Time After Time

by Wendy Godding

  ‘Penelope, I…’

  ‘Yes?’ she breathed, urging him to speak, to say the words she wanted to hear, although she couldn’t be sure exactly what they were.

  ‘I…’ Without another word, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers. She started a little from surprise but soon lost herself in the tender feel of his lips. They were soft and warm, and she felt a strange stirring in the pit of her stomach, like something had been awoken from a long sleep.

  Like a part of her had come home.

  Looping an arm around her waist, he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. The strange sensation in her belly quickly turned to a burning throb. She felt the hard length of his body against hers and leaned into the kiss, entwining her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him to her. The feel and taste of him was exquisite, and the fire unfurling within her stomach sent delicious sensations throughout every nerve in her body.

  After a moment she pulled back, her face a picture of surprise. Her eyes heavily lidded, her breath came in ragged pants.

  Heath grinned his disarming, lopsided smile. ‘Sweet Penelope. Come back.’

  He reached for her, but she wavered slightly and shook her head, ignoring the disappointment she felt at doing so. At that moment she felt like she would deny him nothing, an idea that both intrigued and terrified her.

  ‘I don’t want to stop yet,’ he murmured, his eyes focused on her mouth, ‘and I don’t think you do, either.’

  His words fanned her desire, but she remained stationary.

  ‘Come to me, Pene,’ he whispered.

  She swallowed hard and felt herself sway towards him, as if his very words summoned her. The magnetism of him was exquisite pleasure and torture at the same time. Pleasure from her body but torture from her mind, which suddenly reared up before her. A pair of startling silver eyes, shocking her.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘I, ah…’ She stumbled over her words. ‘I, ah, shouldn’t be doing this.’

  ‘Kissing me? How can you say that when it is so very perfect?’ He reached for her again and drew her close, his breath warm against her cheek. ‘I feel like I have waited an eternity for you, Penelope.’

  His words were enough, and she melted against him once more, leaning in eagerly for another kiss. This time she wrapped her arms tightly around him, securing him against her and holding him close, overwhelmed with the desire to pull him into her. A desire so strong and intense that she trembled, frightened by the depth of her feelings.

  ‘Penelope, I’m in love with you,’ he murmured against her lips, his breath hot and sweet. ‘Marry me, please?’

  ‘What?’ she gasped, completely shocked. Surprise registered on his face as well, and she waited, expecting him to realise his mistake and immediately rescind the words. Marry him? It was absurd to even think it, and yet her heart swelled and hope made her pulse quicken. She wanted to marry him more than anything. Somehow she knew that in marrying him she’d be forever safe.

  From what? What am I so afraid of? Penelope wondered, thinking of her nightmares and the strange silver-eyed rider.

  ‘I know,’ Heath said, his words coming in a heated rush, ‘we’ve only known each other a short time—’

  ‘It’s been little more than a week!’

  ‘I know, and I hardly understand it myself,’ he said, ‘but I know my heart and feelings. I know you are the one for me, Penelope. From the first moment I saw you, I knew it. A month. A week. A year. Time won’t change how I feel—I’m sure of it. What we have is timeless.’

  ‘You barely know me,’ she whispered, the drumming in her chest echoing in her ears.

  ‘I know you’re beautiful. And good. And kind.’ He touched her cheek tenderly. ‘And I know I want you. When I look at you I feel a strange, surreal longing inside me that I’ve never felt before. What more should I know?’

  ‘A lot more!’ Penelope cried, alarmed by the sudden turn of events and the intensity of his words, which mirrored her own feelings. ‘And I know nothing about you.’

  ‘What do you want to know? Ask and I’ll tell you all!’ he cried. ‘Penelope, I know it’s sudden and rushed, but I’m sure. I’m also sure of your feelings.’

  She coloured. ‘Sir, you are being presumptuous.’

  ‘Am I?’ he retorted. ‘I see the blush in your cheeks when you look at me. I feel you tremble in my arms. I feel your desire when we kiss. There is something intense and unfathomable between us, and I know you feel it too.’

  Penelope considered his declaration. His words warmed her heart but sent alarm bells ringing in her mind. ‘My father will not approve of such a sudden match.’

