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

by Ella Allbright

‘I’m not sure, Jake.’

  ‘Not sure about what? Trying in a couple of years, or trying full stop?’

  She flinches at his tone, her expression uneasy as she scans his face. ‘You must remember what I went through with the miscarriage. I’m not sure if I could go through that again.’

  ‘I understand, but you wouldn’t be alone this time. You’d have me. And just because it happened before, it doesn’t mean it would again. Don’t you remember about the rainbow baby?’ He points to the tiny multi-coloured charm on her bracelet.

  ‘It’s not just that,’ she interjects, flushing. ‘What kind of mum do you think I’d be? I didn’t have a role model around to teach me.’

  ‘What about my own parents and the poor role models they were? Mum’s been great over the years since he left, but I’m hardly a poster child for a happy home, am I? Not everyone gets what you had with your father and Ray. And now you have your mum back, and you’re becoming close. I know how much she hurt you, but you don’t get to keep hugging that hurt to you, using it to stop us from moving forward.’

  She inhales sharply. ‘Jake …’

  ‘I’m just being honest about what I want and what I’d like us to have together.’ Standing up, he scrapes his chair back and transfers his still full plate from the table to the counter top with a clatter. At the noise, Fleur comes bounding in, intrigued to see what all the fuss is about. She lays her head on Leila’s knee and watches Jake.

  Stepping back, he swipes his hand through the air, hurt at Leila’s view of things. ‘I need to know that one day you’re going to stand on firm ground with me so we can build a life together. Which means babies, a family.’

  ‘How can I build a life with you, when I almost destroyed someone else’s?’ she cries.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he asks, bewildered.

  And in a rush, she finally tells him all about what happened when she was thirteen. Everything she’s been holding back. About the frustrated and rage-filled girl she was, so angry at her mum for leaving, so full of hormones and a burning sense of injustice. Staying after school one day to paint, she’d been alone and lost her temper when she couldn’t get the angle on a vase right and flung a jar of turpentine across the room. It’d smashed into pieces and sent turps trickling along the lino floor. Grabbing some blue hand-towels from the dispenser in the corner, she’d stumbled back across the room, catching her hip on the teacher’s desk, knocking her teacher’s handbag over. Hesitating, Leila had picked up a pack of matches that’d fallen from the bag and carried them over to the spilt liquid almost in a daze.

  ‘I wasn’t thinking properly.’ She looks haunted as she relives the past. ‘It was an impulsive act, a stupid moment. I was just so furious all the time, and wanted to see it burn …’

  ‘So, you set it alight?’

  She nods, gulping. ‘The turps caught so quickly, and raced across the classroom, consuming wooden desks, stacks of paper and art supplies. Before I knew it, the room was full of dense smoke and heat, and was coming to get me. I started choking, turned to run away but stumbled over something and fell. Mrs Green got back just in time and pulled me out.’ She shudders, ‘My back was on fire and she had to put it out with her hands, rolling me on the corridor floor.’ Sobbing, she drops her head into her hands. ‘She came off worse than me and had to have skin grafts. She almost lost her job for leaving me alone in the classroom, and for having the matches in her bag. She was a smoker. But it was my fault, all mine.’ Raising her face as he steps forward to comfort her, she puts a hand up to stop him. ‘I don’t deserve your comfort. The day after they let me out of hospital I ran away from home.’ He’s shocked, unable to speak. ‘Dad was frantic. I was gone for two days, hiding out at a shelter in the park. The police brought me home and put the fear of God into me. Shortly afterwards, we moved back to Bournemouth. It’s why Dad was always worried about me running –’ she sniffs ‘– and why he’s always been worried about me drifting off. He thinks the fire was set by accident, that I wasn’t paying attention. But the truth is much worse, and almost cost someone dearly.’

  Moving to her as she finishes her tale, he puts his arms around her shoulders and holds tight, resisting when she tries to push him away. Compassion flows through him as he finally understands her. Why she doesn’t like losing her temper. Why she reacts when people accuse her of being like her mum. ‘You were a mixed-up, angry kid. Teenagers are known for acting on impulse; it’s part of the way they’re built. Okay, someone was hurt, but did your teacher actually get fired? Did she lose the use of her hands?’

