Author’s Note

‘A Healing Love’ is a direct continuation of ‘A Wounded Heart,’ ‘A Tortured Soul,’ and ‘A Good Man.’ It picks up a few weeks after the end of ‘A Wounded Heart.’ If you haven’t read the first three books, then you probably won’t get as much enjoyment from this book as possible.

In addition, it may be beneficial to have read some of the other Westmouthshire Novels, but that is not essential. Both Chloë Goodman from ‘Kissed by a Rose’ and Will Brown from ‘Eternally & Evermore’ have significant supporting roles in ‘A Healing Love,’ and understanding their backstories will enhance your enjoyment. Bobby Jones of ‘The Lies Series’ and David Laird of ‘Charlotte’s Secret,’ both have supporting roles, too.

All these stories take place in Westmouth, Westmouthshire—a fictional town and county on the South-East Coast of England. ‘A Healing Love’ uses some of the locations established in those earlier Westmouthshire Novels and references some characters not mentioned above and some of the events from them. Keep your eyes open and allow a wry smile whenever you spot a reference.

Oh, and one more thing. This book uses uncompromising adult language to depict uncompromising adult emotions and activities. If that is likely to offend you, sorry, but you bought the wrong book.

1: An Empty Home

Saturday 4th January 2014

An eerie silence greeted me as I opened my front door. It was cold and inside, the air stale, having been empty over Christmas and New Year. I flicked the switch in the wall just inside, flooding the entrance with light, then walked through the hallway and the kitchen and into the utility room, where the heating controls were. I’d left the house to stay with Vicky for Christmas, on the same day that Hannah had left Westmouth with her father. Before locking up, I’d turned the heating off entirely. Partly to try and save some money—not that I really needed to save money—but more to do my bit to help save the planet.

After all, there’s no point heating an empty house.

I ended up staying with my sister and sister-in-law for almost two full weeks, and it was a welcome change from my usual routine at university—a break from the worries and responsibilities of study. It also kept me from dwelling on the end of my relationship with Hannah. I lent a hand in her restaurant—waiting tables like I used to do up at Micester Hall back when I was in sixth form. I worked from the twenty-third until the twenty-seventh—yes, that included Christmas Day itself and Boxing Day because Vicky was able to charge nearly triple her usual prices for meals on those days. She then closed the business for four days and we had a belated Christmas celebration at her home.

Her home. Hers and Jessica’s. Not mine. I was just a guest.

Vicky reopened the restaurant for a New Year’s Eve celebration, again charging far more than she usually would have been able to for a set menu. Guests—including Emily, Lisa, and their families at my expense—began arriving just before eight and stayed until well after one. It was a lively, laughter-filled evening with friends.

It really was a great couple of weeks.

But now I was back in Westmouth, in a cold, empty house, all alone.

Well, all alone for a little while, at least.

My phone beeped and vibrated in my pocket. I took it out, unlocked it and read the message from Imogen.

Hi, Paul. We’ve just got off the M25. Mark says we’re about an hour away.

It was late afternoon—or early evening if you prefer. Imogen had sent me a message just after lunch to say she and Mark were leaving Manchester, and she kept me updated for the entire trip.

After spending Christmas Day and Boxing Day with their respective families, Mark had gone down to South Wales to meet Imogen’s parents on the twenty-seventh. He stayed for a few days before he drove them both back to stay with his parents for the New Year celebrations.

They were then coming back to Westmouth together. It was about a five-hour journey, although Mark insisted he could do it in under four hours if the traffic was kind.

But the traffic was never kind on the motorways he’d be using. He’d have to come down the M6, and then either the M40 or the M1, and then around the M25—and all of those roads were notorious for heavy traffic.

I knew they were in love, but I wondered if they still would be by the time they got back. That kind of journey can be hell on relationships.

My plan had been to arrive early so that I could get the house warmed up after two weeks with the heating off and make sure there was plenty of hot water because I was sure they’d both want a shower—or want a shower together—and then order some pizza for delivery once they’d settled in.

I smiled to myself at the thought of seeing them again. I know it had only been two weeks, but I’d missed them. And I wanted to make sure they felt welcome. In many ways, they were as much a part of my family as Vicky and Jess—maybe even more so after the last year and a half. And this was as much their home as it was mine—at least, I hoped that’s how they thought of it.

Vanessa was due back the next day—I was picking her up from the train station again. We hadn’t been as close in the last semester as we had been back in the spring, but I still missed her too—she was as much a part of the rich tapestry of our household as anyone else—always laughing and smiling and with a kind word for everyone.

Term didn’t actually start for another week, but our household had returned to Westmouth early because Chloë had invited us to the World Première of her latest blockbuster movie in London’s glamorous Leicester Square.

I can’t say I was looking forward to the start of term. We had a ‘Reading Week’ for the first week, during which optional revision sessions replaced lectures. Two weeks of exams followed to round off the first semester. I sighed as I thought about the exams.

I hated exams.

I was confident that I knew the material because I’d studied hard, but I always worried that I’d mess up somehow on the day. I never had, up to now, not in my GCSE, A Levels or at university—but it was an ever-present niggle in the back of my mind.

Still, worrying about exams rather than anything else showed how far I’d come in a such a short space of time.

These exams represented the half-way point of my degree course—the end of the third of six semesters. I found that hard to believe. The first year and a half had flown by so quickly and so much had happened in that time. Eighteen months ago, I’d just returned from my trip around the USA and wasn’t in any better frame of mind than when I’d started the trip nine months prior.

If anything, I was in a worse mental state.

But things improved with the help of old friends, like Emily and Lisa, who already cared about me, and new friends like Mark, Imogen, Vanessa and, latterly, Hannah, and I was in a far, far better place now. Immeasurably better.

The exams took us to the end of January, and the new semester started at the beginning of February—that meant a whole new set of modules with a new timetable of lectures, seminars and tutorials, including the elective module I was taking on Economics. I figured that was appropriate given my circumstances.

Chloë’s Première was on Wednesday evening, starting at seven, and our plan was to travel to London by train as a group on Tuesday—Emily and Lisa had been invited too—and stay in a hotel. We were going to get there early, do some shopping and sightseeing during the day on Tuesday and again on Wednesday morning before attending not just the Première but also the ‘after-party’ in the evening until late. We’d then stay one more night in the hotel before getting the train home on Thursday morning. Emily would then head back to her Student Village house on Friday, and Lisa would head back to Cambridge on the same day.

Well, that was the plan. But you know what they say about the best-laid plans.

---

“Paul! We’re back!” The call came from the hallway. “Paul?”

“In the living room,” I called back. “Thought I’d watch the big telly while I have the chance.”

“Oy!” Mark said, knowing full well my comment was meant for him—he spent more time in front of the fifty-five-inch TV in the living room than I did.

The two of them came into the living room, Imogen first and Mark behind. I was in “Mark’s” armchair, and he gave me a dirty look before sitting on the sofa next to his girlfriend.

“Good journey?” I asked.

“Horrendous,” Mark replied. “That section of the M6 around Birmingham is a fucking nightmare. And don’t even get me started on the M25. And the road works! Fucking everywhere!”

Imogen put her hand on his thigh and squeezed. “It wasn’t that bad,” she said. “Not really.”

He looked at her and smiled. “Yeah, I suppose. At least I had you there to talk to.”

I rolled my eyes. “Is this what you two were like last term when I wasn’t around?”

“Fuck you,” Mark said with a smirk, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Don’t be mean,” Imogen said, also grinning.

Mark shrugged. “I’m going to make a brew, anyone want one?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Imogen said. “I’m going to take my bags upstairs and have a shower.”

Mark nodded, then looked at me. I shook my head. “I’m good, thanks. But I was going to order a pizza, you both okay with that?”

Both nodded, and while Mark went into the kitchen, Imogen went upstairs, and I went to get my laptop so I could order the pizza, smiling to myself as I did. It was good to have them back.

---

Just under an hour later, we sat around the kitchen table finishing the last of the pizza and washing it down with a beer. Well, Mark and I were washing it down with a beer—Imogen had opened a bottle of white wine and poured herself a large glass. It was about half-past nine.

“I’ve been wondering…” Imogen said. “Well, we’ve been wondering…” Her tone was that of someone with a question to ask, but hesitant to ask it. “Would you mind if I… Well, if we… replaced the bed in my room with a double?”

I shrugged. “It’s up to you. It’s your room. And your bed. As long as you think it will fit.”

Imogen visibly relaxed. “Thanks. I was just… You know, I didn’t know if you’d… you know?”

