by Abbey Clancy
And me? Had I changed that much? God, yes. Beyond recognition. I’d been on a heck of a journey, as they always say on reality TV shows. And now I was hoping, as Daniel approached me, that this particular stretch of the journey was about to have a happy ending.
He closed the distance between us, and I reached out to hold both his hands. He was smiling down at me, and the look on his face gave me more of an adrenalin rush than a number one single and playing Wembley combined. It was that very special look he had—the one that made me feel so treasured, so cherished, so very, very wanted.
He stroked the side of my face, and I leaned into his palm, kissing it gently with my lips. He was here. He was holding me.
It was real.
‘I’m glad you came,’ I said, looking up to meet his eyes, thrilled at what I saw there. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to come.’
‘And miss this?’ he replied, tugging me closer so our hips touched. ‘The famous Jessika, reprising her very best role? That cheerleader song is still awesome.’
‘I still have the outfit somewhere at my mum and dad’s, you know.’
‘Really? Maybe we’ll have to crack that open sometime. Although I might turn into a hormonal, crush-ridden teenager again, and be too tongue-tied to tell you what I need to tell you.’
‘What’s that?’ I asked, wrapping my arms around his waist so tightly I thought I might never let go. ‘And before you answer that question, I have sorted things out. I’ve untied the knots in my brain, and I know what I want now.’
‘And what do you want, Little Miss Sorted?’
‘I want you,’ I answered simply.
‘That,’ said Daniel, ‘is very lucky. Because I need to tell you that I love you. That I’ve always loved you. That I want you so badly it’s borderline embarrassing. And that I was hoping you felt the same way. I always knew you’d be a star, Jess—but I could only ever hope that you’d be mine.’
He traced his fingers around my jaw, and turned my face up to his, before leaning down for the kind of kiss that any girl—cheerleader, fake Disney Princess, intern, or pop star—would quite happily die for.
Epilogue
We were all crammed into one tiny room at the maternity hospital, breaking all the visitor rules, making way too much noise, and generally being a nuisance.
Me and my mum were perched on the edge of Becky’s bed, and the menfolk—Dad, Luke, and Daniel—stood around the edges, all holding cigars that only my dad would enjoy.
Becky herself was propped up on pillows, looking grey and drawn and exhausted, and somehow managing to appear vibrantly happy at the same time. Both the exhaustion and the happiness probably had a lot to do with the tiny bundle of humanity currently curled up on her lap—Oliver Sean Philip, who had entered the world five hours earlier, at the ridiculously healthy weight of ten pounds nine ounces.
His bright red face was so chubby his eyes disappeared in the folds of his flesh, and he had a shock of eye-piercingly red hair tufting from the top of his big, round head.
‘He looks like a fat matchstick,’ said Luke, peering at him cautiously. He’d been traumatised by the fact that Becky had her boobs out when we first arrived, and was playing it safe now.
‘Thanks, shithead,’ said Becky, obviously wishing she could move, but too sore and too laden down to manage. She raised one eyebrow at me, and I got up and gave Luke a slap round the head on her behalf, hard enough to make him yelp.
‘How are you feeling, love?’ asked my mum, stroking the baby’s head and gazing at him in absolute wonder. Dad had burst into tears the moment he’d walked into the room, and now Mum looked like she might follow suit. Becoming a grandparent, it seemed, had been a very emotional experience for them.
‘I’m all right,’ she replied, giving her a little smile. ‘Just knackered. Happy, but knackered, you know?’
‘I do,’ my mum said. ‘That’s the way it stays for the next twenty years, hon.’
I reached out to touch Ollie—he was bound to end up as Ollie, or even Ol, as everyone in Liverpool has their name abbreviated—and his tiny, super-soft fingers wrapped around one of mine. I felt tears well up in my eyes, and decided that becoming an aunty was a very emotional experience too.
I glanced up to look at Daniel, and he gave me one of those gentle half-smiles that always made me feel weak at the knees, even when I was sitting down. One of those smiles that said he knew me, inside out and back to front and upside down, and he loved me anyway. One of those smiles that said he knew exactly what I needed, emotionally and physically, and that he’d always be there to provide it. One of those smiles that made me feel like the luckiest woman in the world, and also made me wonder what it would be like to have one of these tiny, gooey little baby creatures of my own one day.
One of the nurses bustled into the room and cast a quick glance around at the assembled Malone and Co. masses. There were only supposed to be two visitors at a time—there were signs all over the place; we’d just chosen to ignore them—and I suspected she was about to tell us off.
Instead, her eyes drifted to me, and widened slightly in a way that told me she’d recognised me—and not as Ollie’s aunty.
‘Hi,’ she said, ‘you’re Jessika, aren’t you? My daughter is obsessed with you! It made her day when she saw you on telly at Christmas, knowing you were from round here.’
She picked up Becky’s chart and checked it over, while I uttered my thanks. Sincere ones, as well—that was a nice thing to hear. After taking Becky’s blood pressure and cooing a little over the baby, she turned back to me.
‘I know you’re here with your family,’ she said, ‘and I completely understand if you say no. But we have a lot of young mums in here, and a lot of kids visiting their new baby brothers and sisters—is there any way you could take a few minutes to visit some of the other rooms? Honestly, it’d be brilliant—they’d be so made up to meet Jessika on the day their babies were born!’
I grinned at her, and cast a glance around the crowded room. At my haggard-yet-radiant sister and the ginger genius attracting all the attention; at my mum, who looked so proud of all of us; at my dad, who I suspected was itching to get outside and start on that cigar. At Luke, who seemed to have grown a foot since I was last home and was, predictably enough, on his phone texting someone. And finally, at Daniel. At the tall, gorgeous, totally yummy, utterly supportive, majestically talented man that I’d somehow been lucky enough to get a second chance with.
Life as I knew it really couldn’t be much better.
‘I’d be happy to,’ I said to the nurse. ‘But please—don’t call me Jessika. I’m just Jessy.’
Jessy was good enough for my family. Jessy was good enough for Daniel. And finally, I knew, Jessy was good enough for me.
ISBN: 978-1-474-04525-4
REMEMBER MY NAME
© 2016 Abbey Clancy
Published in Great Britain 2016
by Harlequin MIRA, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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