I don’t know what a gramophone is, or the Charleston, and I’m scared to repeat my question in case it comes out wrong, so I turn away from her to GMT, who’s sorting clothes onto hangers and in drawers. I sit cross-legged in the middle of the rug.

‘Are your clothes from the future?’

‘No, honeybee, they’re ’68 head to toe. Don’t mix my years.’

‘What do you mean? Do you only wear clothes from 1968?’

‘Sure,’ she says in her American accent.

‘Are you autistic?’

‘In the here and now, I might be diagnosed. Back in ’68 they thought only boys with speech delay had it. But my parents were cool, they taught me to vibe off my strengths.’

She’s hanging some outfits in the wardrobe and they all have patterns on them or are made of suede, which is the opposite side of leather, in lime-green and mango.

‘Are you from New York City? Have you met Bob Beamon?’

‘No to both. Who’s Bob Beamon?’

She hasn’t heard of Bob Beamon! I can’t believe she’s never heard of the greatest long jumper of all time! But I carry on. ‘Are you from Boston, Massachusetts?’

I know Boston, Massachusetts is in America and I want to go there because it’s the best place name ever, all those sibilants. Sibilants are when you repeat the letter S. Mississippi is the name of a river and a state in America which has four Ss too and is my second favourite. Missouri is my third.

‘No, I’m from everyplace. But I’ve looped California, West Coast,’ she says, hanging up strings of beads on the dressing- table mirror, ‘’67 to ’68. Then back to Britain till ’71’ – she takes out the hair tie, shakes out her wild, black hair. Now she looks like the girl in the photo – ‘when they went decimal and put the clocks back again.’

I read somewhere that people went crazy in 1971 because they got used to the clocks not changing for three years then the government made them go back again, plus they changed all the money so people didn’t know how to buy a loaf of bread. 1971 sounds like hell. No wonder GMT went back to 1968.

‘Are you from Britain or America?’

‘Both. Born in Britain 2004, bred late ’60s, West Coast, United States. Flower Power loopers. Kinda raised myself.’

‘Didn’t you have any parents?’

‘They leaped all over the timeline so I didn’t see them much. Papa’s Annual, so he held tight onto Mama’s hand. She sure can leap!’ She pulls out a crumpled black-and-white photo of a man and woman with black hair and olive skin who look like twins. ‘That’s them. Free spirits both. Native blood.’

‘Why do you look like a boy?’