Friends Like These: My Worldwide Quest to Find My Best Childhood Friends, Knock on Their Doors, and Ask Them to Come Out and Play (13 page)

“And how about the rest of the time? Any hobbies?”

“Well, with the car, the dog and the wife, all my time is taken up, really…”

“There must be
something
you enjoy doing…”

“It’s such a lot of work, y’see…”

“
No
hobbies?”

Simon shook his head.

I guess that was the thing about growing up. Responsibility takes over. Hobbies can easily become a thing of the past. Sure,
we’d all had time to collect stickers and learn the guitar and go BMXing when we were kids… but those days were done. And
Simon didn’t seem to mind one bit. Of the four of us, he was the most grown-up. The most at ease. The most
sensible.

But then he said…

“Oh! There is
one
thing…”

“What’s that?” I said. Maybe he was still collecting Micro-Machines, or he’d remembered that he quite enjoys Doritos.

“Well, for the past few years,” he said, “I have been working on my own independent theory of time travel.”

I looked at him. I blinked a couple of times.

“You’ve been what?”

He took a sip of his pint.

“I’ve been working on my own independent theory of time travel.”

Mikey and Anil were talking about something else. I felt Simon’s statement warranted an interruption.

“Fellas… did
you
know Simon’s been working on his own independent theory of time travel?” I asked, amazed.

“Your own independent theory of time travel?” said Michael.

“My own independent theory of time travel,” said Simon. “I think I’ve basically cracked it.”

“You’ve
cracked
it?” I said, stunned. “You’ve cracked
time travel?
”

“Basically, yes,” he said. “And string theory as well, although that was just a by-product, I didn’t
mean
to crack that.”

“You’ve cracked
string theory?
So it’s no longer a theory? It’s string…
fact?
”

I imagine we were the only people in the
whole pub
having this conversation.

“It’s the simplest thing in the world,” said Simon. “It really is.”

“You can’t just say that,” I said, outraged. “Tell us how time travel works! I want to know how time travel works!”

If Simon’s theory was true, perhaps there was still a chance for me—perhaps I could still be McFly!

“It’s all about dimensions and thinking laterally,” he said. “Think of time as a clock or date… are you doing that?”

I nodded.

“Right. Don’t. It’s nonsense. No. Time… is a map.”

He said this in quite a magical way, as if everything had suddenly become clear. But I’ll be honest: it hadn’t.

“Think about Einstein’s theory of relativity, think about every element that works… you can mark time, you see, so if you
work out the velocities that move the earth round the sun then you can easily map where time is going to be, and where it’s
been. It’s all about where the earth is
going
to be. We think of it as here and now, but…”

And I just stared at him while his mouth moved and words like “relativity,” “wormhole” and “galaxy” popped out.

I was amazed. Since leaving school, Simon Gibson had managed several Toby Carveries
and
solved time travel! Of course, I had no real proof of this incredible claim whatsoever, but he certainly knew some long words,
and more often than not, that’s enough for me.

“And like I say, this theory also proves wormhole. But you know”—he shook his head like a tired and beaten man—“
you
try telling Hawking this stuff…”

“Have
you
tried telling Hawking that?” I asked. “Because if you faxed him on Toby Carvery–headed notepaper, there’s a chance he might
not have read it!”

Just then, we were joined by Michael’s girlfriend, Nikol. We all said hello and were as polite as we could be, but it’s difficult
to focus on airs and graces when someone’s just told you they’ve solved time travel. But Nikol represented a fresh perspective.

“Simon’s solved time travel,” I said.

“Just now?” she asked, in her thick Czech accent.

“No—it took a few years,” I explained.

She looked unimpressed with the length of time it had taken Simon to crack one of life’s eternal mysteries. I should have
told her he had a dog to look after as well. If Einstein had had a dog, or a local carvery to run, he’d have got a lot less
done. And you’d probably always find hair in the soup.

“Hey… can I tell you something weird?” said Anil, and we all turned to listen. “I guess now Simon’s warmed you up with a bit
of weirdness, it’s okay for me to tell you this…”

“What was weird about that?” asked Simon, genuinely confused.

