13

Thursday

When I cross the park, I find myself in a small road, South Audley Street. I see Mayfair Library and that shakes something loose in my head. I’ve been here before. I push open the door but hesitate, and then I remember I’m clean. The staff blink calmly at me as I pass through and turn a corner. There is a bank of computers to the left and I aim straight for them and sit down. How to begin a search on a man I know nothing about? My eyes lid over and again the pain in my head strikes up a beat.

The sensation of someone before me makes me open my eyes. There’s a lad standing in front of me, late teens, in school uniform.

‘Here,’ he says and holds out a magazine to me. I take it, puzzled, from his hands and see that it’s the New Scientist.

I sit up and look into his eyes, questioning.

‘She told me to give it to you,’ he says, indicating the librarian in the next aisle, wheeling a book trolley.

I stand up to get a better look at the woman. She has long blonde hair and a small serious face. She catches my eye and waves at me before walking over.

‘Xander!’ she says. ‘Is that really you? You look so different!’

I stare at my clothes and then at my hands. I am different.

‘Thank you,’ I say, confused for a moment, and then I remember all at once. This is my library. I come here every week, for this magazine and for warmth and ordinary sanctuary. And she, Hazel?, has always been nice to me. My heart starts to thump suddenly. How have I forgotten this, even for a second? Is something happening to my brain? I rub my head as if I can massage my brain back to normal. That kick in the head from Squire. What did he do to me?

I stare at the magazine in my hands. ‘The Galaxy That is Missing All Its Dark Matter’.

‘It’s a good one this week.’

Looking up, I see that the boy is still there.

‘Thanks,’ I say, and fumble for more to say. ‘You a scientist?’

‘What?’ he says and he looks more confused than me.

‘Science. Do you like it?’

‘Not really. I prefer the arts,’ he says. He’s confident with me. He should be wary of me, an adult stranger. Don’t they teach kids that any more?

‘You knew that, Xander,’ he says, a little uncertain. I feel like a feral cat that he’s trying to stroke.

‘Have we met?’ I say, alarmed.

He looks at me with a frown, laughing a little. ‘Yes, Xander! It’s me, Amit. Are you okay?’