Time After Time

by Hannah McKinnon

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  She entered the mother of all wardrobes, fitted with sleek white shelves and cupboards. There were rows upon rows of neatly organised clothes: trousers, skirts, long dresses, short dresses, cocktail dresses, blouses, tops, sweaters. Six wide drawers were filled with exquisite underwear in a range of striking colours and fabrics: lace, satin, silk. And then there were shoes; high heels, kitten heels, sandals, boots, and to the left of those was a rack of handbags.

  Hayley noticed the labels on the tiny dresses. Gucci, Prada, Dolce & Gabbana, Versace, Armani, Thierry Mugler – stuff that wouldn’t fit her if she didn’t eat for a year.

  But then she went to pick up one of the dresses and caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror.

  ‘Jesus Christ alive!’ Hayley covered her mouth with her hand.

  She moved closer to the mirror, her eyes darting up and down her reflection.

  I look … amazing. So … thin. Good grief. I’m … I’m flipping gorgeous.

  No longer cut in the cropped bob from the previous day, her hair now fell in soft waves past her shoulders. Its rich chocolate brown colour and the golden highlights reflected the sophisticated lighting in the wardrobe.

  Even though her nightdress covered most of her body, Hayley could tell by the way it skimmed her hips and stomach that she was slimmer than she’d ever been. Hesitant at first, she slipped the spaghetti straps of her nightdress over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

  Oh my god. Look at my boobs.

  Her breasts were large, and as gravity-defying as a teenager’s. Hayley cupped them in her hands and when she squeezed gently, her nipples sprang to attention.

  She continued to assess herself in the mirror, her hands gliding over her skin. Her stomach felt as flat and smooth as the tiles beneath her feet and when she clenched her stomach, she saw what she hadn’t had in decades. Abs.

  As she tensed her muscles she stretched out a long, lean, smooth leg and ran a hand over her beautifully round bum that felt softer than a peach, utterly devoid of the dreaded cottage cheesy cellulite. She’d been waxed senseless too – her legs, under her arms and her bikini line, or what was left of it, considering it could now be confused with Hitler’s moustache.

  A sudden knock on the bedroom door made her grab her nightgown.

  ‘Are you up yet?’ It was a male voice.

  ‘Yes of course,’ she answered, dressing in a frenzy as she heard the bedroom door open.

  The voice came closer. ‘It’s about time. I brought you today’s paper, I’ll put it on your bed. We leave in two hours for the Fitzpatrick’s reception. I don’t suppose you’ll have a solid breakfast.’

  ‘Wait,’ Hayley said as she ran out of the wardrobe. ‘Where am …?’ The words caught in her throat because, standing in front of her, was Ian Graham.

  CHAPTER 15

  1993

  New York, New York

  ‘Seriously, those loos were so busy I considered going to the men’s.’ Ellen pushed her way between Hayley and another visitor at the New York Club. ‘Did you get me a drink?’ Hayley handed her a lager and she took a large gulp. ‘Ah, thanks chuck.’

  The London club scene was abuzz with new techno, garage and underground clubs, and Ellen always had the inside scoop on what was hot and what was not. Looking around, Hayley decided the NYC, with its circular stainless steel bars and DJs renowned for their mixing talents, was definitely hot.

  ‘Good pick, Ellen,’ she said over the music. ‘It’s really great.’

  Ellen winked at her and nodded.

  They’d been living together for more than four months and it hadn’t taken them long to fall into a routine where Hayley shopped and Ellen cooked, and weekends were reserved for partying. Mark came over to the flat frequently and most of the time Hayley didn’t mind.

  ‘I think you should drop my rent,’ she’d told them one morning. ‘I could hear you two shagging again last night.’

  ‘Don’t be jealous just because you’re not getting any,’ Mark said with a grin while Ellen hid her face behind the copy of Cosmopolitan which, Hayley happened to know, contained an article about blow-job techniques.

  Although she didn’t want to admit it, she had to concede Mark made a valid point. She’d been single for ages. Was some hot sex on a regular basis really that much to ask?

  ‘You look brilliant in that outfit,’ Ellen said, observing her.

