Tom Graham - Life on Mars - A Fistful of Knuckles

He could barely move, so heavily did the cloying darkness weigh down on him.

‘No more mind games, you little brat! Spit it out. Get it off your chest. Then bugger off out of my head forever and leave me in peace!’

The Test Card Girl moved not a muscle. Her pale face glowed dimly.

‘My place is with Annie! And her place is with me! And when I chose to come back here, to this time, to 1973, I did the right thing! And there’s nothing you can do or say that’ll make me change my mind!’

He tried to reach her, but now he was being forced to his knees by the invisible pressure that bore down on him. He fought against it, but it was too great for him. It felt like he was being engulfed by a great avalanche of damp soil, crushing his body, filling his mouth, choking his lungs.

It’s like being buried alive …

And then, quite suddenly, everything changed. The waking nightmare vanished. The deserted high street was now bustling with people and traffic. He could see the lights of late-night newsagents and off-licenses, the illuminated windows of restaurants and chip shops, the brightly illuminated front of a cinema showing Jesus Christ Superstar. The Test Card Girl was nowhere to be seen. Manchester was just Manchester again. And there, standing outside Eleni’s Greek taverna, was Annie, stamping her feet to keep warm as she waited for him. In that moment, she seemed like an emblem for Life itself. Sam pushed from his mind the horrible memory of suffocation and death – he pulled his jacket straight and ran a hand through his hair – and then he strode forwards, resolute, uncowed, undefeated by the worst nightmares the Test Card Girl could throw at him.

Tonight isn’t for that little brat with the dolly in her arms. Tonight is for me … Me and Annie.

When Annie turned her head and caught sight of him, her sudden smile swept all horrors and fears before it, like a steel plough through snow.

Eleni’s Taverna was authentically Greek only in as much as it had moussaka on the menu and the theme from Zorba playing on an endless loop in the background. There were empty bottles of sangria hanging on the walls and a pair of castanets dangling from beneath a sombrero, all of which suggested a very confused concept of Greek life and culture. But for all that, the food was passable and the atmosphere was warm and Annie was happy and relaxed there, and that was all Sam cared about.

‘I don’t think our waiter’s really Greek,’ he confided, pouring Annie a refill of wine.

‘He sounds Greek,’ said Annie.

‘Sort of. In a strange way. But only with customers. I heard him in the kitchen shouting at the chef. He sounded like Bobby Charlton.’

‘They’ve got a model of some old buildings,’ said Annie, indicating some tourist tat sitting in an alcove.

‘Annie, it’s a model of the Colosseum,’ said Sam. And then he added: ‘You know, we should go and see it. Together.’

‘But we can see it right now, Sam, it’s just over there.’

‘No, no, I mean the real thing. In Rome.’

But she was smiling at him, teasing him.

‘I’ll take you to Rome,’ Sam declared. ‘How does that sound?’

‘It’s a long way, Sam. And expensive!’

Sam opened his mouth to say they could easily pop over for a weekend – and then reminded himself that here in 1973, flying visits to Rome were out of the league for humble DI’s like himself to afford.

‘I’ll get you there one day,’ Sam promised.

‘First Greece, then Italy,’ Annie said, raising her eyebrows. ‘You must have ants in your pants.’

‘I lead a jetset playboy lifestyle. Play your cards right and you could be part of it.’

‘A chance to live the dream, eh? How can I refuse?’

Live the dream. Is that all Sam was doing – living a dream, a fantasy? It was the thought that had been haunting him for so long, that none of this existed outside of his own head.

It exists, he told himself. It’s real. It’s more real than life in 2006, anyway. Stop thinking about all that. Don’t let the doubts gnaw away at you like this.

He was determined to rid his mind of all the poison planted there by the Test Card Girl. When he was with Annie, the world made more sense. It seemed right and natural to be sitting with her in a restaurant – even in this place – sharing a bottle of wine and just joking around. His place was with Annie. He knew that, deep inside, without reservation. And he was damned if he was going to let anyone or anything destroy that feeling. To hell with the Test Card Girl and her song-and-dance routines; they were nothing – wisps of smoke rising from his subconscious – bad dreams to be woken up from and forgotten.

And yet. And yet.

‘Tell me about your past, Annie,’ he said, topping up her wine glass.

‘My past?!’ exclaimed Annie. ‘Oh, it’s one big riot of glamorous people and exotic locations.’

‘I don’t know anything about your family, your parents …’

Annie rolled her eyes. ‘I haven’t come here to talk about all them !’

‘I’m interested. What are your mum and dad like? Have you got brothers or sisters?’

‘You’re starting to sound like an immigration officer.’

‘I just want to know,’ said Sam. ‘How were things at university when you did psychology? Did you have lots of friends? And lots of boy friends? And what was it like when you started in the police, before I showed up?’

But Annie just smiled and waved all that away. Why? Why wouldn’t she engage with him about her past? Was she genuinely not interested? Was she hiding something? Or was there some other reason?

Suddenly, their waiter – who went by the name of Stavros – paused at their table.

‘Is-a every-a-thing-a all-a-right-a?’ he enquired.

‘Si, grazie mille,’ said Sam.

‘Ah, you-a speak-a da Greek-a!’ Stavros beamed.

‘I’m fluent,’ said Sam, fixing him with a look.

‘Ah! Good! Good!’ grinned Stavros, his face locking into a strange rictus. ‘Moltos bonnos, monsieuro. Avanti, avanti.’

And with that he vanished back into the kitchens, sharpish.

‘I take it all back,’ said Sam. ‘He’s 100% Greek. Absolutely.’

‘I haven’t been out like this for ages,’ said Annie. ‘I know it’s a silly place, but it’s doing me the world of good. Work’s been getting me down.’

‘Are you still trying to get that girl to speak to you?’

‘Tracy Porter? No. No, she’s refusing to name her boyfriend as the bloke who beat her up. She’s discharged herself from hospital and gone back to him. So that’s that. Case closed … until she turns up in A&E again, beaten to a pulp once more. And then I suppose we’ll go through the same song and dance all over again.’

‘Like I said before, you can only do what you can do. But Annie, I didn’t come here with you to talk about work. I wanted to talk about us .’

‘Of course, Sam. Sorry. My head’s been so full of that stuff.’

‘I know. No need to apologize.’ He smiled at her, and she smiled back. ‘Do you remember, Annie, a little while ago – I told you I had a strange feeling of needing to be somewhere important … but I didn’t know where or why. Do you remember that?’

‘I remember it,’ said Annie. ‘Of course I do. I told you then that I felt the same thing.’

‘And do you still have that feeling?’

‘Sometimes. And you?’

‘Often,’ said Sam. ‘Most days, in fact. It won’t go away.’

‘What does it mean, Sam? Are we going slowly bonkers together?’

‘I don’t think so. And if we are … well, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather end up sharing a padded cell with than you.’