  ‘No.’ She lifts her face. ‘The last I heard, she kept her job and recovered. I sent her a sorry card, but never heard back. Then we moved. I-I looked her up on Facebook once. She’s still at the same school. It didn’t stop me feeling so awful and guilty though.’

  ‘You’ve carried it around for years, haven’t you? Is that why sometimes you don’t paint for long periods? Because the smell of turps brings it back?’

  ‘I—’ Her eyebrows pull together. ‘I’ve never put it together like that, but yes, I guess, in a weird way, sometimes it does.’

  ‘Well, it’s time to forgive yourself, Jones.’ A small smile tugs the side of her mouth at the use of her old nickname. He calls her Leila nowadays. ‘You deserve to be happy and need to live your life. Put it behind you. Come on.’ Lifting her from the seat, he gives her a quick kiss.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘We’re going to bed, where I’m going to hold you and kiss all your troubles away and run my lips over that scar on your back. It’s as a much a part of you as anything else, a piece of your history that’s made you who you are.’ Easing her toward the door, he adds, ‘Besides, I can’t have you being upset the night before your birthday. So, I guess I’ll just need to cheer you up with my strapping body and smooth moves.’

  Picking her up as she reluctantly laughs, he heads for the door. She places a finger on the scar above his lip as he carries her up the stairs. ‘Thank you. I can’t get over it just like that, but it’s a start, and I feel better talking about it.’ She pauses. ‘I love you millions.’

  ‘Me too.’

  That night, they make love delicately, savouring each other and the life they share. Finally, there’s no reason to hold back and she gives everything to him, and he to her. They fall asleep holding each other, and Jake can’t remember ever feeling happier.

  ***

  The next morning, Jake wakes Leila up early. ‘Happy Birthday,’ he whispers into her neck, before straightening up.

  ‘Huh?’ She opens bleary eyelids, taking in his suit and tie. ‘You’re going already?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. You know how important this interview is. I wouldn’t leave you otherwise, today of all days.’ He gestures to the tray on the bedside unit. It contains a teapot, mug, sugar, and crispy bacon sandwich slick with tomato ketchup, just the way she likes it. ‘But I made you a birthday breakfast.’ There’s a single red rose too, and a card propped up against it.

  ‘Aww, thank you. No fair that I didn’t get to wake up with you in bed though.’ She yawns, dragging herself into a seated position and pushing the mass of hair away from her face.

  ‘I know,’ he says sympathetically, plucking the card up and handing it to her. ‘But follow this today, and I’ll see you later this afternoon.’

  ‘Follow it?’ she looks puzzled.

  ‘It’ll make sense when you open it. I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late. Speaking of, are you okay? About Ray and the anniversary?’

  ‘Yes.’ She nods. ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘Good. I love you millions.’ He kisses her pale, slim shoulder and then her forehead, before backing out of the bedroom with a wave.

  The sound of her voice follows him down the stairs. ‘Love you millions,’ she echoes. He grins as he leaves home, excited about the day ahead.

  Leila

  31 August 2017

  I can’t believe Jake has organised a treasure hunt fo
r my birthday. It’s so sweet. He really is one in a million.

  I know that now more than ever, because he was so supportive last night when I finally told him about that terrible day when I was thirteen. I’ve carried it around with me for years, the guilt gnawing away, and had built it into such a big thing in my head, but Jake’s words helped me see I’ve been too hung up on it. I need to let it go. It was stupid, and irresponsible, but I learnt from it. I learnt to control my temper, and I learnt that actions have consequences, and that running away from your problems doesn’t solve them. If anything, it makes them worse.

  I’m so glad I stopped running from my feelings for Jake; stopped running from my fears about losing him as a friend. The last three years have been incredible. We’ve built a home together, a life, and when I look at him, I feel happy and at peace. He’s still my friend but so much more, especially after everything we’ve been through together. He makes me a better person.

