Summer under the Stars

by Catherine Ferguson

  I suppose it might sound a bit like wishful thinking. But I just know, deep down, that we are altering each other’s lives for the better. It’s still early days, but I’m looking beyond my grief now to a brighter future. And Sylvia is already transforming into a different person, having begun to shake off the weight of guilt she felt about the actions she took when she was young. She no longer wears black and she laughs a lot these days. She’s stopped clinging so tightly to work to fill the vacuum and there’s a light-heartedness in her that was missing before.

  I get the feeling the future is no longer a scary concept for her. She’s got things to look forward to now …

  I turn over a page and my heart lurches.

  Looking out at me from a large black and white photograph is Jake Steele.

  Holding my breath, I stare at the picture. It accompanies a feature in the arts section of the newspaper, announcing the publication today of his brand-new book. Clearly, he hasn’t updated his website, then, because there’s no mention there of the publication date.

  I swallow hard. Of course. Laura used to do all the technical stuff for him.

  Perhaps I should email Jake and ask him if he’d like me to update it for him. He’s missing out on good publicity.

  My heart sinks. Of course I can’t. He’d definitely think I was a stalker if I offered to do that. I need to stop thinking about Jake and wishing, because no good can come of it …

  I fold the paper up and throw it onto the seat in front.

  Jake Steele is history. I’m moving forward now.

  We’re turning into the station and I spot Sylvia standing by the newspaper kiosk, following the progress of my bus. She’s wearing a new lilac-coloured coat, belted at the waist, and tan knee-high boots. The scraped-back hair has gone. In its place is a soft blonde bob. It makes her look ten years younger.

  She spots me and smiles, and I wave and start gathering my belongings. As I’m walking to the front of the bus, I double back, snatch up the newspaper with Jake’s profile in it and stuff it in my bag.

  Sylvia looks really pleased to see me.

  ‘I know you’re coming down for Clemmy’s wedding,’ she says, linking my arm as we walk out of the bus station. ‘But that’s two weeks away and I really needed to see you. I’m so glad you were free today.’ Her eyes are sparkling and she seems full of energy, despite having got up at the crack of dawn to drive up here.

  I grin at her. ‘I was supposed to be at work but I took the day off.’

  ‘Well, I’m very glad you did. Now, let’s get a cup of coffee. I’m parched.’

  I suggest my favourite coffee shop. It incorporates a glorious bakery and bakes chocolate muffins as good as Poppy’s and I’m sure it will be right up Sylvia’s street. But to my surprise, she frowns.

  ‘Actually, do you mind if we go to this place here?’ She gets out a guidebook about the best eating places in the area and shows me the café she means.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ I don’t even need to look at it because it really doesn’t matter where we go. It’s just so lovely to be spending time with Sylvia again.

  We walk along, chatting and glancing in shop windows. One of the stores already has tinsel in the window, even though it’s still only September, and we laugh about this.

  Sylvia pauses. ‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ she asks casually, turning away to look in a shop window.

  My heart tumbles into my shoes. I’m actually really dreading the festive season this year. I’m definitely getting there but all the merriness of Christmas with Mum not here is naturally making me feel anxious and down.

  ‘I’m not sure. Rachel has invited me round for Christmas lunch with her and her fiancé, which might be quite nice.’ I say it with a smile but I’m wilting inside. I’d rather spend the big day under the duvet than crash their first Christmas together in their new house!

  Sylvia nods and says brightly, ‘Yes, that would be lovely.’

  ‘I expect you’ll be busy with all your festive guests at the hotel. You won’t have time for any celebrating until after the holidays.’

  ‘Well, actually, I was thinking of treating myself to Christmas Day off for the first time in twenty years.’ She laughs. ‘I’ll probably just sleep, eat chocolate and watch TV.’

  ‘Sounds great to me.’

  ‘I mean …’ She pauses. ‘If you decide not to go to Rachel’s, you could always come down to me and we could eat chocolate together.’ She laughs as if it’s really not important.

