‘It was on the news!’ she said. ‘They found a Time Capsule dated 1975, but the items inside were from 2025!’
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‘Young people!’ said Theodore Botterell. ‘I don’t understand them! Millennials, Gen X, Gen Y, Gen Z, I just don’t get it! Always on their phones! Pronouns! Taking offense at whatever you say! Piercings and tattoos! And if someone says ‘Okay Boomer’ one more time . . !’
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It is helpful – completely inaccurate but helpful – to think of the space-time continuum as the calm surface of a pond, occasionally disturbed by ripples – a fish breaking the surface, sending out a series of circles which expand and weaken until they are subsumed into the calmness of the main body of water, or the straight wake of a duck passing across the pond, spreading out in arrowheads behind it, until it dies out or reaches the shore. This can help explain the strange phenomena one occasionally comes across – déjà vu, fortune tellers apparently able to genuinely see the future, defying all logical explanation. And the occasional mysterious disappearance.
Orgof’s spacecraft made its way past our solar system, the ripples in space-time spreading behind it like arrowheads. They diminished and weakened as they expanded. It was pure mischance that they affected a single earthman, so very far away. Orgof was never even aware of it.
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Theodore Botterell was seventy-five years old; he had been born in 1950. He was a retired engineer, on his third divorce. His children were in their thirties and forties and never spoke to him. He had hardly ever seen his grandchildren, who were now teenagers. He had no patience with the new generation. ‘They don’t listen; they think they know everything. Their music is garbage.’
It was with some surprise then, once he’d recovered his sight after the blinding flash, and got over his shock, and with great pleasure that he realised, impossible as it might seem, that he’d been transported to the year 1975. The clothes! The music! The idealism! He had thought they would change the world! It was not until later that he had become disillusioned, that his high hopes for a better world had turned sour. He was going to enjoy this. People walked past him in the street; beautiful girls dressed in colourful clothes; flared jeans and ruffled voile blouses, long hair framing their faces; men in flared slacks, body-hugging shirts, zip-up ankle boots, shoulder-length hair, moustaches, sideburns. Elton John, Neil Diamond, Queen, Fleetwood Mac, Wings, The Eagles!
Then reality set in. He had nowhere to live or even to stay; his new luxurious house would not be built for another fifty years. And his money was worthless – how could he give people in 1975 money from 2025? They would laugh in his face. And his bank account, with all his savings, his investments for a comfortable old age, did not exist. What was he to do? He didn’t even know where his next meal was to come from.
He had always believed himself above charity; he’d always been successful. But now he had nowhere else to go. He found a shelter for the homeless and walked in the door.
‘Can I help you?’, said the young woman at the front counter. She was smoking a cigarette indoors, which surprised him. She was very attractive, long shining straight hair, the kind of woman he’d loved when he was young. He’d had a lot of success with beautiful women just like her back then. He smiled at her in what he thought was an engaging way. She looked at him suspiciously. And a shocking thought hit him. She thought he was a dirty old man. Fortunately he was well dressed, in a suit and good shoes. His hair was very unfashionable for here and now; it was a long time since he’d worn it long.
‘I need somewhere to stay. And something to eat. I have no money and nowhere to live.’
‘You don’t look like it, mister. You look like you could afford to buy this place with your loose change.’
‘Look, I’m telling you the truth. Why would I lie? If I have money, why would I come here asking for help?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe some kind of joke? Maybe you’re doing it to amuse yourself.’
‘I assure you. I really have nothing but what I’m standing up in. Just these clothes. And my phone.’
‘I beg your pardon?
‘My phone.’ He took it out of his pocket. Then realised. ‘Oh, forget it.’
‘No, just a moment! What is that thing?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ He realised he’d put a foot badly wrong.
‘You said it was a phone.’ Her suspicion had deepened.
‘Oh,’ he said, thinking quickly. ‘I shouldn’t have shown it to you. It’s experimental.’ He had become aware that he needed a convincing story to explain himself. ‘Look, I’m an electrical engineer. I’m working on developing a new-generation telephone that you can carry around with you. But I’ve been robbed, I’m in a strange city and I don’t know anybody.’ He thought furiously. ‘I was only stopping over here for a day between flights. I thought I’d have a look around town while I was waiting for the plane. I got mugged. Wallet gone, ID, everything.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Her expression cleared and she smiled. ‘I didn’t realize. Yes, we can give you somewhere to stay. You’ll need to sign the book, and I’ll organise you a room.’