  Heath grinned. ‘Then we will tell no one. We’ll keep our engagement secret until you are sure that a sufficient amount of time has passed before we can make it known.’

  ‘You would do that?’

  ‘I would do it for you,’ Heath answered, his voice low. ‘I told you. Time will not change anything.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Present day

  Meredith stared at me across the table. Dressed in a black vintage dress, black stockings and boots, with a stack of old-fashioned beads around my neck, I felt her disapproval at my appearance. ‘Everything okay?’ I asked her after a few moments.

  She twisted her lips before replying. ‘Do you have to dress like that? You know, Brookdale isn’t really thriving with goths and emos.’

  I narrowed my eyes. Gran had never been bothered by how I looked, so I didn’t see why Meredith had to get on my case now. ‘Brookdale isn’t exactly the centre of the universe, either,’ I countered.

  ‘Well, you know, maybe you could downplay it a little,’ Meredith suggested. ‘It might make things easier.’

  ‘What things? You mean, so I don’t embarrass you?’

  Meredith sighed. ‘Forget it. Never mind. You’re not an embarrassment to me, Abbie, I just worry about you, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, no need. I’m fine.’ I turned my attention back to the section of the Saturday newspaper I’d been reading.

  It was the obituaries. Glancing down the list, I almost expected to see my name there, which was completely ridiculous. I wasn’t dead…yet. Besides, he wasn’t in Brookdale, he was in Broadhurst, spying on Penelope from a distance.

  I shivered. Those silver grey eyes always left me trembling.

  ‘So I hear there’s a school dance tonight?’ Meredith said, her voice lighter.

  ‘How’d you hear that?’ I asked.

  ‘Valerie told me,’ Meredith replied, ‘Marcus is going. He’s taking Lilly. Do you know her?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, maybe you could go too,’ Meredith suggested.

  ‘Threesomes aren’t really my thing.’ I didn’t even look up from the paper.

  ‘Maybe you could go on your own,’ Meredith corrected patiently, ‘or with friends?’

  ‘Can’t. Working.’ I sipped my coffee. I didn’t particularly want to talk about Marcus and Lilly, or think about them dancing together.

  ‘Tonight? You don’t normally work Saturday night.’

  ‘Simone has a date.’

  Meredith looked surprised by this. ‘Wow. Well, maybe you could go after work?’

  I looked up, sighing heavily. ‘I already have plans.’ I didn’t see why Meredith was suddenly pushing the case. She’d never been bothered before that I didn’t attend school social functions, and Gran had never minded.

  Meredith met my eyes. ‘Look, Abbie, I’m trying here. Maybe if you met me halfway and trusted me a little we wouldn’t have this problem.’

  ‘What problem?’ I frowned, looking up, feeling suddenly as if there were something going on I wasn’t privy too.

  ‘You. You need to tell me what’s troubling you,’ she said. ‘I can’t help you if you don’t trust me.’

  ‘I trust you.’

  ‘Then please tell me what’s going on in your life,’ Meredith pleaded. ‘I was a teenager too y
ou know—I can help.’

  ‘No,’ I replied, ‘that you can’t do.’

  ‘How do you know? Look, Abbie, your behaviour is not normal, and I have to say, it’s really quite scary.’

  ‘Great! So now you think I am a freak!’

  ‘No, I don’t. But all this black…You’re such a pretty girl. It’s like you’re trying to make yourself ugly or scary on purpose. Like you are hiding from the world.’

  I swallowed hard at her too true words. ‘Have you been reading Psychology for Dummies? Look, I just don’t want to be a clone, that’s all. Is that so wrong?’

  ‘No,’ Meredith faltered for a moment. ‘But you have hardly any friends. You barely speak to me, and we used to be so close. Your grades are good, but Abbie, since my mum died you’ve become more and more withdrawn, and I don’t think I can cope with it anymore.’

  I stared at her. Where exactly was this conversation going? ‘What do you mean? I keep out of your way. I don’t steal or take drugs. I don’t bring random boys home. I earn my own money—I cost you nothing!’