  ‘Thanks,’ Hayley said. She’d chosen a black, sleeveless, knee-length A-line dress with silver straps at the back, and paired it with black knee-high boots with chunky heels. Despite the clothes she still felt uncomfortable in large crowds and almost always avoided mirrors and shop windows. She knew full well she’d only ever be ‘average’.

  As she looked around again her eyes landed on a guy standing on the other side of the bar. She shivered slightly as she held his gaze, feeling as if she was being visually undressed.

  She started humming ‘You Can Leave Your Hat On’ as she observed him. He stood at six feet tall, at least, had short brown hair and a square jaw that exuded confidence. When he lifted an eyebrow she blushed, then looked away. When she looked back their eyes met again, so she smiled. He smiled back and raised his glass.

  ‘There’s Mark,’ said Ellen, tapping Hayley on the shoulder and pointing a finger. By the time Hayley looked back across the bar, the hunky stranger had disappeared.

  *

  The following Monday morning Hayley sat in her office, punching holes in a stack of papers, when Ronald came up to her desk. The buttons on his suit strained against the spread of his belly. He always said that Mrs. Simpson made the best apple crumble in England.

  ‘Hayley, I need a word,’ he said.

  She followed him into his office, smoothing her sweaty palms on her skirt. ‘If it’s about that report, I’ll have it done by three.’

  ‘Today?’ Ronald raised his eyebrows as he sat down, and Hayley nodded quickly.

  ‘Yes, you said it was quite urgent.’

  Ronald chuckled and slowly turned a multi-coloured Murano glass paperweight with his fingers. ‘I said it needed to be ready by the middle of this week. That’s outstanding, well done.’

  Hayley blushed. Ronald was twenty-five years her senior, distinguished and rather posh, Hayley thought, but in a classy not arrogant way. He drove an old BMW and she knew he had a penchant for Swatch watches – showing off his wealth wasn’t his style.

  He sat at his desk and gestured for her to take a seat in the chair opposite. ‘Now, we have a potential new client, a Mr. Ian Graham. He owns various businesses in Edinburgh but moved to London a while ago and also has interests here.’

  Hayley nodded.

  Ronald continued. ‘He wants to invest in some companies and needs advice on structuring the contracts, due diligence and so forth. We’re meeting him to discuss terms.’ He paused as he looked at her. ‘I’ve assigned Tony and I’d like you to shadow him. How does that sound?’

  ‘Fantastic. But is Tony okay with it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ronald nodded. ‘He specifically asked for you and I think it’s a wise choice. I know he’s very demanding, but you’ll deliver. You’ll make a good team.’

  Hayley grinned, surprised Ronald trusted her enough to involve her in the acquisition of a new client.

  ‘That sounds brilliant. Thank you, Mr. Simpson, I’m really grateful.’

  ‘My pleasure. Thank you, Hayley.’ Ronald beamed. ‘Mr. Graham will be here in about thirty minutes so make sure you’re easy to find.’

  Hayley walked back to her desk and plonked herself down in her seat. Ronald had been giving her more assignments and projects than she could count, and they were getting increasingly interesting and complex.

  Thirty-five minutes later Ronald’s secretary ushered Hayley into the boardroom. Tony and Ronald were facing the door and Mr. Graham sat with his back towards her.

  ‘Ian,’ said Ronald as he got up, ‘Allow me to introduce Hayley Adams. She’ll w
ork with Tony if we’re fortunate enough to represent you.’

  Ian turned around and Hayley almost tripped over her own feet. It was him – the guy from the club.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Hayley.’ Not even the tiniest flicker of recognition crossed his face as he held out his hand.

  Hayley plastered a smile on her face, shook his hand and sat down next to Ronald, thinking she must be about as memorable as plain yoghurt.

  CHAPTER 16

  Mind Games

  Hayley gulped and took a few steps back into the wardrobe.

  Ian’s short hair looked quite grey at the sides but his body didn’t seem to have aged much; he still had a broad chest and a trim waist. His grey suit and a black shirt fitted him perfectly, and his shoes were so shiny she reckoned he could use them to see right up her skimpy nightgown.

  He looked her up and down. ‘Have you put on weight?’

