He Will Be Mine: The brand new laugh out loud page turner!

by Kirsty Greenwood

  So Tori, Olive, Seth and I have celebrated this evening with a champagne dinner and it was an all-round epic night.

  Oh, a couple of other amazing things to add to the three I did earlier…

  Janet came home from her beach walk with Tori in the best mood I’ve ever seen her in. Her tongue was lolling, her eyes were sparkling and she just kept bounding around the house and rolling over onto her back like a total happy fool. I’m so glad she and Tori love each other so much.

  On the walk home from the restaurant tonight, we passed this bar and from inside we heard a woman singing and I swear she had the most incredible voice I’ve ever heard. It was sweet and sort of raspy and strong. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I suggested we go in and check it out, but poor Tori had a stomach ache from all the food we ate, so we headed on home. Still, that voice was one of a kind. Even in Los Angeles you don’t come across a gift like that too often.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Nora

  I get off the stage to a deafening round of applause. It’s a sound I’ve not heard in such a long time and it sends a bolt of elation right through my body. I’d forgotten how performing makes me feel. It makes me feel free. Like when I’m in that space, there’s just me and the music, my head is clear and quiet, my heart is calm. I miss that feeling. Like I can fly!

  When I reach the table, Kennedy stands up and pulls me into a massive hug, but we’re both so pissed that we sort of topple to the side, a fall only being prevented by the fact that we are situated right by a wall. We get an attack of the giggles and start jumping up and down again. I am not a person who giggles and jumps around quite so much. It’s a nice, daft feeling. I worry for a second that all the jumping will make me puke, but no, I am fine. Just quite drunk.

  ‘That was unexpected,’ comes a voice from behind me.

  I turn around and my good mood dips when I realise that it’s Brandon or, as I’ve been calling him in my head, Horrid Brandon on account of his horrid personality. He’s dressed in a navy T-shirt and grey cargo pants, carrying his tote bag, which is filled to the brim with books. He reads? I soften towards him slightly, but still, ugh, what is he doing here? It is a girls’ night out!

  ‘Brandon!’ Kennedy yells happily. ‘You’re here!’

  I look between them, my face contorting into a squinty-eyed frown. Kennedy invited him? Why on earth would anyone invite the most miserable man of all time to a fun night out? Even if he is your recently dumped brother.

  ‘Wasn’t Nora amazing?’ Kennedy asks Brandon, shaking her head in astonishment. ‘Who knew she had that big old voice tucked away in there!’

  ‘You’re really talented,’ Brandon says, a surprised look on his stern face.

  ‘You should be a singer!’ Kennedy remarks as we all sit down at the table, a round of drinks appearing from a nearby group who enjoyed my performance.

  I can feel my cheeks turn red. ‘Nah.’

  ‘You could get paid for it,’ Kennedy says. ‘Seriously, you should get a manager, or do a show, make it a career…’

  Making a career out of singing and writing songs is firmly off the table. The only reason I just got up on that stage is because the tequila has significantly blurred the painful memories and numbed the absolute nausea I usually feel at the mere thought of performing.

  I plaster on a cheery smile and hold my glass of beer aloft, turning to Brandon and firmly changing the subject. ‘Did Kennedy tell you her good news?’

  Later on, back at the house, Kennedy fusses over Winklepuff, who is wiggly with happiness at our return, barking happily and running around in little circles. ‘You are the goodest, most well-behaved dog in all of California,’ Kennedy slurs, lying through her teeth.

  I slip off my shoes and try not to fall immediately asleep on the sofa, not least because I have a tendency to drool and I do not want that shit on public show, drunk or not.

  Brandon heads into the kitchen and grabs three cold beers out of the fridge. As he offers one of the bottles to me, I notice his hair is slightly sweaty and mussed up, like he’s just got out of bed. It makes him look friendlier somehow. I really really really shouldn’t drink any more, but Brandon is looking so cheerful and not like he wants to kill me, so I take the bottle from him to be polite.

  Kennedy leans sleepily against the white painted bookcase and gives us both a sort of odd tender look and then does a massive stretch and yawn so big it looks like she might unhinge her jaw.

