop me, so I kept talking. I may have got a bit carried away.

It started when I told him about Mario the plumber who evolved from Jumpman on the early LCD Game and Watch devices from Nintendo, and how they, in their primitive but neat and elegant form, paved a road for Nintendo to create one of the most iconic computer game characters of all time. Who hasn’t heard of Super Mario?

From there, I got onto the subject of Sonic the Hedgehog, and the rises and falls of Sega and Atari, which then led to home consoles, the various Nintendo machines; NES, SNES, 64, GameCube, Wii, Wii U and Switch, as well as the Sega competition, the Master System, Mega Drive, CD, Saturn and Dreamcast, all of which I own in pristine condition. Well, they were until I had to ransack some for parts.

Then the numerous handheld devices that I’ve lost count of. The multitudes of Gameboy and variants that display in my living room. From there, the inevitable iterations of Xbox, PlayStation, and then the different styles of games suited to each platform. First-person shooters, button-mashing fight-em-ups, role-playing, sports simulations, 2D platformers like most of the Marios, 3D open worlds, online multiplayers like World of WarCraft, puzzlers like Tetris, action games, tower defence, motor racing, and of course, adventure games like my all-time favourite, Monkey Island. From there, the natural progression was home computers like the Commodore Amiga range and the blue screens of PC gaming. A swift and sickening overview of the various attempts at Virtual Reality, and then finally circled back to the origins with retro becoming wildly popular as the kids from the ‘80s and ‘90s ripen to an age where a Super Nintendo version of Street Fighter 2 is a nostalgia binge from their childhood.

Big business. I told him the video game industry is predicted to be worth around one-hundred and eighty billion dollars in 2021 alone. Games have become as wide a form of entertainment as movies or television. Bigger, even.

I basically explained the entire history of video games over the course of a few pints and a couple of hours to a tramp in a bar in 1981, Edinburgh, before my rational brain re-engaged and I suddenly realised why I was here, and then when and where here was.

I’m meant to be on a mission to rescue my Princess Peach, my Bethany, and I’m getting nowhere close to finding the Ouroboros battery.

Bob seemed genuinely fascinated by my rhetoric and asked questions about the Internet and how the phone in my pocket could connect to anything at all. I think he assumed I had to plug it into a wall socket or something until I explained Wi-Fi, then a brief overview of cellular modems and the ubiquitous coverage of high-speed data more or less anywhere on the inhabited planet, except of course when you want to make a call, then suddenly there’s never any signal.

Bob listened, nodded, shook his head in awe, and was generally struck dumb by the overload of data. He should try scrolling Twitter.

“So I see, Derek. So I see.”

“Sorry, not many people are willing to listen. I sort of got carried away there.”

“Ach, no, it is all very interesting. I enjoyed listening.”

I smile, but with a sense of nausea behind it. I’m wasting time and I need to get back to the mission.

“Do you work in games?” Bob, less sober than before, yet still somehow coherent and focused. He asked me to get us both a pint of water to wash away some of the booze. I agreed.

“No.” I shake my head. “I wish. Boring office job.” I point to my chest.

“Why not, but?” Bob is taken aback. “You seem to know more about it than anyone on the planet.”

“Perhaps today, yes. But not in my time.” I shrug. “Dunno, to be honest. A job like that would be hard to get. Coveted.” A thought pops into my head about young Jonny Thomson in the arcade in Watford only a couple of days ago, and how he did indeed follow his dream and make it big in the industry. His question is valid; why didn’t I pursue my dreams instead of just settling for the first half-decent wage that came along? I should have tried to get into games, but I always saw it as a hobby, not a way to make money. I’m not a particularly good programmer or artist. It never occurred to me that there would be other options.

“You know what they say, eh? Find a job you enjoy doing, and you will never have to work a day in your life.”

I nod. “Mark Twain.”

“There you are, then, laddie. From the horse’s mouth, but.”

“Easier said than done. I mean, I just sort of ended up in my job. It wasn’t planned. You take what you can get and then make the best of it. Plus …” Bethany. I need to get back on track.

“Aye?”

“It’s where I met Bethany.” I look up. “Bob, we need to get this clue figured out so I can rescue her.” I take out the red clock. Nineteen hours and a few minutes remaining.

He rubs his nose and takes a deep breath. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“No. I thought you were the riddle guru?”

“Well, I told you what I thought.” He shrugs.

“The second sundial led nowhere.”

“No that. That was a red herring. I’m talking about the arcade.”

“What?”

“The note was pretty clear. Your destination shall be seen, it said.”

“I told you, that’s where I plug the battery in, but where is the battery?” I’m getting exasperated here. I’ve wasted a load of time on this chap, and he’s leading me up the garden path. Worse, he’s leading me round in circles. I need to ditch Bob and get out of here.

“What do you need the battery for?”

I’m too tired for this. Rage wells in my stomach. I take a deep breath. “I need to put it into the arcade machine and then I get Bethany back.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” I admit. “I presume the machine will warp her back to me somehow once the aliens get their battery.”

“Aye, but do you need the battery to use the Time Portal?”

“Yes, of course. I just said.” I move to stand up. I’m getting out of here.

“Haud on, pal. I’m just trying tae help, like-say.” He holds his hands up.

“Sorry, Bob, but this isn’t helping.”

“How did you get here? To the bench in the park. To Edinburgh. Did you use a battery then?”

I look up at him. He raises an eyebrow and tilts his head.

“No.”

“How did it work, then?”

“Well, I … I just used the machine, and it picked up where it left off. It asked me if I wanted to continue the challenge, so I said yes, then the weird stuff happened, and there I was.”

“Right enough. You don’t always need a battery to travel?”

“I suppose not.”

Bob stays silent but stares at me until it becomes awkward and I look away. “Okay. Let’s go back to the arcade.”

“Good plan, laddie.”

Thankfully, the place is still open for a while. The crowd has thinned and we get the Time Portal cabinets to ourselves. All three of them in their dangerous glory, leering at me with their black, monolithic, open-mouthed gapes. Their temporal secrets are buried within, just out of sight, but far from out of my mind.

“Show us how to play?” Bob nods towards the left cabinet. I stand at the middle one.

“What? You want to play a game?” I snort a laugh.

“Aye, why not?” He looks indignant.

“Well, I …” I realise I’m being inconsiderate. He’s just listened to me rabbiting on about games all evening, so it stands to reason he’d be interested in playing one now. Especially this particular magical one. “Sorry, I just didn’t think you’d be into it.”

“You’ve made it sound like a laugh, laddie. I want to see what all the fuss is about.” He smiles.

“Yeah.” I fish out two ten-pence coins from my wallet and hand them to Bob. “Insert coins, as the saying goes.”

He looks down at the coin box slot. “Here?”

I nod. “And when you’re ready, hit the red button there.”

“Okay.” He cracks his knuckles. “Get ready to die, Aionite scum!”

I laugh. “That’s the spirit.”

Bob slaps the fire button, and the game kicks off. “With the joystick, guide your ship. That’s you, the blue one,” I point at his screen, “and don’t get shot, or crash into the ground. At the same time, you need to shoot at the aliens, but not all of them, as they need to mine a crystal for you to grab first.”

Bob nods, but he’s focused on the screen. He’s delicately gliding his ship around, careful and slow. He hasn’t smashed it straight into an alien, or the mountainside immediately, so he’s doing better than Melanie did on her first go already. Another flashback of that evening at my flat plays through my head. It seems so long ago, now. Things were wildly different.

Bob experiments with the buttons. Fire and thrust, and blasts at the purple ships that dare to enter the screen. He wipes one out but then pauses. The alien hesitates, then descends into the mountainside and mines a crystal. Bob turns to me with a huge grin. “Am I doing this right?”

“Yeah. Very well, so far … I’m impressed.”

He chuckles and slaps his hands together quickly, then lands them back on the controls and blasts at the ship as it flies upwards with the green crystal. He hits, and the ship explodes into shards of purple and a burst of static. He swoops in and catches the crystal, then slams the joystick into reverse and up, out of the way of the harsh landscape. He glides to a stop near the top of the screen and turns to me again.

“Hey, hey, I did it!”

“You did. Nicely done. You’re a natural.” I see an alien coming his way. “Watch out!” But it’s too late and he’s blasted out of the sky.

“Ah, never mind. I just wanted to see how it worked.” He smiles.

“You’ve got two more lives. Keep trying,” I urge.

“Ach, no. Your turn, Derek laddie. Show me how it’s done.” He grins.

“Fair enough. But be warned, I have practised a lot.” I insert coins and rack up a credit. I hit fire and the screen fades away and is replaced by a single line of text.

Welcome back, RET!

“What the …” I stare at the words, stunned.

“What’s the matter?” Bob stands beside me.

“How does it know who I am?”

“RET?”

“That’s my high-score nickname. Short for retro. That’s what I always use. But not on this machine. I’ve never been here before.”

Bob shrugs. “Coincidence?”

“No, it somehow knows who I am. I’m sure of it. But I have no idea how.”

“What happens next?”

“Well, normally a game like you just played.”

“Go on, then. See what happens …”

“Right.” I hit the fire button again and the screen changes back to the normal Time Portal game as expected. I play the game, but something strange is definitely going on. How the hell did it know me? There’s no internet in this era, no Wi-Fi, no cloud-saved games, no Bluetooth or face-recognising cameras. There’s got to be some trick … unless, I was meant to play this machine, in this Edinburgh arcade, at this specific time. It was set up for me. Silas must have been here. Maybe he’s here now, watching somehow. Hiding nearby and remotely triggering something inside the cabinet. I glance around, but there’s just a couple of kids playing nearby machines, and no one obviously looking at us.

I blast some aliens and swoop around the screen. After playing the high levels of the game, going back to level one is almost harder than level fifty. I’m anticipating speed where none exists. I’m reacting too fast for this level. I ease off and take my time. Breathe.

I collect a crystal, then another. I zap a small barrage of aliens to smithereens and do a victory lap around the edge of the screen. Bob laughs and cheers in my periphery.

“Once you get enough of the time crystals, you open a portal and warp through to the next level.” I climb the screen out of reach of some residual aliens and do just that. A black hole appears in the star-scape and my ship drifts towards the void.

“Level two.” I clap my hands, then clench my fists while the screen refreshes.

“Well done, laddie.”

“This is easy. I could play half the night.” I chuckle. “But nothing is happening. No Bethany, no battery, no nothing.”

“Didn’t you say this was level three, the adventure you’re on? You’ve done two already, have you no?”

“Yeah, but that’s nothing to do with this game.”

“Mibbe no, but see what happens if you get to level four?”

“Well, okay.” I shrug and zap some aliens. Level two is still a piece of cake. I open another portal within a minute. “Level three.”

“Good work.”

The machine flips to the next screen. I guide my ship to the top left and wait for the onslaught.

“What’s that?” Bob shrieks.

I look where he’s pointing. Opposite where I’m hanging in the air is a ship I’ve never seen before. A huge, snake-like green ship that undulates through the sky towards me. The music changes to a sinister drone that in all my hours of playing, I’ve never heard before. What’s going on, another surprise level?

