Книга - Just The Way You Are

Just The Way You Are
Lynsey James


‘If you can’t wait for a little more warmth this summer, get reading Just The Way You Are, and you’ll have all the sunshine you need.' – Lisa Dickenson, author of The Twelve Dates of Christmas, You Had Me at Merlot and Catch Me If You CannesA laugh-out-loud treat for fans of Mhairi McFarlane, Lindsey Kelk and Giovanna FletcherDear Ava,How do you start writing a letter to someone, six years after breaking their heart? Ava is unlucky in love as well as in life. The new office bitch has landed the dating column Ava wanted, and she can't remember the last time she had a second date. It's a good thing she has best friends Max and Gwen to pick up the pieces.Deep down, Ava knows the reason why one date never turns into two – she's in love with someone else. Someone she's never even met.It all started six years ago, with a letter from a secret admirer, Mr Writer… but then they suddenly stopped and Ava was heartbroken.Now the letters have started again and Ava knows it could mean winning back the dating column at work. This time she's determined to unmask Mr Writer… and find out once and for all if he's Mr Right or Mr Very Definitely Wrong!Don’t miss the new unforgettable romance from Lynsey James – The Broken Hearts Book Club – out now!Praise for Lynsey James'…  I loved that Lynsey made me so invested in the characters – not just Ava, all of them. They all have their quirks and their flaws; they made me laugh, they made me cry and they made me want to scream at my Kindle. That marks the sign of fantastically real characters.' – Jenny in Neverland‘A feel-good…contemporary romance with a difference. Lynsey’s writing style kept me captivated, right to the very end.’ – Reviewed the Book‘Just the Way You Are is one of those books which shows if you find love, or are secretly in love then shout it out loud, fight for it, and never let it go… It's a beautiful little story with an ending that was sublime.’ – Book Addict Shaun‘a breath of fresh air. Lynsey James has a flare for writing captivating characters, and has produced a wonderful debut novel.’ – Into the Bookcase







Dear Ava,

How do you start writing a letter to someone, six years after breaking their heart?

Ava is unlucky in love as well as in life. The new office bitch has landed the dating column Ava wanted, and she can’t remember the last time she had a second date. It’s a good thing she has best friends Max and Gwen to pick up the pieces.

Deep down, Ava knows the reason why one date never turns into two – she’s in love with someone else. Someone she’s never even met.

It all started six years ago, with a letter from a secret admirer, Mr Writer. He seemed to know her, really know her, and his words touched her soul. But then they suddenly stopped and Ava was heartbroken.

Now the letters have started again and Ava knows it could mean winning back the dating column at work. But this time she’s determined to unmask Mr Writer…and find out once and for all if he’s Mr Right or Mr Very Definitely Wrong!


Just the Way You Are

Lynsey James







Copyright (#ulink_eea860c6-c016-5c27-8e67-64f4351a1fdc)

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2015

Copyright © Lynsey James 2015

Lynsey James asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2015 ISBN: 9781474033596

Version date: 2018-07-23


LYNSEY JAMES

I was born in Fife in 1991 and have been telling people how to spell my name ever since. I’m an incurable bookworm who loves nothing more than getting lost in a good story with memorable characters. I started writing when I was really young and credit my lovely Grandad – and possibly a bump on the head from a Mr Frosty machine – with my love of telling stories. I used to write my own episodes of Friends and act them out in front of my family (in fact I’m sure I put Ross and Rachel together first!)

A careers adviser at school once told me writing wasn’t a “good option” and for a few years, I believed her. I tried a little bit of everything, including make-up artistry, teaching and doing admin for a chocolate fountain company. The free chocolate was brilliant. When I left my job a couple of years ago, I started writing full-time while I looked for another one. As soon as I started working on my story, I fell in love and decided to finally pursue my dream. I haven’t looked back since.

When I’m not writing, eating cake or drinking tea, I’m daydreaming about the day Dylan O’Brien finally realises we’re meant to be together. It’ll happen one day…


Contents

Cover (#u9875137a-cc81-5cfe-aa69-2fc95cc48851)

Blurb (#u3decbffe-fc5d-5538-bc9a-f1a45173992a)

Title Page (#u9ced2992-b8cb-559e-ace5-5d678b09c0da)

Copyright (#uca0ea1c6-2757-516b-b58d-fd59518b2518)

Author Bio (#u2d85a193-f04b-57e2-ba47-19e3e31da315)

Dedication (#uec3d2914-d31a-5d66-ae47-10150d50d972)

Chapter 1 (#ulink_db46a576-bd8b-5965-b8b0-4b0c3df4bd71)

Chapter 2 (#ulink_1b3654d4-dece-5152-914f-b37eaa7ad10c)

Chapter 3 (#ulink_4c32f720-bad6-5752-ada7-c7e7f1875f1e)

Chapter 4 (#ulink_60b59e82-1c50-5011-8e30-778deb6cdf27)

Chapter 5 (#ulink_fc86cfa5-24e0-5873-8aa7-55eab21c380b)

Chapter 6 (#ulink_e8a42d1c-8b54-573d-b6d2-c90bb88ab07b)

Chapter 7 (#ulink_5e88e5dd-7602-5f23-ac12-68a7a20ba116)

Chapter 8 (#ulink_58e97d30-00d3-5e87-bdcb-078dbb045f59)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


I owe it all to Maz (aka Mum).


Chapter 1 (#ulink_4fdf6264-68ba-5d0c-8dd7-ef74ecb80e2f)

I’ve hated weddings for as long as I can remember.

Everything about them sets my teeth on edge: the meringue-like wedding dresses, the cheesy first dance, the dreaded walk down the aisle and especially the quiet notion that the marriage will be over in a few months’ time. At those weddings, it can feel like all the fuss is for nothing, given that the happy couple will soon be battling it out in divorce court to see who keeps the cat.

So as you can imagine, I was less than thrilled to find myself as a bridesmaid at my mum’s seventh – yes, seventh wedding.

As the organ began to play the all-too-familiar bridal march, I walked down the aisle, clutching my bouquet of lilies so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I tried to keep my gaze on where I was heading, but couldn’t resist throwing sideways glances at the guests gathered in St Mark’s Church. Everyone on my mum’s side of the room gazed at me with a nostalgic fondness that misted their eyes and made them whisper shared stories with each other. On Boring Brian’s side, however, I was regarded with a silent suspicion. They’d made no secret about the fact they hated their beloved son’s choice of bride. It wasn’t her multiple marriages that bothered them though, it was me. I’d overheard his mum and dad talking about it at the engagement party.

‘She could’ve been married as many times as Zsa Zsa bloody Gabor for all I care; I don’t want our Brian having to bring up another man’s kid!’ his mum Rosemary had sniped.

At the time, I’d wanted to point out that at twenty-six, I didn’t need “bringing up”, least of all from Boring Brian, but I’d left it. No matter what my opinion of him and his awful family was, he seemed to make Mum happy. God knew she deserved it, after some of the things she’d been through.

I dragged my thoughts back to the present moment; namely so I could concentrate on not tripping over my teal bridesmaid’s dress. Mum would never forgive me if I ruined her big moment. The weight of everyone’s stares began to freak me out and I thought about sprinting the rest of the way to the altar. If there was one thing I hated, it was being the centre of attention.

Luckily, as I approached the end of my journey, I saw two familiar and very welcome faces: my best friends Max and Gwen. They’d both craned their necks to see me walk down the aisle and were both grinning like Cheshire cats. I breathed a sigh of relief as I reached the altar: I could never have got through today without them. When I took my place, I caught Max’s eye and he winked at me.

After the rest of the bridesmaids and the flower girls and pageboy had all walked in, everybody stood up and turned their attention to the back of the church. My mum was about to make her grand entrance. She appeared at the church doors and I couldn’t help but smile; she looked absolutely beautiful. Her ivory dress was made of satin, not at all meringue-like and elegant in an understated way. Yep, I thought, this was my favourite out of all her wedding dresses. Her face was perfectly composed as she floated down the aisle, despite looks of disapproval from her soon-to-be mother-in-law.

‘At least she didn’t have the nerve to wear white,’ I heard her mutter to her husband Brian Senior.

The muscles in my jaw clenched as I fought the urge to say something. I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be part of their family, but at least I had the decency to keep my mouth shut about it.

Mum reached the altar and a bright, beaming smile swept across her face when she saw Boring Brian. His round face was beetroot red with excitement and I could see the joy in his tiny blue eyes despite his glasses being steamed up. All in all, he reminded me of a Percy Pig sweet.

They faced each other at the altar and the minister motioned for the congregation to sit down.

‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of Theresa Kathleen Clements and Brian Harold Ford…’

The ceremony went without a hitch. Nobody burst through the church doors, begging Mum not to go through with it (that had happened at wedding number four though; the guy ended up being husband number five). After the happy couple said “I do”, we all went to a local hotel for the reception. While my mum and Brian were being congratulated by hordes of guests, I sloped off to join my two best friends for a much-needed drink.

‘Vodka and lemonade, no ice,’ Max said when I got to the bar. He held the glass out for me to take.

‘You’re a lifesaver!’ I took it from him and gulped it down in one go.

‘Easy tiger, they’ve not even had their first dance yet!’ Gwen motioned to the unbelievably hot bartender for another drink.

‘If I never go to another wedding, it’ll be too soon!’ I heaved a sigh and slipped off the horribly uncomfortable white court shoes I’d been wearing all day. The leather had made my feet swell up and my heels had rubbed against the back, so I had two beautiful blisters. Thanks Mum.

‘You’re a bit of an expert at these, aren’t you Munchkin?’ Max slung an arm round my shoulder and pulled me in for a hug.

‘That’s an understatement! I’m sure I must be half wedding cake by now.’

Gwen handed me another drink, like a best friend should. ‘So Boring Brian’s your stepdad now. How are you feeling about that?’

I shrugged and pulled a noncommittal face. Try as I might, I just couldn’t summon up any strong emotions towards Boring Brian. His mum made my blood boil, but he was the very definition of ‘meh’.

‘As long as my mum’s happy, I’m not too bothered either way,’ I replied. ‘His main hobbies are flying toy airplanes and building model railways, so he won’t be out pulling women at the pub any time soon!’

‘Never mind Brian; we need to get you out to do some pulling!’ said Gwen. She linked her arm with mine and scanned the room. ‘See anyone you fancy? Hunky best man or a cute usher maybe? I like that blond one over there with the grey waistcoat.’

I laughed. ‘The best man’s fifty-four years old and all the ushers are from Brian’s side of the family, so they have the personalities of sports socks.’

Gwen was determined not to give up. ‘OK, so what about guests then? Surely there’s got to be blokes here you’re not related to or who take after Boring Brian!’

‘Leave it eh? I’m not going on a pulling mission at my own mother’s wedding.’

She sighed and her shoulders slouched with disappointment. ‘Suit yourself babe, but you’ve been single forever. You need to get back out there before you end up alone with ten cats.’

My insides bristled, though I tried not to show it. I knew she had good intentions but my romantic life was a sensitive topic, as she knew full well.

‘Not with half my team at the restaurant interested in her, she won’t! Whenever she comes in, a fight breaks out over who’ll make her pear crumble.’ Max winked and gave my shoulder a squeeze.

I felt my face flush with pleasure. I knew he was probably lying, but I appreciated the gesture.

Before I could thank him, DJ Maurice’s voice boomed out across the reception hall, telling everyone it was time for Mr and Mrs Ford’s first dance as husband and wife. Gwen made a beeline for Grey Waistcoat Guy and I took it as my cue to slope off. It was never easy being single at a wedding; having chronically bad luck with men just made it worse.

As I made for the exit, Max grabbed my hand.

‘Oh no you don’t Munchkin. I seem to remember when we were at your mum’s last wedding, you promised me a dance at the next one. This is the next one, so I’m holding you to it.’

‘Max, you know I can’t dance. Why don’t you go and dance with one of the bridesmaids or something?’

He smiled. ‘You are one of the bridesmaids.’

A look into his deep brown eyes and I knew I couldn’t say no. Reluctantly, I let him lead me onto the dance floor as Make You Feel My Love by Adele began to play. He put his hands on my waist, I wrapped my arms round his neck and we gently swayed to the music. As Adele said she would hold someone for a million years, I stepped on Max’s foot.

‘Sorry, I’m like a bloody elephant on the dance floor!’ I dropped my gaze down to my clumsy feet as I felt my cheeks flush furiously.

‘You’re doing great! I can’t feel my toes but I’m still having a good time.’

I looked up and saw a warm smile sweep across his face.

‘Listen,’ he continued. ‘I saw your face when Gwen started going on about your love life. She means well, you know, she just wants you to be happy.’

I nodded and let out a deep breath. ‘I am happy though. I’ve got great mates, a cool flat and if I’m lucky, I’ll land my dream job tomorrow.’

