City of Second Chances

by Jane Lacey-Crane

  THE CITY OF SECOND CHANCES

  Jane Lacey-Crane

  Start Reading

  About this Book

  About the Author

  Table of Contents

  www.ariafiction.com

  About The City of Second Chances

  She’s already met The One, it was just that Mr Right came along at the wrong time…

  Evie Grant is forty-five years old, a widow, and single mum of two children about to leave the nest. Suddenly alone in the family home, Evie realizes she hates her job, hardly goes out and hasn’t had a date since who knows when…

  So it feels like fate when the opportunity arises for a girls trip to New York City. Staying with her sister on the Upper East Side, Evie is enchanted by a snow-covered city consumed by preparing for Christmas. Bobble hat firmly on, Evie is walking through the city one day when she bumps into Daniel Roberts, Hollywood heartthrob and one-time boyfriend of hers.

  It’s now or never for Evie – but she open her heart to the possibility of a new beginnings and true happiness once again…?

  Funny, real and wonderfully romantic, this is the perfect feel-good read to keep you warm this winter!

  Contents

  Welcome Page

  About The City of Second Chances

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Acknowledgements

  About Jane Lacey-Crane

  Also by Jane Lacey-Crane

  Become an Aria Addict

  Copyright

  For my family; you are my reason.

  Forever and Always.

  One

  London, December 2017

  When I was younger, back in the days my children liked to call ‘olden times’ but that were in fact only the late 1980s, you had to wait until the morning newspaper or the evening news to receive word on what was happening on the other side of the world. You would sit down with a brew on the sofa at night and watch the world fall apart in front of your eyes, but only for half an hour. Or you would unfold your newspaper at the breakfast table and be appalled at what one group of humans was doing to another in places you’d never seen or heard of. Nowadays things were different; in this age of twenty-four hour rolling news cycles and the power of the Internet, you could be happily stirring pasta sauce on your hob when you were faced with the kind of news that had the potential to shake your comfortable existence to its very heart. And that was how it was for me. I had a wooden spoon in one hand and my smartphone in the other, absent-mindedly scrolling through the news, when I saw the headline that made my heart pound and my head spin.

  Missing Briton Olivia Bennett Believed Found After Eight Bodies Discovered in US National Park

  The picture that accompanied the headline was of a young woman with shoulder length brown hair and a bright, slightly lopsided, smile. The wonky grin was a result of the damage done to her face after a terrible car accident when she was only fourteen, an accident that killed both her parents and her baby brother. How can you possibly tell all that from a photo? you ask. Because that girl was one of my best friends. I will never forget her face or the fact that I’m to blame for her disappearance.

  New York City, December 1995

  The bar was packed. We’d known it would be; Rachel had chosen it specifically because it was top of the list of New York’s trendy places to be seen. She’d read about it in one of her guidebooks and it was everything we dreamed of – and more. For tonight, we weren’t three ordinary girls from England – we were actors in our very own Hollywood movie, out on the town, looking to have a great time. We wanted to dance, flirt outrageously if given half a chance, and drink cocktails in an Uptown Manhattan bar.

  Rachel strode up to the door. ‘Ready, girls?’ she asked. Olivia and I nodded enthusiastically. Rachel opened the sleek glass and chrome door, straight into another world. The heat from all those bodies crammed inside smacked me in the face. We pushed our way forward and into the crowd, trying to get nearer to the bar. The place had no dance floor, I noticed, but that didn’t seem to be a problem for the groups of revellers who bopped up and down where they stood, raising their hands and jigging back and forth to the beat.

  ‘Let’s get some drinks’, shouted Rachel, gesturing towards the long black marble bar that took up most of the left-hand side of the space.

  ‘I need to sit down,’ I shouted back. ‘These shoes are amazing to look at but hellish to wear – my feet are bloody killing me.’

  At that moment, almost as if by magic, a group of people got up from their table and gestured to us that they were leaving so we could sit. This was how it had been for the entire trip so far – as if we’d been blessed by the gods of travel, with everything going our way without us having to try.

  It had started at the check-in desk at Heathrow. A ticketing error meant that economy class had been overbooked so the three of us got bumped up to First Class. We couldn’t believe our luck and we took full advantage of everything that the upgrade had to offer. By the time we boarded the plane we were drunk on free champagne and stuffed with croissants, pastries and complimentary fruit. And that wasn’t the end of it. The first flurry of snow fell as we ice-skated in Central Park; as we passed a cathedral, one of the oldest in New York, a choir was rehearsing some of the most beautiful music I’d ever heard. We stood out on the steps, our breath fogging up the freezing air, and listened. Every time you turned a corner it was like stepping into a scene from a movie. Yellow cabs, police sirens, funnels of steam pouring from vents in the road. We were having the time of our lives. We shopped, we walked, we laughed, and we drank. A lot. Looking back though, after everything that happened, I realise I should have been wary. In my experience, the universe isn’t in the habit of dishing out good fortune like that without demanding payback eventually. But those thoughts would come later; right then, we were living in the moment and enjoying every second.

