Fast Forward Read online

  I clicked on ‘About Fast Forwards’ and it pretty much said what Liliana had told me. I then clicked on ‘Experiences’, which brought up six listings. Most under aliases, but a few used a first name. I clicked on ‘Jessica’ and my eyes scanned through the words as quickly as they could. She was twenty nine when her fast forward happened and just about to leave for a backpacking trip around Europe. On the morning of her departure, she woke to find herself forty one, unmarried and childless, living on the streets, addicted to drugs and alcohol. Her experience lasted three days and sounded awful, going from completely sober and clean to desperate for a fix.

  When she returned to the past, she still left for her overseas trip but did one thing differently. She avoided getting involved with the man who introduced her to drugs and kept up her supply of alcohol. Her fast forward had shown her who this man was and despite his charms the second time around, she resisted, knowing too well the outcome if she didn’t. An update posted at the bottom of her entry on the website said that Jessica was now thirty nine and working as a drug rehabilitation counsellor, married to a wonderful man with her first baby on the way.

  Rob’s story was also interesting. An aspiring guitarist in a band with his friends, he’d just finished a business degree at twenty years old when his father died. Not long after, he quit the band, deciding to focus on ‘doing his father proud’ by following in his footsteps in the business world.

  A year into his new job, his fast forward sent him ten years into the future to a life of success but without the freedom and happiness he desired. On anti-depressants, he had gained a pile of weight and found it hard to get up in the morning. He lasted a week in the future, struggling with the demands placed on him at work, in a job he barely understood, causing his boss to call him into his office for a final warning to prove his competence. Not only that, his old band mates had recruited a new guitarist and were now topping the charts with four albums having been released so far.

  When he woke aged twenty again, he realised his father wouldn’t have wanted him to end up unhappy like that and he’d only done the degree because he thought it was expected of him. So he took a year off to focus on his music, encouraging his band mates to record a demo album which went on to become signed by a big record label. Rob was now thirty one and, although I didn’t recognise the name of his band—Sons of Silver—apparently everyone else in this day and age did!

  My heart raced on reading the next experience. Someone calling themselves Polly had not only jumped ten years into the future, but was still in the future. She didn’t say which year it was so I didn’t know if she was in my here and now, or even further in the future, just that after turning forty she woke up fifty. Hallelujah! Someone besides me who knew what a shock it was, not that she had as far to go as I had, though.

  She’d been an up and coming politician, only to be wrenched from her impending success to a future where she was no longer a politician, but a political journalist. And after four years in her fast forward—yes, four! She was still there, clueless as to why and resigned to the fact she may never get to go home to her old life. What if I was stuck here for months or years, like Polly?

  I read through the rest of the experiences, spellbound by how interesting and varied they were, although none of them had jumped as far ahead into the future as I had. I clicked on ‘Submit an experience’, opening a very detailed form. It had to include my name and contact details in order to be considered for publication on the site, no doubt to prevent frauds from making something up, not that it would totally deter them though. I was tempted to write something, to tell of my experience so far, but it wasn’t over yet. I vowed to remember the website name if—no, when—I returned home. I realised that the website might not exist twenty five years in the past, but it would be worth checking anyway when the time came.

  But what if I never got back? Fear and doubt took residence in my mind, pushing out some of the hope that sat there earlier. No. No, I couldn’t let negative thoughts take over. Most of these people got to go home and improve their lives. It had to happen for me too. Only, I couldn’t think how to make my life better. It was already what I wanted, although I’d certainly keep up a consistent exercise and beauty regime throughout life from now on.

  I glanced around the car park, which was fast emptying as customers left and before I knew it my finger had pressed on Selena’s phone number in the contacts list. I still hadn’t spoken to my best friend and longed to talk to her.

