If Only...

Marcus grunted. Change one instance in his life. He had hundreds of regrets. However, one occasion, above all others, stood out in his memory.

Closing his eyes, he relived the moment again, as he had countless times before.

Top of the class at school, Karen may have been nerdy, but she looked beautiful to Marcus. Shy around girls, when Marcus asked her out it surprised him when she agreed. They arranged to meet outside a local cinema. Marcus arrived in his best clothes, to discover a dismally wet and dark cinema thronging with people. He'd been unable to find her. After a futile search, he selected a prominent spot near the front door and waited for her to come. The rain soaked him for over an hour before he assumed that Karen would never appear. He left: broken-hearted.

At school on the following Monday, Marcus asked where she had been. She told him she had been by the hoardings. Despite his protestations, she accused him of standing her up and refused to speak to him again.

For the remainder of his teenage years, he knew that one moment altered profoundly the course of his life, for the worse. The regret burned deeply in his mind. Now, it seemed, he had a chance to put it right.

He had his doubts that such a marvel held any truth. Spam explained it better. He knew of countless e-mail hoaxes, this had to be a fake.

For some reason he could not fathom, he did not delete it out of hand.

Over the next three weeks, the message remained in his e-mail system. A nagging feeling gnawed at the back of his mind. He looked around his three-roomed flat. He thought of his dead-end job, his empty life. He had been alone for many months now. None of his relationships lasted beyond a month. He gazed at the faded picture of a teenage girl with dark hair and glasses, taped beside the computer: his one memento of Karen.

He had nothing to lose.

The next evening, Marcus discovered a mail from DynaTyme. It had a whiff of professionalism in the easy to understand language. The line that caught his eye stated that he would receive a full refund should the procedure not work as advertised. A full refund of five thousand pounds.

Marcus almost deleted the message there and then. Five grand. He had a little more than that in savings. He felt his heart catch at the thought of the amount. Scammers remained a possibility. He agonised for a further week before he clicked the button to indicate his interest. It took him to their website to create an account. Within a few minutes, five thousand lighter, he had instructions to go to a building near Euston station. They offered appointment dates. His finger poised for several long seconds over the button, time spent soul-searching. He remembered Karen's anguished face when he had spoken to her after the mix-up. He stabbed the button hard.

A drizzly rain-soaked Marcus walked the short distance from Euston station. DynaTyme occupied the top floor of an unprepossessing four-storey building with dark windows.

He wished he had brought a raincoat, and sought shelter on the opposite side of the street under an awning. He clutched his appointment details in one hand thrust deep into his pocket. Pedestrians hurried by under black umbrellas, hunched to ward off the chill and rain. Marcus looked at the top storey where light blazed into the murk. His stomach held an unquenchable desire to run and hide. As bad ideas went, this came top of the list. It had wiped out his savings. What would he gain? A chance at reclaiming a dream long lost? Or further emptiness? Moreover, if it were a fraud, he would lose everything, and gain nothing. He should march in and demand a refund.

Rain dripped through a tear in the awning and down his neck. A deep embarrassment at being scammed gnawed at Marcus's stomach. The desire to simply leave burned through him. He started to scurry back to the station and home to his meaningless life when the door to DynaTyme opened. A man in a long trench coat appeared, silhouetted in the doorframe. He looked bewildered. Marcus knew he had little chance of learning anything, but Marcus ran over and accosted him.

"Have you just been to DynaTyme?"

The man looked at him suspiciously. After a few seconds, he nodded.

"Did it work?"

"Aye, it worked," he replied, with a thick Yorkshire accent. "But you got to hope your memory's good, lad."

With that, he strode off towards the station concourse.

Marcus felt a knot of tension unwind in the pit of his stomach. He pushed open the door into a malodourous foyer. He saw bare concrete steps climbing around a cavity, the lift shaft open and cabless. Fitful illumination cast awkward shadows around the stairs. The cold air held a damp smell. Marcus's nose wrinkled in distaste. At the foot of the stairs, he paused. Held back by his doubts, urged on by his dreams. The procedure worked, but what if he misremembered the date and time?