‘And is it possible to get something to eat? I didn’t have breakfast.’
‘Well it’s not meal time, but maybe I can organise something for you – a sandwich or something.’
‘Thank you. I really appreciate it.’
She showed him to the room. It was spartan, a small iron-framed bed in a tiny room. The whole place smelled of stale tobacco. Of course. It was 1975. Everybody smoked. He’d smoked, himself, then – or as he should say, now. He’d just have to get used to it.
There was a meal room, and the young woman brought him a sandwich. It was horrible. Thin white bread, cheap margarine, some kind of fake meat. And tasteless instant coffee with imitation milk - no caffe latte in the here and now. He tried to be grateful; it was free, after all, and he was sure they must have very little money to work with.
Now he had to work out how he was going to survive for longer than just a day in this city. His cover story wouldn’t hold up for longer. She would be expecting him to fly out the next day. Well, he was an engineer. He had marketable skills. And in 1975 he should be able to prove what he could do, and get a job. And maybe he could find another shelter for the next few nights. He was starting to realise that this year, that was so golden in his memory, had its drawbacks.
That evening he spent time in the common room at the shelter. It had a TV set; it was black and white, of course. Didn’t colour TV begin in Australia in 1975? Well, he wouldn’t be seeing that for a while, then. There were a number of other men there, watching the news. The Vietnam war was finally winding to a close; he remembered how he had protested against it at the time – now, he realised. Australia should never have got involved in the first place. He had narrowly escaped the draft himself. The men in the common room looked hopeless, as though there was no future for them. He would have called them derelicts, but now he was in the same boat as they were. Perhaps he should be a little more tolerant; he had no idea what had forced them to ask for charity. Personal tragedy, drug dependence, it could be anything.
The girl came in and sat with them for a while. He was looking forward to whatever might be on next. Monty Python, perhaps, or The Goodies, or The Two Ronnies. But no, it was a program he had completely forgotten about – The Black and White Minstrel Show. He was, not horrified, but aghast. Everybody seemed to be enjoying it, but the blatant racism – white men in blackface, singing ‘Swannee River’ and comedy sketches portraying coloured men as stupid and ignorant. The girl looked offended, got up and left. He followed her out. He didn’t want to watch this stuff either.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you like the program?’
‘No, I thought it was disgraceful. I’d forgotten it existed.’
‘I don’t know how. It’s been running for years. It’s very popular with the other men here, but I just can’t watch it. I’d rather read a book.’
‘Oh, me too. What do you like?’
‘Mostly science fiction. I’m studying science at University. I’m working here to pay my way through.’
‘What authors do you like?’
‘Oh, the classics, I suppose. Heinlein, Asimov, H. G. Wells.’
‘Have you read the Time Machine?’
‘Yes, it scared me.’
‘What about The Door Into Summer?’
‘Funny, I just finished it. I liked what he did with the time loops. And the drafting machine was clever.’
‘Yes, though I think it won’t go that way. I think you’ll have a TV screen and a keyboard to do the drawing. No mechanical bits. It’ll all be in cyberspace.’
‘In what?’
‘Oh, sorry. Engineering term. Theoretical space created by a computer, that you can draw in.’
She smiled. ‘Are you working on that as well as the phones?’
‘No, not me. But it’s on the way. Oh, and a small thing you hold in your hand that you move around and the drawing follows it. It’s called a mouse because it’s a bit like one.’
‘Hard to believe.’
‘Yes. It should create a revolution, and not just in drafting. Word processing . . . ‘
‘Sorry?’
‘Oh, I suppose I should have said typing. But lots more. Calculators, but much more complex and capable than the ones we have now. And eventually you’ll be able to do just about all of it on your phone. People won’t need to wear wristwatches; the phone will tell them the time.’
She smiled. ‘You’re not from the future, are you?’
‘What would you say if I said yes?’
‘I’d laugh. But I don’t know to make of you. You’re a real mystery man. I’ve never heard of any of these things. You must be working on some very advanced stuff.’
‘Well, if you want to get in on the ground floor there’s a few companies I know of you should invest in; even if it’s only a few shares. What’s your name, by the way? Mine’s Theodore.’
‘Rosemary. Rosemary Atkins.’
‘Rosemary, that’s a nice name. My last name’s Botterell.’
‘Unusual name,’ she smiled. ‘Theodore Botterell.’
‘Yes, I’m the only Theodore Botterell I know of. Never met another Theodore. Or another Botterell, for that matter, except for my own family. Well, if there’s nothing decent on the TV, I think I’ll go out for a walk.’