I shoot at the snake-ship but it doesn’t die. I keep going, and with each landed shot, the snake blurs red and then back to green. It glides slowly, and I can easily outrun it, but the path is erratic and impossible to predict. I almost smash into it several times as I try to avoid all the normal aliens who now swarm in at me like angry wasps. I blast them away to their alien hell and return my focus to the snake, now moving faster, twisting and shrieking through the speakers. I fire another volley at it, but the snake barely notices. Suddenly, it lurches back and then spits out a shower of purple aliens from a cavernous mouth that opens with sharp green teeth bared at the corners. I blast at the new aliens, reducing them to atoms within seconds. The snake spits another volley, faster this time and more of them. I back up and rattle the fire button like never before. The aliens perish. I feel myself holding my breath and I pause for a split second. This is all new, but maybe this is part of the challenge. I’m getting somewhere now.

I fight down three more waves of aliens as the snake twists around at the right side of the screen. Between each volley, I take pot-shots at the snake itself, but it seems impervious to my laser.

It spirals into a circle, then round and round, upon itself, faster, tighter, until a new black hole forms inside the circle of the snake. It spins and a familiar tone emits from the cabinet. I daren’t look away from the screen, my eyelids forced open over my exhausted eyes, but I can feel something building up. The snake is now nothing but a green blur, and several aliens from off the screen fly straight into the vortex that the snake is creating. They pulse a bright purple and then vanish through the rift.

“That’s it, laddie. Go through the portal!” Bob shouts out next to me.

“Really? What if I’m immediately killed by it?” I can’t look away, but I sense Bob egging me on from the sideline.

“That has to be it. Go on Derek. Take a risk, go into the black hole.”

It seems like I have little choice, anyway, as my ship is being pulled towards the portal and I can’t thrust away from it fast enough. I release the button and I’m yanked across the screen towards it. My ship enters the void and suddenly the world around me dulls down, loses its vitality. All sounds are muffled, all light is dimmed. Colours are desaturated and muted.

A wave of chilly wind rolls over me from somewhere, and now there is complete silence. Everything is frozen. I glance around the arcade, but the edges of the world are narrow, black and white, and the kids playing games nearby are frozen. Stopped in mid grimace or grin. I twist around to see Bob and he still has colour, close to me, but he’s fading fast. He speaks, and I see the words come from his mouth before I hear them.

“Sometimes, the journey is the destination, Derek … safe travels, mate. See you on the other side.”

I try to speak, but no words come. The flashgun whine suddenly ramps up, breaking the silence. The screen flashes quickly, then whirs a blur of colours, faster, faster, until all I can see is the white glow. The smell of a storm fills my nose and mouth and I can barely move. My hands are frozen to the controls. I twist my head to see and the arcade around me shrinks out of existence, leaving only a black, endless void where the world once was. A static charge builds up somewhere in my chest as the flashgun drone ascends out of my audible range, and I’m pulled towards the machine this time, sucked into the black void that’s now where the screen was. There’s a sudden whoosh, and I’m jerked from my feet, vacuumed through into the black. The last dim shades of light from the arcade behind me fade away, and I feel myself rocket into a deep, deathly silent, black nothingness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

There are two green-glass bottles of Perrier water, and two heavy tumbler glasses next to them on a table in front of the soft couch that I find myself on when my senses reboot, and I’m sentient enough to force open my eyes. I’m calm this time. Warm and comfortable. I’m thirsty, of course. I reach for the water.

“Derek, where are we?”

I turn around to where the voice is coming from next to me.

“Bethany!” I jump up and immediately wish I hadn’t. I fall back down. My legs need a moment longer to wake up. “Bethany, thank heaven you’re here.” My heart thuds in my chest at the sight of her. I lean over and grab her in a tight, squeezing embrace. “Oh, Bethany!” I kiss her on the forehead and then squeeze again and nuzzle into her neck, feeling her warmth and existence.

She gasps, and I lighten my grip a little. “Derek,” she laughs. “You’re acting as if we haven’t seen each other for ten years.”

I release her and back away so I can stare at her to make sure she’s real. “It feels that way. I thought you might have vanished forever.” I feel tears prick at my eyes.

“What are you on about? We were just in the pub.”

“The pub? Oh, wow. You have no idea?”

“About what?”

“I’ve been to Edinburgh since then, had another adventure. When I got back to my flat from Salisbury, you weren’t there.” I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “And the machine was broken. A load of components had burned out. It was totally dead. I panicked and spent half the night fixing it. I haven’t slept in … I don’t know how long. Then, when I finally got it working again, it said they had put player two into Time Freeze and I’d need to find the other battery to get you back. I went straight back through the portal and found myself in Edinburgh with another riddle to solve.”

“Edinburgh? You’ve been to Scotland since five seconds ago?”

“No, well, yes.” I rub my temples. “You are player two. You’ve been in what they call Time Freeze, Bethany. Think stasis or hibernation. No time has passed for you, but it has for me. Roughly fifteen hours, I think.”

“Shit! What?”

“I woke up on a park bench in Edinburgh, and I met a tramp called Bob who helped me figure out the new puzzle, then I told him all about the history of video games for, erm, some reason, and from there he convinced me to go to an arcade and play the game again, which worked, because, well, here I am, and more importantly, here you are.”

Bethany stares at me open-mouthed.

“It should have been obvious, but perhaps I misjudged things a little.”

We both twist around to the new voice that comes from the other side of the room we’re in. I only now notice the low ceiling, the dim light and the rest of the sparse furnishings. A big bench and a single wooden stool in front of it. There’s a litter of electronics and offcuts of wood all over the place, spilling out of boxes and leaning up against walls.

The words come from a face in the shadows. I can’t make out the owner, but there’s a familiarity to the voice.

“Have a drink, Derek, Bethany. There’s something about Perrier water specifically that eases the travel symptoms.” He steps towards us. “Minerals or something. Chemistry was never my strong point. Seems to work, though.”

“Bob? How did you get here?”

Bob … but not Bob. He’s thinner, cleaner, smooth-shaven and his curly red locks are now replaced with a dark-brown Beatle cut. He’s wearing blue jeans and a black shirt with the top two buttons open.

“Same way you did,” he smiles. “And, it’s Silas.” He points to his chest. “Silas Papadopoulos, or SPD, or PapaDolos. And sometimes, Robert Nathair McAdder, which I suppose was all too subtle a hint.” He says the last part in his, now I think about it, fake Scottish accent. He sticks out his hand for me to shake. Clean this time. “Pleased to meet you properly, Derek and Bethany, of course.” He smiles at Bethany, who looks at him, wide-eyed.

I reach forward and shake his hand, then I feel my mouth fall open, and no words come out of it. I gape, gormless, at the man who tricked and played me like an arcade machine for the last six or so hours in Edinburgh. No, the man who has contrived this entire plot. Who has led me from simple arcade game owner through electronics engineer, to time-travelling adventurer. I have ten million questions and insults, accusations, why and how, what for and are you kidding me? But nothing continues to come from my mouth.

“You are Silas? You made this all happen?” Bethany breaks the silence for me.

“Yeah, I suppose.” He bends down and pours us each a glass of water. We hesitate, then he takes a swig from the same bottle. “It isn’t poisoned or drugged or anything. Safe. Please drink up. You’ll feel better.”

I glance at Bethany, and she shrugs, then reaches for the glass. I do the same and take a long drink. He’s right. It does feel better as the cold liquid pours down into my dry throat.

“I offered you some in Edinburgh,” he smiles.

“I thought you were a wino, Bob, or Silas. Whatever.” I feel anger in my guts. I want to shake the man. He did this. He made me think Bethany was lost forever. He led us on many a wild goose chase, literally, through cities and countryside across the length of the island.

But also, he invented Time Portal, the game … and, somehow, this strange and deceiving man is a total and utter genius who has created a real and working time machine. Not only one, but dozens of them, and sold them up and down the country into arcades. This is all a bit too much to take in. I sip at my water.

“Now, I’m sure you have lots of questions, but let me start by saying sorry.” He bows his head and opens his arms. “It was meant to be a fun adventure, but it seems things have got a little out of hand.”

“I’ll say!” Bethany glares at him.

“How does it work?” I manage to get the words out.

Silas pauses and frowns. “Do the words quantum entanglement mean anything to you?” He takes a seat on an armchair opposite us.

“Err, not really,” I admit.

“Right. Then much of the how may not make any sense, but it’s quite simple. It’s just a case of linking one thing to another and opening a wormhole between them. I’m sure you must have seen the ERB-Generator in the cabinet?”

“The what?”

“The Einstein–Rosen Bridge-Generator. The little cylinder inside the Time Portal machine. That’s what does the fun stuff.” He waves his hands, animated and excited. “I can show you later if you like.”

“Please do.” I stare at him in awe. “Silas, you do realise this is utterly incredible, don’t you?” I turn to Bethany, who is equally dumbfounded.

“Well, thank you, but it was just something I cooked up. Thought it would give the game that extra edge.” He smiles, but then the smile fades. “Seems it didn’t work out as expected, though.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, up in Edinburgh, you said that Dolos was no more in your time. Bankrupt.”

“Oh, yes. Indeed.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“Not exactly, but something about a boy being electrocuted and then all the cabinets were recalled and destroyed. Well, all apart from one.”

“It was here,” Bethany says. “This is the cellar, isn’t it?” I look around again, and she’s right. The beer barrel chute we got the machine out of is right behind us.

“We’re in Watford?”

Silas nods. “Yes, welcome to my humble workshop.” He spreads his arms again. “This is my cellar of disarray and confusion, as Delia, my lovely wife, puts it.”

“Silas, I bought the last remaining Time Portal cabinet from a man called Steve who now, well, will own this building after you vanished many moons ago, and Delia, sorry to say, passes away sometime in 2019, alone, as far as I could learn.”

“Ah.” Silas strokes his chin. “Right.”

“Steve was going to destroy that, too, but I took it just in time.”

“Well, good job you did,” Silas smiles.

“I spent ages figuring it all out, pulling out the dead parts, rebuilding it, making it work.”

“Yes, I sort of gathered that.”

“And then the effort it took to beat your high score.” I look round at Bethany again. “I almost went mad. Bethany wanted me to go to a doctor. I had hallucinations. I couldn’t sleep …”

Silas grimaces. “Sorry. Part of the conditioning.”

“What?”

He waves a hand. “Oh, just minor reconfiguration of brainwaves and biorhythmic functions to make the wormhole a bit easier to traverse. Nothing major. It will all fade soon. Uses a variable screen refresh rate to program the user’s brain patterns. All very fascinating stuff. I came across some research the US government had been doing for another game …” He pauses and clears his throat. “Well, never mind about that.”

I stare again, open-mouthed, lost for words.

“A boy was electrocuted, did you say?”

“Yes, apparently.”

“Idiots. That wasn’t electrocution, it was probably just a fluctuation in the ERBG.” He shakes his head. “There was another ripple the other day, just before yours, but it vanished.”

“What?”

“Well, I presume that boy you mentioned also beat the high score and started the process, but didn’t finish it.”

“I’m not the first?”

“Well, you are the first to finish the complete game, yes.”

I feel a grin spread over my face. “That’s something, I suppose.”

“Congratulations! Well done,” he smiles. “And I think I owe you my life.”

“Sorry?”

“I was in what the Aionites call ‘Time Freeze’, waiting for someone to pop through the wormhole and start the real game. It seems that I would have stayed there for all eternity if you hadn’t found the machine.” He points over to the far side of the cellar, and there it is. The Time Portal machine. My machine. I stand up now my legs function again, and walk over to it. It is the same one. I recognise a slight scratch on one side of the cabinet. I stroke the wood and control panel. “And then lovingly fixed it up, played and beat the game and cared enough to carry on and win.”

“Seriously?”

