‘You definitely do.’ Harv grins, and then glances back at the pub. ‘Ben, can you hang on one sec? I’m just gonna nip back in for a wee.’ He turns to the watch-seller. ‘Long Tube journey, and I’m not used to drinking pints.’

The watch-seller laughs politely. ‘No. You’re a vodka and tonic man.’

‘Er … yeah,’ Harv says, wrinkling his forehead. He gives me a confused look, and then walks off.

The old man smiles at me. ‘You’ve managed to get him back on the black stuff, then?’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘That’s the sign of a true friend: they’ll abandon all dietary plans for you.’

I’m too desperate for answers to even acknowledge this remark. ‘Look, can you please tell me what’s going on?’ I whisper urgently. ‘Am I back in the real world or not?’

He readjusts his wonky Santa hat. ‘I thought someone with your particular theatrical background might have realised that after Christmas past comes … Christmas present.’

‘Christmas present?’ I repeat, stupidly.

I think of Marek’s play – The Carol Revisited. His version of Christmas present involved Vinny Scrooge weeping uncontrollably as he watched a papier-mâché model of his own corpse being dumped in the harbour (a paddling pool) by rival gangsters.

But it was only a hallucination – a warning of what would come if he didn’t change his ways …

‘So today didn’t really happen,’ I say slowly, feeling a spark of hope ignite in my chest. ‘Daff will have no memory of seeing those messages when I finally get back to reality. If I get back.’ The hope gives way briefly to anger, and I look up at the old man. ‘Or will I keep flitting about from one random moment to the next? No future, no consequences?’

The watch-seller smoothes his reindeer tie and chuckles. ‘Oh, the future’s on its way, my friend, don’t you worry,’ he says, his eyes twinkling. Before I can ask what he means by that, he adds, ‘Just remember: “If you don’t like your life, you can change it.” H. G. Wells wrote that.’

‘Really?’ I say. ‘He also wrote The Time Machine, didn’t he? I guess that’s why you’re into him.’

He laughs – a hearty Grandad Jack laugh that sends another shiver of recognition down my spine. ‘It’s one of the reasons. Of course, The Time Machine is no Groundhog Day.’

I see my chance to ask the question that’s been nagging at me for what feels like weeks. ‘Listen, do we know each other? It’s just that you remind me a lot of my grandad.’

The watch-seller twinkles at this, puffing his chest out and smirking. ‘Good-looking fellow, I presume? No, I think I’ve just got one of those faces. People often remark on how similar I look to someone they know.’

‘Oh. OK.’