  I squeeze her arm. ‘I’m not going to Rachel’s. I was just trying to be brave, telling you that. I’d love to come down to yours.’

  Sylvia smiles at me, her eyes shining.

  ‘There’s one condition, though. I always watch sentimental Christmas movies. The weepier the better.’

  ‘Well, that’s good.’ She laughs. ‘Because I’m thinking I’ve probably got a lifetime of corny movies to catch up on.’

  ‘Oh, you have. And your education starts right here.’ A memory flashes into my mind. ‘There’s a brilliant movie you have to see. West Side Story. The musical.’

  ‘Great.’ She nods happily.

  ‘Although I think, for Christmas Day, we should aim for cornier than that,’ I add. ‘Perhaps The Holiday?’

  ‘Never heard of it,’ admits Sylvia cheerfully. ‘But bring it on!’

  I’m smiling as we walk along, arm in arm.

  West Side Story was Mum’s film.

  It’s time to find out what sort of movies Sylvia enjoys …

  *

  ‘Here we are. This is it,’ says Sylvia, and we stop outside what looks at first glance like a bookshop.

  We step inside. It’s cosy being out of the chill autumn wind and the scent of coffee beans is very tempting, although I think the café must be on the floor above because this area is apparently just books.

  ‘Oh, look, someone must be doing a book signing,’ I remark, noticing a queue forming beside a little desk nearby that’s piled high with copies of the same hardback book. I start walking over to take a look.

  ‘Ah, yes. I was meaning to tell you—’ Sylvia begins, and I turn with a quizzical look. Colour flares in her normally pale cheeks. She smiles at someone behind me, her whole face lighting up. ‘Hello, Jake.’

  Jake?

  I swing round, my heart bumping madly, my legs almost buckling with shock.

  Apparently I had no need of a photo in a newspaper as a sad reminder of him!

  Because here he is in the flesh. Standing beside a board on an easel that I somehow missed coming in, which announces that best-selling author Jake Steele will be signing copies of his new book, out today. The board has the same picture I saw in the newspaper that I stuffed in my bag.

  ‘Sylvia, great to see you.’ He pauses, his eyes locking on to mine. ‘Daisy.’

  I swallow hard and smile, a flush rising into my cheeks. The sound of my name on his lips evokes all the memories of the time we spent together at his camp in the woods, and my heart starts beating so wildly, I feel quite breathless.

  He turns to Sylvia and smiles. ‘You managed to get her here. Well done.’

  I turn to Sylvia and she’s looking a little embarrassed. She shrugs. ‘Only too glad to help. After all the trouble you took to have your book signing in Manchester, it was the least I could do.’

  I stare at her in disbelief. ‘You knew we were coming to Jake’s book signing? Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Don’t blame Sylvia,’ interjects Jake smoothly. ‘I asked her to keep it a secret.’

  ‘But why?’

  He glances down at his shoes and doesn’t answer immediately. Then he says, ‘I was worried you might not want to see me.’

  ‘I don’t know why you would think that,’ I say, puzzled.

  He shrugs. ‘I’ve had your book for so long without getting back to you. There was a reason, though. I wanted to look into something that I hoped would mean good news for you.’

  I stare at him, unab
le to fathom what he’s talking about.

  Sylvia nudges me, murmuring, ‘If you’ll excuse me, I just want to have a look around. I haven’t been in a proper bookshop for years.’

  She smiles at us both, looking rather mischievous, and wanders off among the bookshelves.

  ‘You … organised this book signing specially?’ I stare up at Jake, still barely able to take in the fact that he’s standing right here in front of me.

  ‘I did. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch but it wasn’t because I wasn’t thinking about you. Quite the opposite, in fact.’ He glances down at the ground, oddly vulnerable, not at all like his usual quietly confident self.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. You’re here now and that’s the main thing,’ I murmur, finding it hard to drag my eyes away from his, even for a second.

  His mouth twists into the gorgeous smile that has been haunting my dreams for weeks. ‘So you don’t mind?’

