LONDON: the city of yesterday, today, and tomorrow

Why are there so many people? There're normally not this many people in an art gallery, right? Or is that just what it's like in Australian art galleries? Spinning around, fluffy brown hair flying into my face, I looked around for anything that seemed remotely familiar. Painting. Painting. Sculpture. Strangers. Painting.

Zip. Nothing. Zero.

I am so screwed.

I could have called mum or dad – but that would have required them trusting me enough to have bought me a phone in the first place. Stupid parents. Stupid me being thirteen years old. I mean, that's a completely appropriate age to get a phone! But, no. Let's travel to another country without giving Lucy a way of contacting us if she gets lost – genius.

I turn a random corner and see the glorious beacon of a green exit sign hanging from the ceiling at the end of the hall. Hope flashes through me almost as fast as the relief does. I go from casual steps to walking as fast as my feet can take me. I nod at the security guy standing by the door, and walk on through back to the entrance foyer to wait for my parents.

But the empty small stone room Lucy walked into was not the entrance foyer. This wasn't even a foyer. A set of marble looking stairs lead down a level to a stone desk – which no one sat behind - then on through glass doors that opened onto a quiet little inner city street. It certainly wasn't the busy main road the museum was on.

Where the hell am I?

Instantly turning back around I try and go back through the evil door that brought me here. But no such luck. Pushing and pulling did nothing to make it move an inch. This was one of those stupid fire exit doors that only open from one side.

I am so very screwed.

With no option left, I walked down the steps and go willingly through the glass doors to wherever they may take me. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if I ended up in Wonderland at this point. But not even that would happen for me; when I stepped out it was into a desolate back alley street with no sunlight or sign of life.

Great, just great.

One end of the street on my right led to a dark brick wall littered with crawling ivy and numerous rubbish bins heaped in front of it. A dead end. Of course. How fitting. To my left, and a short walk away, cars zoomed by where this little street opened onto a busy main road in the heart of London.

Gee, I wonder which way I should go? To fit in with the rest of the trash, or find some way back to the real gallery entrance foyer? Such a hard choice.

Dragging myself in the direction of the cars, I put my gloves on as I wondered if my parents had even noticed if anything was different. I wouldn't be surprised if they had no idea. I went to the landscape exhibit, but mum and dad instantly bolted to see a Picasso, or something. A Da Vinci? Wait, the Mona Lisa is the one in Paris not London, yeah? I don't know – doesn't matter.

As my feet, clad in scuffed winter boots, brought me bit by bit closer to the new street, I could see person after person walking by. It is a busy main road, then. Maybe the one the gallery is on? Can I dare to hope for that much?

The sunlight grew steadily stronger and brighter the closer I came to being out in the open. Already I could feel the light of the sun calling to me from where I was in the icy shadows. Stepping out, I let myself have a moment to just let the warmth of winter sun seep through my big coat - and jumper, and long shirt - and deep into my bones. With feeling returning to my body, I looked around me for anything I remembered from the walk to the art gallery that morning.

The cute little corner café across the street from the gallery where we got fresh breakfast at was no longer tucked away in its little hole in the wall. The bag check tent we walked through to get to the gallery was gone. The giant lion statues on the street as landmarks for the gallery weren't anywhere to be seen.

This was a different street altogether, in a completely different part of London - if the signs above shop fronts were to be believed. Leicester Square Car Hire.

Leicester Square Travel Insurance. Leicester Square Butcher.

Leicester Square. Leicester Square. Leicester Square.

The art gallery is at Charing Cross. How, in the four corners of hell, did I get here? What kind of Harry Potter apparating bullshit is this?

Okay, Lucy, think. You need a map to find your way back. Where does one buy a map? This is London, surely they'd be selling them all over the place. A newsagent would have one, right? Have to find a newsagent. They have them every other block, or so, if I just keep walking I'll find one eventually. Yeah, yeah that's right.