  We’d already shared two bottles of champagne in our hotel room before we came out that night, so by the time we squeezed around the table in that Manhattan bar, we were a little tipsy to say the least. Not totally pissed, mind you, I’d say we were at that stage where we could find even the most mundane thing hilariously funny.

  ‘What can I get you, ladies?’ A waiter appeared at the table, wiping away drink spills and flashing us his gorgeous smile.

  ‘How come all you Americans have such good teeth?’ said Rachel, managing to keep her slurring to a minimum. The waiter flashed us another dazzling smile in response and then he winked at her.

  ‘We should have a round of Cosmopolitans!’ she shouted.

  ‘Yes! That sounds perfect,’ I cheered in agreement. ‘What do you think, Liv?’ I nudged her with my shoulder and she gave me a small smile in response.

  ‘I don’t mind. Order whatever. I don’t think I’m going to be able to drink much more anyway.’

  ‘Oh, really? Well, we’ll just have to see about
that,’ said Rachel. ‘Waiter! Be a good man and bring us a round of Cosmos, please.’

  ‘Coming right up.’ He gave Rachel another smile and wink and then left. Rachel and I collapsed into more childish giggling and smutty innuendo about the gorgeous waiter and what we’d happily let him do to us over the bar. But Olivia’s mood had definitely taken a turn for the worse; the three of us had been friends for so long I could recognise the signs immediately. At the time of that fateful trip to New York, Rachel, Olivia and I had been friends for about four years. We’d met at sixth form college; Rachel and I had taken Olivia under our wing on the very first day of classes. I’d started chatting to Rachel as we waited for our first Theatre Studies lecture to start. I’d noticed her as soon as she strolled into the hall, sporting the wildest corkscrew perm I’d ever seen and wearing several studded leather belts criss-crossed around her waist and fingerless lace gloves à la Madonna. She looked effortlessly cool and she came and sat in the seat in front of me. She pulled a folder out of her rucksack and started looking at the reading list we’d all been given.

  ‘Jesus, I thought Theatre Studies was going to be a bit of a doss. All improv and farting about on stage. Not this.’ She half turned in her seat and waved the reading list at me. ‘Who’s August Strindberg when he’s at home anyway?’

  I smiled and nodded. ‘I know what you mean. What with all this and then the reading for my Film Studies and English Literature classes, I’ll barely have time to eat and sleep.’

  ‘I’m doing Film and English too!’ she exclaimed, picking up her folder and bag and moving seats to sit next to me. ‘I’m Rachel.’

  ‘Evie,’ I replied.

  ‘I think you and me are gonna be best mates. I like your earrings, by the way. Very Susanna Hoffs.’

  I smiled and touched the big red plastic hoops dangling from my lobes; I was flattered by the comparison. Back in 1989, I’d definitely been modelling my look on the lead singer of The Bangles: all fluffy auburn curls and too much dark eyeliner. We chatted away, comparing our favourite films (mine – Good Will Hunting, hers – Cocktail,) and our favourite music. Turns out we both loved Madonna, so we had plenty to talk about.

  As we spilled out of the lecture theatre that first morning, engrossed in a chat about the demands of our A level courses, we spotted a shy looking girl across the other side of the foyer.

  ‘Did you see her in the lecture just now?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘Yes, she snuck in right at the last minute and sat down in the front, on the end of the row.’

  I watched as the girl rummaged in her bag and retrieved her timetable.

  ‘Should we go and say hello? She looks a bit lost,’ I said.

  ‘Sounds good. Hey!’ Rachel waved a hand as we made our way across the hall. The girl with the close-cropped dark hair and denim dungarees looked up.

  ‘Hey, I’m Rachel. This is Evie. Everything okay?’ Rachel went barrelling over to her, curly perm bouncing and arms waving. ‘You looked a bit lost, so we thought we’d come over and say hi.’

  The girl didn’t answer, she just blinked a couple of times and then gave Rachel a shy smile. As she did, I noticed the scar that ran down the left side of her face; it made her grin slightly lopsided.

  ‘It’s all a bit much to take in, isn’t it?’ I said, gently. ‘We were just talking about the reading lists for our courses. We’ve got tons to do.’

  ‘Yes, it is a lot. I’m… I’m… doing History and English Literature too, so…’

  ‘We’re both doing English Lit as well!’ exclaimed Rachel. ‘That’s amazing, we can all sit together. Is that where we should be going next?’ Rachel peered over at the timetable the girl was clutching; she still hadn’t told us her name.

  ‘Er… yes, I think it is,’ she said.

  ‘We’d better get going, then,’ I said, stepping between the two of them and linking my arms through theirs. ‘I hear Mr McDermott can be a bit of a fascist about timekeeping, even on the first day.’ We headed down the hallway to the English department, arm in arm.

  ‘I’m Olivia, by the way, but you can call me Liv if you like,’ our new friend finally announced.

  ‘It’s nice to meet you, Liv,’ I said.

  ‘You too,’ she replied, giving us both an enthusiastic smile. And that was it; from that moment on we were best friends, inseparable. We told each other everything, shared our deepest fears and our greatest joys, and Olivia told us about the car accident that left her face scarred and killed her family.

