The Last Charm: The most page-turning and emotional summer romance fiction of 2020!

by Ella Allbright

  How can he tell her that all the charms bar one have been from him, when he knows it will break her heart? For the last six years he’s bought her charms based on what Ray’s dropped into conversation about her life, whereas she’s believed her mum sends them. She draws comfort and hope from that belief.

  Now it’s gone on so long he feels trapped by his own lies. If he stops sending them, she’ll be devastated, because it’ll mean no contact from her mum at all and she’ll feel like she’s losing her all over again.

  At last, he mutters, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t stay in touch. I should have done. I’m not back for long but I promise next time I’m home on leave I’ll look you up. Okay? To be honest, I didn’t think it would matter that much to you.’

  A wave of heat surges up her neck and into her face, mottling her skin. She steps back. ‘It didn’t, don’t worry about it.’ Averting her gaze, she gabbles, ‘Look, I’ve got to run. Mr Strickland will be wondering where I am. Let me grab my insurance details.’

  He watches her dive into the front of her car as he pulls his wallet out. A minute later she’s pressed her details into his hand on a scrappy bit of paper. It’s written in blue pencil and is barely legible. He squints at it, trying to read. The details he’s given her are in neat block writing on the back of a business card someone once gave him, noted down in case of an accident.

  She mouths the insurance company name and number as she reads it. ‘You came well prepared.’

  ‘Maybe Navy life has given me self-discipline and now I prepare in advance.’

  ‘There’s that chip again.’ She moves closer and pretends to brush it off his shoulder, before awkwardly stepping back.

  He laughs, defusing the tension between them.

  ‘Preparing in advance sounds a bit boring to me,’ she says. ‘I’d rather not waste time doing things now that I might not have to worry about doing at all.’ She folds the card in half and shoves it carelessly in her pocket. ‘To be honest, you always struck me as independent, so it doesn’t surprise me you’re organised. I guess you were used to looking after yourself.’ She straightens. ‘Anyway, make sure you tell the insurance company the accident was your fault before heading off again overseas. I could do without having to wait months for this to be sorted.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll call them –’ he raises one eyebrow ‘– to confirm it was your fault, and that you need to pay for the damage.’

  ‘I reversed first,’ she retorts, ‘so it was your fault. You should take responsibility.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Got any witnesses who are going to agree with you?’

  They both look around at the empty car park.

  She groans. ‘Jake, you might be earning an annual salary, but I’m not. I’m just a poor student who spends all her money on art supplies and petrol. Come on. You owe me.’ She pulls a hopeful expression. ‘Don’t forget I saved your life once.’

  ‘Don’t forget I saved you from being expelled once. I’d call it even, as you said that night on the beach. No deal.’

  ‘You said it didn’t make us even, that you used me to get what you wanted, to leave home.’

  ‘I said a lot of things back then.’ He sighs. ‘I shouldn’t have said I used you. I’ve grown up since.’

  ‘Sounds boring,’ she mutters, looking down and fiddling with her charm bracelet.

  He flicks the tiny car charm, knowing he’s tempting fate. He’s not ready to say goodbye yet though. ‘You got another one.’

  She looks up. ‘Yeah. Grandad started teaching me to drive on his friend’s farm just after my sixteenth. It was in the New Forest, so great scenery and lots of private land to practise on. I studied hard to pass the theory test as soon as I hit seventeen, and then took a few lessons to help pass the driving test. The charm arrived a few weeks later.’

  ‘You like it then?’ He holds his breath.

  ‘Yeah, it’s cute.’ She grins.

  He nods. ‘You passed your test quite quickly.’

  ‘Not something you usually associate with me, huh?’ Her mouth quirks up on one side. ‘I really wanted a car to get around on my own. There are loads of amazing places I want to paint and taking an easel on the bus is no fun. My friends didn’t exactly relish driving me to deserted places and waiting around for hours on end either.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘But after I passed my test, Dad and Grandad clubbed together and matched some savings I had, and we bought this rust bucket.’ She kicks the vintage Beetle’s back tyre fondly.

  ‘You’re lucky they did that for you.’