“Look, Gen, if you’re going to spend your nights with this big lump, then you’re obviously going to need a bigger bed. It’s not a problem.”

“You sure?”

“I told you, I’m happy for you. For both of you.” I paused. “Plus, if he’s moving into your room, then maybe I can rent out the box room.”

“Oh, I’m not moving out completely,” Mark said. “I’ll still need somewhere to study.”

“Study? You? Ha! That’ll be the day.”

“Hey, shut it, you,” Mark said, his tone light in contrast to the words. “I get enough of that from her.” He nodded his head towards Imogen. “Just because I’m not writing five-thousand-word essays every other week doesn’t mean I don’t study. Four hours in the lab, twice a week—I’d like to see you do that.”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Thought so.” He grinned. It looked like he and Imogen had the same banter about their choice of degree subjects that I’d had with Hannah.

“Aww, poor baby,” Imogen said, grinning and rubbing his arm. “Eight hours a week in a horrible lab full of sweaty, nerdy boys.”

He gave her a dirty look, then said, “Twelve hours a week next semester when we start our level two group project. Six hours a day on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“Yeah, it must be tough,” I said, “six hours of pissing about with lasers and Bunsen burners.”

“It’s a physics lab,” he said, with a grin, “We don’t have Bunsen burners. We do have lasers, though. Really powerful ones. It’s so fucking cool.”

Imogen rolled her eyes, then drained the last few drops of wine from her glass.

“I think I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.” She looked at Mark. “Join me?”

He nodded. “Go get ready. I’ll be up in a bit. I want to ask Paul something.”

Imogen nodded, then got up and left the two of us alone. I looked at Mark and raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t often he straight up said he had something to ask.

“I’ll get to it,” he said. “I will. But you know me, right? It’s not easy, this stuff.”

I nodded.

“I wanted to say thanks first.”

“For what?”

“For this week. Sorting it all out. And for paying for it. You know me, mate. You know I like to pay my way and shit, but there’s no way I’d have been able to afford this—two nights in a posh hotel in London.”

“It’s not that posh.”

“It is to me, mate. I’m a northerner, remember?” He grinned. His being from ‘up north’ was a standing joke between us. “Seriously, though, you’re paying what…? Hundred quid a night per room? There’s no way I could have stretched to that—even going halves with Immy. I’d have been looking for some cheap place that would have been grotty as fuck—if we’d have stayed overnight at all. Probably would have just gone up on the train on the day and left early to get the last train back.”

“You know I’m happy to do it.”

“I know, mate. But still… Hundred quid a night. Two nights. And what…? Six rooms? That’s well over a grand. And that’s before any meals and drinks and stuff, which we all know you’ll try and pay for too.”

I shrugged. “It’s more like two hundred a night, but it’s only four rooms. I’ve got a twin with Jem. Lisa’s sharing with Vanessa, then there’s you and Gen, and Ems and Phil. I’m surprised that Ness isn’t bringing… er… What-his-name?”

“Mickey.”

“Yeah, Mickey. When did those two hook up, by the way? Have I really been so caught up in my own world that I didn’t notice?”

“Pretty much. Although, in fairness, your world since Halloween pretty much revolved around Hannah and you were happy, so no one could really blame you for not keeping up with what the rest of us were doing.”

“So, how long?”

“Not long after you got together with Hannah, I don’t think. Couple of weeks or so, maybe. You’ll have to ask Immy.”

“And you and Gen?”

He smirked. “Since the summer, mate.”

“But you kept denying it.”

“Course we did. We was being all discreet and shit, weren’t we?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Look, though, mate, seriously… Thanks. Not just from me, but from Immy and the rest too. I mean, apart from the hotel and stuff, the only reason we’ve even been invited to this shindig is because you made friends with Chloë.”

I shrugged again. “I think the girls and their little group chat has more to do with it than me.”

“Maybe. But you’re the reason for the group chat in the first place, don’t forget. Have you even seen it, by the way? It’s mad.”

I shook my head. “No, although I did stupidly invite some of them to a separate chat to ask for some advice.”

He laughed. “Bet you thought that was a mistake after about ten minutes.”

“After five, actually.”

He laughed again. “Not surprised.”

“So you’ve seen this group of theirs?”

He nodded. “Immy wanted to add me, but I said no. She shows me on her phone though sometimes. I swear, I thought us guys took the piss out of each other in our chats, but theirs is worse. And some of the shit they put in there. Real personal shit. Boggles the fucking mind.”

I shook my head and took a sip from my nearly empty beer.

“You said you had something to ask me.”

He shuffled in his seat. “Yeah. Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” He drained his beer and then cleared his throat. “Look, the thing is… It’s like… You know my Gran died last year. Last March.”

I nodded. I vaguely remembered it, but… well… You know. I had my own shit to deal with.

“Well, they’ve sorted everything out now. You know, like sold her house and cashed in all her insurances and bank accounts and shit. And she left me some money. I mean, not like… Money. Like what you’ve got. It’s only about thirty-five grand, a bit more. Mam’s really pissed about it, because Gran left more to us grandkids than she did her kids. Like our parents, you know? I mean Mam still got something. She got more than me actually, because even though Gran left like one-third to her kids and two-thirds to us grandkids, our parents’ share was only split three ways, between Mam and her brother and sister, but our bit, like, the grandkids, well, there’s eight of us, ain’t there? Does that make sense?

“Anyway, Mam was expecting more than she got, I think. I think she wanted to pay off the mortgage or something, but it’s not enough.

“Why am I telling you all that? Fucked if I know. Look, the point is, I’ve suddenly got a bit of money and, like, I don’t know what to do with it. And, like, you’re the only person I know with money, you know? And even though I’ve not got nearly as much as you, I just thought…” He shrugged.

I nodded. “I get it. I think.” I paused. “Where’s the money now?”

“Just in my account. It’s mad. I’ve never seen so many digits.”

“Well, the first thing I’d say is to move it. Open a savings account at the same bank and put it in there, so at least it’s getting some interest.”

He looked thoughtful. “I never thought of that.”

“There’s a load of different types of savings accounts. And they all have different interest rates, but you have to be careful ‘cause they have different terms and conditions. So, like, most of my money is in an account with a really good interest rate, but I have to give them six months’ notice if I want to take it out, or I lose some interest as a penalty. I mean, that’s fine, because I never wanted to take it out, you know?” I shrugged. I knew Mark understood. “But you don’t want to do that. Well, not six months anyway. Maybe a month’s notice if the interest is worth it. But, honestly, for now, just go for something simple like an instant access account. The interest won’t be much, but it’s better than nothing. Then I’ll put you in contact with Bobby—” I grinned, knowing how the next three words would sound. “—my financial advisor.”

Mark laughed. “Yeah. Right. Me with a financial advisor. It’s mad. But yeah, thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I was wondering though… This company you’ve set up. Is it, like… I mean, can anyone buy shares in it? I mean, I know thirty-five grand isn’t much to you, but could I use it to…” He shrugged.

“I don’t know. I mean, in theory, I could sell shares to anyone. But… I don’t know. Maybe let’s wait and see if the company is worthwhile before I start selling bits off to my friends.”

“Yeah. I see what you mean. But… just… you know. Keep me in mind if you’re looking for… what do they call it? Outside investment?”

2: A Twist of Fate

“Do you remember the last time we all went to London?” Vanessa asked.

“Almost exactly a year ago, wasn’t it?” Imogen said.

It was Tuesday morning, and I was sitting next to Vanessa and opposite Mark and Imogen at one of the four-person table seats on the nine-thirty-nine train from Westmouth to St Pancras, London. That was the earliest train we could get after the peak time had passed, saving us—well, me—some money.

“Yeah, about a year, give or take a few weeks,” said Mark. “It was after the exams, wasn’t it?”

Vanessa nodded. “Yeah. It was the day after…”

She left the thought unsaid. We all knew what she meant. It was the day after we’d found out that one of our hall-mates had been blackmailing Vanessa into having sex with him, and as if that wasn’t enough, we’d run into Del Stevens later in the day, and I’d tried to attack him. It hadn’t been a good day.

But the day trip to London had been.

“It seems like such a long time ago,” Imogen said. “So much has changed since then.”

There were eight of us on the trip—four boys and four girls, two ‘real’ couples and two ‘fake’ couples. Across the aisle from us, Emily sat next to Lisa, facing the direction of travel, opposite Phil and Jem.

I’d been ‘technically’ correct when I’d told Mark that this trip had more to do with the girls’ group chat than with me. I’m sure Chloë would have been happy for as many of us to turn up as we’d have liked, but it was a formal event and needed formal invitations. Those invitations had been to the four girls, each with a ‘plus one.’

