Weightless

by Michele Gorman

  Annabel

  That was all I could do. If he’d give me a chance to explain then… I don’t know what I thought would happen then. I guess I hoped there would be a way to fix what I’d broken.

  Within a few minutes a little red box appeared at the top of my profile. I took a deep breath and clicked on it.

  Jack Winslow

  I’m sorry, Annabel. I don’t even know who you are.

  Tears sprang to my eyes as I clicked on his name, just to see his face again.

  The page you requested was not found.

  Chapter 9

  Let’s see. A dozen ignored phone calls plus a curt message. And according to Kate, the page not found notice meant he’d blocked me or deleted his account. So I’d potentially driven the poor man off Facebook. Just how many ways were there for Jack to tell me that what I did was unforgivable?

  All week long, I couldn’t stop thinking about the message he sent. I don’t even know who you are. That’s what really bothered me, because it wasn’t the case. He did know who I was.

  At the risk of turning into a stalker-type person, I had one last option. I opened a new page in my notebook and began to write.

  Dear Jack,

  I’d like to introduce myself properly. I’m Annabel Markham. You may not have noticed me much in school. I was the fat girl who never looked anyone in the eye for fear of what I’d see there. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be sociable, just that I didn’t know how to do it very well. So you’d have thought I was shy, or possibly a little standoffish. I was also a good student, except for PE, and even though I can’t play piano my singing voice is all right. I might have auditioned for one of the musicals if I’d been more confident, but I wasn’t. So you probably don’t remember me at all.

  Something remarkable happened when I was at university, when I made friends with people who gave me the chance to be me. That’s when I stopped being bullied AnnaBall and started being just plain old Annabel. It took me a long time to crawl out from under people like Christy Blake, but I did it.

  That’s why it’s so ironic, you mistaking me for her, and me letting you. Because she’s the last person that I’d want to be mistaken for. But that’s what happened. You thought I was her, and I let you think it. By the time I knew that I had to tell you the truth, the stakes were too high because I already loved you.

  It’s not true that you don’t know me, because every emotion and reaction that I’ve had with you has been honest. And I really do think oysters were put on this earth as a dare.

  I’m so sorry I lied to you. It’s unforgivable but even so, I honestly think I could forgive you anything if the shoe was on the other foot.

  Annabel

  I scribbled his name and my return address on the envelope, put on my coat and headed towards Finchley Road. I had an hour before Kate’s appointment to deliver the letter to his flat.

  As soon as Kate arrived for her appointment I knew something had happened. She was smiling. ‘How are you, Ms. Markham? Have a good day?’

  ‘Yes, thanks, Kate. Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘I would, thanks,’ she said.

  Things were getting more peculiar by the minute. ‘So,’ I said, handing her the steaming mug of sticks and leaves. ‘How is everything?’

  Her smile broadened. ‘I hate to admit you might be right, but you might be right. A couple of people have actually commented on my haircut. Ariadne, of course, said I look like a demented poodle, but when she wasn’t around one of the other girls said it looked nice.’

  ‘And how did that make you feel?’

  She looked at me for a minute. ‘Normal,’ she finally said. ‘I felt normal.’

  That was a very good start.

  Chapter 10

  A letter arrived two days later. My heart sped as I ripped open the envelope and scanned down to the signature. It wasn’t from Jack.

  Dear Annabel,

  Let me introduce myself. I’m Jeremy Weatherwick. You probably don’t remember me from school but we were in a few classes together. My hair was dyed black then and I had pierced ears (though not in school – wouldn’t want break the Dress Code). You may have noticed me around though outside school. I usually wore black platform boots, a long leather coat and (I’m embarrassed to admit) black lipstick. But maybe not. Or if you did you probably ignored me and my friends. Most people did. We weren’t what you’d call the popular kids. We were just a bunch of Emos.

  So when you mistook me for Jack, what could I do but go along with it? I guess with my normal hair color there is a strong resemblance. Who’d have guessed? To be honest I always thought Jack was a bit of a twat, but hey, if being him meant THE Christy Blake talking to me then why not?

  Then you agreed to leave with me (I didn’t believe you at first) and on top of that you weren’t just a pretty face. You were funny and smart and nice and I couldn’t wait to see you again. You seemed to feel the same way.

  The only problem was, you were excited to see Jack, not the lipstick-wearing ex-Emo who’d duped you into going out with him. And then we slept together and how could I tell you then?

  I nearly had a heart attack when Mike turned up. I just prayed he wouldn’t call me Jeremy. Instead he outed you.

  So I guess that’s the punch line. While you were gaming me, I was doing the same to you.

  But other than that first night I haven’t lied about myself. I don’t know if you really can forgive me, but I’d love it if you could try. My phone is always on if you want to give me a call.

  Jeremy

  I sat there in my flat trying to piece everything together. Jack wasn’t Jack at all. He was Jeremy and he was right. I didn’t remember him any more than he probably remembered me. We’d both crept about at the edges back then.

