AlexMcGilvery Array - Nano Bytes

He strummed the guitar. The fuzzy chord tickled my eardrums and the air around me started to vibrate. ‘Wait!’ I said. ‘You haven’t told me what my errand is yet!’

‘Oh yeah,’ the Professor said. ‘I almost forgot.’ He tossed me a box of chocolates. ‘I want you to go and deliver this to an old friend of mine. But that’s just your cover story; what I really want you to do is to find me an old demo tape that went missing in 1985. It should be labelled ‘Back to the Opera,’ and I’d really like to get my hands on it. It will make a great bonus track next time we reissue a remastered box set.’

I didn’t understand half of what the Professor was saying. ‘What’s a demo tape?’ I tried to ask, but although my lips were moving, no sound seemed to come out. My whole body was wobbling like jelly on a plate.

‘Don’t be more than a couple of hours,’ the Professor said. ‘I have to keep playing my guitar in order to keep the way back open for you. Turn the gain up, Adam!’

And with that, his fingers blurred on the strings of the guitar. Adam pressed a button on his laptop, and the world of 2015 vanished.

I was still in the attic, but it was dark and empty now. It might have been my imagination, but I could still hear the Professor’s guitar notes hanging in the air all around me, the only link to the world I had left behind. I had to feel around for the door to the landing, and then quietly sneak outside: the house seemed different, and evidently belonged to someone else in 1985.

Outside, though, nothing had changed. The white terraces of Kensington still looked the same. Were the road signs different? I dunno‑I never paid them much attention in 2015. The cars were the same mix of BMW’s and Mercs, although the designs were squarer and less sleek. A guy in faded blue jeans and a white Live Aid T shirt was strolling past, listening to music on oversized headphones with orange ear pads. The wire led to a big chunky box that was clipped to his belt. That settled it: this was the past alright! They probably didn’t even have computers here, let alone the internet!

I pulled out my phone and dialed home, just to see what would happen. No signal. Boring! I guess I could duck into a newsagents and check the date on the papers, or something, but then I remembered I was on the clock. I had to get back before the Professor’s fingers tired out, otherwise I’d get stuck here and wind up becoming my own mother or something crazy like that. I looked at the box of chocs I held: there was an address on the tag: Garden Lodge, Logan Place.

I knew where that was! Logan Place is a small residential street off Earl’s Court Road. I was there in ten minutes. Garden Lodge was a massive Georgian mansion surrounded by a tall brick wall. I must have walked past it many times in the past‑I mean in the future–but something looked different about it this time. I didn’t have to knock, because as I approached a dark–haired man with a thick moustache came out of the gate.

‘Are you …’ I said, looking at the tag again, ‘the Wizard?’

The man laughed. ‘No, I’m the Wizard’s hairdresser.’ He sized me up and down as if assessing my threat level, and then nodded to the gate. ‘He’s inside. Close the gate behind you.’

The gardens were beautifully manicured. Inside, the house was stylishly furnished with gilded sofas, exotic rugs and expensive paintings. I followed the sound of a man singing, and wound up in a large room with a crystal chandelier. It might once had been a dining room, but it now housed the biggest piano I had ever seen.

The man at the piano was also dark–haired and moustached. He looked tough, like he should be in a biker gang or something. Yet, he was wearing a yellow vest and white shorts and was pushing the piano pedals with bare feet. The melody was light, and his voice was a rich, and operatic. There were cats sitting all around listening to him play.

‘Oooh, la de da … music can’t save me … think I’m going ga ga. If you don’t come back to me, la de da … then I’ll go … I’ll go … la la la …’

He spotted me and stopped playing.

‘Well, hello there,’ he said. ‘What do you think the next line should be?’

I suddenly felt the weight of fate crushing down on me, and my lips moved silently for a few seconds before I managed to squeak: ‘I’ll go back to the opera?’

He flashed me a toothy grin. ‘I like it. I like you. Where did you suddenly appear from?’

The future! I wanted to say. ‘Your hairdresser let me in,’ I actually said.

‘Oh did he now?’ the Wizard said. ‘Well, I will deal with him later. What have you brought me? Chocolates but no flowers? Really, darling!’

Did he just call me darling? I handed over the chocs. ‘The Professor sent them.’

‘I don’t know any professors,’ he said, flipping the lid. ‘Well, how sweet: one for every month of the year.’ He popped one in his mouth. ‘Would you like August?’

‘No thanks,’ I said, wanting to avoid some horrible time paradox that interfering with the gift might bring about. ‘What you doing?’ I said, looking for a reason to stick around.

‘Oh, just lazing on a Sunday afternoon,’ he said. He pressed a button on a chunky machine and took out a clear plastic rectangle with a reel of tape inside. The demo tape!

He labelled the tape with a marker pen and tossed it on a nearby chaise longue. ‘Well, it’s hard work composing a number one hit. You know what we need? Cigarettes and champagne! Do you want some?’

‘I’m twelve!’ I told him.

‘Oh. Well, maybe just a cigarette then. They’re low tar!’

The phone rang, and the Wizard moved across the room and caught the receiver just as one of his cats knocked it off. It was big chunky phone with a cord! ‘Bob!’ he said to whoever had called. ‘No, no, no, my dear–it was my pleasure. Who can resist Wembley? Too loud? Well, it was nothing to do with me! Who complained? Bono! Well, tell that jumped–up little diva …’

While this went on, I edged over to the chaise longue to try and get my hands on the precious demo tape. But the moment I was in arm’s reach, a massive tortoiseshell cat jumped up and sat on the tape.

The Wizard wound up his call and came over to find me sat next to the cat, stroking it while trying to slip my hand under its massive butt. ‘Meet Delilah,’ he said. ‘Delilah, meet …’

‘Lauren,’ I said.

‘Do you like cats, Lauren?’ the Wizard asked.

‘I love them!’ I said, honestly.

‘Oh, so do I,’ he said. ‘I think I love them more than people some days. So long as I have cats and music in my old age, I think I’ll be happy. Of course, a big house like this helps, but happiness is all that’s really important.’ He went over to a rack of vinyl. ‘What music do you like?’

‘Um …’ I said, trying to think of a band or artist we both might have heard of. ‘I quite like Madonna.’

The Wizard gave a haughty sniff. ‘Well, she has some spunk, I dare say, but if she thinks she’s the queen of pop then she really has another thing coming.’ He went and placed a plastic disc on a turntable and dropped the needle. ‘I love rock, I love pop, but I really love opera, and this woman is opera royalty. Montserrat Caballé‑I would absolutely kill to meet and work with her one day.’

A hiss, a crackle, and then an epic noise filled every inch of the large room.

And while we listened, I managed to squeeze my hand under Delilah’s rump, and pull out the demo tape. It was slightly damp.

The Wizard came over to sit with me. He immediately sprang up again, though. ‘Delilah!’ he screamed. ‘You make me mad when you pee all over my Chippendale suite!’