The Happy Endings Book Club

by Jane Tara

  “Holy crap, this is a coincidence!”

  *

  Amanda and Alice sat under the shade of the Brighton Pier, each with a bag of sweets they were too upset to eat.

  “I can’t believe she’s marrying him,” Alice said.

  “I think we’re meant to be happy for her, Ali.” Amanda looked anything but. “He’s nice. It’s not like you’re going to get the stepdad from hell.”

  “He’s not that nice if he expects us to move.” Alice pushed her toes through the sand. “I’ll never find another friend like you.”

  “I hope not. I couldn’t bear it if you replaced me.”

  Amanda wrapped her arms around her best friend and both of them started to cry with the despair only sixteen-year-old girls can feel.

  “Promise you’ll write every week, Mandy.”

  “I promise.” Amanda grabbed Ali’s arms and forced her friend to look at her. “And we’ll never lose touch. Ever.”

  “Never,” Alice cried. “I promise.”

  Amanda scrambled up and scurried around the beach. She found an open scallop shell and snapped it in half. She handed one half to Alice.

  “I call upon the power of the ocean to hear our request.”

  Alice jumped up, eager to join in.

  Amanda continued. “We, Mandy and Ali, are like this shell. If the waves wash us away from each other, we ask that they also bring us back together.”

  “However that may be,” whispered Alice.

  And with that both girls threw their half of the shell into the sea.

  *

  “So you went to school together?” Peter was still trying to piece the story together.

  “For two and a half years. We were joined at the hip that whole time,” Alice explained. “Then my mother remarried and we moved again.”

  “We stayed in touch for a while, but eventually lost track of each other.” Amanda was still shaking her head in disbelief. “Why was that?”

  “I don’t know. We moved a few times within a year. Things weren’t great. Mum’s marriage didn’t work out. I kept writing, though.”

  “We moved too. Dad was promoted and we came to London,” Amanda explained. “I remember calling your number to tell you, but it was disconnected. I was devastated. I tried writing, but there was no reply. I cried for months.”

  “I never got your letter.”

  “I searched for you online when we first got internet, but there were so many Ali Mathesons out there.”

  “I took my stepdad’s name in the end, so I became Alice Gottman. But I searched for you too.”

  Amanda held her hands out in a “me too” type gesture. “Pete and I married quite young, and I was so glad to get rid of the surname Bangs, I took his on.”

  Amanda and Alice sang in unison, “Amanda Bangs … oh no she don’t!” And then they both howled with laughter, until Amanda noticed how ill at ease Peter looked.

  “The fates were against us,” Amanda said.

  “Until now.”

  Amanda was in shock, although the strong vodka lime she’d made was helping. Peter’s Alice was her Alice. The most intense friendship she’d ever had. She didn’t know what was more surprising: that Peter was shagging her childhood friend, or that he was shagging someone like Alice. Alice Matheson was not Peter’s type. And surely she hadn’t changed that much. She certainly looked the same.

  Alice wasn’t a pretty young hipster. She was all blonde wisps and soft curves. Amanda had initially taken her under her wing at school out of pity, but from that sprang a very real friendship. Alice was bookish, a bit clumsy, could sing, and had a birthmark on her stomach that she hated. Looking at her now, Alice still looked clumsy, and bookish. She was pretty, but age had faded the ethereal quality she once had and added a couple of pounds. Now she simply looked attractive, in a somewhat inconspicuous way.

  One by one the kids drifted off to their rooms, leaving the adults to piece together the happenstance. The questions flowed as fast as the vodka. Amanda realized that she’d never asked any questions about Alice out of self-preservation.

  “Where did you two meet?”

  Alice glanced at Peter.

  Jesus bloody hell, she really loves him! Amanda took a large swig of necessity.

  “Peter’s firm handled my divorce.”

  Amanda pursed her lips and Peter frowned at her.

  “It wasn’t my case, Amanda. I met Alice in the lift.”

  “I’m not judging, Peter.” Amanda turned back to Alice. “So you’re just divorced.”