Obviously, Emily and Imogen already had a ‘plus one’ in Phil and Mark, and between them, the girls had decided that I would be Vanessa’s and Jem would be Lisa’s. Ultimately, I don’t suppose it mattered to us, but I guess it mattered to the organisers for a high-profile event like this. They would have had security on their minds and needed to know who would be there and who, exactly, they were.

This arrangement kind of gave Emily a ‘get out of jail free card’ for a little dilemma she had over the trip.

Emily had, quite understandably, told Phil about the group chat and occasional lunch or afternoon tea with the movie star—he was her boyfriend after all. And Phil and Jem were so close that she’d told him too—which was why he was on this trip rather than Vanessa’s boyfriend, who didn’t know about the group chat with Chloë.

But Amanda still had no idea that Emily and Chloë were… What were they? Correspondents? Acquaintances? Friends? I mean, from what I saw when I invited them to my ‘Relationships Gurus’ chat, they certainly ‘spoke’ to each other like friends. And I know they were going out for a meal or a coffee as often as Chloë’s schedule allowed. Did that make them friends?

It doesn’t really matter. The point is, it didn’t matter what you called their relationship, Amanda wasn’t even aware that it existed. Emily could easily take Phil to the event as her guest, but she couldn’t exactly invite Amanda as Lisa’s—I mean, how would she explain the invitation? I suppose she could say she won tickets in some competition or something, but that wouldn’t explain us going to the after-party as well, would it? And it certainly wouldn’t explain how friendly Emily and Chloë would be at the party because I couldn’t see them pretending not to know each other.

Ultimately, Amanda didn’t get an invitation. Personally, I thought this was asking for trouble. Amanda was bound to find out she’d been excluded at some point and… Well, Amanda doesn’t take kindly to being left out.

I think Amanda’s exclusion was down to Chloë more than Emily, though. She once told me that she saw Amanda as the ‘antagonist’ to the ‘second act’ of my ‘story’, and as such didn’t want to have anything to do with her.

I didn’t see Amanda as an antagonist. If anything, without her acting as a catalyst to the events of almost exactly a year ago, I doubt I’d have ever moved on from the situation I was in back then.

Imogen was right. So much had changed.

---

We’d all taken overnight bags with us but had to leave them at the left luggage at St Pancras Station because we couldn’t check into our hotel until after three. That wasn’t cheap either. Having stayed with Vicky over Christmas and New Year, I’d had almost two weeks spending a fraction of what I usually did. Now it felt as if I’d be spending all the money that I’d saved then during this two-day trip instead.

Not that it really mattered. It’s not like I couldn’t afford it.

We decided to stay in the area around St Pancras for the morning rather than going further away and wasting time going back to get the bags later. So we hopped onto The Tube and went half a dozen stops on the Circle Line to Baker Street—yes, that Baker Street, home of one Sherlock Holmes. There’s actually a Sherlock Holmes Museum at 221b Baker Street, but our destination was Madame Tussaud’s. We had fun taking photos of ourselves and each other with politicians, royalty and celebrities. I had Mark take a photo of me wagging my finger and ‘ranting’ at the Prime Minister, for example. And Imogen, Emily, Lisa, Vanessa and I had a group photo taken with the wax model of Chloë. Imogen posted it in the girls’ group chat, to which Chloë replied that we’d have to recreate it for real at the after-party the next evening.

By the time we left Tussaud’s, it was lunchtime, so we had a long lunch in a nearby restaurant and then wandered around Regent’s Park for an hour before getting the Tube back to St Pancras to collect our bags before checking into our hotel.

After check-in, we went to Covent Garden so the girls could browse the designer fashion stores and jewellery shops—just browse, mind you. Even though I offered to buy them all something more than once, they all said I was spending more than enough on this trip already.

We stayed in the upmarket area for an evening meal. And after that I’d booked tickets to see a West End show.

All in all, it was a good day.

---

We had breakfast in the hotel on Wednesday then spent the rest of the day doing more tourist traps in the centre of the city, including St Paul’s Cathedral, Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament, Trafalgar Square and the shops on Oxford Street and Regent Street.

It was another good day, but we went back to the hotel at five so we could get ready for the big event. Our invitations said to arrive between six and half-past, well before most of the celebrities would arrive. No one in the crowd was interested in seeing eight random people they didn’t recognise, so we breezed straight into the theatre without anyone asking us for selfies or autographs or getting snapped by any paparazzi.

Once inside an usher showed us into a bar and offered us pre-show drinks. It was quite surreal to be sitting around with my friends like it was any other night in The Cap but watching celebrities of ever-increasing levels of fame come in after us.

At five to seven another member of staff directed everyone into the auditorium for the screening of a movie that already had pundits widely tipping for a bundle of award nominations. The main screen at the Odeon is quite luxurious—I mean, it would be, wouldn’t it, given it’s the one always used for the vast majority of Premières in Britain—but our allocated seats weren’t the best. We were ‘up in the gods,’ as they say, and off to the left. But, really, there isn’t a bad seat in the whole auditorium.

I was sandwiched between Lisa and Vanessa, but it didn’t feel ‘right.’ It’s weird because I’d been to the cinema with Lisa loads of times growing up and loads of times with Vanessa when we were going out. But now it felt… I don’t know… Wrong… to be sitting next to them both.

Vanessa picked up on my mood, even though I didn’t think I was giving off any kind of vibes. She nudged my arm as the studio’s flashy logo played out on the huge screen. I turned my head to look at her and she quietly said, “You okay?”

I nodded.

“You sure?”

I nodded again and whispered, “I’m fine. Really. I’m fine.”

She nodded then turned to face the screen.

The truth was, for the past couple of months, the only person I’d been to the cinema with was Hannah. And we’d hold hands, or she’d rest her head on my shoulder as I put my arm around her. We acted exactly like you’d expect a boyfriend and girlfriend to act in a darkened cinema.

And now here I was, at the best cinema in the whole country, watching a movie no one else in the world had yet seen, and Hannah wasn’t with me, wasn’t holding my hand, wasn’t resting her head on my shoulder.

And she probably never would again.

My melancholy lasted until a few minutes into the movie. Good movies have a habit of pulling you in. They have a habit of distracting you and you get completely lost in the very best ones.

And this was a good movie. Hell, it was a great movie.

After a slow opening, things really kicked off when a bomb went off in No. 10 Downing Street, killing the Prime Minister and most of his staff. Two of the survivors were Chloë’s character, Jane Brown, and her Metropolitan Police SO1 partner, played by British action hero John Latham. The pair were part of the Prime Minister’s security team. After the bomb, both characters were involved in an inventive foot chase through Central London in pursuit of the terrorist.

Latham and Chloë both featured quite prominently in the film’s marketing, particularly the posters plastered on billboards and buses all over the country, and in the television and social media adverts. So it was a real surprise when, at the end of that opening chase, the screen faded to black on an image of Chloë sitting on the floor holding her partner as he bled out after he took a bullet to the gut to protect his partner.

The film’s title sequence followed. Very much in the style of James Bond films over the years, it was an arty sequence, featuring Chloë quite heavily, while a soaring power ballad played over the images. I’d not heard the song before, but there was something familiar about it. Or, at least, something familiar about the singer’s voice. But I couldn’t place it. I knew that the Scottish Pop Princess Tina Thompson, one of Chloë’s best friends, sang most of the theme songs for her films, but this wasn’t Tina’s voice, which was uniquely distinctive with its Scottish twang. No, this was an American voice and it was quite ‘Country,’ if you know what I mean.

I knew I’d heard that voice before. But I just couldn’t place it.

And I didn’t recognise the singer’s name when it popped up on screen towards the end of the title sequence either.

Kayla Valentine.

Oh, well. It wasn’t important.

I put it out of my mind and settled in to watch the rest of the film.

In many ways, it was a ‘traditional’ action movie, with more foot chases, a car chase, and lots of gunplay. But it was a movie that was very self-aware and subverted many of the tropes of action movies, not least of which was that the big action movie ‘star’ spent the majority of the movie in a hospital bed fighting for his life, while it was Chloë’s character, who, you might have noticed, was a woman, who chased the villain, ran from the villain, fought with the villain and eventually won the day.

It was a lot of fun—a thrill ride of a movie which still managed to include some real heart-wrenching dramatic moments in which Chloë showed why she was one of the very best actresses of her generation. Was it going to get her the Best Actress Oscar nomination she hoped for? I have no idea. Action movies didn’t generally win awards, but this was not the typical type of action movie, so who knew? But it was an enjoyable couple of hours no matter what happened.