‘Ah so tomorrow’s the big day, is it?’

‘Sure is. I’ve got my mood-board ready and prepared my pitch; all I need to do now is not vomit while I’m delivering it!’

Max took my hand, twirled me outwards then brought me back into him.

‘I know public speaking isn’t your favourite thing in the world Ava, but you’ll be fine. In fact, no – you’ll bloody ace it because that’s what you do.’

‘Cheers. Fancy meeting me and Gwen at The Dog and Duck tomorrow? You’ll either be helping me celebrate or drown my sorrows.’

He pretended to think for a minute then nodded. ‘How can I say no to that? Oh, do you mind if I bring Amira?’

My jaw clenched tightly. I wanted to say yes, as a matter of fact I do mind if you bring her. She might be a stunningly beautiful lingerie model, but she has the personality of a cabbage and is a right nasty bitch at times. I had no idea how she’d managed to capture my best friend’s heart three months ago: I suspected witchcraft of some kind.

However, I said ‘Why not? The more the merrier!’

Max grinned broadly and embraced me as the song ended. ‘You’re a star, Munchkin!’

Just then, a voice from the front of the room burst through the temporary silence.

‘Well, well, well, isn’t this cosy?’

I turned my head and saw that Amira had just glided into the reception hall, clad in a gold silk gown that accentuated her natural curves. Her long dark hair fell around her shoulders and her caramel skin looked fresh and dewy.

Max dropped me like a hot potato and went over to her, like she was drawing him in with some kind of magnetic field.

‘You look amazing…’ The rest of what he said was lost as she pulled him close for a passionate kiss.

I took this as my cue to leave and went off in search of three things: Gwen, vodka and a way out of the reception.

By the end of the night, I’d found two out of three – which, as Meat Loaf said, ain’t bad. I’d located Gwen after she’d scurried out of the cloakroom with Grey Waistcoat Guy, and the nice guy at the bar had kept me supplied with vodka and lemonades. Yet as I sat on the couch while my best friend snogged the face off Grey Waistcoat Guy, I felt that something was definitely missing. There was an ache somewhere deep inside me and I wasn’t sure how to heal it. I was asked to dance by no less than five men, including Max when Amira went to powder her nose, but I turned them all down.

None of them were him and he was all I wanted, all I’d ever want.

Sadly, he remained frustratingly out of reach.


Chapter 2 (#ulink_7ff0be3f-ed93-53c8-989b-c2e0806832d5)

The day my life changed forever didn’t start in the way I expected.

There was no fanfare heralding the new chapter of my life that was about to begin or a gospel choir belting out Oh Happy Day at the top of their lungs. There wasn’t even a heavenly voiceover appearing out of the blue to say ‘Ava Clements, this is the day you’ve been waiting for. Here’s where your adventure finally kicks off.’

Instead, it started with the clatter of a letterbox.

Completely unaware of the events about to unfold, I picked up the three white envelopes sitting on my flower-shaped doormat and took them through to the kitchen. I flicked through each one in turn: gas bill, phone bill and…

Hello, what’s this?

A handwritten envelope addressed to me.

That was strange; I didn’t get mail from anybody except my broadband provider or companies who wanted to offer me a credit card.

Unless…

No, no, it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t know where to find me now and it had been such a long time.

A shiver of tantalising familiarity worked its way down my spine, but I pushed the burgeoning thoughts to the back of my mind. My heart rate quickened as I prepared to open it.

‘I’ve got news!’

Gwen’s voice cut across my thoughts and broke my concentration. I stuffed the envelope in my bag, resolving to open it later.

‘Let me guess; you’ve finally received your Hogwarts letter,’ I replied.

‘Nope, that’s still not turned up,’ she replied with a wistful sigh. ‘I reckon it got lost in the post or something. Anyway, do you want to hear my news?’

I nodded and turned my attentions back to the mysterious letter in my bag. The thoughts gathering in my head were completely ludicrous, I knew, but all the same…

She eyed me suspiciously. ‘You’re hiding something.’

I made a big show of scoffing and spluttering, hoping to sell my fake reaction of shock to her. Luckily, it seemed to work because she changed the subject almost right away.

‘I got you a date.’

In an instant, I felt all the colour drain from my face.

Shit, shit, shit.

‘Gwen, we talked about this after what happened last time…’

‘Look, I know Gary wasn’t exactly Prince Charming but–’

I let out a loud snort. ‘I think you’re forgetting just how bad he was! Not only did he whistle every time he said a word with s in it, he spent most of the evening looking at my breasts and asking what sort of things I liked to do in bed!’

Gwen’s cheeks pinked up. ‘Not my finest hour, I must admit, but this could be my chance to make it up to you. Trust me on this, Greg’s a complete hottie and he’s a sweet guy as well. I met him at an industry party and every woman’s eyes were on him. Not surprising really, considering he’s a male model. Will you go out with him? If you hate him, I promise you never have to do anything for me ever again.’

She stuck her bottom lip out and widened her eyes, like a child who wanted their mum to buy them the biggest toy in the shop. I felt my defences weakening. Surely one more date wouldn’t be so bad?

‘All right then, but if he’s a complete twonk, misogynist, emotionally stunted or a creep then your Cilla Black days are over!’

Gwen clapped her hands gleefully and jumped up and down on the spot. ‘This is why you’re my best friend! I’ll set something up for today if that’s cool?’

I swallowed down the doubts and reservations and gave a weary nod.

She skipped off in the direction of her bedroom, then stopped and turned to look at me. ‘By the way, you look really smart today.’ Slowly, drip by drip, she realised. ‘Oh that’s right, today’s the big day isn’t it?’

A broad smile swept across my face.

‘It certainly is!’ I struck a catwalk pose and pouted. ‘Do I look like Sleek Magazine’s Next Top Dating Columnist?’

Saying the words out loud made my stomach do somersaults. I’d grown to love running the dating column over the last three months and had loads of ideas to make it my own. More than anything I wanted to run it permanently and make it a real prominent feature of the magazine. All I needed was a chance. The only thing standing in my way was Maddie McQueen, my arch-enemy since university and general poisonous bitch. My heart rate soared and goose bumps rose on my arms. I felt excited and utterly terrified in equal measure.

‘Good luck babe, you’ll smash it.’ Gwen gave me a hug and I left before she could offer me some charred remains calling itself toast.

The letter was still burning a hole at the bottom of my bag when I got to work. I was ten minutes late thanks to some road works and an old dear who couldn’t use a zebra crossing.

After sprinting up the steps like a woman possessed and digging out my mood-board, I finally relaxed. My shoulders slumped into the back of my chair and I let my head tilt back. There was so much riding on today; it all came down to a single pitch that could go one of two ways. If it was a complete disaster, then I’d lose my dream job and be promptly punted to the horoscope section.

The scent of coffee wafted around me. That could only mean one thing: Fran was in the building. I opened my eyes and there she was. Her tall, lithe frame towered above me and she was carrying two paper cups of steaming hot coffee.

‘Thought you could use this,’ she said.

Originally from London, Fran’s voice had a sultry raspy quality that I could only dream of imitating. Whenever I tried, I ended up sounding like I had a sore throat.

‘This is why I love you.’ I sat up and took a cup, throwing her a grateful smile.

‘So today’s D Day, is it? Your big pitch with Miranda and Paddy.’

My blood froze at the mention of Miranda’s name. She was Sleek magazine’s answer to Jaws.

‘Yep, here’s my mood-board.’ I lifted it up and passed it to Fran for her appraisal. ‘Oh, not only that; I’ve got a bloody blind date this afternoon!’

‘And just what is that?’

My shoulders slumped at the sound of the voice behind me. I recognised it instantly: Maddie bloody McQueen.

‘It’s a cheese sandwich, Maddie,’ I said, spinning my chair around to face her.

She narrowed her little eyes at me, making herself look even more pinched and gaunt than she usually did.

‘Very funny. If that’s what you’re presenting to Miranda and Paddy, then I’m even more confident with my pitch. I delivered it to them a few minutes ago and let’s just say they were pretty impressed. They were going to hear yours first but you had timing issues, didn’t you?’

My stomach did a belly flop to my shoes. Everyone knew Maddie had the gift of the gab and I could imagine her blowing our bosses away with a killer pitch.

‘You can still try if you want to Ava, it’ll just be pointless. Ciao for now.’ She breezed off back to her desk and threw a smug little smirk over her shoulder to me.

I looked down at my mood-board and heaved a sad sigh.

‘Don’t let her get to you,’ Fran advised. ‘You’ve worked so hard on this pitch, you’re gonna ace it. And what’s this I hear about a blind date?! Spill, Clements.’

‘It’s this guy Gwen met at one of her fashion parties; his name’s Greg and he’s a male model. According to Gwen, he’s a hottie and a sweet guy rolled into one; after her last attempt at setting me up, I’m a bit sceptical to say the least!’

‘That guy who made the whistling noise? I didn’t like the sound of him at all. Look, this guy might look like Ashton Kutcher during his hot phase; you won’t know unless you go. Just think, today could be the day you land your dream job and the love of your life,’ Fran pointed out.

I wanted to believe her – really I did – but when one editor made Voldemort look kind-hearted and the other was about as fierce as Winnie the Pooh, the odds were pretty stacked against me. As for my blind date, Gwen’s taste in men was dubious at best, so this Greg guy wasn’t likely to be my soulmate.

The familiar tug of desire to rip the letter open and devour its contents resurfaced again but I batted it away. I wasn’t quite ready for the storm of emotions reading it would unleash.

It wasn’t long before the witching hour came. At midday, Miranda came oozing out of her office and approached my desk.

‘Ava, could you come with me please?’

I gulped and grabbed my mood-board. I flashed a terrified expression to Fran, who just made a “rock-on” sign with her fingers and turned back to her computer.

That was it. I was on my own. I followed Miranda to her office like an innocent fly wandering into a spider’s lair. The door shut with a finality I wasn’t altogether comfortable with.

Miranda took a seat in her large black executive chair. She crossed one leg over the other and her lips curved into a sly smirk. To her right sat Paddy, who looked typically clueless and unaware of the undertones behind his colleague’s supposedly sweet smile.

‘Hello there Maria, I didn’t know you were applying for this!’ he said in his jovial Scottish lilt.

‘I-It’s Ava, Paddy…’

‘So, Ava,’ Miranda said as she made a little pyramid with her fingers and rested her chin on in. ‘why don’t you take us through your lovely mood-board?’

My heart began to pound in my ears and my breath became short. I held my board in front of my chest so they could see it, my hands trembling terribly. The slick, polished speech I’d prepared had vanished from my mind. Shit, shit, shit. Why did this have to happen now?

‘We’re waiting.’ Miranda’s voice was terse and she looked at me with a malicious glee, as though she enjoyed watching me fail.

‘Oh y-yeah, sorry…’

I caught sight of Paddy’s shoulders slouching and his gaze travelling to the far corner of the room. Come on Ava, pull it together.

‘I-I…um…I-I…’

A cold sweat washed over me and I began to tremble with abject fear. An unwelcome but familiar burning feeling rose in my throat and I knew exactly what was going to happen next.

‘Would you excuse me for a minute?’ I asked.

Neither of them looked impressed but I was past caring at this point. I looked for the nearest escape route but knew my sickness wouldn’t wait any longer. I grabbed a wastepaper bin by the door and was violently sick in it.

I knew as I walked out of the room that the job wasn’t mine.

I took some time out to sit in the ladies’ toilets and cry. Today was supposed to be the day I landed the job of my dreams and instead I’d thrown up in front of the people who would either make my career or break it. I’d probably end up being stuck doing the wordsearches or the horoscopes: they were areas where only the worst staff were sent.

I went into my handbag to get my make-up and my fingers closed in around the letter. Given that I was already an emotional wreck, I figured that adding to it probably wouldn’t do any harm.

I was just about to open it when Fran came in.

‘Dare I ask how the pitch went?’ she asked, taking in my tear-stained face.

I let out a hollow chuckle. ‘Well I went in there, couldn’t say anything about what I wanted to do for the column and threw up in the rubbish bin.’

She clapped her hands to her mouth, presumably to hide the trademark Cheshire cat grin working its way onto her face.

‘Only you Ava, only bloody you!’ She pulled me close for a hug. ‘You’re a one-off, you know that?’

When she pulled away, she caught sight of the envelope in my hand. ‘What’s that?’

‘If I’m right, it’s a letter from someone I thought had forgotten about me a helluva long time ago,’ I answered.

‘Open it!’ Fran’s eyes widened with curiosity and she eyed me expectantly like a kid waiting to receive their birthday presents.

Hands trembling, I tore open the envelope and unfurled the paper. For a very long minute, I couldn’t look at it and viewed it instead through half-closed eyes.

‘Come on, I can’t take this any more!’