“You’ve solved time travel!” I said.

Anil waved this away and began to speak.

“Now, like I say, this is weird, but… the other day, in Huddersfield, I was on my way home from work. I don’t know why, but
I took a different route from normal. I was waiting for a bus to pull out at a junction, and I was sort of lost in my thoughts…”

But Simon solved time travel!
was all I could think.

“And then I saw this bloke coming out of a pub. He looked like a Sikh guy, with a beard but no turban on, and when he saw
me, he sort of saluted at me. I thought he was saluting at someone behind me, and so I checked, but there was no one there…”

He wasn’t even any good at maths!

“And then when I look back round he’s right there—right next to my window. He knocks on it, and asks me to wind it down. So
I do…”

And this is where Anil caught my attention. Because I suddenly realized what he was saying
was
weird. Because what he was saying—or at least a variation of it—had once happened to
me
…

“… so this stranger, he says to me, ‘You’re worried.’”

“That’s odd,” said Simon, which just goes to show
how
odd it must have been.

“It
was
odd. But it gets odder. He says to me, ‘You’re wondering whether you should stay in your current job, or move somewhere else.’
And I
had
been. I’d just been thinking that. I was thinking, should I stay here in Huddersfield, or should I move to London, or Chicago…”

I noticed Nikol leaning in slightly. She was fascinated.

“… and then he says, ‘Show me your hand,’ so I show him my hand, and he says, ‘No. The one you
write
with.’ So I showed him the other one, and he said, ‘Some important things will happen to you soon. On a Saturday next month,
you will meet with an old friend, and have a happy time.’”

We all looked at each other, slightly dumbstruck.

“‘… and this will lead you to opportunities away from your current job.’”

“Oh,” someone said.

“‘… and then, after that, something important will occur between you and someone with the initials E.J.’”

“So who’s E.J.?” asked Simon.

“Elton John!” said Michael. “It could be Elton John! Something important is going to occur between you and Elton John!”

“My ex-girlfriend’s initials are E.J.,” said Anil, and we all realized that made far more sense. “This guy, he was speaking
in Punjabi but I understood most of it, and it was just…
unusual
…”

And it was. A very similar thing had happened to me a couple of years before. I’d been going through an odd time, staying
in, not doing much, and a stranger had muttered a few words that had struck a similar chord… and that stranger had been right.
What’s more, my stranger had
also
been Asian.
Also
had a beard. It sent a chill down my spine. Since I’d started telling people about it, I’d heard similar stories of similar
experiences happening all over the world, but this was the first time it had happened to a
friend.
I was about to say so, when Nikol suddenly and confidently uttered a sentence I don’t think anyone had been fully expecting.

“My grandmother is gypsy witch.”

I’m not sure
you’d
been expecting that, either.

“She is every day collecting wood in the park. She lives in the town now but she used to live in forest. I would run for years
in bare feets around the forest and seeing no one for three or four months. I know about these things…”

I looked at Mikey. He closed his eyes and nodded.

“The left hand is the past. The right hand is about what is gonna really happen in the future if you can make your own destiny.”

We all looked at our hands. As if somehow any of us would suddenly spot our destiny nestling between two fingers and a mole.

“A mate of hers read my veins once,” said Mikey, and we all said “Oh” like that was the most normal thing in the world.

“What I mean,” said Nikol, “is perhaps this man, he knows what he is saying. Perhaps he is telling you your destiny is in
your hand.”

Anil thought about it.

“Well, he was right about the meeting old friends bit,” he said. “And it’s been good, hasn’t it? I mean, it’s so easy to forget
about the past. It’s wrong to do that, and you should always right a wrong. I mean, you leave home, you go to university or
whatever, you concentrate on new people, your whole world is new. And then, when that dies down and those people drift off
and start having kids and whatever, you start thinking about the people that came before. And sometimes you realize that they’re
the ones that matter. They were part of your early life, your real life, before you knew who you were or started pretending
to be someone you weren’t…”

We’d all been listening to Anil, rapt. He’d suddenly become quite wise.