  So if Jack was Jeremy then of course the real Jack on Facebook had no idea who I was. No wonder he responded the way he did and then blocked me. He must have thought I was a psycho.

  Although I suppose there was a sort of poetic justice in professing my love to the person I hadn’t had the guts to talk to in school. Let’s call that closure then, shall we, rather than abject humiliation?

  The important thing was that Jack, I mean Jeremy, wanted to talk to me. But did I want to talk to him? After all, he had lied to me about who he was too. Relationships had to be based on trust. So could I trust him?

  He was probably wondering the same thing about me. At least that was a question I could answer with one hundred per cent certainty. Yes. He could trust me. I had to tell him that.

  I wouldn’t call him though. There’d been too many misunderstandings already.

  The Tube was already getting crowded by the time I jogged down the station steps. There was a chance we’d miss each other, passing on trains bound for opposite ends of the line. It had been that kind of relationship so far.

  People were streaming from their offices and hurrying through Soho Square when I arrived. Some had their umbrellas up against the evening rain. Others didn’t bother, instead hunching into their coats in stoic defiance. I didn’t bring an umbrella and was feeling neither stoic nor defiant. Just nervous.

  I stared at Jeremy’s office windows, glowing in the semi-darkness, as I dialed his mobile.

  He picked up on the second ring. ‘Hello. Annabel.’

  It was weird hearing him say my name. ‘I’m downstairs. Can you come out?’

  ‘I’ll be right down.’

  He must have run down the stairs because within a minute, he was standing in front of me. And he was smiling.

  ‘You got my letter,’ he said.

  ‘And you got mine.’

  ‘I kind of like the formal correspondence,’ I said. ‘Can we keep doing it?’

  ‘Are we going to have a lot to explain in the future?’

  ‘Definitely not of that magnitude,’ I said, laughing. ‘Listen, I was such an idiot-’

  ‘I’m so sorry!’ he said at the same time.

  ‘Do we deserve to be forgiven
?’

  He considered my question. ‘Well, I know how I feel about you, and I know I’ll never be stupid enough to risk losing you again. So you’ll get nothing but complete honesty from me. Even if it means telling you things you don’t want to hear.’

  ‘Like when my outfit makes my arse look big?’’

  ‘I said I was honest, not stupid.’

  ‘So now what happens?’

  ‘I guess we should kiss and make up.’

  I nodded, and he put his arms around me. ‘I promise I will never lie to you,’ he said. ‘Even if your outfit makes your arse look big.’

  A tear or two mixed with the rain as we kissed in Soho Square. I felt like I’d awakened from a nightmare to find that everything was going to be okay after all.

  ‘Let’s get out of this rain,’ I said.

  We hurried towards the pub around the corner. As he held open the door for me, he said, ‘After you, Annabel.’

  ‘Thank you, Jeremy.’

  He grabbed my hand and we made our way to the bar.

  The End

  About the Author

  Michele Gorman is the #1 Best-Selling author of The Expat Diaries series and Bella Summer Takes a Chance. She also writes upmarket commercial fiction under the pen name Jamie Scott.

  Born and raised in the US, Michele has lived in London for 16 years.

  You can find out more about Michele by following her on twitter, Facebook or by reading her blog or website.

  If you have a moment, please let other readers know what you think of Weightless by leaving a quick review on your favorite eBook websites.

  If you enjoyed Weightless then you’ll love The Big-Boned Social Club, published in the US and Canada in June 2014.

  The Big-Boned Social Club

  When the pounds start falling off Katie, founder and president of London’s most popular social club for the calorie-challenged, it seems like a dream come true. But as the overweight stigma recedes and her life starts to change, she faces losing more than the inches around her waist. Everything that’s important to her – her closest friends, boyfriend, and acceptance into the club itself – are at stake in a world where thin is the new fat.

  A funny, heart-warming story about overcoming the prejudices we hold, no matter where we tip the scales.

  (The book will be published in January 2015 as The Curvy Girls Club in the UK, Europe and all Commonwealth territories)

  To get an email as soon as the book is published in the US and Canada, go to Michele’s Amazon.com Page and sign up (Stay Up To Date). Or if you don’t shop on Amazon.com, or would like to know when it’s published in the UK and elsewhere, then sign up for Notting Hill Press’s email newsletter here.

  See all of Michele’s books on

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  Read on for an excerpt from Bella Summer Takes a Chance copyright © 2013 Michele Gorman

  Sometimes the life you walk away from doesn’t let you walk away

  BELLA SUMMER TAKES A CHANCE

  Prologue

  ‘Are you in love with me?’ I asked again as the appetizing comfort of our usual Friday night takeaway turned sour in my mouth.

  The question hung between us. He laughed, a short burst, as if diffusing dust that clouded his view. Diffusing the question.

  ‘I mean it, Mattias. Are you?’ I felt sick.

