In Bed With Lord Byron

felt she was all that amazing, or if he was just so keen to get married that he’d jumped on the
first suitable girl who had said ‘I do’. Which unnerved me, because I’d always thought he was more intelligent than that. Funny, I mused, you can think you know someone inside
out, every riddle and fault, and then they can still turn around and surprise you.
    What made me even sadder was that Anthony and I barely felt like friends any more. Over the last fortnight we’d only exchanged one breathless call, and Anthony had rung off quickly because
Kerry kept interrupting and crying, ‘Anthony, we’re going to be
late
for the Theodores and you haven’t even put your
bow tie
on yet!’ I hadn’t had time
to tell him I was moving out of his flat. I didn’t feel comfortable staying there any longer and it was obvious he would throw me out soon anyway. For the time being, I had moved into the
spare room in my sister’s house, which was hellish. She and her husband had suddenly surprised us all by getting back together and were now as disgustingly gooey as newly-weds. Poor Lyra was
currently being fed by my rather overenthusiastic nephew.
    The only vaguely entertaining thing had been seeing Lord Byron again. After the tabloids had reported that he had participated in a wild cocaine-fuelled orgy, the police had arrested him for
possession. Sick of celebrities getting off lightly for drug offences, they had decided to make an example of him and come down heavily on him. I had saved him from life in prison by packing him
back off to 1813, chaperoning him in the time machine and then swiftly winging back to 2005 alone.
    I looked out of the window and sighed. I was used to time-machine travel, to centuries whizzing past in a merry-go-round of wormholes. I wasn’t even nervous of flying any more, I realised.
How slowly planes go, I mused, as the clouds inched past, how slowly . . .
    At JFK I had to pay an absolute fortune in excess baggage. I had two cases, one full of clothes and the other so huge and heavy I could barely heave it off the conveyor
belt.
    ‘I expect you’ve got about three hundred outfits in there, haven’t you?’ the man behind the desk teased me patronisingly.
    I smiled along with him. But as it happened, I wasn’t the type of girl who needed to take three hundred outfits for a single trip. The heavy case contained something far more
interesting.
    Neither Kerry nor Anthony was there to meet me. Instead there was a taxi driver holding up a sign with LUCY LYON FROM ENGLAND on it.
    It was my first time in New York in over two years, and I’d forgotten how I loved its fizzing air of manic energy. My hotel was very, very plush. In fact, I don’t think I’ve
stayed anywhere more impressive. But every time I drank in the luxury, the taste was bittersweet. Anthony and Kerry had insisted on paying my hotel bill, and it only drove the daggers deeper.
Look at us, Lucy,
their gift sang,
aren’t we so rich and happy and wonderful, while you’re poor and useless and single
. . .
    On my bed, there was a scrawled note from Kerry:
    Dear Lucy,
    SO sorry not to be there to meet you but things manic with wedding preps. See you tomorrow for bridesmaid’s fittings and later dinner with my parents – can’t wait! Will
     give you a ring. Have a good sleep and get rid of all that jet-lag.
    Kerry x
    There was no note from Anthony.
    As for the dinner tomorrow night, I was already dreading it. I had a feeling it was going to be horrible, and that Kerry’s parents were going to hate me, and besides, what the hell was I
supposed to wear?
    I jumped up and went over to my case. Not the case that was full of clothes, but the heavy one. There, inside, were all the various pieces of the time machine, each lovingly cocooned in bubble
wrap.
    I knew I was being completely crazy and obsessed bringing it over. I also knew it was also a serious sign of addiction. The time machine was becoming my drugs, my alcohol, my way of escaping
from reality.
    But, I promised myself, I’m only going to use it in case of absolute emergency. Only if things become completely unbearable. And hopefully it will all be fine. I’ll go to the dinner
tomorrow, I’ll attend the wedding, and then I’ll be back home. I can survive that without needing to put on a corset and go gallivanting back a few hundred years, can’t I?
    Can’t I?
    ii) Dresses and dinner
    The next morning, I met up with Kerry for my bridesmaid’s fitting. I