My Forever Billionaire

by Katie Evergreen

  Jackson had been so nervous he’d thought his head might actually pop if he didn’t get the question out. He’d even been to the store with his allowance and bought a bag of gummy candy, the ones his school friends had been going on about all year because they were all different shapes. He’d eaten all the candy except a glistening orange and red gummy shaped like a ring. At eleven, it was the only kind of ring he could afford, but his sweetheart had been so ecstatic she hadn’t taken it off until it had gone a bit green around the edges and her parents had started worrying about food poisoning.

  They’d been happy. For so many years. Until one day that tragic accident on the farm had seen him packed into the station wagon like a piece of luggage and driven away. He’d not seen or spoken to her since.

  “Mr. Brodie?”

  The deep voice startled him back to the hot, noisy factory. He looked up and saw Jen’s assistant with his arm outstretched, proffering a wrapped candy in his direction. It was a Sugar Coated, a treat for your mouth, a message for your heart. Jackson took it with thanks and started to unwrap the distinct red and orange striped wrapper.

  “Jen thought you could do with a pick-me-up,” the young man offered, before clomping back down the stairs.

  The heart-shaped candy glistened like a jewel. Jackson popped it in his mouth, savoring the natural flavors for a few blissful moments before taking the candy back out and holding it in his palm to examine. It was this that had made his fortune. A candy that carried a personal message hidden beneath the first few layers of hardened sugar. He’d patented the first piece of machinery at just 19 years of age and hadn’t looked back. He’d named it Sugar Coated as a play on words, because he thought most people would send messages that needed a little sugar coating. He’d been pleasantly surprised when most of the messages that came through to the production line had been those of support and love and hadn’t needed sugar coating at all.

  Family matters, matter.

  Jackson smiled ironically at the message Jen had sent him and threw the candy back in his mouth.

  If only she knew, he thought, walking away from the edge of the platform and into the office that was officially his, despite him not spending an awful lot of time in the factory itself.

  Shutting the door behind him, Jackson caught a glimpse of himself in the glass. He turned away before he could get a proper look, he didn’t want that bringing his spirits down any further than they already were. It wasn’t as though he was bad looking, quite the opposite. He had eyes the same color as the dark chocolate truffles that were his second-best seller, and a brooding handsomeness that was commented on at least once a day by random strangers on the internet—although he largely kept himself as anonymous as possible. He spent what little spare time he had in his home gym and had a chef and trainer on speed dial. Yet when it came to looking at himself, he just couldn’t stomach it.

  He sat down at his desk, rubbing his face with his hands and feeling his stubble scratch his palms. He knew he was lucky to have such a prolific company and staff who really cared about what they did. He had counted his blessings when Forbes listed him as one to watch, then added him to their rich list not too long afterward. He knew that his billionaire lifestyle would be the envy of most twenty-four-year-old men and women—the houses, the cars, the holidays he could take any time he wanted to—and he never took any of that for granted. Yet all Jackson could think, as he sat in his soft leather chair in his Vanquish suit that had been a gift from the exclusive New York department store, Carrolls, was how much he missed having someone to love.

  The thoughts were too much, threatening to overwhelm him. Jackson sat upright and slapped his cheeks with his palms.

  “Come on, Jax,” he said aloud to himself. “You know you don’t deserve love.”

  He shot out of his chair and picked up his briefcase. He had a plane waiting to take him back to Willingham. The dread in his stomach was as heavy as the sugar-drenched air as Jackson stepped out of the office and began the journey back to his home town.

  3

  “Clemmie!”

  Clementine’s mom squealed with delight as Clementine walked into the kitchen, the screen door banging shut behind her.

  “Hi, mom,” she replied, setting down her carryall and balancing her purse on top. Her box of secrets was stashed safely inside. She had put the ring back under the papers and closed the box tight when the taxi driver had started telling her how much he loved gummy sweets. The ring had been safely stored for thirteen years, the last thing Clementine needed now was a hungry taxi driver eating her childhood wedding ring, no matter how long it had been since she’d seen the groom.

  “It’s so good to see you,” said her mom, gathering her up in a hug that smelt of freshly baked bread and cinnamon. “You’re finally home.”

  Home.

  It had taken just over five hours and used up nearly all of her savings, but Clementine was home. She had been concerned at how long it would take to settle back into the farmhouse with its ancient Aga and temperamental faucets. But as soon as the taxi had turned off the road into the long drive, flanked on either side by fenced paddocks as far as the eyes could see, Clementine realized her heart had never really left. She was out of the taxi before the driver had stopped, dashing around the side of the house to the back door and straight into the heart of the house.

  “Oh Clemmie,” her mom mumbled through their hug. “Let me look at you.”

  She broke out of the hug and held Clementine by the shoulders at arm’s length to get a better view—which was quite hard for her to do at only five foot. Clementine felt her own eyes well up at the sight of her mom, and she blinked them away with a smile.

  “I’ve missed you, mom,” she said, her words staccato with emotion.

  “Five years. Five whole years without a visit.”

  “We Skyped!”

  “I can’t hug my daughter over Skype, can I? Oh, come here.”

