Everything you do changes everything. And every time you move in time you arrive in a time a little bit different to the one you left. What you do doesn’t change the future, just a future.

There’s millions of places when the bombs killed everyone in Paradise Street.

But it didn’t happen here.

The ghostly images faded away as the other time veered off into its own future. ‘Johnny?’ said Yo-less. ‘We’d better get out of here.’

‘Yeah, no point in staying,’ said Bigmac.

Johnny turned.

‘OK,’ he said.

‘Are we going by trolley or are we going to … walk?’ said Kirsty.

Johnny shook his head.

‘Trolley,’ he said.

It was waiting where they’d left it. But there was no sign of Guilty.

‘Oh, no!’ said Kirsty. ‘We’re not going to look for a cat.’

‘He went to watch the bombing,’ said Wobbler. ‘Don’t know what happened to him after that.’

Johnny gripped the handle of the trolley. The bags creaked in the darkness.

‘Don’t worry about the cat,’ he said. ‘Cats find their own way home.’

The Golden Threads Club occupied the old church on Friday mornings. Sometimes there was a folk singer, or entertainment from local schools, if this couldn’t be avoided. Mainly there was tea and a chat.

This was usually about how things were worse now than they had ever been, especially those golden days when you could buy practically anything for sixpence and still have change.

There was a change in the air and five figures appeared.

The Golden Threaders watched them suspiciously, in case they broke into ‘The Streets of London’. They also noted that they were under thirty years old, and therefore almost certainly criminals. For one thing, they’d apparently stolen a shopping trolley. And one of them was black.

‘Er …’ said Johnny.

‘Is this the theatre group?’ said Kirsty. The others were astonished at the quick thinking. ‘Oh, no, wrong church hall, very sorry.’

They edged towards the door, pushing the trolley. The Threaders watched them owlishly, teacups cooling in their hands.

Wobbler opened the door and ushered the others through it.

‘Don’t forget, one of them was black,’ said Yo-less, as he stepped out. He rolled his eyes sarcastically and waved his hands in the air. ‘We’s goin’ to de carnivaaal!’

Chapter 13

Some Other Now …

The air outside smelled of 1996. Kirsty looked at her watch.

‘Ten-thirty on Saturday morning,’ she said. ‘Not bad.’

‘Er, your watch is at ten-thirty on Saturday morning,’ said Johnny. ‘That doesn’t mean we are.’

‘Good point.’

‘But I think we are, anyway. This all looks right.’

‘Looks fine to me,’ said Wobbler.

‘We’ve been out all night,’ said Yo-less. ‘My mum’ll go spare.’

‘Tell her you stopped at my place and the phone was broken,’ said Wobbler.

‘I don’t like lying.’

‘Are you going to tell her the truth?’

Yo-less thought for a few agonized seconds. ‘Your phone was broken, right?’