  It went straight through to her assistant’s voicemail again. Some assistant, never even answered the bloody phone! Frustrated, I drew in a sharp breath and leaned my head back on the seat. A wave of sadness rolled through me as I remembered what Kasey had told me about Dad. If only we’d stayed in contact more often, if only he hadn’t moved overseas, if only he hadn’t gotten sick, if only …

  An idea struck me. If he’s dead, then he might be buried at the same cemetery as Mum. I turned on the car and told her I’d like to go to Goldwood Cemetery. Miss Car asked me to clarify whether I wanted Goldwood Cemetery North or Goldwood Cemetery West. I didn’t know for sure, but North seemed more likely. I’d know it when I saw it, unless they’d revamped it beyond recognition, which didn’t often happen with cemeteries, did it? Well, they must have run out of room for all the bodies, because at Mum’s funeral there’d been heaps of land available and now there were two cemeteries. I even imagined myself being buried there one day, near Mum—and now, Dad—but it seemed I’d have to settle for the West location instead.

  I followed the directions and arrived just under ten minutes later. I glanced at the dashboard. There was still time to make it back home to get ready for the party, as long as I didn’t stay here too long.

  Goldwood Cemetery looked different from what I remembered, although it still lent some recognition. It still had my insides twisting up inside me on entering the grounds and I was right about them running out of room. A sign at the entrance said the cemetery was complete and showed a map of its western counterpart, almost as though it was flashing a neon ‘no vacancies’ sign, like on a motel.

  Sorry to those on their deathbeds, we’re all out of rooms. Why don’t you try down the road at the other place, I hear the view is to die for.

  I shook the ridiculous thoughts from my mind as I stepped from the car and wandered down the main pathway, instinctively remembering the approximate whereabouts of Mum’s permanent abode. The large tree in the centre of the cemetery still stood and I turned to the left just beyond it, passed seven graves until I stopped at the foot of my mother’s.

  Diana Crawford—Now at Peace.

  Glancing at the empty vase, I cursed at not thinking to stop off to buy flowers. They should have flower vending machines here; it was the future after all. Staring at Mum’s grave, I almost forgot why I was there, until I allowed my gaze to drift to the grave on the right.

  Malcolm Crawford—Forever at Peace.

  The shock of seeing it for the first time took my legs from under me and I crumpled forwards onto my knees, my hands grasping the foot of the grave.

  “Dad,” I whispered, my voice shaking at the realisation. “It’s not fair,” I cried, leaning forward and resting my cheek against the cold stone. “Why did you have to go so soon?”

  A warm tear slid down my face and onto the grave where it cooled into a tiny puddle against my cheek. I knew that in my old life he was still alive but right now I was here, in the future, in a world my dad was no longer a part of and the pain was just as real as it had been after Mum’s passing.

  I lifted myself from the grave and wiped at my face with the heel of my hand, my legs tucked under me on the ground. “I’ll come back for you, Dad. I’ll make sure you never leave us.”

  I caught a glimpse of the candy pink sunset on the horizon before I closed my eyes and my mind travelled back in time—way back in time—to when I was a kid hanging out with my dad on a building site. They weren’t as strict about hard hats and safety back t
hen, and Dad would often bring me along to check out his current projects on the weekends. We’d walk through the timber forest of the house-in-progress, as Dad explained the frame was like a skeleton that would hold everything else up. It was the most important part of the house, yet once completed it would be invisible, just like our own skeleton. “Sometimes it’s what you can’t see that’s most important,” he’d say.

  We’d bring a picnic bag of sandwiches and eat them on the floor of the dining-room-to-be, and I’d tell him where all the various pieces of furniture should go. Once, he lifted me up to the second level of a house, as there were no stairs built yet and then he caught me when I jumped back down. He was strong, my dad. His shoulders could carry a mountain if they had to. Thinking about what Kasey had told me, they probably had in a manner of speaking. He’d stuck with Mum throughout her illness and addiction and the subsequent knowledge of her betrayal. Despite all this, he never left. He kept our home intact, never daring to rock the foundations.

