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

by Kirsty Greenwood

  ‘What does she want you to do?’

  ‘A superhero movie…’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘I know! I mean, it sounds cool, I guess, and I would be so lucky to do something like that, but… after this experience of being in a big movie it’s…I don’t know.’

  ‘Fucking crazy?’ I ask.

  Gary snorts. ‘Yes. Fucking crazy. I thought it would take years to get famous. That I’d have a ton of time to do whatever roles I wanted…’

  ‘Why can’t you?’

  Gary fiddles with a napkin and I can see the vulnerability behind the movie star charisma. ‘Because there’s some kind of trajectory happening now. It’s not the done thing to move backwards to smaller projects.’

  ‘Fate loves the fearless,’ I say, echoing my parents and feeling the truth in that statement more than ever right at this moment. ‘I’ve spent so long hiding out, afraid of doing anything that might upset the cocoon I’d built around me. I realised recently that it was a colossal waste of time. There’s magic to be found on the other side of the things that scare you.’ I peek up at him. ‘Surely even fleeting magic is better than none at all.’

  Gary smiles. ‘You’re very wise, Nora.’

  ‘That did sound super wise, didn’t it?’ I giggle, surprised at myself. ‘I should write this shit down.’ I mime grabbing my phone and typing out what I just said.

  Gary laughs. ‘There’s magic to be found on the other side of the things that scare you… that would make a great bumper sticker for sure.’

  ‘Do you think? Or maybe one of those wall decals people put above their beds. Could be lucrative.’

  We smile at each other for a smidge longer than is normal for two near-strangers, even if one of them has secretly been stalking the other for the last two weeks.

  After paying the bill at the diner, we continue walking along the beach and Gary, concerned about the increasing redness on my face and arms, pops into a general store to grab a bottle of sun cream, which, in my rush to get out with him this morning, I forgot to put on. He sprays the white cream very liberally over my face and arms but refrains from attempting to rub it in, which I’m surprisingly grateful for. If he started rubbing me right now, I would lose every shred of this composure I’ve managed to uphold so far. I rub it all over my face and when it’s done, we carry on walking.

  ‘You don’t want to check your face in the phone?’ he asks.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Should I? Shit, is it not rubbed in properly?’

  ‘No, it’s fine. It’s just Tori always…’ He trails off and clears his throat. He puts his sunglasses back on as the beach and boardwalk start to get busier.

  ‘Oh!’ I say as the famous Santa Monica Pier Ferris wheel comes into view. ‘I’ve seen that in all the movies. It’s so pretty! You must have been on it a million times, living here.’

  ‘I’ve… weirdly never been on it. I meant to, but it’s one of those corny tourist things and I just never got round to it… but I’ve heard the views are incredible.’

  ‘We should go on it!’ I say excitedly, walking more quickly now. ‘Should we? Or am I being totally corny right now?’

  Gary shakes his head. ‘I’m in the mood for corny today. Let’s go.’

  The Pacific Park amusements on Santa Monica Pier are busier than I thought they would be considering it’s still only morning, with people lining up to go on the rides. We have to queue for ten minutes to get on the Ferris wheel but the time flies by as we talk about everything and nothing. I tell Gary about my work at Virtual Assistants 4U. I tell him about the time when I was eighteen that I got separated from my friends on a fancy dress night and had to look for them, wandering the bars alone dressed as Jim Carrey in The Mask. Gary counters with a story of about the time he thought someone he’d just met was holding their hands out for a hug. He awkwardly gave them a massive hug only to realise, too late, that they had only wanted a high five. We properly laugh and it takes everything in my power not to just lean into him, nestle my head into his shoulder.

  On the Ferris wheel, we start our slow ascent to the top, the aquamarine sea stretching out ahead of us, the crowds on the beach looking like colourful splotches on the sand.

  ‘You mentioned at brunch the other day that you write songs and sing? Tell me more. What kind of music do you make? How did you get into it?’ He takes his sunglasses off and looks at me, genuinely interested.

