There was absolutely no doubt that, whatever Holly was experiencing, it was the same thing that had happened to her before. Holly didn’t want to use the term time travel, but whatever was happening couldn’t be explained away by something as simple as a hallucination. There had been no blow to the head or other physical trauma. She knew where she was, she just wasn’t sure when. It certainly wasn’t a balmy summer’s night.
Her glance shifted to the conservatory and the first thing she noticed was that the French doors that had been to the side of the structure on her last visit were no longer there. From this vantage point she couldn’t see the front of the conservatory, but she didn’t really need to see it. She knew that was where the doors would be; after all, that was where they were on the partially completed structure Billy was still working on. Holly’s mind still fought to find a rational explanation. If this was a vision of her future then she had changed it in some way, but equally, if it was a vision created by her own imagination, then of course the doors would have moved. The position of the doors proved nothing.
Holly took one last look across the lawn to the moondial as she prepared herself to enter the house, challenging the dial to give her some clue as to its powers. The dial refused to face her glare, having retreated beneath a blanket of snow. She was just about to turn away from the dial when something caught her attention and it took a few seconds to work out what it was. The snow lay thick between the house and the dial with a single set of footprints showing the path she had trodden towards the back door. Holly peered into the flurry of snowflakes to take a closer at the footprints, particularly the ones furthest away near the dial. Although the snow was falling heavily, it shouldn’t be enough to cover up her tracks so quickly, yet before her eyes the trail was slowly being erased. The footprints closest to the house were the last to disappear and Holly looked on in dis-belief as the snow filled out the foot-shaped holes with perfect precision. In no time at all, the layer of snow on the lawn looked untouched, as if she had never walked across it.
Turning quickly, Holly pushed down the handle on the back door, but her hand slipped. Remembering the effort she had needed to open the door last time, Holly gripped the handle with renewed urgency. She had to get away from the snow storm which was invading her brain as well as her surroundings.
The kitchen felt warm, safe and was thankfully empty. Holly closed her eyes and leaned against the door. She could feel the snowflakes melting from her hair and dripping down her face. They felt like tears trickling down her cheeks, but Holly knew better than to cry. She needed to steel herself for what lay ahead.
Holly shivered and shook away the tension that was threatening to paralyse her. Opening her eyes, the kitchen was exactly as she had feared, a chaotic mess of dirty dishes and baby equipment. The kitchen table was cluttered and there was a half-opened newspaper teetering on the edge of it. Holly picked the newspaper up and looked for the date. It was January 2012, a full eighteen months into the future. Holly knew she couldn’t keep pushing away the idea that she had travelled in time, but her main objective at the moment was simply to keep functioning and get herself through this nightmare and hopefully out the other side.
She was about to replace the newspaper when she noticed a dark, circular scorch mark on the table. She stroked her finger across the grain of the wood but the mark seemed to be a permanent war wound – one that she had never seen before. Although the sound of the ticking clock that marked her arrival had disappeared, Holly still sensed time ticking by. She needed answers and her only hope of understanding what was happening, or perhaps more correctly, what could happen in the future, was if she kept moving and kept exploring.
Leaving the kitchen, she paused just outside the living room. The door was slightly ajar and although there was very little sound coming from the room, the shadows that danced across the walls belonged to Tom, Holly was sure of it. Her heart was hammering in her chest but she knew she had to enter the room. Whether it was the workings of the moondial or her own mind didn’t matter. She was here for a reason and she had to face her future.
Holly stepped silently over the threshold and stayed as close to the wall as she was physically able. Tom was facing away from her, kneeling down over a changing mat. Libby was lying on the mat with her legs kicking furiously in the air and Tom was struggling to lever her into a pink babygro suit. Holly was thankful she had stayed so close to the wall because when Libby twisted around and smiled directly at her, Holly’s legs turned to jelly and she had to lean against the wall for support.
Following Libby’s gaze, Tom turned to look in her direction, but he only frowned in puzzlement. Holly’s heart fell as once again he didn’t acknowledge her presence at all.
‘What are you looking at, you little monster?’ cooed Tom, tickling Libby’s tummy. Libby gasped and gurgled in delight.
Libby’s smile alone had warmed Holly’s insides and she longed to kneel down next to Tom and join in the fun. She knew in her heart that Libby really was her daughter and she desperately wanted to hold her baby, more than anything. The thought that her desire to hold Libby was greater than her need to free herself from this nightmare actually startled her.
‘Now you stay there while I go get your bottle ready,’ Tom told Libby, who was now all buttoned up.
As Tom stood up and turned, Holly was relieved to see a glimpse of her old Tom, not the haunted man she had seen last time. His hair was still short and neat although his clothes, jeans and T-shirt, were more creased and torn than ever before. It was his eyes that gave Holly most relief; they were green and bright, a little red-rimmed perhaps, but there was no emptiness, no abject despair.
Unable to deal with him completely ignoring her, Holly closed her eyes as he slipped past. With Tom out of the room, Holly launched herself onto the floor next to Libby to take a better look at her. She had grown since the first time Holly had seen her, although her eyes were just as green and her cheeks just as chubby. Holly didn’t know enough about babies to even hazard a guess at how old Libby was. It had been three months since Holly’s last vision and she could easily believe that Libby was three months older, but whether she was four months or nine months old, Holly couldn’t even begin to guess. Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed a pink teddy. It was the one she had bought during her visit to London to meet Sam and Mrs Bronson.
A frown of concern creased her brow. ‘You shouldn’t be playing with that. I don’t know much, but I know you’re not two years old,’ she told Libby. Libby gasped and wriggled with excitement at the sound of Holly’s voice. Holly stroked her cheek and the baby reached up and grasped Holly’s finger with a smile.
Holly lifted the tiny hand and kissed it softly. ‘Hello, beautiful,’ she told her. Libby started to kick her legs again in excitement and Holly copied Tom, tickling the baby’s soft tummy as Libby fiercely held onto her finger.
Twisting her finger free, Holly slipped her hands beneath Libby. She wasn’t sure how Tom would react to see his daughter being carried in mid-air by an invisible woman, but Holly didn’t care, she desperately needed to hold Libby. Libby’s body, however, seemed to be glued to the floor; struggle as she might, and in a repeat of her previous vision, Holly couldn’t hold her baby in her arms. Tears of frustration stung her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I wish I knew why, but I just can’t hold you,’ she whispered.
The smile on Libby’s face faltered and was replaced by a frown as she looked up at her mother. Holly forced a smile and stuck out her tongue, to which Libby blew a wet raspberry in response, and the baby’s smile returned.
Holly stroked her soft blonde hair, but behind her, she heard Tom returning from the kitchen. ‘I love you, Libby,’ whispered Holly, planting a kiss on her forehead. The words had come out before Holly had time to think about what she was saying, but it felt right. Whether Libby was a figment of her imagination or not, Holly knew she was experiencing pure motherly love for the first time.
When Tom came back she scuttled over to a corner of the room and watched as he picked up Libby. ‘Beddie byes for you, my little pumpkin,’ he said. With a feeding bottle in one hand and Libby balanced