  “What colour should this room be, Kelli?” he’d ask me, as we walked through bare rooms.

  The colour wheel I’d learned about in school would spin in my mind and then it would stop right on the perfect colour for each room. I just knew what would look right, what would feel right. I’d imagine curtains, lamps, tables displaying candles and photo frames, fluffy rugs on the floor, and beautiful framed pictures on the walls. While Dad focused on the skeleton of the house, I’d see the skin, the body of the house come to life before my eyes. Those times with Dad were my happiest memories of him.

  After one such day, I couldn’t wait to get back home and add more designs to the scrapbook I’d been making. On the front I’d written ‘Kelli’s Designs’ in pink and purple swirling letters and inside were drawings of all the things that made a home beautiful. I’d been so pleased with myself, I went to show my scrapbook to Dad but he was on the phone, so I peered into the lounge room where Mum lay on the couch in front of the television.

  “Whatcha got there?” she’d asked.

  Pleased she was showing interest, I sat next to her and held out my scrapbook as the scent of alcohol floated around me from her breath. I didn’t mind, I was just glad she was paying me some attention. Until she took the book from me and turned each page over with a sharp flick.

  “What are these all about?” she’d asked, to which I’d replied, “I’m designing homewares and maybe one day I can actually get them made. I’d love that, it would be my dream.” I’d twirled a strand of my straight hair around my finger until it slid from my grasp when she looked at me with what appeared to be anger.

  “Why are you wasting time on this? Forget about following a silly dream, Kelli. Life doesn’t turn out how we want it to.” My heart had raced and I’d stood up defensively. “Look at you!” she’d continued. “You shouldn’t waste your looks by hiding away in your room with paper and pencils. You’re meant for the spotlight, Kelli. Not for this … childish hobby!”

  In her moment of anger—or possibly even jealousy—she tore the page from my book and ripped it in half with a jarring sound that made me shudder. It still made me shudder every time it intruded on my memory. In that moment, all confidence in my ability and sense of achievement was ripped in half too.

  Glancing at Mum’s grave, my lips clamped tight, I picked up a clump of dirt from the ground and threw it at the headstone where it dispersed into a spray of dust. On that awful day, I’d run from the room in tears to my dad, who’d calmed me down before going into the lounge room and shutting the door.

  Muffled shouting travelled through the walls and then Mum’s sobbing. She must have taken some tablets because she slept the rest of the day. Dad taped my pages back together but it wasn’t the same. Nothing could patch up what had happened. The picture I could draw again but I couldn’t redo that moment.

  My lips trembled with sadness and nostrils flared with anger as I stared at the dusty headstone. Within seconds, I brushed off the dust with my fingers and blew it away with whatever breath was left in my lungs. Liliana’s words echoed in my ears … she wants to tell you she’s sorry. I knew Mum wasn’t herself that day. I knew she was in a bad way and was frustrated she couldn’t follow her dreams. I knew she probably envied me, which was why I went along with the modelling jobs. It made her happy, at least for a while. She kept saying how proud she was of me and I kept wanting to hear it. She wants to tell you she’s sorry.

  “I know you are, Mum. I know,” I said out loud, my finger tracing the frame around her photo. I wrapped my arms around the headstone, allowing a few remaining tears to slide down my face. “I forgive you.” A light breeze circled my body as though embracing me too and for a fleeting moment I believed that Mum would be proud of me—and of KC Interiors.

  Even though I didn’t know anything about the company until recently, in this life I’d obviously worked hard to get it to where it was today. My muscles softened and a slight sense of achievement brushed over me. The achievement I’d felt after working on my scrapbook. It had been buried away but was now rising from its grave.

  My tears dried and I stood, glancing at the sky which had transformed from candy pink to dusty salmon. I checked the time on my e-pad. I’d only need to change into something nice for the party, considering my hair and make-up had already been done. Although after all the crying, I’d need to touch it up a little and that shouldn’t take too long. Before heading back to the car, I opened Foogle on my e-pad screen and searched for KC Interiors.

