Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

24^th December, 2001…

Adam Klaus was drunk; there could be no doubt about that.  And much to Jonathan’s chagrin, a drunken Adam Klaus was a creature best avoided when trying to make oneself inconspicuous.

In truth, he would much rather have been spending Christmas Eve with nobody’s company but his own.  Instead he was suffering the latest of his employer’s hare-brained publicity stunts: a festive charity function at the theatre wherein he had invited several local care home residents, a few fellow magicians, representatives from well-known businesses, and a considerable number of journalists and news reporters.  Whilst Adam impressed everyone with well-rehearsed sleight-of-hand and smarmed his way through the media crowd, Jonathan did his best to remain invisible.

For most of the evening, he got away with it – that is, until Adam finished his second bottle of champagne (the magic having been abandoned to his more sober colleagues), and insisted on trying to make Jonathan enjoy himself.  The situation was exacerbated about halfway through the event, when he noticed an all-too-familiar flick of blonde hair amongst the crowds and realised Carla had finally arrived.  He’d been forced to invite her by Adam (presumably an ill-fated match-making effort; he never did learn not to interfere in Jonathan’s car-crash of a love-life) but she’d announced that she was busy with other plans, and would make an appearance if time allowed.  Jonathan had fervently – and perhaps somewhat selfishly – hoped time would not allow.

It wasn’t that he disliked Carla, exactly.  She was just… difficult.  Time-consuming.  Bloody-mindedly determined to spend time with him.  He couldn’t get the measure of her in the slightest, which he supposed was a rather inevitable side effect of having spent three years trying to get the measure of the other (now absent but no less significant) difficult, time-consuming and bloody-mindedly determined woman in his life.  Three years, it seemed, that had been wasted and thrown away at the first sign of difficulty – three years spent viewing the world in tunnel vision only to find that there was no light at the end of it.

He heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes at himself – it wouldn’t do to start brooding over things he was powerless to change, especially at this time of year.  Carla seemed to be searching for him through the crowds, and thus far had not spotted him.  With any luck she might become distracted by the other guests and leave him alone, but he tried to make himself as invisible as possible nonetheless.

That plan was immediately scuppered – Adam espied Carla amongst the horde, greeted her warmly, and pointed her in Jonathan’s general direction.  He shrank further back against the wall, but it refused to yield; so instead he finished his drink and tried to appear as though he was preparing to leave.

Carla squeezed between two chattering reporters, looking flustered and a little irritable, but her expression brightened as she came to a halt in front of him.

“Sorry I’m so late,” she told him.  “The function went on a lot longer than anticipated.  But never mind, I’m here now.  Did I miss very much?”

He shrugged.  “Nothing spectacular.  To be honest, the show didn’t last very long once the champagne started flowing.”

“Nothing I’ve not seen before, I suppose,” she pondered.  Then, apparently remembering something, she reached into her designer handbag and rooted around for something.  “Oh, I almost forgot.  Here.”  She handed him an envelope.  “Merry Christmas.”

He took it gingerly, embarrassed.  “Thanks, but I… um…”

“Didn’t get me anything?” she guessed.  He gave her an apologetic expression that she took to be an affirmative.  “Don’t worry.  I thought you might not.  It’s nothing special, anyway – just a gesture, really.”

He tucked the card into his back pocket.  “Sorry.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter.  ‘Tis the season and all that.”  She spoke in the semi-irritated tone he was familiar with, apparently frustrated by his apology.  “Let’s just assume your inherent good will towards men and leave it at that, shall we?”  At that point, a waiter ambled past with a tray laden with glasses, effectively distracting her from his apparent lack of seasonal spirit.  “Ah!  Champagne.  Cheers!”

She took a sip and held up the glass to toast, then realised his own glass was empty.  He took that as a cue to make an excuse for a swift exit.

“You only just caught me, actually,” he said.  “I was going to call it a night.”

“Oh, but—"

“Jonathan, I absolutely forbid it!”  That was Adam, having overheard Jonathan’s intention as he patrolled the room.  “You haven’t even met half of the guests yet!”

Jonathan heaved a sigh.  “I thought this was a charity function, Adam – it’s not just for your benefit.  Anyway, if you tell the audience you’re not really magic, you’ll ruin their Christmas.”  He put his glass down with intent.  “I didn’t even need to be here tonight.”

Somewhat sobered by Jonathan’s attitude, Adam frowned.  “You’re my right-hand man, Jonathan.  Of course you needed to be here.”

Whilst he appreciated the attempt to make him feel less obsolete, nonetheless he wanted to go home.  It was getting late, anyway; he liked to get an early night on Christmas Eve.

“It’s not like anyone’s going to miss me if I slope off early.  I’m sorry, Adam, but I’m just… not feeling very festive this year, that’s all.”

Adam gave a small nod; whether he understood Jonathan’s reasoning was debateable, but he was more than aware of what had transpired over the past couple of months.  Jonathan had not disclosed much about the finer details, but Adam knew enough to realise why he wasn’t particularly in the mood to celebrate.

Carla had watched this exchange with some interest, twirling her champagne flute absently.  She had no inkling whatsoever of Jonathan’s predicament, as he had not felt it pertinent to tell her about the subtle nuances of his personal life, but nevertheless she must have sensed his desire to leave the party: she suddenly grasped Adam by the arm and adopted an authoritative tone of voice.

“Well, Mr Klaus, I would certainly be interested in meeting the guests, so why don’t you introduce me and we’ll leave Mr Scrooge here to his own solitary devices.”

Immediately distracted by the presence of the blonde female now attached to his arm, Adam grinned charmingly and began to lead her off.  “Very well.”  Then, seemingly as an afterthought to his associate: “If you really must go, Jonathan, then just be careful… you never know who might come along to visit you tonight.”  He accompanied this by waving his free hand in a spooky gesture, before disappearing back into the crowd.

The realisation of what he’d implied dawned on Jonathan mere seconds later.

“I’m not a Scrooge!”

His protestation was lost to the general raucousness of the room.  With a sigh, he fought his way through to the cloakroom to find his duffel-coat, and quietly slipped out into the cold night air.

--J|M--

The journey home passed without incident, though he’d suspected that would be the case.  The roads were almost deserted due to the season, and everywhere was silent.  As the taxi navigated the country roads that wove through the village, Jonathan admired the neighbouring houses, decorated in a variety of ways – from subtle, German-style candles in one window, to a full-blown, garish neon display on another house’s frontage.  Some were bare of external decorations, but gently-twinkling trees could be glimpsed behind curtains drawn against the dark.

Jonathan had to force himself to ignore the twinge of regret as the taxi dropped him off outside his own abode – the interior darkened and not a decoration in sight.  He was never one to make much of an effort; he had a small, table-top tree (there was no room for a full-size affair anyway), under which to place the few accumulated gifts that trickled in over the course of the month, but nothing much beyond that.  Still, the place did not feel especially welcoming or festive after his short journey through the village.

Shaking off the feeling, he pushed open the kitchen door and reached for the light-switch.  There was a small pile of post on the table – telltale red envelopes with familiar postmarks and unfamiliar stamps, and a box wrapped in brown paper.  Some traditions remained even when he wasn’t feeling the seasonal spirit: the opening of gifts and cards would wait until the day itself.  He fished Carla’s card out of his back pocket and added it to the pile, taking everything upstairs and depositing it beneath the branches of the miniature tree, along with the gift from Adam that he’d been handed earlier in the week – professionally-wrapped by an unwitting shop assistant whom doubtless Adam had tried to woo in the process.

Settling on the sofa, he switched on the television.  Channel-hopping killed a few seconds, then eventually he settled for an old black-and-white film that he was fairly certain he’d seen before, even though they all tended to blur together after a while.  It took only a few minutes before he realised the irony of his choice: Ebenezer Scrooge was in the process of bemoaning the poor and firing Bob Cratchitt.  Carla’s words rang through his head, along with Adam’s jesting warning about ‘visitors’, and he swiftly changed the channel.

Finding nothing else even remotely entertaining to watch, he conceded defeat and opted instead to get an early night, flicking off the set again and heading determinedly towards the stairs.

Chapter Text

25^th December, 2001

12.00am

Jonathan awoke with a jolt.

Checking the alarm clock, he suppressed a groan.  He’d managed barely over two hours of sleep.  He rolled over and attempted to nod off again, but then the reason for his rude awakening made itself apparent: a distant knock on the kitchen door.

Any curiosity as to who on earth would be visiting at such an hour of the night was surpassed by his steadfast refusal to get out of bed.  He heard the knock again, just as distant, and tried to ignore it.  It sounded again after only a few seconds – the pressure no firmer, but somehow more insistent.  He had the distinct impression that whoever it was would not go away unless he expressly told them to, so he wrenched himself out of bed, reached for his dressing gown, and trudged down to the kitchen.

The knocking continued, sporadically, as he made his way downstairs.  As he emerged into the darkness of the room, not bothering to switch on the lights in case that alerted the intruder to his presence, he became aware of a yellowish glow at the window, seeming to emanate from the other side of the door.  Headlights, perhaps – someone looking for directions, on their way to a relative’s home for Christmas and unfamiliar with the area.  Still, quite how they’d stumbled upon him, of all people, was a mystery – the windmill was not exactly easy to find, nor obviously inhabited.

The knock came again – louder, now that he was closer to it – and he hesitated.  The glow at the window wasn’t bright enough for headlights, the more he thought about it – from the way it was flickering, it more closely resembled a candle.

Another knock; the stable door rattled from the impact.

Adam’s warning repeated itself and he felt a chill run down his spine.  He shook it off with an eye-roll – it was December, and freezing to boot, he logically told himself – but nevertheless he couldn’t deny a certain sense of trepidation.

Curiosity won out; at the very least, once he found out who was disturbing his peace, he could return to bed and attempt to get some more sleep before the inevitability of Christmas morning dawned.  Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and reached for the latch, preparing to give whoever it was a piece of his mind and send them on their way.

