Sideways and Backwards: a novel of time travel and self discovery

Getting to Cambridge

As the train lurches forward slowly at first, I dig into my second breakfast, hearing my chewing in the silence of the train car. Off we go, past the suburbs of north London, where I have lived almost my entire time here. I see the Alexandra Palace up above Muswell Hill where I own my house now; it's a Victorian entertainment complex, and in all the time I've lived here, I've never gone to see anything there. Why is that? How can I have been so preoccupied, and with what, that I don't even see what's special in my own backyard? I make a mental note to check out their schedule this coming summer and spend at least one evening on the lawn listening to music with strawberries and Pimms.

Further on we go, past the outer suburbs, Barnet where I know there was a crucial battle in the Wars of the Roses, but that's pretty much all I know. I don't even know who won that battle. I must have known once, I suppose. I sigh and lean my head against the window, the cold refreshing on my overheated head. I used to inhale information like this. To be consumed by history and music and books. I'd care about the battle of Barnet. I'd read books about it.

Suddenly I'm feeling very claustrophobic in this train. It's like I'm having some kind of crazy panic attack or something. I'm shaking, and my heart is pounding in my chest like a sledgehammer. My head feels like it's going to explode. What am I going to do about work? What about my reputation? Do I need to leave London all together, start fresh somewhere else? And where would I go now? New York? Starting all over in my mid 30's in New York does not seem like an appetizing option. I have to figure out a way to salvage this. I just have to.

I don't know what I can do, though. Sophie told me to keep my phone off, and that she would fix the bad publicity. And I trust her. The woman is amazing at her job. But how am I going to fix things with Howard, my boss, our publisher? What can I do to make this right? To show him that my days of acting like an entitled college kid with no inhibitions are over? That I'm turning over a new leaf? I need to grow up fast. I recognize it, and I need to own it, and think of a plan to make things right.

I start doing some deep yoga breathing I learned when I went through a new age phase and was into chakras and meditation and pilates. I put my head down on the table on top of the newspaper, close my eyes, and take deep breaths, exhaling out in quick spurts the way the teacher taught us, and breathing in deeply. I give myself some loving self-talk. I have all weekend to think of a solution, I think. It's noon on Saturday. I need to be in Howard's office at 9am on Monday. That means I have like 45 hours. I'm going to the country. I'm going to think and clear my head and breathe the clean air.

I have to trust that an answer will come to me. I have to believe it. I need to be on the lookout for answers. Watch and wait. When in doubt, watch and wait, and an answer will come. My breathing starts to return to normal. The conductor comes to check tickets, and I pull my head off the table, and manage a smile. I'm kicking myself for not buying a bottle of water, and only having this diet coke, but it will have to do. I sit up straight, I relax my back, and I order myself to pull it together.

I am a functioning adult, I tell myself. I am actually a highly functioning adult. I have a house on Woodland Gardens in Muswell Hill. I own it. Well, the bank owns it. But I was approved for the loan. It is decorated in a chic and elegant way thanks to the furniture shops on Tottenham Court Road. I am just going through a rough spot, I tell myself. But I will make it through this. I will turn my life around, and someday in a year or two or even five, I will look back at this period as a dark time, but I will have passed it. Breathe in the peaceful healing energy. Breathe out the negative energy. In with the good. Out with the bad.

I will start by reading the paper. I skip the news section and go straight to the arts and books parts, which interest me the most. There's an article about Elliot Wilson, an author I really wanted to land for Court Magician, but he went with Maplethorpe instead. They gave him a better deal, and while I tried my best to match it, in the end Howard didn't think he was worth the gamble since he was unknown at the time. Maplethorpe gave him a huge advance and promised 50,000 copies to be shipped along with major publicity and a book tour of 20 cities. Now the guy is everywhere from Oprah to the New Yorker to the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books.