Marcus shook his head and dispelled his fears. He absolutely knew the date and time. That moment had been with him since he was fourteen. He would never be able to forget it.

As he climbed, the foetid air held a faint scent of urine. The light from naked bulbs could not scatter the shadows in abandoned offices. An inauspicious setting for any company. Marcus rationalised that DynaTyme wanted to remain inconspicuous. Leadenly, he climbed one step at a time.

Winded and red-faced, he emerged onto a landing painted bright yellow, lilac scented air fresheners holding the damp and mould smell at bay. Frosted doors slid open as he approached, allowing Marcus to see the DynaTyme's logo in a well-lit studio. Polished wooden flooring and tall windows drew Marcus' eyes to a remarkable machine as he entered.

The device transfixed Marcus. Violet liquid bubbled through a mass of chunky pipes. A bank of electronics flashed waves of coloured lights beside a perspex dome. Wires and cables crisscrossed between components without any attempt at concealment. If Marcus had dreamed of how a time machine should look, he would never have dreamt up the Frankenstein monstrosity that confronted him.

The machine mesmerised him to the extent that he did not immediately notice the raven-haired woman that approached him with an electronic clipboard.

"Good evening," she said.

Marcus turned, startled. "Uh, hello. I'm here about DynaTyme."

"I'll need to ask you a couple of questions." She indicated a couch under a window. "Please, take a seat."

Marcus sat, his gaze now wholly on the woman. She fascinated him. Her beauty made him feel as though he had known her all his life. She folded herself gracefully into the seat. Her skirt clung to her legs with a grace Marcus would never know. She wore a simple white blouse, unbuttoned to reveal her exquisite neck. Delicate features and soft brown eyes held his attention as she recapped the process. Karen momentarily vanished from his thoughts.

"Do you have a date in mind?"

He gave her the date. "What if it's wrong?"

She shrugged; an elegant movement that made Marcus' pulse race. "At the end of your five minutes, if you fail, you will come back here."

"And I get the refund?"

"No." She pursed her lips. "I'm afraid the refund is only available if I'm unable to send you back at all. If you are successful, I will not make any money, for you will have changed the past. You will have had no reason to accept the invitation."

The stranger's words outside the building echoed in Marcus' mind. He had to be sure of the date and time. A gamble sure; but he relived the evening in the rain so frequently, he knew he was right.

"That's fine," he managed to say, his voice cracking.

"Do you have a time in mind?"

"Seven." Marcus panicked and quickly added: "PM."

"This is your last chance to pull out," she told him. "Are you sure?"

Through a dry throat, Marcus nodded: "Yes."

He swallowed hard, committed now. A part of his mind realised that when he was successful, he would not have spent anything. He ignored the errant thought, for it confused him.

"Do many succeed?" he asked.

She glanced at him, her features softening. "I believe some must do, but I have no way of knowing."

Marcus allowed her to lead him into the dome. "How will I know when I'm there?"

She inserted the clipboard into a slot on the main computer and tapped a few keys. "Your consciousness will be projected back into your younger self. You cannot help but know when you have arrived. Make good use of your time there. I hope you are successful."

An electrostatic field snapped into place around the dome. Marcus resisted the urge to touch the coruscating purple air and looked instead at the machine. Bubbles moved more rapidly through the fluid. A hum emanated from the apparatus, reaching an unbearable level of pitch. The air wavered, as though in a heat haze. The din reached a crescendo. Then:

Silence. Marcus realised he had closed his eyes. He thought he had died. Slowly sounds returned. Rain plastered his hair to his head. He opened his eyes to peer through rain-streaked glasses. His mind felt foggy, his limbs dangled awkwardly as though not his own. Nausea welled up from the pit of his stomach. With an effort, he looked around.

