Author’s Note

A Loving Light is a direct continuation of A Healing Love, A Wounded Heart, A Tortured Soul, and A Good Man. It picks up a few days after the end of A Healing Love.

If you haven’t read the first four books, then you probably won’t get as much enjoyment from this book as possible.

In addition, it may be beneficial to have read some of the other Westmouthshire Novels, but that is not essential. Both Chloë Goodman from Kissed by a Rose and Will Brown from Eternally & Evermore have significant supporting roles in A Loving Light, and understanding their backstories will enhance your enjoyment. Bobby Jones of The Lies Series, David Laird of Charlotte’s Secret both have significant supporting roles, too.

All these stories take place in Westmouth, Westmouthshire—a fictional town and county on the South-East Coast of England. A Loving Light uses some of the locations established in those earlier Westmouthshire Novels and references some characters not mentioned above and some of the events from them. Keep your eyes open and allow a wry smile whenever you spot a reference.

---

1: Unguarded

I lay on my back, once again awake before my alarm sounded. But there was no weight pressing down on me from my left, no arm draped over my chest, no leg hooked over mine. I couldn’t hear her breathing, smell her perfume, or feel her warmth. I stretched my arm into the space to my left, where Carly should have been—where she’d been almost every morning for nearly two months. But that part of the bed was cold. Empty.

I hated waking up alone.

I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. It was just after six-thirty. I picked up the remote for my CD player from beside the clock and aimed it at my desk on the opposite side of the room. Slowly, deliberately, I pressed ‘Play.’

Just like the previous two mornings, Alabama Sweetheart began playing at a sufficiently low volume to avoid disturbing my housemates.

The opening track was ‘The Nightmare Mix’ of ‘A Woman’s Work,’ and it was the ideal song for a melancholic morning—a world away from the polished, orchestral version she would perform at the Oscars the next night. Instead, it was the sound my unearned wealth had granted her the freedom to create.

The creative freedom Clarissa’s money had bought her.

It was soulful. Mournful, even.

Driven by Roxy’s piercing electric-guitar hook and Lana’s deep, resonant cello part beneath Carly’s angelic vocals…

I squeezed my eyes tight.

The music sat underneath Kayla’s voice, not Carly’s.

The girl from Beaverbrook wasn’t gone exactly. But the rest of the world saw Kayla Valentine now. The Alabama Sweetheart.

I smiled as I recalled the first time I called her ‘Sweetheart.’ She loved it so much that I said it again, calling her my ‘Alabama Sweetheart.’

And now, that was the name the rest of the world knew her by.

But to me, she was and always would be just Carly.

I sighed as a particularly emotional part of the song played—just Carly singing over Lana’s cello, the contrast so stark—

Lana!

We had the badminton tournament today. She’d kill me if she knew I’d been out with everyone until after two in the morning and then hardly got any sleep.

Who was I kidding? Of course, she knew. That girl seemed to know everything.

Registration for the tournament closed at nine, and I was picking up Lana at eight.

I had an hour and a half to get ready. Coffee, shower, all that morning shit.

But maybe a few more minutes lying here first, just until the end of the song. It was a great song.

---

Fifteen minutes later, I forced myself out of bed, pulled my robe down from its hook on the back of the door, and slipped it on. Then I trudged downstairs to the kitchen as quietly as I could.

I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror on the way.

God, I looked rough.

I wasn’t sure if the dark circles under my eyes were due to the alcohol or lack of sleep, but the result was the same either way. I leaned towards the mirror and pulled down my lower lids to reveal slightly bloodshot eyes. Hopefully, they’d be back to normal by the time I collected Lana in an hour and a quarter.

I had plenty of time.

I ran my hand through my hair in a futile attempt to tame it.

I needed a haircut. Desperately. My mop was getting out of control, and I was beginning to resemble some unkempt Nineties Britpop wannabe. Not exactly the look of a respectable ‘businessman.’

I chuckled. Yeah, right. ‘Entrepreneur.’ What a joke. I was just a kid trying to do something good with someone else’s money.

With Clarissa’s money.

Money I didn’t deserve.

I turned away from the mirror and glanced at the clock on the opposite wall.

Ten to seven.

I had an hour to get myself sorted and leave the house. I’d promised Lana I wouldn’t be late.

Coffee first. I needed caffeine.

Maybe I had time to fry up some bacon as well. That wouldn’t take long. Coffee and grease. Then a shower. Then clothes.

I had an hour.

Should be plenty of time.

---

Lana was waiting outside Campus Heights when I arrived.

“You’re late,” she said as she placed her two sports bags and racquet in the boot. Her tone was light. It was an observation, not a scolding. She’d used the same gentle tone every time we’d spoken since Carly left on Wednesday.

“Not by my watch, I’m not,” I said, holding up my left hand and tapping the antique watch on my wrist.