  ‘I don’t remember many details about what happened. I know it was raining and Dad was driving. We were on our way home from a party, some drinks thing for Mum’s work.’ The three of us were sitting in the canteen, sharing a plate of chips; Olivia kept her eyes on the table the whole time she was talking. As she started to talk I noticed the tears dropping onto her lap and I took her hand.

  ‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

  She shook her head, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. ‘No, it’s fine. It’s been almost two years now. I can talk about it. The police said it was a lorry that jumped the lights at a crossroads. He didn’t see us in the rain, thought he could make it across. He ploughed straight into the side of us. I was lucky, they said. Mum and James, my little brother, died instantly but Dad hung on. He was in a coma for a few weeks but never recovered. I don’t know how I managed to survive it.’

  ‘Well, we’re glad you did,’ said Rachel, pulling her in for one of her all-enveloping hugs. They truly did have a magical way of making you feel better.

  We stayed close all through college and beyond, despite the fact that life took us all in different directions. We tried to get together at least once a month, sometimes twice if one of us was having an emotional crisis or had good news to share. But then Olivia met Lewis, and everything changed. She stopped seeing us as often. She’d cancel one invitation after another, not turn up for coffee, or if she ever did join us for drinks or dinner, she would always have to leave early for some random reason or another. On more than one occasion, Lewis turned up unannounced at the bar or restaurant we were in, claiming that he’d ‘just been passing’. He’d sit there glowering moodily at Olivia until she would eventually announce she had a headache, or she needed to be up early in the morning, and then they would leave. Rachel and I had spent many a long hour discussing our doubts and fears about Lewis. Rachel had never liked him – right from the very first moment that Olivia had introduced us – but I’d always tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  ‘Liv doesn’t seem bothered by it – maybe we’re overreacting.’ Rachel and I were having coffee in the Crypt Café at St Martin-in-the-Fields one day, when the subject of Olivia and Lewis’s dysfunctional relationship had once again come up. At the time, Rachel was working for a theatrical agent in Soho, whilst I was working full time in a bookshop in Trafalgar Square. What had started as temporary positions for both of us had subsequently turned into permanent jobs that we both loathed but that paid us a decent wage. After two years as penniless students, we’d both jumped at the chance to earn some real cash. My job had the added perk of cheap books, the occasional book launch party with free booze, and the chance to mingle with publishing types. At the time, I was working on my first novel and fancied myself as the next big literary sensation. I was just waiting for someone to recognise my talents and give me a six figure publishing contract. My chances were somewhat scuppered by the fact that I hadn’t actually managed to finish writing anything, not even a short story, let alone a novel, and I also refused to show anyone anything I’d written.

  ‘He gives me the creeps, a bit like this place. Did we have to have coffee in a crypt?’ Rachel shuddered dramatically.

  ‘I like it here. It’s very atmospheric,’ I said, looking around at carved tombstones set into the walls and the floors of the café.

  ‘It smells like death and damp.’ Rachel wrinkled her nose. ‘Like Lewis.’

  ‘Don’t be so melo
dramatic, Rach.’

  ‘He’s just so overbearing. The way he turns up out of the blue, pretending like it’s some great coincidence, when you know for a fact that he’s done it on purpose. And then she just goes along with it and does as she’s told!’

  ‘What pisses you off more – him or the fact that she doesn’t seem to be able to stand up to him?’

  ‘Probably the last one. She turns into a spineless girl without a mind of her own whenever he snaps his fingers. She reverts back to the meek little girl we met that first day at college. And that isn’t who she is any more.’ Rachel carried her tray over to a table by the far wall of the café and sat down.

  ‘Perhaps she still is, underneath it all,’ I tried to suggest. ‘Perhaps she gets something from being with Lewis that she feels she needs.’

  ‘Like what? An inferiority complex and probably really crappy sex?’

  ‘Like family. She lost hers the night of that accident and then again when her nan died last year.’

  ‘We’re her family,’ said Rachel. ‘She doesn’t need someone like Lewis. He just wants to control her. I think we should say something.’

  ‘No, we can’t. You know what Liv’s like. One whiff of conflict and she’ll be off. We’ll never hear from her again. She hates all that kind of stuff, just wants everyone to get along.’ I loved Rachel but sometimes her tendency to be overly forthright with her opinions could get a bit tricky. ‘At least we’ll get her to ourselves for the week when we go to New York next month.’

  ‘Oh, God, I cannot wait. Seriously, that old fart I work for is driving me nuts. He refuses to let me modernise the office in any way. You know, he still uses index cards to store all his client information. And he makes me use a typewriter! A typewriter, Evie, can you imagine?’

  And just like that we were off the topic of Olivia and Lewis. I smiled and nodded; to be fair, this was not the first time I’d sat through this particular rant about the eccentricities of Edgar, her boss. He’d been a very successful theatre agent in his day, and he still liked to give the impression of being in demand, despite the fact that most of his more high profile clients had either died or moved to other agencies.