  Her mom gathered her back into a warm hug which only ended because the taxi driver cleared his throat rather loudly at the doorway. Clementine had no idea how long he had been standing there with her suitcase and trunk.

  “Sorry, sorry,” she said, breaking free of her mom’s arms and going to retrieve her luggage. “Thank you so much, can I offer you a coffee before you head back?”

  The taxi driver shook his head but thanked her all the same.

  “You take care of yourself now,” he said, as he headed back to the front of the farmhouse and his taxi. Clementine followed him out, steeling herself against the cool night air. “You’ve made the right decision,” the man said over his shoulder. “He looked like a sniveling snotball.”

  The driver grinned at Clementine’s shocked face and climbed into the car. She waved, still speechless, as he sped off into the dark.

  “I hate to say it, Clems, but I agree.” Her mom stood behind her, wrapped in a shawl that had seen better days, a knowing smile growing on her face. “Now, let’s head back inside and get you some hot chocolate. You still like those little sprinkles on the top of the cream?”

  Clementine shook her head in disbelief, but she couldn’t help but smile. They linked arms and headed back into the warmth of the kitchen.

  Clementine woke to a chorus of birdsong that seemed to fill her room with as much light and warmth as the sunlight that crept under the curtains, pooling on the floor. Her bed was old, the metal framework still damaged from when Clementine had tried to scrape off the dusky pink paint during her rebellious teenage years. But it was the most comfortable bed Clementine had ever known, and because of this Clementine had no idea what the time was or how long she’d been asleep.

  With a wonderful warm feeling spreading through her body, she realized it didn’t matter what time in the morning it was. There was nobody to tell her she was being lazy, nobody to warn her that her customers wouldn’t like her if they knew she wasn’t working hard enough, nobody to drag her into the day and force a smile on her face.

  Pullin
g back the quilt, Clementine dropped her feet onto the worn carpet and stretched up to the ceiling. She could hear singing in the air and, pulling on her old dressing gown which she found hanging on the hook behind her bedroom door, she padded down the stairs to the kitchen.

  “Morning, Pumpkin,” said her dad, who was sitting at the huge kitchen table in the middle of the room.

  “Daddy!”

  Clementine ran over and threw her arms around his neck. Her mom, still singing, wandered over and kissed her gently on the head.

  “Morning, mom,” she said, looking over to the stove. “What smells so good?”

  “Lunch,” her mom laughed. “And good afternoon, my darling.”

  Clementine furrowed her brows and stood up.

  “Afternoon?” she said.

  “You obviously needed the rest,” her dad replied, going back to his plate of food.

  “It’s okay, love,” said her mom. “We didn’t want to wake you after such a busy, emotional day. Plus, it was past one when you got to bed.” She stirred the pot, steam filling the air with the delicious scent of corn chowder. “You want a bowl?”

  Clementine shook her head, still too thrown by how long she’d slept to be hungry.

  “I think I’m going to go for a walk first, if that’s okay?”

  Her mom nodded and turned her attention back to the stove.

  “Keep off the far field, Pumpkin,” her dad piped up, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “I’m digging it over, don’t want you falling in a trench.”

  He winked at her and picked up his spoon, diving once again into his bowl of chowder.

  Clementine slipped on a pair of rain boots that stood by the door, then pulled a large hand knitted shawl from the hook and wrapped it over her shoulders to keep away the chill in the air.

  The farm was just as she remembered, now that she could see it in the light of day. The farmhouse sat in the middle of their land, fields on all sides as far as her eyes could see. With the winter snow melted, the fields looked muddy and churned and Clementine had an urge to run through them, splashing as hard as she could. Dressed in pajamas, a bath robe, and rain boots, it wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had, so she resisted the urge, poking her toe in a deep puddle instead.

  The feeling evoked a sudden memory, hidden in the depths of her mind and only jogged back to the here and now by the familiarity of the surroundings. She chuckled to herself as she pictured two young children rolling around in the deep puddles of the back field, trying to cover themselves from head to toe in mud. Her body buzzed as she remembered trudging back to the farm, shivering with anticipation and excitement. The two swamp monsters—for that is what they were—hugged a goodbye and headed their separate ways.

  One of those children had been her, and the other had been Jackson, her childhood sweetheart. Clementine had watched him slop his way back to the gate between their homes, disappearing behind the thick hedge down the path to his own farmhouse and leaving a trail of dirt in his wake. Then, all alone, the mud had lost its excitement. Her shivers had turned to those of coldness. She no longer felt like a formidable monster capable of scaring away all of her worries. She had shuffled as best she could to the kitchen door and stood, stock still, until her mom had turned from the stove and caught sight of her. That was the first and only time that Clementine had had an outside shower under a freezing cold hose.

  A stab of sadness filled her chest and she looked up and realized she was standing at the gate, climbed over all those years ago by young Jackson’s swamp monster. The gate was now brown with rust, held up on its hinges by the brambles climbing through the rungs. The hedgerow on either side was taller than Clementine remembered, the tops sticking up like Jackson’s hair used to when he missed his appointment at the barbers. She leant over the top of the gate as carefully as possible, so the thorns didn’t snag her clothes, trying to catch a glimpse of the other farmhouse. But it was impossible. Their fields were too overgrown, the weeds too high to see any further than a few feet.