I took in a deep lungful of air and prepared myself to look at what was written on the page. Every fibre of me told me not to, that I should put this Pandora’s Box of words back in my bag and forget about it. However, Fran’s expectant stare and the niggling questions at the back of my mind made me look. When I did, my breath caught in my throat. In front of me was the most beautiful love letter I’d ever read.

Dear Ava,

How do you start writing a letter to someone, six years after breaking their heart?

It may seem strange that I’m writing to you again after so long, but I can’t ignore how I feel any more. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last six years, it’s that life’s too short not to go after what you want. And Ava, all I want is you.

Since that day I was supposed to meet you in Heaton Park, I’ve kicked myself for being such a coward. Seeing how upset you were afterwards killed me. Every fibre of me pulled me towards you that day but my stupid self-doubt stopped me. I was scared of not being enough, of disappointing you. Little did I know that by convincing myself to stay out of the picture, I ended up doing the very thing I was trying to avoid. Words can’t express how sorry I am for hurting you; I hope you can forgive me.

After trying to convince myself to forget you and telling myself to move on, I’m still totally and completely in love with you. Spending the best part of a decade thinking about what we could’ve had together has been torturous. It could’ve been me holding you tight or kissing you or showing you how special you are. Now, it’s finally time for me to do something about it. I know you could have built a whole life with someone else, but I’ll regret it forever if I don’t at least try. I’ll let you know who I am soon: for now just enjoy the magic of the letters. If anyone deserves a fairy tale, it’s you. Keep smiling, beautiful.

Love always,

?

A stray sob escaped from my throat; it was a happy sob, full of joy at what I’d just read and the chain of events it could potentially set in motion.

‘Who’s it from?’ asked Fran.

‘It’s from my secret admirer,’ I replied. ‘He’s back!’


Chapter 3 (#ulink_a794fc6b-1bd6-5b77-b05b-9146c69fc0d5)

Before I knew it, it was time for my date with Greg. The contents of the letter had made me a bit reluctant about going – amazing secret admirer versus dubious blind date picked by my scatter-brained best friend – but I didn’t want to let Greg down.

I got to Café Rouge just as the lunchtime rush was about to start. It was a small, smart-looking café nestled between an independent bookshop and a dry-cleaner’s. The air was warm for mid-October so I took a seat at one of the little metal tables outside. A huge red parasol emblazoned with Café Rouge rose up from the centre, protecting me from the sun’s rays. Since I was a bit early, I took the opportunity to have yet another mint and fix my ponytail. My hair had dried now so the whole thing had gone very bushy and I looked like a badly groomed poodle.

Greg arrived shortly after. I saw a tall, slender figure walking down the street and instantly knew it was him. His fitted blue shirt, black trousers and smart shoes, plus the way he carried himself all screamed “male model”. His hair was closely cropped and, as he drew nearer, I spotted a cheeky glint in his eye. Maybe this date wouldn’t be so bad after all.

‘Ava Clements?’ he asked in a thick Liverpudlian accent.

‘That’s me!’ I stood up too quickly and knocked my chair backwards. Smooth Ava, really smooth.

I picked it up and offered my hand to him, which he shook firmly.

‘Nice to meet you, I’m Greg Williams,’

He smiled and we sat down. I picked up a menu and peeked over it to look at him. Gwen wasn’t wrong; he really was a good-looking guy. I could just imagine his face gracing some high-end men’s fashion campaign. He caught me looking at him and flashed a half-smile. My cheeks began to burn and I dropped my eyes back to the menu.

‘You know, when Gwen told me she had a mate to set me up with, I didn’t expect someone who looked like you,’ he said.

‘Oh, I hope I’ve exceeded your expectations then!’ I allowed a slight barbed edge to creep into my response. I couldn’t tell how he’d meant that remark so decided to be on my guard.

‘I don’t know yet, I think I’ll reserve judgement until after the meal.’

Ouch, that stung. I drummed my fingers on the table and took quick glances at the menu in front of me. I knew I couldn’t let one slightly off remark ruin a whole date; I had to be open-minded and see what Greg had to offer. If I didn’t, I could well end up knee-deep in cat litter and tins of Whiskas.

After a few minutes, a waiter came to take our order.

‘I’ll have the steak and chips and a pint of Coke please mate,’ said Greg.

‘Can I have the penne carbonara and a mineral water please?’ I handed the menus to the waiter and smiled as he took them away.

Out the corner of my eye, I saw Greg raise his eyebrows sceptically.

‘What’s up?’ I asked. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know the answer but felt it was polite to at least ask.

‘Nothing, nothing…’ He trailed off and folded his arms, causing the delicate material of his shirt to strain at his biceps.

‘Are you sure?’ I didn’t feel comfortable with the atmosphere that had developed between us. It was obvious I’d done or said something to offend him but I couldn’t think what.

Greg shook his head and curled his top lip in a very unattractive way then sat forward so he could see me.

‘I just… I thought you would’ve ordered a salad instead of pasta, that’s all.’

The comment took me aback. I certainly hadn’t been expecting that; since when did your choice of food matter so much on a date? I’d clearly been out of the game too long.

‘Oh… OK, forgive me for sounding stupid here but why does what I have to eat bother you?’

He let out a sharp breath and glared at me like I’d asked the most stupid question ever.

‘Well look at me, Ava. I’ve modelled for Calvin Klein, Burberry and Primark; I’ve got a certain image to maintain.’

You certainly have if you’re modelling for Primark, I wanted to say.

‘Right…’ I said slowly, not quite understanding what he meant.

‘What I mean is,’ he continued, seemingly having read my mind, ‘I can’t just be seen with any old heifer. My agency’s looking to get me into acting and presenting so who I’m seen with is everything. Don’t get me wrong love, you seem nice enough although your face is quite plain and you could be doing with losing about a stone. A big bowl of pasta isn’t going to do you any favours; I’d have gone for a salad if I were you.’

I sat opposite him, open-mouthed and scarcely able to believe what I’d heard. He’d called me ugly and fat and critiqued my food choices; he’d only known me five minutes! Cheeky bastard.

‘Goodbye Greg.’ I calmly got up and walked away from the table as fast as I could.

Just before we wound up for the day, Paddy and Miranda called a surprise editorial meeting. As usual, they’d sprung it on us on a Friday evening, when everybody was too busy thinking about the weekend ahead to contribute good ideas These meetings almost never happened at the start of the week when people were refreshed and full of energy.

‘Right everybody, I know it’s only October but we need to start planning for our Valentine’s Day issue right now. Our competitors Mirage and Glitter will already have started and you can bet your life they’ll have something big planned to shift issues. It might be an exclusive interview with a big celebrity or a huge features project but whatever it is, we need to do something bigger and better. Mirage beat us in the circulation figures last year and we can’t let the same thing happen again. I want us to pull something spectacular out of the bag. I know it’s quite soon to be thinking about it but does anyone have any ideas?’

Maddie’s hand shot straight up in the air. ‘We could compile a list of the city’s top Valentine’s date spots.’

How original, I said to myself, our competitors would never think of that. Then again, I didn’t exactly have a list of amazing ideas myself.

‘That’s good Maddie, but I want you all to think big. Think amazing, think of something that’ll really pull the readers in.’ Paddy sat forward and rubbed his hands together, waiting in anticipation for one of us to produce the gold nugget that would blow Mirage and Glitter out of the water.

A sketchy idea formed at the back of my mind but I wasn’t sure it was any good. Then again, I reasoned, it couldn’t be any worse than Maddie’s one.

‘Um…’ I tentatively raised my hand. ‘What about doing a Valentine’s love story with a twist? M-Maybe the couple met or got together in unusual circumstances? We could even gather two or three together and make a feature out of them.’

Miranda rolled her eyes and shook her head. ‘I don’t really think the readers want any twists on Valentine’s Day stories. We should stick with traditional boy-meets-girl tales, the ones that everybody knows and loves.’

She shot a sideways glance at Paddy, waiting for him to agree with her like he usually did. However, his deep brown eyes were still firmly fixed on me.

‘You know, that’s not a bad idea Ava. Mirage and Glitter will probably stick with the old tried-and-tested formula but I think we should try something different! In fact Ava and Maddie, I’d like you both to research and write unusual Valentine’s Day stories for me. You girls both have talent and I think you could produce some fun, off-the-wall pieces for us. Why don’t we make it a competition? I’ll choose my favourite article and the winner will get a spot on the Valentine’s issue cover, which as usual will be unveiled at the Kiss and Tell Ball.’

My jaw dropped slightly but I managed to correct myself before Paddy or Miranda saw. The Kiss and Tell Ball was huge. It wasn’t your run-of-the-mill office party with tired-looking balloon displays, paper cups filled with weak beer and someone photocopying their bum. The Kiss and Tell Ball had often been described as “what happens when Disney meets prom night”. Laid on by Sleek’s publishers every January, it was an opulent, grand occasion that called for the sparkliest dresses, highest heels and falsest smiles for when sleazy Mr Lloyd, the head of the publishing group, came round. The Valentine’s cover was always unveiled there, since it was our biggest-selling issue. To think that my article had a chance to be on the front was mind-boggling.

We discussed a few more ideas – Valentine’s fashion, top present ideas, a special Out and About feature – then the meeting dispersed. As I began to walk back to my desk, Paddy called me over to him.

‘Ava, could I see you in my office for a second?’ he asked.

I nodded and followed him to his office at the back of the building. It was a tiny, cramped room with views over the car park and the commercial units opposite.

‘Take a seat!’ he boomed in his rich deep voice. He gestured to a scabby-looking chair with frayed upholstery that looked like it might fall apart if anyone sat on it.

Reluctantly, I sat down while Paddy took a seat on his huge black executive chair.

‘Now I know you really wanted the dating columnist job,’ he said. ‘But obviously your pitch didn’t go quite as planned…’

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘It definitely didn’t.’ I tried hard to stop my cheeks from flushing crimson but failed miserably.

‘Well I’ve had a chat with Miranda and we’ve agreed that Maddie is the best person for the job. However, we’ve also come up with an exciting new role for you.’ He paused and quickly dialled her extension number, murmured for a moment then hung up. ‘She’ll be through in a second to tell you all about it.’

Moments later, she strode into the office with a look of pure glee plastered to her face.

‘Ava, we want you to be our new wedding reporter!’ she cheerfully announced.

Kill me, I thought, just kill me now.


Chapter 4 (#ulink_155ae507-a350-52c3-a9a1-b42da4fc615d)

A text from Max was all it took for me not to cancel The Dog and Duck after work that night. After the day I’d had, I decided I’d more than earned a few glasses (bottles) of wine.

The Dog and Duck was an amazing little pub carved into the corner of a street in central Manchester. It was a slice of olde-worlde heaven with a large roaring fire and rustic oak beams; a sharp contrast to the ultra-trendy bars dotted around the city centre. My two best friends and I had met there various times during our decades of friendship. Exam results, crushes, break-ups and everything in between had been discussed within its cosy brown walls.

It was there, less than fifteen minutes later, that I found Gwen, Max and Amira waiting for me.

‘How’d it go today then, Munchkin?’ Max asked, getting up to greet me with a pat on the back. ‘Are you Sleek’s next top dating columnist?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ I answered. ‘I… er… may or may not have thrown up before I could do my pitch. Stupid fear of public speaking!’

‘Oh Munchkin.’ Max’s voice was low and sad. ‘Never mind, I’m sure they’ve got an amazing job lined up for you.’

He enveloped me in one of his signature bear hugs. Out the corner of my eye, I was sure I saw Amira’s shoulders tense as she sat in the cramped little booth. When I looked over at her, she mustered a polite smile then returned to her drink.

‘What’s this I hear about amazing jobs?’ Gwen tottered over in her ridiculously high heels and eyed me hopefully.

‘Well I didn’t get the job I went for,’ I said as we walked to the booth. ‘But never mind eh, I don’t fancy dwelling on it.’

‘Who did?’ Gwen asked. Obviously me saying I didn’t want to dwell on it had completely passed her by.

‘Maddie McQueen, who’d you think?’ I replied with a shrug. that I hoped would mask how I truly felt.

‘No flipping way! What does she know about dating; she probably has to put her number in phone boxes to get anyone interested!’

Max and I exchanged smiles; Gwen had struck again.

‘Anyway, like I said, I don’t want to talk about it. Anyone fancy a drink?’

I slid out of the booth at the same time Max did.

‘It’s my round; I’ve got this. You sit down, it’s been a horrible day for you.’

He smiled before walking across to the timber-framed bar. Almost every woman in the pub had their eyes on him and, although I’d never personally been attracted to him, it wasn’t hard to see why most women were. His striking looks that came from being half-Indian, half-English coupled with an effortless charm and a wicked sense of humour could make any self-respecting woman fall at his feet.

