Authors: Hannah McKinnon
Time After Time
Published by Maze
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2016
Copyright © Hannah McKinnon 2016
Hannah McKinnon asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9780008191849
Version 2016-04-11
To Robert, Leo, Matt & Lex – with love, always
Table of Contents
A Blast From The Past
It was the odd silence that woke her.
Where are the kids?
Hayley tried to burrow back into Sleepland. Fat chance. She’d become too much aware of her tongue that was stuck to the roof of her mouth. It felt like she’d been chewing on a ball of fuzzy felt rolled in a slice of Gouda.
‘Ugh,’ Hayley groaned, her eyes still tightly shut.
She remembered getting a taxi back from Ellen’s but her throbbing head didn’t make sense. They hadn’t had that much wine, surely? Hayley briefly wondered if her best friend felt equally queasy. Then her stomach rumbled, a sure indication of how late it might be.
Breakfast is going to be fun. Serves me right for getting back so late.
Hayley squinted, barely able to make anything out in the dimly lit room. She looked at her old-fashioned Mickey Mouse alarm clock that ticked loudly. Her parents had bought it for her fifteenth birthday as a joke because nothing short of a sledgehammer ever seemed to wake her. She’d used it ever since.
Mickey’s glow-in-the dark gloves showed five minutes to nine.
Where are the kids?
She couldn’t believe they weren’t up yet. It was total bliss that she’d got an extra hour and a half of much-needed sleep. As she rubbed her head again she heard Rick’s gentle breathing next to her. Her husband had always been a quiet sleeper. She was the snorer – he’d even recorded it once on his phone and played a frighteningly realistic warthog impression back to her with a grin on his face.
It’s not like him to be in bed this late on a Saturday morning.
He usually went out for a run and did push-ups at the park while she got the kids up and made breakfast. He reckoned it was the reason he could still eat Fish and Chips and not turn into a lard-arse.
Hayley thought about Rick’s firm legs and trim waist. She briefly considered slipping her hand down his boxer shorts – they hadn’t had morning sex in months, probably years, even – but that pint of water she’d downed just before she left Ellen’s had turned her bladder into a bouncy castle. She was busting for a pee and wanted to move her legs but they felt like lead-filled sausages. Slowly she started to drift off to sleep again.
‘Yougonnagedup? Gedsumbrukfast?’
God, he sounds rough. I bet he’s coming down with a cold. Oh joy. Man-flu alert.
‘In a minute,’ she mumbled, then remembered their row from the night before. At least an eight and a half on the Richter scale of arguments. Maybe even a nine. Bad enough for her to walk out, fleeing to Ellen’s for wine and moral support. It wasn’t the first time she’d speculated if Rick had found someone else. Wondered if he wanted to leave, then wondered if she wanted him to.
She sighed and decided she should take a few steps towards reconciliation. Besides, she had a brief to finish. Washing to do. Costumes to pick up. Parents to see. And with all of that on her list, it was hardly a practical day to put a bullet in her marriage.
Hayley crawled out of bed, eyes barely open, headed for the door and walked straight into a chest of drawers.
‘Ouch.’ She rubbed her leg.
‘What the bloody hell are you doing?’ Rick’s voice really was rough.
Hayley opened her eyes properly to take in her surroundings.
Hang on a second.
The bedroom seemed smaller than usual. The window was in the wrong place, surely, and she felt carpet under her feet, not hardwood floor. Instead of the door being straight ahead she could make it out to her left. Pictures hung above the chest of drawers. She squinted at them, but couldn’t see them properly in the dark room.
It all had a certain familiarity about it that she couldn’t quite place.
God, we must have got completely trolleyed. But why can’t I remember?
Hayley grabbed hold of the chest of drawers to steady herself and knocked over a vase.
‘I’m trying to sleep, keep it down.’
An alarm bell went off in Hayley’s throbbing head. She spun round faster than she intended, lost her balance and landed on the floor on her bum.
‘Ow. Fuck it,’ she said loudly.
‘What are you doing?’
Hayley popped her head up, quickly brushed her brown hair away from her face, and gasped. The person she’d thought was Rick now sat up in bed, staring down at her. She shook her head and quickly rubbed her eyes. Despite the dim light there was no mistaking him.
No … No way … It can’t be.
‘What are you playing at?’ he said. ‘I didn’t get to sleep until four.’