  ‘I … well … what?’

  He shrugged. ‘Time to cut out the carbs again. That or get Justin to give you one of his special workouts.’ When he smiled it reminded Hayley of a hungry crocodile eyeing a wounded zebra. ‘Come on, let’s get this reception over with. You can wear the Gucci dress I bought you in Milan.’ He let out a small laugh and it left her cold. ‘I’m feeling generous,’ he said out, sliding past her and into the walk-in wardrobe. ‘I’ll get your outfit. I’ll even choose your underwear.’

  Hayley heard clothes hangers sliding and drawers being opened, so she walked across the bedroom, still unable to speak.

  ‘This is perfect.’ Ian emerged holding a long black dress with sparkling diamanté straps and a slit up the left side that Hayley thought would easily reach the middle of her thigh. He’d chosen a clutch bag and a pair of strappy black heels with red soles that would normally have made Hayley salivate and, arms outstretched, shout, ‘Mine, mine, mine, mine!’

  He handed her a strapless lace bra and the tiniest thong she’d ever seen. Images of dental floss disappearing between her bum cheeks flashed through her mind.

  ‘There,’ he said, laying the dress down on the bed and walking to the door that Hayley hadn’t yet opened. ‘I’m going to have coffee in the study. Be ready by eleven. You know I hate waiting.’

  ‘Hang on,’ Hayley said urgently and Ian turned around. ‘When did I come here?’

  ‘To this bedroom?’

  ‘Y-yes.’

  ‘Having memory lapses again? Don’t you remember suggesting separate bedrooms, dear? We both sleep better … alone.’ He smiled again. ‘Although I see your bed’s unmade. Don’t tell me you passed out again.’

  ‘Agai–? Uh, no,’ Hayley said quickly.

  Ian looked her up and down for the second time, smirked slightly and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Hayley remained motionless for what seemed like a hundred years as she stared at the door.

  As she’d lain down on Chris’ bed the day before she’d almost been prepared to believe she’d somehow slipped into an odd parallel world in which she’d married Chris. She hadn’t been prepared to accept it, but she’d been prepared to almost believe it.

  Not really knowing what to do next, she walked back to the bed where the Financial Times that Ian had brought caught her eye. She scanned over the headline and main article – more information about Boots Borrello’s arrest – and focused on the date.

  Hang on, it’s the Saturday edition. But that was yesterday. He said it was today’s paper.

  Spotting a phone on one of the bedside tables she picked up the receiver and dialled her home number.

  The Fireman Sam sound-alike answered. ‘Anthony Jones.’

  With a sinking feeling in her stomach she said, ‘Is that Rick and Hayley Cooper’s number?’

  ‘Sorry, love, no.’

  She shivered. ‘Can you tell me what day it is?’

  ‘Ye-es. It’s Saturday, love.’

  ‘But yesterday was Saturday,’ Hayley spluttered. ‘Today’s Sunday.’

  ‘Sorry, love,’ he said. ‘Today’s definitely Saturday. Toodle-oo.’

  She tried Rick’s mobile; invalid number, neither her mum nor Ellen answered their phone. She took a deep breath. Her instincts were telling her to do a runner, but where to? Hayley swallowed. Ian had lived in Edinburgh.

  She ran to the window, pulled open the curtains and peered at the white stone and red brick buildings on the opposite side of the road, trying to make out the street sign on the corner, but it was too far away.

  It kinds of looks like London.

  Hayley let out a groan as she pushed the sash window upwards, then stuck her head out and took a deep breath through her nose like one of the Bisto kids.

  It smells like London. And I know I didn’t leave Chris’ place last night. I know it.

  She sat down on the bed with a springy plonk.

  Calm down. Act as if everything is normal. Just … just pretend this is real.

  After a few moments she headed for the bathroom, and her heart started beating faster again.

  But what about Rick? The kids? Calm down. Think … think.

  Standing in the large shower for a long time, she lathered her body. It felt toned, hard, as though it belonged to somebody else. She dried herself with one of the embroidered fluffy white towels and started looking through the dressing table. The drawers were filled with Dior, Chanel, La Prairie and Guerlain products. And two half-empty bottles – one whisky, the other vodka. Hayley eyed them. Was it too early to have a drink?