  I smile. ‘When I was about eight, my parents had sent me and my sister to bed early for arguing over some Barbie. I crept downstairs to spy on them because I was maybe a weird and creepy child. They were sitting on the sofa together watching this show and there was this woman on screen, holding a guitar and singing this gorgeous song about pain and love and hope. It was Joni Mitchell. I didn’t really get what she was singing about then, but I knew, right there on the stairs, that I wanted to do what she was doing. I had never sung before or played an instrument, but seeing her there and hearing her felt like someone had lit my life up. I didn’t know why I wanted it. I just knew that I did more than anything.’

  Gary breaks into a warm grin. ‘That’s exactly how I feel about acting. I didn’t have a singular moment like you did, but I did this summer camp when I was twelve and we did Peter Pan for the end-of-summer show. I was one of the Lost Boys and I just knew that the days when we were rehearsing and I got to pretend to be someone else were the best days of the whole camp experience.’

  He gets it.

  ‘I stopped writing songs for a couple of years. I actually just started again. Being in LA… jump-started the urge.’

  ‘Why did you stop?’ he asks.

  I break eye contact and notice we’re at the top of the Ferris wheel now. The view of the glittering ocean stretches out as far as I can see. I peer to the side and gasp at the mountain ranges in the distance. It’s truly beautiful.

  ‘Well… I stopped because I had a showcase gig in London for a record label. My parents got in a car crash on the way to the gig. They died. It… well, it broke me.’ My voice cracks. I’ve never talked about this to anyone apart from Imogene. ‘I thought it was my fault. I’m only just realising that it might not have been. But, yeah… It was fucking horrible. The feeling of missing them is just always, always there as well as the weird guilt.’

  I look at Gary to see his eyes are glistening. ‘I know the exact feeling you’re talking about.’

  ‘You do?’ I frown.

  ‘My mom passed away giving birth to me. It’s taken me a lot of therapy to stop blaming myself.’

  Joan Didion wrote something once about how grieving people have a certain look, something recognisable to those who have seen the look on their own face. I can see it in Gary’s eyes and my heart twists with sadness for him. ‘Wow. I’m so sorry you know how it feels.’

  ‘It sucks, right?’ He swallows hard and holds up his hand for a high five. ‘Dead Parents Club!’ he jokes before immediately flushing red, his eyes panicked. ‘Sorry, that was a stupid joke. I’m really sorry. Brain fart.’

  I chuckle softly. ‘Yeah, that was a bit dark…’ I say, before tentatively picking his hand up and slapping mine to it in a high five. ‘Dead Parents Club.’

  As we high-five, Gary grabs hold of my hand and wraps his around it, intertwining his fingers with mine and stroking his thumb across my thumb.

  He doesn’t let go for the rest of the ride.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Nora

  After three goes around on the Pacific Park Rollercoaster, a game of whack-a-mole that I win and a game of hoop throwing in which Gary destroys me, we start walking back towards the house, chatting the whole way, mostly about light things like the Harcourt Royals books and each other’s favourite artists and how annoying it is when people in restaurants start their order with the words ‘I’m going to do the…’

  It’s after lunchtime now and getting increasingly crowded. Gary is safely back in his sunglasses and baseball cap and I try not to think of the fact that I am
the main reason he’s wearing them. And the idea that he might discover that leaves me breathless with fear.

  Back on Venice Beach boardwalk, the warm winds whip up a notch and I shield my eyes as much as I can to avoid another wind dirt incident. We pass street performers every ten metres or so. A young, tanned magician with long curly hair is stunning passers-by with incredible feats of fire-eating and card tricks. A group of hot guys dance in a troupe, jumping over one another and lifting each other into amazing acrobatic positions. Further down, an old man strums on an acoustic guitar and sings ‘Mambo No. 5’. We stay to watch him and it’s so catchy that we can’t help but jig from side to side. The old man is good – I’m surprised there’s not more of a crowd around him.

  When he’s finished the song, he sits down on the wooden chair next to his microphone stand and sips at a large bottle of water, holding it up with two hands.

  Gary nudges his elbow into mine and nods towards the guitar and mic stand. ‘Hey, will you sing me one of your songs?’

  ‘No way,’ I say immediately. ‘Absolutely no way! I have terrible stage fright.’

  ‘I thought you said you’d been singing again recently?’

  ‘Only when I’ve been drunk,’ I protest. ‘I haven’t performed sober in two years.’

