This potential new venture into the past (that Trudi was contemplating) would be a far more radical step to take. She would not be missing out on any of the last eight years. She would merely have to wait at least 16 years to relive them, which meant that she would have to wait 24 years to find out what life held in store for her after the age of 39.

She eventually dozed off to sleep, with the calming thought that Daniel might be able to help her to come to a decision.

Several hours later, she took the walk to the next village, the one she’d grown up in, and passed by the front gate of 69 St Patrick Street, before making her way to the long driveway of 73. She rang Daniel’s doorbell, and soon heard his footsteps.

He opened the door, and welcomed her in.

“We’ll use the southern staircase,” he said, leading her through the living room.

“You mean there are two?” said Trudi.

“The other one’s not as fancy.”

They walked up the stairs, turned at the top, walked through a long hallway, then a doorway, and then another hallway. Turning left, they went to the end of the final corridor and came to a pair of windows, which he had thoughtfully already opened in preparation for her visit.

She took out her camera, and zoomed in on the gardens of 69.

“If you stand close enough, you can see the close up through the camera too,” she said.

He seemed to be doing his best not to brush up against her deliberately, and she made every effort to make him feel at ease.

She snapped several photographs from various distances, by adjusting the zoom lense between each one and the next. Then she panned up and did the same with the upstairs exterior of her mother’s old house.

Finally, she zoomed in on the upper portions of the row of trees. They still reached above the new fence which divided the two properties.

“To think we could have just walked between those trees and met eachother back then,” she said.

“We did, in a poem,” said Daniel, taking a sheet of paper out of his pocket and unfolding it, “I took your advice and came up with a fictional version of our lives back then.”

Trudi took the page in her hand and read through it slowly.

“It’s beautiful!” she said, “You’ve got so much talent, that you should have had your poems published.”

“I’ve tried, but the publishers tell me there’s not much of a market for poetry nowadays,” said Daniel.

“It’s a shame,” said Trudi, “I don’t have any contacts in my industry to help you with that, but as fantastic as it sounds, I do know a way to bring your poem to life. We could, quite literally use time travel.”

“Even if that’s really possible, it wouldn’t help our younger selves if one of us went back now,” said Daniel.