‘Hello,’ I said, crossing my legs. ‘Nice to meet you all. Why am I here?’

Mahdi sat in the spare seat beside Barbara and, for a moment, stared at me in silence. ‘You really don’t know?’

‘I really, genuinely and absolutely haven't a clue. I’m not even sure why I came.’ I stopped and waited for his response, but he continued to stare at me. ‘Maybe I was just bored,’ I said.

‘Maybe,’ mused Mahdi. ‘Or perhaps something compelled you. An impulse, possibly? An idea that seemed to arrive from out of nowhere?’

He was closer to the truth than I was ready to admit. ‘The note says you can help me.’

‘I certainly hope we can.’

‘With what?’

His foot tapped against the hard floor. ‘How would you like us to help you?’

Duncan sighed loudly and stretched out his long legs. ‘Cut the cryptic shite, Mahdi,’ he said. ‘You can see the guy’s not into it.’

Mahdi turned to him and dipped his head in lieu of a bow. ‘Thank you, Mr Creighton. Direct as always.’ To me, he added: ‘What if I said we can help you make sense of a few things and set you on an interesting new path? Would that clarify matters?’

‘Not much,’ I said. ‘I’m quite happy with the path I’m on, thanks.’

‘Are you, though?’

That was enough to ignite the irritation that had been building since I had entered the room. I pushed back my chair, rose and marched to the door. I was reaching for the handle when Ruth called out behind me: ‘We can help you. We really can.’

I turned the handle.

‘You feel like your life isn’t quite your own, don’t you?’ she said. ‘That you’ve ended up somewhere you’re not supposed to be.’

I kept my fingers on the handle, my back to her.

‘Sometimes you feel like you’re not really here at all. And sometimes you go back, don’t you?’

‘We can help,’ the note had said. Perhaps they could.

I turned to face her. ‘I haven’t been feeling right lately. There’s been a lot going on.’ My hand clasped and unclasped the door handle. ‘I shouldn’t have come.’

In just a few paces, Mahdi was at my side. ‘You did the right thing. We’re here to help.’ He gently eased my fingers from the handle and ushered me back into the room. ‘Please, sit.’

I sat, and he settled into the chair opposite. ‘Forgive me - we seem to have been talking at cross purposes. I assumed you were at least somewhat familiar with our activities. I’ll try to explain.’

‘Properly,’ said Ruth.

‘Of course,’ said Mahdi. ‘A few things first.’

Marcus took off his glasses, laid them on the table and rubbed his eyes: ‘Can we do it without the theatrics?’ he said. ‘He’ll stay, or he won’t stay. Just tell him, and we’ll find out which it’s to be.’

‘I’m with Marcus on that one,’ said Duncan. ‘Just this once.’

Mahdi ignored them. ‘Some people are born with talents,’ he said. ‘Some are gifted artists, some have a beautiful voice, some are extraordinary athletes. Others might have a gift for persuasion, for mimicry, for knitting, for mathematics, or poetry, or—’

Ruth stood behind my chair and leaned to half-whisper in my ear, loud enough for Mahdi to hear: ‘He’s going to get to the point any minute now.’

‘Of course I am,’ said Mahdi. ‘Many gifted individuals discover their talents early. Others bloom later in life, thanks to a chance encounter or a helping hand. Some talents are so rare, so specialised that, without careful nurturing, a person might never even realise—’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ said Duncan. ‘This could take all night. Cut to the chase: We’re time travellers. That’s what this is. We’re time travellers.’

I laughed, but no one else did. ‘Time travellers?’

‘Yes,’ said Mahdi with more than a hint of pride. ‘We travel—’

‘—in time,’ I interrupted. ‘I get it.’ I waited for the laugh, the wink, the smirk, but it never came. They stared at me in rapt expectation. ‘Like some kind of role-playing game?’ I said.

‘No. It’s not a game,’ said Mahdi.

‘Definitely not,’ said Ruth.

‘A joke, then?’ I demanded.

‘It’s no joke, son,’ said Margaret. ‘That’s what we do.’

I looked from face to face and, in as neutral a tone as I could summon, said: ‘You’re time travellers? All of you?’

They all nodded.

‘Even the dog?’

Margaret giggled and bounced Biscuit on her lap. ‘Don’t be daft. He’s just a dog.’

‘Okay,’ I said, contemplating the safest and fastest way to exit a room full of lunatics and retreat to a safe pub and a steadying drink. ‘You’re time travellers from the year three million who like to hang about in the back room of an Edinburgh pub every Wednesday night?’

‘We’re not from the future,’ said Mahdi.

‘Outer space?’

‘No,’ said Ruth. ‘We’re all very much from here, now. We’re not spacemen from the future or anything like that. We’re just normal people, who—’

She paused, looked at the ceiling, and then swallowed hard. ‘Travel in time,’ she concluded, clearly aware how ridiculous it sounded. ‘That’s why we’re all here.’