Hayley heard muffled voices somewhere in the distance and her head felt like it was stuck in a bucket of cobwebs.
‘She’s coming round, she’s coming round.’
‘Give her some space, let her breathe.’
Hayley opened her eyes. ‘Wh-what happened?’ Her voice was a whisper.
‘You fainted,’ Ellen said, and Hayley noticed her tanned face had turned a milky shade of white. She was on her knees next to Hayley, and fanning her with her hands. ‘Are you okay? You gave us a hell of a shock.’
‘You were out for a couple of seconds,’ said Mark, who was kneeling on the other side of Hayley. ‘Can you stand? Let’s get you to the sofa.’
Hayley let them help her up and guide her across the room. She sank down onto the sofa with a small groan. Mark put a pillow on the coffee table and lifted Hayley’s feet on top of it.
‘I’ll get you a glass of water and put the kettle on,’ he said and went to the kitchen, taking Morgan the dog with him.
‘What’s going on?’ Ellen said quietly.
Hayley searched Ellen’s face, waiting for her to start laughing and make a joke out of everything, but she didn’t.
This is insane. Is this an alternate reali–? No … that’s crazy.
Hayley thought she might start to giggle hysterically, and stopped the sound from escaping her mouth by biting down on her tongue. Hard.
Don’t be stupid. That stuff doesn’t happen in real life.
She looked down and rubbed the sofa with two fingers hoping the gesture would chase the fuzziness from her brain. But it confused her even more.
Hang on, the Gorbachev wine stain has gone.
Hayley breathed in deeply, sucking in as much air as she could, filling her lungs until they were ready to burst. Then she exhaled slowly before she spoke. ‘Is this all a joke? Did you get a dog and redecorate overnight?’ She heard how ridiculous it sounded. ‘Did you? Did you?’
‘No,’ Ellen whispered, shaking her head. She put the back of her right hand on Hayley’s forehead. ‘You’re not hot.’
Hayley searched Ellen’s face again. Nothing. ‘Listen to me. My husband’s name is Rick. We have two kids. I’m a solicitor.’ She gulped, the words were spilling out so quickly she wasn’t sure Ellen heard them all, but she continued regardless. ‘You have a girl, Morgan. Rick and I paid for your last round of IVF and –’
‘Hayley,’ Ellen said loudly, ‘I’ve never heard of Rick. You don’t have kids. You’re a secretary. I had IVF but it didn’t work.’
‘No –’
‘Yes. You’re married to Chris and –’
‘What? No.’
‘Yeah,’ Ellen insisted. ‘Since 1991.’
‘No. We split up the year before. I didn’t speak to him until this morning.’
‘I’ll show you.’ Ellen went to a cabinet to get a picture frame and handed it to Hayley. It was an old-style, thick iron frame, so heavy Hayley almost dropped it. ‘See?’ Ellen said as she pointed to the photograph. ‘It’s the four of us.’
Sure enough, they were standing on a sweeping concrete stairway with a black and gold bannister and a large archway. She looked more closely.
That’s Ealing Town Hall, where we got married … but that’s not Rick.
She looked at her white, knee-length dress with the spaghetti straps. She had an up-do with little daisies in her hair, and she held a bouquet of pale pink roses. Chris and Mark wore matching black suits and shiny purple ties, and Ellen’s pink floor-length dress had big white flowers printed on it. Their smiles were almost contagious.
Mark walked back into the room carrying a plastic tray with two cups of tea and glasses of water. He set them down on the coffee table and looked at Hayley. ‘Feeling better?’
Hayley shook her head and remained silent.
‘She says she isn’t married to Chris,’ Ellen said. ‘She says she’s married to another bloke and has two kids.’
Mark whistled. ‘What crazy shit have you been smoking?’ Then he lowered his voice to a stage whisper. ‘And where can I get some?’
Ellen patted Hayley’s shoulder. ‘Sometimes you probably dream you’re married to someone else.’ She held up her hands. ‘I know Chris is a friend, but, well, you know …’ Her voice tailed off and she shrugged.
No. No. No. No.
