For Esther
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
AUTHOR’S NOTE
CHAPTER 1
If my life was a musical right now, it would be that scene at the beginning of Grease where Danny and Sandy are frolicking in the waves, chasing each other up and down the sand dunes, laughing and – let’s not forget this – kissing.
So much kissing.
Fletch and I have been living our best teen-romance lives this summer. And now my head is resting on his lap as we lie on the hill overlooking Crystal Palace Park, the warmth of his thigh under my neck competing with the early evening September sun on my face.
‘Should we think about going?’ I ask, my eyes still half closed. We’re moving all my stuff from my grandmother’s house to Alec’s flat today, but I wanted to bring Fletch here first, for one last moment of ‘us’.
College starts again tomorrow. I’m ridiculously excited about going back to Duke’s, but it’s just been Fletch and me for the whole summer. Everything changes tomorrow: the bubble bursts. Last year, Jade Upton did everything in her power to keep us apart, and it nearly worked. What’s to say something like that won’t happen this year? The last six weeks have been so good; I don’t want anything to change.
‘No. Let’s stay here forever,’ he says.
I laugh. ‘You and I both know if we keep Alec waiting that long, he’ll be unbearable.’ I sit up, shielding my eyes from the sun with my hand. ‘At least we’ve had today. At least you didn’t meet her.’ My grandmother was only too glad to get rid of me when I moved into halls at Duke’s Academy of Performing Arts last year. Now that I’m moving in with Alec, I’ll never have to see her again.
Fletch props himself up on his elbows and takes off his sunglasses. ‘You mean “Auntie”? She doesn’t scare me.’ My grandmother insists I call her Auntie because she says anything else is “ageing”. It’s ridiculous, but not worth arguing about.
‘I know, but . . . it’s been such an amazing summer. I don’t want anything to spoil it.’ The thought of only having a few precious hours of the holidays left makes my stomach flip over.
Life has been so good since the Summer Showcase. This could all slip through my fingers. What if I can’t live up to people’s expectations? The end of last year was kind of a big deal for me: after months of not being able to sing, of nearly getting kicked out of college, I finally managed it in spectacular fashion, onstage in the West End with a thousand people watching. Everyone’s heard me now. As Kiki has been unhelpfully reminding me all summer, they’ll be expecting things this year.
‘You’re right. It was amazing,’ he says, reaching up to trace my jaw with his finger, sending feathers down my spine.
‘You’re not going to get me like that.’
‘Wanna bet?’
He leans in and kisses me softly. My resolve disappears as we fall back down on to the grass together.
‘Took your time, didn’t you?’ says Alec, helping me carry a box of sheet music up the stairs.
Alec’s your basic pretty, white ballet boy – talented as hell, and knows it too: there’s no better dancer at Duke’s, nor one with a bigger ego. Or a bigger heart, as far as our friendship’s concerned. God knows how I’d have got through last year without him. I glance down at him; his hair’s been naturally highlighted from a month of ‘summering’ (his word) at his mum’s chateau in Bordeaux, and his usually creamy skin is now a golden bronze.
‘Sorry,’ I say, panting slightly. ‘Bumped into Auntie.’
Alec rests the box on the banister for a second. ‘Whew. How did that go?’
‘Oh, you know. As expected.’
‘Did you ask her about the video?’
My eyes flicker to Fletch, who’s coming up behind us. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have heard Alec. ‘Yeah,’ I mutter, jogging Alec into action again with the box. ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’ I’d like to keep the evening drama-free.
Alec seems to understand. ‘Is this it?’ he says as we reach the top of the stairs, nodding at the stuff we’re lugging.
‘Two more boxes.’
‘Christ, Nettie,’ says Alec. ‘It’s not a mansion, you know.’
It might as well be. After he begged her all year, Alec’s mother finally relinquished her swanky London apartment to him. I have majorly lucked out. No flat hunting. No more going to my grandmother’s house for the holidays. Don’t get me wrong, it was fun living in halls with Alec, Kiki and Leon just down the corridor, but I’m really going to enjoy having a shower that’s not glacial, and I definitely won’t miss Jade Upton lording it over the common room like Regina George and generally making my life hell (if she even comes back to Duke’s after the humiliation she suffered at the end of last year). Things are looking up.
‘Most of it will go under my bed,’ I assure him, as we take the box through to the living room.
‘And the rest?’
‘I thought maybe it could go in that big cupboard in the hallway? Come on, you owe me.’
Alec cocks his head to one side. ‘How, exactly?’
‘It’s basically down to me that you’re even here.’
‘All I did was tell Mum how your grandmother treats you—’ ‘About seventeen times a day for three months.’
‘. . . and let her know that she’d be saving you from cruelty and starvation if she let us move into the flat – all of which is true.’
Fletch calls down the hall to us. ‘Where shall I put these cases?’
‘Cases?’ Alec looks at me in exasperation. I give him my biggest Orphan Annie grin. ‘Oh, for God’s sake . . .’ He rolls his eyes at me. ‘Just put them in the cupboard in the hallway,’ he shouts back to Fletch.