‘Enjoy your walk. I have to stay here until 9 o’clock. I might see you when you get back.’
‘That’d be nice.’
He walked around the city, looking at his surroundings, all the way up to the Sydney Opera House and the Harbour Bridge. He was lucky he was fit. He’d seen any number of his contemporaries who were now sick, or in continual pain, or had difficulty even moving, or lived with hip replacements or worse. To be sure, he’d always looked after himself; he exercised religiously every day, lifted weights, watched what he ate, didn’t smoke or drink. He’d never been much of a drinker; maybe a single beer or a glass of wine with a meal on special occasions. He remembered the last time he had any – his birthday three years before – and he found he didn’t miss it. So a walk of two or three kilometres down to the harbour wasn’t a big deal to him. And he thought his attitude may have something to do with it. In his mind he was still twenty-five; he’d seen friends, considerably younger than himself, who seemed to have accepted that they were old, and turned before his eyes into old people, blinkered, unwilling to try anything new.
He was beginning to become more aware how different everything was from his own time. No internet; if you wanted to find out something you had to go to a library and hope it had a book on the subject that wasn’t too far out of date. If you wanted to contact someone overseas you had to write a letter and wait for the reply to arrive a week or two later, or spend a fortune on an international phone call and hope you’d get through. No GPS, no social media (well, that might be a plus), all telephones were landlines. If you were away from home the only way you could contact someone was from a phone booth – if you had the right coins and there was a telephone book in the booth. No texting, no Zoom calls, the list went on and on. And on TV, racist programs that had been forgotten for years. And prejudice – against women, despite the beginnings of the feminist movement – against gays; hatred and fear. Several of his workmates were gay. Good people, good friends. But here and now they would not be able to mention their preferences for fear of being beaten up or even murdered. He was beginning to get depressed. This was not the golden time he remembered, not by any means. And he remembered – Indonesia was just about to invade East Timor.
He came back to the shelter feeling very down. Rosemary was still on the front desk. ‘Are you ok?’ she asked. ‘You seem upset.’
‘I am. I’ve just had some bad news.’ He looked at her. ‘Look, can I talk to you for a while?’
‘Of course. What’s the matter?’
‘I’m not quite what I seem to be. I’m not between flights. And I wasn’t mugged.’
‘I thought so. Have you been in jail?’
‘No, it’s not that. It’s very hard to explain. And I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.’
‘You could try.’
‘All right. But try not to laugh.’
He was about to start his explanation when she looked up. ‘Oh, no. It’s Mister Barton coming up the road. He’s the boss. He’s got wandering hands.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Every time he comes in here he tries to touch me. He thinks he’s got a right to because he’s the boss.’
‘That’s terrible! It’s sexual harassment! You should report him!’
‘That’s the trouble. He’s been reported. Twice. Nobody did anything about it. The girl I took over from told me. That’s why they keep losing staff.’
‘Well, somebody ought to do something about it.’
A man came in through the front door and walked up to the counter. ‘Hello, Rosemary,’ he said. He was maybe in his fifties, overweight, balding; he wore a suit which didn’t quite fit him. His shoes were scuffed and he smelled of alcohol.
‘Oh, hello Mister Barton,’ she said. But she didn’t seem pleased to see him. He walked around behind the counter, standing behind Rosemary. He put his hand on her shoulder and she shrank away. ‘Hey, don’t be unfriendly,’ he said. And he put his hand back.
‘Hey, leave her alone,’ said Theodore.
‘Who the hell are you?’ asked the man. ‘I’ll do what I like. I’m in charge here, and if Rosemary doesn’t like it here, she can always leave.’
‘I think you should get away from Rosemary. She obviously doesn’t like your attention.’
‘Are you going to make me, grandpa? You’re a bit skinny to be throwing your weight around.’
‘Well, yes. If I have to. Just leave her alone.’
The man came around the counter and made a swing at Botterell, but missed. He was obviously unfit, but he was heavy and perhaps strong. Botterell was glad that he was a regular at his local gym, but he was worried that he’d got himself into a situation he was going to regret. When he was young, he had done a bit of judo; he hoped he could remember what to do. It was all about balance, he recalled. Get the man off balance and use his own strength against him. Barton swung again, and Bottrell, to his own surprise, grabbed him by the arm and guided him – not gently – to the floor. Maintaining his hold, he kneeled down and twisted Barton’s arm behind his back. ‘Now, you’re going to apologise to Miss Atkins, aren’t you?’ He twisted the arm further. The man grimaced. ‘What do we say?’