‘Enough.’ Hayley jumped up. ‘It’s amazing what you can do with Photoshop.’ She threw the picture on the floor with a loud thud and the glass cracked.
Mark took a step towards her. ‘Hold on Hayley, you –’
‘Save it, Mark,’ Hayley said. ‘I don’t know what’s going on or why you’re doing this, but I’m going home.’ She grabbed her denim bag and her jacket, walked to the front door and yanked it open.
‘Wait,’ said Ellen as she got up. ‘Don’t go.’
Hayley turned around. ‘If I stay will you tell me why you’re doing this?’
Ellen walked towards her. ‘We’re not doing anything. But you fainted, you can’t leave.’
Hayley looked at Ellen, then at Mark. ‘Oh piss off you two.’
She slammed the door behind her and walked a few streets in a daze. The roads were busier now and the sun was higher – hardly a cloud in the sky. Hayley wished she had a pair of sunglasses to shield her eyes and block out whatever the hell was happening to her.
I have to go home. I have to get back to the kids.
She headed for the Acton Town tube station, bought a ticket with the money she’d found in her old bag, and breathed a sigh of relief when she plopped down in a seat. Eyes closed, she let her body sway gently from side to side to the hypnotic rhythm of the tube.
When she opened her eyes she spotted Jim, the intern who’d spilt his tea down her shirt the day before. Hayley watched him fiddle with his iPod, his thin fingers deftly moving over the screen, his feet tap-tapping a beat only he recognised. He reminded Hayley of her when she’d first started; the way he seemed to hug the walls, hoping his presence wouldn’t offend or, worse, be noticed. His brown corduroy suit looked a size too big, like it belonged to his granddad. It seemed as if Jim couldn’t commit to a proper suit until he was certain the job belonged to him, and wasn’t some kind of cruel joke.
She slunk down in her seat and was still staring at him when he looked up and their eyes met. A flicker of recognition crossed his face.
‘Hi, Jim,’ Hayley said.
His brow furrowed. ‘Oh. Hello.’
She put a hand to her chest. ‘It’s me, Hayley.’
‘Ahhhh … Have we met?’
‘Ye-es, at work.’
‘Oh yes.’ He blushed and Hayley heard him whisper, ‘I’m an idiot,’ under his breath. He looked at her. ‘Sorry. You’re Mr. Simpson’s secretary.’
Her pulse quickened. ‘Hardly or we wouldn’t have gone over my case notes together the other day, would we?’ Hayley noticed that people had started turning towards them, listening to their exchange.
Jim got up. ‘This is my stop. Sorry again. Bye.’
She noticed how he cast a furtive glance towards her through the window and she caught sight of her reflection. She bit her lip so she didn’t let out a psychotic, I’m-a-crazy-tube-person laugh.
Silly! Look at yourself. Short hair, no make-up, crumpled shirt.
She exhaled deeply, puffing out her cheeks.
No wonder he didn’t recognise me. Yes, that must’ve been it. That’s it … right?
She felt a hysterical giggle rising and swiftly quashed it by biting her tongue. When she got off the tube at Stamford Brook she slipped off her jacket and folded it over her arm. It still wasn’t that warm outside, but her nerves were rising steadily, and she felt clammy again. As she walked down the road towards her home, she remembered she didn’t have her keys. Something else she’d have to either explain to Rick, or hide from him.
Hayley stopped for a second, allowing a young mum with a double-pram and two angelic-faced babies to move past her. She held onto a lamppost, grateful for the steadiness it provided, and the opportunity to get her head together, figure out how to act and what to say.
When she reached the front door she knocked on it timidly, and seconds later a man wrenched it open with such force Hayley thought he was going to be flung backwards into the hallway.
‘Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want it.’
Hayley stared at him. He looked at least seventy, thin, short and bald. He wore a tartan shirt with a green, woolly cardigan over it, a pair of khaki trousers and brown slippers. A waft of fried kippers drifted out of the open door.
‘Wh-who are you?’ she stammered. ‘Wh-what are you doing here?’
‘What?’ He crossed his arms and peered at her over his spectacles.
