I try to process this new information. So, nothing I do in these revisited moments will be remembered by anyone but me? All this new stuff – Daphne getting to accept her award, us falling asleep together in my room the night of the play – it will be like none of it ever happened when – if – I finally get back to the present?

That means I can’t change anything. I can’t affect the future in any way. The Monopoly game with Mum flashes suddenly into my head. I had the idea that night that I might be able to stop what happens – that I might be able to stop her dying. And now I find out that I can’t. A throb of anger surges through me.

‘What’s the point of all this if I can’t actually change anything?’ I mutter. ‘Nothing I do here even matters!’

‘On the contrary,’ the old man says. ‘It matters very much. Other people won’t change as a result of all this, but you might.’ He leans towards me, pressing the tips of his fingers together to form a triangle. ‘Maybe you’ll end up with a clearer understanding of what you really want.’

‘Will I get back to the present eventually, then?’ I ask.

He breathes out through his nose, and I see his moustache hairs wriggle. ‘That’s complicated. It … depends.’

This time it’s me who thumps the table. ‘Can you please stop being so bloody vague?!’ I suddenly don’t even care that Harv is still here, staring at me as if I’ve completely lost my mind. ‘I need to know why this is happening to me!’

The old man just sighs. ‘You already know. Think back to that night in the pub: all the things you wanted to say to your friend here, but couldn’t.’

‘What things?’ Harv snaps.

It all pours back into my mind: Mum, Daphne, Alice. The regrets I’ve managed to accumulate over the years. That terrifying feeling that my life had ground to a halt and I didn’t know how to restart it.

‘But why is this …’ The words dry up, and I put my head in my hands. ‘What am I supposed to do?’

‘Just keep going,’ the old man says softly. ‘You’ll get there. That’s all I can tell you at this point. And now …’ He looks up at one of the many clocks on the wall. ‘You’d better be off. After all, you’ve got a date, if I’m not mistaken?’

His blue eyes twinkle at me again, and with a sudden jolt, I realise who it is he reminds me of: my grandad Jack. Mum’s father.