The cinema!

For a long moment, he stared in wonder at the boxy building and neon signs. People in ridiculously outdated clothing jostled about him. Rain gurgled through gutters. Laughter and conversations assailed him from every side, the scent of popcorn drifting through the downpour every time the doors hissed open. Marcus inhaled deeply at the strong aroma of popcorn and wet earth. He felt giddy and alive for the first time in many years.

He forced himself to calm down. How long had he wasted just relishing the experience? Panicking slightly, Marcus pushed his way through the crowds to run past the lobby, his gawky limbs moved with a mind of their own.

Under the limited protection of an advertising hoarding, Marcus saw a vision that filled his whole soul with joy. Hair hanging in rain-saturated rattails, Karen saw him through her rain-smeared glasses, a smile bursting across her face.

The scene receded, wrapping his senses in mist. The world stretched into a long tunnel of awareness. Then: nothing.

The email surprised Marcus when he received it. Normally his spam filter would filter such inanity before he saw it. He read, increasingly incredulous. Time travel? Nevertheless, it made him think back to Karen, and the four years they had spent together. In his mind, they were the happiest times of his life.

Marcus sighed. Perched atop his computer a holocube depicted a captured moment from youthful bliss. Karen had been smart, funny and yet endearingly naive. Marcus picked it up. A slight shake activated the short sequence of them laughing on a beach. A smile creased his worn features. Marcus accepted responsibility for their split. He thought back to that night, and the smile vanished.

"Karen," he murmured. Nobody else could mean as much to him as she did. He had lost track of her after college. She had probably gone on to university, she had the ability.

Marcus expelled the air he had unconsciously held in a long stream and returned the holocube to its privileged position. Many years had passed. He wondered if she remembered him. Marcus allowed himself to fall into his favourite fantasy, one where his stupidity did not happen, where he lived happily ever after.

His gaze returned to the advertisement on the screen. The idea that it might be disingenuous never crossed his mind. Instead, he believed this offered a chance to correct a travesty.

When Marcus clicked the link and signed up, the amount shocked him into indecision. He'd never been able to save five thousand pounds. He stared at the screen for a long time, circular thoughts running around his mind. The chance it offered tempted him. He could right his biggest wrong. If they didn't send him back, he'd get the money back. If they did, he'd never have spent the money. That seemed like a win-win situation.

He looked around his small flat. Where could he get that kind of money? He searched the internet for short-period loans, applied, got the money and sent it off within minutes. Easy!

Following the directions from Euston station, Marcus glanced nervously around the neighbourhood. He could not believe that any legitimate business operated in this deprived area. The DynaTyme building dispelled his worries. Standing out from the desolation with a clean and well-maintained facade. A hairdresser and a busy sandwich shop operated from the ground floor. Despite the area's general decline, here the trend reversed. Inner-city revitalisation spread from DynaTyme like ripples in a pond. The sight buoyed Marcus' diminished spirits. A discrete plaque marked DynaTyme's premises. Marcus stepped inside.

A short, well-lit passageway led to some marble steps and a lift. Not wishing to climb four flights of stairs, Marcus took the lift.

As the doors closed, he glanced at his reflection in a mirror on the back wall. He looked awful, stubble on his chin, his glasses cracked, and his hair greying and tousled. He barely recognised himself. Disgusted, he turned away and stabbed the button for the top floor.

Marcus emerged into a pleasant foyer. Frosted glass doors swished open as he approached, admitting him into a small waiting area. Comfortable chairs and a coffee table adorned with magazines were the room's only contents. A single door led off to his left. With no obvious options, Marcus sat in one of the chairs. He looked around the room. A troublesome sense of the familiar disturbed him. He felt uneasy here, he wanted to bolt.