Hayley gasped as she looked into the hall. The wall Rick had taken down a few years ago to open up the entrance had been rebuilt. The mahogany sideboard that Rick had restored in secret and surprised her with one Christmas, was missing. There were no kid’s coats or shoes. Hayley looked down and realised that the welcome mat, the one with the umbrella carrying ladybirds that Millie had chosen so excitedly, had gone.
‘What are you doing in my house?’ she said, her voice so devoid of conviction it sounded tiny, insubstantial.
‘I heard you the first time. I’m getting old, not deaf. Clear off.’ He started to close the front door.
‘Wait, please.’ She leaned on the door with her shoulder, pushing her weight against it, and he retreated a little. ‘You don’t understand. Th-this is my house.’
‘Rubbish. I’ve lived here for years.’ His face darkened and his eyes became mere slits as he leaned forward. His kipper-breath fanned across Hayley’s face, forcing her to take a step back. ‘You’re one of those estate agents that’s been calling, aren’t you? The answer is still no. No. No. No.’
‘What? I’m not –’
‘I only laid my Harriet to rest a few months ago. You’re like vultures, you are. Vultures. Bugger off.’ He slammed the door in her face.
Hayley looked at the big brass number sixty-eight. Then she looked up and down the street, making sure it was the right one. She put her hands out behind her as she sank down on the cold, concrete step.
This can’t be happening. It can’t be. Where’s Rick? Where are the kids?
She rubbed her head, then quickly rummaged through the denim bag for the mobile phone. Her fingers trembled as she tried typing in numbers but the phone rejected them, stubbornly demanding a password.
Maybe it’s … No, that’s crazy … it couldn’t be … could it?
Hayley had only ever used one password in her life. Stupid and risky, perhaps, but she considered it to be quite obscure really, at least to people who didn’t know about her Dirty Dancing obsession from the ‘80s. Very slowly she typed JOHNNY4H and hit return. The phone accepted the password immediately. She dialled her home number and pressed the phone to her ear, at the same time leaning towards the front door, wondering if she’d hear it ringing inside the house too. She didn’t.
‘Anthony Jones.’ The young man’s Welsh accent was as pronounced as Fireman Sam’s.
‘He-hello? I thought this number belonged to Rick and Hayley Cooper?’
‘No, sorry. Wrong number.’
Hayley read the number back to him and he repeated it.
‘Sorry, love. That’s my number. Perhaps try directory enquiries. Toodle-oo.’
Directory enquiries were no help. They confirmed the number belonged to a Mr. A. Jones. Hayley used the mobile to check it on the Internet with the same result. She dialled Rick’s mobile phone but a recorded message told her the number wasn’t in service. There was one person left who she could trust to tell her the truth and nothing but.
Mum.
‘Hello? Karen Adams speaking.’
‘Mum?’
‘Hayley. How are you, pet? Hang on, we’ve just come back from our walk. You know how your dad enjoys the sun in the morning.’
‘Mum, I –’
‘Just a sec while I push the wheelchair into the lounge … There. I only said a minute ago that I hope we’ll see you this weekend.’ She paused. ‘And Chris too.’
‘Chris?’
‘Yes, love. Are things any better between the two of you?’
Hayley swallowed. ‘We have our ups and downs,’ she said and closed her eyes.
Karen sighed. ‘I know I’ve said it before, but remember you can always move back in with us if you need to. If you and Chris ever …’
Hayley drew in a sharp breath. ‘Mum … do … do you know Rick?’
‘Rick who?’
‘What about Millie and Danny?’
Karen said nothing for a few seconds. ‘I don’t remember you mentioning them.’
‘Oh, Mum … I –’
‘Hayley, are you okay? What’s going on?’
She heard the panic in her mother’s voice and forced herself to sound chirpy. ‘I’m fine, Mum. Honest. It’s … nothing.’ Her brain filled with swirling fog and clouds, preventing her from grasping the truth or understanding the repercussions.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes. Look, I’d better go. I’ll call you later. Bye, Mum.’
Hayley sat for a while, letting hot tears trickle down her face. Then she finally slipped the phone back in her bag and got up slowly.