‘I’d better go and help him. Back in a sec,’ said Gwen.

Amira turned to face me, her features slightly stiff. She was fiercely beautiful, but the coldness in her almond eyes and pursed lips gave her face a harsh quality.

‘Not often we get the chance to be alone together is it?’ she asked with an icy smile. I got the feeling she was a tigress and I was the gazelle she wanted to have for lunch.

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘Max is usually always here isn’t he? So what have you…’

‘Listen up because I’m only going to say this once.’ Amira’s sharp voice cut across mine, bringing my sentence to an abrupt halt. ‘I know you and Max have this buddy-buddy thing going on but just remember who his girlfriend is, OK? If I see you hugging him, touching him or even fluttering your eyelashes in his direction, you’ll regret it. When it comes to my man, I don’t play nice.’

‘Amira, there’s nothing going on between me and Max! We’ve been friends forever but that’s it. If I give him a hug or hit him on the arm, I’m not flirting with him; it’s just part of our banter. I can assure you, you’ve got nothing to worry about.’

She scoffed loudly and looked me up and down. ‘Oh I know I don’t, but thanks anyway! Just do me a favour and keep your hands off him; he’s mine, not yours.’

‘Listen I–’

My attempt to defend myself was sharply interrupted by Max and Gwen returning with our drinks. Amira flashed me a nasty smirk before lavishing attention on her boyfriend.

‘Come here, you.’

She pulled him in and kissed him passionately on the lips.

‘Whoa, what was that for?’ He chuckled softly and wiped traces of her lipstick from his mouth.

‘I just happen to find you irresistible, that’s not a problem is it?’ she purred.

She edged closer to him and began whispering in his ear.

‘Hey you, behave yourself!’ Max laughed and picked up his pint. A noticeable blush had crept into his caramel skin.

I found myself squirming in my seat as I watched her wrap her arms around his stomach. I knew how much he valued his personal space. Gently, he extracted himself from her grip and turned his focus towards me.

‘So what’s your new job then?’

Bollocks. That was the very question I’d wanted to avoid.

‘I’m the new wedding reporter.’

Max’s eyebrows furrowed. ‘You’re what? But you hate weddings.’

‘Don’t remind me! I’ve watched my mum get married then divorced enough times; I don’t fancy doing the same for everyone in Manchester!’ I groaned and let my head sink onto the table. ‘I’m going to be surrounded by white frilly dresses and wedding cakes for the rest of my journalistic career, aren’t I?! Whenever someone asks me something, I’ll only be able to answer with lyrics from Show Me Heaven or The Power of Love! On the bright side, I’m getting to write an article on an unusual love story for the Valentine’s issue. Maddie’s doing one too and Paddy’s going to choose his favourite to put on the cover.’

‘There you are then, you’ll write an amazing story and blow their socks off,’ said Gwen, patting me on the shoulder to make me sit up. ‘This wedding reporting might not be so bad, you know. You might cop off with a hunky best man or usher!’

‘Is it me or are you obsessed with best men and ushers?’ I grinned and pushed her shoulder playfully. ‘Did you ever hear from Grey Waistcoat Guy again?’

Certainly have! She winked and gave a riumphant grin before taking a swig of her wine. ‘His name’s Tom and he’s an investment broker. We’ve been texting loads and I’m going back to his after this actually. I always knew it was a good idea to wear matching underwear!’ ’

As I watched Gwen float on her little cloud of bliss, I felt a pang of jealousy. Much as I loved seeing her happy, I couldn’t help feeling that I was missing out on the happiness my two best friends were experiencing. Could it be that love wasn’t as toe-curlingly awful as I thought?

By the end of the night, my friends had almost convinced me that wedding reporting could be fun. They’d pointed out the copious amounts of free food and cake, the potential for meeting the “love of my life” (yeah right) and that I might find my unusual love story there. Although it was my idea of hell – after all, I’d been to more weddings in twenty-six years than some went to in their whole life – maybe it was best to at least try and have some fun with it.

At around midnight, Max and I guided a very drunk Gwen over the cobbles to catch a taxi to Tom’s chic Deansgate apartment.

‘You are gonna be the best wedding reporter that ever lived, missy!’ she slurred. ‘We’ll talk about how amazing you are tomorrow. Until then, I thank you!’

She took a theatrical bow and almost stumbled over in her bright blue high heels. Max grabbed her before she went headfirst onto the cobbles below.

‘Time for you to go home I think,’ he said with a chuckle.

He helped her over to a waiting taxi, gave the driver a twenty-pound note then made his way back over to me, shaking his head and smiling. We took a seat on the cute little bench outside the pub, blowing hot air into our cupped hands to keep them warm. Another taxi would be along in a minute and we could share it home.

I remembered the letter still sitting at the bottom of my bag and dug deep until I found it.

‘Check this out.’

I handed it to him and watched his face as he read it. Max had one of the most expressive faces I’d ever seen; you could see shock, anger, joy and surprise on it in just a few seconds sometimes. This time, I saw wonder, confusion and even a little bit of happiness. He regarded it like a piece of vital evidence in a murder investigation for a second then handed it back to me.

‘So Mr Writer’s back then, is he?’ he said with a smile.

My heart jumped when I heard my old nickname for him; I hadn’t heard it in such a long time. He’d been named after my favourite Stereophonics song. ‘Looks like it! I got the letter this morning; I’m still a bit dazed about it if I’m honest.’

‘I’ll say one thing for your man Ava, he’s got balls. If I’d sent love letters to a girl then suddenly stopped, there’s no way I’d start again after six years. Things can change a hell of a lot in that time; people get married, have kids. You could be pouring your heart out to someone who forgot you a long time ago. Imagine that…’

He stared into the middle distance and his brow furrowed, like he was in deep thought about something.

‘I’ve never forgotten him really,’ I confessed. ‘After all those beautiful letters, how could I? I didn’t expect him to rock up again after all this time though!’

Max smiled. ‘Neither did I, to be honest! I hope he doesn’t pull the same stunt as last time though, I remember how upset you were.’

My heart rate slowed back to normal and my throat tightened as a feeling of shame washed over me. It was a familiar feeling; I’d felt the same the day Mr Writer hadn’t turned up to meet me.

‘Me too; hopefully things will be different this time.’

Max put his arm round my shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

‘Well if he’s writing to you again, he obviously wants a chance to put things right, to try again maybe. One thing’s for sure, he must’ve been kicking himself about standing you up all those years ago. I’d have kicked him myself given half a chance! What if this is the time where everything falls into place? You finally meet the love of your life, the guy who’s been in love with you for God knows how long and you live happily ever after.’

‘I don’t know about that!’ I laughed wryly as he pulled me closer to him. ‘I don’t think I believe in happily ever after any more.’

‘How come?’

‘Have you seen my track record Max?! Men have left me since I was little – my dad, all my stepdads, Dave…’

‘You can’t still be blaming yourself for your dad and stepdads walking out, Ava. I’m sure they had their reasons for leaving, but none of them would be anything to do with you. The fact that Dave chose a job as a global development whatever-you-call-it…’

‘Global development manager,’ I said in a small voice. The job title was seared into my brain, I’d probably remember it for the rest of my life.

‘All right, a global development manager then. The fact he chose that job over you and told you he didn’t want you to go to Hong Kong with him, that just shows what an arrogant, selfish arse he is. I never liked him, if I’m honest.’

‘I’ll never forget what he said to me that night. Apparently our life together was “mediocre” and he felt “boxed in”, so he took the job and dumped me. I’m starting to wonder if there’s a bloke on this earth who’ll have me!’

‘Of course there is, you daft bugger!’ He chuckled softly and pulled me in for a hug. ‘You’re fantastic; why can’t you see that? Now that’s coming from someone who knows pretty much everything about you so it must be true! You’ll meet someone amazing one day, Ava.’

I let my head rest against his shoulder and thought about what Amira would say if she could see us now. The thought of her flying into a rage for no reason made me laugh. In the distance, I could hear the low rumble of a car approaching the pub.

‘Here’s a thought,’ Max said, craning his neck to see if it was a taxi. ‘Why don’t you find him this time? He’s obviously keen that he’s started writing again, but you know what blokes are like; they need a right good kick up the arse at times. Maybe that’s what Mr Writer needs. Enjoy the letters while they come and try to figure out who’s sending them. That could be the unusual love story you were looking for; they don’t come quirkier than getting love letters from some mysterious admirer!’

As I opened my mouth to explain why this was such a bad idea, a silver taxi slowed to a stop at the taxi rank across the road.

I got back to my flat, which was pleasingly empty as Gwen was at Tom’s. I looked at the letter again, devouring its contents with an eagerness I hadn’t felt in six long years. Max’s words echoed in my head: you’ll meet someone amazing one day, Ava.

Yeah right.

After my disastrous track record, I was starting to think there was no such thing as ‘amazing’. Maybe it was time to accept that I was only ever going to be disappointed by love, that it wasn’t some great wave that propelled you to a higher plane of being. The part of me that believed in love was getting smaller and smaller; it would take something pretty spectacular to restore my faith.

Something like… finding my secret admirer?

The more I thought about what Max had said, the more it made sense. Perhaps I should try and unmask the man behind those beautiful words. I didn’t have anything to lose, did I? If I was successful, I’d find out who’d been sending me these letters. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t really be any worse off. My head swirled as I thought of the amazing mystery that could finally be solved if I just put my mind to it…

No.

Practicality took over and I abandoned the idea. I remembered all too well what had happened the last time I’d let Mr Writer into my life. I didn’t want to put myself through that humiliation again, whether he ‘seemed keen’ like Max had said or not. All my life, my heart had been under lock and key and that was how it would stay.


Chapter 5 (#ulink_00cbc423-fd20-513e-919a-158c460e580d)

The next morning, I woke up to an email from Miranda. Normally, these never brought happy news but today I was dreading reading it even more, thanks to my new position.

From: Miranda.stark@sleek.com

To: Ava.clements@sleek.com

Ava,

Here are the details of your first assignment as Sleek’s wedding reporter. Please ensure you arrive promptly to the ceremony; the bride has expressly said she won’t tolerate lateness of any kind. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you are responsible for maintaining Sleek’s excellent journalistic reputation, so please make sure you act in a professional manner throughout the ceremony and reception.

Kind Regards

Miranda

I scoffed loudly and rolled my eyes. “Act in a professional manner”?! What did she think I was going to do, get drunk and smash the wedding cake before copping off with the best man?

Not flipping likely, since weddings were my idea of a living hell. I’d been to enough to last me a lifetime and all the happy couples had ended up crumbling to dust.

I scrolled down to see where the wedding was taking place; they were having an evening ceremony at a posh city centre hotel, followed by a reception at the same place. I raised my eyebrows in appreciation; if nothing else there would be good champagne. I was also getting my very own photographer for the night; someone from one of the agencies the magazine used. I looked at the date and my jaw dropped. It was tomorrow!

‘Miranda, you absolute cow.’ I threw my head into my hands and groaned.

I had less than twenty-four hours to find a dress, research the couple, fix a meeting with them and prepare interview questions. It was as though Miranda was rooting for me to fail.

Before I could get in too much of a flap about it, Gwen came into my room and flopped down on my bed. This was her typical hangover routine: wake me up, get me to take her to McDonald’s or Krispy Kreme then watch movies with me all day on the sofa. Today, however, she had a strange look in her eye that I wasn’t altogether comfortable with.

‘Look what I found in the living room this morning!’ She reached into her dressing gown pocket and pulled out the letter.

My face flushed and I tried to bury my head in my duvet. I must’ve forgotten to put it back in my bag after looking at it last night. Gwen was too quick and snatched it away before I could take refuge.

‘When were you going to tell me about this, this is absolutely massive! Your secret admirer’s back after six bloody years!’

I couldn’t help but smile. Gwen was treating this significant development with her usual trademark enthusiasm.

‘I was going to show you today,’ I replied. ‘Don’t quite know what to make of it really; I mean, why’s he getting in touch after all this time?’

‘Well that’s obvious; he’s been thinking about you since he stopped writing the letters, kicked himself and now he’s decided to put things right.’

I loved how simple things were in Gwen’s world; if only the real world were like that.

‘What if it’s not that though; what if it was just a huge joke the whole time and now he’s back for another pop to see how much he can get me to fall for him?’

She wrinkled her nose up and scoffed. ‘Unless he’s a major sad case with nothing better to do, I don’t think that’s the reason he’s writing again! This is big Ava; he must’ve been thinking about you all this time. Maybe this is all meant to be and it was just the wrong time for you guys at uni.’

I raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘This isn’t a Disney movie Gwen, things like that don’t happen in real life.’

‘This is real though!’ She waved the letter in front of my face to prove her point. ‘Whoever’s writing these is obviously mad about you. If you want my opinion, I think you should try and find out who this guy is instead of waiting around for him. If you want him, go out there and get him.’