With wide blue eyes and her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ of surprise, Hayley stared at the man for so long, she could practically feel the seasons change.
‘Chris?’
Hayley blinked three times thinking that she’d never, ever, cheat on Rick.
Never
.
And she hadn’t seen Chris – her first boyfriend, her very first love – in over twenty years.
So when … no,
how
had she ended up in bed with him?
Going Nowhere
The day before Hayley woke up in bed with her ex-boyfriend had been a complete and utter disaster. In fact, things had been sliding downhill before she’d even woken up. Her alarm clock didn’t go off, so she was already thirty minutes behind her impossibly tight schedule when she opened her eyes. While she crept around the house in the dark trying not to wake Rick and the kids, she’d knocked over Pickles’ bowl and squished the cold, jelly-like, not-so-delightful tuna cat treats right up between her toes. And just now at the office, the new intern, Jim, had bumped into her and spilled half a cup of lukewarm tea straight down her white shirt.
‘I-I’m so sorry, Hayley.’ Jim’s eyes almost popped out of his skull.
Hayley watched a blush creep over his chiselled cheekbones. ‘It’s fine,’ she said.
And you’re lucky you’re so flipping cute.
Waving a hand she added, ‘Don’t worry about it.’
She pulled on her shirt, trying to stop the fabric from sticking to her body. Jim apologised again, then made a swift exit, muttering something about papers he needed to file.
Hayley was about to make a dash for the loo to salvage her top when Charles stepped out of his office.
‘Never mind, Hayley,’ he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, and with a smile that looked about as real as market-stall Rolex. ‘Good job that shirt’s polyester.’
‘It’s silk, you pathetic prat,’ she said under her breath.
‘What was that, Hayley?’ Charles gave her a cool stare.
She held his gaze. ‘Not hot, thank goodness for that.’ She made sure her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Instead she balled her fists, clenched her teeth and imagined tackling the bastard to the floor, then grinding his balls into the carpet with her high-heels. One at a time. Slowly. Ignoring his falsetto pleas for mercy. She wasn’t a violent person but for Charles Simpson she’d gladly make an exception. He’d always been a pain but he’d become the biggest dickhead in London since his father Ronald had died the previous year.
Hayley sighed. It wasn’t even nine-thirty, but at least it was Friday.
I should’ve stayed in bed. But I don’t need a duvet day. I need a flaming duvet decade.
‘My office, Hayley,’ Charles said sharply. ‘There have been developments.’
‘Developments?’ Her chest tightened. ‘What developments?’ She followed Charles to his office and closed the door behind them.
He sat down at his desk, crossed his legs and raised his chin. ‘I spoke with Thorsten Berger yesterday evening.’
Tap, tap, tap
went his fingers on his mahogany desk.
Tap, tap, tap
. He sniffed. ‘They’ve decided to go with another law firm.’
Hayley’s eyes widened. ‘What? But the offer I put together it –’
‘Wasn’t good enough.’
‘I’ll call him, I –’
Charles held up a hand. ‘Don’t. He made himself crystal clear. I’ll talk to him again at some point. Maybe I can salvage some future business.’
‘If I speak to him, then maybe –’
‘Leave it, Hayley. You’re not to contact him. That’s an order.’ His icy stare met her eyes. ‘What’s that, the fourth potential client you’ve lost?’ He picked up the phone and gave her a dismissive wave. Head down, she turned and walked out.
‘I already heard the news,’ Tony said in a low voice as he caught up to her and they walked back to her office. ‘Got lectured about how we should have done more.’
‘What did you say?’
‘Told him we’d do better next time, that there are other clients in the pipe.’
‘You should have heard how he spoke to me. The look he gave me.’ She exhaled deeply. ‘We worked on that Berger offer for weeks.’
‘I know.’
‘Sodding Charles. You know he dumped it on me along with four other cases he was supposed to look after?’
‘I know.’
‘I missed Millie’s ballet recital and Danny’s first day in his new class. All for nothing.
Nothing
. And don’t say I know again.’ She flashed Tony a look.
He nodded. ‘I won’t. But don’t let him get to you.’
‘How? And how are you so calm? He pushes all of my buttons and then some. He’s such a backstabbing, sanctimonious
shit
.’
Tony chuckled, holding her office door open for her. ‘Amen to that.’
