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.