  ‘Yeah. But I’m also the youngest in my year and having to wait nearly twelve months while all my friends got cars has been crap. The thirty-first of August is the worst day ever to be born on; I’m just lagging behind constantly. The least Mum could’ve done was cross her legs for an extra couple of days. Then I’d be the oldest in my year instead of the youngest.’

  ‘You’re right, she was completely selfish,’ he says, with a straight face. ‘But I don’t think the thirty-first of August is all bad.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  Jake starts walking backwards, taking one last look at her, waving her insurance details in the air. ‘Because someone born on that day is paying for my dad’s car to be repaired.’

  ‘That’s not funny,’ she hollers as he gets in the BMW and reverses around in an arc to face the exit.

  He rolls down his window and gives Leila a cheerful wave. ‘Take care, Jones. My insurance company will be in touch soon.’

  ‘Jake, you sod!’ she howls as he drives off, revving the engine. ‘God. You’re always so cocky!’

  The sight of her fills his rear-view mirror as he leaves the school grounds. She wraps her arms around her waist, the fur on her collar bunching up around her glowering face. The clouds part and a ray of sunlight shines through, glinting off the diamond stud in her nose. ‘The other thing about the thirty-first of August,’ Jake says to himself as he presses on the accelerator, ‘is that I think someone born on that day is pretty spectacular.’

  Leila

  30 August 2008

  The 18th Birthday Charm

  ‘Urgh, I can’t believe my eighteenth is on a Sunday,’ I moan to Eloise, tugging the short prom-style dress down over my thighs. Desperately trying to create some cleavage, I reposition the pads inside my strapless push-up bra.

  ‘Yeah, it sucks,’ she agrees, mouth dropping open as she applies mascara to her long, dark lashes. ‘It’s pretty much the most boring day of the week. Only Mondays are worse.’ Her big blue eyes find mine in the mirror. ‘But on the other hand, you get to party Saturday night and be hung over tomorrow. You’ve also convinced your dad to let it just be us on the boat, no parents, only crew. That’s cool because they’re pretty much just there to make sure we have a good time, given how much you’re paying for the cruise. So, it should be one hell of a party.’ She wiggles her eyebrows.

  I gulp, ‘I hope so.’ In all honesty, El is the one who’s talked me into this party. I’m an introvert at heart. I love spending time with my close friends but I’m never happier than when I’m alone drawing, painting, or reading. After six months of being worn down by her, and how excited she was at the thought of a boat party, I gave in. I didn’t think many people would come, and I suspect most of them are only doing so because El is so popular and there’s free booze, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.

  ‘Plus, you’ll get loads of cool swag,’ she continues. ‘You’re bound to with, like, eighty people coming.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Then, coming up behind her, I frown at my reflection. ‘I’m eighteen tomorrow. We’re off to uni soon. When the hell are my boobs going to come in?’

  ‘You’ve got a gorgeous figure. Don’t try and change it.’

  ‘Easy for you to say,’ I grumble, ‘you’re, as Jonny says, bootylicious.’ I stare at her curvy body and the cleavage spilling from her tight white top worn with a silver sequin miniskirt. Totally impractical platform heels are on her feet and she’s wear
ing a boho headband she’s seen Mischa Barton off The O.C. wear to some awards event. The combination of pop, hippy, and disco styles should look ridiculous, but as usual my friend pulls it off, effortlessly cool.

  ‘I mean it.’ She spins to face me. ‘You’ve got the same figure as Taylor Swift. Slim, graceful. You’re lucky.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, exactly like T-Swift,’ she says with a straight face, before ruining it by snorting, ‘just three-quarters of a foot shorter.’

  ‘Thanks!’ I’m rolling my eyes as Chloe and Shell spill into Eloise’s room, both laughing. We always get ready here because she has the biggest bedroom of all our houses. Plus, neither Eloise nor her parents mind us slinging bags in the corner or leaving a trail of girly devastation behind us. My dad would have a heart attack if we left my room in this state. Leaving from here also means I don’t need to face a long list of questions from him just before my party. We did our father-daughter chat earlier. He’s still pretty protective, even though I’ve reminded him every day for the last few weeks about my impending adulthood.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Chloe asks, sitting down on the striped duvet. She looks stunning with her light blue eyes rimmed with black eyeliner and her shoulder-length brown bob styled in flicks around her face.