  Gary gives me a pointed look. ‘You know, a wise stranger once told me that there is magic to be found on the other side of things that scare you.’

  I tut. ‘Sounds like something naff from a bumper sticker,’ I scoff.

  Gary lifts his sunnies onto his head and looks into my eyes. ‘Come on. I have this feeling that you’re really good… but you could also be really terrible. Either way, it would be great for me to know. To remember.’

  To remember. Because I am going home tonight, and he is getting married and has no intention of not going through with it. And although neither of us have said it, I think we somehow both know that this is the only time we will spend together. This one magical day.

  I screw up all of my courage and head towards the old man, asking him if I can sing a song. He rolls his eyes as if he’s had many enthusiastic amateurs asking him this over the years and says, ‘Sure, kid. Just go easy on the guitar. It’s a—’

  ‘Vintage 1957 Hofner Club 50,’ I cut in. ‘She’s a cracker.’

  The old man raises his eyebrow and nods in approval. I pick up the guitar, immediately feeling at home with the weight of it pressed against my stomach.

  I glance up at Gary and his encouraging smile transforms the nervous bubbles in my chest into excitement. I want to show him what I can do. If all we’re going to have left is memories, then I want him to remember me at my happiest – belting out the words and melodies I store in my heart.

  I start to sing the song I sang at Jama’s bar the other night when I got drunk with Brandon. The song that Gary doesn’t know is about this trip to LA, about him. I close my eyes and all of the emotions I’ve felt over these last couple of weeks pour out in the croak of my voice, the ring of the guitar, the high notes and the chord changes.

  When the song is finished, I revel in the joy of performing for a few more seconds before I open my eyes. When I do, I’m surprised to see a small crowd has gathered. A few people record me on their phones and others start asking me questions.

  ‘What was that song, honey?’ a woman calls across. ‘You got a SoundCloud?’

  ‘It sounded like an Adele song. Was it an Adele song?’

  ‘What’s your name? Will you be here tomorrow?’

  ‘You got IT, kid.’ The old man grins as I hand him back the guitar.

  Red-faced, I head back over to Gary, who looks like he is the one who is about to throw up with nerves. His face is pale, his eyes wide and his mouth ajar.

  ‘Are… are you okay?’ I ask. ‘You hated it! Argh.’

  Gary shakes his head in astonishment. ‘It was…’ He narrows his eyes. ‘Were you at Trash Karaoke bar a few nights ago? I walked past and heard a woman singing and—’

  Oh my goodness.

  ‘That was me!’ I tell him, laughing in disbelief. ‘I can’t believe you heard me.’

  ‘Nora,’ he says in a low voice, his eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them. He takes a step towards me and…

  ‘Yo, is that Gary Montgomery?’ comes a voice from behind me. And then another. ‘It is! It’s Gary Montgomery! OMG! Gary!’

  The crowd of people start to swarm around us and, without thinking, I grab Gary’s hand and yell, ‘Leg iiittt!’

  So we do.

  We barely say anything the rest of the way back to Kennedy’s. I didn’t think there could be any more tension between us, but after holding hands on the Ferris Wheel and Gary hearing me sing, the mood has shifted. It’s heavy and confused and electric.

  Outside Kennedy’s house, we face one another. This is it. This is when I say goodbye to Gary Montgomery. This was the best day of my life.

  ‘Weird question but… are you wearing some of that pheromone perfume that sends guys crazy?’ Gary asks.

  ‘Ha!’ I laugh out loud. ‘Afraid not. I didn’t even put deodorant on this morning.’

  Real sexy, Nora.

  ‘So…’ I say.

  ‘So…’ Gary says. ‘I guess this is goodbye.’

  I swallow down the lump that has come to my throat. ‘I had a really good day.’

  ‘The best,’ Gary murmurs. He looks at me for a long moment, his obsidian eyes unreadable.

  The Santa Ana winds start to whip warmly around us, making my hair fly out behind me and rustling and shaking the leaves of the palm trees so they make a noise like maracas.

  Gary looks up at the sky and then back at me. Tentatively, reticent almost, he places his hands on either side of my head, leans forward, stops halfway to look into my eyes and then…

  He kisses me. His lips touch mine, and I swirl and melt and fizz and all those things they say in the books and the songs and the films.