Oh great, I thought, first Max says it and now Gwen! If both of my best friends were suggesting this utterly mad, hare-brained scheme to find my secret admirer, maybe I should give it some consideration. I couldn’t deny I was tempted. Getting the opportunity to put my Miss Marple hat on in the name of true love appealed to me.

‘Maybe you’re right. I wouldn’t know where to start though,’ I protested. I folded my arms in defeat and sunk back onto my pillows.

Gwen shuffled her bum across the bed until she was sitting beside me. ‘Nowadays, if you want to find anyone you go on the internet. Make a blog or something; didn’t you say you had to write about an unusual love story? This could be it; how many women can say they received love letters from a sexy secret admirer at uni then again years later! You’ll trump anything Maddie could come up with.’

Excitement swelled inside me. Maybe this wasn’t as ridiculous as I’d first thought it was. I glanced over to my wardrobe and my breath caught in my throat. It was in there, wedged tight and hidden from view. Every single letter he’d ever written to me was stuffed into a shortbread tin. So much love had been crammed into that slightly bashed metal box. Was it safe to unleash it all again?

I took a second to think before addressing Gwen. It wouldn’t be easy to find him and I could be in line for a nasty shock if it all turned out to be a massive prank.

‘I think I’ll leave it up to Fate for now,’ I replied. ‘If it’s meant to happen, it will.’

Before I tackled the mountain of work that lay before me, I decided to devote some time to researching possible topics for my feature. I trawled the internet for quirky love stories, from bizarre meetings to ones that worked under unusual circumstances. I found the usual: met on a plane then saw each other again five years later, couples who lived on the other side of the world from each other and ones who only saw each other every few months due to work commitments. None of them had the spark I was looking for; I couldn’t find any fresh angle to take on any of them. They were quirky but not quirky enough. I remembered the amount of work I had to do to prepare for tomorrow’s wedding and decided to put my feature idea to one side.

Max’s earlier suggestion burned at the back of my mind: using my own unusual love story for the feature. Part of me began to think that might not be such a bad idea, but my practical side put the kibosh on it. To put my personal experiences out there in public for everyone to read was unthinkable; the thought made me feel sick. I imagined the elusive Mr Writer reading my diatribe and wondering why he’d ever loved me in the first place. That thought settled things in my mind: Mr Writer wouldn’t be gracing Sleek any time soon.

***

Over the next twenty-four hours, I pulled off nothing short of a miracle.

After thoroughly researching the happy couple – Giselle the bride was a model and the groom Aaron was a footballer who’d just signed for United – I quickly made up a batch of interview questions. I tried to make them fun and informal; after all I was asking them about the happiest day of their lives, not accusing them of phone hacking.

Thanks to my two best friends, I had a dress and a date for the evening. Gwen had “borrowed” one of her designer friend’s dress prototypes and Max agreed to be my chaperone.

‘Given your talent for trouble Munchkin, it’s probably a good idea to have someone around who can clean up the mess!’ he’d said with a chuckle.

The worst thing was, he was probably right.

I slipped on the midi dress Gwen gave me, feeling it hug my figure in all the right places. For the first time in a long time, I looked like I had a waist and hips. Being a journalist meant I was always on the move so comfort came before style, but this dress was something else. It was an off-white colour with black broderie anglaise detailing down the front and a sweetheart neckline. I felt like a catwalk model in it as I teetered in front of my full-length mirror in some black skyscraper heels. My hair fell in soft brown curls around my shoulders and my pewter eyeshadow complemented my hazel eyes perfectly.

‘You shall go to the ball Cinders,’ I said under my breath.

A knock on my bedroom door made me jump and almost fall over in my ridiculously high shoes.

‘Can I come in?’ came Gwen’s muffled voice from the other side.

‘Sure!’

She came in bundled up in a multi-coloured poncho with a pair of massive koala slippers sticking out from underneath.

‘Wow, you look amazing! Jessica Alba’s got nothing on you.’

‘Thanks. I thought you’d be off out to some posh restaurant or swanky party with Tom?’ I gestured at her outfit while fixing a few unruly locks of hair.

‘Not tonight, he’s working late. Got a big client to wine and dine or something. He’s taking me out next weekend and buying me a present to make up for it.’

I felt a little pang of jealousy. Although I’d recently declared myself a firm non-believer of love, I couldn’t help but feel envious of Gwen having someone who spoiled her so much. Aside from that, she said he listened to her, made her feel special and showered her with compliments.

‘Will I do then?’ I realised I hadn’t spoken for a while so I gave a little twirl to let Gwen see how her friend’s handiwork looked on me.

‘Um, yeah I think so! Your date’s in the living room by the way.’

My heart jolted a little until I remembered it was only Max and not an actual date. There was no need for nerves or butterflies or anything else that accompanied a first date with someone. I found that strangely comforting and a bit sad at the same time.

I walked through to the living room. I saw Max’s eyes widen and his mouth drop open.

‘Bloody hell,’ he murmured.

I blushed and pushed some stray hairs out of my face. The dress looked like something that some Best Actress nominee should be wearing to the Oscars. It was far too beautiful for a wedding reporter from Manchester.

‘You look smart,’ I said, looking at him. ‘Very James Bond.’

Max looked at his black tuxedo and gave a soft chuckle as he fiddled with his bow tie. ‘Why thank you Miss Moneypenny. You ready to go?’

‘Not bad for some!’ Gwen scoffed. ‘Now, it’s just the poor little match girl over here who isn’t going.’

‘Don’t worry; I’ll see if I can get you a piece of wedding cake.’ Max grinned and ruffled her hair, something he knew she hated.

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, go on the pair of you! Off you go, Daniel Radcliffe!’

‘What?’ Max scrunched his nose up as he tried to decipher what she meant.

‘Isn’t he the one who plays James Bond just now?’

‘That’s Daniel Craig, you cereal box!’ I giggled. ‘Daniel Radcliffe played Harry Potter.’

Gwen shrugged and shook her head. ‘It’s all the same to me. Anyway, you two go off and have a nice time. A cup of tea and Netflix are calling me.’

Max put his arm out for me to take and we walked out into the cool autumn night to wait for our taxi. A delicate hum of activity resonated from the streets. A steady stream of people were beginning to venture out to see what the city’s nightlife had to offer. Even on a Sunday, there was plenty to do in Manchester. It never really stopped.

‘So where’s Amira tonight?’ I asked, regretting the question as soon as I asked.

‘She’s got a photo shoot,’ Max answered. ‘She has to get some new headshots done for her portfolio.’

The way he said it made it sound like she was off volunteering at a soup kitchen or declawing cats. My heart skipped when I heard she wouldn’t be there to make me feel like the third wheel. Which I was.

‘Oh what a shame,’ I said, trying my best to sound sad. ‘Maybe next time eh?’

‘Yeah, I’m kind of glad she’s not coming actually. We haven’t spent time alone together for ages have we? Gwen and Amira are usually there so it’ll be good to have some one-on-one time with you.’

I peeked up at him and saw a broad smile stretch across his face, all the way up to his eyes. He really was very handsome.

‘Yeah, we haven’t had any Max and Munchkin time for a while,’ I agreed.

To my right, I heard him grunt with frustration as he began playing with his bow tie again.

‘Bloody thing won’t sit right!’

‘God, you men can’t do anything for yourselves, can you?!’ I joked. ‘Come here, I’ll fix it.’

Max twisted his body round so I could work my magic. I undid the tie and carefully redid it, straightening it proudly when I was finished.

‘There, now you can go to the ball, Cinders!’

‘Is there anything you can’t do, Munchkin?’ When I looked up, I noticed a sparkle lighting his eyes.

‘Nope. Well I’m not very good at swimming, or dancing for that matter. Apart from that though, I’m basically Superwoman.’

‘Cheeky!’ Max pulled me close to him and pretended to lock me in a headlock. ‘God, you’re freezing! Here, have this.’

He pulled off his suit jacket and offered it to me.

‘Nah, it’s fine,’ I said. ‘The taxi will be here in a minute.’

Goose bumps began to rise on my arms as a sharp chill swirled around my shoulders. I shivered; why hadn’t I brought a coat with me?

Max draped his jacket round me and began rubbing my arms to warm them up.

‘Is that better?’ he asked.

I nodded and smiled. ‘Yeah thanks, you’re a complete gentleman.’

Just then, the taxi drew up. He gallantly opened the door for me and closed it then ran round the other side to get in.

‘I have my moments. Anyway, how’s the whole Mr Writer thing coming along? Are you going to mount a search for him or use him in your Valentine’s Day feature?’

I sighed. My eyes stung slightly from the heat in the taxi coupled with Max’s jacket. Research for the wedding had taken up so much of my time that I hadn’t even thought about what my next move would be.

‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. I pulled Max’s jacket off and handed it back to him. ‘I suppose I could try and find out who this guy is once and for all. On the one hand, the mystery would finally be solved and maybe I could meet my soulmate. On the other hand, it might all turn out to be someone’s horrible idea of a joke or he’ll be so disappointed when he sees me, warts and all, that he’ll wonder why he bothered in the first place.’

Max’s dark eyes widened with surprise and he put his arm round my shoulders.

‘That won’t happen Ava, trust me. When you and Mr Writer finally meet, he’ll be over the bloody moon with you: why wouldn’t he be? He’s obviously mad about you to have started writing to you again after all this time.’

‘Yeah but he only knows the me he’s been writing letters to. He’s probably built me up to be something I can never live up to. He presumably saw me around uni, maybe spoke to me a few times and decided he liked me so that’s why the letters started. He doesn’t actually know me, not like you or Gwen do. What if he gets to know me, decides I’m not what he thought I was and buggers off? After all, look what happened with Dave. I wasn’t enough for him so he left; simple as that. What’s to stop Mr Writer from thinking the same?’

I felt an odd sense of relief at airing my innermost thoughts on the Mr Writer situation. Somehow, a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I turned my head to Max, who looked deep in thought over what he’d just heard.

He didn’t have time to answer me as we drew up to the wedding venue. For some reason, I felt a little cheated that he didn’t produce one of his rousing pep-talks.

Strings of fairy lights greeted us outside The Regency Hotel. They were wound around the metal railings of the bridge leading to the front door and across the glass-and-steel awning that spanned the entire width of the building. They looked beautiful against the indigo star-strewn sky. A slightly gaudy red velvet carpet was draped over the stairs, presumably to give the whole thing a “celebrity” feel.

Max and I approached the burly security guard, who didn’t look especially pleased to see us. After a short conversation with him and a lot of fumbling about for press passes and other identification, he agreed to let us in.

‘They’re in the Markham Suite,’ the guard grunted. ‘First door on the right as you go in.’

Max had been there before and led the way through the cream and gold hallway to a large open room on the right-hand side. I walked in and was instantly transported into a fairy tale. Large bunches of glittery silver twigs were dotted around the room, strings of white fairy lights coiled lovingly around them. A cream runner led the way to a beautiful white arch, lined with red roses. The sixty or so chairs were draped with white cotton sheets and silver ribbons were tied around them. The entire room embodied winter wonderland.

‘Wow, it’s beautiful in here,’ I breathed.

Max and I took our seats at the back of the room while guests filed in for the ceremony. As I watched an array of dresses and suits mill past me, my phone rang.

‘Hello?’ I said when I’d walked out to the hallway.

‘Ava, it’s Miranda here.’ Her voice reminded me of Amira’s; saccharine to the point of nauseating. Paddy was probably in the room.

‘What can I do for you?’ I asked, trying to keep my tone as civil as I could. I hated how she could be nice one minute and nasty the next. She was Sleek’s version of Jekyll and Hyde.

‘I just wanted to check you’d arrived at the ceremony OK. No hiccups, were there?’

‘None.’

‘Good, good to hear that. Listen, the agency photographer who’ll be helping you for this assignment will meet you outside in about… ooh… five minutes. He’s new and it’s his first assignment so try and make sure you’re professional when you greet him, will you?’

Miranda rang off without saying goodbye. I sighed; oh great, just perfect. It was my first shot at wedding reporting and I had to babysit some college graduate who’d probably produce some out-of-focus shots of the couple and some “arty” landscape pictures and walk off with three hundred quid for his trouble. I stormed outside in a huff, but wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted me.

Standing outside under the canopy of fairy lights, looking utterly delectable in a black tuxedo, was possibly the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Moonlight sliced his face, highlighting his sharp cheekbones, slate-coloured eyes and perfect profile.

He turned to look at me. One stare almost turned me to jelly.

‘Hi, I’m looking for Ava Clements?’ His voice had a soft south London brogue: gentle but a little rough around the edges.

My heart skipped and danced with joy. I’d never been happier to be me.

‘Well you’ve found her,’ I replied with a smile.