“I didn’t expect it to take forty years. Thought maybe a week at worst.” Silas looks down at the floor for a moment in thought, then back up at us with a smile. “Still, never mind, now. It all worked out in the end.”

“Did it?”

“It will.”

“Silas, can I ask a question?” Bethany puts down her glass and refills it from the other bottle.

“Of course.”

“Just, why? Why did you do all this? Send us all over the country chasing wild geese. Send us literally back in time to figure out some riddles? And make poor Derek think I’d vanished into oblivion!” Bethany reaches over and squeezes my arm.

“Ah, well, some of that wasn’t intentional, but some was.” He pauses. “I wanted an apprentice for the company. Someone who was as passionate about electronics and this new world of games as I was. Someone who revelled in the very idea that shooting aliens on a TV screen is something that millions of kids all over the world would want to do. I needed someone to help develop the successor to this.” He points back at the Time Portal cabinet. “I thought this would be the best way to narrow down the potential candidates.”

“Hang on. You created a game, a time machine, a series of riddles and situations and it was all just an elaborate job interview?”

He laughs. “Not as such, but maybe a little.” He looks me in the eye. “It was fun, wasn’t it? A real-life treasure hunt, a damsel in distress to save.”

“Bloody hell,” I sigh. “I mean, I suppose it was a bit fun, at times.” I glance at Bethany, who smiles a knowing smile. Maybe I would never have kissed her, if not for us finding ourselves lost in time together.

“I was sort of expecting someone younger,” Silas admits. “And not forty years into the future. It seems I miscalculated a little. I certainly wasn’t expecting the units to be recalled and the company to go under. Delia must have been alone all that time.” He sighs, now. “I probably should have left her a note. I was only meant to be away for a few days. It shouldn’t have been that hard to win?”

“Are you kidding? It was brutal!”

“Oh. Right, maybe should have toned it down a tad?”

“You think?” A thought occurs to me. “You hustled me, in Edinburgh. You pretended you couldn’t play.”

Silas laughs. “Aye, well, Bob was also a wee bit of fun, like-say,” he reverts to his Scottish accent again. “There you see, this is why I need someone to help me with things like this. Hard to tell, on one’s own.”

“Well, you certainly found your man.” Bethany taps me on the leg. “Derek here is the biggest gamer nerd I’ve ever met in my life.” She smiles and playfully slaps me on the arm.

“Indeed. So I found out,” Silas nods. “Please, can I ask that you don’t tell Delia about the, err, forty-year gap where I’m missing and that she sadly passes away? There’s no need, now. It will never happen, and she’d never let me hear the end of it.”

“Of course. But why won’t it happen?”

“Ah, because now I know.”

“Okay. What will happen?”

He grins. “Only time will tell, Derek, laddie.” Silas stands up. “All the clues were there, you know. Dolos, the name of my company, is the Greek spirit of deception and trickery. Time Portal is the name of the machine. I mean, I couldn’t have made that much clearer, could I?”

“I wasn’t expecting it to be an actual time portal!”

“Hidden in plain sight. And I tried to tell you, not everything is what it seems.”

“Indeed.” I pause. “Can I ask: why Edinburgh?”

Silas shrugs. “Why not? Thought it would be fun.”

“It was cold.”

“I gave you a jacket.” I notice now I’m no longer wearing it. I check my pockets and I do have my phone, but no wallet, clock or note.

“Truth be told, I found a red wig in a joke shop and I can just about keep up a Scots accent.” He laughs. “Level three was to get to know you. Part of the interview process.” He nods to Bethany. “And I liked the sound of Edinburgh. Plus it has that sundial with all the time references on it. Seemed perfect.”

“Silas, you are utterly, completely, and ridiculously insane.”

“Thanks. That’s more or less what Delia says, only less politely.” He chuckles.

“And yet also a genius. I suppose those two things often go together.”

“If you say so.” He blushes a little. “I just like entertaining people.”

“Don’t forget teasing people.” Bethany laughs. “The Wild Goose Inn.”

“Did you like that? I thought it was a nice touch.”

“Nice pub,” Bethany admits.

“They bought a cabinet, so I thought, why not?” Silas shrugs.

A weight of exhaustion falls on me from a great height. My head becomes a leaden burden to keep on top of my shoulders. My arms and legs are each made of sodden wood that I can barely lift.

“Silas, this is all unfathomable and interesting, but I haven’t slept for a very long time. Can I possibly collapse in a heap somewhere for an hour, at least?”

“Of course, of course. We have prepared the guest room for you.”

“Oh, great. Thanks.”

“Come, come. I’ll show you up. I was going to ask if you’d like something to eat first?”

I look at Bethany. She shakes her head. “No, thank you. I’m too tired, plus we just had fish and chips.”

Silas nods. “That was yesterday, for me. I got a head start to make all the preparations.” He motions to the stairs that lead out of the cellar. “Please, after you.” He then leads us through the house up another flight and to a spacious room with a big bed in the middle, layered in numerous blankets and pillows.

“There’s a bathroom there.” He points to a door. “And everything you need should be around. Delia is wonderful like that. Towels, toothbrushes, shampoo, more Perrier. But if you need anything else, please do shout.”

I glance at Bethany and subtly nod towards the double bed. She smiles a little and makes the tiniest of almost imperceptible nods, letting me know that it’s acceptable.

“We’ll have breakfast when you wake, and I’ll try to answer all your questions.”

“Thank you.”

“What day is it now?” Bethany turns to Silas.

“Sunday, the twenty-fifth of October, 1981. About eight o’clock in the evening. I tried to ease the time-lag for you, so you aren’t too out of sync.”

“Just forty years or so.” I smile. “Appreciated.”

“I’ll let you rest. Good night.” He smiles and closes the door behind him and I wait to hear his footsteps fade away down the stairs.

I turn to Bethany. “Well …”

“Well, indeed,” she agrees and then sits down on the edge of the bed.

“This is weird. Isn’t it?” I sit down next to Bethany. “Tell me I’m not dreaming or something. This is really happening, isn’t it? I’m so tired, I can’t be sure anymore.”

She pinches my arm. “You aren’t dreaming, unless I am, as well.”

“Well, you are my dream woman.”

“Oh, shut up, you cheesy nerd.” She laughs and pushes me back onto the bed. “Thank you, Derek, for coming to my rescue.” She leans over and kisses me gently on the lips.

“My absolute pleasure, Bethany.”

I feel my eyes closing, my head spinning, and my body falling into a deep, black nothingness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I wake to the tickle of sunshine on my face, teasing through the edges of the curtains at the window, glowing pink through my eyelids. The bed is soft and unfamiliar, but comfortable. It smells like the blankets at my gran’s house from when I’d stay over as a child. The pillows are lumpy and feather filled. The occasional quill digging through the cotton.

My senses switch on, gradually, one by one, and I hear faint breathing from behind me. I gently turn and find Bethany, still asleep. Her hair tangled around her face, blankets pulled away from one side of her. She’s wearing my shirt, I think, and I’m naked apart from my underwear. I gently run my hand down the length of her body and she shivers in her sleep. My god, she’s beautiful. I could get used to this first thing in the mornings.

A pang of anxiety knots my guts as I realise the truth. I won’t get used to this. Once we go back, assuming we do somehow make it back to our own time, Bethany is still married to Rick, and even if she breaks it off to be with me, that means I lose my best friend. Plus, Melanie … how do I explain this to her? She doesn’t deserve more pain and stress.

Shit. It’s like Bethany said. This brief trip out of time, out of reality, is just a quick diversion. There’s no easy way to change all this mess. No matter which way we go, someone is going to get hurt.

I stare at Bethany, wishing we could just stay here in 1981 and live our lives differently.

A thought occurs to me; Silas would give me a job. He said as much. And maybe we could stay here, in this spare room, until I can find a place. A glimmer of light now shines into the darkness of my thoughts. It could work. But there would be two of me. Baby me, in London with my parents, and adult me in Watford. I’d have to change my name or something, get a new identity. I’m sure it’s possible. Probably much easier in this era to fake paperwork than in my time.

Bethany isn’t even born yet. What a crazy thought. We could intervene and stop her parents from meeting somehow. Then there’d only be one of her. No, no. I can’t deny the world a Bethany. Let there be two or a dozen. How many times can we go around through the portals?

Bethany stirs and slowly opens her eyes, then rubs her face.

“Oh, morning,” she smiles and makes a delightful sighing noise as she stretches out.

“Morning, gorgeous.”

She snorts a laugh. “I probably look like the wild woman of the woods.”

“Well, if you do, she’s a looker.” I grin.

“Charmer.” She reaches her arm around me and plants a kiss on my forehead. “How are you feeling now?”

I mentally poll my various body parts. “All systems appear to be functioning correctly.” I laugh. “Much better, thank you. I really needed that sleep.”

“Good.” Under the covers, Bethany runs her bare foot down my leg and I get tingles all over my body. “Ready for action, then?” She grins.

“Aye, aye, Captain!”

She slaps me, shakes her head, but then pulls me close and kisses me, soft, but firm, and I can confirm that I am completely operational, and all my circuits are functioning perfectly.

We are frozen mid-snog by a harsh knock on the door, far too soon for my liking. “Good morning, breakfast will be ready in about fifteen minutes, if you are up?” A female voice. I presume it must be Delia. I groan, silently. Game over, I suppose.

“Morning, yes. Thank you,” Bethany calls out but rolls her eyes at me.

The shower is too small for any frolicking, so we both take turns to wash away the sweat and dirt that has accumulated over our travels. I go first, reasoning that I’ll be quickest. It feels good to stand under the hot water for a minute and ponder on the situation. I wonder what Bethany would say if I told her my idea about staying here? Would she think about it, give it a go? I suppose we could try for a week, a month, a year even, and then if things didn’t work out, we could just use the time portal and go back, as if nothing had ever happened. We’d arrive back precisely where we left off. Rick and Melanie would never know that we’d had a little holiday away from reality. It is tempting, I must say.

I dry off quickly and pull on my jeans. Bethany is still wearing my shirt as I go back into the bedroom. She smiles and disappears into the bathroom before I can make my case. After a second, she throws my shirt out through the door. I pick it up and sense the residual body heat and a faint scent of Bethany as I slide it on.

I stand at the window and gaze out at the world as it was. Silas comes to mind. What a strange chap. If you saw him in the street, you wouldn’t give him a second glance. He isn’t tall, isn’t fat, isn’t anything particularly noteworthy, and yet he created an arcade game, seemingly by himself. Not only that, but an adventure game inside it, and then, even more unbelievable, an actual working time machine.

As for the explanation he gave yesterday, quantum entanglement and wormholes? An Einstein-Rosen Bridge-Generator? I wish my phone worked here. I could google and find out what on earth he’s talking about.

It dawns on me now, only after the sleep my body and brain needed, that this was why ‘Bob’ in Edinburgh was interested in my three-hour history lesson on gaming. Well, I’ve now inadvertently armed him with enough information to take on Sega, Nintendo, Sony and Microsoft and wipe them off the face of the planet if he wanted. Aside from drawings of the characters Mario and Sonic, he’s got detailed inside information on what the world wants to play over the next forty years. Far from going bankrupt, his game company could end up taking over the world.

He’s clearly got the technical knowledge if he created Time Portal. Everything could be wildly different now. Oops? Mea culpa.

Bethany comes out of the bathroom wearing only a white towel, still moist and delicious. I realise I’m staring and turn away.

“I saw you peeking.” She laughs.