---

Even though we were among the last to leave the theatre after the credits rolled, we were among the first to arrive at the after-party, which was in the observation gallery at the top of The Shard—the tallest building in London.

I guess that the crowds outside the cinema when we left held up all the really important people as they signed autographs or posed for selfies or whatever.

“Well… That’s quite a view,” Mark said as he and I stood by one of the enormous windows looking out over the city from almost eight hundred feet up, both of us with a glass of champagne in hand.

“That it is.”

“Shame Hannah’s not here to see it.” I looked over to him and he shrugged. “She was good for you, mate.”

I nodded. “Yeah. But it is what it is. Water under the bridge. Ships that pass in the night.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

Now I shrugged. “Probably am. But I need to, don’t I?”

“Someone else will come along soon enough. They always do. I don’t understand it, but seriously hot babes seem to be attracted to you like flies are att—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” I said, with a grin. Mark grinned back.

We looked out over the London skyline again.

“I’ve been thinking, though,” I said.

“What about?”

I shrugged. “You know… Life. I just think that, maybe… You know?”

“You’re gonna have to give me a fucking clue, mate.”

“The past eight, nine months or so—maybe even longer really—I’ve been… I don’t know… Just kind of… Drifting.”

“Aren’t we all?”

I shrugged again. “Hannah wasn’t. She was focused. She knew what she wanted. She had a plan. And, yeah, I was a brief distraction from that plan, but she still had a plan.”

“And you think you don’t? The man setting up a company so he can buy into a law firm and set himself up for life and you think you don’t have a plan?”

I shrugged again. “Yeah, I know, but… It’s not really a ‘plan,’ is it? Well, it’s not my plan. It’s like, stuff happens, and I react to it. Or I let someone else tell me what to do, or show me what to do or…”

“Five someone elses and their group chat, you mean?”

“Yeah. But not always. I mean, like, Wintersmith… The only actual decision I’ve made since I first mentioned to Will that I wanted to help in some way is to pick the name of the company.”

“And decided how much to invest in it,” Mark replied. “That’s a pretty important thing too.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I mean, if things go to plan, then I end up investing everything, don’t I? Only… That’s just it, isn’t it? If things go to plan. But it’s not my plan, do you see? It’s David’s and Bobby’s and Chris’ and Will’s and… Everyone else but me.”

“Yeah, but… They’re all just looking out for your best interests, aren’t they?”

“Are they? How do I know that? I mean, David has done my tax returns and Bobby managed my investments and shit, but they didn’t do it for me, did they? They did it because they are getting paid. They did it because there was something in it for them. And has anything really changed there? Will’s different because he and my dad were best friends, but the rest of them?

“Look, when I went to see Lily’s dad, who was my dad’s friend as well, remember—Did I tell you he had a picture of my dad on his desk? Not just my dad, but of the four of them—him, my dad, Will and Clarissa’s dad. Anyway, he told me something. He said I shouldn’t trust anyone easily. That people need to earn my trust.”

“But haven’t they already done that? With what they’ve already done?”

I shrugged again. “I don’t know. Have they? That’s kind of my point. I just think…” I shook my head. “Ever since the accident, I’ve either been running from my problems—like I did when I went to America—or drifting along trying to ignore things, like I did last year with Amanda and her pimping me out to all and sundry. And then these past few months… Since the start of the summer, really, I’ve just sort of, I don’t know. I’ve almost let other people run my life for me and I’ve just gone along with it. Maybe it’s time I changed that. Took charge a bit more.”

Mark slapped me on the back. “Well, I can’t say it isn’t about fuckin’ time, mate. ‘Cause it fucking is. Welcome back to the real world, buddy.”

I huffed and shook my head. “Fuck you, Arsehole,” I said with a grin.

“Fuck you too, mate,” Mark said, grinning back. “Fuck you too.”

---

It wasn’t much of a party if I’m honest. In fact, I’d go as far as to say it was downright boring. I guess it’s because it was what they call a ‘grown-up’ party—not the sort of thing my friends and I were used to at all. We usually went to Central Pier or Porky’s, where the music was so loud you couldn’t hear yourself speak, the beer was cheap—well, it was cheap in Porky’s, not so much in Central Pier—and where everybody danced all night.

Whereas at this party, music played at a low volume that encouraged conversation, and no one danced, because the music wasn’t for dancing to, it was the kind of music you heard in shop or restaurant.

So, everyone just stood around talking.

Talking, talking and talking some more.

Truth was, you couldn’t really hear the music at all over the general hum of people talking.

Waiting staff were on hand with open bottles of champagne to make sure our glasses were never empty and still more waiting staff wandered around carrying large trays of finger food from which we all helped ourselves whenever any of them came near.

Some of us more than others—I don’t think Imogen was happy with the amount Mark ate at all.

The View From The Shard—that was the name of the venue—took up four floors towards the top of the building. We were on level sixty-nine—a triple-height space, with a stairwell in the centre and three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of the capital pretty much wherever you stood.

An hour in, we’d seen plenty of D-list and C-list celebrities—mostly reality TV and daytime TV stars—but we hadn’t seen hide nor hair of our friend Chloë, or any of the other stars of the movie. They must have been up on level seventy-two, which was an open-air viewing gallery, also with those magnificent three-sixty views. We stayed together as a group and various people we didn’t recognise approached us throughout the night—probably powerful businesspeople or studio executives. But once they realised we were ‘nobodies’ they soon wandered off to schmooze with someone important.

Just after eleven, all four girls’ phones beeped. I knew that meant only one thing. Chloë had sent a message to their group chat.

All four of them took out their phones, unlocked them and read the message.

“It’s from Chloë,” Emily said. Us boys rolled our eyes at this ‘brand new information.’ “She wants us to go upstairs. She says she wants to introduce us to some people.”

“Probably the other actors,” Mark said. Talk about stating the bleeding obvious.

“They won’t let us up there,” Jem said. “Just look around—anyone who’s anyone is upstairs while us ordinary folks are kept separate.”

“She’s sent us a password to give to the doorman,” Imogen said. “And she says if there’s any problem, to call her and she’ll come and sort it out.” She started tapping on her phone. “I think I’ll just tell her we’re on the way, anyway. Maybe she’ll come and meet us.”

And that’s exactly what Chloë did. We had to give the password to the guard standing by the lift, but she’d clearly already told him to expect us. He even pushed the button to call the lift for us. And when the lift doors opened on level seventy-two, Chloë was waiting for us.

“Hi, guys! Glad you could make it. What did you think of the movie? No, tell me later. But be honest, all I’ve had so far this evening is everyone telling me how much they loved it and how ‘incredible’ I was.” She made air quotes with her fingers—which made me wince because she had a half-full glass of Champagne in her hand and nearly spilled it. “But they’re all paid to say nice things about me, so it doesn’t count. At least I know you guys will tell me the truth.” She pointed at Mark, almost spilling her Champagne again. “Especially you. The blunt, unvarnished truth, that’s you all over.”

Mark rolled his eyes and looked away.

Chloë finally took a breath and looked at Emily, who was holding Phil’s hand. She raised an eyebrow and grinned then looked directly at Phil. “You’re obviously Phillip. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good, I hope.”

“Mostly good. But the good is very good, if you know what I mean.” She winked at him and then turned to the only other person she hadn’t met before. “Jem, right? Jeremy?”

Jem nodded. “I won’t bother asking. I don’t even want to know what these four have told you about me.”

Chloë laughed joyously. “I don’t blame you.” She looked at me. “Paul. How are you? You okay?”

I nodded. “I’m good.”

She nodded back. “Come on, come in. There’re so many people I want you to meet.” She walked away, expecting us to follow. Which we did, me in the lead with Mark and Imogen just behind. She led us to the edge of the viewing platform, which, thankfully, was heated, because being eight hundred feet up at eleven at night in January, it was bloody freezing.

We had stopped close to a group of men in black tuxedos. Mark, Jem, Phil and I were wearing our tuxedos too, and the girls were all wearing their dresses from the Christmas Ball.

“Lots of people I want you to meet,” Chloë said, “Starting with…” She turned towards the group of men and called out, “Sam! Sam!”

Sam Bradwell, without question the biggest movie star on the planet over the past couple of decades, turned to face us and smiled. A great big hulk of a man at nearly six foot seven and with muscles on his muscles even though he was now in his fifties and stayed well away from the action movie roles that defined his early career. These days, he was a well-respected dramatic actor, writer, director and producer.