  I laugh softly. Can he really think that I would?

  ‘No, of course I don’t mind. Quite the opposite, in fact.’

  We smile at my repetition of his earlier words.

  I give a little shrug. ‘I thought I’d never see you again and I … I didn’t like it.’

  ‘Me, neither.’ His eyes blaze with emotion as he looks at me. Then he glances behind him, at the queue of people waiting. ‘Look, I actually do need to sign these books. It won’t take long. And then we can talk?’

  I nod. ‘I’ll have a coffee with Sylvia. Come to the café when you’ve finished.’

  I watch him walk away, my eyes lingering long after they should on the breadth of his shoulders, his gorgeous bum and his long, muscular legs, loving every little thing about him. I watch with interest the reaction of the women in the queue as Jake approaches. A few of them stand straighter, flick their hair a little and smile. I’d do the same, I realise, if I was a fan in that queue.

  It’s so good to see Jake again but I’ve got to make sure I don’t get carried away, thinking I’m the reason he arranged this book signing in Manchester. He could still be hung up on Laura …

  I find Sylvia and we go up to the café and order lattes and squares of iced ginger cake.

  When we’re settled at a table overlooking shoppers in the street below, I ask Sylvia what’s been going on with her and Jake.

  She looks anxious. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m interfering. It’s just I knew that you liked Jake, so when I bumped into him at the hotel after you left and he asked if I’d seen you, we got talking and came up with this plan.’

  I gaze at her in astonishment.

  ‘Jake was asking about me?’

  She nods. ‘He had to leave abruptly. His agent wanted him to do an important interview. So he didn’t have time to see you before he left and he felt bad. But he came back to the hotel, hoping to see you.’

  ‘Oh. So he felt guilty about me.’

  She nods. ‘But it was much more than that. He confessed he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. He wanted to know if you were still with Toby and of course I told him that you’d split up.’ She smiles. ‘He perked up a lot after that.’

  ‘Really? Did he mention Laura?’

  She frowns. ‘No, I don’t think so. You mean the Laura who died in that tragic car accident? His stepmother?’

  I stare at her. Jake’s stepmother?

  If that’s true, it casts a whole different light on everything.

  ‘Are you sure Laura was his stepmother?’

  ‘Pretty sure. It says so in this newspaper.’ She picks up a copy from the table and finds the feature about Jake to show me. It’s the same paper I glanced at and tossed away on the bus. If I’d bothered to read the feature, I’d have found out for myself that Jake’s great fondness for the woman called Laura had nothing at all to do with romance.

  ‘I thought he was still pining for a lost love,’ I murmur.

  ‘Well, he’s not.’ She smiles. ‘And he really likes you, Daisy. That much is very clear to me.’ She smooths a lock of hair back from my brow. ‘So why not go and find him and tell him how you feel? Because it’s as clear as day to me that you two belong with each other.’

  ‘You think?’ My heart is leaping in my chest.

  ‘I do think. So go. I’ll wait here.’ She makes shooing signs. ‘Go, go, go!’

  I smile at her. Then I get up, leaving the remains of my ginger cake, and go downstairs to the bookshop.

  The queue has dispersed for now. Jake is sitting at the desk, signing books, but when he sees me, he gets up and walks over.

  I smile up at him. ‘Did you say you had good news for me?’

  ‘I do, yes. Let’s go somewhere more private.’

  He leads me through to a small adjoining room and stops in the doorway. ‘I’m so glad you and Sylvia found each other. I think you’re very alike in some ways.’

  I smile, delighted. ‘You think so?’

  He nods. ‘You’re both independent with a quiet intelligence that I like very much. I can tell you’re mother and daughter.’

  ‘I can’t call her Mum,’ I confess sadly. ‘It would seem disloyal to the woman who was my lovely mum.’

  He nods. ‘Give it time. You might change your mind.’

  ‘I hope so. I really want to but …’ I shrug helplessly.

  ‘I’m sure Sylvia understands.’