“Yes, well, that old thing is probably slow. When was the last time you wound it? You know you’re meant to do it every day, right?”

I stared at her, trying to channel Imogen’s patented ‘that’s a stupid question’ look, but she just giggled.

“Hey!” I said, grinning. “Family heirloom.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ve only mentioned it like a thousand times.”

I shook my head and grinned. “Get in the car, or you can walk to the tournament.”

She stuck out her tongue at me, ran to the passenger door and jumped into the car.

It was reassuring to see her like this. We’d met for lunch over the past two days, and Lana had been… Careful. Just checking on me without making a fuss. She hadn’t tried to ‘fix’ me or offer empty platitudes.

She’d just been there.

Which was exactly what I’d needed.

But now, this bratty attitude was exactly what I needed, too. After all, today was meant to be fun.

The ache in my chest would ease with time. My broken heart would mend. Eventually. Broken hearts always did.

Didn’t they?

And they mended a lot faster than wounded hearts healed.

While I checked that everything was secure in the boot, she turned around in her seat and whined like a teenager on a road trip with their parents, “Hurry uuuup!”

She grinned, and I gave her another hard look.

I closed the boot, then climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Are you being deliberately insufferable?”

She grinned again.

“Wanna tell me why?”

She shrugged. “You play better when you’re a little bit annoyed.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, stop it, or I won’t play at all. We’re doing this for fun. Remember?”

Her grin softened into a sincere smile. “I know, but it would still be nice to do well.” She paused. “To win.”

I nodded. “It would, but not if it means you get hurt. Have you got your knee brace?”

She nodded. “Both of them. One for playing, then the stronger for between games.” She paused once more, then smiled. “Thank you, Paul.”

I started the engine and looked at her as I rested my hand on the gear stick. “What for?”

“For buying the braces. For caring enough to. And—”

“I told you I take care of my friends.”

“I know, but you still spent over a hundred pounds on them.”

“You know I can affor—”

“I know, but that’s not the point.” She turned to face me fully, pulling the seat belt away from her body slightly so she could move. “The point is that you cared enough about my well-being to do something. Okay, so your ‘something’ was more than most people could have done, but…”

She smiled.

I arched an eyebrow. “But what?”

Her eyes and her tone softened even more. “Most people wouldn’t have bothered to do anything. Even if they could afford it.”

I nodded, then put the car into gear and pulled away from the kerb.

“And thank you for indulging my… erm… competitive nature.” She grinned at me.

I chuckled. “Your competitive nature? I think I need the distraction of this tournament right now more than you need to feed your competitive nature.”

She raised her eyebrows, pulling a ‘thinking face.’ “I see your point. So… You’re welcome.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. This might actually turn out to be fun, given the mood Lana was in.

---

We were entering the South Westmouthshire Open Badminton Championships, and our destination was somewhere I’d never been—the Westell International Exhibition and Conference Centre on the town’s western outskirts.

The site was enormous—a ten-thousand-seat concert arena, a modest conference centre, and three vast exhibition halls, which were the largest indoor spaces I’d ever seen. The sports halls at Micester High and on the university campus were huge—big enough to accommodate eight badminton courts. This place dwarfed them. The tournament used all thirty-two courts in Exhibition Hall A.

Thirty-two courts. Unbelievable.

I was in three tournaments over the weekend—mixed doubles with Lana, and Men’s doubles with Geoff on Saturday, and then I’d be back on Sunday for the Men’s singles.

Geoff and Madison had approached us a couple of weeks earlier and asked if we wanted to team with them in the Men’s and Ladies’ doubles. I’d agreed, thinking I’d be there anyway. But Lana had politely declined, saying she didn’t want to risk straining her knee.

It was Geoff who suggested we all enter our respective singles tournaments as well. Again, I figured, ‘why not?’ but Lana declined. She did say she’d come along and support me, though.

Although I suspected her ‘support’ would involve pointing out where I was going wrong. Repeatedly and at length.

We arrived just before half-eight and were registered and ready to play by quarter to nine, giving us time to warm up on one of the courts. Geoff and Madison joined us five minutes later.

God knows how they’d managed to schedule so many tournaments across four different age groups, but somehow it worked.

The first round took up the whole of the morning session. It was a round-robin format with four teams in each group, which meant I’d be playing six matches in three and a half hours. Although they were only one-set matches.

Once the action began, the morning quickly dissolved into a haze of shuttlecocks, sweat, and squeaky trainers. Lana and I dominated our first match, while I just scraped through in my first men’s doubles with Geoff, winning by only four points. The ‘chemistry’ wasn’t quite there, but it was the first match we’d ever played together.

My second mixed-doubles match was tougher than the first, but we won. Geoff and I lost our second but won our third immediately afterwards and made it to the quarter-finals.