Marcus started to leave, but the inner door opened. Two women emerged, the shorter of the two with tears making her eyes sparkle. Marcus watched as the taller woman consoled her. She looked over at Marcus, their eyes locked. Marcus felt his heart thud in his chest. His breathing became shallow. She reminded him of Karen, but more elegant and glasses-free. A puzzled look crossed her face, creasing her smooth brow.

Marcus struggled for something to say. He had always been awkward around women, and one this beautiful stole his senses. She wore an elegant blue suit and a white blouse. Black hair framed an oval face, unlined by age.

She broke the ice. "Have we met before?"

Marcus wanted to say a witty retort. Instead, he managed to stammer: "I don't think so."

With her other customer gone, she took the chair next to him, unrolling her electronic notepad. A brief resume ended with: "Now, there are a couple of questions. Do you have a date and time in mind?"

She noted down his response, and asked: "Are you sure?"

"Does it matter? If it's wrong, I'll get my money back. Right?"

She shook her head. "If I send you back successfully, and you fail, that is no fault of mine. If you are even slightly unsure of the date, then I suggest you do not go through with the procedure."

Marcus stared into space. There was a chance he had the time wrong. It had been a long evening, he could only guess at when he had screwed up. Some inner sense told him to go ahead. He nodded.

"I'm sure." A weight lifted from his mind. He could only go forwards now, or, rather, backwards. A small giggle escaped his constricted throat. The woman looked at him strangely.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Marcus grimaced, embarrassed. "What's to stop me from assassinating the pope?"

"You only have five minutes." She glanced at the notepad. "Have you ever been in a position to kill him?"

Marcus shrugged. "No. I guess not."

She stood and smoothed down her skirt. "Come this way."

The room beyond the inner door held a fantastic machine, conceived from the imagination of Escher. Viscous liquids bubbled through arching pipes, cables dangled from support struts surrounding a computer system embedded in its throbbing heart. Pulsating lights and dials lent a surreal air to the apparatus. Marcus had imagined something like Wells' time machine, not this monstrosity.

"Stand in the dome, please."

Marcus gave the enchantress one last glance before meekly stepping into the bubble. The sense of deja vu threatened to overwhelm him as she moved to a terminal and slipped the notepad into a waiting slot. A shimmering field closed off the dome from the room. The bubbles in the pipes became more frantic, the lights flashed in erratic patterns. A pervasive hum jeopardised his hearing. Marcus' pulse raced, and his breathing quickened. Then:

Marcus' felt disorientated. He thought he might throw up. Lights flashed and music throbbed, exacerbating his nausea. Colours sparkled around his vision. He shook his head to make sense of the scene. His hands rested on a Formica table populated with empty bottles. The plastic chair creaked as he moved. In front of him, a polished wooden floor thronged with dancers.

He remembered. He and Karen always went to the annual cricket-club party, for it coincided with the anniversary of their first date. Slowly his thoughts coalesced into meaning. Where was Karen? Was he too late? Marcus glanced at his watch. He could not stop the amazement he felt for travelling through time. It drowned any other thoughts. An idiotic grin appeared briefly on his face before he forced the euphoria into the background. Only when he had corrected his mistake could he allow himself to be happy.

Sweat trickled down his neck. Marcus removed his glasses to clean the condensation off them.

Through the crowded dance floor, she came: a fantasy in white leather. Her hips swayed to the music. Long blonde hair fell in waterfall waves around her bare shoulders. She fixed her gaze solely on Marcus. He could feel the heat rising in his face. She leaned forward when she reached him, her cleavage in full view. A sharpened fingernail raised his chin so their eyes met. Marcus swallowed, embarrassed.

"How about you and me leave this joint and go back to my place?" Her seductive voice of honey and cream almost broke his resolve.

Marcus shook his head free. "I'm sorry. You must have mistaken me for someone else." The line rolled easily from his tongue, practised a thousand times. "I'm here with somebody who actually cares for me. Go and find some other sucker for your boyfriend to beat up."

