Now & Then

Then:

Aihangela carefully removes the brown cardboard envelope from the archive wrapper. Despite being enclosed in acid free tissue, time has still faded the edges and she wonders whether it will be suitable, but reasons she can’t go through the hassle of contacting Mieki in Chancellery to see if he can find another one at such short notice 

Fortunately, she kept the ancient printer from a previous occasion - using her techTab to avoid Mieki’s scrutiny - and the resultant label, with its address and obsolete barcode is waiting on her desk. Strictly it’s against policy to hold onto archival equipment, although she’ll cover her tracks once this is over. 

All Herald’s are allowed a limited range of vintage items in the line of duty, but it’s always best to keep on the right side of Chancellory, particularly Mieki, as he is a stickler for the rules, and liable to use any excuse to report her to tempCorp’s top brass. She and Mieki have history.

She taps open the docSpace in her desk and the two photographs slide into view. From the side popUp she extracts two small sheets of white paper, marvelling at the quality, given their age. Using her treasured graphite pencil, she writes a small note on each, picks up two brass paperclips from the same popUp (Chancellery stopped allowing corrodible metals to be archived decades ago), and looks down at the photos. Previously, she was amazed that people ever printed images onto paper - it seems such a waste - but due to her numerous visits over the years she’s become more used to the vagaries of the foreBears.

The first photograph shows the screen of a classic flat panel TV displaying a snapshot of five white circles and a red one; a different number in each. The second is of a newspaper article, with an image of a wrecked car and the headline: LOTTERY WINNING FATHER OF TWINS DIES IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT

She attaches a note to each photo, slips them into the cardboard envelope and attaches the label, exactly in the centre, above the smiley mouth graphic. She taps a departureCode into her techTab, and seconds later receives the clearance Moji. She sighs, clips the Tab to her belt, picks up the envelope and heads for the wayOut chamber. 

“Here we go,” she mutters to herself before activating checkOut.

Now:

The doorbell warbles and Nathan quickly wipes his washing-up-wet hands on his jeans and hastens to the front door.

“Won’t be a second,” he shouts, already suspecting that the Amazon delivery guy won’t wait around for more than a few seconds.

However, as he opens the door, they are still there. Expecting the guy with the turban to be on the other side of the door, he is slightly taken by surprise by the young woman standing on the step. Chinese? Japanese? Nathan is suddenly aware that he might be being vaguely racist, and coughs in embarrassment.

“Mr. Chandler?” She asks, with an oddly clipped accent, as if her mouth was unused to forming words.

“Yes.”

“Special delivery from Amazon.” She says, handing over a card envelope that looks as if it’s been in the sun too long.

Special? You usually just dump it on the doorstep and run away. Nathan thinks, but keeps a straight face.

“Er … thank you.”

She smiles up at him, a hint of sadness in her eyes, pauses for a second and says: “You’re welcome,” and turns and walks down the drive. Nathan looks around for her van, but concludes she must have parked further down the road.

A short time later, Jodie bustles through the front door manhandling the twins’ pushchair through the gap. Like most of the stuff they have for the kids, it's been donated by family or bought from one of the local charity shops. Since the arrival of the twins, they are finding it a struggle, especially as she’s had to give up her part-time job because child minding was so expensive. 

Nathan works long hours, but they still barely have enough money each month to cover food, rent and energy costs. The strain is showing and Jodie had to go out earlier, after she and Nathan once again bickered over their finances. The walk in the park had calmed her a little, but her ever-present anxiety is balled in the pit of her stomach like a cobra ready to strike.

“Jode? That you? You need to look at this.”

“Godssake, Nate, give me a second, I’ve got to sort out the twins.” She snaps down the hall, unable to control her irritation. She immediately regrets her tone and takes a deep breath before releasing the twins, and ushering them in front of her.

“Want crisps.” Molly demands as her sister totters into the kitchen shouting; “Daddy, been to park.”

Jodie is too tired to correct her daughter’s bad manners regarding the crisps and follows the girls into the kitchen, pulling off her coat and hanging it on the overcrowded hook as she passes.

Nathan is sitting at the small table, staring down at a photograph in front of him; a ripped open Amazon envelope lies abandoned on the sink drainer.

Jodie instantly jumps to the conclusion that it’s some bill or invoice that they haven’t budgeted for; the slithering anxiety quickens in her gut.

“Nate? You OK?” She asks, trembling slightly.

“This is really weird shit.” 

‘Nate. The kids!”

“Sorry, Jode. Don’t listen to Daddy, girls. I — you’ve got to see this.”

She moves to his side and he hands her the photo. On it there’s a picture of a TV screen displaying Lottery numbers with a small note attached. The words It could be you, are written on it, with deliberate strokes of a pencil.

