.
opened her eyes and blushed. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I’m not the one planning my husband’s funeral.’ She looked away. ‘I’m not wishing my life away or anything. Honest I’m not. Really. I’m not.’
‘Sure. But you are romanticising your relationship with Sean. You were only together for a bit when the shit hit the fan. You’d never be as happy as you are with Rick.’
‘Was,’ Hayley muttered before she could stop herself.
‘You still love him, don’t you? Surely you don’t regret marrying him. Rick and the kids are the best thing that ever happened to you.’
‘Of course I love him. And the kids. Of course I do.’ Hayley forced a laugh. ‘I’m tired and a bit pissed. And pissed off. Must be the booze talking.’
‘So have you ever tried to find out what happened to them? Your exes, I mean.’
‘God no. What for?’ Hayley said.
Only on Facebook and LinkedIn and Instagram.
There hadn’t been much. Apparently she’d either gone out with blokes who thought social media was the devil incarnate or their privacy settings were so stringent, it would have been easier to break into the Tower of London. She looked at her watch. ‘Two o’clock. How did that happen? I need to get my sorry arse home. I’ll have some water and call a taxi.’
Rick snored gently when Hayley slipped into bed. She lay there for a while, her eyes getting heavier and her breath slowing. As sleep gradually took over her body, her mind continued to wander.
What if?
There was no harm in imagining what her life could be like.
Was there?
It was her way of escaping reality and routine.
Wasn’t it?
Everybody sometimes wondered ‘what if?’
Didn’t they?
‘Chris?’ Hayley repeated as she got up from the floor slowly, all the while staring at the guy in the bed two feet away. ‘What the …’
She watched as he opened his eyes even further to give her an incredulous stare. ‘And who else would it be? Let me sleep or get me a cuppa.’
It is him. It’s Chris. Chris Jenkins. But how? When?
An older Chris, definitely, but he still had thick, dark hair. From what Hayley could make out in the dimly lit room, his face had aged and he’d put on some weight around the middle, but he hadn’t lost his striking looks. Perhaps they were even better than when she’d last seen him. Her eyes travelled over his chest and she swallowed.
What’s going on?
She relaxed for a second.
Hah! Bad dream. Nightmare.
Her hollow laugh filled the room and Chris furrowed his brow.
Any second I’ll be back at home, in my bed, next to Rick. Any second now …
Nothing happened, so she pinched her hand.
‘Ouch.’
You don’t feel pain in dreams.
‘I need a piss.’ Chris got out of bed and Hayley recoiled, hitting the chest of drawers with her bum.
Argh! He’s stark bollock naked.
He gave his left bum cheek a good scratch as he walked out of the room, his semi-flaccid penis bobbing along in front of him.
At that point Hayley looked down at herself. ‘God!’ Her hands instinctively flew up to cover her breasts.
Chris Jenkins saw me in the buff! IN THE BUFF!
In an attempt to hold on to the last shreds of her dignity, Hayley grabbed a black satin dressing gown hanging on the back of the bedroom door and flung it on, wrapping it tightly around her body.
Where am I? What am I doing here? Where’s Rick? The kids?
Hayley opened the bedroom door, stuck her head out and looked left and right, surveying the enemy territory. Then it hit her. Mrs. Jenkins’ house in Ealing.
How? What? Christ!
She’d been there countless times when she and Chris dated, and she immediately recognised the hall and the door on her left that led to another bedroom. Chris had disappeared into the bathroom Hayley remembered was on the right, so she rushed down the narrow staircase, instinctively avoiding the third step from the top because it creaked. She half expected Chris’ mother to appear, demanding Hayley explain her presence immediately. It would have been a difficult thing to do.
Clothes! Where are my clothes? My bag? What the fuck am I doing here?
Hayley charged into the kitchen. For a second, she felt a rush of vertigo. The cabinets had her favourite maple facings and the walls the exact off-white of her own kitchen. At first glance, it looked a bit like her house in Chiswick. Her eyes travelled round the room and came to rest on a Union Jack teapot displayed in one of the glass-fronted cabinets. It stopped her cold.
Her mum had given her a limited edition teapot exactly like it on her eighteenth birthday. Two days later Hayley had dropped the lid. You could still see the join where she’d clumsily glued it back together. She walked over to the cabinet and peered at the teapot, her eyes seeing the uneven edges of the do-it-yourself job, her brain trying to understand the implications.
It’s mine. But mine’s at home. Does Chris have one too? With the same break in it?
Hayley rubbed her head again.
That can’t be right. But I didn’t give him my teapot.
She blinked quickly half a dozen times.
Let’s replay this.
She remembered leaving Ellen’s the night before. Recalled paying the driver when he pulled up in front of her house. She was sure she remembered going to bed at home. Almost sure. Blood drained from her face and a shiver travelled down her spine inch by inch. Then it went all the way back up again.
Surely I didn’t ask the driver to take me to Chris’ place? I’m not that stupid. Am I?
She hadn’t even known that he still lived here and yet, somehow, she’d ended up in his house, with him upstairs. Naked. Unclothed. Birthday suited.
She fumbled around for a chair to steady herself and her stomach turned.
Oh fucking hell, no. I’ve cheated on Rick!
What Genius lacked in class and style it certainly made up for in fun, and in 1988 it was one