And, it turned out, a really nice guy to boot.

He said a few words to the men he was with—none of whom I recognised, so I assumed they were studio executives rather than actors—then came over to our group.

“These the students you told me about?” he said to Chloë.

She nodded.

He looked at each of us in turn. Then, held his enormous hand out to me. “Paul, right?”

I took his hand, gripping it as tightly as I dared, and nodded. “Good guess.”

“Not really. Chloë showed me pictures.”

He then shook hands with Mark, Imogen, Emily, Lisa and Vanessa. Finally, he asked Chloë to introduce him to the two she wouldn’t have been able to show him pictures of.

“Nice to meet you all. I’ve heard a lot about you. Well, most of you. Well, mostly you,” he said, pointing at me. “I’m sorry, by the way. This is all my fault.”

“What is?”

“Chloë getting involved in your life. Trying to help you find that ‘Happy Ending.’ All my fault. Sometimes she takes the advice I give her a little too literally. I tell her to listen to people’s stories, to take an interest in them and well… This is the result. So, yeah, sorry.”

He slapped me on the arm in a gesture of… Well, whatever it was. I’m sure he didn’t mean it, but it bloody hurt.

“It’s not all your fault,” a new voice said. “We’ve both talked about how ‘Lo needs to take responsibility for her own actions.” The new man was standing next to Chloë and had slipped an arm around her waist.

Chloë looked at him adoringly then tilted her head up so he could plant a tender kiss on her lips.

“Guys,” she said, placing her left hand very deliberately on his chest, “I want you to meet Adam, my, as of New Year’s Eve, fiancé!”

Imogen and Emily squealed.

Lisa exclaimed, “Oh my God, it’s huge!”

And Vanessa said, “Let’s see. Let’s see.”

Chloë held out her hand, on the ring finger of which sat an absolutely enormous diamond. The girls fussed and fired questions over each other, most of which Chloë answered even as more questions were asked.

“Well, it’s about time,” Sam said. “Congratulations, son.” He reached around Chloë to gently thump Adam on the arm, which, from the way Adam rubbed his arm afterwards as he smiled and said, “Thanks, Sam,” must have hurt just as much as when Sam slapped my arm.

Seriously, the guy was huge.

Once the girls had calmed down, and Chloë had informed us that we would all, of course, be invited to the wedding, which would hopefully be in the summer, the conversation turned to the reason for the evening’s party.

“So, what did you think of our little genre-subverting film?” Sam asked. “And be honest. Everyone here thinks it was excellent, but they all have a personal interest in it so can’t be trusted. Well, a financial interest.”

“Our film,” Mark said. “I didn’t see you in it. And I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have missed it. I’m really good at spotting cameos and shit and it’s not like you’d be easy to miss.” He paused and his face flushed deep crimson. “Shit. Can I say shit. I mean, like, you’re like… I mean. I shouldn’t be swearing in front of you and shit, should I?”

“Why the fuck not, kid? I’m not the fucking Queen. Or the President. Although, I must admit, I’ve considered running once or twice. I’m sure I’d do a better job than some we’ve had over the years.”

“He’s an Executive Producer,” I said to Mark, who was now not only embarrassed at swearing in front of Hollywood Royalty but also embarrassed that Hollywood Royalty swore in front of him.

“You know all those logos at the start of the film? The third one’s mine. Well Bred Productions. These days I make more money from the production company than I do from acting. I keep telling Chloë that she needs to start her own production company too—give her a bit more freedom and control. But she won’t listen. She won’t even invest in mine, and that’s just crazy.”

“I do listen,” Chloë said. “And I am thinking about it. In fact, I’m talking about it with someone. Sort of.” She looked at me. “I kinda wanted to talk to you about it too. If you’re willing.”

I shrugged. “I’m all ears. Let’s… er… I don’t know. ‘Set up a meeting.’”

She grinned. “I’ll have my people call your people. Although, for this sort of thing your people and my people are the same people. Maybe I’ll just text the group chat and get the girls to set it up.”

I rolled my eyes. Bloody group chat.

“Like I said,” Sam said, nudging me with his elbow. “Sorry about all this. Totally my fault.”

“Hey,” Chloë said, “What did you think of the theme song? Isn’t it great? It’s going to be number one for weeks, I just know it is. And the singer… Kayla’s going to be a huge star. The biggest. I just know she is. Her voice… It’s so good. So beautiful. As is she. And she’s so sweet, too! A total sweetheart.”

“Doesn’t Tina Thompson usually do songs for your films?” Jem asked. “I thought you two were supposed to be best friends.”

“We are, but… Well… It’s complicated. Tina’s been… How can I put this? ‘Out of sorts’ for a while now. We had a little falling out over it, actually. Nothing major, but… At least I was able to persuade her to go…” She stopped herself before she said too much and looked up at Adam. “Well, she’s just… Off the radar for a bit.” She shrugged. “Hey, Kayla’s around here somewhere. She’s doing a special performance of the song later. Do you want to meet her? I’ll go and find her. Wait here.”

“Like any of us are going to wander off,” Jem said.

Chloë went off in search of Kayla. Sam also bade us farewell and returned to the group he was with earlier. That left us with Adam. I’d seen him around on campus a few times—he was doing a PhD at the university—but never to talk to. We all made small talk, with Adam commenting about how much Westmouth and the university had changed in even the five years or so he’d been there, and the rest of us asking what post-graduate study was like.

It wasn’t long before Chloë returned. I had my back to her as she approached.

“Hey, guys, I want to introduce you to Kayla Valentine—the ‘next big thing.’ Get selfies with her now before she becomes a mega-star with hordes of screaming fans.”

I turned to face the pair.

And my jaw hit the floor.

“Carly?”

The beautiful blonde’s eyes went wide, and she covered her mouth with her hands as she gasped. “Paul? Paul, is that really you?”

Chloë looked from Kayla—or Carly as I knew her—to me and back again before saying, “Hang on, do you two know each other? How? Why? I mean… How? Isn’t this your first ever time in England?”

Carly nodded. Her hands were back down by her sides but she still looked as shocked as I felt. “We met back home. In Nashville, I mean, not home. Must have been? What? Nearly two years ago?”

I nodded. “Bit less than that, in March.”

“This is her?” Imogen said. “The singer you met in a bar?”

“It was a music café,” I said. “I went in for dinner one night and… Carly was up on stage.” I smiled at the memory. “Singing. The sweetest, saddest song you ever heard in the voice of an actual angel. I went up to her at the bar after she finished to buy her a drink.” I shook my head. “I knew I recognised your voice when I heard the theme song. I just never thought…”

Carly laughed. “You know, y’all would think I’d have had a lot of guys offer to buy me a drink after a set, but I don’t. It’s not the er… ‘proper etiquette.’ Or so I’m told. Paul was the first one to do that in… Oh, I don’t know. A long, long time.”

“Hold on,” said Chloë, “So… do you mean to tell me that she’s… You know…” She dropped her voice to almost a whisper. “In the diary?”

“Chloë,” Adam said, a warning in his voice.

“Diary?” Carly said.

“It’s a long story,” I said, with a scowl in Chloë’s direction. “But not one for now.”

“Oh, okay. Well, it’s nice to… See you, I guess.”

“Why don’t we leave the two of you to catch up—since you know each other,” Chloë said. “I’ll take everyone else and introduce you all to John. If I can find him. Last time I saw him he was chatting to two supermodels.”

3: A Second Chance

Chloë led my friends away, leaving me alone with a woman I never imagined I’d ever see again.

“Kayla Valentine?”

She tilted her head and smiled. Damn, she had a dynamite smile. “My manager and the head of my label thought that ‘Carly Williams’ sounded too… Well, normal, I guess. We went through a whole bunch of ideas—Callie Williams, Carrie Williams, and a whole bunch more. We even tried my full name—Caroline—before we decided it was ‘Williams’ that was the problem. Well, they decided Williams was the problem.”

“So why ‘Valentine’?”

“Because… Well… The A&R guy from the label first contacted me after a set I did on February fourteenth. Just about a year ago, now. And once we decided on that, I figured I may as well go the whole way and use something different from ‘Carly’ or variations of ‘Caroline.’ I settled on ‘Kayla’ because I liked it and it sounded better with ‘Valentine’ than anything else I could think of that I liked. It’s almost like I’m two different people now—Carly to my old friends and my family, and Kayla to the people in the industry and my fans.”

I shook my head. “I knew you’d get a record deal. I really did. You were… Well, are… Awesome.”

She did that smile and head tilt thing again. “Thanks.”

