February 23rd, 1997

Oh Non. She’s so brilliant.


A week until I turn sixteen. Also, a week before I have to fulfil my promise to Mum that I will spend at least two hours per night revising for my GCSEs – four on a weekend. Basically, the day I turn sixteen is the day I lose all semblance of a social life.

I open the door to my playroom, thinking I’ve got to sort out stuff for school tomorrow… and stop dead in the doorway.

There’s someone in here.

A second before I scream, I realise that this person is me, only old.

“Shut the door will you, before Mum notices?” Old-me says, glancing up from whatever she’s holding.

Is that what my voice sounds like?

I shut the door and we stare at each other. Old-me is what? Twenties? Thirties? Forties? God knows. I’m not wildly enthusiastic about how bad her skin looks, how long her…

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