Synopsis

A troubled ex-journalist launches a perilous mission into his own past after being recruited by a mysterious group of time travelers.

Luke Seymour uncovers the secrets of the eccentric Nostalgia Club as he battles to solve the riddle of their missing leader, honing his newly discovered – and dangerously addictive – talent for time travel and plunging ever deeper into his own time stream … where the terrible mistake that scarred his life is waiting.

Set in Glasgow and Edinburgh in the 1980s, 1990s and near-present, ‘How Soon Is Now?’ is a gripping new novel loaded with unforgettable characters, intricate storytelling, dark humour and a unique twist on the mechanics of time travel – all moving towards a powerful and emotional climax.

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The Inspiration Behind How Soon Is Now?

‘How Soon Is Now?’ began as an idea we’ve probably all had at one time or another: What would it be like to go back and live any part of your life again?

What would you do better? Which mistakes would you correct? Which long-lost love or loved ones would you want to see again?

It’s a compelling idea, but for a long time, that’s all it was – just an idea. Finding a story big enough to do it justice was the tricky part…

There were various potential stories over the years. One was for a time-travelling romantic comedy similar to the 1986 Kathleen Turner movie ‘Peggy Sue Got Married’ – college hi-jinks with a middle-aged protagonist transported back to his college days. The more I thought about the practicalities of it, though, the less attractive that particular idea became. In fact, it began to seem downright icky in these more enlightened times.

What was needed was something with more weight, more emotional resonance. What would compel someone to revisit their own past? Loss, guilt and grief all seemed like strong contenders. And so The Nostalgia Club was born – a group of assorted misfits who, for widely varying reasons, find themselves drawn to examine and re-examine their pasts, over and over again.

The Club’s members would give me a chance to examine themes of memory, fate and the dangerous pull of the past while telling stories within stories, all within the framework of a classic quest narrative – an ordinary man discovers an extraordinary talent while embarking on a perilous mission (in this case, into his own past).

This being a time travel story, things quickly became pleasingly complicated. Twists, secrets and paradoxes piled up (a missing man, an unsolved murder, a maverick rival time traveller), but the mechanics of time travel within the novel remained resolutely down-to-earth. ‘How Soon Is Now?’ is a story about people, not technobabble or SF gimmickry.

In the end, what I wanted to create – and I very much hope I’ve succeeded – was a page-turner with enough mystery and invention to keep readers hooked, balanced with enough depth and complexity to bring out new shades of meaning with each reading. A time travel story, in other words, worth returning to over and over again.

Excerpt

Time tidies up after itself better than most of us realise, so I’ll be brief. I want to get everything down while I can still remember how it happened.

It started with a note: Blue ink on a slip of paper you might mistake for a Christmas cracker joke, with these words written in a plain and precise hand: ‘We know. We can help. Come to the Thrawn Laddie, Edinburgh, 7.30pm Wednesday.’

I was at the off-licence, digging for change in the outside pocket of my suit jacket, when I found the note. I was down to one suit that still fitted and wore it most days – I was, more or less, still keeping up appearances – so the note might have been curled up there for hours, days or even months. I glanced at it without really reading it and stuffed it back into my pocket, where it stayed until I made it back to the flat with the evening’s beer supply.

Once the bottles were safely in the fridge, I emptied my pockets, throwing a fistful of old train tickets and crumpled till receipts into the bin. The note nearly joined them, but something about the neatness of the script caught my eye, and I read it properly for the first time. ‘We can help’. Who could help? How could they help? Where had it come from? I left it on the kitchen table for the rest of the week; a minor mystery pinned under a beer bottle.

It was a long week. Alison still wasn’t talking to me after The Incident at our college reunion, and even Malcolm wouldn’t return my calls. I eyed the note every time I passed the kitchen table on my way to the fridge and, by Wednesday evening, had convinced myself a minor mystery might be just the distraction I needed. One Glasgow-to-Edinburgh train and a 20-minute cab ride later – an extravagance, considering I was trying to make my redundancy money last – I was standing on Morningside Road, outside the Thrawn Laddie.

That October night was cold and crisp, and a wall of heat hit me as I opened the door. The pub – a dusty jumble of antique clutter and old-world charm – had changed so little in the 30-plus years since it had been one of our preferred student haunts that I half-expected to spot the old gang huddled in our favourite corner, but the place was now a near-empty refuge for elderly locals and a few wine-sipping post-work professionals. The students had moved on.

I checked the clock above the bar: 7.10pm. I could fit in a couple of pints, if I was quick. I ordered a Guinness and settled at a single table with a clear view of the door. By 7.30, the only new arrivals had been a pair of old gents who went straight to their friends at the end of the bar without looking in my direction. I finished my drink, ordered another and took it to my table. My second glass was nearly empty when the bored young barman, a skinny youth labouring under a misjudged haircut, loomed over me.

‘Mind if I give your table a wipe?’ he said. I lifted my pint glass and drained the remnants.

He ran a damp cloth over the table, gathered my empties and asked: ‘Another Guinness?’

‘No, thanks.’ I slipped my hand into my pocket, and my thumb and forefinger pinched the little note. ‘Maybe you can help me with something, though. Has anyone been asking for me? I’m supposed to be meeting someone.’

He stared at me, waiting for something. He cocked an eyebrow – the one pierced by a silver stud – and I added: ‘Seymour. My name’s Luke Seymour.’

He shook his head. ‘No one’s been looking for you, as far as I know,’ he said. ‘Who are you meeting?’

‘I’m not sure.’ He looked puzzled, so I added: ‘It might not be a person. It could be a group.’

The barman stuffed the cloth into his back pocket. ‘Might be the crowd back in the function suite, then. Are you one of them?’

‘One of them?’

‘The good old days mob,’ he said. ‘They rent the back room on a Wednesday night. Had an early start this week for some reason. You could try giving them a knock.’

‘I might,’ I said. ‘Who are they?’

‘The Nostalgia Club, they call themselves. They might be who you’re after. Past the toilets and turn right. You can’t miss it. Follow your nose.’ He pointed towards a corridor leading off the end of the bar.

I thanked him, left my table and followed my nose. As I turned the corner, the barman gave a soft cough.

‘Word of advice,’ he said. ‘I’d knock first. Good luck.’

After a brief stop at the gents, I followed the corridor off to the right. At the end was a dark oak door bearing a brass plaque: ‘Function Suite’. Below that, stuck to the door with a strip of sticky tape, was a sheet of A4 on which was written, in the same precise hand as the note in my pocket: ‘NOSTALGIA CLUB. PRIVATE.’

About the Author

Paul Carnahan was born in Glasgow, Scotland, and grew up in the new town of Cumbernauld. After studying journalism in Edinburgh, he began a decades-long career in local and national newspapers.

‘How Soon Is Now?’ is his first novel. The second, the Britpop-era romance ‘End of a Century’, will be released early in 2025, and a third is currently a work in progress.

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