I was already halfway out the door, my trainers nearly scuffing the front mat, when the phone in the lounge shrilled to life. Of all times, just when my mates were probably kicking their heels outside the flat entrance, waiting for me. Only minutes earlier Id tossed down my football, adrenaline already building for the crucial match on the estate pitch behind our block. I hovered in the doorway, hoping whoever it was would just give up. But the phone wouldnt let uprelentless, cutting through my urge to bolt for freedom.
Who on earth could that be now? I grumbled under my breath, dashing to the lounge without even bothering to kick off my trainers. I snatched up the receiver, ready for Mum to start with instructions or for Nan to launch into, Have you eaten since school? Did you wash your hands? and all those mysterious adult obsessions.
Hello, I mumbled, none too thrilled.
Is that Michael? came an unfamiliar mans voice.
My parents arent home, I replied instinctively, thinking someone was after Mum or Dad. I was about to hang up, but the voice called out in a way that stopped me.
Michael, please. Listen. Dont put the phone down, this is urgent, he said, his tone speeding up. You wont believe me, I expect, but I need you to just hear me out. Grab a pen and some paper right now. I havent got long to explain. Im youa grown up version of you, from the future. I know how mad that sounds, but I beg you, just do as I say. Its really important. Got a pen?
I prided myself on my manners, and that was probably the only reason I didnt hang up there and then. Plus, Nan always said it wasnt worth arguing with someone off their nutjust listen, then go on your way. To be honest, I was certain this chap was bonkers. Or was this someone playing a prank? I remembered how my mates and I sometimes rang a random number and spun a yarnHave you got any water? Good, fill up your bath, well bring round an elephant to wash! or some other nonsense. It was a good laugh. So, I decided to humour him, see how this joke would pan out.
Ive got one, I replied seriously. So, in the future, do I get my own telepathic gadget?
There was a pause on the other end. Michael! Im not joking. Listen to meif you do exactly as I say and write everything down, youll have an iPhone and everything else you could want.
Alright, Im writing, I replied, peering out the window at the pitch, idly picking my nose with my free hand. My mates would hardly wait around much longer before heading off without me. Best not to arguejust get this over with quickly. Especially since he said he was short on time.
Then he started reeling off dates, years, saying I should avoid some girl called Sophie from the year above at all costs, and steering clear of anything to do with dodgy investmentsspecifically a get-rich-quick scheme he called Global Savings. Something about buying and then selling dollars, and then buying again. He mentioned Black Tuesday, slot machines, casinos, then bitcoin and buying property, a heap of grown-up words tumbling out of the phone
Written all that down? he checked.
All down, yep.
Im counting on you. Keep that paper safe like treasure. Show it to no one, dont lose it, he said with a note of relief, before the line fell silent and the dial tone returned.
I put the phone down and sprinted out, mind set on football. Later that evening, once Mum and Dad were home, I remembered the odd call and recounted it to themhow a man rang, said he was me, just older and from the future.
Never talk to strangers on the phone, Dad said firmly. Especially nutters offering to make you rich if you buy American dollars. Next time, say youll call the police and hang up.
Absolutely, Mum agreed. Besides, what use are dollars anyway? What would you even do with them?
*
Time passed and I forgot about the call. Black Tuesdays and bitcoins faded behind the pressing demands of friendship bracelets, homework, and endless games on the pitch. The years rolled by with lessons and laughter. In year nine, a new girl named Emily joined from another school, and straight away, I was smitten. She was in the form next to ours but that didnt stop me sending tentative notes, walking her home when I could, slowly getting to know her.
After my stint in the army, Emily and I married. The 90s were full of wild highs and brutal disappointments. At first, everything seemed possible, happiness pouring in from every direction, but reality bit hard. Scraping by through one financial crisis after another, Id set my heart on getting her those nice boots from the telly advert but ended up barely affording a pair of slippers from Poundland. Our flat was boxy, the mortgage was a noose, and stress tightened month by month.
*
One drizzly afternoon, I sank onto a bench in the little park, cracked open a supermarket lager, and lit a cigarette, letting my gaze drift over grey faces and rainy London streets. I didnt notice the older man who sat down at the far end of the bench, briefcase in hand and spectacles perched on his nose.
Mind if I join you? he asked politely, already settling in.
I glanced his way, nodded, and took another swig from my bottle.
Bit bleak today, he remarked to no one in particular, gazing at the clouds.
Like most days, I said.
Funny thing, dont you think? he mused. How only grown-ups get these endless grey days. Childhood, nowthats always sunshine. Spring meant little boats in puddles, summer smelt of fresh-cut grass and lazy days, autumn blazed with colours, even winter crunched underfoot. Not a single grey day in memory.
Thats childhood for you, I said thoughtfully. No worries big enough to weigh you down. Its the worry that turns life drab. Couldnt have imagined all this back then.
