A Life More Ordinary

That was Then, but this is Now

There was, as the song by Prefab Sprout begins, a girl I used to know. Isn’t that how all the best stories start? A boy and a girl. Or a girl and a girl or…come on, if you haven’t got the picture by now you’ve really not been paying attention. Discrimination doesn’t live here anymore, as Cliff Richard may have once sung. Or not.

So, there was a girl I used to know. And this story starts at Christmas, because all of the best stori- oh, wait, I’ve done that bit elsewhere, forwards in time. Or was it backwards? It’s difficult to remember sometimes. Anyway, it sort of starts at Christmas, but it also started a long time before. That’s the thing about time. We see it as a strict, linear progression from moment to moment, inexorably rushing towards our final destination. But what if, and you might need to bear with me here, what if it wasn’t?

So, it was Christmas. Or very nearly. Near enough to be able to panic about all of the things left to do, but still far enough away to be able to do something about it. Four days to go then. Cards had been written and posted, because that was what people still did back then and social media posts had been posted, signing off for a few days because that was what people did now. You can choose. If you choose to send Christmas cards, then turn to Page…do you remember those books? This isn’t one of them.

As I made my way through the town centre, sidestepping to avoid oncoming children and pensioners alike, I considered my options. Late-night shopping had been reasonably successful so far in that I’d managed to get in and out of a handful of shops without screaming at anyone and having only heard Wham’s Last Christmas three times. With an hour to go before closing time, I navigated the streets of my latter teen years on autopilot, not entirely sure where I wanted to go but certain that wherever I ended up would be fine.

To my left, up on the bandstand, the Salvation Army struck up, trombones, tubas and the occasional unnecessary triangle coming together to entertain the masses with an uplifting rendition of Good King Wenceslas. Surrounding stalls stood by resolute against the chill, manned by nondescript figures touting for business, while braziers burned gently beneath hot chestnuts and a poorly stacked line of as yet unsold Christmas trees seemed to sway in time to the music like a queue of drunks at closing time. If Michael Bublé had put in a sudden appearance and burst into song, nobody would have batted an eyelid. I smiled to myself, reminded of youthful indiscretions upon these very same cobbled streets, stolen kisses and furtive fumblings in the shadows of time.

I blinked twice to clear my vision as those shadows flitted and shifted like elusive ghosts and an unexpected chill crept across my shoulders. A memory stirred and looking up to the stars overhead, I was surprised and not a little excited to see the first few snowflakes begin to tumble erratically from…from the stars. This wasn’t right; there were no clouds overhead and no snow had been forecast. Everyone knew that it didn’t really snow at Christmas anymore. And the band played on.

I caught sight of an empty bench opposite the nearby pub and while both were tempting, I decided I would be better served spending a few minutes sitting outside watching the general hubbub pass me by than battling my way to a crowded bar. Besides, the two pints that I’d had earlier probably hadn’t worked their way out of my system yet and with the drive home awaiting, I was very much of the opinion that fate could manage very well without me doing anything to piss it off at the moment. Lowering myself onto the cold, metal seat, I piled my bags up beside me in a bid to ward off any randomers who might decide that they wanted to stop by for a chat. I mean, I’ll talk to most people, but right now, what I really wanted was…time. Backwards in time…

Copyright Alec Hepburn, 2025.