  He’s the love of my life.

  It really is true that life is never quite what you think it’s going to be. It can take you by surprise and lead you to the most unexpected places.

  Today has been brilliant so far. I’ve spent hours driving around following Jake’s handwritten clues across the county, reminding me of how beautiful Dorset really is, from windswept beaches to fields and forests.

  I could sense the clues were coming to an end when this last one led me to my second favourite place in the world. Arriving at Lulworth Cove after an arduous hour’s drive from West Bay in the summer traffic, I decided to walk down to the beach at the bottom of the path before hunting for the next clue.

  Now, standing here savoring the breathtaking view, my mouth curves at how Jake calls this my ‘calm place’. The horseshoe-shaped cove has arching cliffs on one side and high green hills settled over chalk cliffs on the other. People walk their dogs along the shore or stand eating ice creams from one of several kiosks. It’s hard to believe World War Z was shot here, masquerading as Nova Scotia.

  Some of these Dorset beaches remind me of the northern French coast, and thinking of France takes me back to Chloe and Owen’s wedding at Lake Annecy. How beautiful but how fraught it all was, and how it was part of the catalyst for bringing Jake and me together at last. Smiling, I play with my French flag charm, forever grateful Jake was so patient and waited for me.

  Raising my arm, I study my silver bracelet. It’s mine and Jake’s now, ours. The thought of how many more precious memories we have to make together, and the charms he’ll buy me to represent those, brings joyful tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat.

  I frown as I realise the clasp is caught on the inside of my sleeve. As I’m trying to untangle it from the fine knit of my cardigan, my phone starts ringing. Digging the mobile out of my front pocket, I accept the call before sticking the phone between my shoulder and ear as I fiddle with my bracelet.

  An unknown voice in my ear asks for Miss Jones, peppering me with questions as I undo the bracelet in order to set it free. My brain, distracted trying to split itself between two tasks, finally settles on the person on the other end of the line as my bracelet undoes. I grip the phone with my suddenly free hand.

  ‘What did you just say?’ I whisper numbly.

  When she answers, I spin around and sprint towards the car, churning up stones as I go.

  Jake

  31 August 2017

  Jake’s hands grip the steering wheel, zipping the silver Hyundai along the M3, weaving in and out of traffic. The interview at Southampton General Hospital for an OT position has gone well, and after a quick lunch he’s set off back down south to find Leila. What he hasn’t counted on is the volume of traffic, with the end of the summer holidays.

  He has a cool-box in the boot he’ll fill with food she loves, and a bottle of champagne he’ll get ice for. It’ll make her happy. Hopefully she’ll be even happier with what happens after the picnic. Although there’s still a part of him worrying it’ll make her feel like running, especially after the disagreement about babies last night. He can understand why she’s worried about starting a family, or why she’s not ready yet, especially with the fears about her fitness to be a mother after the legacy her own has left her with. Either way, they’ll figure it out together. They always do. He hasn’t loved her for so many years to throw it all away now.

  Foot pressing down on the accelerator, he indicates as a gap appears in the lane next to him, unaware of the overloaded articulated lorry pulling out three cars behind him. He just wants to get back to the woman he loves. To the girl with the charm bracelet on her wrist and the stars in her eyes. The girl who’s always brought such magic and wonder into his life.

  Leila

  31 August 2017

  Screeching to a halt in Southampton General Hospital car park, I leap from my Fiat, unable to think about parking or tickets or anything else but getting to Jake. I don’t even know how I got here; I can’t remember the drive. He has to be okay.

  Racing into reception, I launch my question at the woman there. ‘Where’s Intensive Care?’

  I’m panting, shaking, sweaty, hair stuck to my forehead. Smiling kindly, she gives me directions in a calm clear voice. ‘Are you ok—?’ she starts to ask as I back away, but I’m already gone, pounding the hallways and stairs with heavy legs which I urge to run faster.

