Ctrl-Z (3 page)

‘Try to make sure he doesn’t…
do
anything, will you?’ Mrs Bannister was saying.

It took Alex a moment to remember when he
was. ‘Um… right,’ he said, and walked across the patio to Callum.

‘You’re early,’ said Callum. ‘Dad isn’t picking up Lilly for an hour yet.’

‘I know,’ said Alex. ‘Now, listen. First of all, it’s a mistake to tie those balloons to that chair because when the dog jumps
off it’s going to float away, right?’

‘What? What are you talking about?’ Callum looked puzzled.

‘We’ll do the balloons first and get round to the explanations later,’ said Alex, ‘and when we do, I want you to pay attention
because I’m only going to explain this once more.’

Even when Alex had explained everything twice, starting with what had happened at home when the parcel containing the computer
had first arrived and finishing with the chair floating off into the air, Callum did not find it easy to believe.

‘You saw the balloons lift the chair?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Alex patiently.

‘And it knocked into the satellite dish and floated off down the garden?’

‘That’s right,’ said Alex. ‘Then the balloons punctured on some trees, the chair landed on your dad’s nose and your grandad’s
jacket fell into the pond.’

‘But I don’t remember any of that.’ Callum shook
his head as if it might jog a memory back into his mind. ‘I don’t remember anything like that at all.’

‘Of course you don’t,’ said Alex. ‘I told you. When I use Ctrl‐Z, nobody except me remembers anything.’

‘Yes…’ Callum nodded doubtfully. It would be simplest to think that his friend was making the whole thing up, but apart from
the fact that Alex didn’t make things up, there was the problem of explaining how his friend knew about the balloons, and
the lawnmower stopping, and what the score would be in the cricket on television…

‘Can I try it?’ he asked.

‘You already did,’ said Alex. ‘It’s no good. It only works for me.’

‘How about,’ said Callum slowly, ‘if we put my name in the computer instead of yours? We can change it back to yours after,’
he added hastily, seeing the look on Alex’s face. ‘It’d only be so I can try it.’

A little reluctantly Alex agreed, but when they tried they found it was impossible. Alex’s name could not be altered. The
only thing you could change on that page was the time and when Callum insisted on doing that and then pressing Ctrl‐Z himself,
the result was the same as before. Only Alex had any memory of going back a minute.

The trouble was that once he’d gone back in time, Callum didn’t
know
that he’d tried it and was back to when he was asking if he
could
try it, and Alex had to explain that he already had, twice now, and that he would have to accept the fact that the only person
affected by Ctrl‐Z was Alex.

‘That’s a shame, that is.’ Callum was visibly disappointed. ‘Because there are times when something like that would be really
useful to someone like me.’

‘You mean like when you’ve had one of your accidents?’

‘Yes.’ Callum sat down on the bench and stared thoughtfully down the garden.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Alex. ‘I can do it for you. Any time something happens to you, all you have to do is tell me and
I’ll go back and stop it.’

Callum considered this. ‘You mean, if I sat down on this bench and broke something, for instance, you could go back to before
I’d done it?’

‘Yes,’ said Alex. ‘Exactly. All you have to do is ask.’ He looked at his friend. ‘What have you sat on then?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Callum reached behind him and produced the bag Alex had brought. From inside he took out a small, squashed
box, wrapped in gold paper.

‘That’s the welcome home present I got for Lilly,’ said Alex.

‘Ah…’ Callum shook the box, which made a rattling, tinkling noise. ‘Is it supposed to sound like that?’

‘Not really,’ said Alex. ‘It was a china dog.’ He reached for the computer. ‘Hang on…’

‘That’s a shame, that is.’ Callum was visibly disappointed. ‘Because there are times when something like that would
be really useful to someone like me.’

‘You mean like when you’ve had one of your accidents?’ Alex reached out to move his bag from the bench.

‘Yes.’ Callum sat down and stared thoughtfully down the garden. He turned to his friend. ‘What are you going to do with it?’

Alex hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. Godfather John said in his email I should use it to have fun and make mistakes.’

‘Make mistakes?’

Alex gave a shrug. ‘That’s what he said.’

‘I should be able to help you there,’ said Callum. ‘I can probably make enough mistakes for both of us.’