When he pulled open the door, however, he was greeted by a sight that immediately stunned him into silence…

--J|M--

“Bloody hell, Jonathan.  You took your time!”

Despite the familiarity of that tone of voice, Jonathan was finding it very difficult to process what he was seeing.  He had to blink a few times, and briefly considered pinching himself, just to make absolutely certain he wasn’t dreaming. The vision in front of him remained – none other than Maddy Magellan stood on his doorstep, looking much the same as she ever had, except for the fact she wasn’t supposed to be there.  He noted with only mild acknowledgement that the yellowish glow did indeed belong to a candle, ensconced in an old-fashioned brass holder which she was grasping in one hand.

“I… you’re supposed to be in America.”  There could possibly have been a much better way of responding, but that seemed the most pertinent point to address first.

“I am,” she told him, as if that explained everything.  His confusion must have been obvious, because she clarified, in a somewhat impatient tone: “I’m not really here, you know. Honestly, it’s not that hard to work out.”

He could feel a headache forming already; had their conversations always been this difficult to fathom?  He honestly couldn’t remember, which said rather a lot for how hard he’d tried not to think about her since she’d left.

"What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Clearly not, or I wouldn’t be asking.”  She merely smiled enigmatically.  He tried a different approach, feeling as though he was rapidly falling into a surreal alternative universe and grasping at anything he could find.  “What’s the candle for?”

“Your power’s out,” she explained.

“No, it’s—”  He tried the light-switch, and found she was right.  “Oh.”  He suddenly remembered it was below zero outside; despite the bizarreness of the situation, he wondered if she might be cold, and stepped back a little to gesture inside.  “Do you want to come in?”

“I can’t,” she said.  “Actually, you need to come with me.”

Instinctively, he examined his front driveway for her car, but there was no sign of it.  There was no sign of anything, in fact, to indicate how she’d arrived. 

“Look,” he said, becoming impatient, “it’s bad enough you turning up in my dreams, without dragging me off on some wild goose chase as well.  I’m not interested in solving any more bloody locked room murders, okay?”

“Who said anything about a murder?”  Her tone was indignant.  “Now, come on; I’m working to a deadline here.”

She extended her free hand, as though to lead him out of the door.  He didn’t immediately react, still wary.

“Just, hang on,” he said.  “What’s going on?”

She sighed exaggeratedly, as if to imply he should already have figured it out for himself.

“I’m a ghost, Jonathan.”

He felt the barest tinge of panic.  This Maddy – or vision of Maddy, because the real Maddy was most definitely still in America the last time he checked – was quite likely a hallucination of some sort, something conjured up by his sleeping brain.  Jonathan did not put much sway in prophetic dreams, and he most certainly did not believe in ghosts, but nonetheless her words sent another unprecedented chill down his spine.

“A ghost,” he repeated.  “As in…”  He couldn’t quite bring himself to say it – nor could he quite muster enough sarcasm to complain about the fact she was haunting him, of all people.

“As in ‘a ghost from your past’.”

“…you never know who might come along to visit…”

A lightbulb came on, as once again Adam’s words ran through his memory.  Apparently his subconscious had taken the Scrooge metaphor a little too far.  He nodded knowingly to himself as the realisation finally dawned.

“Right, and you’re here to show me the error of my ways?  A few Christmases where I could have been a bit less of a grumpy sod?”

“Now you’re getting it.”

He almost laughed at that, but she didn’t appear to be joking.  Her hand remained extended as it had before, patiently waiting for him to take it.  That in itself was fairly unusual; normally she would have dragged him off when he refused to cooperate.

As if reading his mind, she added: “It’d be best if you came willingly.”

"And if I don’t?”

“If you don’t, I get stuck here indefinitely, and the whole thing goes to pot.”

“I don’t really have a choice, then.”

A nod.  “Pretty much.”

Jonathan gave the matter a few more seconds of serious thought.  He was still convinced the whole thing was a dream concocted by his over-active imagination, despite the fact he clearly remembered waking up, and all evidence seemed to indicate that he was, in fact, actually awake.  It might be best to play along, he decided, and with any luck the ordeal might be over with quickly.  Later on, he could pass the entire thing off as a reaction to Carla’s stupid comparison and one too many glasses of champagne at the charity function.  The fizzy stuff never did agree with him.

He conceded with a sigh.  “Go on, then.”

Maddy took a step back, her hand still extended, causing him to step over the threshold and into the cold night air.  Mere seconds before he placed his hand in hers, he remembered he was still clad in pyjamas, slippers and dressing gown, but as soon as their palms made contact a great wind picked up, whipping leaves and debris around their heads like a tornado, and the candle blew out and cast everything into darkness.

Chapter Text

When the dervish cleared, Jonathan found himself in a room that he was unable to recognise at first, though something about it did strike a chord of reminiscence.  He blinked some of the remaining blurriness from his vision and looked around for something tangible to place in his memory.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“I was hoping you could tell me that,” replied Maddy, briefly giving his hand a squeeze before letting go.  It had not escaped his notice that she seemed a little softer than usual; he wondered if that was something his own brain had supplied to ease the blow of having to face her again.

It became apparent that the room was someone’s lounge – quite up-market from what he could tell, with leather sofas, heavy embroidered curtains at the large windows, and a very well-stocked cocktail bar from which people were helping themselves to a variety of drinks.  A large Christmas tree dominated one corner of the room, bedecked in elegant ornaments and simple white lights.  Aside from those touches, though, the rest of the décor was quite traditional – old-fashioned ornaments and pictures on the walls, a ceiling rose and other original features.  A fire was blazing heartily within an ornate hearth.  There was a large, cumbersome television set in one corner of the room, and a chunky-looking stereo system with a CD-changer, churning out music that placed the era as some point in the late-eighties.

There were guests milling about, talking in small groups and moving from room to room – a party in full swing, or so it seemed.  (He knew well enough not to bother clarifying that he and Maddy were invisible to the occupants of the room.)  None of the guests were particularly familiar to Jonathan… except for one sole individual, whom Maddy had also noticed and could not quite suppress her smirk of realisation.

“Is that you?”

He did not justify her with a response, as the likeness was more than obvious; watching his younger self was quite bizarre enough, without having to confirm it.  Maddy looked between the two of them critically, then concluded:

“Can’t say you’ve changed much.  Was this after or during the Edwin Drood phase?”

He sighed, immediately placing the scene that was about to unfold, and not quite wanting to carry on.

“Is there a point to this?”

“I don’t know; it’s your memory.”

At that point, the party’s hostess appeared from the direction of the kitchen, carrying a tray of canapés and an unopened bottle of champagne.  A slightly inebriated gentleman took the bottle from her and proceeded to pop it open, pouring out more glasses for some of the guests as they cheered.  Jonathan’s younger self remained glued to the sofa, even as he watched the hostess’s every move.

“Well?” questioned Maddy.

For a moment, he didn’t want to say anything, hoping the scene unfolding would be self-evident.  When she merely gazed at him with a patient, curious expression, however, he knew full well he would have to explain.

“Obviously, you remember Charlotte,” he said, gesturing to the hostess.  Maddy studied her and recognition dawned: the Carney daughter, about fifteen years younger and happier-looking than when Maddy had met her (presumably as yet unburdened by the rift with her sister and the messy business with her mother and aunt).

Jonathan continued: “Well, this was the night we were supposed to be officially introduced.  I’d been invited by a mutual friend, as it happens.”  Here, he paused, trying to locate the friend in question.  “Ah, there he is.”  He pointed to another man of a similar age to his younger self, happily chatting away by the bar whilst Jonathan-the-Younger fidgeted with a deck of cards that he’d fished out of his shirt pocket.

“I was still toying with the idea of stage magic then,” he explained.  “Andy, my mate, he knew Charlotte from way back.  I think they went to school together, maybe university.  I was a great fan of Marella Carney’s work before she publically retired.  I was supposed to turn up and impress her daughter with some sleight-of-hand, try and get a foot in the door that way, but… well, it didn’t quite work out like that.”

He paused, letting the scene play out.  Charlotte was mingling effortlessly, moving about the room with a natural grace and a carefree manner, but whatever Jonathan was doing with the cards had obviously caught her attention.  Her focus shifted from whoever she’d been moving towards and she paused to watch him; Jonathan, oblivious, merely carried on juggling cards with deft, practiced fingers, absorbed in the task.  Charlotte began to move forward and his concentration broke, as he realised someone was watching him.  She gave him a smile and was about to introduce herself, but a female acquaintance arrived at that point and swept her into a hug; the moment was lost.

“Suffice it to say I never did manage to talk to her,” he said.  “I left shortly afterwards.  Andy persevered though; he sent us on a blind date about two weeks later.”

“How long did you…?”  She couldn’t finish the question; he noticed the hint of jealousy in her tone, even though she tried to hide it.  Apparently, even as a figment of his imagination, she felt the need to be territorial.  Ordinarily, the thought of sharing something of this magnitude with her would have filled him with fear… but she’d obviously brought him here for a reason, and it was about time she knew the truth.

“Not long.  Maybe six months.  I, um… did a runner, actually.”  Off her surprised expression, he added:  “She was the first girl I ever loved, and I knew she’d break my heart.  So I decided not to give her the opportunity.” 

Maddy looked thoughtful, taking everything in.  This was the sort of background history he wished he could have given her at the time, before she’d jumped to all the wrong conclusions and resorted to spying on him.  By the time they’d finished throwing insults across his kitchen, it didn’t seem appropriate to drag up the past. Whatever Maddy had decided about his involvement with Charlotte, he doubted very much it was accurate.

“So… what does this mean, then?” she asked.  “This past Christmas of yours.”

He shrugged.  “I assume there’s some message here about how I should have seized the moment.  Both then and later.”