The man grunted.
‘I said, what do we say?’
‘Sorry.’ The man’s voice was muffled against the floor, but he could be heard clearly enough.
‘Now, I’m going to let you up, and I don’t want you doing anything silly. Understood?
A muffled ‘Yes.’
The man stood up, furious. ‘Now, I think you need to leave. Don’t come back till you’re sober. And don’t try any more harassment with Miss Atkins. I’ll be watching you.’
Barton turned and went through the glass doors to the outside.
‘That was very brave of you,’ she said. ‘You didn’t have to do that. He tries it on every time he comes in. I just have to put up with it. But he’ll probably sack me now, anyway. He’s a mean man.’
‘Do you need the job all that much?’
‘I’d been thinking of leaving anyway. There’s an opening in my uncle’s business and he’s asked me if I want it. Receptionist. It would be better than this, I must say. I’m just worried that Mr Barton’s still out there, waiting till I leave. He’s the kind of person who would do that. I don’t feel safe gong home.’
‘Do you want me to come with you when you finish work?’
‘Would you? I’d be ever so grateful. Just stay with me until I get on the bus?’
‘Of course. It’s my fault this happened.’
‘Not really. I was glad of it. He was getting more and more insistent. I think you may have saved me from something worse.’ She smiled awkwardly.
‘I wasn’t all that wonderful. I was terrified, I have to admit. I’m still shaking. I’ve never done anything like that before. I’m a confirmed pacifist. I was very happy to miss the draft. I didn’t want to go to Vietnam and kill people.’
‘I’m sorry? What do you mean? You wouldn’t be eligible for the draft at your age.’
‘Ah, yes. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Are you ready to finish for the evening? We can talk while we walk to the bus.’
‘Yes, let’s. I’ll just get my handbag and cardigan. You’ve really got me wondering, now.’
She locked the office and they went outside. No sign of Barton.
‘Now,’ she said, once they’d been walking for a little while. ‘You need to tell me what this is all about.’
‘All right. But I don’t think you’ll believe me.’
‘Well, I’ll try.’
‘You know we were talking about time travel?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m from the future. 2025. Somehow I’ve been sent back here to 1975.’
‘I did say I’d try, didn’t I?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that I wouldn’t laugh.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you really expect me to believe you’re from the future?
‘No. But you did say you’d try.’
‘All right. I’ll try. Can you prove it?’
‘Not completely. But I can give you evidence, which you can accept or not; you decide. I’ve got some money we didn’t have in 1975.’
And he took out his wallet and showed her the colourful plastic notes that had begun to replace paper in the late 1980s, with the holograms built into them. And the one and two-dollar coins with 2020’s dates on them. And his plastic card driver’s licence with the smart chip.
‘I’ve never seen anything like those before,’ she said. ‘Why coins for one and two dollars?’
‘Mostly because of inflation, I suppose. The one and two cent coins were withdrawn, and nobody uses the fives any more. They’re not worth much at all. Oh, and there’s my phone. It’s from 2025. Everybody’s got one. People spend hours looking at them.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, I haven’t told you about the internet, have I? Well, in 2025 you’ll be able to get any information you want, about anything in the world, without going to the library. There’ll still be books, but people mostly get it on their phones. It’s a communication network that covers the whole world; everybody’s got access to it through their phones. I can’t access it now – it’s 1975; the network doesn’t exist yet. But I can show you the photos on the phone. It’s all digitally recorded.’
‘That’s amazing. But how do you fit all the electronics into something that small?’
‘There was a revolution in miniaturisation. Resistors, capacitors, you name it, at a molecular level. All the knowledge of the world available on the internet. And people just use it to send each other photos of cats. I’m not kidding. Oh, and there’s my watch. See, it’s multi-function; you use it to keep tabs on your exercise and fitness. It can record the number of paces you walk in a day, your heart-rate, all kinds of things.’
‘That’s unbelievable, even if it is there right in front of me. But it’s still hard to believe you’ve travelled in time.’
He smiled. ‘For me, too, and I’m the one it happened to.’
‘So, what are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know. I need to get a job so I can stay alive and have somewhere to live. Apart from that, I don’t really know.’ A thought struck him. ‘I can’t prove it at the moment, but how about a couple of predictions? In November, the Governor-General of Australia is going to sack the Prime Minister.’
‘WHAT?’