  “Yes, but separated for a few years. Nothing new.”

  “Kids?”

  Alice’s face fell. “No. I can’t.”

  Alice wanted to reach out and offer comfort, but the years apart had stripped her of the ability to do that. “That must be difficult.”

  “FUCK OFF, ZACK!” Caitlin’s bellows echoed through the house.

  All three adults paused for a moment, and then Alice broke the tension with, “Difficult? Only sometimes.”

  Amanda smiled gratefully. “I thought the teenage years were tough when I was a teen … but this is unbearable.”

  It didn’t seem to faze Alice. “It’s normal. And it’s better that she’s strong-willed, rather than a pushover.”

  True. “So what do you do?”

  “I’m a pediatrician.”

  Amanda clapped her hands together. “Oh, you always wanted to be!” And then without thinking, she blurted, “At what age can doctors prescribe the pill without parental consent?”

  Peter almost fell off his chair. “Are you talking about Caitlin?”

  “No, I’m talking about Zack. Who do you think?”

  “Is she having sex?”

  “Well, you don’t take the pill to go barn dancing, Peter.”

  Peter looked like he was about to implode, but then Alice placed her hand on his leg and gently pointed out, “At least she’s being responsible, Pete.”

  Peter nodded and Amanda could almost hear the fizzle as his black mood passed. She was impressed. No one had ever stopped one of Peter’s tantrums in its tracks before.

  Peter turned back to Amanda and scowled. “It’s always bloody Caitlin. Never the boys.”

  “Perhaps the reason Dylan hasn’t had sex yet is because he’s always too stoned.”

  A wave of anguish engulfed Peter’s features. The intensity of it surprised Amanda and she suddenly understood that Peter not only knew about Dylan, but was also consumed with worry.

  “Why are you bringing all this up now, Amanda?” he asked.

  Why indeed? She looked at Alice, a complete stranger, yet still so familiar. Amanda poured herself another drink. Was she already drunk? If not now, she soon would be. Alice held out her own glass as well.

  “You’re right, Peter,” Amanda admitted. “Inappropriate timing. I’ve refrained from telling you all this, hoping you’d notice yourself. And you have. I underestimated you. Sorry.” Amanda pulled herself together. “I also kept it to myself because I didn’t want your new girlfriend to know my problems, but now that I know it’s Alice … perhaps I’m just letting loose.”

  “You’re in shock,” Alice said. “I know I am. And I’m not sure how to deal with this. I always wanted to find you, Mandy. I figured we’d meet again, somewhere. But never in my wildest dreams …”

  All three were quiet for a moment.

  “Where do we go from here?” Amanda realized she was asking them both. She watched as Alice turned to Peter, as though he knew the answer. Amanda recoiled slightly at the look in Alice’s eyes. Love. Pure love. Aimed at Peter. And it was in that instant that something shifted for Amanda. A veil lifted and she gazed at Peter and saw him through Alice’s eyes.

  Peter noticed her looking at him and smiled. It was the first genuinely loving smile she’d seen aimed her way in years. It completely floored her. She’d forgotten that smile, and when she saw it, the floodgates opened and a million memories came pouring out. Their first heady days of da
ting, the day they signed the papers for their first apartment, as he got down on one knee to propose, as he watched her walk down the aisle toward him, as he leaned over her encouraging her to push and then later when she handed Dylan to him. So many good memories. Where had they been hidden?

  Amanda blinked back tears. She looked at Peter, but she wasn’t imagining things. The smile was still there. And more. A glimmer of fun.

  “I think we should all get drunk,” he said. “And just talk. It’ll be okay. There must be a reason for this.”

  So that’s exactly what they did. The turkey burned, so the kids ate cake. The vodka ran out, so they popped open the champagne. Amanda couldn’t deny that the connection was still there with Alice. They laughed and talked and even shed a couple of tears. But mostly Peter made them laugh. Amanda had forgotten how funny he was. How he’d made her laugh so hard in their early days together—that had been why she’d fallen for him, despite the fact that they weren’t that compatible otherwise.