There was an awkward silence then. One I couldn’t let last. A silence I felt the need to fill.

“So… How have you—”

“You ran away, Paul! You ran away and left me. You ran away and left a note!”

I winced. “I know. Carly, I—”

“Why, Paul? Why did you do that?”

I didn’t know what to say. What to tell her? I couldn’t tell her the truth. Could I? I couldn’t tell her that I got scared. Scared that I might be falling for her. Scared of that voice in my head and what she was saying to me whenever we were alone.

Or could I? Would she understand? Did it matter? She probably already hated me.

I shook my head slowly. “Carly, I… Look, I’d already spent too much time in Nashville. I had a schedule to keep. I—”

“Bullshit! Don’t lie to me, Paul! Don’t you fucking lie to me!” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, composing herself. I’d only been with her for three weeks, but even in that short time, I felt like I’d come to know her so well. Carly was a contradiction—so sweet and sensitive, so loving and caring, and yet a passionate firebrand in the right, or should that be the wrong, circumstances.

And right then, I didn’t know which Carly was standing in front of me: the sweetheart or the firecracker.

She opened her eyes and stared into mine. “Just tell me the truth, Paul. Please. Whatever the truth is. Even if you think it will hurt me, just tell me the truth.”

I nodded. “Okay. But… Let’s see if we can find somewhere a little more private.”

“There’s a little balcony over the other side with a table for two. We should be away from everyone there.”

She led the way. It wasn’t really a balcony as such, just a small table in the northeast corner, overlooking the HMS Belfast on the Thames far below.

“Well?” she said when we were seated, her voice soft.

I took a deep breath. “The truth, right?”

She nodded. “Stop stalling.” She smiled, softening her words.

“You know what I was doing in America, right? I told you that. I told you about Clarissa and the accident. I think… no, wait, I know I told you more about me than any other person I met over there. Hell, for a long time after I got back here, you were still the one I’d shared the most with. I felt so comfortable with you. So… at ease. Those three weeks were… I don’t know how to explain them. It was like I was living a different life. Someone else’s life.

“And the truth is, it scared me. It terrified me, actually.”

“Scared you?”

I nodded. “Carly… I think I was falling in love with you. Or I might have been. I don’t know. Maybe that’s not what I was feeling, but the point is, I was feeling. And that’s what scared me. I hadn’t felt anything for so long, ever since the accident, really. I sort of… shut down after Clarissa died.” I paused. Looked down at the table. Then I looked up at her. She was so beautiful. And so sweet. I couldn’t lie to her. Not after the way I’d treated her. “And then there was you and… And I was falling in love with you, and it scared me to death.”

“So, you ran away?”

I nodded. “I… I felt like I was betraying Clarissa’s memory. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with someone else. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t thinking straight.” I looked down at the table again and took a deep breath before looking up at her again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. And I certainly shouldn’t have done it the way I did. But I… I wasn’t in my right mind, and I…” I shrugged. “I ran away from my problems at home when I went to America in the first place. It took me a long time to admit even to myself, let alone anyone else, that that’s what I was doing. So, it’s not really surprising that I ran away from you, too. I was a mess. For a long time. Still am to some extent. I’m getting better but…” I shrugged again.

She looked at me with sad eyes and shook her head.

“I gave you my heart, Paul. I gave you my everything. You might have been falling in love with me, but I had already fallen in love with you.”

I frowned and nodded. “I know. And I think that scared me, too. That might have even scared me more.”

“You broke my heart.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

“I gave you my virginity and you broke my heart.”

“I know. And I’m—”

“I suppose I should be grateful you at least stuck around for another couple of weeks after you had me and didn’t just disappear the very next morning.”

I shrugged. There was no point in apologising again.

“And… I suppose it’s a good job—for you—that you have a chance to make it up to me.”

---

“What do you mean, ‘make it up to you?’”

“I’ll explain later. I think, for now, you’ve got some explaining to do.” She looked beyond me and nodded her head to indicate I should turn around. Imogen, Emily and Lisa were standing a discreet distance away, but very clearly waiting for us to finish.

“What?” I said, not hiding my annoyance at the interruption.

“Chloë said to tell you not to monopolise Kayla’s time,” Lisa said. “She’s still got several very important people to meet, apparently.”

I nodded.

“And, Kayla, Chloë also said to tell you it’s nearly midnight.”

“Is it?” Carly looked at her watch—a delicate gold band which suited her slender wrist perfectly. “Oh, shit!” She stood up. “Paul, we’ll have to finish this later. Just… Don’t run away. Again. Okay?”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m doing a midnight set. Just the theme song from the movie and another one from the movie’s soundtrack album. It’s for the YouTube channel and socials more than anything, but it doesn’t hurt that there’s a whole bunch of money men looking to sponsor a tour here tonight.”

---

A small stage had been erected in the northwest corner of the observation deck, with the tourist part of London as its backdrop. The illuminated London Eye was the most prominent landmark, but the Palace of Westminster was also in view.

Carly performed an acoustic version of the film’s theme song—just her and her guitar, which lacked the dynamic, dramatic punch of the recorded version with its full orchestration and distinctive electric guitars, but instead served to really highlight both the wonderfully clever and deeply heartbreaking lyrics and Carly’s amazing voice.

My friends and I stood towards the back of the crowd that had gathered around the stage. Chloë was down at the front with John Latham, Sam and the other big stars in attendance. I noticed three people with cameras at fixed points around the stage, two more free to move around to get the best angles, and one more whose job appeared to be capturing footage of the audience, specifically, the stars in the audience, reacting to Carly’s performance.

“It’s being streamed live,” Mark said to me in a whisper. He held up his phone, which was tuned to the stream of the very performance we were watching in person. I gave him a questioning look, and he shrugged. “I searched her. She’s got a great channel and is really active on all the socials.”

The second song was an upbeat, catchy number about being happy. It was one of those songs that you just knew you’d find yourself humming at random moments during the day. On stage, guitar in hand, swaying in time and smiling as she sang, I was reminded just why I’d ended up staying in Nashville far, far longer than I ever expected.

Mark leaned towards me and whispered, “So… She’s one of your many Yankee conquests, huh?”

“The ‘Yankees’ were from the north. She’s more ‘Dixie.’”

“Whatever, you know what I mean. Like Chloë said. Her name is in the diary, yeah?”

I glanced at him, grinned, then looked back at Carly up on the stage. “Mate, she’s the one person whose name I didn’t need to put in the diary to remember.”

“That special, huh?”

I nodded. “That special.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, well… Try telling me now that you don’t absolutely have a ‘type.’”

I grinned and glanced at him again. “Fuck you.”

---

“Thank you. Thank you. Y’all are real kind.” God, I loved that ‘Southern Belle’ accent of hers. Carly paused and glanced over to the side of the stage. “So, I was just gonna do those two songs, both of them are in this amazing movie, but I asked if I could do one more, and they all said that was fine. So, this next song I wrote a couple of years ago after I had my heart broken, and, in a way, it’s the reason I’m standing right here tonight. It’s called ‘You Made Me’ and I hope y’all enjoy it.”

Carly strummed the guitar a couple of times the way that guitar players do, then began to play.

Mark leaned towards me and whispered. “After she had her heart broken? Please tell me this isn’t about you?”

I looked at him and shrugged.

Then she started to sing.

During the brief musical interlude before the chorus, Mark whispered to me again, “Mate, seriously, this isn’t about you, right?”

I shrugged again.

Mark looked at me again, but I shook my head.

Even though she was only performing with an acoustic guitar, the intensity of Carly’s performance seemed to increase at this point. The tempo and rhythm of the song changed.

The intensity was still there—if anything, it went up—as the chorus came around again.

There was another brief flourish on the guitar, then Carly finished the song softly and quietly.

A pause. One last, gentle flourish.

There was rapturous applause when she finished. She did that head tilt and smile thing and thanked the audience, then walked off to the side of the stage. I followed her with my eyes. That song, sung so sweetly but with such pain in her voice, could easily have been about me. It had to be about me, didn’t it? “You made me a Woman and then you broke my heart.” That was me. I took her virginity—although I didn’t know that until after the fact. ‘I made her a woman.’ And she’d already told me I broke her heart.

---

“That last song was about you, wasn’t it?” Lisa said, excitedly. She was practically bouncing. “That’s why she asked to perform it at the last minute. It’s about you, and after meeting you again here, she wanted you to hear it. It’s about you, isn’t it? You’re the one who broke her heart. Come on, spill. Tell us everything.”

We were still in the same place we’d been in for the performance, but standing in a group now rather than spread out.

