This is now:
When he gets back in the late afternoon, Frankie is stretched out, dozing at Sheree’s feet. She’s hunched, frowning, over a pile of books at her kitchen table.
‘Hi,’ she says. ‘How was it?’
‘Sad.’ He picks up one of the books: 2 Unit Maths for Years 11 and 12. He raises an eyebrow.
She shrugs. ‘You didn’t think I was going to stay a waitress for the rest of my life, did you?’
He tickles Frankie with the toe of his shoe. ‘Come on, old feller, time to go home.’
The dog stirs reluctantly and clambers to his feet. He licks Sheree’s hand.
‘Thanks for looking after him on your day off,’ Bob says.
‘Anytime. And, in return, perhaps you could explain probability theory to me?’
‘All right.’
‘Thanks, Roberto.’
Her smile is so genuine, so without affectation, that he finds himself smiling back.
As he and Frankie walk slowly home, he thinks back to the funeral. The boy is found, but Arrow is dead. Is the other Bob alive and safe? Did he find work, somewhere to live, someone to love? Someone to love him? The other Bob will also be remembering everything.
He has stolen that Bob’s life. He feels guilt, but, if he is honest, not regret.
The boy is found, but Arrow is dead. In another world, is she alive, well? He prays it is so.