Chapter 6 (#ulink_418aa707-ab3f-5eb3-ac95-aa989a181395)

The beautiful man stuck out a hand for me to shake. I took it and felt his rough palm beneath mine. He had worker’s hands.

‘Nate Walton, nice to meet you.’ He smiled and revealed two rows of pearly white teeth.

‘Nice to meet you too, a-are you the agency photographer?’ I couldn’t help but trip over my words. He was perfect; everything from his defined arm muscles to his come-get-me eyes was utterly exquisite.

‘I certainly am.’ He picked up the chunky black camera hanging around his neck. ‘I’ve just started with Apex Pictures; we’re going to be sharing an office with your magazine.. I was surprised to get an assignment so quickly actually, considering I’ve just joined.’ He stepped closer to me. ‘So would you be the incredibly sexy journalist I was told to look out for?’

My cheeks began to burn and my gaze dropped to the floor. After a few seconds, I had the nerve to meet his gaze again.

‘Um… I don’t know that I’d use that exact phrase but… yeah, you’re photographing the wedding I’m covering tonight. F-Follow me.’

Smooth Ava, really smooth.

I moved to go back inside and tripped over the red carpet. Nate caught me before I banged my head on the revolving door. His strong arm was wrapped round my waist and for a second it looked like he was going to bend down and kiss me.

‘Falling for me already are you? That didn’t take long.’ He smiled and pulled me upright then went effortlessly through the revolving door.

I stared after him, my heart hammering in my chest. My mouth had gone dry and I had to remind myself to keep breathing.

After I composed myself, I followed him.

The wedding was beautiful and simple; it was the complete opposite of what I’d expected. The bride’s dress was elegant and classic: a white A-line gown with a sweetheart neckline and a layer of tulle on the skirt. The bridal party came down the aisle as a jazz singer gently crooned At Last by Etta James. Giselle and Aaron had written their own vows and, rather than being cheesy and over-sentimental, they were well thought out and sweet. Despite my hatred for weddings, I found myself dabbing my eyes in places. Rather than being gaudy and extravagant, it was a celebration of two people’s love for one another.

Max, Nate and I sat at the back; Nate snapped away happily and chatted to me while I scribbled down notes about the ceremony and Max watched. When I briefly introduced them, they talked for a minute before silence fell. As the happy couple exchanged rings, Nate took a final photo then slung his arm loosely around my shoulders.

‘Ready to go to the reception then?’ he asked with a jovial smile.

Max spun round and looked at us with a quizzical frown on his face. I couldn’t tell if it was what Nate had said that bothered him or the fact he had his arm round me after knowing me for all of five minutes. He really was like a protective older brother sometimes. As I became increasingly aware of how close Nate was to me, I realised I didn’t like him being in my personal space. It had been unoccupied for some time and I liked it that way. Even though Nate was drop-dead gorgeous, that didn’t guarantee him a free pass.

‘Yeah I suppose so. Are you coming as well, Max?’ I shrugged Nate off and went to stand beside him. His shoulders relaxed after that.

‘Certainly am, Munchkin! Lead the way!’ Placing a protective hand on my lower back, Max guided me into the crowd making their way to the reception.

Rather than opting for a sit-down meal, Giselle and Aaron had gone for a luxurious buffet, lovingly prepared by the amazing catering team they’d hired. Plates of vegetable samosas, quiches, mini cheeseburgers and tapas dishes were mixed with profiterole towers and trays of sweet pastries. The whole spread looked delightful.

As everyone pored over the buffet table, I decided to seek out the bride and groom to do the interview before the speeches started. I saw them lingering at the back of the room, drinking champagne and looking blissfully happy. I shook off any lingering nerves and approached them. Nate followed close behind, camera at the ready.

‘Hi there, my name’s Ava Clements. I’m the wedding reporter from Sleek magazine. What an amazing ceremony; I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house!’

‘Thanks, it was our dream day – wasn’t it Mr Henderson?’

Her voice had a soft Liverpudlian lilt, her husband’s name rolling effortlessly off her tongue. She stared at her new husband and fluttered her eyelashes at him.

‘Certainly was, Mrs Henderson,’ he replied.

‘Would you like to do the interview now or after the speeches?’ I asked. ‘The photographer’s here too, so we could get the photos out of the way as well. He’ll probably want one of you cutting the cake…’

I stopped as I saw Giselle’s face contort into a furious scowl.

‘Wait a second, what magazine did you say you were from?’

‘Sleek,’ I replied. ‘I-Is there a problem?’

‘You bet there’s a bloody problem, love! We’ve signed an exclusive deal with Mirage magazine; your lot aren’t supposed to be anywhere near this wedding!’

My heart sank and a cold sweat washed over me. It was every reporter’s worst nightmare to turn up at an event or function to hear another magazine had the exclusive.

‘A-are you sure?’ I stammered. ‘My editor definitely said we had the interview and photo rights…’

‘I think I’d remember which magazine I signed a £500,000 deal with, don’t you?!’

Then it dawned on me: Miranda had set me up. She’d sent me to this wedding knowing full well we couldn’t print anything about it. To confirm my suspicions, I opened up my emails and found one from Sphere Media, the couple’s PR representatives, wondering why on earth I was asking about doing an interview with Giselle and Aaron when Mirage had the exclusive. I hadn’t had time to check before; I’d been too busy doing my Cinderella routine.

‘I’m so sorry; I’ve completely wasted your time.’

I walked away from them and made for the door. I’d never felt so embarrassed in my life; I just wanted to get home and lose myself in a tub of Ben & Jerry’s.

‘Hey, where are you off to?’ Max’s voice drifted to me from the buffet table.

I turned and saw him standing with his arm round Amira’s waist. She looked resplendent in a primrose-coloured satin dress that complemented her caramel skin. Perfect, I thought, just perfect. Amira turning up put the tin lid on an awful evening.

‘It’s all gone wrong,’ I groaned. ‘I’m not even supposed to be here; Mirage have got the interview rights, not Sleek!’

Max’s nose wrinkled. ‘Surely Miranda would’ve… Ah.’

‘Yeah, she’s set me up to look a complete idiot.’ I turned to Amira, hoping she’d at least be friendly while Max was around. ‘Hi Amira, when did you get here?’

She flipped her hair behind her shoulder and tightened her grip on his waist. ‘A few minutes ago, my modelling shoot finished early. My headshots were so good my agent thinks he could land me a spot on the new Burberry campaign.’

That meant nothing to me, but I could tell I was supposed to be impressed. I raised my eyebrows and smiled insincerely.

‘Are you heading off home now?’ Max asked. ‘I can call you a cab or you could get a lift back with us.’

‘No need, my friend.’ Nate appeared by my side, grinning widely. ‘I’ve had a word with the happy couple and they’re happy for us to interview them. In fact they insist on it.’

Max’s face fell and his jaw tightened. His dislike for Nate was written all over his face.

‘Oh yeah and how did you swing that?’ A bitter note ran through his voice, like he resented his very presence in the room.

Nate tapped the side of his nose and winked at him, seemingly unaware of how much trouble he was causing.

‘It was pretty hard work, let’s just say! Not only did I have to break out the old charm and persuasion, I had to get Paddy on the phone to authorise a new deal for exclusivity on the photos and story. He wasn’t too chuffed to find out Mirage had it first and told me to do whatever I had to do to secure the deal. I might’ve brought Mirage’s questionable information gathering techniques to their attention: phone hacking, raking in people’s bins and the like.’

My eyes widened. ‘But that’s not true!’

‘What they don’t know can’t hurt them. Who’s this lovely creature?’ His eyes widened with pleasure as they met Amira’s. ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Nate Walton.’

He bent low and picked up Amira’s slender, manicured hand. After holding her gaze just a fraction too long, he gently kissed her hand then released it. She giggled coquettishly and fluttered her eyelashes.

‘Amira Sharma,’ she replied with a cat-like grin.

I heard Max’s knuckles crack ominously. He looked absolutely furious. I put my hand on his arm and his features immediately softened. I recognised the anger boiling up inside him; I’d seen it before when men approached Amira on a night out. He’d confided in me one night that he was sure she was going to go off with one of them someday.

‘I’m fine,’ he said quietly. He looked up and turned his attention to Nate. ‘So what brings you to Manchester anyway? You don’t sound like you’re from round here.’

‘You’re right there Maxie-boy. I lived in Paris, LA, Sydney then New York, but I’m back on home soil now. I did freelance work for an international photo agency and ended up visiting places like Vanuatu, Fiji and Antigua. It was brilliant.’

‘This must be a bit of a comedown for you then?’ Max shot back.

My heart was in my mouth as the tension rose between them. If they made a scene, it’d be splashed all over the front pages of the national newspapers tomorrow. I’d probably lose my job for not keeping a lid on the situation and no magazine would ever hire me again.

‘Why don’t you and Amira head off to have a bite to eat or something and I can do the interview?’ I suggested.

Before anyone could protest, I grabbed Nate’s arm and dragged him in the happy couple’s direction.

Giselle and Aaron were a down-to-earth couple who spoke at ease of their love for one another, despite them having once moved in very different circles. Giselle, it seemed, hadn’t always mingled with soap stars and footballers. I listened with fascination as they talked about the night they met; she’d been a barmaid at her local pub and he’d come in one night after training. After spotting her serving some regulars, he had fallen in love with her instantly. He’d stayed on at the pub until the end of her shift, flirted relentlessly with her until she’d agreed to go out with him and the rest was history.

‘He can’t cook to save his life and he leaves his dirty underpants everywhere, but I love him anyway!’

‘Says the woman who dyed my away kit pink!’

The love and affection between them was plain for all to see. You could see it in the way their eyes shone around one another, the smiles plastered to both of their faces and even the way their fingers were laced together. I even began to feel a little bit jealous, before reminding myself I had an admirer of my very own; he just hadn’t revealed himself yet.

‘Thank you so much for allowing us to do this interview. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else and congratulations again,’ I said, shaking their hands.

‘No problem chick, any time,’ said Giselle.

They happily posed for snaps while Nate clicked away furiously with his long-lens camera. Anyone who saw them could tell they fit together naturally; they were soulmates.

I felt a little ache in my heart. Would I ever find my soulmate, or would he always just be a collection of words on a page?

I was stood at the buffet table, poring over the vast array of food on offer, when Amira oozed her way up to me.

‘Having a good time then?’ Her voice reminded me of Miranda’s: syrupy-sweet to the point of nauseating when people were around, and cold and nasty when they weren’t.

‘Yeah it’s been a lovely wedding so far,’ I replied as I piled my plate high with sausage rolls. ‘How about you?’

‘It’s all a bit tacky in my opinion, but then I suppose these are just the kind of social circles Max moves in.’

That comment didn’t sit well with me. It sounded very much like she was saying my best friend wasn’t good enough for her.

‘Is this not your scene then?’ I asked, trying to keep my tone as civil as possible.

Amira scoffed loudly. ‘Um not really, love. I’m used to mixing with a cooler crowd than this. Oh by the way, I meant to say nice dress; bit cheap-looking though. A bit like you really.’

Right that’s it, no more Miss Nice Ava.

‘What exactly is your problem with me, because I don’t get it! For some reason, you’ve decided you hate me and that’s fine. I’m a big girl and I can deal with that. What I can’t deal with is you standing there making snide remarks about me and implying that my best friend isn’t good enough for you! If you can’t see what an amazing guy he is, that’s your problem.’

‘From the sounds of things, you’ve already seen what an “amazing guy” he is. Don’t get me wrong, Max is OK and I like him but I know I can do better. He, on the other hand, will never do better than me.’

‘Wow, you’re such a romantic,’ I bit back. ‘So you’re only with Max because you think you’re out of his league and he should be grateful to have you?’

‘Precisely. Girls like me always date downwards until someone who deserves us comes along. Oh, and if you’re thinking of telling Max about any of this, don’t bother. I can make your life a living hell and make sure he never speaks to you again.’

Amira picked up a vegetable samosa, popped it in her bow-like mouth and sidled away. I watched her for a second as she went to mingle with some guests. Something in her bag distracted her and I saw her pull out her phone. She moved in a sleek curve away from the group of people she’d been chatting to and I saw her jaw tighten and her eyes screw tightly shut.

As she passed by me, I heard her say ‘Mum, it’s fine… it was just a nightmare. Yes, it was. Look, Grace is calling round at seven to help put you to bed. She’s your carer, remember? You do know her, Mum…’

She said a hurried goodbye and ended the call. While her back was turned, her head dropped into her hands and I heard her exhale sharply. Sensing someone was watching her, she whipped her head round and glared at me.

‘What are you looking at?!’ she snapped.

‘I… Nothing.’

Amira snatched a glass of champagne from a passing tray and stormed off. Although I couldn’t swear to it, I was sure I saw a tear roll down her cheek.

Just to plunge me even further into the depths of despair, the first dance soon followed. The new Mr and Mrs Henderson took to the floor as Take My Breath Away by Berlin began to play. Gradually, the guests began to pair off and joined them on the dance floor to celebrate their special night. Soon, only me and a few other “spares” remained. Amira had dragged Max up at the first opportunity while Nate was getting very friendly with a bridesmaid.

‘Makes you sad, don’t it honey?’ A rich female voice lifted straight from the Deep South drifted across to me from a nearby table.

I turned to see who the mystery person was and found an old woman of around seventy sitting by herself. She was extremely beautiful; her crop of silver hair made her look full of life, as did the glint in her sparkly black eyes. Her skin was the colour of milky coffee and barely had any wrinkles, save for some lines at the corners of her eyes when she smiled. I recognised her as the jazz singer from earlier, the one who’d sung At Last while Giselle had walked down the aisle. She was wearing a long black maxi dress, accented with a teal shawl. When she saw me looking, she smiled and waved, beckoning me to go over to her.

‘Makes you sad, don’t it?’ she said again when I sat down opposite her.

‘What does?’ I followed her gaze to the dance floor, where all the couples were now swaying in time to Careless Whisper.

‘Seeing all them couples out there, happy as clams, when there’s people like you and me who just sit by and watch it all happen without us.’ It was impossible for the woman’s voice to sound truly sad but there was a definite melancholy tone to it. It struck a chord deep within me.

I chuckled awkwardly. ‘It’s just a first dance; it doesn’t bother me really.’

The woman eyed me with suspicion. Her eyes pierced through me, behind the layers of bravado I’d built up in preparation for this moment. I’d been dreading being alone for the first dance and my nightmare had come true.

‘Honey, a beautiful young thing like you should be out there with the most handsome young man in the room, spinning like a ballerina without a care in the world. Instead you’re sitting here with an old crone like me!’

My mouth dropped open. ‘Y-you’re not a crone! You look very good for your age actually. I heard you singing Etta James earlier and you were wonderful.’

She let out a wry laugh. ‘S’all I’m good for nowadays. Fifty years ago, I was Ivy St Clair, toast of the jazz scene. Now I’m Ivy St Clair, dried-up old has-been who’s wheeled out for the odd special occasion.’

‘You were a jazz singer?’ I shuffled my seat round, keen to know more about the mysterious Ivy St Clair.

‘Indeed I was!’ Her face beamed with pride and she straightened up in her chair. ‘Back in New Orleans, I sang at every jazz club on Bourbon Street. Oh I did all the classics: Etta James, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday. Rock and roll fever hadn’t hit New Orleans yet so jazz was still flavour of the month. I still remember the atmosphere in those jazz clubs; it was like our own version of Hollywood. You could step out on that stage and feel like a star in seconds because you knew everybody in that room was there to see you.’

She cast a wistful glance around the room before turning her attention back to me. I was completely enthralled by her; I could tell she had a thousand stories to tell but nobody had ever taken the time to ask.

‘Wow, that sounds amazing!’ I breathed. ‘I don’t think I’d ever be brave enough to get up in front of a room full of people.’

Sensing she had a captive audience, Ivy continued. ‘Nothing to do with being brave, sugar. I performed because I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else and loving it as much. It was like I was born to do it, you know? It was such a wonderful time. The men knew how to be men then too; they were always sharp as tacks with their suits and ties and their hair slicked back with Brylcreem. And talk about gentlemen! Back then if a man wanted to court you, he had to ask your daddy’s permission first. The ladies were always well turned out too, with their pin curls and finger waves and pretty dresses.’

She paused as though she was remembering something and I saw her eyes drop to a gold locket that hung around her neck. She caught me looking at her and I quickly averted my gaze back to the dance floor.

‘Of course that was in the sixties: a time where things like twerking and Gangnam Style and Facebook didn’t exist!’ she added.

‘I’ll bet you had all the men running after you,’ I said with a chuckle.

Ivy smiled secretly. ‘I had my fair share of admirers but they were just that: they came down to the club to hear me sing, asked me out at the end and I said no to all of ‘em.’

I frowned. Surely someone as beautiful and talented as Ivy would have had lots of boyfriends?

‘Why did you say no to them?’ I asked. My curiosity was piqued; I had to know more about this fascinating woman.

Just then, we were interrupted by Nate. He’d left the bridesmaid on the dance floor and was now standing over us with a goofy grin on his face.

‘Fancy a dance?’ he asked, extending his hand.

I paused for a second and looked at Ivy, who smiled knowingly.

‘Sure, why not?’ I knew my voice sounded a bit wobbly and uncertain and from the look on his face, so did Nate. It wasn’t every day a hunky photographer asked me to dance after all.

As I got up to take his hand, a little girl wearing a beautiful ivory bow dress walked up to us. I recognised her instantly as one of the flower girls from the wedding.

‘Excuse me, can I dance with you?’

Nate smiled and took her hand. ‘Of course you can darling. If that’s OK with my friend here?’

I grinned and nodded. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll have a dance later.’

They walked onto the dance floor and I watched as he lifted her so she could dance on his feet. He didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned that his shiny black shoes were being scuffed by her white dancing shoes. It was really quite heart-warming to watch.

I turned my attention back to Ivy and sat back down. ‘Sorry about that. You were about to tell me why you turned down all your admirers?’

Ivy let out a sad sigh. ‘Because of my Leo.’

‘Who was he?’ I chose my words and tone carefully in case he was someone she’d lost in her past.

She opened the locket and showed me two pictures side by side. One was of a young woman with dark skin, neatly curled hair and an incredible smile. The other was of a handsome man with kind features and hair the colour of dark chocolate.

‘Leo Browning was love itself. He came across to New Orleans from England on vacation and we met at one of the clubs I sang at. He told me I had the voice of an angel and… Well I was hooked. We spent a perfect summer together then…’

She trailed off and my heart sank. I knew the story couldn’t possibly have a happy ending and I dreaded to think what might be coming next.

‘Then?’ I prompted in the gentlest voice I could.

‘Then…he had to go home with his folks. We promised to write to each other and for a while we did but gradually the letters stopped. Oh I was heartbroken of course but my mama said it was for the best. She wanted me to stay in New Orleans, see, and not run off to England with “that no-good boy from the hotel”.’ Her voice carried a wistful tone, like she’d give anything to go back to the time she shared with Leo.

Suddenly, an idea hit me. This was exactly what I’d been looking for: an unusual love story. The best part was, it didn’t have an ending yet so I could make one happen. The prospect made my heart almost burst with joy.

‘This might sound weird but I’m a journalist; I work for Sleek magazine and I’d love to feature your story in our Valentine’s Day issue. Would you be up for that?’

An uncertain smile spread across her face.. ‘Oh I don’t know about that…!’

‘Please,’ I said, pouting like a child begging for sweets. ‘It’d mean the world to me and I know everyone will love hearing about you and Leo!’

Ivy sighed and threw her hands up in defeat. ‘What if I promise to think about it? I’m not sure I like the idea of my private affairs splashed all over a magazine.’

‘Fair enough, here’s my card. If you fancy doing an interview, give me a call when you’re free, and we can set something up!’

Satisfied with the promise that Ivy would think about letting me tell her story, I decided to go off in search of Nate or Max. I prepared myself to join the throng of neatly paired-up people on the dance floor and my stomach dropped into my shoes.

‘Oh honey, I didn’t catch your name!’ Ivy called.

I screwed my eyes shut with embarrassment. I’d been so busy listening to her that I’d totally forgotten to introduce myself.

‘Ava Clements,’ I replied.

‘Nice to meet you Ava Clements.’

‘Likewise Ivy St Clair.’


Chapter 7 (#ulink_7a925a72-da96-560c-a193-58cfc8bab202)

The second letter arrived on a Wednesday.

It came in the middle of a totally hectic week while I was rushing around trying to find the black pumps Gwen had borrowed for her date with Tom the night before. She had a habit of putting things back in odd places, especially when she’d had a few drinks. It wasn’t unusual to find handbags under the sink or jewellery in the fridge.

I was throwing cushions off one of the sofas at lightning speed when I caught sight of the letter. It was lying on our flower-shaped doormat along with some flyers for new takeaways opening in the area. I picked it up and a shiver of anticipation worked its way down my spine as I recognised the neat sloping handwriting. Without hesitation, I ripped it open and pulled out the letter.

Dear Ava,

As I promised in the last letter, I’m writing to you again. I can see how happy the magic surrounding them is making you and it’s wonderful. At first, I was worried about starting the letters again. For all I knew, you could’ve met someone and built a life with them; in that case, a letter from me would’ve been nothing more than a temporary trip down memory lane. After I sent the first one though, I knew I couldn’t and wouldn’t be able to stop. When it comes to you Ava, I’m a different person. Normally, I’m afraid to jump in, of getting my heart broken, but not where you’re concerned. You could break my heart into a million pieces and it wouldn’t change how I feel about you. To me, you’d still be the same wonderful woman you’ve always been.

I’ve never forgotten you, Ava. Your smile, your laugh, the sparkle in your eyes; it’s all still so clear to me even after all this time. I also remember how you made me feel: relaxed, at peace with the whole world and like anything was possible. If I was ever stressed or needed someone to make me feel better, I went to you and whatever was bothering me instantly melted away. You made me look at the world differently and I can’t thank you enough for that.

So with that in mind, I’m going to make a promise to you. When you find out who I am and if you’ll have me, I promise that I’ll be there for you whenever you’re scared or unsure. I’ll wrap you up in my arms and tell you everything will be OK because it will. You’ve got an amazing knack for turning things around if only you’d believe in yourself a bit more.

I’m well aware that when I do finally tell you who I am, there’s a chance you might decide you don’t have feelings for me. That does worry me a bit but I’ve loved you for so long that taking the chance to create something beautiful with you far outweighs any fears I’ve got. Believe me, you’re more than worth it.

Keep smiling, beautiful

Love always

?

The world around me seemed to melt away as I lost myself in the words. Getting a glimpse of what our life together would be like when we found each other took my breath away. Knowing he would take care of me and be there for me no matter what made my heart yearn for him.

‘Why can’t you just tell me who you are?’ I whispered.

I held the paper between my index finger and thumb like it was a piece of delicate china I was afraid of breaking. A ball of frustration built up inside me and all I wanted to do was scream as loud as I could. How could someone who wrote so beautifully be so hesitant to reveal himself? He wrote about wanting us to be together and to show me how much he loved me yet he was the only one stopping that from happening. I gave a heavy sigh, stuffed the letter in my handbag then dashed out the door after realising how late I was running.

I got to Starbucks around ten minutes later than planned. Luckily, the person I was meeting hadn’t arrived yet. I went inside and ordered myself a medium mocha and a piece of lemon drizzle cake.

‘That’s £4.85,’ the scary-looking barista informed me.

I opened my mouth to protest at the ridiculously high price but thought better of it when her bushy eyebrows lowered even further. Instead, I shoved a £5 note in her hand, muttered something about keeping the change and took my tray to a table by the window. The chocolate-coloured tub chairs were so comfortable and I had a great vantage point for looking onto the High Street.

However, it was inside that really caught my interest. While I waited for my lunch companion to turn up, I sat round in my chair and gazed at the other diners. They were all so different; some were young, some were old, some were alone and others were with a partner or friend. Coffee shops really were the best places to people-watch. I scanned the room, looking at each person for no more than a few seconds. It fascinated me to think that there were so many stories in one room. For the next five minutes, I amused myself by making up little backstories for some of my fellow diners. One lady who looked like a librarian was confiding in her friend about a torrid affair she was having to escape her boring marriage, a smart, business-like woman wanted to tell her impossibly hunky best friend she had feelings for him and two mothers with buggies were thinking about each other’s husbands…

Just as I wondered whether to make an old man sitting in the corner someone who’d been stood up for a blind date or a widower who came to his wife’s favourite coffee place every day, in she walked. She looked as splendid as ever, wearing a crisp white blouse and fitted black trousers. Her silver hair was neatly styled and the trademark sparkle in her eyes burned brightly. All the diners stopped to look at her; Ivy St Clair knew how to make an entrance.

I waved so she could see me, and a smile illuminated her beautiful face when she did. She walked over to my table and took a seat opposite me.

‘Why hello there sugar! Nice to see you again, you look divine if I may say so.’ Her Deep South accent was a joy to hear and such a contrast to the Mancunian brogue I was used to hearing.

‘Thanks Ivy, so do you,’ I replied with a smile. ‘And thanks for agreeing to meet me today; the weather’s not the best is it?’

I gestured to the drab, grey morning we’d been greeted with. Dark clouds were gathering overhead and it looked like the heavens would open any minute.

‘No but that’s good ol’ England for you, huh? Still, back in New Orleans there were hurricanes like you’ve never seen before, so this is an improvement!’

‘Do you want a drink and something to eat?’ I asked.

‘No thank you honey, I just ate breakfast.’ Ivy patted her stomach and unwound the teal scarf from round her neck. ‘Got to watch the ol’ figure as well, especially at my age.’

I chuckled. Ivy couldn’t be any more than seventy and looked fantastic for her age; she definitely didn’t need to watch her weight.

‘Shall we just start the interview then?’ I rummaged in my bag for my tape recorder and accidentally pulled Mr Writer’s latest letter out. Flustered, I stuffed it back in as quickly as I could. Not quickly enough, however, judging by the smile forming on Ivy’s lips.

‘Something important?’ she asked with a knowing look.

‘G-gas bill.’ I stumbled over my words but still retained some hope I’d sounded convincing. I felt bad lying to her but the Mr Writer affair was something to be dealt with another time.

‘Honey, if it’s one thing I’ve learned from my seventy-two years on this earth, it’s that you never keep gas bills in your handbag. That letter either has something really good or really bad written on it. Judging by the way you’re smilin’ right now, I’ll go with really good.’

I blushed and tried to force my smile down but it wouldn’t leave. There was no doubt where my head was this morning: Cloud Nine.

‘Tell you what; I’ll let you read the letter after the interview’s done, OK?’

‘Child, you got yourself a deal.’

***

‘So was the jazz scene always big in New Orleans?’

‘Oh sure it was! I remember when I was a little girl, my daddy would always play Ella Fitzgerald records around the house. I fell in love with the sound right away and it was my dream to sing like her. When I was old enough, I started visiting the jazz clubs on Bourbon Street and when I was eighteen, I saw her perform live. She just… she captivated the room with her voice and I knew instantly that jazz singing was what I was meant to do. It all came together in that moment as I listened to her sing; I knew I was in the right place at exactly the right time.’

Her deep brown eyes misted over as she spoke and her voice was rich with emotion. Jazz music flowed through Ivy’s veins; it was a part of her, rooted in her very soul.

‘You said you met Leo at one of the jazz clubs you sang at. Which one was it?’

A smile that hovered between happy and sad spread across Ivy’s face, bringing the trademark lines to the corners of her eyes.

‘Why yes I did; it was at The Black Cat Jazz Club on Bourbon Street. I was singing Dream a Little Dream of Me and I saw him sitting in the corner of the room. Our eyes met and it was like the world stopped. I kinda knew then that nothing would ever be the same again and it wasn’t. He approached me after the show and asked if he could take me out sometime. In those days, if you were a gentleman, you asked permission from the girl’s father to take her out and that’s exactly what Leo did. My daddy said no, what with Leo being British and all, but I snuck out to meet him all the same.’ Her eyes misted over and I could see the memories play out across her face. I could tell that even now, fifty years on, she still had a powerful connection to Mr Leo Browning. ‘For our first date, we went to City Park with a picnic and just sat all night, talking and looking at the stars. We spent three amazing months together before he had to go back home. He’d come over with his aunt, uncle and cousins; his father was dying back in England, you see. When his vacation ended, he had to come back home to take over the family accountancy business. My family didn’t approve but that didn’t matter to us. Being parted from him broke my heart and I don’t think it’s ever really healed.’

My own heart felt like it was being pulverised in my chest. I’d never heard such a sad story before. I’d thought my own tale of lost love was sad but Ivy’s was on a whole other level. I hadn’t gotten to know Mr Writer as a person; he’d always been this character on paper, made partly from the grand gestures he wrote about and partly from my expectations of him. I didn’t know him like Ivy had known Leo.

‘Couldn’t you have come to England with him?’ I ventured. ‘You two could’ve built a new life here together and lived happily ever after.’

The thought of happy-ever-afters tugged at my heartstrings. A sad smile came to my face as I realised our lack of fairy tale endings was what bound us together. We both had unfinished stories: me with Mr Writer and Ivy with Leo.

She let out a wry laugh. ‘My family absolutely hated Leo; they wouldn’t have him over the front door, much less let me run away to England with him! They said he wasn’t like us because his family were rich and their values were different from ours. They didn’t want me being corrupted by his world or made a fool of because I didn’t belong.’

‘That’s awful,’ I replied. ‘Did they even get to know him?’

‘Goodness me, no! He was different and that was enough for them. If they’d gotten to know him, they’d have realised that for all his money and wealth, Leo was the most kind-hearted soul in the world. He had time for everyone and had a million ways to make you smile.’

I shifted round in my seat to make myself more comfortable. I’d expected a great love story, but this was out of this world.

‘So what happened after Leo went back to England?’

‘Well, my heart was broken; for a while, I even gave up performing because it reminded me of him so much. Eventually though, life moved on as it always does. I met a lovely man named Roger Jeffries around a year after Leo left, we got married a year after that and had two wonderful kids, Carolyn and Thomas. Roger died five years ago so I came over to England to live with Carolyn and her family.’

As I listened, I couldn’t help feeling that Ivy was the perfect candidate for a happy ending. If anyone deserved to be reunited with their teenage sweetheart, it was her.

The interview drew to a close around an hour later. Ivy had told me stories about her time with Leo, her life in New Orleans and her time as a jazz singer.

‘Wow, I can’t believe you sang with Louis Armstrong and Linda Ronstadt!’ I said as I started my second cup of coffee.

Ivy sipped the green tea that the barista had brought over just a few minutes before. ‘They were just the best people to work with. I’ve been lucky with the opportunities I’ve had in life but I gotta tell you, I’d give them all up to see Leo one last time.’ She took a short pause to drink her tea then looked at me with a knowing smile. ‘Anyway, now that the interview’s over, do I get to see your mystery letter?’

I nodded, fished it out of my bag and slid it across the table to Ivy. As she read it, her eyes widened and her smile grew wider.

‘Looks like somebody’s got themselves an admirer! Do you know who he is?’ She handed the letter back to me and stared at me, anticipation dancing across her face.

I shook my head, feeling a little pang of disappointment. ‘No, I-I never found out who he was. He started sending me letters when I was at university and we arranged to meet but he stood me up. The letters started again last week and he says he’s going to tell me who he is this time.’

‘Child, I’m gonna tell you somethin’ that you might not wanna hear, but don’t wait around for him.’

An imaginary block of ice came out of nowhere and dropped to the pit of my stomach.

‘Why not? He says he’s really going to do it this time and I believe him.’

Ivy’s face broke into a kind smile. ‘What I meant was, don’t wait around on him doing some big gesture to tell you who he is. Go and find him for yourself! Did you ever have any suspicions about who it might be?’

‘Well, sure I had a couple of ideas but–’

‘Then start there. What have you got to lose? You’re a bright young woman, I’m sure you’re more than capable of tracking down the man who wrote you those letters.’

‘It’s not that easy, Ivy; I’ve had my heart broken more times than I can count. My dad wasn’t exactly a great male role model: he ran off when I was nine because he couldn’t hack fatherhood and sent me a letter saying he didn’t want to see me ever again.’ Tears brewed in my eyes and my throat became tight and itchy. Reliving the most painful events of my life wasn’t something I relished doing.‘Then there was my first and last serious boyfriend, Dave. He decided that buggering off round the world with his job was more appealing than a life with me.’

‘Honey, I can feel it in my bones: the guy writing these letters is different. You can ask anybody, I ain’t ever wrong. Get looking for him and find your Prince Charming, girl!’

‘You know, I might just do that,’ I replied. My insides buzzed with excitement; this meeting with Ivy had been just the push I needed.

By the time I left Starbucks, the sun was already disappearing behind Manchester’s red brick giants that loomed over the city like guardians. I’d already made my mind up to mount a full-scale search for Mr Writer. Not only that, I was going to find a certain Leo Browning too.


Chapter 8 (#ulink_a8b9c66e-efcf-5cbb-9153-0e9cd0ccf75a)

The battered shortbread tin sat opposite me on the couch. It looked a lot worse for wear than it had on its last outing. Its lustrous bottle green and red tartan was scuffed and the lid had a huge dent in it from when I’d shoved it to the back of my wardrobe, seemingly for good, six years ago. I looked at it, slurping my slightly cold coffee for courage. I had the flat to myself; Gwen had stayed the night at Tom’s again. To distract myself, I craned my neck to look out of the window; Manchester at five a.m. was quite a sight. The houses beyond the back garden wall were shrouded in a thick fog. It gave them a mysterious Victorian London look. A shimmering frost had been sprinkled on the leaves in the back garden, making them look like they were covered in icing sugar. Manchester in the early winter was always beautiful.

The contents of the shortbread tin weren’t the only thing stopping me from sleeping: I couldn’t stop thinking about Ivy and Leo. They’d fallen in love at a time where difference wasn’t celebrated, where everybody stuck to the status quo and didn’t dare deviate. It was criminal that they’d ever been separated. From what I knew about them, they seemed like two people who were meant to be together. I was going to do my utmost to make sure their story got the ending it deserved.

I turned my thoughts back to the tin and fixed it with a steely glare. It wouldn’t get the better of me.

‘There’s no good looking at me like that,’ I said to it. ‘It won’t make me open you any sooner.’

I was well aware I was talking to an inanimate object that wouldn’t answer back, but it dispersed some of the tension building inside me.

Today marked the first day of my search for Mr Writer and it was becoming increasingly apparent how unprepared I was.

I set down my coffee as a statement of intent and shuffled across the couch to where the tin sat. My hand drew nearer to it until I touched the cool metal lid. It felt smooth beneath my fingers and my breath caught in my throat as I prepared to open it. It was my very own Pandora’s Box and contained a whole section of my past I’d tried to forget. After a final deep breath, I gently pushed the lid off.

‘Oh my God,’ I whispered.

Inside was a large pile of letters. There was so many that they’d had to be jammed in and squashed down by the lid. Sandwiched between two was a pink gerbera daisy from a bouquet he’d sent me; I’d pressed it in my Essential Reporting book to keep it good. I picked up each letter in turn and read them again. Some made me laugh and others moved me to tears. Whoever Mr Writer was, he had a brilliant way of tapping into my feelings. As I lifted yet another one out of the box, I spotted something written in my own handwriting.

‘Here it is!’ I said with a triumphant grin.

Possible Mr Writers

1. James Kelly – barman at the Student Union. Does English Lit so he can write well; total book geek.. Likelihood – 8/10

2. Adam Johnson – posh bloke from Media Law class and lives in my halls. Drop-dead gorgeous, a bit stuck-up but generally nice. Wrote me a very nice note in a lecture once – “You look hot today”. Likelihood – 7/10

3. Dean Smith – Gwen’s boyfriend’s mate. Have seen him reading Pride and Prejudice, means he must be sensitive. Showed me his short stories one night so he can write well. Likelihood – 7/10

4. Max Burrows- best friend and I accidentally snogged him at Gwen’s birthday party. Has been known to be quite romantic at times, don’t know if he can write well or not though. Likelihood- 7/10

I giggled when I saw that Max’s name had been scored out multiple times. He’d never really been a prime candidate for being Mr Writer; I’d added him to the list after a drunken snog at Gwen’s twentieth birthday bash. In the heat of the moment, I’d imagined it had been him writing to me all along; that he’d been under my nose all this time and I just hadn’t realised. I’d scored his name out the next day. Our relationship dynamic was brother-sister; apart from that kiss and another when we were sixteen, he hadn’t laid a finger on me. Plus, Max just wasn’t the romantic type. You were more likely to find him playing rugby or having a laugh with his mates down the pub than penning gorgeous love letters.

I looked at the list again and felt a rush of excitement. It was going to be the starting point for my search for Mr Writer. I’d track down each one in turn, assess their likeliness and eventually decipher the identity of my mystery admirer. It was the perfect plan. Unless, of course, it turned out to be someone I’d never considered, but hopefully they’d let me know before I got too far down the list.

I grabbed my laptop, took a deep breath and began to type the first entry to my new blog. Taking Gwen’s advice, I was going to document my search for Mr Writer. I was hoping to give readers a journey they became hooked on and maybe, just maybe, one of them would give me some valuable information that would help.

Hi there! God where to start with this thing?! Well, my name’s Ava Clements, I’m twenty-six years old and I live in Manchester with my best mate Gwen. I’m a magazine journalist and love wine, cake and Bradley Cooper. Oh and I’m in love with someone I don’t even know.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I do know them, just not who they are. Maybe I should explain. When I was at university, I started receiving letters from a secret admirer. The letters were sensitive and beautiful; it seemed as though whoever was writing them knew me better than I knew myself. The letters kept coming until we arranged to finally meet up in December that year. I was so excited; what girl wouldn’t be? I couldn’t wait to finally see who’d been mad enough about me to send such beautiful letters. However, he didn’t turn up and the letters mysteriously stopped.





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