When Stars Collide

by Tammy Robinson

  When Stars Collide

  By Tammy Robinson

  “They say when two stars pass by they are drawn to each other, in a chaotic and mesmerising dance, and they continue circling until the day they collide. Depending on the nature of the stars, this collision either leaves an empty black hole or they join to become one massive star, burning brighter and fiercer than ever before.

  Love is a lot like that. It can either burn bright and spectacular, or implode and destroy everything in its path.”

  Grandma Ruby, year unknown.

  This book is dedicated to my beautiful mother, Patrice, who passed away unexpectedly on the 22 nd April 2013.

  Thank you for your unwavering belief in me, mum. Thank you for always being so supportive and proud of my writing. You were my biggest cheerleader, and I am truly grateful.

  Thank you for being the best mother a girl could have ever hoped for.

  I miss you so much every single day and with every single breath.

  Que Sera, Sera.

  Part one

  The dance begins

  Chapter One

  “Do you believe in love at first sight?” a male voice whispered in her ear.

  She stiffened and angled her body further away, ignoring the voice, certain the corny pick up line was intended for someone else. That wasn’t her; she wasn’t the subject of strangers’ affections, and knowing this kind of thing was probably happening all around her made her feel even more out of place, all elbows and knees and other unsocial bones, an awkward collection. She feigned interest in what lay before her on the food trestle table set up against the far wall of the lounge. The offerings were not great; half a bowl of popcorn and a few sausage rolls dotted on a silver tray. Forlorn amongst a trail of tomato sauce, giving the appearance of a battle fought and loss. Neither appealed, but she’d fought her own battle through a room full of people to get here and was reluctant to admit defeat, so she lingered at the edge of the table, wishing she hadn’t come and wondering how long before she could legitimately leave. She blamed her mother and sister for getting her into this situation in the first place, nagging at her to enjoy her youth while she still had it, as if old age and its geriatric problems were just around the corner instead of far, far over the horizon.

  Behind her she heard the unmistakable sound of a throat being cleared and then, “Do you believe in love at first sight?” the voice spoke in her ear again, louder this time.

  She turned and came face to face with a pair of mischievous green eyes.

  “Excuse me?”

  He cleared his throat again. “Ahem. Er – ” he flicked a glance over his shoulder.

  Following the direction of his gaze she saw a group of guys standing by a wall, talking and laughing. So she was to be the subject of a joke? Just to top this dismal evening off? She straightened her shoulders, glared at him.

  “Well?”

  He appraised this newfound confidence and smiled, her strength fuelling his own confidence and he winked at her and clicked his fingers, like some bad twenties gangster movie actor – here’s looking at you kid - that sort of thing.

  “Do you believe in love at first sight?” he repeated and then paused for effect before delivering the punch line, “or do I need to walk past you again.”

  She snorted then, couldn’t help herself.

  “Go away,” she told him, suppressing a smile.

  He laughed, loudly and unashamedly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “My rather juvenile friends are dishing out dares and it was either bore you with that corny pick up line or –” he shuddered, “try and kiss her”, and he gestured across the room towards where a girl with black hair and studs pierced through every available surface was sitting sullenly on a couch.

  Should she be grateful he had chosen her?

  “I’m Walt,” he said, and held out a hand which she studied for a moment, trying to decide if she could be bothered with this. She had an inkling, a tingling running along the length of her spine that by taking his hand she would be causing something, an alteration, an imperceptible changing of gears.

  She made her decision.

  “Ivy,” she said, and reached out and shook his hand.

  The air around them sighed softly.

  “So, Ivy - beautiful name by the way - what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

  She groaned then, “seriously?”

  He laughed again. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. No more I promise.”

  Someone bumped into her from behind and she was pushed against him.

  “Want to go outside?” he asked, catching her and restoring her to an even keel, gentleman enough to pretend he hadn’t noticed the blush that bloomed like scarlet splashes on her cheeks.

  “Yes,” she sighed, grateful for the chance to get out of the room and its overwhelming mix of body odours. “Fresh air sounds great.”

  This time it was easier to get across the room, following in Walt’s wake as the crowds parted like the red sea in front of him. On the way out the back door he grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, using the cap off one to pop the tops and then passing one behind to her. The gesture suggested a familiarity she found comforting so she took it, although this beer would only be the second she’d ever drunk in her life, and she hadn’t enjoyed the first at all.

  He walked down some stone steps and across the lawn, his footsteps slightly crunchy on the dampening lawn. Blue moonlight from a fat, full moon bathed the garden and although she hadn’t been blessed with her mother’s green thumb, she could still appreciate the effort that had gone into creating the flower beds framing the lawn. He led her to an aged garden seat, fragile and creaking under their combined weight as they settled. Against a trellis nearby she could see white climbing roses glowing like delicate stars in the inky black darkness, and she could smell their heady perfume on the breeze, musky, feminine and rich; reminiscent of her grandmother and the talcum powder she once dabbed on her skin religiously after every bath. Her death was still painful and tears sprang to her eyes before she could stop them, although she’d long realised she had little control over such things. She closed her eyes and breathed deep to dispel them.

