‘What?’

‘Mate, there’s someone outside asking for you.’

‘So what?’

A smirk seeps into Kris’s expression. ‘You ever seen that crazy old woman who’s always walking round Ebbswick? The one with the pram with no baby in?’

‘Yeah, seen her,’ Will snaps.

‘Well, she’s just broken a window! Fucking screaming her head off to talk to you.’

‘You OK, Will?’ April asks. ‘You’ve gone really white.’ Her voice sounds distant.

‘Leavers is threatening to drag her off the premises,’ Kris says. ‘She’s having none of it, the batty old tart.’

‘What the fuck?’ Will whispers. ‘What the fuck?’

‘Sit down, Will,’ April says. ‘You look ill.’

He holds up both palms. ‘Wait here.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Gotta talk to her,’ he says, running for the door.

‘What the hell’s going on, Will?’ she shouts after him.

He stops at the door, grabbing his own hair. ‘Haven’t got a fucking clue.’

Will’s feet slip on the compacted snow as he stamps towards the old lady. As he draws close, she is almost unrecognizable to him. Her features, ordinarily so soft and calming, are taut, angular in the glow of the white landscape.

‘What?’ Will asks, heartbeat thumping in his ears. ‘What is it?’

‘Talk to him,’ she snaps. No hello, no niceties. ‘Talk to him right now!’

‘Who? Talk to who?’

‘Now,’ she screeches. ‘Your place. The place where you meet.’

‘The … the darkroom?’

She points a shaking finger into the building. ‘Now! Before it’s too late.’

Will asks no questions; her fear says everything.

He turns, and he does exactly as he’s told.

Last Request

Will is breathless after his sprint along the darkened corridors. He flings the door open. The air inside the darkroom is stale and warm, sharp with developing chemicals.

He seals himself inside, takes a seat in this familiar blackened space.

Every shred of his willpower is in use to tame his breathing, to rein in his pulse.

His skin burns as his body bends to his will.

A tap drips somewhere. Heating pipes tick as they shrink. A drain gurgles.

In front of his face, the darkness starts to break like a dull kaleidoscope. Will relaxes his eyes and his ears, allowing them to become disconnected. He knows how this works now. These organs are no use to him.

The voice asks, ‘You know who I am, don’t you?’

‘You are me,’ Will replies.

The face is clear now. Like a mirror. Nodding back at him.

‘Yes,’ it says. ‘Now listen to me. We are nearly out of time.’

So this is where it ends.

You and I are about to converge, to become one again. Your now and my now are about to meet. Are you about to join me, dying? Or am I going to join you, and together we live on?

I wish I knew.

But, finally, my memory has become crystal clear. How this day was for me.