  ‘You’re misunderstanding me. You aren’t hindering my life at all. You’re right. I barely know you’re here. But I’m not qualified to look after you anymore on my own. You need more help.’

  A hard lump formed in my throat. I’d known this day would come, known that somehow I would be found out. I just hadn’t realised it would be so soon.

  ‘I think maybe you should see a therapist,’ Meredith announced.

  ‘A shrink?’

  ‘A therapist. Someone who can help. Someone you can talk to. Someone who understands.’

  ‘I don’t need to talk to someone. I’m fine,’ I said tightly. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. Please don’t do this to me, I begged Meredith silently, not when I’m so close to graduation, to getting out of this place.

  ‘You aren’t fine. Truthfully, I’m scared for you, Abbie.’ Meredith spoke in a low voice, and, for the first time, I realised this wasn’t a spur of the moment decision for Meredith. She’d been thinking about this for some time.

  ‘I’m not suicidal,’ I said passionately, desperate to reassure my aunt.

  ‘Aren’t you? Because I don’t know that. I look at you, Abbie, and I see anger and sadness. I don’t know what else to do!’ Meredith’s eyes brimmed with tears, and I suddenly felt sorry for her. I’d had no idea, I realised. I thought I was doing her a favour by staying out of her way.

  ‘Look, Meredith,’ I said calmly, trying another tactic to avoid psychoanalysis by some weirdo shrink who might possibly lock me away. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been so worried. But honestly I’m fine. You needn’t worry. School has just been, you know, busy.’

  ‘Abbie—’

  ‘Look, I have to go,’ I stood up, ‘I have homework I need to do before work. I’ll see you later, okay?’

  Meredith looked less than happy, but she nodded, offering a wan smile just the same.

  Arriving at the library, I secured myself a desk in a corner upstairs, away from everyone else. I spread my things out, opened my laptop, and started work on the English assignment due in a few days. It was on Jane Eyre, but I found it difficult to concentrate. My thoughts kept returning to Meredith, and the whole Heath thing and his odd, sudden proposal to Penelope.

  Then there was the man with grey eyes. Silver eyes. They were a strange colour—one that, depending on the light and his mood, wavered between the two tones. Not that I had seen him recently. Since that day on the edge of the forest, he’d kept out of Penelope’s sight.

  I felt a strange, pathetic hope swell deep inside me. Maybe he would remain hidden, maybe he would let Penelope marry Heath and live happily ever after? Glancing down, I noticed my hand trembling.

  There was no way he would let her go. He never did.

  Eventually he would come for her. Once he arrived, which could be at any moment considering Penelope was seventeen, it would only be a matter of time. I wondered idly how he would do it this time. How he would kill her. Me.

  Stop thinking about it, I told myself. There was no point worrying—there was nothing that could be done. I would just have to wait and bear the inevitable grief that followed, this time made worse because I would be leaving behind my Mr Lockwood.

  I shook myself. Not my Mr Lockwood, I corrected, Penelope’s.

  I spent the morning studying and writing, absorbed in the world of Jane Eyre. Jane was a woman I strongly identified with. Orphaned, unwanted, snubbed by society—I even had my own personal Blanche in the form of Lilly Hamilton. The differences were that, for me, there was no Mr Rochester. And the mad woman in the attic was me.

  At one o’clock I went and bought myself a snack from the foyer before going to the front desk to begin my shift. It would be a long eight hours, but I needed the money and had no desire to return home to Meredith and her threats of psychoanalysis.

  ‘Thanks for doing this, Abbie,’ Simone said as I approached.

  ‘It’s fine. But you aren’t going to fall madly in love with this dork and make me work every Saturday night, are you?’ I teased.

  ‘It’s just one date. And he isn’t a dork.’

  ‘You never date. And he must be a dork.’

  ‘Neither do you,’ Simone retorted, ignoring the dork reference.

  I shrugged. ‘Who is there to date around here?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Simone rolled her eyes, ‘Boys, maybe. I assume there are some cute guys at your school.’

  ‘You assume wrongly.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Abbie, there must be someone you find cute?’

  An image of Marcus immediately sprang to my mind. I blinked it away. He was right now wrapped up in Lilly Hamilton, no doubt. ‘No.’