“What? Who sent this?”

“No idea.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Me neither. But look at the date on the screen.”

She peers at the image, frowning. “The eighteenth?”

“Yes. Next Wednesday …”

“Don’t be daft, it must be a date from last year, or something.”

“What if it isn’t?”

“Have you been drinking?”

“No, of course not. I’ve just got a feeling.”

“What do you mean, a feeling?”

“I can’t explain, I just think we should do the Lottery this week.”

“Nate! We’ve only just been talking about how little money we’ve got and you want to waste money on the bloody Lottery!” Jodie splutters, her voice rising. Ella starts to cry and Molly takes the opportunity to shout, Crisps, at the top of her voice, bashing her fist on the kitchen cupboard. 

“Now look what you’ve done! It’ll take ages to settle them down. Make yourself useful and finish the washing up.”

“I wasn’t the one shouting …” Nathan implores, but Jodie has already taken the twins into the lounge, grabbing two snack-packs of Wotsits on her way out.

“Jode?” Nathan calls after her.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She cries, forcefully closing the door.

I’m trying my best, Nathan sighs to himself. He glances towards the front room and when he’s sure the door is closed, he removes another photograph from his pocket. He once more reads the odd note attached to it. 

I’m sorry, there is no other way. Written in the same halting script. 

The photograph is of a newspaper cutting, with a wrecked car image beneath the headline: LOTTERY WINNING FATHER OF TWINS DIES IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT

Local father of twins, Nathan Chandler, 29, was killed instantly when his Vauxhall Nova collided with a lamppost on the Western Bypass early on Wednesday morning (18th September). Accident investigators suggested that Mr. Chandler’s car veered out of control after the front offside tyre burst. They added that the tyre was below the legal limit and was an accident waiting to happen. The tragedy occurred mere hours before his partner Jodie Wilkinson, 28, found out that they had won the National Lottery’s Lotto draw, reportedly winning over £17 million. The accident happened at 7.32am, while Mr. Chandler was travelling to work. Colleagues at Grafton Logistics were shocked: “He was such a nice man and a very diligent worker.” Company boss, William Grafton said. “Our thoughts and prayers are with Jodie and the twins.” The police gave a statement reminding drivers of the importance of getting their tyres checked regularly, and added that no action would be taken regarding the illegal state of Mr. Chandler’s tyre.

The edge of the image is slightly blurred, but he can still make out the date at the top of the page, Friday, 20th, September, 2024.

I should show Jode, he thinks, starting to rise, but slumps back heavily causing the chair legs to squeak loudly on the lino. She’ll never believe me.

But what if this is true? Am I going to die on Wednesday? It’s got to be a hoax! But what sicko would do this? It’s all so … specific.

Nathan decides not to tell Jodie about the second photograph, and throws it in the kitchen bin. He also doesn’t tell her that he’s planning a visit to the supermarket on his way to work on Monday, to buy a Lotto ticket. It is a rollover week and the Jackpot is standing at £17.7 million. It’s got to be worth worth a punt, he thinks. And, just to be on the safe side, he’ll catch the bus to work on Wednesday morning.

By Tuesday evening, Jodie has just about calmed down from their earlier words regarding the lottery ticket that Nathan had placed on the kitchen table at breakfast. 

“Why would you do this behind my back, after what we discussed on Sunday?” She questioned, trying to keep her voice from cracking and disturbing the twins who were engrossed in watching Hey Duggee! in the lounge.

“I told you I had a feeling …”

“I don’t give a damn about your feelings. I’ve a good mind to move back home with the twins, if I can’t trust you with such a small thing.”

“Oh, come on Jode, it was only a couple of quid.”

“I don’t care, it’s the principle.” She snapped, clenching and unclenching her fists; her stomach churning. “Just piss off to work, I can’t talk to you now.”

“But, Jode, what if we win?”

‘Don’t be bloody stupid, Nate. Do you know what the odds are?”

“Yes, but …”

“I said piss off.”

With that Jodie turned and walked away, gripping her mug of tea so tightly she worried she might shatter the handle.

Nathan grabbed his coat and stomped off down the hall.

Wednesday evening, and Jodie takes a sip of her wine and settles onto the sofa. She managed to get twins down with very little fuss, and now has at least half an hour to herself, before Nate gets home. The drink and the quiet of the lounge goes some way towards settling her stomach. She takes a deep breath and, for the umpteenth time that day, she looks down at the lottery ticket. 

What time do they draw the Lotto? She thinks, looking up at the clock. She shakes her head, marvelling at her irrational feeling of hope.