“I’ve often thought you could be more spontaneous…” she mused.

“I did learn one thing that night, though.”

“Oh?  What’s that?”

“It turns out magic tricks are a pretty effective way of impressing women.”

She raised an eyebrow sceptically.  “Is that so?”

He gave her a knowing smirk. “It worked on you.”

For that, he was rewarded with a withering glare; oddly, he found he’d missed it.  “Smart-arse.”  Then something softened in her expression, and she extended her hand towards him again.  “Come on.  There’s more to see yet.”

This time, when he placed his hand in hers, there was no hurricane; she merely led him towards a closed door in Charlotte’s lounge, opened it, and walked them both through…

--J|M--

They emerged on the other side into a scene that Jonathan had no trouble identifying.  Maddy released him again, and they found a place from which to oversee the proceedings.  This time, he found his memory-self much more quickly; this incident had been only three years ago – a Christmas get-together organised by Maddy’s publishers, to which she’d dragged him along as moral support. 

He watched himself skulking against a far wall out of the way, as Maddy – three-years-ago Maddy – chatted amiably to some of the other guests, presumably other writers also attached to the publishing firm.  Barry was laughing heartily in some other area of the room, his booming voice coming through loud and clear.

The Maddy at his side recognised the scene as easily as he did.  “I remember this,” she said.  “You decided to make yourself scarce about five minutes after we arrived.”

“It wasn’t five minutes,” he argued.  “More like a couple of hours.”

Together they watched as Maddy’s conversation came to a natural pause and she realised Jonathan had vanished, before finally seeking him out on the other side of the room.  As she wandered over to speak to him, he realised for the first time that he was unable to hear any specifics of the conversation, just a general murmur of background noise.  The same had been true of Charlotte’s Christmas party, though he hadn’t realised it at the time.  Still, that didn’t matter – he could remember the conversation well enough.  Maddy had bemoaned his lack of social skills and he had pointedly reminded her that he was only there in the event she didn’t know anyone – and given she’d fallen into easy banter with almost everyone immediately after their arrival, he saw no need to hang around the edge of the group like a spare part.

“It wasn’t just for moral support, actually,” she admitted from beside him.  “I wanted people to know who you were.”

He rolled his eyes.  “I know.”

Their silent counterparts had finished bickering, for now.  It was odd to see it from the outside; any casual observer would draw the conclusion that they either intensely disliked each other, or (as Benjamin le Fley had incorrectly assumed) that they were a long time married.  In the pause that followed – the prelude to which, he remembered, had been Maddy complaining about his lack of Christmas spirit – the pair of them stared aimlessly around the room in a mutual attempt to stop arguing.

Barry caught Maddy’s eye, winking conspiratorially as he indicated something just above their heads; both of their gazes were drawn upwards, to the previously inconspicuous sprig of mistletoe that was hanging innocuously on the wall.  It was one of several, dotted about the room as decoration; Jonathan recalled wondering if it was a subtle attempt from Barry at setting them up.

Both of them stared at it for perhaps longer than necessary; Jonathan remembered being paranoid of onlookers, though everyone was more interested in their own conversations than what they were doing.  Looking down again, Maddy’s expression was open and curious, but she made no move towards him.  He began to lean a little closer, and even though she made no effort to reciprocate, she also did not move away.  Then a raucous noise within the room distracted him at precisely the wrong instant, his gaze temporarily flicking to its source, and when he refocused on Maddy he realised the moment had been lost, as she was staring intently into her drink instead.

He turned back to face the Maddy who’d brought him here, who was wearing a thoughtful expression, but said nothing.  Feeling a need to break the silence, he attempted to rationalise what they’d seen.

“Ah.  Another of those times I should have seized the moment, I suppose?”

She did not respond for several seconds, but then suddenly expostulated: “Why the bloody hell didn’t you kiss me?”

He reeled a little at her tone; thus far she’d been quite calm and collected.  “Am I supposed to be a mind reader now?  Anyway, I could ask you the same thing!”

Maddy huffed, realising he was right, as always.  “All right – maybe we could both do with being a bit more spontaneous.  Anyway, it never ends well, does it?”

“You could say that,” he agreed.  “Awkward questions… awkward silences.  It was hard enough figuring out what page we were on, half the time.  I wasn’t about to risk it on the basis of some stupid mistletoe.”

As they spoke, the sounds and shapes of the party began to blur, darkness and silence encroaching from all sides.

“What was the worst that could have happened?” she asked.

“Physical injury, at the very least – that seemed to be a recurring theme.  And at the worst?”  He sighed, trying to find the right words.  It seemed wholly unnatural to be sharing these thoughts with her, after everything, when he’d only just come to understand them himself… and yet nothing bad had come of it so far.  He decided to persevere.

“I just… didn’t want to reach a point where I’d finally plucked up enough courage to even entertain the notion it might mean something – that it might be more than a stupid drunken snog or one of us trying to prove a point – only to find out it didn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she challenged him.

“Let’s just say I had bitten the bullet, and it wasn’t just a failed science experiment, for once.”  He felt some of the previous year’s frustrations finally coming to a head, despite his best efforts to keep a cool head.  “A few months after this party, you announced your big adventure; a few months after that, you pissed off indefinitely!”  She said nothing to that, letting him get it out of his system.  When he spoke again, he felt a little calmer for having finally expressed it.  “I dunno.  Maybe if you’d stayed… it might have been different.”

She bit her lip. “But… maybe if you’d given me a reason to stay…”

The light finally dawned, and Jonathan could have kicked himself for not seeing things so clearly a lot sooner.  Yet another example of him failing to seize the moment.

They’d reached a stalemate.  He became aware that they were back where they’d started – standing on either side of the threshold to his kitchen – and nothing much seemed to have changed from earlier.  The candle she’d arrived with was perched on his windowsill, nearly burnt down to nothing, its flame flickering gently.  Without her having to clarify it, he knew the visit was over.

“What happens now?” he asked.

“I go back to where I came from,” she said, “and I think you know the rest.”  He gave a nod of acknowledgement, she one of finality; then she began to step away.

“Wait.”

She halted at his voice, giving him a questioning look, but said nothing.  He took a deep breath and steeled himself.

“I didn’t… really get any chance to tell you, before you left.  That I… um…”  He couldn’t quite find the words, even now – couldn’t quite force them from his throat.  He gave up, realising that it was futile.  “We didn’t even say goodbye properly – you had that big going away party, I saw you for maybe ten minutes, and that was it.”

Suddenly, the sting of her departure – aloof, somewhat dismissive, and entirely impersonal (out of self-preservation, he now belatedly realised) – felt just as raw as it had for those first few months of trying to salvage their friendship long-distance.  The sense of abandonment and betrayal came back full force, and he hoped fervently it wasn’t obvious from his face.

“Jonathan…”

Before she could continue, he interrupted her: “I think I could have found a reason – for you to stay.”

She heaved a sigh, seemingly debating whether or not to speak.  When she did, however, her tone was vaguely apologetic.

“This isn’t really me.  You know that.  Everything you’ve said… it won’t make any difference – you can’t change what’s happened.  That wasn’t the point of all this.  But for what it’s worth…” – here, she paused a moment, reaching out to take his hand – “if you’d given me even the tiniest inkling of how you felt, that would have been enough.”

Before he could begin to fathom the meaning of that – and what it could have meant, if they’d only communicated properly in the first place – she took a step forward, never quite crossing the threshold, and pulled him down into a kiss.

It felt like a proper goodbye, at last, but Jonathan did was not especially glad about that – losing her once had been bad enough, without his dreams contributing to the heartache as well.  He’d almost forgotten he was dreaming at all – Maddy’s presence felt real enough that he almost believed he really had gone back in time to quietly observe his previous actions, as impossible as that might have sounded.

She pulled back slightly, trying to read his face – her own expression apologetic as the imminence of her departure loomed – then began to move away again.  Instead, he dragged her into his arms, hanging on for a few more seconds, and even though she did not return his embrace, she did not resist it, either. 

What she’d warned him was true, of course – he couldn’t change his past mistakes.  That was indeed the point.  All he could do was learn from them.  The one thing he’d learned already, as clear as crystal, was that escaped opportunities could never be recaptured.

So, even if this was a dream, that was no excuse to let another moment run away from him.

He found it was easier when she couldn’t stare him down.

“If you wanted a hint, I couldn’t have given you one,” he said.  “I had no idea what I was feeling, until you’d already gone, and then it was too late as well as blindingly obvious.”  He paused, though whether for effect or courage, he did not even know himself.  “For God’s sake, Maddy – I loved you.  For longer than I care to think about.  I probably still do.”

Her surprise was evident as she stiffened in his arms, and he finally managed to let her go.  She studied him for a few long, drawn-out seconds, saying nothing.  The candle began to flicker violently, casting them into shadows as it dwindled to nothing.  If there was more she wanted to say, it could not be said in the scant few seconds that remained.

“Hold that thought, Jonathan…”

With that, the flame finally sputtered into nothing, and everything went black…

Chapter Text

1.00am…

Jonathan awoke with a jolt.

At first, he was surprised to find himself back in bed; the last thing he remembered, he’d been standing in his kitchen doorway, a candle flickering away, and Maddy…  oh.  He must’ve been dreaming, after all; there was no way he could have found the courage to admit all those things to her otherwise.  He felt a familiar pang of regret, but he tried to lock it away; thinking about Maddy was not something he had made a habit of recently.

He rolled over and tried to get back to sleep, but then he heard another knock at the door.

“What now…?” he muttered to himself, once again dragging himself from his warm bed to see who was disturbing him. 