  ‘Leila’s worrying her petite little body will put Cameron off tonight,’ Eloise drawls, tipping her head at me. ‘You guys are planning to finally have sex, aren’t you? I mean, you’ve made the poor guy wait long enough.’

  I flush. ‘Shut up, El.’

  ‘Leave her alone,’ Shell immediately defends, looking like a blonde-highlighted goddess in denim shorts, a floaty babydoll top and gladiator sandals. ‘She doesn’t need you on her back.’

  ‘All right, calm down,’ Eloise jokes. Unaffected, she turns back to the mirror and her make-up.

  Shell glances at me, mouthing, ‘You okay?’ I nod in reply, but my stomach sinks.

  ***

  A while later we’ve boarded The Dorset Princess for my party, a three-hour cruise around Poole Harbour, past stunning Sandbanks and beautiful Brownsea Island. I’ve chosen prosecco for drinks (it feels so grown up) and we’re having a fish and chip supper people can eat straight out of the wrapping. There’s also a fully staffed bar below decks. It turns out there’s one good thing about being the youngest person in my year after all. Everyone else is already eighteen, and they’ve got ID to prove it, so there’s no need to worry about smuggling alcohol on board tonight. The crew have agreed to turn a blind eye if I have a few alcoholic drinks before midnight, especially as we’ll be out at sea.

  Cameron comes up, slinging his arm around me as I lean against the rail watching the crew members undoing ropes and getting ready to cast off. ‘Hey, gorgeous,’ he murmurs in my ear, ‘happy birthday for tomorrow. Are you ready for your birthday surprise later?’ His breath is hot on my earlobe and I squirm slightly.

  ‘Sure,’ I reply, staring fixedly at the concrete quayside.

  He huffs, ‘You could sound a bit more excited. I’ve booked us a hotel room for tonight. It’s not cheap, you know.’

  ‘You have?’ I can’t quite keep the dismay out of my voice as I turn in his arms to gaze into his eyes. They’re usually a warm brown, but now they look cold and hard.

  ‘Problem?’ His eyes narrow.

  ‘No, of c-course not. It’s just Dad’s expecting me back tonight and I was going to have a birthday breakfast with him in the morning. Plus, I’m not seeing Grandad until tomorrow afternoon when he gets back from his fishing trip. I wanted to be home when he got in.’ In my head, I add, and you haven’t even asked if staying in a hotel is what I want, if taking our relationship to the next level is what’s right for me.

  ‘Well, sorry if our sex life is getting in the way of your plans,’ he replies snarkily. ‘It’s not like I’ve been patient or anything.’

  I start shaking. ‘Cameron, please don’t be like this.’ I twist my multi-coloured cocktail ring around my finger and then readjust my chunky statement necklace. It suddenly feels like it’s choking me. He can be so sweet, and I do like spending time with him, even if we’re very different. His family are rich, posh, and live in a massive house. It’s in marked contrast to my family’s modest lifestyle. ‘You don’t need lots of money,’ Grandad once told me when I complained about not having the newest model of mobile phone, ‘if the job you do has value and the people around you add wealth to your life.’ It sounded cheesy at the time, and I flounced out of the room, but I get it now. It’s your purpose in life and your family and friends that count, not material things.

  Cameron, on the other hand, just doesn’t understand living on a budget or working hard to get decent A-levels, because he’s lined up to run the family business. It can make him a bit spoilt sometimes, and more and more recently I’ve felt the sharp edge of his short temper.

  ‘You know –’ he removes his arm from around my shoulders and steps away, gazing past my left ear ‘– your friends are looking good tonight. Michelle in particular is really hot. Look at that top on her. I mean, wow,’ he says in a low voice.

  Winded, I spin around to face them, knowing he’s trying to punish me. ‘They do look nice,’ I reply in a neutral tone, not wanting to start an argument or get upset at my own party. Chloe and Shell are chatting with their heads together, and Eloise is standing a few feet away, laughing up at something Jonny’s saying. His surfer-style hair is getting shaggy and she reaches up to tuck it behind his ear. He catches hold of her hand, kissing her open palm. Neither of them cares that they’re in a crowded room surrounded by kids their own age; they just love each other. It must be nice, and I feel a pang of something unnameable, knowing I don’t feel that way about Cameron.

