Time After Time: A heart-warming novel about love, loss and second chances. Hannah McKinnon Mary
her head again in an attempt to get them out of her brain.
What did I do? Why can’t I remember? Did I go to a club? Or a bar?
She dismissed the theory as quickly as it had entered her muddled brain. She’d been at Ellen and Mark’s. They’d had drinks. She’d gone straight home.
Unless … unless I went on somewhere afterwards and someone spiked my drink?
She reached for the counter to steady herself.
What am I going to tell Rick? He must be frantic. Do the kids know I’m not home?
Hayley’s eyes darted around the kitchen for her mobile and when she couldn’t find it, she grabbed the phone on the kitchen counter and punched in her home number.
Before she heard it ring on the other end, she slammed the phone down.
No! We have caller ID.
Taking in big gulps of air, she closed her eyes and breathed out through her nose.
Think, Hayley, think.
She ran to the bathroom by the front door. Her head pounded, and as she sat on the toilet her stomach twisted itself into knots the size of tennis balls.
How could I let this happen?
She washed her hands and splashed cold water on her face. It slowed her breathing down, but only until she looked in the mirror.
‘Argh! What the hell?’
Her hair was cut in a cropped bob, much shorter than it had been the night before.
Why can’t I remember Ellen cutting it?
She smoothed it down with her damp hands and swallowed. Of course it would grow back eventually, but Rick was in for a surprise. He loved her long hair.
Will he think I did it to spite him? How many lies am I going to have to spin?
Rick would assume she’d spent the night at Ellen and Mark’s. After all, she had said, ‘Don’t wait up.’
Maybe he hasn’t phoned Ellen yet. Hang on, that’s it! Phone Ellen.
Hayley rushed back to the kitchen, snatched up the phone and dialled Ellen’s number.
‘Hello?’ a male voice said.
‘Mark?’ Hayley whispered into the phone.
‘Hayley,’ Mark said. ‘Trust you to be the first to call for the gossip. How are you?’
Hayley ignored Mark’s cheeriness. ‘Is Ellen there?’
‘Sorry, no. She went to pick up Morgan.’
‘Pick her up?’ Hayley frowned. ‘On a Saturday morning?’
‘Oh, she wanted to go last night.’ He chuckled.
‘What?’ Hayley said, then pressed on. ‘Fine. Will they be back soon?’
‘Any minute now. Shall I ask her to call you?’
‘Don’t bother. I’m coming over.’
‘Okay, see you. Say hi to Chris.’ Mark hung up.
Hayley still had the phone to her ear.
How did he …? Oh Christ, who else knows?
Shaking, Hayley realised she had two choices: leave and rush around Ealing in a sweaty dressing gown or go back upstairs to hunt for her things. While the first option meant she wouldn’t have to confront Chris, she couldn’t bring herself to leave the house so scantily dressed. She crept back upstairs, bracing herself for the inevitable confrontation. She needn’t have worried; he was lying on his back, fast asleep and snoring with his arms stretched out. The room smelled of a fresh fart.
She wrinkled her nose and looked around for her clothes. She spotted a pair of jeans, knickers, bra and a shirt lying on the floor next to ‘her’ side of the bed. They weren’t hers but she didn’t care – she would have donned a Ronald McDonald suit if it meant getting out of there.
With the exception of the knickers – going commando would have to suffice – she pulled the clothes on. They fit perfectly. While she searched for her shoes, an old and faded bag next to the chest of drawers caught her eye, and she recognised it instantly. It had been her favourite bag in the late ‘80s – blue denim, crescent-shaped, bright yellow stitching, big buckle – very trendy at the time. In fact, she’d seen one like it in a magazine less than a week ago, and had moaned at how old it made her feel.
It can’t be mine, surely?
Feeling like an amateur burglar, she carefully opened the bag and peered inside. Hayley A. was marked on the liner in thick, black felt-tip pen. She’d written it the day she’d bought the bag.
I thought I’d thrown it out. Did Chris keep it? That’s really creepy.
She stuck a hand in the bag and then pulled it back as if she’d been bitten.
Hang on … did he give it to his wife? Oh shit! He’s probably married with kids too.
As she rummaged around the bag she found keys, a small purse and a mobile phone, lipstick and lip balm. Next, she opened the purse and pulled out a two ten pound notes. She was about to see what else was in it when Chris spoke.
‘Where are you going?’
Hayley dropped the purse on the floor as she spun round. ‘I-I … I’m leaving.’
‘Don’t go,’ Chris said and winked at her. ‘I’ve got something for you …’ He started lifting the sheets away from his lower body.
‘Got to go,’ Hayley squealed as she sprinted out of the room and down the stairs, grabbing a blue jacket and slipping her feet into a pair of trainers by the front door.
‘Pick up some milk at the Spar, yeah?’ Chris yelled.
‘They’re closed for renovations,’ Hayley shouted back.
What?
She shook her head and slammed the door as Chris called out, ‘Don’t forget your keys this time.’
Halfway down the garden path she realised she still held the blue denim bag and the money in her hands.
Well he can sod off, I’m not going back in. Ever. And it’s not really stealing.
In theory, at least, the bag belonged to her and she could have the contents and money couriered to Chris’ house along with the clothes and the trainers. She pulled the jacket on, thankful that the rain had finally stopped and the sun was out, and broke into a light jog. Birds were chirping, no doubt equally grateful for the more clement weather, but Hayley ignored them. She was in no mood for their overstated merriment.
Unsure if she was imagining them or not, Hayley thought she felt the judgmental stares of the people she rushed past. Each time she caught sight of her dishevelled reflection in a shop window, she put her head down a bit further and ran a little faster, practically legging it for what should have been a twenty-five minute walk from Chris’ house to Ellen and Mark’s. The only time she slowed down was when she passed the Spar on the corner. The sign in the window read ‘We’re renovating to serve you better. Please excuse any inconvenience.’
How the hell did I know that? It was a post office last time I was here.
She kept on running.
When Ellen opened the front door, Hayley rushed forward into her arms and stuck to her like a bug to a windscreen. ‘Oh my god I’m so glad you’re home.’
Ellen laughed and hugged her back. ‘Yikes, easy tiger. I know I haven’t