“Sorry.” But I’m not sorry at all.

“It’s okay.” I turn back to look at her, but she’s gone back to the bathroom. She’s left the door open this time.

“Bethany,” a thought suddenly occurs to me. “How did I get undressed last night?” I thought I fell asleep on the bed, fully clothed. I was exhausted.

She sticks her head around the door. “I undressed you, of course.” She giggles.

“Really? And I slept through that?”

“You were out for the count.” She vanishes back inside the bathroom.

“Wow. Sorry.”

“No matter.”

“Did you peek?”

She guffaws from the bathroom. “Well, yes, obviously. But it’s allowed for women.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“I see.” I chuckle. “I’ll have to remember that.”

She comes out from the bathroom, clothed, sadly, but still looking radiant. She smells good. I noticed that Delia had left us a variety of soaps and lotions, shampoo and general shower stuff.

“Oh, what’s that?” Bethany points down to the bedroom door. There’s a sheet of paper at the foot of it. I pick it up and unfold it.

“It’s a note, from Silas. I can tell by the handwriting and the ink. He’s fond of these notes.”

Dear Bethany and Derek.

Delia doesn’t know you are from the future, or about what the game can do. I think it would be easier if we kept it that way.

As far as she knows, you won my treasure hunt competition and now you are guests of honour.

Hope that’s good with you?

SPD.

I read it out for Bethany, quietly, in case Delia is passing by outside the door.

“Oh, okay. He’s probably right. It would just make things extremely complicated.”

“True. When I met her the other day, briefly, she didn’t seem to know anything about the game. She gave me that note about the Romans.” I grin at the memory. “She told me then Silas was a tease. I should have listened.”

“You should always listen to what a woman tells you, Derek.” Bethany prods me in the ribs. “Come on, you ready? I’m starving.”

“Yeah, same.”

We find the kitchen by following our noses and the delicious smells of breakfast. The vast table is littered with various dishes, most of which I recognise, others that I don’t. Greek pastries, perhaps. They look good. There’s more than we could possibly eat if we sat here all day.

A big pot of coffee and a teapot, juice and milk. I note there’s a bottle of Perrier on the table too. Silas and Delia are already sitting down.

“Good morning.” Delia gets up with arms wide for an embrace. I awkwardly comply, then she triple cheek kisses me. I never know the rules for those. I end up vaguely kissing the air. Then Delia moves on to Bethany, who knows how to play. “You must be Bethany?” She turns to me. “And Derek. We met the other day.”

“Yes, indeed. Thanks for your help with that note. The clue was obvious once I read it.”

“Oh, you are clever, figuring out Silas’s games. He’s always coming up with some ridiculous scheme or another. Well done.”

Silas comes over to us. “They are quite special, indeed. Come, sit and eat.”

We do as he suggests. Delia fills a plate for us both and has no sense of stinginess. We’re loaded up and I tuck in with gusto.

Over breakfast, Delia asks us about the clues and the places we went to figure out the treasure hunt. I told her about the Verulamium in St Albans, and then Stonehenge and the Wild Goose Inn, and finally Edinburgh and the arcades. How did we get there? Trains and buses, of course.

Silas stays quiet, but smiles as we describe his obscure notes and how we figured out what they meant. The photo of the cuckoo was a neat trick. I must ask him how he got that into Bethany’s pocket. I’m sure it will be something he describes as simple, but equally, something that the scientists at the CERN Large Hadron Collider would be thrilled and gobsmacked to hear about.

I offer to help clean up once we’ve stuffed ourselves for the best part of an hour. It was good to have a feast for breakfast and Delia certainly does a decent spread. She shooed us all away, saying guests of honour don’t clean up the dining table or kitchen. Fair enough.

“We should get a photo,” Delia suggests. “Down next to the game machine thing. Maybe it will get in the paper or something?”

I glance at Silas, and he nods subtly. Last thing we need is evidence of time-travellers in a local Watford newspaper.

“No need for that, but it would be nice for our own album.”

We descend back to the cellar and Delia sets up her camera. Apparently, photography is one of her hobbies. She shoots in black and white with a decent-looking Leica camera. She fusses over where we should all stand; me next to the Time Portal, Bethany next to me, and Silas on the other side. We shake hands across the machine and look towards the camera, smiling.

“Say cheese!”

I hate being in photos, but it would be rude to deny her. She has looked after us very well.

Delia rattles off half a dozen frames, then looks up. “Have you got a certificate for them or something?” Delia addresses her husband.

“Oh, no. I didn’t think of a certificate.”

“Silas, you never think of these things. Never mind, I’ll get one made up and we’ll post it to you. What are your full names? I’ll get the printers to design it.”

“Thank you, Delia, but that’s okay. We don’t mind, honestly.” I glance at Bethany. She shakes her head. More evidence of us being here.

“Nonsense, of course you should have something to remember this by. I’ll get them framed for you.”

It seems like she won’t take no for an answer. I wonder if I should give her a false name, but my mind goes utterly blank. “Well, if you insist. I’m Derek Cooper, and this is Bethany Miller.”

Delia grabs an envelope from a pile on the bench and scribbles down our names. We’re digging ourselves a deep hole here. Now there’s a photo and our names recorded in history, far too early.

“Great, I’ll get the address from Silas.” She beams a smile. “What’s their prize, Silas? Tell me you remembered a prize?”

“Ah, the prize. Well, yes, of course. That is yet to come, Delia, my love.” Silas grins.

“Well, at least that’s one thing. I’ll leave you to it, then. Lots to do.”

Delia scuttles away upstairs, taking her camera with her.

I wait until she’s out of earshot and turn to Silas. “Err, we probably shouldn’t …”

“I know. Don’t worry, it will all be taken care of.” He holds his hands up. “I’ll just have to rewind a little further than I thought.”

“Rewind?”

“Indeed. Now, about your prize.”

“There really is a prize?” Bethany asks.

“Oh, yes. Have you forgotten what the Aionites need, Derek?”

“The Aionites? Oh, you mean the battery?”

“Exactly.”

“I had forgotten. I thought that was sort of moot now?”

“You still need to get back, don’t you?”

“Right. Yes, of course.” I glance at Bethany and wonder about telling her my vague plan to stay here, to live out the rest of our lives displaced out of time, with us together, starting a new life in an old world.

“Yes, actually, how do we get back home, Silas?” Bethany kills the words in my head before they leave my mouth. She already said we can’t stay here. She wants to go back and carry on with her life. She never asked to come back to 1981 with me. I can’t expect her to want to stay here … it was a stupid idea. It could never work, plus there won’t be any Wi-Fi here for a very long time. She’d never survive without Instagram and Pinterest.

“Whenever you are ready, I’ll set it up for you.”

“Really? As simple as that?”

“Easy when you know how.” Silas grins. “Tell you what, though, after what Derek told me about the machine burning out, I think you should go through one at a time. Wouldn’t do to get you stuck in Time Freeze for all eternity.”

Bethany glances at me with a look of panic.

“Don’t worry, only joking. It will be fine. Promise.”

“Right.” She doesn’t seem convinced. “Well, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” She throws up her hands.

“You don’t want to do some sightseeing in 1981 first?” I urge her. I had hoped for at least some more kissing before she went back to reality.

“We shouldn’t be here. Look at the potential problems we just caused by getting a photo taken.” Bethany grimaces. “Time travellers in Watford. Who knows what disasters that knowledge could cause if it got out?” She turns to Silas. “Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea, all things considered, to put an actual time portal into a … Time Portal machine.” She laughs at the irony of this statement.

“Maybe not, but don’t worry, after you go back, it will be disabled across all the machines. It was a one-shot.”

“Oh, good.”

I’m saddened to hear this. A real working time machine. Used for good, it could literally change the world. Perhaps it already has.

“Okay, what do we do?”

“Give me ten minutes and then you can jump back. Take a seat on the couch, have some Perrier water.” He motions to the couch we arrived on yesterday where two new bottles of water are waiting on the coffee table.

We sit and pour some water, but I can’t help but peer over at what Silas is doing. He’s at his bench, sitting on the stool tinkering with a bare circuit board, the same as inside the arcade machine, but this one is smaller. A small rectangle no bigger than the profile of an iPhone. He connects four leads to it from various parts of the bench, then switches on an oscilloscope, which is on a shelf above. A tiny TV screen flickers on and a heartbeat monitor waveform appears on it. A green line traced from left to right, slowly. He adjusts something on the board with a screwdriver, then checks the scope, adjusts some more, then disconnects the leads.

He carries the board, which I can now see has something else connected to it via a mess of wires underneath; a cylinder about the size of a battery, over to the Time Portal cabinet. Then, he takes the cylinder and slots it into the Ouroboros battery slot on the top. I can’t help myself, and I walk over to see what he’s doing. He doesn’t turn around, so I stand quietly nearby. I don’t want to disturb him and cause us all to vanish forever into the mists of time.

A new menu appears on the Time Portal screen that I’ve never seen before. Black background, green plain text. At the top, the words ‘Maintenance Menu’ are centred in bold and underlined. Underneath a choice of functions.

Reset, Restore, Update, Delete.

Silas shifts the selection down to ‘Update’ and hits the fire button. A box appears asking if he’s sure. He is, and now a row appears at the bottom of the screen. Asterisks progressing, left to right.

Silas turns to me. “Be ready in a moment.”

Bethany gets up and walks over to us. She reaches for my hand and squeezes.

“Could we have a second alone?”

“Of course. Watch the status, here.” He points at the screen. “Then, whenever you are ready, just hit the red button. Bethany, you should go first. It’s set up for you.”

“Right, thank you, Silas. It’s been an experience, that’s for sure.”

“My pleasure,” he smiles. “I’ll be back to set you up next, Derek.” Silas leaves us and goes up the stairs.

I turn to Bethany. “Well, see you later, then. About forty years later.”

“Yeah,” She takes both my hands. “It will be okay, Derek. We’ll figure it out. I don’t know how, yet, but it will all work out in the end.”

“Yeah.” I nod, tears welling in my eyes, out of my control.

“It was fun, all said and done. Incredible.”

“All of it, yes.” I can’t decide which is more impressive, time-travel, or kissing Bethany. “No chance I can convince you to stay here?”

She laughs. “No. I mean, it was fun to visit 1981, but I wouldn’t want to live here.”

“Fair enough.” I glance at the screen. “It’s ready whenever you are.”

The screen shows the words ‘Update complete. Ready.’

Bethany nods, then throws her arms around me, pulling me close, and we kiss as if this is the last time we’ll ever see each other. As if the world is ending and only this passionate exchange can save us from an impending meteor strike by sheer will and the power of love. Frankie Goes to Hollywood style.

We kiss and squeeze, we linger, dawdle and pause to catch our breath, then kiss again. I want to drag her to the couch and spend the rest of the day doing this, but the niggle is always there, that while this won’t be the last time I see her, it is the end of this fantasy. She has to go back to Rick … then, what?

Finally, we settle on an ending. She has wet eyes when I look at her. She wipes them and flashes me a sad smile.

“I’ll see you in a second when you come in after?”

“Yeah, we might even land at the same time as we did here.”

“Okay. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck!” I smile. “It will be fine. I trust him, weird as this all is.”

She turns to the machine. “I just hit this button?”

“Yep, that’s what Silas said. I guess the normal process will happen and you’ll wake up in my flat next to the machine as if nothing ever happened.” I remember the state of the place I left it in. “Err, excuse the mess. I was in a bit of a panic last time I was there.”