  I kiss him back, my hands running up into his hair, knocking off his baseball cap. He kisses me harder, his breath coming thick and fast. He groans slightly, pushing me against Kennedy’s front door and pressing so close to me that it feels like we have melted into one another. He runs his hands across my waist and I feel how hard he is through his shorts. I have never felt so wanton and turned on in my life. I want every part of him. Right here. In broad daylight. On Kennedy’s doorstep.

  ‘Oh god,’ he moans.

  ‘I know,’ I murmur.

  And then, as if he’s just been electrocuted, he jolts away from me, breathing rapidly and looking at me with a pained expression.

  ‘I can’t,’ he says. ‘I’m engaged.’

  I look down at my feet and wonder how many times a heart can break. I thought it was once, but it really isn’t.

  I can’t take it. I wipe a tear away from my eye and take a deep breath. I have to do the right thing. ‘Goodbye, Gary,’ I say, my hand on the door handle.

  ‘Goodbye, Nora,’ he says, his voice catching.

  And then, at last, after everything, it’s all over.

  Chapter Fifty

  Nora

  As soon as I open Kennedy’s door, Winklepuff rushes over to me, yelping with delight. At the sound of the commotion, Kennedy hurries out of the kitchen, followed, to my surprise, by a pissed-off Imogene. Both of them are holding glasses of, judging from the orangey colour of it, organic peach wine. And going by the pinkness in their cheeks, they’ve already had at least a glass each.

  ‘Thank god!’ Imogene says. ‘Where the hell have you been? You turned your phone off. I was worried!’

  ‘I sent a text!’

  Kennedy crosses her arms. ‘She was really worried,’ she echoes. ‘She thought you had gone to see Gary, that you were gonna get yourself into trouble, that you weren’t going to make your flight. You really shouldn’t turn your phone off, Nora.’

  Imogene narrows her eyes, noticing the expression on my face. ‘What’s wrong? Did you get in trouble? Are you okay?’ />
  What just happened, the whole day I’ve just had, seems to hit me all at once and I dive for the sofa, fearful that the overwhelming emotion of it all is going to make me pass out.

  Kennedy and Imogene rush over to me. ‘Nora, what’s wrong?’

  ‘I…I saw Gary,’ I whisper.

  ‘Oh no!’ Imogene says. ‘Are you actively trying to get yourself arrested?’

  ‘What did you do now?’ Kennedy adds. ‘I thought you had stopped with all that?’

  I press my fingers to my still tingling lips. ‘He… he kissed me,’ I murmur. ‘Gary Montgomery… kissed me.’

  ‘Oh fuck.’ Imogene downs the rest of her wine. ‘She’s fully lost it. It’s finally happened: she’s cracked. Don’t worry, Nora. Oh, my poor sister. We’ll get you home, sort all of this out, okay?’

  ‘He really kissed me,’ I repeat, a dreamy smile making its way across my face. ‘He really really did.’

  Kennedy crouches down to my level and takes my face in her hands. ‘Have you taken something, Nora? Hmmm, her pupils are very dilated…’

  Winklepuff starts barking and scampering frantically about again as Brandon emerges from his room and heads down the stairs. Oh great.

  ‘I… um, I think she’s telling the truth,’ he says, his own face pulled back into a shocked expression. ‘I saw it from my window, I think. He was kissing her. Gary fucking Montgomery was kissing… her.’ He blinks as if he can’t quite fathom it. ‘The way he looked at her. She was… My god, was she right all along?’

  ‘What?’ Kennedy shrieks, standing up quickly.

  ‘Was it some sort of lookalike?’ Imogene asks sensibly, neat HD brows furrowed. ‘Did you find him at an agency? I mean, it wouldn’t be the worst way to get closure.’

  My eyes meet hers and I sort of half-shrug, my ability to make sense fully absent.

  Imogene stares at me for a moment, still frowning, and then she takes a quick sharp breath and presses her hands to her cheeks, her eyes almost popping out of her head. ‘Oh. My. God…’ she whispers. ‘Gary Montgomery kissed you.’ Her voice gets louder and she starts sort of bouncing up and down on her heels. ‘GARY MONTGOMERY KISSED YOU! OH MY GOODNESS! OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOD!’