  “You ok?” Walt asked, his voice weighted with concern.

  She took another breath, drawing it right down as deep as she could take it so her ribs sucked in and her chest pushed out, grateful it was dark enough he wouldn’t notice. She felt better, and opening her eyes she smiled at him in the darkness.

  “Yes,” she said, “I’m fine.”

  Muffled music came from the house, a song she’d heard a lot recently on the radio but had no idea who the artist was. She liked it though, would have sung along if she wasn’t sitting next to a guy she’d known all of ten minutes. Normally, this kind of situation would put her on edge as she was naturally distrustful of people until proven otherwise. But yellow light from around the edges of the curtains and the open back door shone into the garden like a lighthouse beacon and she could hear distant voices and laughter. It relaxed her. Besides, she smiled to herself, how could you not trust a guy wearing a T-Shirt that read, ‘Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, hate me because I have huge boobs!’

  “Ivy,” he said, “I know I already asked you, but what brings you here on this -” his gesture encompassed the air around them, “- marvellously fine night.”

  “I did an arts course with Maria, the host” she told him, “You?”

  “Ex-girlfriend.”

  “Maria?”

  “Yep.”

  She was surprised. This party was in honour of Maria’s engagement to Brad, he of the white teeth and coloured ties and good job in the bank.

  He felt her surprise.

  “It was a long time ago,”
he said, and put his beer between his knees while he pretended to count on two hands, “let’s see, I’m 24 now, so that makes it about, must be nearly, um, it was definitely before Christmas, wasn’t it?”

  “You’re asking me?”

  “I’m kidding,” he laughed.

  She’d never met a guy who laughed so easily.

  “We were teenage crushes,” he said, “back in the innocent days when holding hands meant you’d reached third base.”

  She murmured, not wanting to admit to him that she had no idea what any of the bases consisted of and was unlikely to have ever reached any of them, unless talking to a strange man in the garden at a party qualified as one.

  “I grew up next door,” he continued, gesturing with the bottle towards the highest of the boundary fences, thick with creeping Ivy. “My parents still live there.”

  She looked towards the house all in darkness and tried to pick which of the windows was his childhood haunt. Where he’d read books and pretended to be a pirate and developed into the man sitting beside her today.

  He read her mind again.

  “The top one on the right,” he said.

  She blushed again.

  “You don’t say much do you?” he mused.

  “Sorry,” she apologised, “I’m not good with strangers.”

  “I’m a stranger?”

  “Well yes, we’ve just met and I know nothing about you, so yes, you are.”

  “Well we must fix that,” he said, “ask me anything and I’ll give you an honest answer.”

  She thought of everything, and nothing. She ached to know more about this man in the incongruous T-Shirt who talked to girls on a dare at parties and could read her mind. But she could think of no questions.

  “What would you like to know?” he asked again.

  “Everything,” she whispered, and felt him smile beside her.

  “You’ll have to be more specific,” he said.

  And in this darkness, on this night, she felt a daring she hadn’t felt before. She could be anyone, as far as he was concerned, anyone and anything.

  “Sixty seconds,” she told him. “You have sixty seconds to tell me as much as you can about yourself, to convince me you’re worth my time, before I walk out of your life forever.” She could scarcely believe she’d said that last bit.

  “Seriously?” he asked.

  “No. Fifty five seconds now –”

  He grinned “Let it never be said I refused a challenge. You know my name is Walt, last name Parker. 24 years old, currently studying to be an architect. I have two brothers and one sister; names are Donald, Peter and Aurora. Mother is a rampant Disney fan. What else?”

  “Yawn,” she said, and waved a hand in front of her mouth.

  “Let’s see,’ he continued, “I prefer dogs to cats. My favourite colour is blue, but not just any old shade, Palatinate blue. I fell off my bike when I was eight and broke my right arm but it didn’t get set properly so now when I extend my elbow like this,” he demonstrated, “it clicks.”

  She crossed her arms, leaned back and looked at him, “twenty seconds.”

  “This is just like a job interview only much, much more fun. Ok -” He flexed his fingers like he was getting ready to arm wrestle “- I hate peas, wear size eleven shoes, dance badly and throw like a girl, at least according to my brothers. When I was very young I found a five dollar note in a bush and for a long time thought money really did grow on trees. I enjoy fishing in the estuary on weekends although due to the fact I can’t seem to catch any, I pretty much live on pizza.”

  “Anything else?” she asked, amused.

  “Oh yes, although I am - you’ve no doubt noticed, blond - when I try to grow facial hair it has a notable, and unfortunate, ginger tinge.”

  She laughed.

  “Did I miss anything?” he asked.

  “I think I’ve heard enough.”

  “Sticking around then?”

  She pretended to consider it. “For now.”

  “Pleased to hear it.”