This time, when he entered the kitchen, there was no warm glow outside his window – though he noted it did seem brighter than before.  This visitor was not quite so persistent in their knocking, but he sensed that they had not gone away.  In fact, he was certain as he got closer that he could hear someone’s fingertips drumming impatiently against the wood…

He pulled open the door with a sigh.  The guest on his front step was not quite so surprising, but also not quite so welcome: Carla Borrego, wearing a fur coat and winter boots – against the snow which was now falling, he realised – and a supremely unimpressed expression, something he had become all too familiar with.  It did not appear to have been snowing long, however, so he didn’t feel too bad about letting her stand around outside – she didn’t look very cold, in any case.

There were occasions, Jonathan would admit, when he could spend time with Carla and grudgingly accept that he’d enjoyed her company.  The rest of the time, however, she was hard work, overbearing, and generally unpleasant to be around.  He suspected that if they got to know each other better, he might begin to understand her and know how best to approach things, but she made it very difficult to want to spend time with her.

Besides which, there were certain facets of her personality – such as the way she had blown into his life like a hurricane and begun to take it over – which reminded him all too readily of Maddy.  And he was not quite ready to deal with that just yet.

Ordinarily, he would at least attempt to be civil, even if he wasn’t in the mood to put up with her… but it was the middle of the night and he just wanted to sleep, so all of his usual forced politeness disappeared.

“Oh.  I suppose you’re a ghost as well, are you?”

“Hello, Jonathan – it’s very nice to see you, too,” she responded with a sarcastic tone.

“Let’s get it over with, then,” he suggested.  “Only I’d quite like to get some sleep at some point tonight.”

"Charming.  If you must know, I’m on a rather strict deadline myself.  Come along.”

With that, she yanked him unceremoniously out of the door.  Once outside, however, the surroundings became entirely unfamiliar – they seemed to be walking along the pavement of a street lined with old-fashioned terraced houses.  The scene was almost – he tried not to use the word, and failed – Dickensian.  Another metaphor helpfully provided by his brain, no doubt.

They walked silently down the street.  Most of the houses were darkened inside, their windows black… but some of them were lit up, indicating they were at least inhabited.  They approached the first such house, and Carla came to an abrupt halt, indicating for him to look through the window.  He hesitated – it seemed impolite – but she was insistent.

“They can’t see you, Jonathan,” she explained.  “Just watch.”

Somewhat curious despite his reluctance, Jonathan peered through the first window.  Inside, rather than the poky living room he’d been expecting, he saw the interior of Adam’s lavish home.  There was a vast Christmas tree dominating the room, professionally bedecked in baubles and garlands, with other decorations around the room.  The tiger – Adam’s overblown idea of a pet cat – was asleep in the corner, wearing an appropriately festive collar.

Adam himself was lounging around in his pyjamas, handing over a present to his girlfriend-du-jour with a big cheesy grin.  It was jewellery of some sort – Jonathan couldn’t quite tell from so far away – but she seemed impressed with it.

There were other, already opened gifts strewn around, and he recognised the sender by their very nature.  Adam’s long-suffering and kind-hearted sister, Kitty, would send him annual supplies of socks, a new tie, and some cufflinks – every year the same, without fail.  In Jonathan’s opinion, she spoiled him, but of course Adam could never see it that way.  He would wear the tie ceremoniously if Kitty came to visit, whereupon it would disappear into a drawer somewhere never to be seen again.  Adam did not wear cufflinks, so they would inevitably be gifted elsewhere the next year, or sometimes handed to Jonathan, even though he didn’t wear cufflinks either.

The scene changed to a few hours later, as Adam begrudgingly rang up Kitty and wished her a happy Christmas.  Next year, he told her, he would invite her to spend the day with him.  Or maybe go up to Scotland to see her.  Kitty let him go within fifteen minutes, not wanting to take up his time, and Adam gratefully hung up.

Jonathan was overcome with the not-unfamiliar urge to throttle his employer.  Pulling away from the window, he faced Carla.

“What’s this supposed to be about?  Counting my blessings that I get one day off from waiting on His Highness in there?”

“Not exactly.”  She pointed towards the next house, another lit-up window.  “Try the next one.”

Less reticent this time, he moved along to the next window.  He did not recognise the interior but soon ascertained it was Kitty’s flat.  The place was small but homely – old-fashioned wallpaper adorned the walls, and there was a small, prettily-decorated tree in one corner.  Christmas cards were hanging from string that had been tied across the wall over the mantelpiece, and she had a small dog dozing next to her on the sofa.

He had entered the scene at the point of Kitty opening her sole present from Adam – a VHS of the latest show to be televised, some months ago.  He could not help but roll his eyes at Adam’s egotistic gesture, though Kitty actually seemed pleased with the present and immediately fed it into the VCR, watching it with a proud, amused smile.

“He doesn’t deserve her,” commented Jonathan as he drew away from the window.

“Indeed,” said Carla, nodding in agreement.  “Although the purpose of this exercise was not to turn you against Adam Klaus.”

“I didn’t mean…”  He sighed.  “He just lets it all go to his head sometimes, that’s all.  He’s so quick to forget where he came from now that he can have anything he wants.  He thinks of Kitty as some kind of burden, but she’d be the first and last person to jump to his defence.”

Carla nodded understandingly, some of her aloofness from earlier dissipating at his obvious frustration; she understood perfectly well his desire for Adam Klaus to finally grow up, from her own occasional experiences with him.  In fact, Jonathan was sure he’d seen her mere seconds away from slapping Adam on more than one occasion for his misogyny.  Maddy had been able to laugh it off; Carla was still under the somewhat misguided assumption that she could argue him into submission.

“Let’s move on,” she suggested placatingly.

He gave a small nod and they began to walk again.  They passed quite a few houses that were in darkness, and he wanted to ask why that was so.  Were they supposed to represent people in his life whom he’d lost contact with?  If so, there seemed to be an awful lot of empty windows in comparison to those that were lit up.  That thought was rather sobering, and he decided it was better not to ask.

At the next window, he again looked in upon a scene he did not recognise.  It was a new-looking house with all mod-cons and cream furniture; a white tree with brightly-coloured baubles stood in one corner of the room – very stylish and in tune with the rest of the décor – but there was little else to indicate that Christmas had visited this household.  There were numerous presents beneath the branches, wrapped in a variety of professional-looking ways.

Beside him at the window, Carla stiffened, which only piqued his curiosity.

The majority of the gifts were unopened as yet, even though a clock on the wall proclaimed it to be mid-afternoon.  Then a figure entered the room through a previously-closed door that seemed to lead into the kitchen, where there did not appear to be any evidence of cooking despite the shiny, designer interior.  The reason for Carla’s reaction became apparent, as she herself came into the living room – pristinely dressed as usual, a glass of wine in one hand – and settled down on the sofa.

She reached for the remote control and flicked on the television, channel-hopping for a while before apparently finding something (Jonathan noted with mild surprise that it was the Christmas classic, It’s A Wonderful Life – maybe there was a heart beneath that icy exterior after all).  Placing the wine-glass on an end table, she reached for a small gift that was beside her on the sofa cushions.  Even from his position outside, Jonathan could read the tag with relative ease as she turned it over.

Back tomorrow.  Hope you like this.  Lady in the shop said it would suit you.

  Merry Christmas.

  -- Brendan  x

She sighed a little, but untied the ribbon, then carefully unpeeled the Sellotape.  Inside the paper was a square box, clearly intended for jewellery.  Jonathan did not wait to see what was in the box, as there was now a more pressing matter he wanted to address.

“Hang on.  Who’s Brendan?”

Carla looked exceptionally guilty, and for several seconds she didn’t answer him.  Then she seemed to finally concede defeat, realising there was no way out of the situation.

“If you must know… he’s my husband.”

“Your… what?”

“I’m married, Jonathan.  Honestly, there’s no need to look so surprised.  I’m not a complete ogre.”

He blinked a few times, attempting to clear his head.  “No, it’s not that, I just… When were you planning on telling me, exactly?”

“I didn’t think it was important,” she said nonchalantly.

“Oh, of course not.  It’s obviously not important when you go out of your way to pretend to be interested in me!”

She blinked at him innocently, as if to imply she had no idea what he was on about, though her body language implied otherwise: arms folded defiantly across her chest and a slightly wary stance that indicated she was eager to escape.  “I beg your pardon?”

“Right,” he said.  “All that casual flirting lately was friendly banter, was it?”

After another moment’s thought, she gave in.

“All right.  Maybe I was flirting with you.  But I…”  She sighed impatiently.  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Jonathan!  Look at what I’ve got to contend with: Christmas Day and my bloody husband disappears on a business trip, and buys me something sparkly and thoughtless from Harrod’s, as usual.  At least the gifts I got for him were things he actually wanted.  Believe it or not, jewellery is not the only answer.  I’m sorry if you thought I was leading you on, but… look, maybe I just wanted to escape from my so-called marriage for a few precious seconds.  Is that what you want to hear?”

His normal level of observation and intuition had clearly failed him; he remembered once pointing out to an unimpressed Maddy that her terrible, persistent blind date, Shelford, showed evidence of a wedding ring.  As his gaze instinctively fell to Carla’s hands, he noted there was no pale line around her ring finger – nothing at all, in fact, that would have led him to the conclusion she was married.  

“I don’t wear it," she said, having noticed his line of sight.  "Haven’t since the honeymoon, actually.  If you want to know why—“

“No,” he said.  “You don’t have to explain.  Sorry, I just…”  He heaved a sigh; it was tedious having to constantly explain his failure in this regard.  “I’m not good at reading women, okay?  Right when I thought I’d got the hang of one in particular, she buggered off to America.  And then you turned up and I was right back where I started.”

With Carla’s revelation hanging in the wintry air like their breath before them, there was nothing much more that could be said.  Perhaps it was best for him to have found out now, rather than later: he had started to picture his life spiralling towards Carla at an alarming rate, and clearly that would turn out to be a mistake.  The fact remained, however, that this Carla was not strictly corporeal, and at some point after the festive season he would actually need to bring up the subject again.

