He desperately wanted not to meet himself. If the entire universe exploded, people would be bound to blame him afterwards …

… and there was a flash in front of his eyes.

The black car slid surreptitiously out of a side road just before a sign indicating that it was about to enter BLACKBURY (twinned with Aix-et-Pains).

‘Nearly there, Sir John.’

‘Good. What time are we in?’

‘Er … quarter past eleven, sir.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant. If time was a pair of trousers, what leg would we be in?’

It occurred to Hickson the chauffeur that this might be quite a difficult million pounds to earn.

‘They all got mixed up today, you see,’ said a voice from the seat behind him.

‘Right, sir. If I see any trousers, sir, you just tell me what leg to drive down.’

Chapter 5

The Truth is Out of Here

Johnny was still on the stairs. Kirsty was still in front of him. The door was shut. His coat wasn’t on the coat rack. The Blackbury Shopper, which was delivered on Fridays and stayed on the hall table until someone threw it away, was indeed on the table.

‘We’ve time travelled again, haven’t we,’ said Kirsty, calmly. ‘I think we’re back to where we started. Possibly …’

‘I saw the back of my own head!’ whispered Johnny. ‘My actual own back of my own head! Without mirrors or anything! No one’s ever done that since the Spanish Inquisition! How can you be so calm about this?’

‘I’m just acting calm,’ said Kirsty. ‘This is even worse wallpaper, isn’t it? Looks like an Indian restaurant.’

She opened the front door, and slammed it again.

‘You know I said that if you started getting too interested in mysterious occult things these men in black cars turn up?’

‘Yes? Well?’

‘Look through the letterbox, will you?’

Johnny levered it open with a finger.

There was a car pulling up outside. It was black. Utterly. Black. Black tyres, black wheels, black headlights. Even the windows were darker than a pair of Mafia sunglasses. Here and there were bits of chrome, but they only made the blackness blacker by comparison.

It stopped. Johnny could just make out the shadow of the driver behind the tinted glass.

‘’S … just … coincidence,’ he said.

‘Your grandad often gets visitors like this, does he?’ Kasandra demanded.

‘Well …’ He didn’t. Someone came round on Thursday to collect his football pools coupon and that was about it. Grandad was not one for the social whirl.

The car door opened. A man got out. He was wearing a black chauffeur’s uniform. The car door shut. It shut with the kind of final, heavy thonk that only the most expensive car doors can achieve, because they are lined with money.

Johnny let go of the letterbox and jumped back. A few seconds later, someone banged heavily on the door.

‘Run!’ whispered Kasandra.