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Who , isn’t it? And I should remember not to tell anyone about the future or it’ll cause some sort of crisis in the time-space continuum. ‘Spoilers’, as River Song was always saying a few years ago.
    I’ve got to stay calm and see what happens. I still reckon I’ll wake up soon and find out this is just a freaky dream. Probably. Hopefully.
    I wish I could relax and enjoy it. Not many girls get the chance to see their gran and Great-aunt Eleanor as teenagers, do they? It should be a laugh. But right now it doesn’t feel the slightest bit funny. I just can’t believe this is happening. I can’t figure out how it could have happened. What was different this time I passed the mirror? Did it really have anything to do with me getting stuck here, or was it just a coincidence I saw the girls in there before it happened? I mean, I’ve seen other bits of the house go funny too, like Ne … Great-aunt Eleanor’s room did this morning. What was different today? The clothes? Maybe. Think! I’ve got to work it out so I can figure out how to get back. My head starts throbbing, and I’m shaking with the cold. My nose starts to tingle and I squeeze the end to stop from sneezing. Last time I did that … whoa! The last thing I did before I ended up here was sneeze! I let go of my nose and try to sneeze, but the sensation has passed and it’s a pathetic effort, more of a whimper than the real thing. I try again, then realise that if it works, I could end up in Gran’s garden with my knickers round my ankles, so I stop and sort myself out. God, that could’ve been soooo embarrassing, especially if I end up back at the same time – the middle of the flipping afternoon! I can’t stop myself from giggling. It must be hysteria.
    Once I’ve calmed down, I go back across the garden, stumbling a bit in the dark. I can’t wait to get these bloody shoes off. There’s no light at all coming from the house. I suppose it’s those blackout curtains.
    I hope I’ll walk back into Gran’s modern kitchen. I always thought it was pretty old-fashioned till I saw the one that May and Nelly are living in. That’s like really old. Everything seems so real, but it doesn’t make sense. I can’t be in 1940, can I? It’s just not possible. Not in real life. I’m starting to think my theory about being unconscious and dreaming is the most likely explanation. I wiggle my nose a bit, sniffing in the cold air, hoping to make myself sneeze. I feel like a right idiot, but hey if it works …
    I’m halfway up the path when a horrible droning sound starts up. I stop and listen. It gets louder, rising in tone. Oh. My. God. A real life air-raid siren. In the dark sky columns of light appear, searching, criss-crossing, like they’re dancing.
    The back door opens and the girls run out.
    â€˜Don’t just stand there, get in the shelter,’ says Nelly.
    But I can’t move. The lights are almost hypnotic. I could watch them for hours.
    â€˜Come on, get under cover,’ Nelly pushes me along the path. ‘This ain’t a game, you know. Every night we get this. Every bloody night.’
    I stumble into the shelter, nearly ending up on my knees as I didn’t realise there were a couple of steps down. They follow me in, pull the door shut and drag a curtain across it before May lights a lamp.
    It’s not very big in here, and it smells like Dad’s potting shed. There are benches along the longer walls, and shelves at the back with books and boxed games and various ‘odds and sods’ as Gran would say, including some blankets. May picks one up and gives it to me.
    â€˜Here, put that round you, Queenie. It gets bloody cold down here.’ She sits down, wrapping herself up. ‘This your first air raid?’
    â€˜Yes,’ I say, sitting down next to her and snuggling into the blanket. It feels a bit damp, but I