The First Crush Is the Deepest

by Nina Harrington

  Sam nodded, lips pressed tight together. ‘That night of your eighteenth when we got back to your house after our mini tour of London, and I told you that I loved you—I meant it, Amber.’

  He pushed himself to his feet. ‘That is why you asked me to come out to Kerala instead of giving your interview in London or over the Internet. You knew that I loved you but I still walked away. And now you are the one with the power to walk away and leave me behind.’ Sam shook his head and half turned to look out across the sands to the gaggle of children playing in the surf. ‘Strange,’ he chuckled, ‘I never thought that you would turn out to be such a diva.’

  Amber gasped so loudly that Sam whirled back to look at her.

  ‘A diva?’ she repeated in a horrified voice. ‘You think I am behaving like a diva? Oh, Sam. You have no idea how hurtful it is for me to hear you say those words. A diva?’

  She shook her arm away as he reached out to take it and stood up. ‘A diva is the very last thing I ever wanted to be.’

  Sam started to follow her onto the sand, but she whirled around to face him, her hand clenched into a tight fist by her side. ‘I thought that you, of all people, would understand why I despise the very word. That was what they used to call her. Remember? “The loveliest diva in the music business”. Julia Swan.’

  Sam groaned. ‘Yes. Of course I remember. Your mum used to relish it. But I thought...I thought you wanted star billing and your own dressing room. You have worked so hard for so many years as a soloist. Doesn’t that go with the territory?’

  ‘Of course it does. And I have worked hard. So very hard. But you still don’t understand, do you?’

  She stepped up to him and clenched hold of his hand. ‘That wasn’t what I wanted. It has never been what I wanted. I loved the music. That was the important thing.’

  She released him and turned sideways to stand with her arm wrapped around her waist and look out over the ocean. ‘You asked me the other day why I wanted to retire. It wasn’t the work. It was me.’

  Her voice faded away as though the breeze was carrying it out to sea. ‘I didn’t like what I was becoming, Sam. And this last tour of Asia was the final straw.’

  She flung back her head so that the breeze could cool her neck. ‘By the time we got to India, I started demanding things like my own dressing room and quiet hotel rooms and white cushions and stupid things like that. My pals on the tour said that it was because we were all so tired but when we got to Kerala and took a break from the tour I realised that the concert organisers were wary of me—they expected me to be demanding and difficult.’

  As Sam watched, Amber closed her eyes. ‘And the worst thing was that the complaining and the headaches—they had nothing to do with the love of the music and everything to do with the stress of the performances and the touring. Somewhere along the way my passion for the music had been buried under the avalanche of photo shoots and the press parties and the dresses and I hadn’t even noticed. And that was so wrong.’

  Amber half turned to look at Sam and she felt the tears prick the corners of her eyes even before she said the words. ‘I was turning into my mother and it was killing the one thing that I had loved. I was terrified of becoming that sad and bitter and lonely diva that was Julia Swan. That’s when I decided to retire, Sam. I was terrified that I was turning into my mother.’

  TWELVE

  ‘No,’ Sam replied, resting the palms of his hands on Amber’s shoulders and drawing her back to the boat to sit down. ‘That was never going to happen. Never.’

  His gaze locked onto her lovely eyes and held them tight. ‘I’ve spent the last three days watching you connect with these girls. Where did you learn those skills? Not from Julia Swan and certainly not by being some diva.’

  She smiled back at him but her eyes were suddenly sad. ‘I can say the same thing about you. Those girls love you. But you don’t understand. It had already happened. And do you know the worst thing? The moment it hit me what I was doing was when I finally understood her. After all of these years I finally understood that my mother didn’t hate people—she hated her job. She hated it but she didn’t know anything else, so she took her frustration out on everyone around her.’

  ‘You might be right. But what did you do? Just walk off the tour?’

  She flashed him a look. ‘Hardly. No. My friend Parvita had organised a series of charity concerts in small towns and school halls in Kerala and Goa. Until then I had always said that I was too busy, but at the very last minute their solo pianist had to go to New York and Parvita asked me to take his place.’

  She raised her hands then dropped them to her lap. ‘What can I say? India knocked me sideways. I love everything about it. The heat, the colours, everything. We travelled with a group of incredible sitar players, and we had the best tour of our lives. And the very last day was a revelation. Can you imagine—the whole musical troupe was in a rickety bus, dodging the potholes, in the middle of nowhere heading for a string of orphanages for abandoned girls?’

  She looked at Sam and managed a smile.

  ‘Nothing can prepare you for what we found here. I thought I had seen it all. Wrong again. Same with my friends. I think I cried every night. It was tough going but Parvita worked her magic and for a short while we had a real working music school right here in this village. We had planned to do two nights at the orphanage before heading back to the airport. We stayed a week! Can you imagine? By working all around the area, we raised enough money to pay for hospital treatment for the girls with enough left over to give them a decent meal every day for a month. These girls. Oh, Sam. These amazing girls.’

  She broke into a wide grin. ‘You wouldn’t believe the fun we all had. It was crazy. They are living in the worst conditions and they found happiness. It was very precious. I’ll never forget it.’