The window beside them had begun to fade into darkness, the events having unfolded as much as they were able.  With an inclination of her head, Carla broke the silence once more.

“There’s still two more.  Come along.”

He followed her quietly and without argument; the sooner this ordeal was over, the better.

Chapter Text

At the next window, Jonathan had no trouble identifying the interior: it was his own workroom, lit dimly from its usual array of lamps, the distant glow of the television, and the sparse lights on his tree.  The gifts had been opened and were as expected: the annual care package from his parents, who were still convinced he wasn’t eating properly or able to buy his own socks, something lavish and impractical from Adam, and a few other standards – chocolates, wine, and the like – from other acquaintances.  It was late in the evening and he was on the sofa nursing a brandy.

“So?” he asked.  “Much the same as usual.”

“Exactly,” responded Carla.  “We all have our traditions, Jonathan.  We all make the best of what we have.”

“But… I’m not ‘making the best’ of it.  I like spending Christmas on my own.  It’s the only bloody peace and quiet I get these days.”

“I think you might find the last window quite enlightening,” she said, and headed towards it.

Another familiar scene greeted him: the interior of his parents’ house in Philadelphia.  It was a large colonial-style property with acres of land surrounding it, with the interior fully modernised.  His parents were in the process of preparing dinner, moving in tandem around the kitchen to the sound of distant Christmas music. Strangely, they seemed more carefree than he remembered them being as a child, when everything had been about work; he supposed that was an inevitable side effect of retirement.

Of course, they always invited him over for the season, but it was difficult to clear it with Adam in time to fly out.  Some years, they were busy with performances right up to Christmas Eve; other years he was so relieved to be free of showbusiness that the thought of long-haul flights was exhausting.  Thus far he had never actually made it there – and the time difference made telephone calls a delicate operation.  They mostly communicated by way of letter, these days – or in his mother’s case, interference via contact with her old colleagues.

It was strange to see how they went about things now, on the other side of the world.  In truth, he barely recognised the situation, so far removed from his childhood Christmasses when the kitchen would be a flurry of chaos and burned vegetables. 

The scene was interrupted by the doorbell; his father volunteered to answer it.  Jonathan could not see the front door from his vantage point, and the voices were muffled by the music.  However, the guest was soon granted entry, and he felt his heart stop for the second time that night, as Maddy followed his father into the kitchen.

Sally Creek immediately stopped what she was doing, some recognition already dawning; as Maddy introduced herself she gave a small nod of acknowledgement, which then became a curious smile.  Soon enough, they were engaged in conversation – for the first time Jonathan was able to hear as well as see what was going on, though all of their voices were muffled.

“So,” his mother asked, “what brings you here?”

Maddy sipped at the glass of water she’d been offered.  “I thought there wouldn’t be that many Creeks out here, but… no, apparently there are thousands of you.”  She smiled a little.  “But I remembered… he mentioned Philadelphia to me once, so I thought… maybe that would narrow it down.  I did a little investigating… it’s a long story.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you.”  That was his father.  “Although, I must say, not for a while now.”

She looked a little guilty about that.  “Yeah.  Um… I’m sorry for just turning up, but…”  She looked uncomfortable, but found herself caving under the patient stare of the senior Creeks.  “Jonathan and I… we lost contact a few months ago.”  She rummaged into the bag she’d brought in with her, an oversized knapsack that was bursting at the seams, and pulled out a small package wrapped in brown packing paper.  “I bought him this ages ago and… I’ve just not been brave enough to send it on.  I dunno, I thought maybe… if I left it here…”

“I’m afraid he’s at home again this year,” explained his mother; Maddy looked slightly relieved.  “Not for want of trying, I might add.  But I’ll certainly send it on for you, if you want?”

“Yes, thank you.  That would be brilliant.”  With that, she finished the water and made to go.  “Well, I won’t outstay my welcome.  Thanks for not turning me away.  I don’t suppose you get mad women turning up on your doorstep every Christmas.”

She was halfway to the door when his father chimed in, “Why don’t you stay for dinner?  There’s more than enough to go around.”

“Yes,” added Sally, “it’s so lovely to finally meet you.  Do stay.”

Maddy hesitated, but the smell of the dinner roasting away was clearly too delicious to resist.  “I don’t want to impose…”

“Nonsense!”

The conversation continued in much the same manner; before he knew what had happened, his parents had convinced her to stay the night as well, not willing to let her drive around a strange place on Christmas Day or indeed go back to the hotel she’d booked.  Eventually Maddy conceded, heading out again to retrieve her things from the car.  When she returned with another gigantic carry-all, which looked decidedly battered from what he presumed was a long and arduous tour of the USA, he wondered exactly how transient she’d become in the past year.

Shortly afterwards, the scene faded to black again.  He looked to Carla with a thoughtful expression.

“Is that… really going to happen tomorrow?”  He was almost afraid to ask the question, but the other scenarios had seemed accurate, from Adam’s pig-headedness to his own quiet solitude.  Of course, he could not tell either way if the vision of Carla’s Christmas was accurate, but he had no reason to doubt it.

She did not answer him immediately, hesitating over what to tell him.  In fact, it seemed she could not give him a straight answer either way.

“I don’t know.  I wasn’t told, but I was led to believe these visions were supposed to be, well, plausible.  Otherwise there would be no point.”

That was as cryptic an answer as he should have expected, given the events of his evening so far.

“Okay, but… if that does happen tomorrow…” – he paused, his brain stuttering over the semantics given it was the early hours of Christmas morning already, before ignoring his inner pedant and carrying on – “…if it does, and I call my parents…”

He couldn’t bring himself to suggest what might happen after that.  If Maddy was going to turn up at their house unannounced and he decided to ring them up for the afternoon, there was every possibility she would be put on the other end of the receiver by his mother, in a doubtless well-meaning attempt to patch things up.  But if she wasn’t there, and he rang them up… already he could feel the bitter disappointment in his chest, and he couldn’t bring himself to finish the hypothesis.

Carla looked vaguely sympathetic.  “It’s not up to me to tell you what to do, Jonathan, but… maybe it’s worth the risk?”  He gave a small nod.  Then, with a slight incline of her head, she indicated for him to follow again.  “Time to go.”

He trudged through the snow behind her, following the row of houses.  The remainder were all dark, the windows becoming one with the sooty brickwork.  The snow began to fall more heavily, the flurries blinding him until he couldn’t see much of anything at all other than whiteness in his line of vision.  Then his own windmill came slowly back into view through the blizzard – more than a little disorienting, given that they’d walked in a perfectly straight line without ever turning around, so it should have been behind them.  He paid it no heed by this point, merely grateful to see his own front door again.

At the threshold, they parted ways.

“So, I imagine you’re not the last one, are you?” muttered Jonathan as he stepped into the welcoming warmth of his kitchen and turned to face Carla.

“You’re catching on, then?”  Her sarcasm was oddly refreshing after the seriousness of their earlier conversation.

“I don’t suppose—”

“No, I can’t tell you anything.”

“Right.  Didn’t think so.”

She was about to step away, but stopped in her tracks, a thought occurring.  “Look, I’m not supposed to give you any advice about what this all means.  Besides which, I think you know what it means.”

He nodded begrudgingly.  “Stop being such a grumpy sod at Christmas.  I know.”

“No.  Well, yes.  Not just that.”  She sighed impatiently.  “When was the last time you actually rang your parents?”

He didn’t answer at first, merely shifted uncomfortably.  “I don’t have to – they normally ring me first.”  She raised an eyebrow accusingly and he felt himself cave.  “Probably about this time last year.”  Before she could jump down his throat, he clarified: “It’s not for want of trying – we’re all busy people.  I make the effort when it matters, all right?”

“Fine,” she said.  “All I’m saying is, don’t break with tradition just because you’re scared.”

“I’m not…”  He yielded under her gaze a second time.  “Yeah, okay.”

“Good.  That’s settled, then.”

The snowstorm grew in its intensity as a wind picked up; somewhere in the distance, he could hear a church-bell ringing in a rather ominous fashion.

“That’s my cue,” she told him.  “Good luck, Jonathan.”

With that, she turned around and walked away down the path, immediately disappearing into the oncoming blizzard.  He shielded his eyes against the icy blast as the wind picked up, peering through the storm; then the whiteness engulfed everything and a sudden gust slammed the door, leaving him in pitch black.

Chapter Text

2.00am

Jonathan awoke with a jolt.

He had to blink a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the sudden darkness.  He attempted to make sense of that and failed.   Glancing at the clock, he winced; another hour lost to his bizarre hallucinations.  He didn’t feel even remotely tired, and so he debated for a few seconds whether or not to try and catch some more sleep.

It did not take long before another knock sounded at his front door; this time he’d been half-expecting it.  He made his way downstairs for the third time that night – no, morning, he corrected himself, the inner pedant finally getting its own way – without any sense of urgency at all.  In fact, the latest visitor seemed to be rather more patient than the previous two, which only piqued his curiosity all the more as to who it might be.

That relief was short-lived, however: when he was three steps from the kitchen the knocking started up again, this time in an erratic rhythm that seemed nonetheless to resemble the beat of some song or another.  The racket made him hesitate.  When it died down again, he listened carefully for any tell-tale signs as to the visitor’s identity, but heard nothing.  Even the wind from earlier seemed to have dwindled to silence.

Finally, he pulled open the doorway – a little cautious of what might be on the other side of it.  Somewhere in the back of his mind he was more than aware of how his fictional counterpart had experienced this particular vision, and he was understandably wary of what might lie ahead.

The sight startled him at first: a black figure stark against a white backdrop of snow-covered ground.  The figure was short in stature but imposing nonetheless, standing squarely in the doorway with its head bowed; there did not appear to be any footprints to indicate its path to his door.  He allowed himself a moment to catch his breath and better examine the visitor.