  Arriving at a set of heavy doors, I shove them hard, expecting to be able to burst through them. But they’re locked and I ricochet off, nearly falling over. I peer through the tiny glass windows, pounding on the doors, holding my breath as a nurse walks towards me from inside the ward, holding a finger to her lips.

  As she opens the door, I’m already spilling in. ‘I’m here for Jake Harding.’ It erupts in a rush, the words running together. ‘Where is he?’

  But before her lips can frame an answer, I catch sight of Maggie over the nurse’s shoulder. Her eyes are red and swollen, the lines of her face etched into grooves, making her look twenty years older than the last time I saw her a few days ago.

  I run towards her, clutching her arm as I reach her side. ‘Where is he? What happened?’

  She doesn’t have to answer though. I see the truth in her eyes. But still she says the words that’ll haunt me through thousands of days and nights. ‘He’s gone, Leila. Jake’s dead.’

  ‘No,’ I howl, crumpling into a fractured ball at her feet. ‘No.’ My heart tears apart; life doesn’t make sense any more. Sobbing, I fall into darkness as she mumbles incoherently about a car crash, about how it was quick and he died at the scene despite all the people who tried to save him. Someone is sobbing and shouting, someone is being told to calm down by the medical staff, and firm hands grip my body and lift me from the floor. But it can’t be me making those horrendous sounds; it can’t be me they are half carrying to a nearby bed.

  Because I am dead. I can’t be in the world if Jake isn’t.

  Leila

  September 2017

  The next few days pass in a haze. I flutter between numbness and abject pain, denial, and grief.

  Maggie identified Jake’s body alone at the hospital. Isn’t it odd, the way you have to do that? The way you’re expected to look at someone through so much pain and say, yes, this is them. They were mine. To claim them. As if those words can ever come close to conveying everything they meant to you, who they were to you.

  I tried to go with Maggie but couldn’t cope and had to be sedated. When I came round a while later, Dad and Maggie were at my side.

  ‘It’s him,’ she said, simply.

  I started crying again but scrambled from the mattress, tugging the IV line from my arm and finding the floor with my feet. ‘Where is he?’ I demanded. I had to get to him, I didn’t want him to be alone. Over the years, he’d left me to travel for work, but he’d always been with me, somehow.

  When I found Jake after a scramble through corridors and down stairs, he lay in the centre of a quiet, pale green room on a bed of some kind, a blanket tucked up beneath his c
hin. It was him but it wasn’t him. He looked like he was sleeping, at peace, but his face was different. Slack. I shuffled toward him and placed a hand on his forehead. His skin was cool where it had always been so warm, and I knew then it was really true. He was gone. Everything we’d been to each other, all the memories we shared were no longer contained in the person in front of me. He was somewhere else now, far away, perhaps in the stars which had once shone so brightly above us the night I rescued him.

  I sat with him for hours, holding his chilled hand. I spoke about the story of our life together, about all the aspirations and dreams I’d had for us and our future, all the things I knew he’d have achieved had he not been ripped away from us. I wept, I laughed, I smiled. And then I thanked him for everything he’d given me and for supporting my dreams. I whispered that I was grateful for his love; he’d helped me become a better person.

  When there was a gentle knock on the door, I knew my time was up. Our time was up.

  Sniffling, I placed a kiss on his cheek. Then I picked up his right hand to run his fingers over the charms on my bracelet one last time. I sucked in a breath when I realised it was missing, but the enormity of his death overshadowed the loss.

  Tucking his hand tenderly away beneath the blanket, I stepped back. ‘Goodbye, Jake,’ I whispered. ‘I’ll see you amongst the stars one day.’

  ***

  I survived in a fog during that time. I missed Jake’s presence with a physical ache, the gap he left behind too vast to make sense of.

  ‘I don’t want to do this. Please don’t make me,’ I told Dad fiercely when he walked me into the chapel the day of Jake’s funeral. ‘I can’t say goodbye.’ I was dressed in a riot of colour – the way Jake would have wanted – despite the fact I felt like wearing black from head to toe.

  Dad tightened his hand on my arm as if I’d run away, like I used to. ‘I don’t want to either, but we have to, love, for him.’