T
he party was a great success. When Mr Bannister came back from the hospital with Lilly, you could see how thrilled she was
to be home, and how pleased she was to see the balloons and decorations spread out over the garden. Everyone cheered as she
came over the grass in her wheelchair – it would be a few weeks yet before her legs had completely recovered – and for the
next hour she was busy opening all her welcome home presents.

The eating and the fun and the games went on for most of the afternoon. Alex stayed, at Mrs Bannister’s request, to help with
passing round food and organizing the games Lilly wanted to play with her friends – and it was as well that he did. He had
to use Ctrl‐Z three times that afternoon: once when
Callum accidentally spilt a jug of Ribena on to the sound system Mr Bannister had set up; once when he tripped on a tree
root, dropping a tray of cutlery on to the head of one of Lilly’s friends; and a third time when he set fire to the sitting
room.

The fire happened when Callum’s mother asked him to tie up Mojo so that he didn’t bother the guests, some of whom were rather
nervous of a large dog bounding round the garden. Callum tied him to the barbecue, which was all right until Mojo decided
to drag himself (and the barbecue) indoors and set light to the sitting‐room curtains. Happily, on all three occasions, Alex
was able to go back to before the accidents had happened and make sure that they didn’t.

‘We’re so grateful to you!’ Mrs Bannister told him when Lilly had been sent indoors to rest and Alex was about to go home.
‘It’s been the most wonderful afternoon and we couldn’t have done it without you.’

‘Me?’ Alex wondered for a moment if Callum had told her about his computer. ‘I didn’t do anything… really.’

‘Oh yes, you did.’ Mrs Bannister beamed down at him. ‘I saw the way you kept watching Callum, making sure that nothing happened
that could spoil everything, and nothing did! We’re very grateful to you!’

She gave him a large piece of cake and a giant bottle of fizzy orange and, as Alex walked home with his laptop tucked under
his arm, he was filled with the sense that it had been a good day.

A very good day.

Turning into the drive that led up to his own house, his mother lifted her head from under the bonnet of her car and asked
how the party had been.

‘It was brilliant,’ said Alex. ‘Lilly had a really good time.’

‘That’s nice…’ Alex’s mother held up a spark plug and examined it carefully. For two years now she had been doing up an old
Triumph TR4, and although the work was almost finished, the engine still didn’t run as smoothly as she’d like. ‘And how many
accidents did Callum have?’

‘None,’ said Alex. ‘He didn’t have any.’

‘That must be a first.’ Mrs Howard was checking the gap in the plug with a micron gauge, but then peered over the top of the
car at Alex. ‘You’re not hungry or anything, are you? Only I’d quite like to finish this.’

Alex said he had had plenty to eat at the party and went indoors. He got himself a glass from the kitchen and took it with
the fizzy orange and the computer upstairs to his room.

Walking home from the Bannisters’, he had had
an idea. If he set the clock on the laptop for a time later in the day rather than earlier, maybe Ctrl‐Z could send him forward
to a time in the future, instead of the past. He could think of several ways this might be useful. If you were going to the
dentist, say, or didn’t want to do some homework, skipping forward to after it had happened and missing out all the uncomfortable
bits would be kind of neat.

Disappointingly, when he tried it, nothing happened. Sitting at the desk in his bedroom, he typed in a time thirty minutes
in the future and pressed Ctrl‐Z, but instead of finding himself doing whatever he would be doing in half an hour, the time
on the computer simply returned to what it had been before and Alex remained firmly in the present.

He was equally unsuccessful when he tried changing the date. He thought it might be fun to move to a different day in the
future or the past, but quickly discovered that the date, like his name, could not be altered. The only thing he could change
was the time on the clock to something earlier.

He drank his fizzy orange and wondered why this should be. It was only one of a growing list of questions to which he wanted
to know the answer. Like what happened to the times that no
longer existed because he had gone back and changed them? What, for instance, happened to the time when the balloons had
floated off with the garden chair? Where did it go?

The only person he knew who might be able to tell him was Godfather John, and Alex was wondering about the best way to contact
him when he heard the sound of his parents’ voices in the kitchen downstairs.

The voices were raised and he realized, with a sinking feeling, that they were arguing.

Again.