(Don't let the panic sink in. Don't let the panic sink in. Don't let the panic sink in!) We've got this all under control. (Panic's sinking in! SOS. SOS.)

Walking just a little bit faster than what was probably normal, I flicked my eyes around shop after shop on both sides of the road as I kept going. One will come along. Just give it a minute.

...

Just give it another five minutes and one will be right there on the next corner.

...

Oh shit. I am so very very screwed.

"You alright, luv? You look lost?" Turning to face the sound of the voice speaking to me, I am met the gaze of a tall older man with a beard on a new scale of unkept. He smiled down at me in a way that made my skin crawl, and had my brain screaming at me louder than it already was. (Creepy old man. Creepy old man going to abduct us. Run. Dammit, move!)

"Oh, good afternoon, sir. No, I'm not lost. But thank you for offering your help." (Stop being so damn nice. Run. Bolt. Scream if you have to.)

"All righty then. You need help getting anywhere in particular?" In seconds my eyes catch him arm coming up to be put around my shoulders. I casually sidestep as quickly as I can. (Is it even possible to casually sidestep someone? Is that a thing that can happen on a day to day basis?) Not the time, brain!

"Oh, I'm all good. Just heading to the nearby art gallery, actually." Smiling as genuinely as is possible when frightened, I go to try and step around him and be on my way.

Next thing I know, however, there is a firm hand entwined with my gloved one. (We're so dead.)

"Oh, that's just this way!" He tells me, pulling me in the opposite direction to where I had come – and was clearly NOT where the gallery was.

I am so screwed. Brain, now would be a good time for some ideas.

...

Um, hello?

...

I felt as my brain and body disconnect, everything going into overdrive. My feet dragged on the sidewalk beneath me as I was being taken nowhere good. It was at that moment my autopilot mercifully kicked in to take over.

Suddenly I ripped my arm from his hold, and bolted back in the direction we had come from. Running as fast as my stiff legs would move in this cold, I let the man's shouts bounce off me without taking a second to look back. Running past strange faces, each looking more confused than the last at my scarred and fleeting form, I look around blindly for the alley that had brought me to this cursed street. Up ahead the dark sunless passage called out to me from between two shop fronts like a dank and dreary miracle. Slipping back into the shadows, I slowed until I was bent over my knees gasping for air – not caring how the icy air stung as it entered my lungs.

Looking up ahead of me, I now realised there were only two options left for me. Go back inside and bang as loud as I can on the door; hope a security guard lets me back in and doesn't label me a public nuisance and kick me back out. Or...

Or, jump the brick wall at the other end, and hope that maybe I can get to the front that way.

...

One of those was clearly the smarter option – in hind sight. However, when you have adrenaline still pumping in your system from nearly been kidnapped, and have an imminent panic attack bearing down on you in the back of your mind... You tend to make the greatest decisions.

... Needless to say, I picked the wall. Yeah, I know, I'm a genius in the making.

Walking up to the many rubbish bins, I sized up the bricked wall and tried working out what my best bet was to getting over this thing. I could get up on one of the bins and trying to jump and heaving myself up and over. I'm not sure though if I even have that much upper body strength. If I can't do a single push up, I doubt I'm going to be able to pull myself over a wall – this isn't an action movie. You're not Scarlet Johansson, babe. So, now what? Levitate over the damn thing?

... Well, we could always - No.

But, it could work!

Or get me killed. It's better than trying to jump and hope.

... I'm going to break my neck doing this, I just know it.

Rattling around the rubbish bins till I found an empty one, I ignore the burning in my leg muscles and heave the bin up onto one of the others against the brick wall and do my best to wedge it in the corner. It's not sturdy, or secure, or even remotely safe – but it just might be able to get me over if I can climb it.