‘True as I’m standing here. And in December, Indonesia is going to invade East Timor. There are other things, but I can’t remember them at the moment. But watch the news in a few months and you’ll see it’s true.’ He stopped. ‘Oh, my God. What month is it?’
‘May.’
‘Oh, God. I’m going to get married in June. I’ve got to stop it!’
‘Why?’
‘Because it was a horrible marriage. I was desperately unhappy for years. It ended in divorce, and I got married two other times, all ended in divorce. I was an idiot back then – now. My father was totally against it, but I barged ahead and did it anyway. Worst decision of my life. I’ve got to stop it!’
‘Are you sure? I mean are you sure you should? Wouldn’t that be changing the future?’
‘We’re always changing the future. And I want to keep myself from the most miserable ten years of my life. And I’ve got time! What’s the exact date?’
‘Twenty-ninth.’
‘The marriage isn’t until the third of June. I can head him off – me off. Talk to myself. Tell myself what a horrible mistake I’m about to make! And I know where I work! And where I live! I’ve got to go and see him tomorrow, persuade him out of it.’
‘How are you going to do that? He won’t believe you’re him, that you’re from the future!’
‘I’ll find a way. I’ll have to!’
The bus approached. ‘You’ll have to go,’ he said. ‘I’ll go back and get a good night’s sleep. Well, if I can with that stale tobacco smell. That’s another thing. It’s against the law to smoke inside public buildings in 2025.’ Her eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘I’m sorry; here’s the bus. You have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Yes. I’ll be there. Even if I get sacked, he’ll have to pay me out. I’ll be there. I still don’t know whether to believe you, or if you’re nuts. But I’ll see you tomorrow. Good-bye; and thanks for helping me.’ And she kissed him on the cheek.
The bus moved off with her aboard. He stood watching for quite some time before he turned back for the shelter.
Next morning he got up and washed his face. He couldn’t shave; he’d have to get some money somehow, just to tide him over till he got a job. Buy a razor, shaving cream, soap, socks and underpants. And get himself a job; he didn’t care what kind. Anything would do. He didn’t have to be an engineer; he’d retired early because it had all got a bit stale anyway; before all this happened. Time for a new start on life. Maybe he could be a builder’s labourer. He was fit, much fitter than most men his age, and he could dye his hair to make himself look younger. And it would be work outside instead of in an office. Worth looking at. But first he had to prevent that disastrous marriage!’
He went to a charity shop. There was one nearby. ‘I’m wondering if I can get some money – not much, just enough to get stuff to shave and some clothes. Is that possible?’
‘I think we can arrange something. Would twenty dollars be ok?’
‘Yes, I think that would be enough.’
‘There’s a bit of paperwork to fill out, but not much.’
And there he was, walking down the street with twenty dollars. He knew where his younger self worked. It was a short bus-ride away.
That afternoon he came back to the shelter. Rosemary was there. She took one look at him and knew.
‘It didn’t work?’
‘It didn’t work. I knew I was pretty stupid at that age, but I had no idea how much of a know-all I was, how arrogant and pig-headed. I’m ashamed of myself. It’s funny, back in 2025 I was very critical of how young people thought they knew everything and never listened to older people. I’m just as bad in the here and now. He called me a capitalist pig! Me! Just because I wore a suit! And he thought my Dad – our Dad – had put me up to it.’
‘I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?’
‘Not that I can think of. Unless you want to come to a thrift shop and help me choose some work clothes. I’m tired of being an engineer. I think I want to be a construction worker for a change. Healthy, work outside, meet new people. I’m fit – I used to go to the gym every day back in 2025. I think I can cope with a physical job. I got some hair dye, so I don’t look so old.’
‘You’re amazing. How old are you, anyway?’
‘Seventy-five.’
‘Really? I would have taken you for at least ten, maybe fifteen years younger. Maybe you can get away with it after all.’
Amazingly, he lucked into a job as a construction worker the same day. The boss had just sacked a shiftless young man – they didn’t just have them in 2025! – and there was urgent work that needed to be completed that day. There was a time capsule to be buried in a concrete slab, to be dug up again when the building would be demolished, some time in the future.
The capsule was sitting there, ready to be cemented in place. All at once an idea came to him. He looked around; security was non-existent, and nobody was looking at him. He slipped his wallet, his phone and his electronic car-keys out of his pockets and slipped them into the capsule and closed the lid. They were no use to him here. Let people work that out in the future! He was smiling to himself as he came away.
He was pleased to see that Rosemary was still there when he came back from work. ‘Not sacked yet?’ he asked, smiling.