  And so they sat, side by side, enjoying a companionable silence, or at least she thought so until he suddenly stood and said,

  “I think it’s time to get going.”

  And she was crestfallen.

  Until he turned and held out a hand and said,

  “Coming?”

  Chapter Two

  He hadn’t been entirely honest with her, on two accounts. Firstly, his mother was not a rampant Disney fan at all, and his siblings’ names were Aidan, David and Rachel. But it made for a great story and he’d wanted to entertain her.

  Secondly, he didn’t know the guys by the wall, and there had been no dare.

  He’d first noticed her as she made her way through the throng of people towards the food table. There was something about her that was unnoticeable to other people; that is, they just didn’t appear to notice her at all. He could feel her sense of isolation from across the room, and it intrigued him and broke his heart in equal measures.

  She was a delicate thing, in a pale turquoise dress with a thin black belt around the waist, cinched in tightly and topped off with a little bow just underneath her modest, yet perfectly perfect, bust. Black tights and flat black shoes finished off the outfit. No jewellery, and if she wore makeup it was applied cleverly and subtly. Her dark hair skimmed below her shoulders and curled at the ends in a way he found very endearing.

  He had to meet her.

  So he made up the dare and it served its purpose and broke the ice.

  Now, he held out his hand and asked,

  “Coming?”

  And held his breath until she put her hand in his and nodded, yes.

  He could sense her fear, not of him, but the situation. He wanted to reassure her that his intentions were honourable, but knew no way to approach the subject tactfully. He would just have to show her with his actions.

  They made their way around the side of the house to the street, unseen and unmissed by anyone inside. At the kerb she stopped suddenly and he thought she’d changed her mind but instead she looked back at the house and then at him,

  “My jacket,” she said.

  “Where is it?”

  “In the bedroom, on the bed. Bright red, with big black buttons.”

  “Wait here,” he told her.

  So she did, shivering and hopping from foot to foot and marvelling once again at the bright, full moon, while he went inside and retrieved her jacket.

  Together again, he led the way, down the hill and towards the village. At the roundabout he turned left and led her towards the estuary. It wasn’t a long walk, perhaps fifteen minutes, but to them both, painfully aware of the other, it felt an eternity.

  All the way he held her hand, and she marvelled at the feel of his skin on hers. At times he turned and smiled at her reassuringly, and she smiled shyly back.

  When they reached the south end of the estuary he headed towards the dunes at the mouth. The tide was out and they could smell the exposed mudflats, not a particularly pleasant smell but when you grew up with it, the slightly rotten egg stench became a familiar part of the background.

  “Are you ok?” he asked her.

  His concern chased away any trepidation she may have been feeling.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “Good,” he grinned, teeth shining bright in the moonlight.

  “Follow me – don’t worry, we’ll be back before the tide turns,” and he led her out over the mudflats, but they hadn’t gone five steps before she stepped in a pocket of trapped seawater and squealed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, although he didn’t look very sorry.

  “You don’t look sorry!” she said, indignation stamped on every syllable.

  “Anyone ever tell you that you’re cute when you’re angry?”

  She blushed, had no answer for that. She wasn’t used to compliments from men, let alone one she’d just met.

  “Take off your shoes,” he told her.

 
She did and while she did he removed his own, then took both pairs and threw them back onto the bank behind them.

  “I hope we’ll be able to find them again,” she worried.

  ‘If we can’t I’ll buy you a new pair.”

  He led her forward, the mud slimy and cold under their feet and squelching up between their toes. It reminded her of her childhood, playing on this exact same stretch of beach with her sister. Back then she’d probably lost dozens of pairs of shoes, she mused. She tried hard not to think about fast tides.

  Something scuttled away when she touched it with her foot and she squealed again.

  “It’s just a crab,” he laughed.

  “I know that,” she said, “That’s why I squealed.”

  “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that they’re more scared of you then you are of them?”

  “I doubt it,” she said. “A girl I went to school with lost her toe to a crab when she was little.”

  “Well, I doubt that.”

  “No it’s true,” she insisted, “she had four little piggy’s, but where the littlest piggy of all should be, right on the edge of her foot, was just a jagged little pink scar instead.”

  He stopped, considered this. “You mean to tell me that one of these little guys, these crabs no bigger than a walnut, did that?”

  She shrugged. “That’s what she told us.”

  “Huh,” he mused, and started his long stride towards the dunes again. “I wouldn’t have thought them capable.”

  “Just because someone is small does not mean they’re not capable of big things,” she said, hurrying to keep up.

  “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

  “Oh I’m not,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Nothing great about me.”

  He paused in his stride again, looked at her with a serious and wondering look, “I find that very hard to believe,” he said, but softly so she couldn’t be sure whether she’d heard it or not.

  They carried on and in another minute they had reached the other side of the estuary mouth and she breathed a sigh of relief when the sand underneath her feet became dry, loose and still warmed through from the day’s sunlight. She could hear the ocean, the waves breaking in an endless foaming cycle on the shore, relentless in their arrival.