  We walk into the room. It’s lined with glass cases, all containing old books.

  ‘First editions,’ he says. ‘There’s Wuthering Heights there and Jane Eyre, and most of Jane Austen’s collection as well.’

  I walk along, looking at the titles. ‘Wow. They’re gorgeous. Imagine owning one.’

  ‘I think this is a pretty good place to tell you that I really liked your book, Daisy.’

  ‘You did?’ My heart seems to expand with happiness.

  He nods and gives me the smile that always puts my knees in grave danger of buckling. ‘I loved it. So I showed it to my agent and she thinks you have a unique voice and that you’ve written a really heart-warming and compelling book. She wants to sign you up, Daisy. Help you to get a publisher for it.’

  I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. ‘Hold on, your agent likes my book? And she wants to help me find a publisher? Am I dreaming here?’

  He laughs softly. ‘No, Daisy, I can confirm that it’s all true and that you are, in fact, wide awake.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Very sure.’ He moves, bridging the gap between us. ‘And I think I can prove it.’ His eyes burn down into mine as he pulls me against him.

  ‘And how will you do that?’ I manage to croak, his touch sparking off little pulses of desire all over my body.

  ‘Like this,’ he growls, lowering his head and crushing his lips to mine.

  And there, among the precious first editions of all the famous romance classics, it’s finally clear how we feel about each other.

  Clinging to this gorgeous man, who I can talk to and who understands me, I steal my hands up over the muscles of his upper arms, feeling the deliciously hard contours of his body against me. Then I wind my fingers in his hair and we kiss for the longest time, until we have to pull apart, laughing, to take a breath …

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  It’s the day of Clemmy’s wedding and I’m flying around, trying to get ready.

  Dropping my lipstick down the toilet, I let out a loud curse.

  ‘It’s your fault for dragging me back to bed,’ says a voice.

  I turn to find Jake lounging in the doorway, giving me that lazy smile of his that always reduces me to a jelly.

  I laugh. ‘I think it was a fairly mutual dragging, if I remember correctly. Now, stop looking at me like that. You’re distracting me. I need to find this book.’

  ‘Wuthering Heights?’

  ‘Yes, I said I’d lend it to Clemmy. She’s never read it and she’s decided she’s horrified at her lack of knowledge of the classics!’

  ‘You’d better take it to her, then
,’ he says, and produces a book from behind his back.

  ‘Ah! You found it. Well done.’

  ‘Where’s my prize?’

  ‘What prize?’

  ‘My prize for finding the book. A kiss will do.’

  ‘Okay.’ I sidle up to him and he grabs me against him and we kiss as if we actually aren’t in any danger of being late for this wedding …

  ‘Give me the book,’ I gasp at last, laughing as he holds it behind his back. ‘No, seriously, give it to me. It was Mum’s all-time favourite. I’d like it to stay in one piece.’

  Something falls out of it. A slip of paper. Frowning, I bend to pick it up.

  My heart lurches. It’s a letter addressed to me in Mum’s writing.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes. But I need to sit down.’ Breathless, I move over to a chair and sink down. Then I hold the letter in trembling hands. A memory comes to me. That last day at the hospital. Mum murmuring Wuthering Heights and me thinking she wanted me to read it to her …

  Perhaps she wanted me to find her letter.

  Taking a breath, I start to read.

  *

  My darling Daisy

  This is a very hard letter to write. Mainly because I love you so very much and the very last thing I’d ever want to do is disappoint you or hurt you. I’ve thought a million times about how to say this to you so that you’ll understand. But in the end, I’m just going to have to write it down and hope you’ll be fine.

  You’ve always known you were adopted. But what you don’t know is that your birth mother came to find you but I never told you. I suppose I was terrified I might lose you.

  Should I have told you? I kept meaning to but then time kept flying by. And now that I’m ill, I don’t want to spoil our last weeks together. Please don’t hate me for not being honest with you.

  My dearest wish now is that you find the woman who gave birth to you.