‘It’s your office Christmas thing tonight, isn’t it?’ he reminds me. ‘Y’know: “Ain’t no party like a lads’ mag party”.’

And then, finally, everything slots into place. I know exactly what day it is. And I’m not looking forward to reliving it one bit.

Chapter Nineteen

Within a few seconds of leaving the flat, my assumption is confirmed.

A quick scan of the newspapers in the shop downstairs tells me that today’s date is 16 December 2010. I remember quite clearly what happened on this day, although I have no clue why I am being forced to go through it again. It was, in pretty much every respect, an absolute shit-show.

It briefly crosses my mind that I don’t actually have to go through it again. I mean, it’s not like anyone’s forcing me to do anything. If I wanted, I could go full Ferris Bueller: ditch work completely and spend the whole day lip-synching to Beatles songs, or whatever it is Ferris does with his freedom.

My heart stutters as I realise I could even go back and see Mum again. She’s still here, just a few Tube stops away, alive and well.

But I keep coming back to what the watch-seller said at that chestnut stall. I must have landed on this particular date for a reason. And as much as I’m dreading what this day will bring, I’m also eager to find out if I’ll see something or hear something or remember something new. It happened in the maze, it happened at Mum’s house: will it happen again here? The best way to find out, I figure, is to live this day exactly as I did originally, and keep my eyes peeled for anything I might have missed.

With that in mind, muscle memory kicks in efficiently and I find myself mechanically retracing the steps I walked every weekday for three years. They take me to the bus stop at the end of the street, where I wait a few minutes for the 243 to arrive. When it does, I find a seat on the top deck, and slump my head against the juddering window as we start to weave our way slowly south through Bethnal Green. Garish Christmas decorations adorn pretty much every tree and lamp post and shopfront we pass: constant reminders of what tonight will bring.

I feel a buzz in my pocket, and take out the phone I didn’t even realise was in there. It’s an early iPhone, which to my 2020 eyes looks clunky and quite cute – like a kid’s toy. There’s a message glowing on the screen. It’s from Daphne.

My stomach flips as I open it.