“I can excuse you. Just this once.” She laughs. “Right, here I go then. Stand back.”

I stand a few paces back and watch as Bethany gets in place in front of the machine, then hesitates a finger over the button for a fraction of a second, while a ridiculous fantasy plays out in my head that she’s changed her mind, but no, she presses the button and the familiar sounds whir up. The screen flashes, blanks out, then whips through the cycle of colours into a blur of white. The capacitor whine squeals into its pitch ascent and a pulse of invisible energy seems to pour from the front of the machine. Standing back, I can see the scene overall now, and it looks utterly bizarre. Bethany holds her ground, glances around, but then focuses back on the screen. A wave of fresh air blows in from nowhere and then suddenly she’s gone.

Just gone. No transition, no vapour. She is simply no longer here. There’s a scent of ionisation in the air, like after a thunderstorm. I walk over to the now dormant machine. On the screen, it has gone back to the normal game demo arcade mode.

Incredible.

Silas returns down the stairs into the cellar, and I turn to him. “Bethany has gone.”

“Indeed. All good?”

“Yes, seemed to function properly, I mean, as far as I can tell.”

“Excellent.” He slaps his hands together. “Now, then. You’ll be wanting your prize, Derek, my friend.”

“Sorry?”

By way of an answer, Silas holds up a finger. He pulls the circuit board and cylinder out of the slot on the control panel of the Time Portal machine, then dashes over to his bench and digs around in a drawer. He grabs something, then comes back over to me at the machine.

“Here.” He hands me the thing. I look down at my hand.

“Oh, the third Ouroboros battery?”

“Yes, like I said. The Aionites want it back, and when you give it to them, you’ll get your prize.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“No, but you will. Now, it has been a great pleasure, Derek. I’m delighted you won the game. It has been quite an adventure, hasn’t it?”

“It really has,” I hesitate. “I want to thank you, Silas. This has been the experience of a lifetime. I’m still sort of overwhelmed and assuming I’m going to wake up from this dream any second.”

He laughs. “When you wake up, you’ll realise it was never a dream.” He nods towards the machine. “Whenever you’re ready, pop in the battery and they’ll take it from there.”

“Right.” I turn towards the machine. “These Aionites, are they, by any chance, real?”

“In an infinite universe, Derek, anything is possible.” He looks at me, wide-eyed.

“I see. And what exactly are these Ouroboros batteries?”

He shrugs. “I thought you had figured that out? They are the power source that allows the ERBG to function. Once we give them all back, it won’t work anymore.” Silas turns to his bench and delves into a drawer, pulling out the red clock and then shows it to me. “And you still have plenty of time left to complete the last task.” The countdown reads 6:35:21.

“Oh … right.”

“Don’t worry, we will see each other again. Now, off you pop. I have lots to do.” He sticks out a hand for me to shake, then looks me dead in the eyes. “Take heed of time, Derek, before your time is taken.”

“Good advice.” I grin and shake his hand. “Thanks again, Silas. See you, err, at some point, then.”

He nods and retreats to his bench.

I turn around and look again at the weird little twelve-sided battery that’s ever so slightly warm in my hand. Then, I shrug and line up the snakehead to the slot on the cabinet and drop it in.

The screen flashes, then changes to the familiar alien text, along with the accompanying dreadful noise from the speaker.

We are Aionites. We not exist in your realm. We not exist in your time.

You have returned the third battery. We thank you.

PapaDolos will be released from Time Freeze.

Your system will be restored to its original state.

We will leave your spinning static rock.

Are you ready to transition?

Underneath there’s a Yes and No option. I nudge the joystick to the Yes and hover over the fire button. I turn around, Silas sticks up a thumb and nods. I turn back, then slap the button.

The Aionite text vanishes, and replacing it in thick green retro-futuristic letters, the words ‘SYSTEM RESTORED’ spread across the screen, growing from the centre and filling the whole screen, zooming out towards me. The screen becomes completely green, and the whine and throb return. The colours whir, the flashgun whistle, the chest pulsating waft of energy on a cool draught of storm-charged air, followed by a blackness opening up all around me. My periphery dulled, my senses numbed, my breath taken from me, and I’m knocked backwards into a vast, empty, silent black nothingness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“Derek, good morning. Are you awake?” A voice, muffled, distant, but familiar. I’m warm in a bed. The covers smell of modern washing soap; ‘Eco Lavender Spring Awakening Non-Bio Comfort Pods’, or some marketing brainstormed ridiculous bullshit name. I’m warm and comfortable, that’s the main thing. I drift back to snooze-land.

“Derek, dearest.” A gentle shake.

“Hnungugh.” I manage a grunt.

“Ah, so you are in there.” A laugh. A tinkly, blissful laugh of someone happy with their life. Then a dip in the structural integrity of my cocoon. Someone sits down on the bed next to me.

“I wanted to give you your present before I left. Are you awake?”

Am I awake? There’s a good question. My brain is made of wool, my limbs are made of lead, my mouth is as dry as a bone found in the Sahara desert. My eyes clamped shut. I think I’m awake.

Present?

“Ugh …”

“Awww, did someone have a few too many shots of Highland single-malt last night, did we, did we?” The tone changes to a mocking baby voice, and a finger searches under the cover and pokes me in the ribs. I yelp. “You can sulk and nurse your head later. I have to go to work in five minutes. Some of us have to earn our keep.”

Cogs whir, pistons fire, neurones electrify and spark with information, sending it by carrier pigeon to my mushy brain.

“Bethany?”

“We have lift-off!”

“Bethany!” I thrust my arms up and release myself from the duvet wrap, then rub at my eyes until they are de-crusted enough that I can open them and see the surrounding room, albeit blurry. I’m in a bed, in a room that I don’t recognise. Not my flat, not the guest room at Silas’s house, not a park bench in Edinburgh, but a pleasant room, well lit, elegantly decorated; a woman’s touch with a pastel-colour scheme. There’s a delicate scent of floral notes, with a citrus hint, but subtle, not overpowering. More to the point, Bethany sits on the bed next to me. I stare, wide-eyed like an owl.

Her hair seems different, a bit shorter, lighter in colour. She’s wearing shiny dangly earrings. I’ve never seen her wear anything like them before. She grins a mischievous grin and then switches back to the mock-baby voice. “Is my wittle Dewek feeling a bit worse for wear, is he, is he?” She cackles with laughter and points to the nightstand. “Have some water. It will do you good.”

I turn my head, slowly. The room around me moves on a time lag of a few seconds. Eventually, my eyes catch up and I see a green bottle of Perrier next to me. I grab at it and almost knock it over, but manage to get the lid off and a few gulps into my desiccated body.

“That’s better.” I gasp. “Bethany, you are here!”

“Yeah, but I won’t be in four minutes.”

“What?”

“Train, work, commute. You know?”

“Right.” I look around me again, less blurry now. “Where are we?”

“Bloody hell, you did hit the sauce, didn’t you?”

“Err.”

“Where did you end up last night? I heard you come in at about three. Mel texted that Rick got home safe around the same time.”

“I … what?”

She shakes her head. “Never mind. Tell me later. Don’t have time now. Do you want your present, or not?” She laughs.

I stare in confusion.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She jumps up from the bed, then opens a drawer in a dresser, pulling out a box wrapped in pink paper. She flops back on the bed and hands it to me. My Little Pony pink wrapping paper. She giggles like a schoolgirl. “Hurry up and open it. I have to get going.”

Still confused, I open the wrapping and find a plain grey box inside, but the size and shape are deadly familiar. I open the flaps and gently slide out the contents. A Super-Nintendo game cartridge. Looks like it’s in mint condition. I turn it over to the title side. Star Fox: Super Weekend. The not-for-retail-sale competition version. My mouth falls open.

“Happy birthday, hubby darling!” She grabs her phone from the bed and snaps a photo of me, bewildered, holding the cartridge. “Have to admit, Rick helped me choose it, so I know you don’t already have this one.”

I look down at the cartridge, the very same one that Rick and Bethany gave me for my birthday a month or so ago … my birthday … hang on … hubby? What the?

I can’t speak. I stare open-mouthed at Bethany, who’s beaming a grin at me.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, I … thank you. But …”

“I know, I shouldn’t have. It was much too expensive, but what else do you get the man who has everything?” She laughs. “You can thank me later when you get your REAL present.” That mischievous grin again and a wink. “Now, I have to go. Meet you at the restaurant later, okay? I’ve put suitable clothes out for you, so don’t go showing up in jeans, yeah?” She leans over and kisses me briefly, but softly, on the lips. “And we won’t be getting rat-arsed tonight, will we, with everyone there?” She snorts a laugh. “With any luck, you got it out of your system last night. Big four-oh and all that.” She rolls her eyes. “Old bugger.”

“Err, right, yeah. Everyone?”

“Yes, everyone.” She counts on her fingers. “You, obviously, me, obviously, Rick and Mel, your parents, my parents, Silas and Delia, you know, the usual suspects.”

“Oh. Okay. I see.” Actually, I don’t see at all. None of this makes the slightest bit of sense. Delia … I thought she passed away.

“Gotta run.” She kisses me again, then gets up from the bed. “Love you. See you later.”

She’s gone, and I find myself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife and I ask myself, well, how did I get here?

Still stunned, I carefully slide the SNES cartridge back into the box and put it on the nightstand, then swig down another pint of Perrier before attempting to get out of the bed. When I do, and after finding the bathroom, I’m feeling a bit more human, but no less confused. What’s going on?

Hubby. Rick and Mel. Birthday. Delia. The words swim around my addled brain, desperately searching for a harbour of sanity. Hubby … I look at my finger, and sure enough, there’s a ring on one of them. A hefty white-gold band. I slide it off my finger over a long-established ring-callus and look at it closely. Inside is an engraving. “Bethany & Derek 27/10/11” We’ve been married for ten years? Wow! I slide it back on and feel my heart thud in my chest as I do. I haven’t even known Bethany for ten years.

I find a dressing gown on the back of the bedroom door and slide into it. I’m naked, otherwise, and I think I’m fitter than usual. I probably run or go to a gym or something.

I exit the bedroom and sneak out into the hallway. I don’t know why I’m sneaking, but it feels like I should be. Is this my house? It’s bloody huge. There are four doors apart from the bedroom I came out of. I peek into each room. One is another bathroom. Everything inside is pristine, clean and delicately ornate, yet not ostentatious. It’s like staying in a fancy hotel, a Myatt or something. I move to the next door. A guest room, probably. A double bed, another en-suite, but everything is tidy. No one has slept in this room. I pull open a curtain and look outside. Holy crap. The view is of a long lawn garden with ornamental flowers, bushes, shrubs, trees. All that nature stuff, tamed and clipped, orderly, like everything in this place. Where do I live?

The other rooms are similar empty bedrooms. All precise and clean, each one with a different theme in the colour and decorations. Seashells and blue-green, autumn tones, monotone black and white. I shuffle down the plush carpeted stairs to a huge downstairs hallway. I’m looking for a kitchen. I need coffee to jump-start my brain and figure out what is going on.

I find the kitchen and an overly complicated coffee machine after a long hike around the ground floor. I traversed an elegant living room, a wood-panelled dining room, another living room, but this time with a huge TV at one end, a sunroom, a utility room, a pantry and another bathroom.

I have no idea how to work the coffee machine. It seems like you need a degree in baristology or whatever to prime the boiler, pump, and steam chamber before you can do anything. I give up and stick on the kettle for tea, then scour cupboards for cups, spoons, sugar and tea bags.