‘And he absolutely hates me’ She pulled out her chair and flopped. ‘Always has.’
‘You can blame Ronald for that. May the good man rest in peace.’ Tony smiled. ‘No one likes a teachers pet.’
‘You like me.’ She crossed her arms and frowned at him.
‘I do now, but it took years.’ Tony grinned and put his hands in his pockets. ‘Don’t ever ask Angela what I said about you the first day we met.’
‘What do you mean? What did you say?’
‘That a right stuck up wannabe solicitor had joined the firm and I never wanted to work with her.’
‘Hey!’ She threw a handful of paperclips at him. ‘Your wife adores me.’
He laughed. ‘She does. I won’t deny it. Look, Charles always hated that you got along with Ronald better than he did. So ignore him.’ He shrugged. ‘Works for me.’
She smiled. ‘Thanks Tony, I’ll try.’
But ignoring their boss had become impossible, so after Tony left Hayley sat at her immaculate desk and fantasised about pushing Charles in front of a dozen runaway photocopiers, squashing him as flat as her enthusiasm. That wasn’t the only thing she daydreamed about these days. Not by a long shot.
What if …?
It was a game she caught herself playing more often than she’d ever admit. She shook her head.
Stop fantasising and take action, Hayley!
She pulled out her mobile phone and punched in Isamu Lewis’ number.
‘Isamu Lewis.’
Hayley smiled. The pint-sized head-hunter from Ashford DeVille had the voice of an angel and the killer instinct of a Siberian Tiger. If there was a law job up for grabs in London, Isamu knew about it. She’d sent along a number opportunities over the past few months, none that Hayley had seriously wanted to consider. Not until now. But the excuse of better the devil you know was wearing as thin as Miley Cyrus’ underwear. Particularly as the devil was Charles bloody Simpson.
‘Isamu, hi,’ Hayley said, getting up to close the door to her office.
‘Hayley, how are you?’
‘I’ve been getting more excited about the job with Williamson, and I think I –’
‘Yeah, look –’
‘Have you heard back from them yet? I know I said the commute’s longer but I’ll just have to cope. I’ll dance on the bloody desks at lunchtime for all I care. Just tell me there’s a –’
‘Hayley,’ Isamu said sweetly. ‘Will you shut up for a second?’
‘Sorry.’
‘It fell through.’
‘What?’ Hayley’s voice went up a few notches.
Isamu sighed. ‘Just found out the buggers filled the position internally. I was about to call you.’
Hayley drew a sharp breath. ‘Shit! But they … they said …’
Don’t whine. Don’t you dare.
She cleared her throat, let out a small laugh. ‘So, you’re saying I have to continue dancing on the desks here?’
‘Sorry, hon,’ Isamu said. ‘I’ve tried everything but we have to let this one go.’
Hayley swallowed. ‘Got anything else up your sleeve?’
‘Klingel’s are looking.’
‘Forget it,’ Hayley said quickly. ‘They overcharge and under deliver. I’d rather be broke than –’
‘I was joking.’
Hayley puffed out her cheeks. ‘Oh. Phew. Seriously then, what else do you have?’
‘Nothing at the moment,’ Isamu said. ‘But I’ll call you when I do. Let me see what I can find next month, but then everything will slow down over Christmas, probably until at least mid-January. Okay?’
‘Understood. Let me know if anything comes up. Okay? Anything.’
‘Absolutely. We’ll get you sorted. Got to go. Sit tight for a few months. Bye.’ Isamu hung up.
Sit tight? Here?
‘Oh come on!’ She smacked her palm on the table. ‘I’ve lost the job and another client. Fucking hell!’
She sank into her chair and picked up a photograph of Rick, Millie and Danny. She’d taken it more than two years ago. They’d spent a week at the beach in Cornwall, flying kites and eating wickedly delicious mint-choc-chip ice-cream, running barefoot in the warm sand before flopping down and watching the sunlight dance on the waves. They hadn’t had a family holiday since.
Hayley looked at the photo in its porcelain frame and gently touched the green and red splodges of colour Millie’s little fingers had applied to the Mother’s Day present. She’d been so happy during that week in Cornwall. In love with her husband, with her children, with her
life
.
Since then I’ve become a permanent customer of Shitty Days R Us.
