Reach for the Stars

by Kathy Jay

  She needed breathing space. The kiosk could wait. It was going to rain and there’d be zero demand for ice cream.

  Layla changed into her wetsuit at the back of the Kandy Shack. She kept her surf board propped up against a wall in there. It was mostly decorative, since she’d barely used it recently. Joe was majorly into surfing. He’d won trophies in local competitions. She’d kept a pile of newspaper clippings from his wins. She called them his smug shots. She wasn’t into competing though, she just liked to surf. Basically, although she and Joe had lots in common, they were really very different.

  She leashed the surfboard to her ankle and set off down the beach, loving the sensation of sand beneath the soles of her feet. No point wishing they’d ended things differently. It was too late for that. She waded straight into the sea, waited for a lull between the waves, and paddled out. She sat straddling her board, ready to catch a break. She liked the taste of salt on her lips, and the water felt fantastic.

  Wet hair messy and body energized, she left the water after about an hour and sauntered back up the beach. She’d only caught a couple of waves, but she was okay with that. Exhilarated, ready for anything, she’d made her mind up to meet the future head on. Heavy rain soaked the soft sand and the beach was deserted except for the unmistakable shape of Nick, jogging, with a soggy Ophelia bounding along at his heels.

  ‘Hey Layla.’

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled at the sound of her own name. ‘I suppose there’s no point offering you a bacon sandwich and a hot chocolate?’ She paused, tipping her head to look up into his welcome smile. ‘What with your strict fitness routine, and all.’

  Wet through – again – his t-shirt clung to his muscles. She could practically see the cogs of his brain whirring as he thought about it, tempted. He pulled a face. ‘The words Paris and promo shoot come to mind, but hey … I’ll have what you’re having.’ He gave her an incredibly readable look. ‘We’ve earned it.’

  ‘A bacon sandwich won’t kill you, right?’

  ‘It won’t, but my nutritionist might.’

  ‘I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.’

  At the back of the Kandy Shack there was a two-ring stove, a kettle and a small fridge. Layla liked to think of it as her beach hut, although to be fair mornings when she could hang out and surf and eat sandwiches instead of serving ice cream were rare.

  ‘You own this place?’ He peeled off his t-shirt and she lent him a towel. He hung it around his shoulders like a scarf but it didn’t cover enough of his distracting abs to stop her thinking about how she’d spent the night pressed up against them.

  ‘My parents. I just work here. We sell sweets, ice cream, sticks of Porthkara rock, buckets and spades, fishing nets, postcards. All that kind of thing. It used to be a fun place to work but there’s been a bit of hassle since my parents’ divorce. They can’t agree. Dad wants to buy Mum out and put the contract for running the kiosk out to tender. Mum is having none of it. She isn’t ready to let go.’

  ‘You’re stuck in the middle?’

  ‘They both have too much to do and I take up the slack. I clean Dad’s holiday lets, I help Mum at the B&B and I hold the fort here most days. It’s a lot and at the same time it’s not enough.’

  ‘Tell them.’

  ‘I don’t want to let them down.’

  ‘They might be okay with it. It might help them come to a decision.’

  She turned her attention to frying bacon and assembling sandwiches. It took a lot of effort to concentrate on anything other than admiring his physique. Fishing a couple of tin mugs out of a cupboard, he took charge of making the hot chocolate. As they waited for the milk to heat up it felt like nothing had ever taken so long to reach boiling point.

  ‘The kiosk’s the problem. They put making a decision on hold because of my mum’s accident.’

  Outside the rain poured down glumly.

  ‘Cooo-eee!’ Trish, Joe’s mum, appeared huddled under a see-through plastic umbrella. ‘Layla, honey,’ she gushed, overly enthusiastic. ‘I wanted to pop by and thank you for the way you stepped in at the last minute yesterday. You’re a life saver.’ She shivered. ‘Brr! Where’s the summer gone?’ Taking in Nick, her eyes filled with concern.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ Layla took a deep breath. ‘Trish this is Nick – Maggie’s brother-in-law?’

  Trish smiled but there was undisguised mistrust underneath.

  ‘We’re about to have hot chocolate,’ Nick said charmingly. ‘Would you like some?’

  ‘I’m in a terrific rush.’ The doubt on Trish’s face didn’t budge. She looked flustered. ‘Can I have a word?’

  Mind whizzing, Layla caught the telepathic tell-her-now vibes Nick was firing in her direction. She stepped outside. The sun had begun to fight off the clouds and the rain had stopped. Trish lowered her umbrella and shook it vigorously. The shower of drops splattered Ophelia. She moved out of the way and lay down with her head between her paws.

  ‘Of course.’ Layla straightened her shoulders. ‘I’m glad you’re here. There’s something I want to say. I can’t work at the restaurant anymore.’

  ‘It’s Joe, isn’t it?’ The colour drained from Trish’s face, and she dropped her umbrella on the sand. ‘He’s ruined everything.’ Her voice wobbled. It smarted that Joe had married a stranger he’d picked up on his travels. But processing how badly he’d hurt his parents, Layla wanted to get him on the phone and give him what for.

  She gave Trish a hug. ‘It’s not entirely Joe,’ she said. ‘If it’s any help I saw a card in the post office window, someone looking for casual work. Her name’s Emily. She might be a good replacement.’

  Joe’s mother gave a sigh that tugged at Layla’s heartstrings. ‘You don’t have to quit,’ she said softly. ‘We can work something out. I thought you liked the work, with you needing to put money away.’

  ‘I do. I did.’ Layla shook her head. ‘I’m going to concentrate on painting. The truth is we should have had this conversation months ago. I’ve been in limbo. Mum’s accident was a line in the sand. Joe asked to be on a break and I wasn’t happy.’ Shades of confusion flitted across Trish’s face. ‘I’m kicking myself. I’m ashamed that neither of us bothered to put the people who care about us in the picture. I ended it the day he left for the airport without me. He didn’t text back. And I haven’t heard from him since. Not directly.’ Her heart squeezed at the strain on Trish’s face. ‘I should have told you. I’m sorry.’

  She’d wanted Joe to react to her text, come home, say sorry. He’d left profound disappointment in her heart and she hadn’t been ready to accept that there was no way they’d be getting back together.

  Trish grasped Layla’s arm as if she wanted to hold onto her and never let go. ‘He’s made a stupid mistake. He shouldn’t have gone. You needed him to stand by you. His dad’s seething. I’ve never seen him so cross.’

  Layla couldn’t quite bring herself to free her arm from Trish’s grip. ‘He shouldn’t be upset. Joe and I just weren’t meant to be together forever.’

  ‘He phoned late last night. It’s the first we’ve heard from him.’ Trish let go of Layla’s arm and rolled her eyes skyward. ‘He’s run out of money. He’s coming home soon. He’s bringing Lainy to meet us. He wants a party at the restaurant. To celebrate.’ She paused, on the verge of tears. ‘You take care of yourself. If you change your mind, you know where we are.’

  As she turned and walked away, shoulders hunched, Layla noticed the forgotten umbrella. She picked it up and ran to catch her up.

  Trish shook her head in exasperation as she took the umbrella.

  ‘Promise me you won’t be a stranger Layla. If there’s anything you need, you only have to ask.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She smiled awkwardly. She opened her mouth to say something more, realized there was nothing more to say and hurried off across the beach as fast as her feet would carry her.

  Back at the shack Nick had finished making the hot chocolate. Layla took t
he mug he held out to her and inhaled the deliciously sweet smell.

  ‘How much did you hear?’

  ‘Some. Not all. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’ve been better. He’s coming home.’ She felt as brittle as a bright pink stick of seaside rock; as if someone snapped her in two there’d be a seam spelling out her pent up feelings running right through her middle. Rejected. Hurt. In denial.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Soon. Trish didn’t say exactly.’ She blew on her hot chocolate waiting for it to cool. Now that the sun had come out people had begun to straggle onto the beach.

  ‘I’d better stop lazing about and get things set up. Don’t feel you have to hang around,’ she told Nick. ‘I know I offered you a bed, but you’re welcome to come and go as you please.’

  He gave her one of his looks, felling her with his burning eyes and that very sexy grin. Biting into his bacon sandwich he said, ‘I think I’ll stick with you. I like it here.’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘What in the name of Cornish pixies …? Look at this.’

  Layla’s mother had given her a bundle of newspapers and magazines to use to catch paint drips. She opened one and whose face should greet her but Nick’s.

  He’d dusted off the coffee machine and grinder in Maggie’s kitchen and bought some beans. The enticing smell of fresh coffee filtered through the house, mingling with sea air from the open windows, and a hint of paint.

  As he stood in the doorway holding two mugs of coffee, she was doing her best to avoid the distraction of his very kissable lips. The corners creased and he smiled as she took her mug from his hand. She was getting too used to being the subject of that cracking smile. She’d been living in the moment since he’d arrived and one amazing night had turned into one more and then another and another and another.

  ‘What?’

  She’d reacted spontaneously when she’d spotted his picture. Taking in the gist of the article she wished she hadn’t said anything.

  ‘Nothing.’ She shook her head, turning the mag over to put the page she’d been looking at face down on the floor.

  He stole a kiss and took it deftly from her fingers. ‘Let me see.’ He gulped coffee and glowered at the story. ‘What have they got? “Where’s Nick Wells?”’ With exaggeratedly dramatic emphasis he read out the words that had been jumping off the page. ‘“While his socialite (presumably ex) royal girlfriend Toni Vanbrand flirts with her latest lover, Bertrand Flavio, former bodyguard to her father Crown Prince Ronaldo, actor Wells has vanished from the scene. Looking relaxed and happy with Flavio, now head of security at the mountaintop palace in the Principality of Monteluna, Princess Toni flashed a diamond as big as the ice cubes in her G&T onboard the family yacht in the South of France. The couple is reported to be expecting the patter of tiny feet early next year, and a private wedding ceremony at the family home is reportedly in the offing. Wells was unavailable for comment, however a close source said, ‘Nick is thrilled for Princess Antonina. He wishes the couple all the best for the future.’ The actor, also rumoured to have popped the question to the princess, has gone to ground after a scrap involving the enigmatic royal and a paparazzo. Here at Dazzle Magazine we’re wondering who’s next on his alleged eligible spinster list!”’

  Picking up a small brush soaking in an old jam jar full of water, he dipped it in one of Layla’s pots of non-toxic paint. He carefully painted spectacles and a moustache on the bodyguard.

  ‘Is that true?’

  ‘Which part?’ He passed it back to her. ‘I didn’t ask her to marry me and there isn’t a list.’ Layla took the brush from his hand and painted a heart shape around the photo of the happy couple.

  ‘I didn’t think so,’ she said.

  ‘As for the wedding?’ He stared without a flicker of emotion at the beautiful bride-to-be. ‘It certainly looks like it.’

  Layla and Nick had been having the best week. Both Trish and Shelly had hired card-in-the-window Emily. Layla had been working flat out on the mural, Nick’s bruise was healing up nicely, and they’d been bonking each other’s brains out. They were looking neither forward nor back.

  Nervous tension prickled through her. It was none of her business. But a question had jumped into her brain, bursting to spill out of her mouth. Between sips of coffee she clamped her teeth together. It was no good. She couldn’t hold back the burning question.

  ‘You don’t have to answer this.’ She shrugged, acting nonchalant. ‘I mean, feel free to ignore this, but …’

  ‘Spit it out.’

  She bristled. She was prying, the feeling too strong to contain, she couldn’t help herself.

  ‘Is there any chance that baby could be yours?’ As soon as it was out she cringed at her nosiness. The atmosphere between them crackled like a lightning storm.

  He ran an index finger back and forth over the furrows in between his eyebrows, then turned away from her and stared out the window at the sea beyond the rooftops like he was searching for something on the horizon.

  ‘No,’ he said darkly. After a moment of silence, he added, ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘Just saying.’ Her attempt at nonchalance had failed.

  ‘Toni and I.’ There was a heavy pause. ‘We were seen at parties together – but we were hardly ever together together. We didn’t …’ Another pause. ‘… By the time we split we hadn’t slept together in a long while.’

  ‘Do you think she cheated?’

  Nick shook his head. ‘That’s not her style. The press gets hold of a sniff of news, twist it into something it isn’t and call it a story.’ He paused, thoughtful. ‘Toni’s a party girl, but she has the greatest respect for her father. If she’s getting married it won’t be without his blessing. As for the baby rumour? Frankly, it’s probably a fabrication. My guess is she’s fallen in love.’

  ‘So you and her weren’t serious?’

  ‘It’s painful to admit this, but no, we wouldn’t have led to anything meaningful. Toni flew in from Monteluna for the movie wrap party. The press pack called her my party princess and at the end of the day that’s all she was. She’s how I got this.’ He pointed to his eye. ‘There was a scrum of paparazzi outside a Paris nightclub. I’m guessing they got wind of that!’ He snarled in the direction of Dazzle. ‘I stepped in to protect her and got whacked in the eye by a long lens. I’ve no idea who the source is. Studio PR probably.’

  Composing herself, thrown by the mishmash of truth and lies, Layla picked up her paintbrush.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For being intrusive.’ Whatever the facts, he clearly wanted to believe the best of his ex. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. I jumped to all the wrong conclusions. I feel awful.’

  He placed his hand on her chin and gently turned her face up, dropping a kiss on her lips. ‘You had every right.’ Painful silence hung in the air. ‘I did think about asking Toni to marry me. Some day. It ended without really getting started.’ He turned to walk away, had second thoughts, and turned back. ‘Anyway, something happened.’ His voice had lost its confidence, it sounded like his words were trapped in his throat. ‘Someone I knew years ago. She’s going through a bad time at the moment and she got back in touch. It’s complicated.’

  A muscle twitched in his cheek and her heart flipped. Nick’s real life had seeped into their bubble. Suppressing the question ‘How complicated?’ she asked instead, ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  He shook his head, his lips a thin line, zipped. Then he turned his back and marched out without a word, leaving her with an empty feeling, knowing she’d overstepped a boundary.

  * * *

  Hours later Nick leaned in the doorway of the nursery watching Layla paint. His face had healed sufficiently to reschedule Paris. He had a new date for the photo shoot. With a bit of luck and photo-shopping he’d pull it off. He’d kept things back from her, but he preferred not to drag her into his ugly mess unnecessarily.

  Seconds before he’d see
n Toni into a taxi outside that nightclub she’d air-kissed him sweetly. ‘Au revoir. Don’t feel bad. I knew we wouldn’t last. You aren’t marriage material. It’s not in your DNA.’ His big stupid ego had ached to prove everyone who believed that wrong. He shared his DNA with Alex, and his brother had found forever. He never would. How could he when, in his gut, he believed the rumours about him himself.

  After he’d left Layla, he’d gone for a drive through sunken lanes with hedgerows full of wild flowers. On the open road he’d passed by the mysterious prehistoric standing stones that had stood on the edge of road for going back too many centuries to comprehend. He’d parked in the market square and stocked up on another bag of coffee beans and some picnic provisions at the deli.

  He’d have to tear Layla away from her painting because he wanted to sound her out about Paris. Her reaction to the story about Toni grated. He’d like to deserve her trust. The flare-up of suspicion stung, not so much because of her questions, more because he hadn’t been honest, he hadn’t told her about Fran, and Beth. Mervin had summed him up when he’d called him unreliable.

  Blanking it out, his eyes roved the seaside-themed painting. She’d blended deep sea greens and blues with lighter shades and pops of primary colours, filling the wall with waves and flowing seaweed shapes, dotted with starfish and an octopus and other fun motifs for the twins to discover.