  Fuck it. Who cares? It’s happy hour somewhere.

  She picked up the bottle of Laphroaig, pulled out the cork and took a swig. It burned her throat and she coughed loudly, the sound bouncing around the bathroom. Hayley cleared her throat and took another sip. Then a third.

  She dried her hair and put on her make-up, which, with the selection available to her, wasn’t a difficult task. Once finished, she went back into the bedroom and put on the clothes Ian had selected for her, with the exception of the thong, thinking it would slice her in half like a piece of cheddar. She exchanged the micro-undies for a less revealing and more comfortable pair, wishing she had some granny knickers à la Bridget Jones instead, whether she needed them or not.

  Hayley looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and half smiled. The black dress hugged her breasts and waist without being revealing, and the slit showed off her toned, tanned legs. Any woman half her age would envy her body.

  I wish … I wish Rick could see me like this. When did I last make an effort for him?

  It was ten minutes to eleven and Hayley could have gone downstairs, but she dug her heels, quite literally, into the plush carpet. There was no question of her seeing Ian any earlier than she needed to. Instead, she headed over to the desk and rummaged through the drawers. The first thing she pulled out was a solid silver picture frame from underneath a stack of stationery. When she picked it up for a closer look she almost dropped it. It was a photo of Ian and her at a wedding.

  Not any wedding.

  Their wedding.

  CHAPTER 17

  1993

  Smooth Operator

  Ronald and Tony did most of the talking during the meeting, which was a bloody good job as Hayley spent her time staring at Ian on an express train to Fantasyland.

  She guessed him to be somewhere in his early thirties, judging by his fine laughter lines. He had strong features, a straight nose and dark green eyes, and a tiny half-moon shaped scar under his chin that Hayley wanted to reach out and touch. His clothes looked tailor-made and his gold cufflinks were engraved with his initials.

  ‘Your firm comes highly recommended, Ronald, as do you, Tony. Perhaps you can tell me about similar clients and how you’ve assisted them?’ His smooth and silky voice carried a hint of a Scottish accent, which, Hayley speculated, had probably been softened over years at a posh boarding school.

  She watched and listened in awe as he asked intelligent questions and looked people directly in the eyes when he spoke. Whe
n his gaze met Hayley’s she felt a distinct twinge in her groin, so she crossed her legs and squeezed once, not daring to do it again, but allowing her mind to wander, imagining …

  He’s come to the office when I’m working late and it’s just the two of us. He’ll push me back on the table, lift up my skirt, and … and …

  ‘And what do you think, Miss Adams?’ Ian said as he dragged her out of her fantasy.

  Hayley blushed, mumbled, ‘I agree,’ and crossed her fingers.

  Ian smiled and picked up his shiny Mont Blanc fountain pen with his manicured fingers. Just the other week she’d agreed with Mark that blokes who had their nails done were poncey. Not anymore.

  ‘Thank you, Ian,’ Ronald said at the end of the meeting. ‘It’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance. I look forward to hearing from you when you’ve made your decision.’ He turned to Hayley. ‘Would you please show Mr. Graham out?’

  Hayley nodded and hoped her legs would be steady enough to carry her to reception. ‘Follow me, please.’ She gestured to Ian, leading him of the boardroom.

  As she pushed the button for the lift Ian leaned in towards her. ‘I liked your dress on Saturday night.’

  Hayley felt her face turn a deep shade of crimson. ‘I wasn’t sure you recognised me.’

  ‘Well I knew you recognised me,’ he said. ‘I want to see you again.’

  Hayley noticed Sharon the receptionist looking at them with a frown so she cleared her throat. ‘As agreed, I’ll summarise what we discussed and have it ready for you by Thursday, Mr. Graham. I’ll see you for the review meeting next week.’

  The lift opened and Ian stepped inside. Then he turned around and faced Hayley. Once again she felt like he was undressing her with his eyes.

  ‘Lunch,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at twelve sharp.’ He didn’t take his eyes of her as the lift doors closed, leaving her standing there with her mouth open.