She turned and stormed off in a huff. Karen appeared with disbelief in her eyes, two bottles of lager dangling from her hands.

"Marcus!" She sounded thrilled. "Nobody else would have turned down a dream date like that for me, but you."

She kissed him passionately. Marcus felt the world dissolve. Sounds took on a distant quality. Relief filled his being. Then: nothing.

Marcus let his forehead rest against the door. The rent collector had gone away this time, but for how much longer? Head drooped, he returned to his desk, skirting the unmade bed. He barely glanced at the sheets. They needed washing, but he didn't care. Flicking the computer on, he allowed it to upload his day's e-mails.

A tattered holocube atop the computer flickered accusingly at him. He took it down and stared into a happier past.

"This is your fault," he told the girl in the picture. "If you hadn't left I'd still have a job. I paid your way through university, you ungrateful cow. What did you give me in return? Nothing."

He made to throw the cube across the decrepit bed-sit. His arm went through the motions, but his hand refused to let the cube fly. He pressed it to his forehead, sobs shaking his body.

"Why did you go?" he asked the air. "I bet you've got some cushy job in Scotland now." Marcus laughed bitterly. "A Ph bloody D in quantum mechanics. What sort of job do you get after that?"

Tears flowed through the maniacal laughter. With a gulp of bottled beer, Marcus knocked back a couple of anti-depressants.

His gaze caught the flashing advertisement in his email.

"Yeah. I know exactly what moment I'd change." He stabbed the button. "I'd change my entire life. That's what I'd change."

Marcus baulked at how much they wanted. The drinks and drugs cleared from his mind, he could not believe he had responded to the advert and clicked the link.

"It's just a scam," he muttered.

Nevertheless, it intrigued him. He carried on reading. He couldn't raise five grand. He had been blacklisted so often that he no longer received credit card offers. However, the temptation existed. He still remembered his previous hazy thoughts. He still knew the exact moment he would change, and how he would change it.

A visit to the loanshark on the ground floor solved the money issue. If this turned out to be a scam, Marcus knew he would have to skip town. He could never repay it. Nothing kept him tied to his wasted life. A fresh start somewhere new had been on the cards for a while.

DynaTyme's office occupied the wealthy heart of a prosperous district around Euston station. They had a four-storey building with box trees by the front door. Marcus felt out of place in the sophisticated foyer. He loitered by the main desk, manned by a busy receptionist. On the chrome surface, he could see his reflection. Perhaps he should have splashed out on a razor before coming. He looked like a vagrant. While he nervously waited, he looked around. Wooden screens and potted plants broke up the opulence. Glass enclosed offices occupied the outside walls. By a lift in the centre of the room, a couple argued. Over from the reception desk, some easy chairs surrounded a coffee table scattered with magazines.

"Good afternoon." The receptionist's sunny tones dragged Marcus back to her.

"I have an appointment. My name is -"

"We don't use names here," said the receptionist. She typed on the computer beside her. "We like to grant our clients anonymity. Could I have the time of your appointment?"

Marcus gave it to her.

"Ah, here we are. Your temporal coordinator today will be Kyle Robbins."

Marcus followed the extended finger to one of the glass-walled offices.

"Good afternoon," smiled Kyle, shaking Marcus' hand. "There are a couple of questions I'll need to ask before I take you through."

"Fire away," said Marcus. He began to feel overwhelmed and jittery. He had an inexplicable feeling that it should not be this way. Familiarity jarred with reality.

Kyle started to give the company spiel. Marcus told him to skip it.

"Fine. Can I have the date and time?" Kyle had a friendly smile.

Marcus gave him the date and time etched onto his brain through countless iterations of blame and self-recrimination. The date Karen left.

"Are you ready to go through with this, or do you have any questions?"

"Let's get it over with."