The body was entirely concealed by a long, black coat; from beneath the collar protruded a black hood that completely obscured his view of the face, though a few tendrils of blonde hair could just about be seen around its edges.  Bloody Hell, he thought, don’t tell me this one’s Carla as well…  A pair of feet poked inconspicuously from beneath the hem of the coat, also black – on closer inspection he realised they were clad in… wait, was that a pair of Converse?  That was unexpected.  The coat had no fastenings and was billowing slightly in the breeze that had replaced the storm from earlier; he spotted a pair of black skinny jeans with rips in the knees, a studded belt – then a black top with a white ribcage motif printed on it.  Just above that he glimpsed a heavy-looking, metallic necklace adorned with hanging skulls.

He was beginning to wonder if it was some kind of a joke; since the visitor had not yet deigned to introduce itself, he finally lost patience and reached to push the hood away, revealing a youthful face framed by straight, chin-length blonde hair, and wearing an expression that was midway between amused and long-suffering.  Then the vision spoke.

“All right, Jonathan?”

He did not know the girl, whoever she was, yet nonetheless there was the barest hint of recognition somewhere in the back of his brain.  He studied her carefully, filing through his memory, but came up with nothing.

“You ready?” she asked.  When he hesitated, she seemed to realise the quandary he found himself in.  “Oh, of course.  We haven’t met yet.  I’m Josephine Ross, but you can call me Joey.”

“Joey…” he repeated.  “Right.  Erm, so you’re… from the future?”

“Sort of, yeah.  In about six years we’ll solve impossible crimes together.”

He was having difficulty in processing this newest piece of information.  There was something so basic and lacking about her explanation that he immediately suspected there was more to their relationship than she was letting on.  The fact that he would still be gallivanting around the country chasing impossible crimes momentarily took a back burner to the fact that this Joey, whoever she might be, was clearly young enough to be his daughter.

“And?”

“What do you mean, ‘and’?”

“Well, anything else?”  He gestured expansively between them to indicate what he wasn’t quite brave enough to ask.

She gave him an appalled expression.  “Good God, Jonathan!  Of course not!  Bloody hell, you’re old enough to be my father!”

Despite the fact he’d made exactly the same assumption, nonetheless he felt a slight twinge of irritation at that.  “Okay, I was just checking…”

“We’re friends.  I know it sounds hard to believe, but it’s true.  Now come along, time’s a-wasting.”

With that, she dragged him out of the door.  Within a few seconds they were walking through a snow-covered forest, tall skeletal trees towering high above them and disappearing into the night sky above.  He kept pace with Joey in silence, noting with a slight shudder that she didn’t appear to be leaving any footprints, and she began to explain the proceedings.

“Right, so, here’s how it works.  I have to show you what could happen if you don’t change things.  You will definitely meet me in a few years, so there’s no getting out of that, I’m afraid.”  Here, she shot him an ironic smile; he found her worryingly intuitive.  “Basically, other than that, there are no guarantees here.  There are infinite possibilities, Jonathan, and this will barely scratch the surface.  I know you’re not into all that Master-of-your-own-Destiny bollocks, but please, just bear with me?”

“It’s not like tonight can get any weirder,” he pointed out.

“That’s the spirit!”  She chuckled to herself.  “Spirit.  Get it?”  He merely gave her an unimpressed expression.  “Oh, fine.  You never did like my jokes.”

They continued their hike through the forest, Joey chattering on about nothing in particular and not seeming to mind that he didn’t respond.  Her manner of filling the silence was strangely familiar, reminding him inexplicably of Maddy.  Joey also seemed just as determined to shove him outside of his comfort zone; he wondered if that was what would draw him to her in the future, some deeply unconscious desire to have his life controlled by overbearing females.  That was a slightly terrifying thought, so he put it firmly in the back of his mind.

Eventually a clearing came into view, indicated by a strange, ethereal glow from within the trees.  Joey drew to a halt a few feet shy of the clearing’s edge.

“I’m no wiser than you about what’s in there,” she advised him.  He hesitated for a few seconds, steeling himself for what he might find.  “Do you want me to hold your hand?”

“No, thank you.”

They both approached the clearing.  Before anything came into view, a few distant voices came into earshot.  As he moved closer, the slightly tinny quality indicated they were emerging from a television set.  Indeed, the flickering colours emanating from within the clearing seemed to clarify that theory.  As Jonathan and Joey stepped through the trees, an unexpected scene opened up before them.

Rather than the forest floor, they seemed to be once again in Kitty’s living room.  It was mostly unchanged, except for slightly newer furnishings and a larger, flatscreen television where her little portable had been before – it looked oversized and out of place amongst the traditional décor of the room.  There was a different but no less loved dog sprawled across Kitty’s lap as she sat on the sofa.  Much of this did not really surprise Jonathan – Kitty was set in her ways in the best possible manner, a trait which had always been comforting.  What did surprise him, however, was Kitty’s houseguest.

Adam Klaus was sitting in the room’s sole armchair, dressed in an old-looking but good-quality smoking jacket, silk pyjamas and leather slippers.  For all intents and purposes, his outward appearance had changed very little… but it seemed that this was a permanent arrangement.  There was evidence of Adam’s presence within the household scattered about the room – his Lifetime Achievement Award stood proudly on the mantelpiece, and there were show brochures in frames on the walls, accommodated haphazardly amongst Kitty’s own photographs.

Adam was nursing a tumbler of whisky in one hand, swirling the amber liquid around the glass with a maudlin expression as he stared at an indeterminate spot between the carpet and the radiator.  Kitty was happily flicking through the on-screen TV guide in the search for something to watch.  Suddenly her expression brightened.

“Oh, Chester!  Look at this!  They’re showing one of yours!”

He snapped out of his trance and forced an amiable smile onto his face.  The expression merely deepened the worry lines he seemed to have inherited.  “That’s good,” he said.

Kitty changed the channel, watching the on-screen footage for a few seconds before bursting into a smile of recognition.  “I remember this one!  Oh, let’s leave it on – that disappearing car always has me stumped.”

Adam conceded quietly, half-watching the footage on screen with a fond smile of remembrance.  The illusion in question arrived – Jonathan remembered it well, a simple case of inverted mirrors that was nonetheless effective, especially when the car reappeared in the car-park only seconds after dematerialising from stage – and Kitty watched with hawk-eyes as she tried and failed to figure it out.  Shaking her head in bafflement, she gave the old performance a little round of applause.

Adam took a swig of his whisky and grimaced.

“Whatever happened to that nice young man you used to work with?” she asked him.  “Now, what was his name?”

“You mean Jonathan?”

“That’s the fellow.  He got me out of a nasty scrape, I can tell you that.”

“He moved on to better things, Kitty,” explained Adam.  “The show magic business was getting old, anyway – it’s all about street stunts, these days.  Mind-reading, so-called mentalism.”  He made a face.  “We could have moved with the times, but Jonathan… well, he was a traditionalist, like me.  The old methods are antiques now, Kitty – nobody’s interested any more.”

“Well, I’m still interested,” she responded indignantly.

“Bless you for saying so.”  He gave her a warm smile – perhaps the most affection Jonathan had ever witnessed from Adam towards his elder sister.  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter – we parted ways, and Jonathan proved himself irreplaceable.  I daresay he’s enjoying his new life, and all the best to him, that’s what I think.  As for me, I always toyed with the idea of early retirement.”

She looked at him askance.  “Yes, well – perhaps gambling all your savings away on a silly card game wasn’t the best way to enjoy it.”

“Thank you for reminding me, Kitty…”

Oblivious to his sarcasm as always, she gave the pet dog a scratch behind its ears.  “Well, at least you’ve landed on your feet now, eh?”

He went a little pale at that, briefly casting his gaze around the meagre surroundings he now called home.  “Yes.  Quite…”

The pair descended once again into silence and the blare of the television increased, the colours blurring together and becoming brighter until both Jonathan and Joey had to shield their eyes.  Then the clearing was silent once more, the scene replaced by the snow-swept forest floor and imposing trees.

Jonathan pondered what he’d just seen.  At some point in this version of his future, it seemed that he and Adam had finally ceased their working relationship and gone their separate ways.  Adam’s comment about him being irreplaceable should have instilled a sense of pride, but instead he felt sick to his stomach.  Was it really the case that Adam was nothing without Jonathan and his designs?  That thought was sobering.  Adam was more than just a performer, more than an actor – he knew his stuff as well as Jonathan did.  Adam was well-schooled in sleight-of-hand, timing, distraction and diversion; the rest he’d developed by himself.  Jonathan was just the architect.

“So, hang on,” he said aloud to Joey.  “You’re telling me that without my input, Adam stops functioning?  That he becomes broke and destitute and living with his sister?”

She gave a nod.  “Seems that way, yeah.”

“That’s… that’s ridiculous!”

“It’s just a vision, Jonathan,” she said, placating, though it fell on deaf ears.

“Besides which, we wouldn’t just part ways like that.  Even if we were out-dated, I wouldn’t just give up.  That’s what performance magic is about – finding the zeitgeist!”

“You don’t have to explain it to me.”  She sighed.  “It’s not a reality.  Not necessarily.  Not unless you make it that way.  I know it’s hard to wrap your head around.”  He understood that, but it was still difficult to come to terms with it.  “Come on, there’s more to see yet.”

Chapter Text

The next clearing they came to contained only a brief vision, but poignant nonetheless.  They found themselves in Carla’s modern living room – mostly unchanged from Jonathan’s previous vision of it – where she and Brendan customarily opened their gifts to each other beneath another designer tree.  Brendan seemed an amiable chap, though not as Jonathan had imagined him at all.

Brendan’s offering was some exquisite diamond earrings.  Carla looked outwardly pleased with them but Jonathan could tell her smile was forced; her husband, oblivious, eagerly demanded she wear them for their imminent dinner date.  Carla’s gift was some sort of household gadget that Brendan was surprised and delighted to receive – something he had clearly asked for and not been expecting.