  ‘Of course I love you,’ he said from his end of the sofa. He could have reached me if he’d put his hand out. ‘Why would you even ask that?’

  I hadn’t, not really. I’d only mimicked the on-screen heroine who filled our living room with romcom angst. A life-altering question, and I’d nicked it as I absentmindedly helped myself to more chicken korma.

  ‘I didn’t ask if you love me,’ I said. ‘I asked if you’re in love with me.’

  Now that the genie had emerged from the bottle, the little bugger refused to be stuffed back in. I wondered if he could hear my heart thudding. On the TV the hero and heroine prattled on, rediscovering their true feelings for one another. Scene fade, musical crescendo. My films always had happy endings.

  ‘It’s a silly question, B., after ten years together. That feeling doesn’t last beyond the first flush of a relationship.’ He smiled. It was a beautiful smile, easy and open. ‘You know I love you.’

  ‘But were you?’ I pushed. ‘At the beginning? In love with me?’ My tummy was churning in the uncharted waters. I didn’t like the look of the horizon.

  ‘I don’t remember,’ he said, not smiling anymore.

  The wind picked up and my boat rocked. Wouldn’t you remember a thing like being in love? I knew I would.

  But I didn’t. Not once in all our years together did I remember having those feelings that people describe. Never as we sat on the sofa watching films, never when I looked at him over the table at a wedding, not once when anticipating his return from a weekend away. Not even when he said ‘I love you’. And not on that rainy October night, as I realized what the consequence of such an absence of feeling must be. ‘I’m not in love with you either,’ I said, tears forming. ‘I wasn’t ever, either.’

  He finally reached over and gathered me to him. ‘Come here.’ He began stroking my hair. ‘I’m sorry. I do love you. I always have.’

  ‘I know. I love you too.’

  He hesitated, started to say something, fell silent. Then, ‘It’s not the same thing, is it?’

  He searched my face, seeing my answer there. I said it out loud anyway. ‘No.’

  ‘Isn’t it enough, though?’

  ‘I thought it was. But now I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know? Or you don’t think it is?’

  I knew our future hinged on my words. ‘I don’t think it is.’

  The comfortable, nice life I had with this perfectly lovely man wasn’t enough. Not for me. I struggled with the idea that this realization had come out of the blue. Didn’t I know it before? A film cannot cause the end of a decade-long relationship. It just poured water into the cracks that, when the temperature plunged and the ice formed, split it apart. There was no going back.

  Chapter 1

  … Three months later

  ‘Can I suck you?’ A balding man shouted from just in front of the stage.

  Suck this, I wanted to tell him, smiling instead through the last lines of the song. It was official: my musical aspirations were a joke. Heckle-worthy. I’d have checked my watch to see how much more humiliation my two hundred quid fee would buy the audience, but it was trapped beneath the red Lycra.

  My heart had shuddered when the organizer asked me to front the band at their company conference. Corporate gigs were crosses to be borne by freshies, not seasoned veterans. But then she mentioned that it was a ‘theme’ party (vampires) and that I might need to dress for the part. A step backwards maybe, but I could so do vampire. Sexy black dress, red shoes and lipstick. Perhaps a single crimson droplet to suggest I’d been a bit naughty.

  I looked naughty, all right. I had a meter of red spongy cloth between my legs, as if I’d had an enormous bowel movement in a very large, ill-fitting nappy. I was meant to be a drop of blood. I looked like a bloody pear. That didn’t mean, bloody hell, I looked like a pear. It meant I looked like a piece of fruit that was bleeding to death.

  The only saving grace was that most of the crowd was too drunk to focus beyond their drinks. I’d be nothing but a fuzzy memory by morning. ‘Thank you very much. We’ll take a break now, and be back in about half an hour.’ I waddled off the stage.

  I did once have a singing career of sorts, back in Chicago. What big plans I had, in a city where music venues were more common than honest politicians (by a wide margin). Hundreds of hopefuls plied their trade to live audiences every week. In that atmosphere, it was no wonder we all thought we could be singing legends. And the fact that my mum actually was a bit of a singing legend just fanned my creative fire. I even had a manager to book my gigs. I sang as often as my day
job allowed, and my day job kept me from living in my parents’ spare room. Not that they’d have minded. They knew what it was like trying to make it in music.

  My foot must have slipped off the gas pedal when I came to London. I told myself it was the move, though after a decade, that was a bit like blaming the baby weight on your nine-year-old.

  The band I was fronting was as delighted by our gig as I was. The bassist used every break to argue into his phone with increasing agitation. The pianist too, was hissing down the phone at her husband, telling him what a lazy so-and-so he was, as the clarinet/sax player stared morosely into his umpteenth whisky of the night. We were totally rock and roll.

  My phone bzzzzd with a text from within the costume’s depths.

  Hope your night is going well. Sending you good vibes. xx

  I smiled before I could stop myself. Mattias. That man was ten times more attentive now than he’d ever been when we were together. Funny how a break-up sharpens a man’s game.