Izzy Moffit's Road to Wonderland (Road to Wonderland Series Book 1)

by James, Victoria L.

  “Spit it out, Dad. Even the turkey’s trying to come back to life so it can leg it from the table, just to escape your ramblings.”

  Lily’s giggles fill the room once again and I can’t help but huff out my own laugh at my best friend and the way she and her father bounce off one another so beautifully.

  “Fine,” he sighs, placing his spoon down on the coffee table in front of him and resting both his hands on the tops of his legs. He’s going into sergeant major speech mode, and all I can do is take a deep breath and try to bite down on the huge grin that is threatening to take over my face. “You are a Hemsworth. What’s the one thing that matters in a Hemsworth’s life?”

  “Family,” we all nod and say in unison.

  “Exactly. Family. No matter what happens, no matter where we are or what journeys we all embark on by ourselves or together, we keep that one thing in our mind. We are a family. Therefore, everything we do should accommodate that. Everything we invest in, everything we become, it should all allow a little room for family, which is the exact bloody opposite of what this little rabbit hole allows.”

  “I like my rabbit hole.” I frown slightly, pouting through twitching lips. He’s always had such a way with words. I only hope that one day I can become just like him.

  “But you love us,” he answers back quickly. “And love far outweighs like.”

  “Dandy…” I breathe out, dropping my chin to my chest and closing my eyes. I don’t want to ruin this amazing moment, right here. I’ve waited too long to see them all again, and it feels wrong for me to try and disrupt it with negativity.

  “One day you’ll understand what I am saying. One day you’ll look back on this moment and realise that my Paris might actually need you to take her in, even if it’s just for a week, or a month, or a year. You can’t put her up in this place. You couldn’t look after my Lily if she fell ill and you couldn’t invite friends around for drinks in the garden on a hot, lazy summer’s day. One day you’ll see that you need a home, not just a place to keep your bed and your wardrobe. One day you might meet a nice young man who happens to be the exact opposite of everything you thought you ever wanted. He’ll charge into your life and cause a stir. You’ll try to run from it, because we know how you like those little running shoes of yours, Izzy.” He laughs softly, sucks a deep breath in through his nostrils and holds it in his chest like he wants time to freeze while he chooses his next words as wisely as he can. “But, he will stay, no matter how much you push him away, because he will love you for what you are, just like we do. He’ll want to move all his things in and take over every room you own. He won’t want to leave your side for a minute, and before you know it, you’ll need more space than you could ever have imagined because he won’t just bring himself into your life, he’ll bring a whole other family along with him, too. Friends, relatives, business associates - all of them will want to be in your life, in your heart and more importantly to my argument right now, in your home!”

  My eyes flicker to Paris, then to Lily, before falling back to Dandy. I expect someone to speak up and tell him to stop being so soppy and for the usual banter to explode around us, yet all I hear is silence. Not one word of protestation falls from anybody’s lips. I almost feel like I should say something to break the quiet, but I’m not sure I truly have anything to say. All I can do is wait for him to go on and secretly try to tame the prickling of my skin when I realise just how much I want all those things to happen at some point in my life. Someday.

  “You are a Hemsworth,” he repeats in a whisper. “It’s time to start living your life like you truly believe it. It’s time to go big or go home. Isn’t that right, girls?”

  Paris and Lily both nod in agreement, each one turning to catch my eye and smile at me in a way that lets me know that they want me, no, need me, to really listen to what he’s saying. Not just to hear the words, but to take them in, absorb them and live by them.

  “Mi casa es su casa.” He grins. “It always has been, always will be. It’s time you went and found your very own casa to share with all of us.”

  The looks on all three of their faces makes my heart warm in a way only they can bring about. I’m just about to say something profound, something that will make him aware of how much I appreciate having his voice of reason in my life, when Dandy claps his hands together once and starts to sing out in song.

  “Right, now we’ve finished with the whole father knows best gabble, who has the gravy? I’m starving! Oh, look, the turkey just twitched. Someone get me my bow and arrow, quick.”

  The last thing I hear is the laughter of my loved ones surrounding me like a warm blanket on an ice cold day.

  The small tear that falls down my cheek is what quickly snaps me out of my vivid daydream. The air seems to leave my lungs all at once as I close my eyes and try to hold onto the images of them in front of me for as long as I possibly can. There’s no imprint of their silhouettes on the inside of my eyelids, just a wispy, floating picture of what this Christmas could have been like had he beaten his cancer.

  Yet, even in the years that he isn’t here, I know that I'll never stop turning to him for guidance. He’s the guardian angel that sits upon my right shoulder and won’t ever leave my side. He’s the divine intervention I need when things get rough. He’s the unspoken words in my head and the fire in my heart.

  It’s at this point, with a sad smile on my face, I throw down the entire contents of my tumbler in one, swift gulp, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and turn back to my laptop. The story I was writing no longer seems important, so I save the changes I’ve made, close it down and open up my favourite search engine. My fingers move across the keys as though there’s not a single doubt in my mind over what I need to do. Within minutes, hundreds of results have flashed up on my screen. Within hours, I’ve narrowed all the possibilities down to a short list of just three properties I want to look at that are on the outskirts of the city - some with gardens, others with space. Some have bigger kitchens than rooms or offices instead of downstairs toilets. However, one thing I make sure they all have in common is bedrooms - three, to be precise.