Jonathan felt a pang of sadness that Carla’s Christmas had not improved over the years.  He wasn’t entirely sure what he could do to change the course of events – in his reality, he had not yet met Brendan nor even been made aware of his existence – but he realised with sudden clarity that Carla needed a friend more than she needed a magic designer with a talent for impossible crimes.  Even if her relationship with Brendan was not salvageable, he could at least offer a tentative hand of friendship.

“I don’t think there’s much to say here, Jonathan,” pointed out Joey.  “Apparently they just wanted you to see that.”

“They?”

She shrugged.  “I dunno.  Them.”  Then she turned around and pointed across the way.  “Next one’s over there, look.”

Already he was nervous – given the way things had proceeded so far, there were only two more people whose future he might observe, one of them being himself, and the other being Maddy.  Either way, he was a little nervous of what he might see, though he saw no reason why he should be nervous about himself.  Surely nothing would change?  He was set in his ways, after all – there was no need to change anything.

As they approached the next clearing, the sounds of a raucous get-together could be heard – various murmurs of conversation trying to make themselves known over the background thrum of Christmas chart-toppers.  The light emanating from the trees was bright and white, though occasional patches of colour seemed to indicate the presence of some disco lights.  Finally, the scene appeared in all its glory.

The interior of an open-plan office came fully into view – pale walls and modern furnishings, state-of-the-art technology on every available surface, and large windows overlooking a night-time landscape of London.  The place was jam-packed with people in smart business suits, some of them even still working despite the fact they were wearing paper party hats, whilst others helped themselves to an impressive buffet.  There were used paper plates and disposable cutlery in several of the room’s waste-bins.

Despite the apparent chaos, this nevertheless seemed to be a formal, well-behaved affair.  There were libations flowing freely, as well as water from the cooler and several varieties of fruit-juice; most of the guests gave the impression of being only slightly tipsy.

He recognised precisely nobody in attendance, which for the most part was a relief.  For a moment, he wondered if it might be a case of history repeating itself – another publishing shindig at Barry’s expense, and perhaps another chance at making the mistletoe count for something.  Maybe she’d come back eventually, and things might go back the way they were…  but there was no sign of Barry, and none of the guests looked like they were publishers – or writers, or even journalists, for that matter.  He dismissed the idea, feeling the tiny tendril of hope begin to fade away again.

Then another figure emerged from behind a previously-closed door, his entrance into the room provoking a few of his colleagues to offer a round of applause and comments about him finally finishing work for the evening, and Jonathan had to blink multiple times before he finally realised he wasn’t imagining things.

“That’s… that’s me,” he said to Joey.  She merely nodded and indicated that he should continue to watch.

Jonathan studied his future self with a continued sense of disbelief.  He was definitely older – considerably so, older in looks than in years, much as Adam had presented earlier – and his attire was not his usual style at all – rather than the standard t-shirt and jeans combination, instead he was wearing a suit and shirt (though thankfully no tie – at least some things did not change).  All of the guests seemed to know and acknowledge him, immediately folding him amongst their midst and shoving a paper cup of something alcoholic into his hand; another individual handed him a prepared plate of buffet food.  He was being congratulated for the party planning, and gently mocked for working through most of it.

“What’s going on?” he asked – simultaneously noting that there was no sign of Joey at this party, either.  Clearly this was not the environment in which they had met; he found himself curious as to how that turn of events might come about.

“I… think this is one of your potential futures, Jonathan,” she said.

“Yes, but where are we?”

She shrugged.  “I have no idea, actually.”

He continued to watch in a state of utter bafflement.  Then he realised his future self was straying to one women in particular, remaining quite close to her side – a slim blonde whom ordinarily he would never be brave enough to approach.  When they shared a glance he was even more surprised.

“Who’s that?”

More eagle-eyed than Jonathan, it seemed, Joey immediately worked it out.  “I think that might be your wife.”

“My what?”  Yet on closer inspection, he saw she was right – the pair did indeed seem to be wearing matching gold bands.  “So this must be her company, right?  I’m just her plus-one?”

“Mm, I don’t think so,”  Joey had spotted a nameplate on the door through which his future self had emerged – his nameplate, and an important-sounding job title underneath it.  “Advertising,” she pointed out.  “Nice.  Very nice.”

His mind was reeling, completely unable to process what he was seeing.  “But I…  This isn’t me.”  Pointing to the business-suited Jonathan amongst the crowd: “That isn’t me.  I can’t even begin to fathom how this might happen.  Advertising!  I don’t know the first thing about adverts!  I hate adverts!”

Joey placed a hand on his arm, trying to calm him down so he could observe, though she gave him a sympathetic glance and a nod of understanding.  The power couple in the room – probably the best way to describe them – were now happily showing off their mutually-exchanged Christmas gifts.  The woman – someone called her “Polly” – was wearing a sparkly necklace: a simple design but clearly expensive.

“It’s exactly the one I wanted,” she explained happily.  “Jonathan is so good at remembering things like that.  Me, I’m hopeless,” she commented with an ironic laugh.

“Never mind – they’re really nice cufflinks,” his future self responded, with absolutely no irony at all.  “Some more for the collection.”

The reality of this hit Jonathan straight in the chest and for a second he forgot how to breathe.  His future self was evidently trapped in the same dynamic as Carla and Brendan; the roles were reversed but the parallels were more than obvious.  There was a burning question in his mind about whether there were any children involved in this arrangement… but he did not even have to ask to know there were not, and he felt nothing but relief.

He turned his back on the scene, and the party froze behind him as though paused; he faced the expanse of dark woodland once again.

“How does this happen?” he demanded.

Joey bit her lip.  “I don’t know, Jonathan.  I’m sorry…”

“This is not how I envisaged things,” he said.  “What is it, some sort of midlife crisis?  How the Hell did I manage to meet her?  Did I finally get shot of Adam and realise there was a world outside the theatre? Bollocks – I don’t believe that for a second.”  He calmed a little, taking a deep breath.  “I’m already well aware of what’s out there, and I chose to cut myself off from it.  I wouldn’t change that for anyone.”

“Maybe change can be a good thing sometimes?” she offered, hoping to find a positive.

“A little bit of change, yeah, but… I have no idea who that is!”  He gesticulated towards the high-flying Jonathan and his unfeasibly attractive other half, whom even now he was still boggling about.  Yes, she was conventionally beautiful, but since when had he ever embraced the conventional?  In truth, that seemed a minor point to contend with, given all he’d seen.

“Let’s move on,” suggested Joey, indicating a smaller clearing only a few feet away, as the party behind them faded into nothing.

He followed her grudgingly, hoping to see something – anything – he recognised about his future life.  That relief was short-lived: the clearing revealed the interior of a modern house, as open plan as the office had been though not as bright.  The living space was empty, though there was movement near the doorway – he espied the future Creeks heading out of the door, discussing an impending reservation at a restaurant for their Christmas meal.  He spotted a functional, shiny kitchen partly-concealed behind a partition wall, that looked as though it was rarely used.

“Don’t tell me this is where I live…”  Joey merely shrugged again, though he was beginning to suspect she knew more than she was letting on.  “What’s happened to my windmill?”

“Looks like you moved out,” she suggested.

“But I… that’s preposterous.  My parents would never forgive me, for a start!  I’d never forgive me.”  He heaved a large sigh, struggling to come to terms with what he’d observed.  He was quite aware that Joey had borne the brunt of his frustration, at least in part, and she seemed a nice enough girl that he didn’t want to burden her with it.

“Sorry, I’m just… really confused.  I always thought that if I intended to share my life with someone, they’d have to understand how much that place means to me.  In all these years there’s only been a handful of people who I could say that about, and only one who—” 

He couldn’t finish that sentence – it was too painful.  Joey seemed to read his mind.

“You’ll never get over her, Jonathan.”

He let this sink in, fathoming what it might mean to his future existence; suddenly everything he’d seen made a horrifying amount of sense.  A decade and a half of wondering how things might have been different, if only he’d been brave enough – it seemed completely insane.  He’d not spoken to Maddy in months – not including her previous incarnation, of course – and they’d parted on less-than-friendly terms.  She’d found out about his working relationship with Carla – well, that had been inevitable – and reacted as predictably as expected; when he pointed out she had no more right to complain or attempt to reclaim her so-called territory, the phone went dead.  A few snippy emails were exchanged in the weeks following, and then communication went quiet.

He thought perhaps things might blow over again in a month or so – once they’d both had time to calm down.  But that had been five months ago – his birthday came and went without incident - and things had remained at a standstill.  They were both too stubborn to apologise.  Maybe Joey was right – maybe he never would pluck up the courage to contact her again, and would merely spend the next few years of his life regretting it, until suddenly, along came Polly.

He realised with bitter irony that Polly was obviously just like all the rest – a whirlwind of overbearing influence, a storm-force of personality that he was unable to resist.  He found the idea vaguely terrifying.

Joey waited for him to catch up with everything he’d seen, examining her fingernails and picking some dirt out from beneath them.  She seemed a patient sort, which surprised him – perhaps that was a facet of their future friendship.  There was something grounding and down-to-earth about her, despite her flightiness and outgoing appearance.

“Is that everything?” he asked her wearily.

“Um, well… not quite.  I think you knew that already.”  She shifted nervously, which only made him wonder what fresh horrors the night would bring.  They began to walk again, through the endless rows of trees.  “There’s still one more person you need to see…”

The realisation of whom she was referring to hit him like a tonne of bricks, and he stopped dead in his tracks.  Joey realised after only a couple of paces and turned around, backtracking and fixing him with an apologetic expression.

“No,” he said.  “I’ve seen enough.”

“Jonathan…”  She sighed, heavy-hearted.  “You have to look.  I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because otherwise… otherwise we’ll get stuck here.  You dreamt this place up, not me.  I’m just the facilitator – the tour guide.”