‘No; I’m surprised. Maybe you put a scare into him. But I’m going to leave anyway. I’m taking that job with my uncle. Wish me luck!’
‘Oh, I do. All the luck in the world. I wish I’d met you back here and now, when I was young. It’s a bit of a shame, the bad decisions we make that affect us for the rest of our lives. Too late now,’ he said regretfully. ‘By the way, I told you about those computer companies that are going to take off in a big way. You probably can’t buy shares in them now, but I’ve written their names down on a bit of paper. It’s my present to you for all your kindness. This is the future – information technology. Those two companies are going to take off incredibly. Buy their shares when they come on the market. Hold on to them – never sell them. They’re your security for the future.’
She smiled. ‘You’re so funny. And so kind. I still don’t know what to make of you.’
‘Would you like to come out and have dinner with me? I don’t have much left over from what I bought at the thrift shop, but it’d be enough for a meal, at least. If I remember correctly there’s the café at the top of Woolworths opposite Sydney Town Hall. It’s cheap and cheerful.’
‘Well, maybe I will. But not there; it’ll be closed at this time of the day.’
‘Oh, yes. But I’m sure we can find something.’
‘All right. I’m not really needed here, and anyway I’m going to chuck the job in. I’m feeling adventurous, a little crazy. Probably because I’ve been talking to you. Let’s go.’
They walked down the street; it was getting dark. He wished he’d been younger – fifty years younger. So many missed opportunities; nothing he could do about it now. No fool like an old fool. But here he was walking alongside a beautiful woman on a pleasant evening in the big city, and he decided to just enjoy the moment for what it was. He didn’t want to do anything more than that. He didn’t want to be creepy. But with all his heart he wished he’d met her when he’d been young.
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Sometimes a ripple in the surface of a pond meets an obstacle and is reflected back, cancelling the effect of the original wave-form. Rosemary saw a blinding flash, brilliant white. When she recovered, the man who had been walking alongside her was gone. She spent some time looking for him, but there was no sign. She was disappointed; she’d begun to like him, even though he was so weird. In the years that followed she occasionally thought of him and wondered who he really was and what had really happened. She married, had children and grandchildren. After her husband died, she moved in with her daughter, though with her share portfolio she was very comfortably off. She loved the grandkids and they kept her young.
**************************************************************************
The first thing he had done on his return was to try to locate Rosemary. The homeless shelter had closed down decades before. He tried looking for her on social media, search engines, telephone directories. But there was nothing. He assumed she’d got married and changed her name, and he knew so little about her that he couldn’t carry his enquiries further. He had to accept that he’d lost any chance of finding her again.
But after his encounter with his younger self, he had decided to contact his children and get to know them. They couldn’t be any worse than he’d been when he was young.
*********************************************************************
She was out with friends when her daughter phoned her up; she knew her mother didn’t like text messages. ‘Mum, have you seen the news on TV?’
‘No. What’s happened?’
‘Something really strange. It was at the very end of the news, when they put on the silly stories. I was just about to turn it off, but the weirdest thing. You remember when I was a kid you told me about that old man who said he was from the future?’
‘Yes, of course. I always wondered what happened to him. It was the strangest thing.’
‘Was his name Theodore Botterell?’
‘Why, yes. What’s it all about?’
‘I don’t think you’ll believe this – or maybe you will. They were demolishing a building and it had a time capsule in it. From 1975. And they found all this stuff that didn’t belong; a mobile phone, plastic bank-notes, coins from 2025. And a driver’s licence in the name of Theodore Botterell!’
‘Oh my God.’
‘And they chased him down and found him. He’s just been on the TV. He said he couldn’t explain it. Everybody’s very suspicious, but he hasn’t done anything illegal, so they couldn’t do anything to him.’
‘Good Lord above. He’s real! It was all true! All this time!’
She had to do something about it. There must be a way to get in contact with him; maybe she could try the TV station. They were rather wary, but when she explained that she’d known him when she was young and wanted to get back in touch, they relented. They thought it was charming and romantic. Just as well they didn’t know the real circumstances.
Her heart was in her mouth. She’d decided to go straight to his home without letting him know she was coming. She knocked on the door; it took a long time before she heard someone coming, and she almost changed her mind and went away. Then the door opened. He stood there, exactly as she’d remembered him. And he recognised her immediately. ‘Rosemary!’ And his eyes filled with tears. ‘It’s really you!’
They were married as soon as his divorce went through. And trite though it may seem, they lived happily ever after for the rest of their lives.
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