“This probably isn’t the time or place, Lisa,” Emily said, softly. But then she turned to me and said, “But don’t think you’re getting out of telling us, because we absolutely need to hear exactly who this girl is, how you met, what you did and how you broke—”

“I’ve already told you how we met. And you already know that I wound up staying in Nashville for nearly a whole month because of her. So, how do you think I broke her heart?”

“Well, it sounds from that song like you took her virginity and ran,” Vanessa said.

“That’s not how—” I sighed and wiped my face with my hand. “Look, I’m not doing this here. I’m not doing this now. In fact, I’m not doing this at all. It’s none of your business.” I paused. Took a deep breath. There was no point getting angry with the girls—of course, they would be curious. I sighed again. “It’s between me and Carly. For now, at least.”

“Try telling that to Chloë,” Imogen said. “You just know she’s going to want all the details. And she’s going to want them now.”

“Yeah, well, she can whistle for them because she’s not getting them from me. Not yet. Maybe not ever. It’s between me and Carly.”

“Oh, yes, I am,” Chloë’s voice came from behind me, and I turned to face her. “But Emily’s right. Not here. Not now. But soon. Very soon.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you. I thought you were a good guy, but… Popping her cherry then leaving her a goodbye note…?”

“It’s not like that, Chloë. It’s just a song. It’s not—”

“I know. I know.” She pointed her finger at me. “But you better have a good explanation. I like this girl, and I promised to look after her while she’s over here.” She sighed. “Look, the party’s going to start winding down now, so I need to go. I have to be seen to be one of the first to leave. And I have commitments all day tomorrow and right through until Saturday evening. So… How about you take me to that wonderful restaurant of your sister’s for Sunday lunch? Your treat. I’ll bring Adam, and we’ll call it an engagement treat. Then I want to hear everything.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Good. Now, why don’t you go and find Kayla—”

“Carly. I know her as Carly.”

“Fine. Why don’t you go and find Carly and say goodbye in person, this time, huh? Or would you rather leave her a note?”

---

“Carly?”

She was talking to an older man and turned to face me when I called her name. She smiled. And tilted her head. It was her thing. “Paul!”

“Em… I…” I took a breath. “My friends and I are leaving in a bit, but I didn’t want to… You know.”

“You mean you wanted to actually say goodbye this time, huh?” Her words seemed harsh, but her tone was light. She almost sounded amused.

I nodded. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

“Okay. Well… I’ll… I’ll see you around, I guess. Or not. I mean… You know?”

I nodded again. “Yeah.” Then on a whim, I asked, “Look, how… I mean, are you in town for long? Maybe I could… I don’t know… Show you around? How much of London have you seen yet?”

“Almost nothing. I only landed yesterday evening and went straight to the hotel. And today’s been all go, you know? Rehearsal for the performance just now, media stuff and then the screening, so…” She shrugged. “Yeah, not seen any of the city at all.”

“I assume it’s your first time here?”

She nodded. “First time I’ve ever left US soil.”

“So, when are you free?”

She looked at the man standing next to her. “You’ve got commitments all day Friday, Saturday and Sunday morning,” he said. “But you’re free tomorrow.”

Carly smiled and looked back at me. “Paul, this is my manager, Glenn.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, offering him my hand.

“Paul?” he said as he shook my hand. Then he looked at Carly and said, “The Paul?” She nodded.

Glenn raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“So, I guess I have a tourist guide then?” Carly said. “What time’s good for you?”

“Well, we’re supposed to check out of the hotel we’re in by ten, so, say, half-ten? Eleven?”

“Eleven’s good. That way, we can see a few things before you take me for lunch. Then we can see more things after that.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at Eleven.”

She told me what hotel she was in, and I returned to my friends. As I walked away, I just about heard Glenn ask in a whisper, “Do you think this is a good idea?”, to which Carly replied, “Stop fussing. It’s fine.”

I didn’t hear his reply to that.

---

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Emily said as we sat in a Tube carriage for the ride back to the hotel.

“I don’t see why not. I’m just going to show her around, that’s all.”

“Yeah, right,” said Lisa. “That’s absolutely all you’ll be doing.”

“It is all we’ll be doing.”

“Did you not see the way she was looking at you? All that head-tilting stuff?”

“She does that all the time,” I said. “She even did it on stage.”

“After singing a song about you,” Lisa said. “Christ, how is he still this clueless?”

“Look, she’s only here to promote the song and the movie, isn’t she? It’s not like there’ll be time for anything to… you know… happen. I’m showing around town tomorrow, then getting the train home. That’s it. I’ll probably not see her again after that.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself, Paul,” Imogen said. “And you’d better hope you’re right, because otherwise this could get messy. It could all end in tears.”

“Guys,” I said, looking at Mark and Jem. “Help me out here.”

Jem held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and Mark said simply, “Mate, leave me out of this. I’m not getting involved.”

I rolled my eyes. “Some kind of mates you two are.”

4: Just Let Me Pretend

I got a text from David at breakfast the next morning. It was just after nine.

Paul, the Wintersmith paperwork is back from CH. Give me a call when convenient as I need to discuss a couple of things with you.

I quickly tapped in a reply.

Just having breakfast. I’ll call you when we’ve finished in about half an hour. Is that okay?

The reply came through almost immediately.

Perfect. Breakfast at ten past nine, eh? Oh, to be a student again.

I chuckled after reading the message, then rejoined the conversation about the movie and party from the previous night as we ate. By nine-thirty, I’d settled the bill, and we’d checked out of the hotel. We had planned to catch the train back at eleven, but since I was going to meet Carly and spend the day with her instead of returning to Westmouth like everyone else, I asked the hotel manager if there was somewhere I could leave my bag until later that evening. After I slipped him a couple of crisp twenties, he agreed to keep it safe. I bid farewell to my friends as they headed back to St Pancras, while I called David.

“Hi, Paul. Happy New Year. How was your Christmas?”

“It was good, actually. I spent it with my sister.”

“Good. Good. Glad to hear that. So, like I said, I’ve had all the certified paperwork back from Companies House, so you are now officially in business.”

“That’s good news, I suppose.”

“No suppose about it. It’s definitely good news. It means we can get cracking on making you even more money.”

I suppressed a sigh. Was making even more money really what I wanted? I wasn’t sure. But I guess that’s who I was now. A business owner in the business of making money.

“I’ll keep the original paperwork here at my office, which we listed as Wintersmith’s Registered Office. But I’ll send out copies for you to keep at home as well. You’ll need to start a file for all the official communications. Just an A4 ring binder will do. And we need to… Well, you need to call the first official meeting of Directors—that’s you, me and Bobby. Your Articles of Association require the company to hold at least one full, official Directors’ meeting every three months—or every quarter—so we don’t have to do it straight away. In fact, we have until the end of March, but the sooner we do it, the better. There’s a lot that Bobby and I need to teach you about how things will work, and we need to officially appoint a Chair—that would be you—and a Company Secretary. I’d suggest myself for that job. I have the right qualifications and do it for a few other client companies too.”

“Okay. So, how do I call a meeting?”

“Just send both Bobby and me an email saying that you want to call a Directors’ Meeting, and then ask me as ‘Acting Secretary’ to arrange it. I’ll coordinate with you and Bobby to find a date, draw up an agenda, and handle all the necessary details.

“Here’s the thing, Paul. As Chair, you have the final say. You basically make all the decisions. Officially, everything is done by a vote, but as both Chair and Sole Shareholder, your vote can overrule Bobby and me, even if we vote against you. But just because you have all the power, doesn’t mean you have to do all the work. In fact, I think it might even be worthwhile appointing someone as a sort of official assistant to you—someone you can call or text with instructions and leave them to sort it all out on your behalf. That’s one of the things to discuss at the meeting.”

“Okay. What— Sorry, I’ve told myself I’m going to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Saying ‘whatever you think is best.’ If I’m going to do this, then I suppose I should start acting like a proper businessman. And ‘whatever you think is best’ isn’t very businessman-like.”

“True. But don’t think you have to start ignoring what Bobby and I tell you, either. Or people like Will, for that matter. It would be a mistake to ignore advice from experts.”

“Yeah, I get that. I just… I’m trying to take charge a bit more. To be a bit more in control and a bit more responsible for things like this. That’s what I need to do in the long run, right?”

“Quite right. You need to learn to be a leader. But the best leaders surround themselves with the best advisors and listen to what they have to say. So, before I go, when would be a good time for you for this meeting?”

“Well, I’ve got a revision week next week, and none of the classes are compulsory, so if you can find a slot, any time next week would be good for me.”