Clambering up and onto a bin beside the stacked pair in the corner, I looked at the obstacle before me and regret all the PE classes I ever skipped out on. One small movement at a time, I wobbled my way to be semi balancing on top of the second bin on my knees. Sadly for me, if I wanted to be able to get over the wall, I would need to be standing on these bins. Saying silent prayers, and using no small degree of effort, I raised myself to my feet – precariously staring at the ground below me. Don't look down, you idiot. That's the one thing they always say; never look down.

Gently shuffling myself to be somewhat leaning on the top of the wall, I tried to manoeuvre myself to get one leg over. Then the shaking started. Whether it was my nervous that started it, or the bins beneath me losing balance, either way – I could feel the support beneath my foot starting to give way. Abort mission. Abort mission. Danger. Danger.

Not being able to turn back – I didn't particularly want to come out of this with broken bones – I threw myself up onto the wall like it was a rodeo ride. Holding on for dear life, I instinctively squeezed my eyes shut as the banging of the bins toppling was heard. Oh god, am I going to be arrested for this? Are people going to think I'm trespassing? Is this public nuisance?

Ignoring the carnage that lay behind me, I looked to what I still had yet to do. Ahead, at the opening of this alleyway was... a park? Sparse empty tree branches waved about in the air; leaves of orange, red and brown blustered by on the ground. There was bright green grass and bushy hedges, wooden benches, and stone sculptures in flowerbeds. What kind of Narnia through the wardrobe crap is this? What is a park doing in an inner-city alley? Today is just getting weirder and weirder.

Shaking my head clear of everything, I look down at the long drop beneath me onto hard concrete I would have to make if I wanted off this wall. Already hearing the thoughts and ideas my anxiety was creating, I shut my eyes tight and breathe as deeply as I can. With shaking limbs, I get my other leg over the wall so I'm not longer straddling it. I send up a quick message to make my death painless, and let myself slide off.

Cold air rushes past my face – everything is freezing and I can't feel my nose or cheeks anymore. The hard earth beneath moves quickly towards me.

... Ow. Well, that hurt more than I thought it would. Yeah, no kidding.

With sore hands and legs from my rough and somewhat splattered landing, I get myself to stand again. Staggering my way forward and into the garden like park – or is it park like garden? - I see an elderly lady pruning some plants. Looking to be a sweet little thing – with her pastel pink spotty jacket and matching pink framed glasses – I say to hell with social anxiety, and hobble my way over to ask for some direction to the damn gallery.

"Excuse me, ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm lost. Would you be able to give me directions to the art gallery nearby?" Please be a dear, and don't call the cops on me trespassing.

Jumping a bit at the sudden sound of my voice, she turns to me and gives me a bit of a smile as she comes closer.

"Gave me right fright, you did. Where'd you come from, then? The entrance to the neighbourhood garden is over there." She tells me, pointing behind her – and in the opposite direction of where I've just come from.

"I got lost, and was so desperate to get back to the art gallery, I climbed over the wall of the alley over there to-", I turned and pointed at the alleyway I just fell out... but it wasn't there. The alley, the busy city buildings – gone. All around us was a cul-de-sac of uniform white houses, some with people in the windows, or kids in the little patch of front yard.

No alley. No buildings. No city.

"Well, there's no art gallery around here. Are you alright, love?" The old woman looked at me both concerned, and clearly confused. Likely, matching our own expression right now.

"I'm sorry, but can you tell me where I am?"

"You're in Foneflower, love." She puts a steading hand on my shoulder and I realise I'm beginning to hyperventilate.

"And where's Foneflower? How do I get to Charing Cross?"

"I don't know any Charing Cross, but Foneflower is near Biffon." Seeing my look of clear confusion, she endeavours to elaborate. "You're in Manaya." Still my face showed no signs of recognition. "Manaya; capital city of Aquari."

"Is any of that near London?" She scoffs at my cluelessness.

"You don't know Aquari? The country you're standing in? You're pulling my leg."

Country I'm standing in?

What?

Where the hell am I? What the hell is going on? Where in god's name is the damn art gallery?

...

I am so screwed.