  ‘I can see how important it is to you. Is that why you decided to come back here for Parvita’s wedding?’

  Amber nodded. ‘Parvita wants to create the music school but she needs help to pay the teachers’ wages and keep things going. So when she left on her honeymoon I offered to stay on and help in the school before the monsoon hits.’

  She paused and her eyes flicked up at Sam as he held his breath for what she was about to say next. ‘I have had the most amazing fun here. You were right when you told me that I seemed happier here. The problem is—until I came here I had no idea how shallow and self-indulgent my life as a concert performer was. These girls have given me a new insight into my life.’

  ‘You worked your whole life for your success, Amber. Hey, wait a minute. Last summer you were the new face of a huge cosmetics campaign. How does that fit in?’

  Amber screwed up her face and Sam could almost see hear her jaw clench. Her face creased into a grimace. ‘It was a tricky decision. My agent was thrilled and suddenly I had all of these glamorous people telling me what an asset I would be for their cosmetics. But that was not why I did it. Of course my first reaction was to laugh it off as some big joke. But then they offered me a sum of money that made my head spin. A wicked amount of money. Criminal, really. And once I had that sum in my head, it wouldn’t go away. I kept thinking about my friend Parvita and all of the fund-raising work she was doing for the charity. And the more I thought about it, the more I realised that what I was actually saying was that my pride was more important than these girls having an education and healthcare. All I had to do was sit there wearing a lovely dress while make-up experts, hairdressers and lighting engineers worked their magic. This was ridiculous. I couldn’t walk away from that opportunity to do something remarkable for the sake of a few hours having my photograph taken. That would be so selfish I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.’

  She chuckled. ‘I knew that I would get a terrible kicking from the media. And I did. You and your colleagues were not very kind and it upset me at the time, but do you know what?’

  Amber smiled and dropped her shoulders. ‘It was worth it. I had to weigh up every cruel com
ment from the music press and every sniping gossip columnist against seeing a real school going up in place of the slum ruin that was here before.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell them? That the money wasn’t going into your own bank account?’

  Amber turned to face him. ‘You know why, Sam. How long have you been interviewing television personalities and so-called celebrities? Years, right? And how many times have you ridiculed the charity work that people do with their time and money? It doesn’t seem to matter if a famous basketball player wants to visit a hospice for the day to cheer up the boys. Or a bestselling novelist donates a huge amount to a literacy campaign. They are all accused of having so much money that they can splash out on some charity or other for tax reasons and to make them look good.’

  She shook her head. ‘That’s not for me, Sam. I wanted this project to be part of my private life, away from the media and the cameras and the concert halls. It is too personal and important. The last thing I want is my photo with the girls to be splashed over the cover of some celebrity gossip magazine. I would hate that to happen.’

  ‘Now that I simply do not understand. Yes. Those articles help to sell newspapers and magazines, and the charity gains some free publicity at the same time. Don’t you want that for the girls?’

  He looked back up the hill towards the school. ‘They still have a long way to go. And your name could help them get there.’

  Amber started chewing on the side of her lower lip. It was an action that he had seen her do a hundred times before, usually when her mother was nagging.

  ‘I know. And I have turned it over in my mind so many times but, in the end, it all boils down to this.’

  Her gaze locked onto his face. ‘I need you to write a feature article about the orphanage. And if that means using me as a hook to get readers interested—’ she took a breath ‘—then okay, I will have my photo taken in India and splashed all over the internet and wherever the article reaches—as long—’ she paused again ‘—as long as the article makes it clear that I am supporting the charity set up by my friend, Parvita. I’m just one member of the team working on fund-raising and teaching the pupils for free—and there is a whole long list of other professional musicians who are involved. Small cog. Big charity project. Only...’

  ‘Only?’ he asked, his head whirling with what she was asking him to do.

  ‘I have to trust you to tell the truth about why I chose to spend my time teaching here with Parvita instead of performing in some huge concert hall, without turning it into some great fluff piece about how I am lowering myself to be here. And not one word about my mother. Can I do that? Can I trust you, Sam?’

  ‘Amber, you don’t know what you’re asking. My editor, Frank, is not interested in an in-depth article on a charity in India. He wants celebrity news that will sell papers in London. And if I don’t deliver, that editor’s desk will go to another hungry journalist and I’ll be back at the bottom of the pecking order all over again.’

  She closed her eyes and his heart surged that he might be the cause of her pain. She had offered him the truth—now it was his turn.

  Reaching out, he took her left hand and held it tight against his chest, forcing her to look at him.

  ‘I need this job, Amber. My dad isn’t getting any younger and I’ve hardly seen him these past ten years. I made his life hell after my mother left us and he had to take the blame. But do you know what? He believed in me when my mother made it clear that I was a useless dreamer who would never amount to anything. And now I have proven her wrong. That’s special.’

  ‘Your dad. Of course. How stupid of me. You finally did it. You got there. And I’m not so stupid that I can’t see how much of your dad has rubbed off on you. You are terrific with the kids. But...’ her brow screwed up ‘...now it’s my turn to be confused. You always said that you wanted to write the long feature articles on the front page, and wouldn’t be happy until your name was right there. On the cover.’