  ‘Guys, I’m beat,’ she tells us, cuddling Winklepuff to her chest and burying her head into his fur. He snorts with delight at the attention.

  ‘You don’t want a beer?’ I ask, realising that I have already accepted a beer and will therefore have to sit here with Brandon on my own. I mean, tipsy Brandon is definitely better than the awful version I’ve encountered over the past couple of days, but still. Awkward.

  ‘No, I have to work on my audition story in the morning,’ she says, placing Winklepuff back down. ‘I should definitely get to sleep… You two kids have fun!’

  Argh. I was the one who was supposed to be sensibly going to bed so that I could get up early and research Gary stuff. Now Kennedy is already loping up the stairs, sort of bopping into the wall with each step upwards.

  ‘Bye then…’

  I smile awkwardly at Brandon, who does a half shrug in return. It’s funny, now that he’s not scowling, I realise that he is a good-looking guy. It’s a little more of a traditional, gentler kind of good-looking. In contrast to Gary’s intense eyes, dramatic curls and large, slightly wonky nose, Brandon has lighter, bigger eyes and the same shiny blonde hair as Kennedy. His nose is the nose of a Roman statue and he clearly works out because each time he lifts his beer bottle I can see his arm muscle pop a little bit underneath his shirt.

  ‘Shall we take these outside?’ Brandon suggests, gesturing to the bottles and then in the direction of the porch. ‘I’ve got a surprise for you.’

  A surprise? Oh! What could it be? An apology for being so mean to me? An admission that soulmates are not a fabrication invented by googly-eyed mooning idiots? Gary Montgomery’s address?

  Taking more energy than I would like to expend, I get up from the sofa and follow Brandon out onto the front porch, Winklepuff trotting along at our ankles, his little tail wagging giddily.

  Outside, we take a seat on the porch bench and I smile because it really is gorgeous out here. It’s past midnight and still warmer than most days in the north of England. I can’t see the sea, but I can hear it gently lapping back and forth in front of us. The entire beach is empty and, above, the sky looks like the kind of diamond-dotted sky you would only ever see in a movie.

  ‘I’ll be back in just a moment,’ Brandon says, handing me his bottle and scooting back into the house.

  When he returns a few seconds later, he’s carrying a Tupperware box, a couple of duck-egg blue plates and some paper napkins.

  My stomach rumbles. I had thought about getting a drunken snack because we were supposed to eat out but ended up drinking in the karaoke bar instead. I did raid the fridge, but all that was in there was some kumquat and kombucha and I have zero idea what either of those things are. I must do some grocery shopping tomorrow.

  Brandon sits back down on the bench and opens the Tupperware lid to reveal a mound of soft, charred pastrami.

  I gasp. It smells amazing.

  ‘I have a mini fridge in my room.’ Brandon laughs, using a fork to put some pastrami and pickles onto two plates. ‘Kennedy thinks it’s for me to store the sparkling water I’m addicted to, and mostly it is, but I also keep secret meat in there.’

  ‘Kennedy doesn’t know you’re not vegan?’

  He does an exaggerated guilty look, his mouth stretching into his cheeks. ‘She’d be so disappointed in me if she knew. So do not tell her.’

  I appreciate that Brandon is opening up to me and that he’s provided possibly the best midnight snack I have ever had, but I feel a tad weird that he’s asking
me to keep something from Kennedy. Then again, I’ve been feeding her dog ham and I’ve been keeping that from her, so I can hardly take the moral high ground.

  Below us, Winklepuff rolls back onto his hind legs, paws in the air, begging adorably.

  Brandon feeds him some pastrami. ‘He loves beef. Not as much as ham, which he usually prefers, but I like pastrami more so that’s what he gets,’ he says.

  I laugh as I finally realise why Winklepuff responds so acutely to the word ham.

  Brandon asks what’s so funny. I tell him that I have also been feeding Winklepuff secret ham.

  ‘Dogs are not supposed to be vegan,’ Brandon declares, laughing at my confession. ‘Their teeth are made for meat. You definitely can’t tell Kennedy now you’ve admitted to me that you are a fellow ham enabler.’ He smiles and it transforms his grumpy face into a warm and friendly one.