  Plus, he’s wrong. My friends aren’t hot. They’re beautiful, inside and out. And none of them, not one, would betray me. Do I really want to stay with someone who hurts me on purpose, because he’s not getting his own way? But you do like him, a voice whispers in my head, and you can’t throw away seven months of happiness over one comment. I ignore the other voice saying this is far from the first time he’s upset me recently. Still, I’m not going to act all needy or give him the apology he obviously wants.

  ‘Whatever,’ he snaps, ‘I’m getting a beer.’

  I shrug and raise the glass of prosecco to my lips, turning my back on my boyfriend while I wait for my eyes to stop stinging.

  Switching my attention from the pubs, cafés, and the small amusement arcade lining Poole Quay and back to the dock, I notice the last member of the crew running along the metal plank from the corner of my eye. Once he’s reached the deck, the plank is pulled in. All ropes have been cast off. The boat’s engines growl to life and there’s motion beneath our feet. A diesel smell wafts through the air. As I gulp down fizzing alcohol, the boat moves away from shore and my friends join me at the rail so we’re standing in a row. Shell puts a hand over my clenched fingers, telling me without words she’s noticed Cameron’s strop. Eloise leans over the top rail, adventurous as ever, and bends to look at the name of the boat painted on its side. ‘Jonny says I’m his princess,’ she announces.

  Chloe makes a clicking sound with her tongue. ‘I’d rather be someone’s boss than their princess.’

  ‘Each to their own.’ Eloise smiles. ‘You’ll be a high flier in the City in no time.’

  Slipping into silence, we watch the distance between boat and quay grow as we chug away. As we do, two figures come racing into view.

  ‘Wait!’ A man’s voice shouts, cutting through the evening air.

  ‘Hang on!’ Another guy yells, and I recognise Owen Plaitford with his long legs and lanky frame. I invited him because he’s older than us – at uni now – and cool, but he never RSVP’d. A mutual friend said they thought he’d gone skiing to Val d’Isère or something. It crossed my mind that if Owen came, Jake might do too, if he’s due shore leave.

  Without slowing, they pump their arms and legs harder, speedi
ng up as one falls in behind the other on approach to the boat. Taking a running leap across the churning water, Owen makes it safely on deck as a quick-thinking crew member opens the gate for him. As he does so, I catch sight of the other guy. My stomach dips as I realise it is Jake. My heart’s in my mouth as I watch him stretch his legs and jump even further. There’s no way he can possibly make it. Shell gasps. Eloise mutters, ‘Wow!’ And Chloe mutters, ‘Impressive,’ as with barely any effort he lands next to Owen. Casually straightening his top, he shakes hands with the crew member and clasps him on the shoulder in thanks. We all stare.

  ‘It’s like watching Daniel Craig,’ Chloe muses, referring to the newest James Bond. ‘Except he’s dark, not blond. I wonder what he looks like with slicked-back hair, coming out of the water in tiny shorts?’

  Eloise snickers, covering her mouth with her hand.

  My cheeks burn. Last year when we bumped cars, I thought Jake looked gorgeous in his jeans and tight black T-shirt with his height and toned arms. He looks even better now. But I have a boyfriend and it’s not like that between me and Jake. I still can’t believe I said that stuff to him about being annoyed because he didn’t stay in touch. As soon as I’d shared it, I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole. What was I thinking? It sounded like I was practically begging for his friendship, or attention. He’s never shown any sign of liking me as anything other than a friend. I mean, he doesn’t even call me by my first name. Plus, it’s been ages since I last saw him and if someone likes you, they stay in your life. Whereas he keeps leaving. Though I guess, there are the postcards. He sends them to keep in touch. Just once every four months or so, with a picture of whatever country he’s in, and a few scribbled lines on the back. I keep them in a bundle in my top drawer, tied together with a purple ribbon. There’s never a return address, so I can’t reply.

  ‘He’s all right,’ I say casually, ‘if you like the broad-shouldered, muscular, cocky type.’

  Chloe raises her eyebrows but says nothing.