Читать книгу Time After Time: A heart-warming novel about love, loss and second chances - Hannah McKinnon Mary - Страница 15

After walking away from what should have been her home with Rick, Hayley realised there weren’t many places left for her to go. She couldn’t land on her parents’ doorstep – she’d heard the panic in her mother’s voice. There was no way she could see them in this state. Not until she’d figured things out.

Back on the tube she sat down, forced herself to breathe more slowly, close her eyes, then told herself to think things through. She’d always considered herself a logical person, a seasoned, no-bullshit solicitor, so she started doing what she did best; she analysed the events, from waking up with Chris to her mum telling her she was married to him. Then she remembered what she’d said to Ellen the night before.

What if I’d said yes when Chris proposed?

She swallowed.

Did I fall asleep as Mrs. Hayley Cooper and wake up as Mrs. Hayley Jenkins?

She couldn’t think of an explanation more absurd or more impossible. But what else could it be? The only other alternative was that she was going mad – or had gone mad – and that was just as scary.

Panic rising, she forced herself to breathe in a more controlled and Zen-like fashion – in through the nose, out through the mouth, over and over again. But the little self-control she thought she’d regained seemed to slip away each time she exhaled.

She scrunched up her eyes and pressed her balled fists over her ears, wishing herself back to her family. But when she looked up again and lowered her hands, the sounds of the tube hadn’t suddenly disappeared, and she hadn’t magically been whisked back home.

Where’s a pair of ruby slippers when you need them?

As she leaned back in her seat, the young couple standing in front of her started talking more loudly.

‘I’m telling you, you’re wrong,’ the girl said as she looked up at the guy and shifted the weight of her backpack.

‘Am not,’ the guy answered, and as he shook his head, his dreadlocks flopped around.

‘I bet you are,’ she said and laughed. ‘It’s the other way. Why don’t you ask someone?’

‘With my crap English? No way. Besides, the book says talking to people on the tube is rude.’

‘Well I want to go to Buckingham Palace today,’ the girl said and frowned, ‘I see enough of the Métro in Paris.’

‘Excuse me,’ Hayley said and they both turned towards her. ‘You’re on the right line for Buckingham Palace but,’ she pointed up at the map on the tube wall, ‘it’s true, you’re heading in the wrong direction. You have to go the other way and get off at Victoria station. See?’

‘That’s exactly what I told him,’ the girl said and winked at Hayley. ‘Men!’

The guy smiled and scratched his stubble. ‘Ah, I should’ve known. She’s always right.’

‘Thank you,’ the girl said. ‘Your French is excellent, by the way.’

‘French?’ Hayley said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t speak French.’

The girl laughed again. ‘You’re too modest, you speak it really well. Thanks again.’

Hayley watched the couple move towards the doors and squinted at the copy of Libération the guy had sandwiched under his arm. It was close enough for her to make out the words. But that wasn’t all. She understood them.

The couple continued talking and Hayley listened more intently, paying attention to each syllable, every intonation.

‘Tu vois,’ the girl said as she put her arms around her boyfriend. ‘La prochaine fois tu m’écoutes mieux, d’accord?’

Hayley gaped at them with wide eyes, understanding every word.

‘C’est impossible,’ she said out loud to herself, ‘Je n’ai jamais appris le français.’ Her hand flew up to cover her open mouth.

Since when do I speak French? What’s next? Latin? Parseltongue?

She closed her eyes again to escape any other oddities that might be thrown her way, and only opened them when her stop was announced over the loudspeaker.

At Chris’ house she mustered all the courage she could find, slid one of the keys into the lock and, heart pounding and palms sweating, pushed open the door.