  I take another bite of pastrami, sighing happily as I do, and have a sip of my beer, before leaning back into the porch bench with a sigh.

  ‘So…’ Brandon says eventually. ‘Gary Montgomery, huh?’

  I feel my entire face go red; like, actually feel it warm up.

  ‘Kennedy didn’t tell me, by the way,’ Brandon adds. ‘In case you were wondering.’

  I feel a rush of relief. ‘Oh. So how…?’

  ‘Well, there was that phone call I heard with your terrible American accent. And then I also overheard you guys talking the other night while you were drinking that godawful peach wine. It wasn’t exactly a tough case to crack.’

  ‘You overhear a lot of things.’

  ‘In my own house? Yes, I guess I do.’ He gives another small smile and I can’t quite tell if he’s mocking me or being friendly. I smile back because I am very polite, even when intoxicated.

  I lift my chin. ‘I know you think soulmates aren’t real, but I respectfully disagree.’

  Brandon laughs out loud now. ‘Oh, you do?’

  I nod quickly and sit up straighter on the bench. ‘When I was younger, my mum told me that one day I would find the person who was meant for me and that I would feel it like a bolt right through my body. That’s what I felt when I saw Gary for the first time. I know it seems nuts, but—’

  ‘You think Gary Montgomery will dump his model girlfriend for you?’ Brandon interrupts.

  ‘She’s not a model.’

  ‘She might as well be!’

  ‘She is very beautiful, yes. But love is about more than looks. It’s about a deep abiding connection. It’s about destiny.’

  Brandon shakes his head slowly, takes a sip of his beer and turns a little more toward me on the bench. I can smell his soap. Something sweet. Almond, I think. ‘You know…’ he says. ‘People like us… we don’t get the Gary Montgomerys and Elsie Graingers of the world.’

  ‘Who’s Elsie Grainger?’

  Brandon looks down at his knees. ‘My ex. She’s a human rights lawyer, and the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. Probably will ever meet. Folks spot her on the street, they follow her sometimes. She’s extraordinary. But she eventually realised that I was not in her league, cheated on me with some movie producer and now…’ He mimes a bomb exploding out of his chest. His eyes water slightly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, meaning it. ‘That sounds awful.’

  ‘It was. Is.’

  ‘Maybe you and Elsie just weren’t meant to be… But Gary and I? I can feel it, right deep down and—’

  ‘People like you and I don’t get people like them, Nora…’

  ‘What does that even mean people like you and I?’

  He shrugs. ‘Ordinary people. People who for the most part go unnoticed. Who don’t get stopped on the street.’

  My heart dips. I know I’m ordinary. And, over the last couple of years, I’ve gone more and more unnoticed, and that’s been intentional. But to have someone say it so plainly, to outright tell me that I’m not good enough for someone else? He barely even knows me. I mean, I know that Gary is way out of my league – I’m not a complete idiot. But love is more than just the way people look or their station in life, right? It has to be.

  The alcohol has blurred all of my edges, but the starkness of Brandon’s words dart at my chest. Because the likelihood is that he is absolutely right.

  Brandon pushes his shoulder into mine, playfully. ‘Maybe people like us should stick together. Have a little fun while you’re here instead of chasing after things that are never gonna happen the way you want them to. God knows you would save yourself a lot of pain. Trust me.’ He leans slowly towards me and presses his thumb on my face just outside my eye.

  Um, what is he doing?

  ‘Your eye looks painful.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. I got some bloody wind dirt in it. I should probably take out my contact lenses for a few days…’

  ‘Mmmhmm.’ Brandon’s head moves towards mine and I see that up close he has a tiny scattering of freckles over his nose. Fuck. Is he going to try to kiss me?

  He looks down at my lips and smiles slightly, his blue eyes flicking back up towards mine.

  He is. Horrid Brandon is about to kiss me. I… thought he disliked me. I’m so confused.

  I stand up before his lips reach mine.

  ‘We can’t do that,’ I say firmly, placing my bottle down onto the porch table with a gentle clink.

  ‘You’re saving yourself for a movie star?’ he asks in astonishment, half-laughing.