“Okay. I’ll speak to Bobby and see what we can do. It might end up being an evening meeting, if that’s okay. We’ve got a lot to cover, and it could take a couple of hours. Maybe we can do it over dinner somewhere.”

“Sounds good. Just let me know where I need to be and when, and I’ll be there.”

“Excellent. Now, don’t forget to send that email to get the ball rolling.”

“I’ll do it now.”

I hung up the call and sent the email.

I was officially ‘in business.’

---

I don’t know why, but I expected Carly to be staying at a fancy hotel. In truth, her hotel was no fancier than the one I’d just stayed in. I guess she wasn’t quite a big enough star for that yet.

She was waiting in the foyer for me, although I didn’t see her straight away. Instead, I went up to reception.

“How can I help you, sir?” the girl behind the desk said. Her nametag read ‘Betty.’

“I’m… I’m supposed to be meeting Carly Will—I mean Kayla Valentine. Could you call her room and let her know I’m here?”

Betty smiled. “There’s no need for that, sir.” She pointed to my left shoulder. I turned around to find Carly standing there, beaming. Her smile was like… Oh, man, that smile!

She stood still for a second, then said, “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Of course, I was going to come. I said I would, didn’t I?”

She tilted her head. “I know. But… You know, after…”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry about that, I really am. And I know I’ll never be able to apologise enough to make up for it, but I’m—oooff!” She threw herself at me. It came out of nowhere. She just launched forward and wrapped both arms around me and proceeded to hug me so hard she almost crushed all the air out of me.

She didn’t say anything. She just hugged me.

I was too shocked to do anything except hug her back.

Then she kissed me. A firm, unyielding kiss, just her lips pressed to mine.

Then she pulled away.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do that from the moment I saw you last night. Sorry, I just had to get it out of my system.”

“It’s fine. It’s okay.” I grinned. “It was kinda nice, actually.”

She grinned back. “Nice? So… I can do it again?”

“Any time you want.”

“Good. I’ll hold you to that. So… Where are you taking me first?”

I shrugged. “What do you want to see first?”

“Well… I’m in England, so I suppose the polite thing to do is go and see the Queen.”

“Well, good luck with that. She always spends Christmas and New Year in Scotland. Or is it Norfolk? Doesn’t matter, the point is she’s not in London. At least, I don’t think she is. But we can go and see where she lives when she is in London.”

“Excellent. Lead the way.” She held out her hand and I took it. But before we left, she said, “Oh, hang on, Chloë said I need to ask you for your phone?”

“Why?”

“So that I can put my number in it. I can’t believe we never exchanged numbers before.”

“Yeah, well, we didn’t need to, did we?” I said as I took my phone from my pocket, unlocked it and handed it to her. “We were never really apart for long enough to need each other’s numbers.”

She took my phone and began tapping on the screen. As she did, she looked up at me shyly. “Paul…?”

“Yeah?”

“Are… you know… those pictures still in here? The… Er… ‘Naughty’ ones.”

I smiled. “In a secure folder.”

“Do you ever… You know… look at them?”

I nodded. “Sometimes.”

She smiled. “Good.”

“Want to see them? I’ll show you where they are.”

She shook her head. “No. At least, not here. I just wanted to know if you still had them.” She handed the phone back to me just as hers beeped. “I sent myself a message,” she said. “So now I have your number too.”

I smiled and nodded and held out my hand, which she took in hers. And then we strode out of the hotel together.

“Paul,” she said, “Do you think that if we had exchanged numbers back then that… I don’t know. Would things have been different? What I mean is… I mean, you just left, and I had no way to get hold of you. But if I’d had your number, then I’d have been sending you a whole bunch of messages. Thousands of ‘em. Would you have responded? Would you have messaged me back?”

I looked at her. “Honestly? I don’t know. At the time… I think the problem I had was that we were getting too close. And it was my problem. It definitely wasn’t you. It was me. It was all me.”

She nodded. “I know. I mean, I didn’t. Back then. But I realised it eventually.”

“So, honestly, if I’d have been getting loads of messages from you, I don’t know what I would have done. I might have felt guilty for leaving the way I did and tried to explain, or I might have just ignored them and hoped you’d go away. I honestly don’t know.”

“Okay. It doesn’t matter. Not now, anyway.” She tilted her head and smiled. We were on the street just outside the hotel now. She tugged on my hand, which pulled me in close, then stood on her tiptoes to give me a very brief, very tender kiss on the lips. “None of that matters now,” she said, settling back down on her heels.

“So, Mr English Gentleman Tour Guide, how do we get to the Palace to see the Queen?” She giggled, and before I could answer, she added, “I can’t believe I just said that. Me, an Alabama girl from Nowhere-ville, population twenty-five people and a cow.” Her smile, which hadn’t faded since she first stepped back after throwing herself at me, widened, and she giggled a little, shrugging her shoulders as she did so. “You know, when I was growing up, just the thought of going somewhere like Huntsville or Birmingham was beyond my imagination. I mean, they were both the ‘Big City.’” She giggled again. “Crazy to think that now. So, when I went to Nashville, that was…” Her eyes grew wide. “I mean, it’s like three times bigger than Birmingham or something. I’m sure I read that. And now I’m in London!” She waved her free arm in an arc around her. “And I’m going to see The Queen! How big is London, anyway? How many people, I mean?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.” I took my phone from my pocket. “Let’s look it up.” I tapped the screen a few times and got the answer. I loved the internet. “About fifteen million or so.” I tapped a few more times. “Nashville is about seven hundred thousand, so London is more than fifteen times bigger.”

Carly shook her head. “Wow. That’s… Wow. So… How do we get there?”

“Well, the best way to get anywhere in London is usually the Tube, but I think that from here we’d have to change trains at least once, and it probably wouldn’t save us that much time anyway. I think it’s only about a twenty- or twenty-five-minute walk from here.” We’d arrived at the T-junction at the end of the side street where the hotel entrance was. “This…” I gestured to the large road that ran perpendicular to the one we’d just walked along. “…is Oxford Street—famous for—”

“Shopping. I know. That’s why I picked this hotel. Glenn gave me a choice of four, and I picked this one so I could do some shopping if I had any free time.”

I nodded. “Yeah, well, over there…” I pointed across the road. “That’s Marble Arch. And behind that is the entrance to Hyde Park. That’s huge. It’d probably take an hour to walk all the way around it, but we don’t need to do that. If we just keep going straight down that way, we’ll end up pretty much at the Queen’s back garden, which is pretty huge too. But we can just walk down the side of that to get to the front gate.”

“Okay. Sounds good. Let’s go, shall we?”

---

It was almost as if we were still together in Nashville. She held my hand tightly as we crossed Oxford Street. Before we passed under Marble Arch, Carly stopped me.

“Could you take a photo of me standing under it?”

“Sure, but you might have to wait if you want to be the only one under it. And I’ll probably have to do it from the other side of the street if you want the whole thing in the shot.”

“Oh. Okay. Maybe not then. There’s plenty of other places I can take photos, though, right?”

I smiled and nodded. “Tons. Tons and tons of photo opportunities all over the city.”

“Good. Okay, let’s go.”

She took my hand again, squeezing it tightly, and we began our walk through Hyde Park. She was almost skipping along at times. Every so often, she’d pull me in close to give me a light, tender kiss. And we talked.

The conversation was so easy.

She told me about her record deal and recording her first album, and then she told me how she felt the first time she heard her song on the radio.

“It was unbelievable, Paul. I mean that. I couldn’t believe it. I was in the kitchen, cooking for my housemates—there are three of them who all worked in ‘Joe’s’—the café where we met, yeah? I was cooking and had the radio on. One minute I’m singing along to Carrie’s latest hit, and then, boom, they’re playing my first single, and I was, like… Oh My God! Like a teenager, you know? I was screaming and did a little dance right there in the kitchen. It was an incredible feeling.”

She went on to tell me how well her music had been received on country music radio stations all across America. She asked about my university course and about my friends from the party the previous night.

It was all so… Easy.

But I had questions that weren’t easy. And, I’m guessing, she did too.

We weren’t exactly avoiding those questions. But we weren’t rushing to ask them either.

It took us over twenty minutes to walk through Hyde Park. We went down The Broad Walk at first, then peeled off down Lovers’ Walk. We stopped at the Joy of Life Fountain—two figures cast in bronze holding hands and dancing above the water—because Carly wanted to take photos from different angles. Then she had me take a couple of photos of her standing next to it. Then she insisted on taking photos of me next to it. And then selfies of both of us in front of it.