Together we heave the last of the stuff up the three flights of stairs. It’s a beautiful old building with a wrought-iron Grade II-listed lift, which would be wonderful if it actually worked. Fletch downs a pint of water, kisses me on the cheek, grabs his keys and stretches.
‘Off so soon, my love?’ says Alec. ‘I’m double-parked,’ says Fletch. ‘Luca’ll kill me if I get a ticket.’ Fletch usually goes everywhere by motorbike, but today he’s borrowed his best friend’s car to help me move. ‘Be right back.’
‘Don’t be long,’ I say.
‘I won’t,’ Fletch says, kissing me on each eye, working his way down my nose until our mouths meet. God, he’s lovely.
There’s a deliberate-sounding clatter from the kitchen. We both jump. Alec appears with a frying pan.
‘Oops,’ he says.
Grinning, Fletch takes the hint and leaves.
‘Subtle,’ I say, following Alec back into the kitchen. He points to the mounting pile of washing-up on the draining board.
‘I’ll wash – you can dry.’ He puts some music on, starts doing a dance with the dishcloth (somehow it’s sexy?) and throws me a tea towel. ‘So first of all, why didn’t you tell Fletch about seeing Auntie? He knows abou
t the video, right?’
At the end of last year, I got a mystery envelope through my door at the halls. It contained a video on a memory stick of Mum dancing the part of Odette in Swan Lake, except that instead of being graceful and controlled, as you would expect of a prima ballerina, Mum crashes into another dancer before careering off the edge of the stage and falling into the pit. It’s full-on drama – audience screaming, ambulance called, show stopped . . .
I’ve been watching it all summer. It’s almost the only connection I have to her life before I came along. And it’s throwing up more questions than answers.
There’s so much she didn’t tell me: how she was best friends with Miss Duke, how she had this amazing career as a dancer, how she left the business abruptly and never went back, and now this video . . . I feel like I barely knew her. How can you live with someone for nearly eighteen years and not know anything about their life?
‘I couldn’t,’ I say. ‘Fletch does know about the video – I showed him the day I got it. But at Auntie’s, I made him wait in the car. It just seemed like too much of a downer to end our holiday together on. Anyway, you were right. I learned nothing from her.’
‘What did she actually say?’ asks Alec.
‘That it was none of my business. I didn’t even collect Mum’s stuff – Auntie threw me out before I could get to the loft and grab it.’ I’m kind of kicking myself now that I didn’t take Fletch in with me – I could’ve done with the support, and I’d have the boxes too.
‘Ah, sorry. I didn’t want to be right about that,’ says Alec. ‘Well, she’s not the only person who knew her. There’s Michael, Miss Duke – even Miss Moore, if you’re feeling brave.’ I can’t help a little laugh at that last one. One of the ballet teachers at Duke’s, Miss Moore, hated Mum and goes out of her way to let me know it. Not exactly my go-to for a cosy chat.
I take a deep breath through my nose. ‘I really don’t know what to do. Should I even be looking? What if I find out something horrible about her?’
Alec adjusts my fringe and gives me a cute grin. ‘Whatever you need to do, I’m here for you,’ he says. ‘We can search newspaper archives, look at old ballet programmes, talk to people . . . We’ll get you the truth. And equally, if you just want to forget all about it and drown your sorrows, I’ll be there with a bottle of JD and my Mariah playlist.’
I smile. He just . . . gets me. Maybe the drowning-my-sorrows option would be better. It hurts to admit it, but this might just be one area of Mum’s life that she didn’t want me involved in, and who says I automatically get a free pass to it because I’m her daughter? She must have had her reasons for not telling me. Maybe I have to accept that.
But Mum was all I had. Although I try not to think about it too much, it’s horrible feeling like I didn’t really know her. Knowing literally nothing about my dad was just something I accepted growing up. I had Mum, and we were everything to each other. But the more I dig, the more I’m realizing there was this secret part of her that I never got to know, and it hurts in a way I’ve never felt about my dad. I’m like a jigsaw with so many missing pieces that you can’t make out what the picture is. Last year was traumatic, dealing with grief and losing my voice. I grew up so much, and now that I’m finding out who I am, I need those missing pieces.
But they’re all hidden with Mum.
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘But I’m going to do it – I’ll ask them all. Starting with Michael.’
‘Whatever you need.’ Alec smiles. He reaches for the other end of the tea towel in my hand and uses it to pull me in to a dip. ‘So, tell me all about your gorgeous summer with Sir Hunkalot.’
‘It was . . . amazing.’ I giggle as he spins me out, Fred n’ Ginger style, and grab a smooth pearl-grey plate from him that’s obviously too posh to bung in the dishwasher. ‘We went for walks, lay out in the fields watching the shooting stars, spent days at the beach . . . It was just amazing. His mum and dad were so welcoming, too.’
‘And . . . ?’ he says.
‘And what?’
‘Oh, come on. You two have so much drama, I thought there was bound to be something.’