Alex could remember a time when his parents never argued at all. In fact, for most of his life he could hardly remember them
even getting upset. Other children might have parents who quarrelled, got angry and shouted at each other, but life at number
17 Oakwood Close had always been remarkably quiet and peaceful.

And then, a few months before, they had started having these arguments – not all the time, just occasionally and about the
silliest things. They argued about who hadn’t hung up a bath towel, or who hadn’t turned off a light, and they had even had
one argument that lasted over an hour about whether a screwdriver had been put back in the right drawer in the utility room.

Alex crept out on to the landing so that he could
hear what they were saying and found that this time they seemed to be arguing about supper.

‘You were the one who suggested it.’ His father’s voice came up from the kitchen. ‘You were the one who said you wanted to
cook a proper meal.’

‘I’m sorry!’ said his mother. ‘I was working on the car and I forgot.’

‘Oh yes, your car!’ Mr Howard sounded thoroughly aggrieved. ‘I can see that was
so
much more important…’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ said Mrs Howard. ‘If you’re hungry I can still make you something. Just give me half an hour!’

‘I don’t have half an hour,’ said Mr Howard. ‘I have to leave by then.’

‘So I’ll make you a sandwich! It’s not the end of the world.’

‘If I wanted a sandwich,’ said Mr Howard, ‘I could buy one at a garage. In fact, I think that’s what I’ll do.’

Alex could hear his father’s steps in the hall. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Steven! There’s no need to –’ Mrs Howard tried calling
after her husband, but it was too late. There was the sound of the front door slamming and Mr Howard was gone. Alex could
hear his mother in the kitchen muttering and then the noise of her banging something against the wall. It sounded like it
might be her head.

He thought for a moment, then went back into his room and reached for the laptop on his desk.

‘How was the party?’ asked his mother, lifting her head from the bonnet of her car as Alex came up the drive.

‘It was brilliant,’ said Alex. ‘Lilly had a really good time.’

‘That’s nice…’ Alex’s mother held up a spark plug and examined it carefully. ‘And how many accidents did Callum have?’

‘None,’ said Alex. ‘Are we having supper soon?’

‘Supper?’ Mrs Howard looked up from measuring the gap in the spark plug with a micron gauge. ‘Didn’t you eat at the party?’

‘Yes,’ said Alex, ‘but I thought Dad said something about you cooking a proper meal this evening.’

‘What?’ His mother looked blankly at him for a moment and then her eyes widened. ‘Oh goodness! So I am!’ She began wiping
her hands on a rag and then pulling off the boiler suit she wore for working on the car. ‘I meant to tell you. He’s got to
drive to Nottingham tonight and tomorrow he’s speaking at a conference. I thought a nice supper might cheer him up.’ She put
a hand on Alex’s shoulder. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘No,’ said Alex. ‘No, that’s fine.’

It was a very pleasant meal. Mrs Howard had
made spaghetti and while they ate Mr Howard explained to Alex why he hoped going to Nottingham would provide some useful contacts
for his work. Mrs Howard told Mr Howard how she had sorted out the ignition timing problem on her car, and Alex told them
both about Lilly’s coming home party and the hundred balloons tied up around the garden.

Afterwards, when Alex went out to see his father off, his father took him to one side and asked him to take care of his mother
until he got back on Tuesday. ‘She’s under a lot of pressure at the moment,’ he said, ‘with all these job interviews and applications.’

At the moment, Alex’s mother worked as the receptionist at a garage, but for some years she had been taking the exams that
would let her get a job as an accountant.

‘Look after her, will you?’ said Mr Howard. And Alex promised that he would.

After his father had left, Alex took his computer to the bench at the bottom of the garden and sat there in the evening sun.
He was feeling rather pleased with himself and not even the noise of Mr Kowalski next door shouting at a cat that had got
into his garden could disturb his mood.

He opened the laptop and while he waited for
the machine to load up, wondered exactly what he was going to say.

Godfather John was not an easy man to contact. He had an address – somewhere in Australia – and a phone number, but if you
tried to write or call, you might not get a reply for weeks. According to Alex’s father, Godfather John’s lifestyle was as
unusual as the presents he sent and he spent a lot of his time travelling. Occasionally these travels had meant calling in
at Oakwood Close, but this had not happened recently and Alex hadn’t actually seen his godfather since he was five.