A glance in the vast fridge reveals acres of frozen arctic tundra littered with healthy-looking food. Fruit, vegetables, salmon, salad ingredients. I find something resembling milk and pour a drop into my tea.

I sip, looking out of patio doors at the lawn. Even more impressive from here. There’s seemingly no end to it, and every blade of grass is carefully manicured. We must have a gardener or something, as I certainly don’t have the skills.

I don’t know where this is, how I came to be here, or what the bloody hell is going on, but I carry on my tour and peek through a door that seems more solid than the others.

A light comes on as I go in. A huge garage, wide enough for three cars, but there’s only one here. A Tesla, by the looks of things. Model S. Nice.

There’s a staircase at the back, so I climb up, clutching my tea and trying not to spill it on the pristine wooden stairs.

Upstairs is dark, but as I step into the landing, a ribbon of blue lights at chest level along the wall spark on, leading me into a room.

“Oh. My. God.” I nearly drop my tea as my mouth gapes open. “OH MY GOD!”

I’ve hit the motherlode. Aladdin’s cave, the Horn of Plenty, Smaug’s hoard. The booty stash to beat them all. I stare in awe and a throb of pure adrenaline pulses through my veins.

I stand before a museum, no, a shrine. A temple to retro gaming. Every console, every handheld, shelves and shelves of neatly organised games, computers big and small, TVs, monitors, mice, keyboards, merchandise, plushies, figurines in glass cases, posters and magazines. All in protective cases, all lined up and perfect. Preserved for posterity and sheer enjoyment.

I scan along the rows of equipment; Nintendo, Sega, Atari, Commodore, Apple, NeoGeo, Sony, Microsoft, and … Dolos. What?

On their own bench, in pride of place, there’s a row of Dolos branded consoles. A DolosBox, D64, D-CD, DolosStation, DolosCube and a D-Boy handheld, each one is pristine and connected to its own TV, some huge tubes, some flat-screen. Each has a selection of games neatly arranged, cartridges, CDs, smaller cartridges. The designs of the Dolos consoles vary, but there’s a theme running through them, Greek ruins, pillars and sturdiness.

Above each console is a photo, framed and hanging on the wall. Silas, standing or sitting and holding the featured machine. Marketing images.

In the D-64 photo, he’s surrounded by Asian women, dressed as what seems to be Aionite aliens, but in a stylised and skimpy costume. He’s grinning and holding a D-64 under one arm and shooting with his finger of the other hand at one of the aliens.

I look further along. “What the …” Over the D-Boy display, the photo is of me … at least, a much younger me, holding the D-Boy, and again, surrounded by a group of half-naked women, dressed in tiny sort of Pokémon costumes, but not exactly. The expression on my face is that of surprise and awe while I stare at the D-Boy in my hands. Probably not unlike the one on my mug right now. Does this mean I work for Dolos?

The D-Boy has a widescreen, a bit like a Game Boy Advance, but sleeker. I pick up the machine and it feels light. There’s a stylus that pops out from a slot and a connection port on the back, maybe to connect two devices together via some weird proprietary cable. I switch it on and a strangely familiar chime sounds, then a menu screen that shows small icons of various games. Time Portal is one of them. It was ported from the arcade version?

The controls on the D-Boy seem solid and comfortable. It’s a nice piece of kit. I switch it off and put it back down on the bench.

I keep walking through the long room. At the end, it opens out into an L-shape. More coloured lights come on automatically. I stop dead, stunned like a deer in headlights. “Oh, wow.”

The room is wide and deep, and in the middle is what can only be described as a ‘henge’ of arcade machines in a big circle. ArcadeHenge, here in my games room. Twelve machines, monolithic and glorious.

There’s a Time Portal, of course. It isn’t the same cabinet as I know so well, but it’s as clean and undamaged. Next to it is a Time Portal 2. Seriously? Next to that, Time Portal 3. Come on?

Then there’s a Galaga, Asteroids, Defender, Bubble Bobble, Missile Command, Donkey Kong, PAC-MAN, Ms PAC-MAN and a Dragon’s Lair. None of them are powered on, but they all look in perfect condition. I want to switch them all on and stay here for the rest of the day playing, but this is all utterly ridiculous. Where did it all come from? I need answers.

I reluctantly make my way back out of the games room, down the stairs, and into the house. I drop my empty cup of tea in the kitchen sink and look around for any kind of clue that would explain this.

Everything is pristine. I don’t see any paperwork, notes, nothing. I go back to the bedroom. I should probably get dressed at least. I might need to leave the house and figure out exactly where I am.

I didn’t notice before, but on my nightstand is a phone resting on a wireless charger. Brand new model, of course. I pick it up and it recognises my face and unlocks. Bingo.

I start with the messages. There’s a long, long, long thread with Bethany, going back years. The usual married couple discussions on what to eat. Can I pick up avocados? Holiday plans to Morocco, and a lot of love and kiss emojis. The phone buzzes in my hand as I look at the messages. It scrolls down to a new one from Bethany. ‘At work. Hope your head feels better :) xxx’

I reply because it would be rude not to. ‘Yeah, feeling better now. Thanks. xxx’

This is beyond comprehension, but I’m going to play along until whatever trick that Silas is playing on me wears off or fades away. This can’t be real. Everything is too good to be true.

I flip into the photos app. The latest picture is a selfie of me and Rick, out in a pub, clearly wasted. I exit photos and change to the calendar. According to my phone, which has a signal and is connected to the world, the date today is Friday, 20th August 2021. My fortieth birthday … again. I switch back to photos and check the metadata info on the photo of Rick and me. Taken on Thursday, 19th August 10:32 pm, with this phone, in a pub in Soho. The White Horse Inn.

That was where we went before, well, on my other birthday event. Rick, Bethany, and me, after a lovely day out. Bethany went home with Rick that day, but yesterday, apparently, I came home to Bethany and Rick went back to Melanie?

I check the address book app. Richard Knight, listed as having the same address as Melanie Davies.

I check my contact card. I have six different email addresses, one of which is @Dolos.com, three phone numbers, and, you have got to be kidding me, my home address is listed as St Albans. 220 Cunningham Hill Road. This is weird.

I go back to the photos and scroll through tens of thousands of photos, dating all the way back to 2007. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of photos of Bethany, some with me, some with Melanie, Rick and me. But mostly just Bethany, on beach holidays all over the world, camping on Dartmoor, kayaking down the Zambezi, home in our cavernous house, in restaurants, pubs and music festivals all over the world. It seems we live quite a life. In every picture, she’s smiling, happy and healthy.

I put the phone down. I have no memory of those events, yet there they are in full colour. They can’t all be fakes. There are so many. It would take more effort to fabricate that much evidence than simply to live the life.

That life inside my photos app is the life I’ve dreamed about, the wife I’ve wanted for so long. This house is incredible. My games room is just out of this world. How did this happen?

I want it to be true, but I don’t know if I dare let myself believe it.

I sit on the edge of the bed, head in hands, trying to remember a life I haven’t lived.

I’m pulled from my introspective pondering by a doorbell ringing. I instinctively run to the front door before I realise I’m still in my dressing gown. I pull it closed tight and open the door. Postman. He thrusts an envelope in my hand and then hands me a tiny stylus connected to a gadget. “Sign here.” I do, and he shuffles away without another word.

I look at the letter. The address is handwritten and I instantly recognise the writing. Silas.

I close the door and tear open the letter.

It’s a card, actually, a birthday card. On the front is a cartoon kid playing a console game, wired controller in hand, in front of a television. ‘You’ve reached level 4’ It says in bold blue lettering, and next to the 4 is a pencilled in zero. Hilarious.

I open the card to a page of unmistakably Silas’s handwriting, yet a little wobblier.

Dear Derek,

Happy birthday!

I imagine you have many questions, but don’t worry, all will become clear in time. Time. That word again … I’ve waited a very long time to say those words, and now the never-ending cycle completes itself.

I believe it was Steve Jobs who said; Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life.

Perhaps you’d like to swing by the office today, and we can discuss further?

Your friend,

SPD.

The office … what office? What is Silas up to now? Only one way to find out, I suppose.

I bound upstairs, hurriedly get dressed, grab my phone and then look for keys to the house. There’s a bunch on the wall near the front door. I grab them and a jacket from the rack, then open the front door, not knowing where I’m going, but something pulls me back. Instead, I go through to the garage and the Tesla that’s plugged into a wall charger. The trouble with this plan is, I never learned to drive. Living in London, there was never any point.

The iconic Tesla car-key is on the keyring, though. I feel drawn to the car as if this is a totally normal thing to do. I unplug the charger cable, then open the door and sit in the driver’s seat. It seems natural.

I tap around on the car screen and find the navigation menu, then search for ‘work’ and, of course, the car knows where my office is. Watford, apparently. An industrial estate outside of the city, about twenty minutes’ drive away. I find another key button that opens the garage door, and carefully, silently, roll my car outside.

As I follow the navigation signs on the screen towards my office, it turns out that, somehow, I do know how to drive. How utterly bizarre.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The office turns out to be a rather plush building on a modern industrial estate with oases of green interspersed between the various buildings. Local people probably walk their dogs here in the mornings. No doubt the green is well fertilised.

There’s a huge wind turbine towering behind it, presumably powering the electrical needs of the place, as well as charging cars in the car park. I have a dedicated parking space, but I didn’t realise that until I walked past it on the way to the front door. I didn’t bother going back to move the car. There are maybe two dozen other vehicles in the car park.

Outside the door is a giant plastic Dolos sign in a font I haven’t seen it in before. Square and inflated, friendly and jolly in bright orange. Opposite is a stylised Aionite alien ship in the original purple. Big enough for a child to climb on. It seems that Dolos is doing quite well.

I enter using a key card found in the pocket of the jacket I grabbed. The door opens into a reception area that’s lined with vast marketing posters for the Dolos consoles, a few arcade machines and more of the plastic life-size aliens. There’s a reception desk, but no one is at it. Not sure where I’m meant to find Silas, but a lift door opens as I approach. I step in and study the buttons. There are only three floors, so I venture to go all the way up and hit the appropriate button, which is an iconic joystick cherry-red, like a fire button.

I exit onto a typical office floor. The sort you’d expect to find inside Google’s buildings. There are lounge areas, beanbags, thought-pods — whatever those are — games consoles hooked up to huge TVs, a few more arcade machines, pool and table tennis tables, and a multitude of desks. A few people are milling around, having meetings, and some even at their desks, working on code by the looks of things. The place reminds me of an Apple Store, but here there are more computers.

I wander around for a while, not really looking for anything specific, just trying to figure out what these people are doing. Presumably, I work here. Maybe I have a desk? No one bats an eyelid at my presence. A few people I don’t recognise give me a friendly nod as I pass.

“Morning, Derek. Didn’t expect you in today?”

I look around. A familiar voice. An older man carrying a laptop and a phone. Looks like he’s on the way to a meeting. “Jonny Thomson?” My mouth drops open yet again. I must stop doing this, or I’ll end up catching a fly. Jonny Thomson, the gaming-legend super-star programmer turned journalist and podcaster works here? He knows me?

“Derek Cooper!” he retorts with a laugh. “You feeling okay, mate?”

“Err, yeah, sorry. Just a few too many drinks last night.” I clutch my head.

Jonny laughs. “Drown your sorrows in a bucket of coffee.”

“Yeah. Will do.”

“Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Somehow, I’m not feeling very birthday-ish, having already celebrated the big four-oh a while back. I have a thought. “Hey, do you know where Silas is?”

“Bit early. Don’t think he’s here yet.” He turns around and looks to a big office at the far end of the room, glass walls, but dark inside. “Nah, looks like the boss is away, so the mice can play.” He chuckles, then nods towards a meeting room. “Better run. Catch you later, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure. Sorry, quick question before you go. Err, this will sound crazy, but, do you know where my desk is? I seem to have a bit of memory loss.” I laugh. “Probably from the booze.”

Jonny tilts his head. “You did hit the bottle hard, didn’t you!” He laughs. “Over there, just next to the big man’s office. Can’t miss it, big purple Aionite hanging on the wall.”

“Thanks, Jonny.”

“Coffee machine is that way, Derek.” He points in the other direction. “Take a minute for yourself, mate.”

I nod. “Good idea.”

Unlike the office I know, the coffee here is very good and I don’t have to fill it with sugar to make it drinkable. I take the cup back toward my desk and find it using the landmark Jonny told me about. There is indeed a huge purple alien bursting through the wall above where my desk is. Pretty cool. On my desk is a photo of Bethany and me at our wedding. She’s looking stunning in a white dress, and I’m looking like the kid who got the candy. I suppose I did.

There’s a MacBook on my desk. I open it up and thankfully it recognises my fingerprint and logs me in. I wonder what my job is? Perhaps I can find out by looking through emails or something while I wait for Silas to show up.

I open the email application and scan through the long list. A name stands out, Bethany Cooper. My heart jumps as I see it. She’s called Cooper. Wow. The email is from yesterday.

Dearest Derek,

As you know, the festivities for your impending anniversary start at 6 pm sharp tomorrow at Mario’s in town. You should prepare yourself for a delicious dinner and wine, and perhaps some surprises and announcements … :)

Don’t be late.

Yours sincerely,

Bethany Cooper.

Senior vice-chancellor of celebratory activities.

PS. Try not to get totally roasted tonight with Rick. Love and stuff. xXx

There’s a calendar attachment in the email, so I can add the time and location to my phone. Good planning.

A new email pops in from Rick.

Hey, Derek,

Perhaps you didn’t realise, but when you ‘switch to whisky’ instead of beer, you aren’t meant to continue drinking in quantities of pints!

My poor head … my poor guts, my poor everything!

What have we done?

Mel told me this morning that I spent a good proportion of the night on the great white telephone to God, then fell asleep in the bath. I can’t remember any of that.

Not a good image, but luckily she thinks it’s hilarious.

Anyway, looking forward to dinner, mate. Less booze tonight, yeah?

Good night, though!

Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY! You old bugger.

Catch you later.

Rick.

I can’t remember anything at all, Rick. I’m one up on you there, mate. I chuckle at the email. Sounds like it was a great night.

I stand up and look around the office. I still don’t know what I do here, but my desk is next to the glass office of Silas. I peer in through the windows, but can’t see much as the room is in darkness.

I hear a chime of another email coming in and go back to my desk.

This time from the man himself. Silas Papadopoulos.

Descend into darkness, beware the milkman, go back to where it all began.

A bloody riddle. I should have known. I shake my head and roll my eyes.

Back to where it all began … does he mean the cellar in his house? Where I got the Time Portal from in the first place, where later, a milkman shouted abuse at me in the early morning street. Must be.

I gulp down my coffee, close my laptop and head back to my car.

I found the house on the navigation system, but having walked and warped to it several times, now, I sort of knew the way. I arrive quickly and park outside.

I step back and look up at the building. Nothing different as far as I can tell. The same old pub-like shape. No, hang on, there is something different. There are plants and flowers lining each window, and where the single plant pot on the wooden doors of the beer-chute was, there are now several pots, well-tended and thriving. The curtains look different. In fact, the whole place seems more vibrant than before. Clean, polished and looked after. Lived in.

I knock on the door. It creaks open, ominously. Seriously?

“Hello? Silas, Delia?” No answer. I knock again, louder, and wait a few seconds, but decide this is silly and just go in.

I close the door behind me and peer down the hallway. No sign of anyone. In fact, there’s no sign of anything. I go into the living room, then kitchen where we just had breakfast only a few hours ago, as I recall, but forty years previously in reality. Strange, all the rooms are empty, as if someone has recently moved out.

“Hello?” I call again. Nothing. I wonder if I should look upstairs or call the police? No, Silas asked me to come for a reason. The email said ‘Descend into darkness.’ The cellar.

I open the cellar door and it is indeed pitch dark down there. I can hear the faint sound of the Time Portal cabinet playing the demo music. “Silas?” No answer.

I use the torch on my phone to find the light switch and flick it on. Nothing happens. Okay. I do indeed descend into darkness, apart from my phone light.

In the cellar, I can see the Time Portal screen glowing in the corner. The only light in the place. “Hello?” I call out again, but there’s still no answer. There’s a musty smell to the place as if it has been empty for a long time, like the first time I came here to get the cabinet.

I shrug. Clearly, I’m meant to go up to the arcade machine. I pause for a moment. Am I stepping into a trap? Is this GAME OVER? Will I warp through into another dimension? No, Silas wouldn’t do that, would he?

I tentatively step up to the machine. Nothing happens. I step closer. Nothing continues to happen. I look at the screen.

Welcome back, RET.

“Haha, Silas. Yes, hilarious and clever, you can come out now.” Nothing. Seems I don’t have any other choice but to play this out. I tap the fire button.

Thank goodness you came, RET.

The Aionites have gone. They released me from Time Freeze, and they did something they call a ‘System Restore.’ You and I are the only people in the world who know it happened because they put everything back how it should have been, once you gave them back their batteries.

We were the only witnesses. They have merged you. Restored to defaults. You probably don’t remember much about your life yet, but it will come back to you. The memories will return, the life you always should have lived, that got interrupted and twisted, will now continue as it was destined.

I should never have taken the batteries from the Aionites, but I wasn’t to know then. I was young, foolish, trying to make something incredible happen.

Well, if you believe in causality, perhaps that’s what I did.

No matter, everything is good now, our world was restored, our lives played out pretty well, I think you’ll agree.

Thank you for playing Time Portal.

Your friend,

SPD.

GAME OVER

I stare at the text on the screen. Is this true? Is this my life now? Did everything I remember not happen now that the world has been ‘restored?’ What does that mean, exactly? I still have so many questions.

What he says makes some sense, though. I know how to drive a car, something I never knew in my previous iteration. Maybe my memories are returning?

I step away from the cabinet and turn around. The cellar lights flicker on as I do, making me blink and shield my eyes. I shriek in surprise.

“No need to panic, Derek.” I turn to where the voice is coming from.

“Silas!” He’s sitting on a stool at the big electronics bench. I look again once my eyes get used to the light. He’s old, I mean, of course he is. White wispy hair where once was thick and brown. His body gaunt and frail.

“I knew this day would come. Of course, I’ve been planning it for forty years. Still, now it’s here. It’s all a bit strange, isn’t it?”

“You could say that.”

“And how are you, Derek, dear boy?”

“Err, well, I’m a bit confused about basically everything. Otherwise, everything seems to be, well, rather incredible.”

He chuckles. “Shall we adjourn to somewhere that serves a decent meal?”

“Actually, that is a great idea. I’m starving.” I laugh. “Haven’t eaten for forty years.”

Without thinking, I drive us to a bistro outside of the town. On the way, I asked Silas what all the ‘descend into darkness’ stuff was about. He said he just liked the dramatic effect. I snorted a laugh. He had four decades to come up with a dramatic effect and flicking on a light switch in a dark cellar was the best he could do? I reckon it was more of a last-minute frenzy and a conveniently broken light-bulb on the stairs.

We are greeted by name at the door of the bistro by gushing staff. I suppose we come here a lot? Weird. I don’t recognise it at all.

We are seated, and the waiter brings us a bottle of Perrier and two glasses.

“So.” I look up at Silas. He must be mid-seventies, but not as frail as I first thought. He’s still got the mischievous look in his eyes, the spirit of trickery and deception. He’s still Silas, still even Bob the wino when I see him in my periphery. “Are you going to tell me what the bloody hell is going on?” I smile and pour us both a glass of water.

He chuckles. “We came here yesterday, you know?”

“Did we?”

“We come here maybe three or four times a week; it’s close to the office. We go through sales numbers, plans for the next game release, progress reports, status updates, you know, all that business fun stuff.”

“Oh. Right. I’m afraid I can’t remember any of that at the moment.”

“I know. Don’t worry, it will come back.” He takes a deep breath, then sighs. “Where to start …”

“Perhaps, at the beginning?”

“Indeed … indeed. It’s been so long.”

Over lunch, Silas tells me the history of my life over the last forty years. He wasn’t expecting his Time Portal candidate to be a baby in 1981, but that’s what I was. He had to wait twenty years for me to come and work at Dolos. He got by, alone, then with help from people who came and went. Some still linger, but most of those early folks have long since retired. He spent time in China, learning how to communicate and get his products mass produced. A big difference to him in his cellar with a soldering iron and a lot of late nights. The late nights remained, but someone else was doing the soldering. Later, even some of the design.

Apparently, Silas and I met by chance, so he said, at a games convention in London when I was about fifteen. He was showing off his new console, the D-64, and I came up to his stand. He recognised me immediately but had to keep silent. “You said my games were all shit. I think that was the word you used.” He chuckles at the memory. “I challenged you to make a better one. You accepted.” He kept in touch, waited for me to finish school, then college. Then I was given an internship at Dolos. I worked on the hardware design for the D-Boy. I went to China with Silas and he taught me all the intricacies of electronic production at scale.

We prospered. The consoles sold well for a while. We iterated on them, worked with game studios to port over some popular titles. Silas kept making new arcade cabinets, but the desire was for home consoles, so that’s where the bulk of the focus was.

I made my first game, and after I demonstrated it in front of everyone to blank faces, I admitted to Silas that it was total shit, wasn’t it? He smiled and told me to keep trying.

Silas introduced me to Bethany. Well, at least he made sure we met. He found out Bethany was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar. “You can’t be serious?” He nods. “And I took you there after work, again and again, until you plucked up the courage to talk to her.” He smiles. “The amount of booze it took to soften you up was incredible.”

“I suppose I’m not good at these things in any lifetime.”

“I wanted to be sure that things would be familiar for you when you merged.”

“Wow.”

“She’s an angel, isn’t she?” Silas grins. “You and Bethany were like the children we never had. Delia dotes on Bethany.”

I feel a tear prick at my eyes. “Thank you for that. Bethany is the love of my life. My lives?” Silas nods. Rick was the best man at our wedding, of course, the irony … and that’s where he met Melanie, but it took them five more years to get together, as back then, she was still married to Thom.

“Can I ask, did I use the line ‘Don’t you want me, baby?’ during our wedding vows?”

Silas laughs. “No, and I think wisely so, as Bethany would have kicked you out of the church!”

Dolos was approached many times, over the years, by Sega, Midway, Ocean, Commodore, Electronic Arts, Bandai and Namco together and apart, Atari, Sony and Microsoft to be bought out, incorporated into the vast machine of game studios, swallowed up by the man. But we stayed independent.

Silas laughs. “I’ll never forget. We were in Seattle, meeting with Microsoft. Talks had gone quite far, and we were almost ready to do a deal. Hardware sales were dwindling, and the market was changing. We couldn’t keep up, so it made business sense.” He pauses to take a drink, then points at me. “You told Bill Gates to shove his stupid offer up his arse!”