  Unlike Peter and Alice. Amanda had to admit that they seemed to belong together. They fit: hand in glove. There was an easy rhythm, an unspoken language, stolen glances that conveyed an infinite conversation. She’d never had that with Peter. They’d loved each other, once. But they were never truly compatible. She’d only ever had that once, years before she’d met Peter. Once … with her first love.

  “You know, there’s one subject I’ve been avoiding, Alice … but I’m drunk enough to put it out there now.” Amanda hiccupped slightly to confirm that fact. “How is your brother?”

  *

  Amanda and Tom clutched each other like he was going off to war.

  “It’s okay, Mandy. I’ll see you again. I’m moving to York, not Mars.”

  “It feels like Mars.” She wiped her tears on his shirt. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Tom started peeling Amanda off him, and Alice stepped into the gap. “One last hug.”

  The two girls sobbed, until Tom took his sister by the arm and helped her into the car, where his mother was patiently waiting.

  Amanda stood on the curb as the car pulled out, and then crying, she chased it down the road, both Alice and Tom waving at her from the rear window.

  And then they were gone.

  *

  “You know Tom?” Peter asked.

  “Know him?” Amanda let out a loud laugh. “Peter … I lost my virginity to him. Oh lord, he was the hottest guy at school. My first real boyfriend. I loved him. The three of us were inseparable. I was absolutely heartbroken when he left. When they both left.”

  Peter glanced at Alice then back at Amanda. “Did Zack give you my message?”

  Amanda brushed Peter off. “Yes, Peter, he told me you’d be late.” Now back to Alice and more important things, she thought. “Where does Tom live?”

  “He just moved back to London from Munich …’ Alice said. ‘He’s divorced, so he’s alone for the holidays and …’

  Peter tried to interrupt again. “I hope you don’t mind, but I thought—”

  The doorbell cut him off. Amanda clambered unsteadily to her feet.

  “Hold that thought. Probably one of the neighbors.”

  “But Amanda, I forgot to tell you that—”

  Amanda was sashaying toward the entrance, champagne glass still in hand. “Wait a minute, Peter. Let me just get this first.”

  Peter and Alice exchanged a look. They jumped to their feet and ran after her, just in time to see Amanda open the door.

  To Tom.

  Tall, broad shouldered, and drop-dead handsome! She would have recognized him anywhere. It was all still there. The sexy smile, the endless lashes, the stare that had defined her teen years. Tom, her Tom, was on her doorstep, holding a bottle of vintage Krug and looking just as stunned as she felt.

  A thousand images flashed between them: lazy days at the beach, illicit Bacardis, strains of Dire Straits and Tears for Fears and Spandau Ballet. The first night they made love … and the countless times after. Tom had been the first man to kiss Amanda all over. Amanda blinked, but nothing changed: he was still there, a little older, a little gray, and looking very confused. And then he smiled and it was like someone had finally let the sun back into her world.

  “Look what Santa brought me.” Amanda began to laugh.

  Peter approached nervously. “I tried to tell you, Amanda. I asked Tom to drop by. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mind?” Amanda wrapped her arms around her ex-husband and held him for the first time in years. “Peter, it’s the best Christmas you’ve ever given me.”

  CLEMENTINE

  Christmas Eve

  Clementine caught a cab from JFK into the city, which she absolutely could not afford, especially in midday traffic. But now that she’d arrived, her bravado had disappeared. New York suddenly seemed very alien and rather scary. She did mental math all the way to the hotel, first converting her pounds to dollars and then working out the dent the cab ride put in her spending money.

  Fortunately her parents had agreed to pay for the hotel. They weren’t thrilled about her traipsing off to America to be with someone she’d met online. But Clementine assured them that she’d be in touch regularly, and was old enough to make these decisions herself.

  She still let them pay for the hotel, though.