  Then she shook her head. ‘But that was years ago. I probably have got it wrong.’

  Sam took a breath. ‘You didn’t get it wrong. I simply haven’t got to the front cover yet.’

  ‘But you will, Sam,’ Amber breathed, her gaze locked onto his face. ‘From the moment I first met you, I knew that you had a fire in your belly to prove your talent and were determined to be the best writer that you could be. Your passion and energy drove you on against the odds. And you have done it. Your dad should be proud of you. In fact, am I allowed to be proud of you too?’

  He felt his neck flare up red in embarrassment but gave her a quick nod. ‘Right back at you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she sniffed and then lifted her chin, eyebrows tight together. ‘In that case, I have an idea.’

  ‘You always have an idea. Go on.’

  ‘Simple. Write two articles. I will give you enough quotes for a celebrity piece about my broken wrist and taking time out with my friend at the music school—and you have those shots from my birthday party to show me in full-on bling mode. But...’ her voice dropped ‘...the real interview starts here. At the orphanage for abandoned girl children in a wonderful country bursting with potential. You were the one who saw that they needed a teacher more than they needed a fund-raiser this week. You get them. You understand. That could be the feature which takes you to the front page, Sam.’

  ‘You think I am ready for those dizzy heights?’

  ‘I know that you have the talent—you always did have. But what do you think, Sam? You have been writing fluff pieces for years, languishing in the middle ground and peeking out now and again to write about the bigger world. Are you ready to show Frank what you are truly capable of? That is what he wants, isn’t it? Or are you too scared to stick your head out above your comfort zone and take a risk in case you are shot down and rejected?’

  She stepped forward and pressed her hand flat against Sam’s chest. ‘You have an amazing talent. I still believe that you can do this. And do it brilliantly. Do it, Sam. Do it for me, but most of all, do it for yourself.’

  THIRTEEN

  From: Amber@AmberDuBois.net

  To: Kate@LondonBespokeTailoring.com;

  Saskia@ElwoodHouse.co.uk

  Subject: Sam Report

  Sam has just let me read his article about Parvita and it is fantastic! My boy done good! In return I have posed for some cheesy photos on the beach under the palm trees and answered lots of questions about my last concert tour and the building plans for the new school I have decided to fund here at the orphanage. I am calling it the Elwood School—I think that your aunt Margot would have approved, Saskia.

  There is so much to do here and the builders are pestering me with questions and paperwork, I am really flagging. Good thing that Sam has been here to help with the tradesmen and architects.

  I am going to miss him when he goes back tomorrow. And so will the girls.

  This is his last evening. So it is time to have that talk I have been putting off.

  Wish me luck. Amber

  From: Saskia@ElwoodHouse.co.uk

  To: Amber@AmberDuBois.net;

  Kate@LondonBespokeTailoring.com;

  Subject: Elwood School

  Oh, you wonderful girl—Aunt Margot would have loved it, and I have just spent five minutes blubbing into my tea.

  Re Sam the friendly spy. I think it could be time to ask that young man his intentions!

  Take a chance on happiness Amber. And tell Sam that he is welcome here any time.

  Good luck. Saskia

  From: Kate@LondonBespokeTailoring.com

  To: Amber@AmberDuBois.net

  Subject: Sam Report

  Love, love, love the name of the school. Do they need a needlework teacher next winter? You should tell Sam what happened pronto. Who knows? He might be okay now you have worn him down a bit with tropical beaches and hot curries.

  Big might. Still scared for you.

  Best of luck, gorgeous. Kate

  Amber dropped down onto t
he fallen tree trunk that lay among the driftwood on the shore and pressed her hand flat against the weather-smoothed exposed wood before closing her eyes. The warm wind was scented with spices from exotic flowering shrubs and the tang of the ocean waves as they rolled up on the sand in front of her. White foamed and fresh and cool, their force broken by the shallow rocks and reefs under the sand.

  Which was pretty much how she was feeling at that moment. Like a spent force.

  She desperately needed to calm down and focus on the coming days ahead. But her mind was still reeling from the thousand and one things on her to do list. And Sam.

  Maybe things could have turned out differently for them if her mother had not scared him away.

  Would they have stayed together in London and stuck it out through university and her concert tours? It would have made a difference to know that she had someone who loved her back in London, waiting for her. Someone who she could give her heart to and know that it was safe and protected.

  The sound of children playing made her open her eyes as a group of boys ran across the beach, wheeling a rubber car tyre with a stick, laughing and dancing in and out of the surf. Their mothers strolled along behind them, barefoot, bright in their lovely gold braid trimmed colourful saris and sparkling bangles. Chatting like mothers all around the world.

  And somewhere deep inside her body her need to have her own family contracted so fast and so painfully that she wanted to whimper with loss. Being with these girls had shown her how much she loved to share her life and her joy with open minds.

  She would willingly give up her slick penthouse for a small family house with a garden and a loving husband who wanted children with her.

  Sam was right. Her parents—and his—were hardly the best examples that they could have, but she still wanted to give some love to children of her own one day. At least she knew what not to do.

  As for Sam? Sam would make a wonderful father given the chance.