  One for me.

  One for her.

  And one that surprises even me. A room for all that dream man’s things to go into. The man I hope to meet one day and try to run from, only for him to pull me back, pick me up and spin me around in his grip. The man Dandy assured me would arrive.

  Just not yet. I’m not ready yet. I’ll wait and wait and wait for both of them…

  No matter how long it takes.

  Twenty-Three

  February 2006

  From the outside, it looks like nothing more than a slightly run-down, end terrace house – generic, like the majority of Manchester’s homes, red bricked with a black door that I can’t wait to paint white and windows that need replacing as soon as I can save up enough money to do so. The gardens are in desperate need of attention and the decor inside is questionable, but will certainly do for now. It’s probably not the best property in terms of value for money, but to me, it’s everything I could ever wish for and more.

  I have finally found my place.

  As I hold the key in my hand and look up at the building from my new front garden, I can’t help but think back to the first time I ever laid eyes on it. The moment I walked through the front door to take a look around, it was as though it had pulled me into its cocoon and refused to ever let me go. I was inspired. The walls in the hall seemed so inviting even though they were bare, and the kitchen was screaming for a repaint, but the whole place was exactly what I needed. Nothing was too big, yet nothing was too small either.

  Whilst the estate agent wasted her time and whispered her sales pitch seductively in my ear, I was already visualising how this place would feel when those people that were missing eventually came back in to my life.

  Paris’ bedroom is at the back of the south-facing house, allowing the sunlight to flow through her curtains for the majority of the day
, while mine sits at the front. Not having a job to physically get up and go out to, or a boss to check in with, I need to make my bedroom as basic as possible. I have to keep motivated to work at all costs, which has never synced well with having a deep love for sleeping in bed all day, like I do.

  However, the most special room for me is the lounge. The home I was raised in always felt cold and empty, so I’ve grown accustomed to not having much around me. It was always one of the things I struggled with most when living with Paris and her family - the extravagance of it all. Lily had expensive taste and, while most adored her decor, for me, it always felt a bit too much, but I guess that was me and my old habits dying hard.

  When I took my first steps inside the living area of my new home, though, a sense of belonging enveloped me. It was the one room that wouldn’t need anything doing with it at all. The plain white walls and washed wood fireplace were a blank canvas filled with endless possibilities. The patio doors that led out into the garden allowed a constant stream of light to pour in and across the hardwood flooring. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to leave. I knew that in summer it would be bright and airy while in winter, I could curl up in front of the fireplace and listen to the rain falling against the windows for hours on end.

  It was an escape, a hidden writer’s nook built to look like any old house on a fairly bland street.

  There was no doubt in my mind that I had to have it.

  Now, as the removal men whizz by the side of me, making their way up the path to deposit the few small bits of furniture I own into my brand new home, I let the buzz and excitement of the moment win for once. I bounce into the house with adrenaline running through my veins. I can’t believe that this is mine and that I’ve achieved this all by myself. I’m due to turn twenty-four this week and I have my own place. I know that most of that is down to Paris’ father and the money he left for me when he passed, but I also know that I couldn’t have got this far without pushing myself to write. I’ve made this happen, and for once, I’m going to allow myself to revel in that very fact.

  I make the men enough cups of tea to keep them awake for a week and I even try to slap up some lunch, but I can tell the sandwiches aren't a success when they subtly leave them on the side and pretend to have gotten lost in the job. The second they bring in and build up my brand new table for me, I run straight for my laptop and start to set it up as quickly as I can. I know the moment that the machine springs awake, everything will fall into place. This will truly be my home. I even had the internet connection installed a full week early so I wouldn’t have to wait around to truly start being me.

  When I try to drag the table across the kitchen floor by myself, I feel an invisible force pick up the other end and bear half the load. With a huge smile on my face, I quickly peek back over my shoulder, only to see one of the removal men at the other side, picking it up in the tips of his fingers like it weighs no more than a bag of feathers.

  “You should have just called for help.” He grins across at me, flashing a crooked smile in my direction. His blonde hair almost matches the colour of my own and his dark chocolate eyes make him seem welcoming and familiar, even though I’m certain I’ve never met him before.

  “I know I’m a girl, but I can drag a table across a room.” I laugh.

  “Your floors won’t thank you, Miss.” He chuckles before raising a brow and looking down at my left hand. “At least I assume it’s a Miss and not a Mrs.”

  Jack pops into my mind for the briefest of moments before I swiftly kick him back out again. I’ve no time for him in my head space today, or ever for that matter.

  “Just a Miss with no plans on that changing ever again,” I answer without thought.

  “Again?”

  “Long story.” I smirk back at him before nodding my head to the corner I want to drop the table in and guiding him over.