But, Jode. What if we win? Nates words whisper in her head. 

Thinking she must be mad, she picks up the remote and turns on the TV …

“Pick up the phone, Nate!” Jodie is struggling to hide her excitement. Surely Nate would have checked the numbers. Jesus Christ! £17.7 million!

Nate’s phone goes through to voicemail: “Hi. This is Nate. Leave a message after the bleep …”

“Nate, Nate … have you heard? Please pick up, we’re bloody millionaires.”

Jodie, gulps back the rest of her wine and dials again. Answer phone.

“Shit!” She says, and decides to call her parents.

Her mum answers: “Hello, love. Everything alright?”

“Yes, Mum, I’ve got some great news … hold on, there’s someone at the door …”

There are two police officers standing nervously on the step.

“Ms. Wilkinson?” The young female officer asks, biting her lip.The male officer looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

“May we come in?”

“I suppose … am I in some sort of trouble?”

“No, not at all. But I’m afraid there’s been an accident …”

Jodie doesn’t focus on what they say next; her writhing anxiety rears up and spits her into a series of wracking sobs.

Unheard, her mum’s words tinnily trickle from the phone. “Jodie? What’s the matter, love? Jodie?”

Then:

Controller’s voice insinuates into Aihangela’s stemCom. 

- I understand you had to do a small reset on your techTab.

- Just a minor adjustment. I’ve checked with Governance and there was no significant blip in timeLine. Aihangela ‘paths back.

- This is why we picked you for this crucial job. Thank you for your service, Herald Aihangela. Controller responds, formally. Your Merits have been upgraded accordingly.

Controller exits Aihangela’s stemCom, and she gestures her techTab, smiling at the additions her advanceQuotient. She’s now moved up several points on careerTrack; Mieki will be really pissed.

She taps the Tab and tempCorp’s logo briefly illuminates the screen. The twin faces of the stylised Gemini zodiac symbol pulse twice before fading to black. Aihangela allows herself a brief smile of solemn self-satisfaction, content in the knowledge that she’s played more than a small part in saving the Corp’s founding foreBears.

Now:

Jodie screws up another sodden tissue and adds to the small pile on the kitchen table. She can hear her school-friend, Kerri, playing with the twins in the lounge. Bless her for coming ‘round so quickly. It sounds like the girls have calmed down since being woken by the commotion downstairs.

Dave, the male police officer, places another cup of tea in front of her. He’s been desperate to keep himself occupied, ever since they arrived. This is his first ever next-of-kin visit, and he really needs to pee.

“Shouldn’t be long before your parents arrive.” He says, looking at his watch again. 

Prisha, the female officer, is holding Jodie’s hand and gives it an encouraging squeeze. She’s attended several of these sorts of visits, but it doesn’t get any easier.

“When you feel ready, Jodie, we can put you in touch with a bereavement councillor. Have a talk with your parents and let us know.” She hesitates, before she decides to continue, unable to help herself asking. “So have you any idea what you might do with your Lottery win?”

Jodie glares at her.

“Sorry. Not the right time.” Prisha admits, noting Dave’s exasperated eye-roll.

“It’s all too much to take in.” Jodie says, sniffing. “Nate would want to set something up for the girls, he always had high hopes for them …” 

She breaks down in tears again and grabs another tissue, before getting up from the table to take the others to the kitchen bin. As she pops the lid her eye is caught by a crumpled photo on the top of the rubbish pile. At first she thinks it’s the one Nate showed her earlier with the Lottery numbers, but the image is different.

The photograph is tangled with a note, held on with another of the brass paperclips.

I’m sorry, there is no other way. It reads, in the same odd handwriting as the one on the other picture. 

Why didn’t he show me this? She wonders, with a tinge of guilty irritation. 

The creased photograph shows a newspaper cutting. There is a picture of a bus, with a car crashed into its side and a makeshift tent surrounding the area around the point of impact.

The article reads:

LOTTERY WINNING FATHER OF TWINS DIES IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT

Local father of twins, Nathan Chandler, 29, was killed instantly when he was struck by a passing vehicle while hurrying for a bus. The driver of the car is recovering in hospital from minor injuries, where he has been questioned by the police. The accident happened on Wednesday evening (18th September), and witnesses say that Mr. Chandler failed to see the approaching vehicle, as he ran across the road in what they described as an excited state. In a bizarre twist, it was likely that he had just received news of a Lottery win that he and his partner, Jodie Wilkinson, 28, had won only minutes before. It is reported that the win is in excess of seventeen million pounds. We can only hope that the money will in some way help to alleviate the suffering of Ms.Wilkinson and their young twin daughters.

Dave just manages to catch her as she topples backwards.