She looked desperately contrite, seemingly wishing there was something she could do.  When he silently stood his ground, however, she adopted a more thoughtful expression.  Her eyes shifted off to the side, as though listening to a voice he could not hear.  Then she nodded determinedly.

“Right.  Apparently there’s something else I can show you.  A different possibility.”  He was reticent, but she persevered.  “I think you might prefer this one.”

With a slight nod, he conceded defeat and began to follow her.  As they walked, the previously barren trees became greener; whilst the place remained as dark as before, the snow on the ground eventually melted to reveal a floor of lush undergrowth, and distant birdsong filtered through.  The sky began to lighten, the temperature increasing to that of a warm spring day, and the ground was dappled with sunlight.

Joey looked amused, then surmised: “Your brain is weird, Jonathan.”

He responded with a grim half-smile, still nervous over what might lie ahead, despite the apparently better surroundings.  Soon enough another clearing came into view; there were no distant noises or flashes of colour this time, but when they drew closer he noticed one white sail of the windmill protruding over the trees, and felt an unmistakable rush of sheer relief.  It was enough to make him press onwards at a quicker pace.

The windmill came fully into view – unchanged, exactly as it should be, the white walls and sails looking bright in the sunlight.  It was a comforting sight, enough to remind him that he desperately wanted to get back to it after the last vision of his supposed future, but he persevered nonetheless.  Joey came up beside him with a warm smile, furthering his suspicion that she knew exactly what he was about to see, despite her diversionary tactics earlier.

The front door of the building was open, and he could sense movement inside.  There were distant voices in the kitchen, a low murmur of chatter.  Then Maddy emerged at the doorway; she was older, too, but not very different.  She was followed by a small boy about half her height – Jonathan guessed he would be about eight or nine.  She hesitated on the threshold as though waiting for someone.

He tried to piece together what he was seeing, and came to the logical conclusion that she must have gotten married, or at the very least had some kind of long-term relationship that resulted in the presence of the child who was now tugging impatiently at her hand.  Yet it seemed they’d remained friends, that she and her son were both regular visitors to the windmill.  Perhaps she’d come back from America permanently, or maybe it was a flying visit.  Either way, he was glad to see that they’d made amends in some fashion.

What happened next surprised him even more; beside him, Joey broke into a massive grin, which she had tried and failed to conceal before finally giving in to it.  The final person to emerge from the windmill was himself – not to say goodbye to Maddy and her offspring, but to join them.  He closed the door behind them, took a hold of the child’s other hand, and the three of them embarked on a stroll.  Now that the evidence was in front of him, it was obvious: the boy’s appearance should have been an instant giveaway, with his mop of curly brown hair.

Shell-shocked, he didn’t know what to say.  That tendril of hope began to grow again.  Joey was still grinning like an idiot, too.

“Was that…?”  He couldn’t quite finish the question, in case his assumption was wrong.

“Yup.  Happily ever after.”

“But how—”

“I don’t have all the answers,” she said.  “Like I said, infinite possibilities.”

As the windmill was directly in front of them, they began to amble slowly towards it; this visit was ending much like all the others.  The light began to fade as they walked, the scenery reverting to its previous wintry landscape.  The snow crunched icily beneath his feet, though Joey’s steps were silent.  When they reached the doorway, he paused.

“You knew all along what I’d see, didn’t you?”

She shrugged nonchalantly.  “I had an idea.”

“So why, out of all these infinite possibilities, did you choose to show me those?”

“I didn’t choose them, Jonathan.  That’s out of my hands.  Besides which, you’re clever enough to figure it out for yourself.”

He was a little irked by that, but she was right.  He had been shown two entirely different directions of his future life, both of them equally plausible depending on his actions.  The concept that he had the power to change his own outcomes was humbling, and invigorating – the possibilities were indeed infinite. 

“I think I know what I need to do,” he told her.

“In that case, my work here is done,” she responded.  With a smile, she indicated he should open the door and enter the windmill.  Crossing the threshold, he turned to face her.

“Thanks.  I’m still not quite sure how this arrangement comes about, and doubtless it involves some sort of unexplained mystery, but… I’m glad.  You seem like a good friend.”

“You’ll give me a reason for that, Jonathan,” she said cryptically.  “Now give us a hug, and I’ll leave you alone.”

He laughed at that – it felt refreshing after the gloom of earlier – and gave his new not-yet-an-acquaintance a friendly squeeze.  It was bizarre, this future partnership, no doubt about that – and yet he found himself looking forward to it.

Joey pulled out of his arms and gave him a smile.  “Okay, Jonathan.  Don’t let me down.”

“I’ll do my best.”

With that, she gave him a wave and stepped away.  She pulled the hood of her coat back over he head, the garment concealing her entirely once again, then turned her back and walked away, slowly becoming one with the darkness…

Chapter Text

25^th December, 2001

9.00am…

Jonathan pulled himself slowly into consciousness with the buzz of his alarm clock.  Despite his early night, he did not feel well rested, and was almost tempted to go back to sleep for another hour.  But no, it was Christmas morning and there was breakfast to be had.

He’d had some very strange dreams in the night.  Hits of nostalgia and people from his past – some blurry but nonetheless poignant visions of his future.  Definitely too much champagne at the function.  The more alert he was, the fuzzier the dreams became.  Had there been visitors – ghosts, his brain supplied?  He was certain he’d dreamt about Maddy… or was it Carla… or it might have been neither of them.  The faces were fading now.

With a yawn, he gave up trying to remember, and dragged himself out of bed.

The day passed much as any other Christmas.  He cooked himself his usual festive breakfast of smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, opened his cards and gifts (Adam’s was actually quite thoughtful this year), and aimlessly channel-hopped until something appropriate came on.  He watched the Queen’s Speech out of tradition more than patriotism, popped out to the local pub for a turkey dinner (it was quicker and cheaper than doing an entire roast for just himself), then headed back and read a book until the early evening.

Throughout the day, however, the strange dreams continued to plague him – unconnected images and emotions that bombarded his consciousness without ever manifesting properly, leaving him feeling uneasy.  He was certain there was something he’d promised to do, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

Around 7.00pm, taking the time difference into account, he realised it was time to make the yearly call to his parents in Philadelphia.  As he flicked through his address book to find the number – he’d committed it to memory, but just in case – and waited for one of his parents to pick up, that feeling of having forgotten something came back to him.

It was his mother who answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, mum,” he answered.  “Merry Christmas.”

“Jonathan!”  She sounded pleased to hear from him – perhaps more so than usual.  “Merry Christmas, dear – did your package turn up?”

“Yes, it did.  Thanks.  I was running low on salt, as it happens.”

“Less of the sarcasm, thank you.  There wasn’t any salt.”

He smiled.  “Oh, Ingrid sent me a card, asked me to check yours got there?”

“Yes, it arrived yesterday.  I’ll give her a call tomorrow.”

The conversation went back and forth for a few minutes, the usual catch-up; she put his father on briefly to moan about his lack of a proper job (as usual), but even so there was a strangeness to his tone, as though there was a secret he was sitting on.  He heard his mother impatiently demanding to be put back on the line, there was a brief crackle and then she was speaking again.

“Jonathan, you will never guess who turned up earlier.”

All of a sudden, the dream came back to him full-force, and he froze, the receiver clamped to his ear.  It couldn’t be… could it?  He tried to remain aloof.

“Who?”

“Maddy.  Your Maddy!”

“She’s not… erm… what?”  He was finding it difficult to speak.

“She just turned up out of the blue.  Said you’d lost contact?  Honestly, you’re so stubborn, falling out over nothing like that.”

“It wasn’t quite nothing,” he muttered.

“Nonsense.  Anyway, she said she had a gift for you and could we pass it on?  I’ve asked her to stay for Christmas.  It’s no time of year to be spending in a hotel.”

Jonathan did not respond, unable to believe that the bizarre nonsense of his dream was actually happening.  He made a mental note to give Carla a ring later as well, just in case, as the vision of her lonely Christmas also sprang to mind.  When he did not speak for several seconds, his mother intervened.

“Do you want me to put her on the phone?  I could let her know you’ve called…”

“No,” he said immediately.  Then, realising how it must have sounded, he added: “No, thank you.  I… sorry, she’s actually there?”

“Yes – it surprised us as well!  God knows how she found us.”

“How… how long will she be staying, do you think?”

“I don’t know – the next couple of days, I should think.  She mentioned something about moving on elsewhere by New Year’s.”

“Stall her,” he said, suddenly determined.

“What?”

“Don’t let her go anywhere.  Hide her car keys if you have to.”

“Jonathan, what are you on about? I can’t—”

“I’ll be on the next flight out,” he said.  “Just don’t let her leave.”

He could hear his mother smiling on the end of the line; he pictured her sharing a conspiratorial glance with his father.  “I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you.”

As he’d be in Philadelphia in only a few days, the conversation was cut short.  As soon as he ended the call, however, a grip of panic seized his chest.  Now that he’d told his mother he’d be flying out, he couldn’t exactly go back on his word… but now he wondered what he’d let himself in for.  Was it even worth it?  Could the surprise of his arrival really erase the bad terms on which they’d parted?

Another flash came to mind, a potential future he’d glimpsed – a swanky executive party, a blonde on his arm.  Then another – a happy scene of the windmill in spring.  The thought of the latter immediately surpassed any doubts he might have harboured.  The plan was easy – perhaps too easy.  Adam’s annual Christmas bonus would cover the flight costs – in fact, he could probably even ring him today and get it booked through the private company they used whenever Adam wanted to jet off somewhere.

He considered it one more time.  Maddy had visited his parents to deliver him a gift that she wasn’t quite brave enough to send herself, and that said more than her enforced silence over the past few months.  If he didn’t act upon the opportunity that had presented itself, he knew full well he would live to regret it.

With a determined nod, he made that call to Adam.