  Pages and pages of results showed up, but I clicked on the main website. It repeated what I’d told Mr Turrow in the meeting, but also had a gallery of pictures of all our products and information on upcoming designs that were currently in production. There was a listing of all our stores, as well as stockists of some of our most popular products. Our latest news section revealed that beginning the following year we would be implementing an in-home decorating consultation service and there was a form for people to register their interest.

  There was also a photo of our head office staff; a smiling team of fourteen—including yours truly. Diora was in the photo too and scrolling down to the staff profiles I discovered that she was head of the marketing team—a surprise, but it made sense considering her personality—and was currently on maternity leave. No surprises there. Ryan wasn’t in the photo, so he obviously spent all his time bungy jumping and making—ahem—music.

  Maybe I could get back in touch with designing when I got home to the past. I mean as well as the modelling. I still wanted to grace those catwalks and revel in the familiarity of flashing lights. A woman could do both, couldn’t she? Especially now I knew I could do it.

  Maybe Grant would invest in the business with me? He could take all the photos of the products and bring out the best in them, like he did with me. But would the business have the same success with Grant a part of it? Would he even want to be a part of it? My mind flashed back to Will at the meeting and how nervous yet eager he’d been. How happy he was afterwards on winning Mr Turrow over. KC Interiors was his life, his passion.

  I closed the website and the door on my thoughts, and tried calling Selena. Met once again with voicemail, I typed her name into Foogle and clicked on images.

  Holy cow! I was surprised to see what she now looked like. Still beautiful, but … well, you could tell she’d had some work done. Her lips appeared stung by a bee and her eyebrows were in a permanent state of surprise. I clicked on one of the pictures which led to an article titled: I should have Stopped after Three Surgeries, where Selena openly confessed regretting the fourth procedure, saying it had gone too far. I also found a video of Selena accepting her Oscar and felt a twinge of pride at her achievement. In the video her eyebrows were about half an inch lower than the post-surgery brows and I agreed she should have left it at that.

  A text message beeped and flashed on my screen, followed immediately by another one. The first was from Ryan.

  When will u be back? Hope u have enough time to
get ready. R.

  I texted him back with: On my way now.

  The second message was from CareLab:

  This message is to confirm your appointment for a mammogram at 9am on Tuesday.

  Oh joy! So there’s a fancy brain scanning device available in the future but nothing so advanced for boobs. Wonderful.

  I brushed specks of dirt from my clothing and walked to the car, but not before glancing back at the graves, now sheltered from the setting sun by the tall tree to the left. Its branches cast skeletal patterns across the stone, just like the timber in the houses Dad used to build. “See you soon, Dad.”

  Chapter 13

  Forty Five Minutes to Go

  “Life is just one damned thing after another.”

  – American proverb

  Thankfully, Miss Car remembered where I lived and safely helped me navigate home. If I’d gone into the past instead of the future I would have had no hope, unless there were carriages driven by horses with photographic memories.

  Despite living fairly close to the city, my house was situated in suburbia heaven. I pulled into Bellbird Drive, welcomed by rows of round, silver encased lights forming a dotted edge along each side of the road. I frowned on noticing there weren’t any power lines. None at all. Maybe everything was solar powered, or maybe someone—my sister, probably—had discovered an unlimited source of renewable energy and electricity had been given the flick. I chuckled at the thought.

  I drove into the driveway of number nine. A middle-aged woman in leggings and a top too tight for her figure stopped trimming her rose bushes to wave at me from next door. The garage was closed and I didn’t know how the heck to open it, so I parked on the driveway and stepped out of the car.

  “Hi Kelli,” she said.

  “Hi …” strange woman I’ve never met.

  “Nice evening, eh?”

  I nodded. “Sure is.”

  “You got a party on tonight or somethin’?” she asked with a frown, gesturing to the house with her hedge clippers.