“So… all I’m saying is…”

He held his glass up.

“Cheers!”

*   *   *

We moved on soon after. The boys gave me a tour of Lough borough at night. We bar-hopped, and pub-crawled, and made our way
to a club. And then, at one point, Mikey pulled me to one side.

“I wanted to say something,” he said. “But now’s not the right time. Are you around tomorrow?”

And we arranged a meeting.

“Danny!” shouted Anil, interrupting us. “Simon’s solved the riddle of the Sphinx!”

“What?”
I said.

“Have I
hell!
” said Simon. “That’s
impossible!
”

And we laughed our tiny tits off.

It was genuinely sad when Simon had to go.

“I shouldn’t be late for Claire,” he said, and we hugged and said our goodbyes.

“We’ll have to meet up again soon,” I said.

“Definitely,” said Simon. But there was something about our goodbye that made me think it could be our last. I didn’t want
that to happen. But I didn’t quite know what to say. So I didn’t say anything, and just let him walk away. But not before
he’d said, “You know, this
could
have been awkward. It gets more awkward the longer you leave it, I think. But it’s
rewarding,
too…”

I knew exactly what Simon meant. This whole Saturday had been great fun, much more fun than I’d
thought
it could be. I was with old friends, people who’d seen me grow up, and trip, and stumble, and embarrass myself. I looked
at Anil and Mikey in front of me, and I remembered all the fun we’d had.

This had been a
good
idea.

Anil and I got in at 2 a.m.

There was a note from Anil’s mum.

I HAVE MADE THIS VEGETABLE CURRY.

YOU BETTER EAT IT OR ELSE.

We got some forks out and silently got to work.

*   *   *

The next morning—after several servings of Mrs. Tailor’s spicy North Indian breakfast pancakes—Anil and I met Mikey in the
car park of the Toby Carvery in Loughborough. Simon would’ve been
proud.

It really was an
excellent
car park.

“Listen… all I wanted to say last night,” said Mikey, “but which for some reason I couldn’t… was
thanks.
”

“Thanks?”
I said.

“For what?” asked Anil, standing underneath the Toby Carvery sign.

“When I was a kid, sometimes I wasn’t around all that much,” said Mikey. “I could’ve been a better friend. There were just…
there were hard times…”

Anil and I didn’t quite know what to say. Being kids, we hadn’t really
known
about the hard times. All we’d known about were the
happy
times. The mucking-about times. The aniseed-ball and cartoon-time times. I guess it’s only when you’re an adult that you
know what a childhood can be.

Mikey hadn’t finished.

“This has sort of been like banishing a demon, for me, this weekend. I don’t want to get too heavy… but I’ve always thought
I could’ve been a better friend as a kid. Not just to you, but to
all
the people I cared about back then. And now maybe I
can.
”

And we hugged.

Because maybe we
all
could.

At the station, Anil had something on his mind.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, while I packed away the substantial curry-based lunch Mrs. Tailor had made me for the
journey. “What made you decide to ring me? What made you decide to come here this weekend?”

“Oh—you know. I’m basically just updating my address book.”

Anil didn’t seem convinced.

So I thought about it.

“The past, I suppose. I’d forgotten about all the good times. And then I opened up a box. And there it was.”

Anil nodded, thoughtfully.

“Nice metaphor,” he said. “The Box of Life. Sometimes we’re too keen to put a lid on it.”

I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “An
actual
box. I opened up an
actual box
and there was all this stuff from the past, and I’d been worried about what I was turning
into,
and that perhaps I’d forgotten what I
was,
and we talked about Loughborough, and… well. It was a nice weekend. It was a
great
weekend.”

It was somehow less impressive than the metaphor Anil had imagined I’d wisely come up with, but it was the truth, and sometimes
the truth is rubbish.

“It
was
a great weekend. It’s a pity some of the others couldn’t have been here, too.”