  Simone tilted her head thoughtfully. ‘I hear the Spring dance is on tonight.’

  Of course Simone knew about the dance. Simone knew everything that went on in Brookdale.

  ‘You should go,’ she encouraged.

  ‘Working.’

  ‘Only until nine. You could go after.’

  ‘Have plans after.’

  ‘With who? Beth and Laura are both going to the dance.’

  I looked up from the trolley of books I’d begun sorting. ‘What is the sudden interest in my social life? First Meredith, and now you? You don’t see me prying into your life, asking a hundred and one questions, do you?’

  Simone bristled. ‘Ask away.’

  ‘What’s your date do?’

  ‘He’s in public service.’

  I made a face. ‘Told you he’s a dork. How old?’

  ‘Twenty something.’

  ‘Good looking?’

  ‘His photo is.’ Simone shrugged.

  I gasped. ‘You haven’t even met him? He could be a mad rapist or something.’

  ‘It’s our first date,’ Simone bristled, ‘and he is not a mad rapist.’

  ‘You never know,’ I said. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you if you end up dead in some alleyway somewhere. He could be Brookdale’s own Jack the Ripper.’

  ‘Honestly, Abbie,’ snapped Simone, ‘is there really no censoring your tongue? You can’t go around saying things like that about people.’

  ‘I can say whatever I want! I’m not the one about to be murdered by Jack the Ripper!’

  I stalked away before Simone could answer, feeling jittery and hot. Something was up; my instincts were almost screaming at me, and I knew to pay attention to my instincts. Instincts might have let countless others down before, but so far, mine hadn’t failed me.

  Did it have something to do with Simone’s date? Maybe the fact that I suspected Meredith and Simone had been talking. That meant Meredith was more concerned than I’d realised. She’d probably talked to Beth and Laura too.

  I paused, the book I held suspended midair. If Meredith was really concerned she might look for clues in my room or in the attic where I spent so much time. She might look through my things. My throat went dry. She might find my journal.

  My secret journal s
tashed under the chair.

  The one that documented all my other lives.

  Evidence of my madness.

  No wonder Meredith had seemed so surprised to hear that Simone had a date. She’d spoken to Simone recently and yet Simone hadn’t mentioned it, no doubt because they were too busy talking about me.

  Dropping the book, I ran back to the counter.

  ‘Simone,’ I rasped, ‘did Meredith come to see you about me?’

  Simone guiltily diverted her gaze. ‘Well, yes, but she is really worri—’

  I waved my hand. ‘Never mind. But I have to go—I’ll be back, okay? Just give me twenty minutes.’

  ‘Well, okay,’ Simone frowned, but I didn’t waste any more time, bolting from the library and down the road. My house was a five-minute bus ride or a fifteen-minute walk, but it was Saturday afternoon so the buses didn’t come that often. I’d have to walk. Or run.

  As I ran along the pavement, my only focus was the journal—the clunky, old book that held my deepest, darkest thoughts. What if Meredith read it? What would she think? I almost choked on the thought, trying to recall the last few entries of Penelope in an English village.

  In the year 1806.

  I’d outlined Heath’s proposal, which was our last encounter. I groaned inwardly. Meredith would think I was schizophrenic at the very least, or mad. There would be no escaping the shrink now.

  I was rapidly changing from being the poor, misunderstood orphan of Jane Eyre to the mad woman in the attic.

  It was only when I turned into my street that I slowed, coming to a brisk walking pace and drawing in slow, steady breaths to calm myself. Maybe it will be okay…

  Meredith’s car wasn’t there so I let myself in and raced upstairs. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I had a feeling I would know if anyone had read my journal.

  Pausing inside my bedroom, I looked around. It was in the state of the usual organised chaos I favoured: a poster of Good Charlotte on one wall, the faded pink, floral doona unmade on my bed.

  Maybe I was overreacting, too suspicious for my own good.

  My eyes scanned the room, searching for signs of trespass. Clothes hung on top of the hamper, black makeup sat on the dresser, the mirror was strung with beads, and books were stacked, not lined, on their shelf, which was the way I liked them. It all looked the same.