"Ben Jeapes - Pages Out Of Order" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jeapes Ben)

happily preparing a full Sunday-type meal. He had blown a fortnight's
budgeting.
"What are we celebrating?" I asked. He waved an arm about him.
"Roast chicken, roast potatoes, gravy ... my favourite meal!"
"Since when?"
"Not for a long time," he admitted, "but when I was a boy I loved it.
Mummy always cooked it to welcome me home."
"But--"
"Here, this is for you." He handed me a brown paper package, the size of
an exercise book. It had TO TOM boldly inscribed on the front.
"It's not for me, it's for you," I said.
"It will be. I want you to give it to me at eight o'clock this evening.
Promise?"
"Why?"
"Just ... just an experiment, Will. Please? Put it up there for safe
keeping, if you like."
I shrugged and put it up on the shelf he had indicated.
"All right," I said, and set my watch for eight.
Jo came in a while later.
"How lovely!" she exclaimed. "What are we celebrating?"
"It's an experiment," I said, a bit sarcastic, looking up from the
potatoes I was slicing.
"We eat at quarter to eight. Okay?" Tom said.
"Fine," she said.

Tom was a prompt cook. Jo and I sat down and Tom took the chicken out of
the oven. He carved it up and served the food onto the plates. We started
eating.
Tom had taken three bites when it happened. He choked.
"--Gale!" he shouted, leaping up and spraying food across the table.
"Tom?" said Jo. Tom dropped his cutlery and stared about him, eyes wide
and a look of utter bewilderment on his face. He looked down, saw his
chair and dropped in to it heavily. He jerked his gaze all around the
room, as though desperately trying to find a familiar reference point.
"W-where am I?"
"Tom, don't be--" I said.
The look in his eyes stopped me. I knew Tom's eyes and it wasn't Tom in
there now. There was a stranger, frowning, trying to recognise me.
"Where am I? Who are you? How did I get here?"
"You're Tom Melton," Jo said soothingly. "You know that."
"Yeah, I know who I am ..." He peered closely at me, then recoiled.
"S-Sutton?" he squeaked.
"It's all right, Tom," I said foolishly, trying to be soothing.
"Everything's fine ..."
"You ... you're Will Sutton, aren't you? How old are you?"
"I'm twenty, like you."
"Twenty!"
He went sheet white and looked around in horror. For the first time he
really seemed to notice Jo and he blushed.
"Hello," he said shyly. Jo had got her bag and was holding out a mirror.