Darren Denny blinked himself awake, suppressing a groan at the sand packed inside his eyelids.

Hopping back in time to visit Lizzy was the most amazing experience of his life but it certainly came with side effects. The last thing he remembered was rushing from her kitchen as his phone buzzed, nagging him with the reminder he was about to zip back to the future. Warmth and soft fabric enveloped him -- he'd woken up in bed, lying on one side, which was an improvement on some of the other situations he'd returned to.

Something was wrong, though -- it nagged at his bleary consciousness like a bee trapped in a hot car.

A warm breeze wafted across his back and it clicked.

I'm not alone.

The strangest sensation washed over him -- simultaneously terrifying and comfortable. A surreptitious glance over his shoulder revealed a familiar face, thankfully lost in slumber. A jolt of near-panic shot through his skeleton from neck to toes. It was his wife Sandra. What was she doing in bed with him? This was just too weird. He eased himself from the bed and sneaked out of the house. There was only one thing to do when life was this confusing.


*****


Their glasses clinked in alcoholic greeting and Darren took a long pull on his pint.

"So, just to clarify," said his friend Jim. "You're feeling guilty because you might've cheated on your girlfriend from the past ... with your present day wife."

"When you put it like that, I sound like a right numpty." Darren surveyed the huge pub floor but nobody was close enough to their booth to be listening. Even in times of austerity, when nobody had a job to distract them, mid-morning wasn't a popular drinking time. "You got to understand, mate --Sandra and I haven't slept together for years. She made it clear long ago I didn't do it for her. We're only still married because our publicists both agree it's good for our images."

Jim shifted as though uncomfortable and took a long drink before speaking. "Some might say if you don't remember it, it don't count. Seriously, though -- I can see that expression you're giving me --you were at Shepton Castle in the distant past, schooling Lizzy in your strange futuristic ways. You weren't here, sleeping with Sandra. So why worry about it?"

"Because I don't know what happened between us while I was off travelling. How did I end up in bed with her? Is there like an automaton version of me that managed to satisfy Sandra while I was cooking with Lizzy? Have I unwittingly reconciled with my wife while I wasn't even consciously there?"

"You're asking me because, what -- I'm the local expert on time travel? Daz, I'm still not sure you're sane, never mind qualified to debate the philosophical implications of something that's meant to be impossible." Jim grinned. "It's weird to think of you getting some with two women at once, though. Does that count as a threesome?"

Darren ran a hand through sweaty hair and drained his pint, deciding to ignore the last question. "What do I do?"

"Talk to the bloke who sold you the time machine. If it didn't come with a guide book, he might know something."

Darren chuckled and dug his phone from his pocket, swiping a finger across the screen and turning it to show his friend. "It's not a machine -- look."

Jim's mouth dropped open. "Seriously -- there's an app for that?"

"I was drunk and lonely, and the Chinese man who sells DVDs in here on Friday nights said he had something special for me."

"Did you enjoy your something special -- did she love you long time?"

He reached over and batted his friend across the head. "I'm serious, dude.

"Well, it's your fault for trusting the dodgy DVD guy." Jim chuckled. "He runs a market stall in Strutton Ground -- you can walk there in ten minutes. Go talk to him, and hope like hell it makes sense before Sandra decides to make a booty call."

"You're such a comfort," he said standing up and pulling on his coat.

"Happy to be of service," said Jim as they parted ways.

As Darren strolled through the narrow back streets of inner London, he mulled over the emerging questions about his visits with Lizzy. It'd seemed magical at first -- almost a game -- but, after several trips, it just became part of his life. Add into that the sublime beauty of their time together and it hadn't occurred to him to wonder how it all worked.

He'd assumed his body moved between the times and he simply didn't exist in the other place while he was traveling, but perhaps that was an unsafe assumption. Every time he returned to the present, he was in a different place and situation -- sometimes an alleyway, others a park, and one occasion clutching a manky, half-eaten burger in a giant bin behind a fast food restaurant.

Even the wisdom of movies wasn't helping him now -- it was a long time since he'd have passed for Marty McFly and he wasn't sure the worldly outlook from 'The Time Machine' had much to offer.

No, he'd have to figure this one out in the real world.

Sure enough, the DVD seller occupied a stall in Strutton Ground, lurking behind his wares of questionable provenance. When he saw Darren approaching, a sly smile pulled his mouth to one side. He remembered reading how, in Far East cultures, a smile was often a sign of nerves rather than humour, so he wasn't sure how to take it. The seller beckoned with one finger and shuffled into the small shop behind his stall, leaving a young boy to tend his goods.

The shop looked like it should have an illegal gambling den in the back, but Darren decided that had more to do with his preconceptions than reality. What it did have, in a nod to stereotype, was a bead curtain separating front from back, and the Chinese man headed straight through without glancing back. As they slipped between the hanging strings, incense and spices descended like a cloud of cloying scent. It might have been pleasant, but Darren got the feeling it masked an altogether less welcome smell.

"I have been expecting you," said the DVD seller in a voice packed with implied wisdom.

"If the next sentence out of your mouth starts with 'Confucius say', I won't be held responsible for the stereotype you're propagating." He looked round the small space, which by rights was just a storage room. It was packed with boxes and crates sporting ominous logos, a couple of desks and a computer. If the A-Team ever got trapped in here, they'd surely be able to build some kind of tank/truck hybrid and bust their way out. Something in the lighting brought it down, though, decking the walls in wreaths of shadow and convincing him there were eyes in the darkness. It was like a supervillain's lair on a shoestring budget.

The man chuckled quietly. "A chef, and also a stand-up comedian. So clever, Mr Denny, and yet you come here to seek my counsel."

Darren perched on a table with scratches hundreds of years old. "You could've just given me the instructions to that app when you sold it to me. Then I wouldn't need to be here."

"You were not in a position to listen." The smile was still in place, but it looked slightly different --possibly more genuine. "Do you recall the bargain we made?"

Something cold and heavy settled in his stomach. "Bargain?"

"Not sinister, I promise, though I understand the setting may make you uncomfortable. Not every enterprise I find myself involved in is so ... benign. I gave you the app, and in return you promised to use it for improvement."

"Of what?"

"Of the life you were lamenting so bitterly. The app is your chance to realign yourself."

He scratched his head. "Perhaps I started this conversation wrong. Who developed this app?"

"That is a complicated question." The smile broadened to a grin -- more full of humour than he'd have liked. "Suffice to say, he enjoys observing the mayhem he creates."

"I see I'm being too circumspect, so I'll ask directly. What happens to the 'me' here when I time travel?"

The DVD seller paused for a moment as though baffled by the question. "There is only one 'me' to be concerned with -- that is to say, only one you."

"Give me strength." Darren slapped a palm to his forehead. "Okay, I'll try again. Why do I keep reappearing here in different places -- what governs where I turn up when returning from the past?"

The smile was entirely gone now. They must be heading into serious territory. "The laws of quid pro quo. You see the universe as a hall of mirrors, many versions of you in different places. This is not so. All things exist once only, and all things have their place reserved."

He thought about that for a moment. "So ... you're saying when I go back in time, I'm not really time traveling, rather I'm changing my reservation."

"Indeed." The smile returned, slipping across his face like dawn upon the landscape. "Quid pro quo, Mister Darren. Quid pro quo."