  As it turned out, the hotel was very nice. Nothing too fancy, but certainly not one of those dodgy, dark hotels that she saw in some movies. She’d been imagining having to put a chair against her door, and finding syringes in her bed. But the Montana was a seven-story building in a lovely-looking area. The foyer was bright and neat, and she was greeted by a very polite man in a smart suit and tie.

  “You’ve booked a double. Will it just be you staying with us?”

  “My partner might be joining me, but I don’t know yet.” She didn’t know if Sam’s roommate was around. If so, they could come here for some privacy.

  He tapped on the computer for a moment and then smiled, the epitome of charm. “Not a problem. Just let us know so room service can arrange more towels.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  He handed her the room key. “There’s a special Christmas buffet in the breakfast room tomorrow, on the house.”

  Clementine loved a good buffet. “Awesome. Thanks.”

  She made her way to the lift. Fortunately the hotel wasn’t fancy enough for a porter. Clementine had been nervous for days about how much to tip. Her room was simple and small but nice. She felt much more secure once she was in it and had locked the door. She was suddenly very grateful for Debra. As annoyed as she’d been at the time, having this room was the right thing to do. She was already nervous about surprising Sam. She couldn’t imagine just rocking up there without coming here first to prepare.

  And to gather her courage.

  She got out her phone and messaged Debra.

  I’m in New York. The hotel is nice. Thanks for always looking out for me. Miss you already. Wish you were here. Clem x

  She did miss Deb. Being in New York with her would be a hoot. She sat down on the side of the bed, suddenly teary. What was she doing?

  “What is it about this Sam that’s so fantastic?” Deb had once snapped.

  “We communicate well,” Clementine said.

  “Of course you communicate well, you idiot. It’s all emails and texts and messages. I could come across as the Duchess of fucking Cambridge if I wanted. You don’t see the real person that way.”

  “Well, I think you do,” sniffed Clementine. “Long emails take time and energy and heart.”

  Debra rolled her eyes. “Excuse me while I puke!”

  “It’s love.”

  “You wouldn’t know love if it bit you on the arse.”

  Debra was wrong. She did know love. And if she hurried, she’d meet it face to face within an hour.

  TILDA

  Vision is the art of seeing things invisible

  Jonathan Swift

  Five days be
fore Christmas

  It started with her finger.

  Tilda was putting together a bouquet of seasonal flowers, berries and foliage for a wedding order when she noticed that her little finger was missing. She blinked a few times, unable to believe her eyes. But there was no denying it. Her finger was gone.

  She dropped the bridal bouquet on the bench and fell into a nearby chair. The room swam around her. She panicked. She could feel her heart racing. Breathe … breathe … How could she lose a finger and not know?

  It took her a few minutes to calm herself. Once she was able to, she held her hand up in front of her face. Gone. But there was no blood. No sign of an injury. No pain. Simply no finger.

  She tried to remember the last time she’d looked at her hand. She’d used her hand without concern all morning. It was her right hand, so she’d used it constantly.

  She’d used it to wave to Paige as she passed by the Happy Endings Bookshop. She’d used it to find her keys in her bag and then to open the door of her shop, the Flower Pot.

  She’d answered the phone, taken some orders, checked her emails and her online orders. Surely if her finger had been missing then, she’d have noticed it?

  Tilda wiggled her fingers, one by one. Her thumb. Check. Her index finger and then her rude finger, as her niece had called it when she was little. All good. Her ring-less finger, as she called it. Check. And then … tentatively … her little finger. Check.

  What?

  She could still feel it. It was there. She hadn’t lost her little finger—she just couldn’t see it.

  Tilda stumbled through the shop to the bathroom out the back. She held the sink basin and stared into the mirror, searching her eyes. Was there a problem? Was she crazy? Surely even asking that question ruled it out.

  Was she going blind? She looked over at the far wall and could read the small print on the sign she’d recently pinned to the toilet door: Please don’t use water from this bathroom for the showroom. You don’t like to drink from the toilet and nor do our flowers. Her niece, Debra, was twenty-two and worked with her now, but sometimes she was still a big kid and needed reminding about this.