  “I wish I had time to hear it, but we’ve got another job to get to after this. We’ve already over-run by thirty minutes. The boss is throwing a fit in the front of the van.”

  “Oh, crap! You guys should go. I’ve kept you long enough. I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, moving my feet as quickly as I can and then carefully dropping my end of the table down on the floor as I wait for him to do the same. He soon follows suit and swiftly dusts off his hands before planting them on his hips, taking a deep breath and looking around the room.

  His huff of laughter makes me smile and I can’t help but think that there’s something about him that would probably be nice to be around if we were in a different time and a different place.

  “It’s been our pleasure, honestly. Not many of our clients make us tea and food. We usually get barked at to land this thing over there and that thing upstairs. You wouldn’t believe the extra jobs people think you should do when helping someone move house.”

  My face pulls an exaggerated cringe as I croak out through tight lips, “You mean like them asking you to build up a whole new flat pack table because they don’t own a screwdriver, but happen to have lovely lashes to flutter at you and long hair to flick over their shoulders?”

  “Exactly that,” he laughs a little too enthusiastically. “I would say the sandwiches made up for it, but…”

  “They were that bad, huh?”

  He cocks his head to one side and sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Gotta say, I’ve never known anyone slop butter on bread quite like you do... there was half a cow’s udder on one side of mine.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind for next time I have guests.” I chuckle, pulling a chair from the side of the wall and swiftly tucking it under the table. Leaning against it with one hand, I carefully look around the room and imagine this place full of people, trying my absolute best to keep in mind all the things Dandy told me could happen.

  “With a house like this, I’m sure you’ll have more guests at your door than you can cope with.”

  “Sure.” I smile flatly, bopping my head into a nod and trying not to let him see my face falter in the slightest.

  The sound of him clapping his hands together forces me to look back at him. He really is quite cute and in a weird moment of misplaced bravery, I contemplate asking him what he’s doing tonight… right up until I catch sight of the gold band that sits on his wedding finger and is now twinkling under the spotlights of my brand new kitchen.

  Damn.

  I look up just in time to see him noticing me noticing the ring before he quickly shoves that hand in his pocket and thumbs over his shoulder with the other.

  “I should get going. It’s been nice to meet you.”

  “You, too. Absolutely.” I nod a little too eagerly, quickly swallowing down the awkward lump in my throat as I straighten up and start to follow him out to the front door. “Thank you so much. You guys have been a great help. I couldn’t have done it without all of you.”

  “That’s what you pay us for.” He grins as he pulls out a folded up piece of A4 paper from his pocket and hands over the invoice. “Don’t forget to tell all your friends about us.” He winks and salutes before he turns his back on me and starts to stride down the pathway.

  I try not to focus on the fact that his arse is ridiculously well maintained because I’m aware that the other men in the van are probably watching me, watching him like a dog that hasn’t seen a bone for months, but I simply can’t help it. It’s only when I hear him clear his throat that I force my eyes back north and take in the smug grin on his face and the twinkle in his eyes.

  “Enjoy your evening. I hope you have someone to share your good news with.”

  And then he pulls the gate open, hops into the van and leaves me stood leaning against the doorframe, looking a little lost. His words seem to hit me all at once. I have no-one to share my good news with, no-one at all.

  My breathing starts to pick up as I hear the engine roar to life and watch them pull out onto the main road and drive away. I didn’t know any of them two hours ago, but now I suddenly wish they all could have stayed to keep
me company. Not because they were particularly special, but just because they were here, and while I’ve been used to living by myself for so long, their company has reminded me how lovely it is to have people around, too. To have laughter fill the air and have life outside my own thoughts and the four walls that surround me, well, it was nice.

  As I slowly start to close the door on the outside world, I realise I’m in danger of letting the darkness creep into what has been, and what should remain, a beautiful day in my life. I go through all the possible scenarios of what could make it better, but the only thing that ever comes to mind is Paris, which is why I find myself slowly sliding into the chair in the kitchen, nudging the seat under the table and pulling the laptop back in front of me.

  It’s been so long since I contemplated contacting or trying to find her, I’m not sure why it suddenly feels so right to do it today, but it does. I don’t have her number anymore. Lily told me she had left her phone there in that one, god-awful text I received from her, all those months ago. However, one thing I do have and have always had, is her email address. Paris has always been useless with her computer, and I’m not even sure she would remember what her account was or the password to it, seeing as I was the one that had to set it all up for her… but I could try.

  Now more than ever, I feel I really have to try. If nothing else convinces me, the sudden twinge of my heart certainly does the trick.

  To: Paris L Hemsworth

  From: Izzy Moffit

  Dear, Paris.

  Before you begin to fully read this, if that actually ever happens, I want you to know that I never planned on reaching you this way, especially not today. I’ve tried so hard to respect your wishes of no contact, but I will admit that there’s been times when it’s proven so damn difficult, I’ve felt like someone has a hold of my lungs and has been squeezing all the air out until I beg them to stop. That’s not said to make you feel guilt for anything. Your life is your own and, in a way, I’m glad you’ve taken charge of it and gone after what you want. I always did admire your bravery.