Somehow, without knowing exactly why, I found myself telling this stranger all about the hopes that had crumbled away, how bad luck trailed me everywhere. One moment it was some con with Global Savings; then the gambling machines cropping up on every corner. Nothing paid offpromises of quick riches led only to long-term regrets. In the end, Emily left, ran off to Brighton with someone else, and I was left scraping by job to job, living pay to pay.
But I think Ive finally stumbled on a golden tip, I said, mustering a smile. Watched this millionaire mind-set course the other day, and this bloke reckons cryptos the future. 500% return every week, he said. Cant lose. Maybe Ive just been going about things wrong all these years.
The old man adjusted his glasses. If you dont mind me asking, what do you actually do? Workwise, I mean?
Workings for mugs, I scoffed, taking another gulp. You have to make money work for you. If only you could know ahead of timewhere to invest and when. Guaranteed.
We sat in silence, me dreaming of crypto windfalls, the old gent thinking who knows what.
So, he said finally, you believe if you knew everything in advance, life would turn out all right?
Absolutely, I replied.
Well, he said, pausing, you intrigue me. Would you let me try something unusual with you? He opened his battered briefcase, revealing an old-fashioned rotary phone. Theres a theory that time isnt just linear or cyclical but happens all at once, every moment existing simultaneously.
Im not quite following, I admitted.
I mean, he explained, removing his glasses and rubbing his brow, theres no past or futureeverything is happening right now, all at once, every point in your life.
I still dont get it, I replied.
Thats fine, he said, pushing the phone towards me. This telephone lets you ring back into your own past. Forty years ago, preciselyI’ve tested it. But I couldnt say much. Just checked the year, then hung up. Funny thoughcant remember it at all from my own youth. How it worksif it actually alters the present or just repeats things as they were, thats the part I dont understand. Whether what we do now changes whats coming.
Frankly, I thought hed slipped his marbles. Then again, why not have a go? Arent there fellas on YouTube talking about stuff youd never believeand they seem to do all right. Maybe they know something the rest of us dont. Perhaps those who shout, Its all a scam are just scared to try. I wasnt like them.
All right, lets do this, I agreed.
Remember your old landline? he asked. The trick is, you need to have been home at that time, forty years ago, for it to work.
I rattled off my childhood number; forty years back, Id have just got in from school. I nervously picked up the heavy old receiver, ready to dial the familiar digits.
You wont have long, he warned. The battery lasts barely a couple of minutes. I cant take responsibility for what happens.
Ill make it count, I said, punching in the numbers. The dial tone buzzeda part of me was sure this was nonsense, but another thrill tickled through me.
Then, crackling through time, someone picked up.
Hello, a boys voice grumbleda tone I knew too well.
Hello! Michael? My palms were sweating with nerves and excitement.
My parents arent home, young Michael barked back. I rushed on before he could hang up.
Michael, listen to me, please. Dont put the phone down. This is important, I blurted, mind racing. You arent going to believe this, butplease, just hear me out. Get a pen and write down what I say, I havent got long. Im you, from the future. I know it sounds mad, but do it. Please. Got a pen and paper?
Got it, came the answer. So, do I have my own telepathic gizmo in the future?
Look, Michaeljust trust me. If you follow what I tell you, youll get an iPhone, and plenty more, I blurted out.
Alright, writing, younger Michael replied gamely.
I told him everything I could cram inhow, when I finished service in 93, I got a solid job, but blew it all having too much fun with Emily. Michael, listenforget about Emily! Dont date her, shell only break your heart. Focus, and youll have a hundred Emilys. Put your wages in dollars!
I gave him warnings about Black Tuesday in October 94, and exactly when to sell up. I told him to avoid slot machines and casinosbetter to invest in them! Steer clear of schemes like Global Savings. Buy a flat, while theyre cheap as chips. Then swap to dollars again in August 98, and in 2009a chunk of cash into bitcoin. Everything I could recall in those precious two minutes, I poured into that hurried lesson on financial sense. Every so often, Id double-check he was taking notes. The old man signalled our time was just about up.
Got all that? I asked.
All of it, came the reply.
Guard that paper like its a treasure map. Tell no one, dont lose it, I said, but before I could add more, the line went dead.
*
Of course, young Michaelmedidnt write any of it down. He simply waited for the madman to finish his rant, hung up, and tore out to play football, the whole thing forgotten as soon as his boots hit the sun-drenched pitch.
Looking back, its strange. We always dream of a shortcut, the magical answer that will save us from mistakes. But if Id really lived life on someone elses script, Id have lost all the lessons and laughter that came from stumbling around myself. Maybe the treasure isnt a mapits the journey.
Thats something I learned once I finally stopped looking for secret codes to happiness and started living the days I had, grey or sunny, mess and all.