She sighed again, shook her head and picked up a file, ready to get to work for a client. Before she started reading her notes, she doodled Charles’ face on a yellow Post-it note and wrote ARSE underneath with thick red pen.
*
The moon was high in the sky before Hayley decided she’d better pack up her things – including work she had to do over the weekend – and head home. The air outside was cool, yet she sucked in a big lungful, hoping the damp fog would somehow have a calming effect on her. It didn’t, so she hurried down the street on the way to the tube station, her mind racing and her hands clammy. She’d hoped she’d be rushing back to share good news with Rick, that she’d brought on a new client, finally had some success at work again. They could have done with something positive, maybe they’d even have celebrated a little. Instead she’d be spending the weekend looking for a new job.
Her mobile phone rang and she fished it out of her coat pocket, her steps barely slowing.
‘Hi, Mum,’ Hayley said. At times she even surprised herself at how upbeat she could force herself to sound.
‘Hello, love. How are you? I just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing. I called home but Rick said you weren’t back yet. You’re working late again. Are you okay?’
Hayley plastered a smile on her face and crossed her fingers. ‘Just on my way home. I’m fine.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. How’s Dad?’
‘We’ve had a good day today.’ Tenderness filled her mother’s voice. ‘He’s asleep now.’
‘That’s good. Mum. What about the new medicine? Any difference?’
‘No love. Even if it does help, it won’t be that quick.’
‘Not even a tiny bit?’
‘No. But it’s still early. The doctor said it takes time.’
Hayley cleared her throat as she walked down the steps to the station. ‘And you, Mum? Are you okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘As good as I can be.’ Her mother sighed. ‘But I was calling to check up on you. Will we see you all this weekend?’
Hayley closed her eyes. ‘I’m not sure yet. I’ll try.’
‘We’d love to see you, if you can.’
‘So would we. I’ll do my best, Mum.’ Hayley’s phone crackled. ‘I’m losing the connection. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
‘Okay. Thanks, lo–’ The line went dead.
As Hayley slipped her mobile into her pocket she pictured her father, the once strong and active man now reliant on others for physical and financial help, confined to a wheelchair.
If only I’d been there.
Rick said she shouldn’t blame herself and she knew he was probably right. But she couldn’t stop herself from wondering. Could she have done something? Would she have recognised the signs? She’d seen the F.A.S.T. adverts – Face, Arms, Speech, Time – so often. What if she’d been there?
What if?
It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.
I bet Dad would tell me how much he hates all the fuss
.
Hayley smiled, genuinely this time.
And he’d have told me to sod off when we paid to make their house wheelchair accessible.
As the train arrived and started to slow down she stared at her moving reflection in the window and her smile disappeared. She felt much older than forty-two. Her face looked drawn, with bags under her eyes like overstuffed suitcases, and, thanks to the humidity, her long, brown hair had morphed into a shapeless, frizzy disaster. She got on the train, found a seat then fished an elastic band out of her bag and tried to smooth her hair into a ponytail.
I look like I’m auditioning for The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
Her stomach lurched as she thought about looking for a job again. She knew all too well how hard it could be.
Especially when we’ve got two sets of finances to worry about.
Hayley looked down. The headline of a discarded copy of
Metro
on the seat next to her caught her eye: KLINGEL’S TO REPRESENT BOOTS BORRELLO.
Everybody had heard of Carmine Benedetto Borrello. The press dubbed him ‘Concrete Boots’ because no evidence tying him to any crimes had ever been found. Hayley put the paper back on the seat beside her.
Maybe I should go over to the dark side. I’d probably make more money.
She shuddered. Mergers and acquisitions might not be the sexiest area in law, but at least she’d never wake up next to a horse’s head.
It was gone eight o’clock when she arrived at their compact, terraced house in Chiswick. Although she’d attempted to run almost all the way home from Stamford Brook tube station in her heels, she knew that Millie and Danny would already be fast asleep. A pang of regret hit and her guilty conscience tut-tutted for good measure. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been home for a family supper during the week. Balancing everything – work, children, husband, parents, finances and household – was pushing her to the breaking point. Rick always said she should look after herself.
Well, duh. But when?
Even before she’d contacted Isamu, Rick kept asking Hayley why she didn’t tell Charles to shove his job up his backside.
Easy for him to say, most of the financial responsibilities are on me now.