Written in the Stars

by Ali Harris

  ‘Found you!’ one says as she pulls her friend out from behind a tree. I realise then that this is exactly how I feel. I’ve found what I’ve been looking for. I know exactly where I need to be and who I am. And it feels good. I stop briefly to pick a little bouquet of forget-me-nots that are clustered under a tree. I notice how the blue matches the diary that I carry everywhere with me since I found it at Milly’s flat. I tie it to the flowers. It’s my reminder to never lose sight of where my life is going again.

  As soon as I see the Observatory I have an overwhelming urge to get there as quickly as I can. My long cream dress billows around my legs like waves as I weave through cyclists, kids on skateboards and rollerskates, mums pushing prams, dog walkers. I don’t stop as I reach the bottom of the steps that lead up the hill to the Observatory. I don’t listen to the busker like I normally would. Instead I hitch up my dress and cling on to my forget-me-not bouquet feeling the familiar burn in my calves and roar of adrenalin in my ears. I smile as I pass people on the steps, all of whom are stopping to stare at the crazy bride.

  ‘Can I just get past, please? Oops, sorry!’ I apologise as I accidentally nudge shoulders and bump into people in my haste. I feel exactly the same as when I used to sprint across beaches in my youth. I realise how much I’ve missed running and vow to start doing it again. The park sweeps out to the left of me, the paths criss-crossing in lines that lead towards the City that’s just a grey spectre in the distance.

  Finally, panting with exertion, I reach the top and stand in front of the Shepherd Gate twenty-four-hour clock that marks the entrance to the Royal Observatory. The hands stretch vertically in a straight line like the meridian line itself. It is 12.55. The ball will drop in five minutes.

  I’m just in time.

  If only I knew what for.

  I pause at the bottom of the steps to catch my breath and to listen to the busker for a moment. Clutching my forget-me-nots in one hand, I put the other into my jacket and pull out a couple of pound coins. He nods at me and smiles as I throw them into his guitar case and I listen for a moment more before setting off up the steps. I start fast and have to immediately stop when I realise that the steps are steeper than they look and I’m not as fit as I’d like to be. Seven years of office work and having a lift in our apartment building in Canary Wharf has put paid to that. That’ll soon change though. I think of the daily runs Adam and I have vowed to take when we move to Norfolk, the gardens I can work on, all in the name of my degree. And also, my work with James. Everything has come together so perfectly it almost feels . . . predestined. I can’t imagine my life ending up any other way.

  I carry on climbing, slower this time. I reach the top as the hands of the Shepherd Gate clock point to 12.55. The place is so crowded I can’t see anything other than a big foreign school group wearing identical red macs. I bob my head impatiently, trying to see more before giving up and going in.

  I walk into Flamsteed House and up to the desk and thrust out some money for a ticket to enter the courtyard. The cashier raises her eyebrows at me as she takes in my outfit.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at the Queen’s House, dear? That’s where we normally do weddings . . .’

  As I go back out into the courtyard a man appears and announces that it’s time for the next tour. People flock around him and after a small introduction, they move away, leaving the courtyard empty. It is a magical moment. I feel like I’m standing on top of the world and right on time’s doorstep. This is how a bride is meant to feel on her wedding day. I’m not thinking about my past or worrying about the future. I am in this moment completely – and yet for some reason I feel like there is a part of me missing. It’s not Dad, or Kieran . . . so what . . . who?

  For reasons I can’t explain I find myself walking over to the meridian line that stretches down the right-hand side of the courtyard like metal to a magnet. I place my feet either side of it and look up at the sky, imagining the stars that are waiting to come out, and I, too, wait.

  I walk through Flamsteed House and step out into the courtyard. It was packed with tourists five minutes ago but it has suddenly emptied, the last people trailing off around the Observatory with a jauntily dressed tour guide. There is someone standing with their back to me, feet either side of the meridian line, like thousands – no, millions of people have stood. The sun is beaming down, bouncing light off the red-brick walls of the Octagon Room and refracting back off the time ball above. I look out to the Royal Naval College and the sky diving into the Thames beyond it and I think of Kieran for a moment, of our brief affair. I know with all the certainty within me that even though I’ll never forget him – or Elliot – our ship has long since sailed. Clinging tightly on to my forget-me-not bouquet I glance down at my watch, backing away a little as I see the time. I keep reversing slowly so I can get a better view of the City’s panaroma, holding my hand up in front of my face to shade the glare of sunlight that seems to be shining directly in my eyes.

  A dark cloud passes over the courtyard suddenly, turning the bronze of the meridian line mulchy brown. I glance up just as the time ball drops to signal 1 p.m., and then, out of nowhere, I feel myself bang into someone with some force and I cry out.

  I feel the weight of someone bang in to me and the force knocks me off my feet; I hear the other person cry out as I topple forwards. The last thing I see before I hit the ground is the bronze meridian line in front of my eyes. I feel like I’m falling into it and when I land face down on the line the last thing I see is stars.

  And then, there’s just black.

  I find myself twisting and falling, and the last thing I see before I hit the ground backwards is stars.

  And then, there’s just black.

  Chapter 73

  I come to and find the courtyard still empty. I blink and rub my head. The sun is still shining directly above me. There is a stillness in the air – a silence that feels almost other-worldly, like time has stopped and I am here in this little vacuum alone. The sky yawns above me like it has split. I feel confused, bruised but at the same time more together than I’ve felt for a long time.

  I sit up suddenly and instantly regret it as I feel a wave of dizziness overcome me. I close my eyes, trying to force myself to focus. I know I’m meant to be somewhere but for the life of me I can’t remember where. I hold up my hand in front of my face. Have I died? Am I a ghost? I hope not. That would be really annoying when I’ve finally sorted my life out.

  Still feeling dizzy I pull my knees up in front of me and bury my face in them. It’s then that I realise I’m wearing a long cream dress, a floaty cream dress that feels very bridal-like. And then it hits me. Not the ground, for once, but . . .

  I scramble to my feet. I’m meant to be getting MARRIED.

  Wavering a little I close my eyes to try and recalibrate. Not wanting to think any more, I begin to run, hesitantly at first, in case I’m concussed. But my head has never been clearer. I pick up speed, skipping at first, my feet hitting the ground as if in time with the ticking of a clock. I look across the green park, see the blankets of spring flowers, the bright daffodils and crocuses, the forget-me-nots and tulips that have emerged, and think how I have bloomed too. I know my roots and now, now I can look up at the stars and to the future. I run faster, my feet pounding like hooves across the ground, the sound thudding in my ear as I run back through Flamsteed House and out of the gates, past the statue of James Wolfe that looks out across the park and the entire panaroma of the City. I stare across for a moment at the glimmering Thames, I see the Royal Naval College and the Cutty Sark to the left of it and briefly think of Kieran. The thought dissipates as quickly as it came. Now that I’ve seen him again that ship has finally sailed. I begin to run again, knowing exactly where I’m going because I’m finally on the right course. I charge past the Pavilion Tea House, taking a left and running down Great Cross Avenue, passing some kids playing football who point at me and laugh – the crazy lady in a wedding dress. A girl and boy skate down t
he cycle path, each of their legs straddling the path like it’s the meridian line itself. I glance to the left and see some younger kids making a camp under the oak trees and as my feet drum against the ground I feel like they’re stirring up my past. But as I run towards the flower garden, where I know Adam will be, I can feel myself leave it all behind. Suddenly my vision switches like a kaleidoscope and a new image forms of Adam and me sitting in a sprawling garden, watching two kids, a curly-haired boy and a girl playing on a climbing frame. That image floats in my mind like a bubble in front of my eyes, before it pops. And this time I know it isn’t a dream, or a life not lived, a path not taken. It is my future I’m heading for now.

  I’m out of breath, sweaty and red-faced when I arrive to find a bemused set of about fifteen guests staring at me. There’s Loni and Cal, obviously, Adam’s mum and dad, Sal and baby Aaron. She’s standing next to Tim and they’re the only ones who have barely noticed I’ve arrived as they’re deep in conversation. There’s Nick and Glenda, Milly, of course, and Holly. And that’s it. No extended family. No old business colleagues or clients, no long-lost school chums, no spurious Facebook friends. Just a select handful of people whom we care about – and who really care about us.

  ‘Thank God you’re here!’ Milly says, hurrying up to me.

  ‘Is Adam here?’ I ask, holding a finger up and panting to get my breath.

  ‘He’s waiting in there with Jay,’ Milly says. ‘You had us all really worried, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ I smile. ‘But you needn’t have been. I know what I’m doing.’

  I wave everyone over to stand behind me, and taking hold of Loni and Cal’s arms, I walk into the flower garden and towards my future husband. The sun has flooded the sky with lemony light, swathes of blossom appear to be lifting their petals like bridesmaids’ skirts in the breeze as the rest of the flowers bob and sway.

  And as Adam turns and looks at me I feel like I have experienced two different lives and right now I know, with every grain of certainty, that this is the moment they merge. This is what every decision, every mistake, every path, every star has been leading me to. Whatever choice I have made in my life, left or right, forward or back, right or wrong – I was always going to end up right here. On this day. With this man. Whatever choices I could have made that would have led to a different journey, I know the destination was always going to be the same.

  We are meant to be.

  I slip my hand into Adam’s and our guests melt away as I get ready to say the words that will determine my future. And this time, there is not a single doubt in my mind.

  I do. This time, I definitely, completely and utterly with all my heart, do.

  Epilogue

  30 April 2014

  ‘I didn’t intend to be a runaway bride. Honestly, I didn’t. I didn’t wake up that morning thinking: What can I do to cause as much shock and distress as possible to the people I love most in the world? The person I love most in the world . . .’ I trail off momentarily, unable to continue my well-practised speech. I look around at all the expectant faces shining as brightly as the tulips. Is it really worth dragging all this up again? Today of all days, when everyone just wants to celebrate this momentous occasion?

  There are a couple of awkward coughs, a few whispers and I feel a rising panic in my chest, like I’m about to be sick, or worse, pass out. Oh God, please not that. Not again. Just then I feel a squeeze of encouragement to my left hand and I suddenly feel buoyed by warmth and support, anchored by familiarity and self-belief. I turn and look at him and he smiles and nods and I know that he’s telling me to trust my instincts.

  ‘The truth is, I’m not sure I was thinking much at all that day,’ I continue. ‘I knew I was nervous, but that was all. I was just focused on dealing with each “Got To” stage as it came. You know, got to get up, got to get ready, got to get in the car, got to walk down the aisle. And well . . .’ I pause and smile wryly. ‘We all know how that turned out.’

  Laughter floats like petals through the air.

  ‘There were many times that I questioned myself,’ I go on. ‘Leaving my husband at the altar was the hardest decision I’ve ever made. Many people said it was the worst.’ I smile at my best friend, Milly, who nods and holds her hand up in a gesture of agreement. ‘But no matter how much I doubted myself, I knew that wasn’t true.’ I close my eyes momentarily, remembering a long-ago mistake. I will never forget, but now at last I have moved on. Even though it was heartbreakingly hard, I always knew it was the right choice.

  I look around at everyone again and then back at the man standing next to me. It feels like he’s always been there; like this was all meant to be. ‘I hope you can now all see that I’m happier than I ever thought possible because of that decision . . .’

  I look around again at our guests, gathered in Greenwich Park on this momentous, life-changing day and I feel a swell of happiness at the thought I have crossed over into a new life. The future. Our future.

  Adam smiles and lifts his champagne glass. I know he feels the same.

  ‘So now, please, will you raise your glasses because I want to make a toast. Not to our future but to the present; to every experience, both good and bad, and to every person who is here’ – I grip Dad’s diary – ‘or who can’t be here but nevertheless has helped lead Adam and me to this moment. I know we took a rather unusual route to get here, but I hope you’ll agree that it truly feels like today was written in the stars . . .’

  And when we kiss, that is what I see.

  The End!

  Acknowledgements

  Writing a book is a lot like starting a new relationship: you always think it’s going to be better this time. That’s what I said to my husband after the emotional second book that was The First Last Kiss. ‘I’m going to enjoy this one!’ He raised an eyebrow in reply. ‘I promise I won’t cry!’ And then to my agent: ‘Don’t worry,’ I said airily and confidently. ‘I know EXACTLY how to make this very confusing Sliding Doors-style concept book work, no problem at all . . .’ HA! The truth is at times I found it impossible and it would NEVER have seen the light of day were it not for the following people.

  My great friend and writing crusader, Nick Smithers, who once again swooped in superhero style when I was in what I would call a proper pickle, dragged me out of my writing hole, did character and plot brainstorms with me, forced me to do happy dances when I finished a chapter, allowed me to rant about how rubbish it was and that I’d never EVER get to the end – and then who stayed with me, doing all of the above, until I had done just that. Thank you, Nick. I love you, my kids love you, my husband loves you. The annex is yours!

  To my uber-agent Lizzy Kremer, who always goes above and beyond the call of duty in her job: friend, mentor, editor, counsellor and work ‘mum’. Thank you for all you do and for never failing to tell me when I have food on my face/in my hair/on my top when on business lunches (delete as appropriate!). What would I do without you? Also big thanks to the rest of the team at David Higham, especially Laura West and Harriet Moore and the incredible translation rights team for selling my books so brilliantly overseas.

  To Clare Hey, my acting editor, who stepped into very big shoes when my editor Maxine Hitchcock left – and strutted with style. Thanks too to Jo Dickinson – you both helped transform this book into something, not just publishable, but something I’m incredibly proud of. I really couldn’t have done it without you! Special thanks to Mel Four for the beautiful cover and – as always – to the rest of the incredible team at Simon & Schuster, particularly Sara-Jade Virtue, Rumana Haider, Alice Murphy-Pyle, Ally Grant, Dawn Burnett, Nico Poilblanc and Elinor Fewster who are all, always endlessly brilliant. I feel lucky to have you all!

  Thanks (again!) to my great friend Paige Toon. Having someone so close who is in the same boat (Books! Kids! Deadlines!) has kept me sane. Although saying that, yours seems to be a much faster, more productive boat so not quite the same! Thanks too, to fellow writers Katy Regan & Lucy Robi
nson for always reassuring me that I’m not the only nutjob on Lizzy’s list! I must also mention the rest of the brilliantly inspiring, funny, supportive, encouraging Kremer Krew – too many to mention here, but I feel very proud to be a part of such a great group of women writers. Here’s to more champagne, cake and chats in future!

  Enormous thanks to my great network of local friends – particularly (and in alphabetical order!) Helen Bord, Isabelle Edmondson, Emma Evans, Michelle Jones, Louisa Gordon, Nicola Grantham, Sue Matthews, Dana Payne, Lindsay Thornton and Rachel Widdicombe who have all provided tea and sympathy and/or wine and drunken nights out when needed, who have looked after my kids when I’m on deadline (and looked after me when I’ve needed it, too!). Oh and a special mention to Caroline and all the staff at The Geographer, my lovely local café where I sometimes go to write and drink rocket-fuel lattes!

  To my incredible family, especially the grandparents for the endless last-minute babysitting duties during the writing of this book. And of course, my gorgeous nephews and niece, Ethan Whiting, Zack and Amelie Anderson and my cousins Jess Southgate, Jordan, Libby and Finn March who tell EVERYONE about my books. You should be on the pay roll!

  An extra special and rather enormous thanks to all my readers, facebook and twitter followers, not forgetting the brilliant book bloggers who support, encourage and inspire me every single day. Your tweets, reviews and messages keep me writing. I hope I’ve done you proud.

  And last but never ever least, to my amazingly patient husband Ben for putting up with me through it all. Next time it’ll be better, I promise . . . (!)

  Ali Harris

  Miracle on Regent Street

  Dreams can come true – it could happen to you . . .

  For the past two years, Evie Taylor has lived an invisible existence in London, a city she hoped would bring sparkle to her life. But all that is about to change. For winter has brought a flurry of snow and unexpected possibilities