  There was no way around, the only access to the Brodie farm was through this gate—not unless she wanted to walk down her own driveway, out onto the road, and back up another driveway twice the length. In her current attire, Clementine didn’t fancy that, and the brambles posed too much of a risk, especially if they were the only thing holding the gate up. She decided to head back to the warmth of her kitchen, pulled by the rumblings in her stomach. She had plenty of time to explore.

  Clementine pulled back from the gate, watching as a flock of crows exploded out of the weeds in the neighboring field and up into the bright blue sky. They squawked loudly, upset at being disturbed, and circled above their resting place. They were still circling as Clementine slipped out of the boots at the back door and headed in for some chowder.

  4

  Jackson brushed away the cobwebs and surveyed his surroundings from the doorway. The farmhouse no longer belonged to the Brodie’s, it was now home to all the different of species of animal and bird and insect that had stumbled upon it in the years since he’d been gone. The plant life had rendered the windows and doors useless. Ivy crawled up the inside walls, decorating the plasterwork with its green spindly fingers and picking holes in any vulnerable spots.

  A deep sense of shame fell over him and he had to pin his feet to the dusty floor to stop them from running back to the motorbike he’d ridden here from the private airfield. The house was so different to what he had become used to. From the penthouse suite in the city with his concierge to attend to his every need, to a dusty decrepit farmhouse whose only staff consisted of the racoons who’d sooner steal food than offer it. Jackson kicked at the dirt on the tiles with his Gucci sneakers, his head bent low. He dropped his bag on the floor and headed back out the door—which was clinging on to the frame by a single hinge, secured by an abundance of weeds.

  The fresh air was welcome. The house had smelt of damp and mold and Jackson could feel the plant spores swimming around his lungs. He coughed reflexively and took a deep breath of fresh country air.

  What am I doing here? he thought to himself as he wandered through the horseshoe shaped courtyard.

  The Brodie farmhouse was set in the middle of the horseshoe, with barns and stables enclosing it. Once upon time it had been a thriving courtyard, with horses whinnying to be released into the fields and chickens running underfoot as though they wanted to be squished. Now, though, weeds poked up through the brick weave and mice nested in the stables. He almost didn’t want to see the devastation he was sure had been wreaked on the fields. If the wildlife could take over a house that had been locked tight, he could only imagine what it would have done to the easily accessible outdoors.

  He picked his way over the broken bricks to the side of the courtyard. His heart dropped as he passed the large barn that used to house the machinery. That was one locked building he was never, ever going in again, no matter what was now living in there. Ever since the accident he’d not been able to face the thought of that barn, and a dark wave of guilt washed over him as he walked past the bolted door.

  The buildings gave way to the open fields, which used to stretch as far as Jackson’s eye could see on one side, flanked on the other by a hedge that his dad used to tend religiously every spring and autumn. He remembered watching his dad climb into the muddy tractor fitted with a large chainsaw on an extending arm and drive slowly up and down the field, the chainsaw levelling the tops of the hedge just so. Jackson had run along behind the tractor, dodging the falling tops, laughing so much he’d get a stitch in his side and eventually have to admit defeat.

  Lost in his thoughts, Jackson found himself walking toward the gate that separated his own farm from that of the Harper’s. Following the unkempt hedge, he stumbled in a furrow, cursing his footwear as he landed heavily on his right knee. The sudden movement sent a flock of crows flying up into the sky, startling Jackson more than the fall had. He picked himself up, pulling his knee from the mud with a satisfying, squelchy po
p. His sneakers were ruined. His jeans too.

  Jackson, you’re an idiot, he thought to himself. You’ve become too used to the city. Everyone would be laughing at you now, trying to walk through the fields in sneakers in April.

  He attempted to rub his sneakers on the only patch of grass he could find, then turned on his heels to head back to the house. There were things to sort if he was going to stay here for a few nights. The very thought made him shudder, and he shook it off, angry that his family home was now a source for yet more stress. As he turned, Jackson thought he saw a glimpse of someone standing at the gate. He stopped and stared, squinting in the sunlight to get a better look. But there was no one there. Disappointment curdled heavily in his stomach as he trudged back to the farm.

  Of course, it wasn’t her, he chided himself as he made it back to dryish land. That would be impossible.

  When his parents had dragged him away after the accident, Jackson had checked every day—every hour even—to see what Clementine was up to on social media. He had wanted to remain an important part of her life, he had wanted to contact her and apologize for leaving so abruptly. But he couldn’t, because if he did that he would have to tell her why they had left so abruptly. Even though she knew most of the story, the one piece she didn’t know would have ruined everything.

  Over the years he had checked less and less, until she moved her account over to LifeWrite and Jackson had decided to quit social media altogether. The last he knew, Clementine was living with her boyfriend and they had set up business together. He had been pleased she had been able to move on with her life, that she hadn’t been waiting around for him still, but it had still hurt.