Kyle led Marcus to the lift and keyed it open. As they rose, Marcus faced the door, unwilling to see his reflection in the mirror behind him. He felt duplicitous. A plan had formed, the duplicitous nature bothered him slightly. A small shred of decency nagged at him as they neared the top floor.

The doors opened into an airy room with a polished wood floor. Tall windows sparkled with the sun. Shafts of sunlight highlighted the time machine against the far wall. Tubes and pipes glistened as an oily liquid throbbed through them. Wires and cables swung dangerously loose between computer banks. A woman operating the machine had her back to Marcus as Kyle led him towards a perspex dome.

"Just about ready," she said.

Marcus jolted at the sound of her voice. The soft tone awoke dormant memories.

A sizzling field snapped into place around Marcus. A buzzing sound rose in pitch from the machine. The lights on the computer began to flash in an erratic rhythm. The woman turned to face Marcus.

The look said it all.

"Karen!" Then:

Marcus steadied himself against a cupboard. His senses were swimming. His mind drifted with confusion. Looking around, he realised he had travelled back to the bedroom he had shared with Karen. Marcus sat on the bed, his reflection looking back at him from the mirror. He could hear Karen in the bathroom. He reached into the top drawer of his bedside cabinet. He took out a condom. On Karen's bedside table, she had her embroidery. He took the needle and placed it against the condom wrapper.

He recalled Karen's face before his hurtle through time. Had it been her? What did it mean? Marcus decided his conscience had caused him to hallucinate the one image that might sway his resolution. He stared at the two items in his hands. He agonised over them, unable to make a decision. The bedside alarm clocked ticked over the minute, a reminder of how long he had. If he didn't decide, he would never get the chance again.

A crash startled him. He stabbed the pin through the condom.

Karen came out of the bathroom. She looked dazed.

"Marcus?"

Marcus hurriedly thrust the condom under his pillow instead of the top drawer. Guilt welled up in his gut. Had she seen him?

"Karen?"

"What have you done?" she screamed, suddenly livid.

"I'm sorry." Marcus stood, the offending pillow blocked from view. "I thought you would stay."

"I." She paused, shaking her head. "I just sent you back. I know. I recognised you instantly. What are you doing here?"

"It was you at DynaTyme?"

She nodded urgently. "What have you come back to change?"

"I wanted you to stay, to not go to Edinburgh. I thought that if you were pregnant, you'd stay."

"Oh, Marcus." She came over to him, resting a hand on his arm. "I have to go to Edinburgh. That's where I develop the time machine."

Her tone softened, but Marcus knew her well enough to realise that something troubled her. "So?"

"Back at DynaTyme we started getting paradigm failures."

"What does that mean?"

"A paradox, Marcus. Whatever you've done caused a paradox." Her anger returned. "You have to tell me what you've done. We have to undo it."

Marcus glanced at the pillow. "What's going to happen?"

She grasped both his arms, crushing the thin muscles. "The universe will end. Time is already unravelling."

Marcus panicked. He had never been able to keep up with Karen's ideas. What she said scared him. He gestured towards the pillow and opened his mouth to speak. His sight grew faint. Sounds came tinged with distant reverberation. His mind swam. Realisation dawned: time up. What had he done? He wanted to scream but entropy tore the sound from his throat. The scene faded from view. Then: nothing.

The spam mail looked amusing.

It made Marcus remember his mistakes and missed opportunities. He thought of the condom he had found under his pillow the night after Karen went to Edinburgh. He smiled ruefully. It had been defective. Using that one may have made Karen become pregnant and stay with him.

A hand rested on his shoulder.

"Any news from Holly?" Janice asked.

Marcus glanced up at his wife. No, his life was fine. If he changed that moment, Janice would just have been a rebound affair, instead of the mother of his children. A tiny change could have a huge impact. The past belonged to memories and regrets.

"No. Just inane junk." He went to delete the message.

Janice read it over his shoulder. "There's a thought," she said, with laughter in her voice.