“What? Oh, my god. I did that?”

“He wasn’t amused.”

“I can imagine.”

“The flight home was … strained, shall we say. We almost fell out after that.”

“Sorry.” I grimace.

Silas waves a hand. “No, in the end, you were right. We would have been brainwashed into the corporate world, either that or just washed away. We were the feisty Brits who could; the little upstart game company who refused to be eaten alive. We came back stronger.”

Eventually, around 2008, Dolos stopped making hardware to focus on software. We had a go at a massively multiplayer online role-playing game, or MMORPG, but it sank miserably. We tried again with ‘AionCraft’, an isometric online multiplayer strategy game, and that did okay, but nothing spectacular. Then the iPhone happened, and we, well me, apparently, decided that was the way to pivot. We invested heavily in talent, hence Jonny Thomson on the staff, and we put everything behind mobile games.

“You were very clear about it. We would never make anything advert-supported, never try to squeeze money out of kids with gems, power-ups and dark patterns. We pride ourselves on good quality, fun and engaging games that you pay for once and play forever. You level up and compete with skills, not with money.” Silas smiles. “People appreciate that, and we’ve done very well from it. Sales now are triple what our hardware profits ever were at the best of times.”

“This is all incredible. I mean, this is what I should have done in my last life.”

“You, my friend, had what no one else ever had. A second go. Another life. An unexpected 1UP.” He makes a ‘ping’ sound by flicking his glass.

“I think I had quite a bit of help.”

“Perhaps. But maybe you just needed a little push in the right direction, occasionally. You made your life what it is, Derek. You are a good businessman. You understand the games business like no one else I’ve ever spoken to. You live and breathe it.”

I smile. This is what I always wanted. “I feel incredibly lucky.”

“Is anything coming back yet?” He taps the side of his head.

“Err, not really.” I shrug. “It will, though?”

“Oh, yes.” He smiles. “Don’t worry.”

“Hope so. Otherwise, this may be a very rusty transition, since I can’t remember what my job is.”

Silas chuckles. “Part of that could be your night out with Rick last night.” He leans down and picks up a laptop bag and hoists it up onto the table, now cleared of food. “While I remember.” He pulls out a parcel from the bag. “Happy birthday, Derek. The big four-oh.” He hands me the parcel.

“Oh, thank you. I wasn’t expecting a gift. See, in my last life, I had my birthday a while ago.”

“Well, now you have another.” He laughs. “Err, I’m giving you this now, because I don’t think it will go down well later.”

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Go on, open it.”

I shrug and tear away the paper. Inside is a photo frame, by the looks of it. I turn it over. “Oh!” A grin forms on my face. “I see what you mean.”

The photo is black and white. The one that Delia took in the cellar when Bethany and I were there forty years ago. Silas looking young again, and me the same as I do now. We are shaking hands across the Time Portal cabinet. Bethany was as beautiful as ever, but I was right, her hair was longer then.

“I couldn’t resist. I grabbed the film from Delia’s camera before the Aionites did the system restore.”

“Thank you, Silas. That’s very thoughtful.”

“Of course, no one must ever see it.” He taps the side of his nose. “It would cause all sorts of chaos. Only you and I know.”

“Noted. I’ll put it somewhere out of sight. Err, Silas … these Aionites? Are they, you know, real?”

“I’ll just say what I told you before, Derek. In an infinite universe, anything is possible.”

“Right … I see.”

“Good. Now, I think we’d better go and freshen up before the meal this evening. Bethany is a stickler, we’d better not be late.”

I check my phone. We’ve been talking here for hours. Time flies, as they say. “See you later, then. Where shall I drop you?”

“No need. I anticipated our lunch and left a car here. Took an Uber to the house.” He grins, rather smugly, “You may have noticed we’re selling it. A chap by the name of Steve is buying it. Wants to restore it back to a pub.”

“Oh, yes. You’d better get that cabinet out of the cellar first … or we’ll end up starting another cycle.” I chuckle.

“All will be taken care of, young man.”

Back at home, I take another walk around the place to see if it has become more familiar, but it hasn’t. I go out through the back door into the garden and take a brisk walk around the grounds. It’s lovely, well kept, and, there’s a heated swimming pool at the far end, inside a wooden pool house. Not vast, but perfectly adequate. I’m impressed with myself.

I go back to the bedroom, grab the Star Fox cartridge that Bethany gave me — twice now — and take it and the photo up to my epic games room. I can’t help but squeal in delight as I look around and see it all again.

I find the correct Nintendo console and carefully load up the new cartridge, then power it on. The words ‘Not for resale’ pop up on my screen and a boost of adrenaline floods my veins. This is the real deal.

I hide the photo in a drawer that has a lock activated by my phone. I wanted to put it up on the wall with all the others, but Silas is right. If anyone saw it, the result could be disastrous.

Inside the drawer is something else quite amazing. It seems to be a prototype version of a new handheld gaming device. Along the lines of the Nintendo Switch, but sleeker, and with a much bigger screen. I try to power it on, but I don’t think it’s a working device. Only a mock-up. The word ‘DolosDeck’ is engraved on the back in a subtle, clean font. Could this be a new project I’m working on? Another go at hardware design for Dolos? It could be incredible.

After a shower, and putting on the clothes that Bethany had laid out for me, I make my way to the restaurant. Mario’s.

I mean, of course, it had to be …

I’m greeted as I go in by a cheer, and a table full of people wave and start singing ‘Happy Birthday’. Good grief. I wasn’t expecting that. I feel my cheeks flush red as I walk over. Thankfully, there’s no one else in the restaurant.

At the table are Bethany — straight from work, but done up and looking fine — Silas, Delia next to him, looking much older than I remember, of course, but she’s still got those stunning brown eyes. My parents are next to them, and at least they haven’t changed a bit. Mum in her Sunday best and Dad with one eye on the wine menu. Next to them are Bethany’s parents. It took me a second to recognise them, having only met them once before, when I was the best man at Rick and Bethany’s wedding, and I can’t for the life of me remember their names. Then Rick and Melanie. My heart jumps a little as I make eye contact with her, but she smiles pleasantly and, of course, she doesn’t know that anything ever happened between us. It didn’t in this reality.

I smile and nod and take the empty seat next to Bethany.

“Thank you, everyone. I’m truly overwhelmed.”

A portly fellow comes over to the table. “Hey, happy birthday, Derek. My best customer.” He grins as wide as the table. I suppose I must know the chap, but sadly, I don’t recognise him. I wish my memory would hurry up and come back as it’s getting embarrassing.

“It’s a-me, Mario!” Everyone bursts into a laugh. “I don’t do that for everyone, but since it’s you, and your birthday, just this once.” He holds up a finger. “Now, drinks for the table!”

Over dinner, I learn my in-laws’ names: Jacqueline and Alastair. And that my parents are going on a cruise soon around South America. Never thought I’d hear those words together. The furthest I knew them to go was to Bognor Regis, and that was under duress.

Silas taps a spoon on a glass. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I may?” Everyone pauses their conversations and looks over at the old trickster. “First, I will say it again, happy birthday to my good friend and business partner, Derek. We’ve known each other for twenty-odd years now, and every day has been a new adventure. Many happy returns, old friend.” There’s a cheer as everyone lifts a drink. “But that’s not all. I would like you, dear friends, to be the first to know. Delia and I are going to take up permanent residence in our little place outside Athens. We sold the old house in Watford, everything is packed up and we go next month. I’m finally officially retiring.”

“Little place?” Bethany smirks. “Last time we were there, Derek got lost looking for a bathroom.” She bursts into laughter. “We had to send a search party.”

“He was never much good at finding his way.” Silas chuckles. “Anyway, with that said, it means that I will stand down as CEO of Dolos Entertainment.”

Everyone turns to look at me. “What?”

“Derek, it should come as no surprise that I’ll be recommending you as my replacement.”

I feel my mouth drop open once again. No words come out.

“A formality, of course. You are the only solid choice.”

“I … oh, wow. I don’t know what to say.” CEO? I can’t even remember what I do as it is. This is insane, but oh, my god … I’m going to be CEO of a successful games company? Have all my wishes come true?

“Don’t worry, we’ll talk on Monday. It will all be made clear then.” He winks.

“Thank you. This is incredible. I’m truly stunned.”

“Oh, well done, Derek!” Bethany turns and plants a kiss on my cheek. There’s another roar from the table and more drinks are poured. Bethany and I stick to Perrier.

“Well, not to be outdone, I think we also have a little announcement, don’t we Derek, dear?” Bethany grabs my hand and squeezes.

“Err, do we?”

“Yes, we do.” She grips harder. “Do you want to say it?”

I have no idea what she’s talking about. “I think you should.” I smile.

Bethany rolls her eyes at me, then turns to the table. “It’s early days, yet, but,” She squeezes again and makes an odd squealing noise. “We’re going to be a Mummy and Daddy!”

A thud of adrenaline electrifies my body, and my heart nearly jumps out of my chest. A baby? Wow!

Another cheer from everyone, especially mine and Bethany’s parents. Congratulations and kisses come from all angles, mothers come and give us both long hugs, and I notice a tear from Delia as she smothers Bethany.

The moment overwhelms me, and I have to admit, this new life I’m starting is rather amazing.

Perhaps the proverb is right, and life, as they say, does indeed begin at forty.

DO ME A FAVOUR?

I genuinely hope you enjoyed this story and I’d love to hear about it. So would other readers. I would be eternally grateful if you would leave a review on Amazon for me.

I don’t have a big-name publisher or agent, or any marketing help. I rely on the kind words of readers to spread the word and help others find my books.

In a world of constant rating requests from everything you buy, I know it’s a pain, but it does make a huge difference and it encourages me to keep writing.

Thanks!

Adam.

www.AdamEcclesBooks.com

ALSO BY ADAM ECCLES

In order of publication:

Time, For a Change

The Twin Flame Game

Who Needs Love, Anyway?

Need a Little Time

The Soul Bank

System Restored

22:22:22 Frequency Shift

* * *

Facebook

Twitter

Amazon

HIGH SCORE - HALL OF FAME

Thanks to:

Jennifer Dege ~ Kay Dadson

Kirsty Scutter ~ Tracy Fisher

Kellie Rae ~ Keith Pearson

Steve Thompson ~ Stuart Whyte

Chris Hicks ~ Paula Goddard

Jay Allchin ~ Sian Phillips

* * *

Special Thanks

Paul Cusack

Jonny Thomson

AUTHOR’S NOTE

In case you go looking, some of the places in this book are real, but others aren’t so much.

For example, there isn’t a ‘Wild Goose Inn’ in Salisbury, but there is one elsewhere in the UK.

That didn’t suit my needs, so, during the writing of those chapters, I had to temporarily relocate the pub using quantum entanglement and a large Einstein-Rosen Bridge-Generator that I borrowed from a chap in Watford.

A few of the patrons were a bit confused at first, but they got over it.

- Adam.

AUDIOBOOKS

Need a Little Time, unabridged audiobook.

Narrated by Mark Rice-Oxley

* * *

System Restored, unabridged audiobook.

Narrated by Mark Rice-Oxley

SIGN UP FOR NEWS

Did you know that I have a very low volume email mailing list where I’ll occasionally send out information about upcoming books, offers, and maybe even some free short stories and terrible puns?

Join here:

www.adamecclesbooks.com/subscribe

Or scan this code with your phone: