A) Love triangle
B) Bring James back and make sure readers realise why he is such a bastard & a bad idea
C) Move Charmaine home – make it more personal / linked to backstory
So, two of those were basically the same. And they’d been Kaylee’s idea. When did I start sucking at this?
I walked away from my desk and sprawled on my face on the couch, burying my head in a cushion. It was one of those sequin-flip designs, so it was like nuzzling a serpent. The Vietnamese restaurant beneath my apartment was prepping to open for lunch. I could go there to have dumplings. I had worked enough for today hadn’t I? It was early enough that I wouldn’t spoil my tacos.
No. I turned my face and took a deep breath, eyeing the Post-its on the wall again. I had to rediscover my love for this book. I had poured myself into this series of novels for the better part of a decade. Maybe it was that pressure that was getting to me. Maybe I needed to do what Beth had when she was getting all neurotic on the phone – focus on the bit that mattered. For her, it was whether she and Nick still felt good when they were together and for me…it was about finding the excitement in writing again.
Beth had been right about me lighting up at the idea of a mystery to solve. I did love that. I always had done. Growing up with my dad as a detective, he’d talk to me about cases – highly censored until I was older – and ask me what I’d do. So, I’d always put figuring things out and making up stories together. I’d been approaching my books just as a writer recently, getting into a pattern, maybe it was time to break the routine and rediscover my inner private eye.
I pushed myself up to sitting as a little nugget of inspiration formed in my mind. It was a crazy idea and he’d probably say no, but maybe I could offer to help Stephen on his missing persons hunt? A real-life actual mystery – but without the danger and criminals (hopefully).
And if hedidsay yes…then I’d definitely get the opportunity of having the last word. I just needed to bide my time.
I woke later than usual the following morning. Between the unsuccessful attempt to find my father and the endurance test that was drinks at a ridiculous height on Fifth Avenue in the evening, I was sluggish.
And then there was bumping into Noelle.
I’d known it was possible. New York City had a population of around eight and a half million, but I understood the Laws of Sod thoroughly. She lived here, I was going to be living here for the summer, she’d made a fool of me, it was inevitable I would run into her at some point.
My mouth kicked up at the corner involuntarily as I remembered her outraged expression at my parting shot. I’d forgotten how much fun it was to spar with her. I’d forgotten how rounded and delicious her figure was. How her grey eyes sparkled with mischief and intelligence.
No. That was a lie. I hadn’t forgotten at all.
I’d been disappointed when she’d stood me up on New Year’s Eve and I’d felt like an idiot because she’d used my attraction to her to get the information she wanted for Beth. The definition of thinking with the contents of my trousers rather than my brain. Once the sting to my pride had receded, I couldn’t help admiring the cunning of it. Not that I couldeveradmit it to her but…she’d been right about Beth and Nick, after all.
I’d tried to put some distance between them, because I suspected Beth of using him as a helping hand around the hotel while she was having a staffing crisis at Christmas. He was vulnerable and I’d wanted to protect him. Losing Mum had been a shock to us all, but he’d been with her when it happened, tried to get her to the hospital as she went downhill to the point where he’d performed CPR on her. It had been traumatic, and he’d shut himself off from us. I hadn’t wanted him to go through any more pain. But it turned out Beth wasn’t using him at all – they had genuine feelings for each other, and she was good for him. Half a year on and they were still together.
And, despite my meddling, things were fine between us all, for the most part. Nick and Beth were far more forgiving than I was in general so after an awkward couple of months, we’d found our common ground. I imagined that if we’d been subjected to Noelle’s presence over the last six months too – her smart-arse comments winging out of her mouth – it would have been a harder task to put it behind us.
I shook my head and got out of bed, pulling my running gear on straight away. It wasn’t likely there’d ever be a day when we’d all be together anyway. I don’t know what had made me think of it. Noelle was Beth’s friend, yes, but there was no reason for me to ever see her again. Last night had been perfect to clear the air, to make sure she wasn’t left with the impression I was crying into my cocktails over her deception, and I was happy to leave it that way. If I didn’t bump into her again all summer that was fine by me.
The day was only just starting to heat up. The smell of the river and of rubbish waiting in bags to be collected from the dumpsters was a ripe tang in the air, but as I headed away from the water and towards the shops, it faded, replaced by the enticing scents of bakeries and coffee shops. There were a lot of joggers out at this time since leaving running any later was courting a trip to the emergency room with sunstroke.
I took the route straight across the financial district and slowed my jog to a walk as I passed the 9/11 memorial. Before I went to the Whole Foods Market around the corner, I took a seat in the glade so I could catch my breath – the stone slabs were cool, shaded by the white oak trees that had been planted all across the site. I squinted at the large space of blue sky where those iconic towers used to be, the rush of the enormous fountains in the background.
I’d been at secondary school when the attack happened. They’d taken us into a special assembly and explained, and when I got home Mum was there in front of the TV, crying. I watched the footage most of the evening with her, hugging close on the sofa. Nick was too young to watch most of it, though he’d understood what had happened too. It was awful and surreal, and the world felt altered afterwards. Not because I’d realised that life could be cut short so suddenly – I’d already learnt that, when David died – but because everyone was suddenly scared. At least for a little while. It was strange to see the feelings I’d squashed down inside me out on people’s faces and hear it in their conversations. Everyone felt it, and everyone still had to carry on.
Perhaps that was part of the reason Nick, Beth and I had let the trouble at Christmas go. We knew how short life could be – Beth had lost her dad too – and we realised it wasn’t worth the unpleasantness. David, my stepdad, died in a car crash when I was ten, Mum had taken a blow to the head in a freak accident at home last year. It could happen at any minute. A truck could plough into me the moment I stepped out on the road. Something could go wrong with Nick’s plane. A shiver crawled down my spine at the thought, even more chilling because of where I was sitting. He was most likely in the sky now, working. I shook the thought off.
I paid a visit to the survivor tree before I went on to the market, then walked back towards my apartment once I’d grabbed my groceries, a brown paper bag full of chicken, pasta, fruit and vegetables in my arms. There was a small bagel shop near my block, and I ducked in quickly to grab some breakfast. The old lady behind the counter recognised me now and fetched my usual whole-wheat onion bialy to eat on the go, before I even asked. We exchanged a few friendly words – she liked to talk to me aboutThe Only Way is Essexbecause she streamed it and I was British – and I told her to keep the change as always.
The bialy was warm and soft, melting in my mouth as I ate it on the way home, the cooked onions sweet. I loved London, but New York had its charms. I imagined I’d miss it when I went back at the end of the summer.
Once I unpacked my shopping and showered, I grabbed some orange juice and settled down at the table to check my emails. I had a bunch of key account documents that Georgina and Patrick had sent me after I left the office yesterday. I’d have to read those through by Monday, along with keeping up with the usual news and economic journals, but for now, I had another job to do. All this thinking about how short life was had made me more determined. I needed to find my father, fulfil Mum’s wishes and then leave anything to do with him behind me.
I winced around a sip of bitter juice and opened Facebook, typing ‘Trevor Moorcroft’ into the search bar. I didn’t expect there to be many – Moorcroft was not a common a name. Age should narrow it down further; I might be able to send him a message within minutes.
I just needed to hit return.
Time to do it.
Here goes—
A list of profiles immediately appeared. As I scanned through quickly to see if any of the photos immediately caught my eye, I realised I could discount eight of them. They were either variations of his name or completely different. That left me with four. Two were too young. One a different race. And the last one…I wasn’t sure.