He has a point. The journey to Fletch and me getting together wasn’t exactly easy. ‘No drama. No fights in the pouring rain. No college mean girls locking me in a cage trying to steal my voice.’ I laugh. ‘I guess we were too busy having a good time.’ My brain floats back to big skies and the feel of his hand in mine.
‘Ugh,’ he says, rolling his eyes. ‘Spare me the gory details. Actually, what am I talking about? I want to know all the details.’
I hesitate. Don’t get me wrong, I could shout from our rooftop to the whole of Covent Garden about how my spine tingles when my new boyfriend touches me, how I crave being near him on a minute-by-minute basis. But if I tell Alec, then it doesn’t belong to Fletch and me any more. I want to keep it for us.
Fletch sounds the door buzzer, sparing me.
I go to my room to unpack all my stuff while Fletch and Alec go to grab a takeaway. I check my phone to see that Kiki and Leon have been messaging the group chat.
17:53
Kiki:
So?? How did it go at Auntie’s?
Leon:
Did you ask her about the video?
I reply quickly.
18:24
Yeah. No joy ☹
She wouldn’t tell me
But I know she knows
So frustrating
Leon:
♥ ☹
Kiki:
We’re here for you.
Thanks, friends ♥
CANNOT WAIT TO SEE YOU TOMO!!!
Leon:
xxx
Kiki:
I smile. No matter what this year throws at me, with friends as brilliant as these, I can handle anything.
We spend the rest of the evening chilling with a movie. Alec refuses my suggestion of La La Land on the basis that he can’t stand Ryan Gosling’s hands; in the end we settle on Whiplash. As the movie starts and I sink into the soft velvet sofa, I look from Fletch to Alec and it suddenly feels like I’ve lived here a lot longer than a few hours. Like it’s home – something I haven’t felt since before Mum died. Things are going to be good this year.
The credits roll. I thought we had it bad in class, but this drumming teacher makes Millicent Moore look like Mary Poppins, and last year she pulled my hair out and burned me with a cigarette in front of my entire ballet class, just to prove a point.
‘Wow,’ says Fletch. ‘That was intense.’
‘I mean, I’m with the teacher,’ muses Alec. ‘Like, you want to be the best, kid? You need to take what’s thrown at you.’
‘That’s because you’re institutionalized,’ I tell him. ‘You’re so used to the daily abuse we get at Duke’s that you think it’s acceptable.’
‘Duke’s is the best college in the country; it must be doing something right.’
‘Yeah, creating a whole new generation of bullies.’
Alec turns to Fletch for support, but Fletch’s phone buzzes insistently. As he checks it his smile drops a little. ‘Excuse me just one sec . . . Hello?’ He goes out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Alec shrugs. ‘You need to toughen up, Nettie.’
He’s right – I do need to toughen up. And I plan to. But surely that means taking less crap from people, not more? His logic’s completely warped.
Fletch is on the phone for half an hour. By the time he’s finished, Alec is getting ready to go to bed.
‘All OK?’ says Alec, unusually seriously, as if Fletch just had some bad news. Although, from the look on his face, he might have.
‘Yep,’ Fletch replies shortly.
Alec looks like he’s about to say something else but changes his mind. Instead, he kisses me on the head and breezes out the door.
‘Sorry about that,’ says Fletch, coming to sit next to me on the sofa. ‘It was Michael St. John. He wanted to run through a few things about this year with me.’
‘Oh,’ I say. Michael’s the head of Music at Duke’s. He’s this amazingly talented and all-round nice guy, and everyone basically adores him. I don’t know why he couldn’t have done that with Fletch tomorrow, though. Bit odd phoning him at night. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Yeah, course. Why?’
‘I don’t know. You look stressed.’
‘I’m fine.’
I’m about to snuggle in, when something catches Fletch’s attention from the other side of the room. He goes over to the huge windows overlooking Pineapple Dance Studios, where a late-night rehearsal is in full swing.
‘What do you think they’re rehearsing for?’ he says, watching them intently.
I follow him over to the windows to see. The dancers are working on a high-octane fusion of jazz and salsa. ‘Isn’t that the tall dancer from Strictly?’ I say, squinting. ‘It looks like one of those spin-off tours.’
‘You really have to give up your whole life for it, don’t you?’ he says, watching the lead couple do an impressive death drop. ‘Those dancers – it’s nearly eleven, and they’re still going. And then they’ll be on tour soon. Some of them are probably married or with people; others might even have kids. How do they cope with being away?’
‘They just manage, I guess,’ I say. It’s not something I’ve thought about before. ‘Get back when they can. You go where the work is, don’t you?’
He doesn’t answer for a while, and although his gaze is still directed into the studio, his eyes aren’t following the dancers around any more.
‘Do you think we’d be OK?’ he asks, turning to me. ‘If one of us got a tour, I mean.’
Why is he even thinking that? Of course we’d be OK. Anyway, that’s ages away. He’s still got another year at college. And we’ve only been a couple for, like, three months. Why’s he planning our break-up already?
‘Yes, I do,’ I reply cheerfully, but then I notice his knitted brow. ‘Hey, what’s brought this on?’
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