  I know it sounds ridiculous. And Brandon is far better-looking than anyone I’ve ever been with before and for all I know he might be completely and utterly right about how much pain I have coming my way from this pursuit. But… Yes. I am saving myself for a movie star. For Gary.

  ‘Yes. I am,’ I say, after a hard swallow.

  Brandon fully laughs this time and shrugs as a huge gust of wind whips around both of us, causing his hair to stick directly upright and mine to blow smack into my face, a chunk of it getting into my mouth.

  He looks at me with a sad, sort of pitying smile. ‘Goodnight, Nora.’

  ‘Goodnight, Brandon.’

  I wobble my way into my bedroom area and fall into the bed, the word ‘ordinary’ going round and round in my head.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Nora

  I’m having an extremely weird dream, different than the ones I usually have. I’m dreaming that Gary is on Muscle Beach doing a naked workout and crowds of people are taking his photograph. I keep calling his name, but he doesn’t hear me no matter how loudly I shout. Then Imogene is beside me with Roger Pepper and they start singing a duet. The melody is the same as one of the songs I planned to sing at my showcase gig, but instead of the words I wrote, Imogene and Roger Pepper are just singing “ha ha ha” over and over again. And then Gary morphs into Brandon and comes over and licks the side of my face. It feels quite nice at first and then I realise that his breath stinks a lot like the breath of…

  ‘Winklepuff! Get off of her!’

  I hear the giggling, sweet-toned voice of Kennedy and open my eyes to see, blurrily, that she is standing at the side of my bed with a glass of sludgy green stuff in one hand and my spectacles in the other.

  I slip on my glasses and stare at the green sludge with a frown. It looks disgusting. There are bits in it. What are those bits?

  ‘What time is it?’ I ask, knowing deep in the pit of my soul that whatever time it is, it is not a time that my body is supposed to be awake, especially when a person sleeps as terribly as I do.

  I slowly sit up, immediately regretting it as my head starts to protest, big time. I get a flashback of singing last night and I can’t quite believe I did that, even with all of that Dutch courage. And then I remember Brandon trying to kiss me. And him saying that I have zero chance with someone like Gary Montgomery. My shoulders sink.

  ‘It’s five thirty A.M.!’ Kennedy announces chirpily, looking as bright-eyed and glowing as ever. ‘Hangover brigade to the rescue!’ She shoves the glass of green stuff into my hand.

  �
��Hangovers are best cured by sleep,’ I tell her, mashing my dry tongue against the roof of my mouth.

  ‘Nonsense. Drink this.’

  ‘What are all the bits?’

  ‘A mix of hemp seed, flax seed and chia seeds.’

  ‘Seedy.’

  ‘Drink it up. Then put on your bathing suit and meet me in the living room, okay?’

  ‘Bathing suit?’ I goggle at her.

  ‘A swim is actually the best hangover cure,’ she says knowledgeably. ‘And the ocean is looking incredible this morning. There’s no one else out there and the winds aren’t due to go crazy for another few hours at least!’ She puts her hands on her hips and gestures to the window with an outstretched arm. Then smiles a wide, megawatt smile and says in a very exaggerated, chipper voice, ‘It sure is another beautiful day in the City of Angels!’

  I laugh at her weather-girl spiel and immediately regret it as the laugh turns into a dry heave.

  ‘I can’t go swimming!’ I put a hand to my head. It is very clammy. I did not have enough water while we were out, likely sweated in this heat all night and now I’m seriously dehydrated. ‘I feel quite unwell.’ I sigh. ‘This was why I wanted to stay in. Plus, I have so much Gary-planning to do. I thought we were going to look at the forum to see if he is there under a fake name?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve already done it,’ Kennedy says merrily and I wonder if last night she was secretly knocking back water instead of tequila. Either that or she is some sort of android. ‘I checked and triple-checked. He’s not on there. I’m sorry. Come on, hurry!’

  She flounces out of the bedroom area, Winklepuff trotting jauntily alongside her ankles.

  My shoulders slump at the news that Gary isn’t on the forums. Damn it. That would have been a real coup. I could have private-messaged him on there! Or maybe even gotten his address. Hmmm. Actually, showing up at his house would be treading a pretty fine line between trying to meet the person you think might be The One and stalking them.