Five hard-fought matches in quick succession meant that by the time Lana and I played our final match of the morning, my legs and lungs were burning. I hadn’t played this hard, for this long, in forever. Lana was starting to show signs that her knee was bothering her as well. She wasn’t limping, but her usual nimbleness deserted her.

We lost. Convincingly. Which was frustrating because I knew that we could have won—if I wasn’t quite so shattered. If this had been the first game and not the third…

I was a step slower reaching the shuttle, and Lana was letting shots go that she’d returned easily in our first match.

In the end, it didn’t really matter. Both teams knew we’d already qualified for the quarter-finals and were just playing to see who finished top of the group, but still…

We finished our final match just after twelve, half an hour before the lunch break officially began, so Lana and I would get a little extra rest. And I was going to need it. The quarter-finals were straight after lunch—Men’s first, then mixed, with almost no break between the two.

Both of those matches were full three-set contests, too.

I was going to sleep well that night, especially if I won either quarter-final.

Throughout the morning, Lana and I had spent quite a lot of time with Madison and Geoff between matches, because they were the only people at the tournament who we knew. So, we watched them finish their match, then headed out of Hall A into the foyer linking the exhibition halls. The space doubled as a food court, lined with kiosks filling the air with aromas of everything from fried onions to curry.

“What d’you fancy?” I asked as we entered the food court. “It’s on me.”

“Paul, don’t be silly, you can’t buy us all lunch,” Geoff said.

“On me,” I said firmly.

“There’s no point arguing with him,” Lana said. “He’s a stubborn arse when it comes to his generosity.” She grinned at me, and I rolled my eyes. “Even if you don’t let him pay, he’ll probably slip the cash into your bag later when you’re not looking.”

I glared at her playfully, then looked back at Geoff and Madison. “Ignore her. But seriously, I’ve got you covered, okay? Lunch, drinks, whatever you guys need this weekend—it’s on me. It’s no big deal. I’m good for it.”

Geoff and Madison exchanged a glance. I was fairly sure neither of them knew about my wealth. Geoff looked at me and said, “Okay. That’s very generous.”

I nodded. “And don’t think you have to order the cheapest thing, okay? Order what you want. It’s fine.”

They both nodded.

“Well, for a tournament day like this, you need protein, but not something heavy. A cold pasta salad with chicken or maybe a rice bowl. Wraps, maybe,” Madison said.

“Well, that would explain those two queues,” I said, nodding towards the kiosks selling pasta and rice.

We joined the queue for pasta, and it took around ten minutes to get our food, after which we found a place to sit and started eating.

“You two need to talk more,” Madison said, between mouthfuls. The comment was obviously about Geoff and me. “You’re getting in each other’s way a bit right now. That’s the reason you lost your second match. You both went for the same shot too many times, meaning one of you was out of position.”

I nodded. She was right.

“That’s my fault,” Lana said.

“How do you figure that?” Geoff asked.

“Paul’s gotten used to compensating for my reduced mobility. It’s hard to switch something like that off.”

“That’s no excuse for not communicating,” Madison said. “They’re both experienced players. They should know better.”

“Your mobility isn’t that bad from what I’ve seen,” Geoff said. “You seem pretty quick around the court.”

“Not quick enough, although I agree, it could be worse,” Lana said. “But I am a fraction slower than I’d like and enough to make a difference. It’s the reason we lost our last game. I was starting to get a little stiff and missed too many shots—just couldn’t get to them in time.”

“If your knee is troubling you, then we can withdraw,” I said. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine, Paul. But it was the right decision not to enter the ladies’ doubles.” She looked at Madison. “Sorry, I know you were keen.”

“No problem, I get it.” She smiled. “And after watching these two struggle, I think you were right. It would have been too much.”

“Now she tells me,” Geoff said, rolling his eyes.

Lana nodded and then looked at me. “Using the stronger knee brace between matches is really helping. I’ll probably suffer a little this evening, but it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

I frowned. “That’s what you said before Christmas.”

“I know. But…” She shrugged. “But I wasn’t being honest with you or with myself back then. I am now. Unguarded, remember.”

I met her eyes. Paused. Then nodded.

“Unguarded?” Madison said.

Lana turned to look at her and smiled. “Yeah. Unguarded.”

She didn’t elaborate.

---

The afternoon session didn’t go well.

First, Geoff and I lost our quarter-final. Finishing second in our group meant we had to face a team that topped theirs. And they finished top for a reason—they were very, very good. Probably three or four years older than us, they’d clearly been a team for some time. Their teamwork was incredible, and their communication was almost instinctive. With both Lana’s and Madison’s words ringing in my ears, I tried my best to only cover my part of the court and to communicate more with Geoff.

But the simple fact is that we didn’t stand a chance. Not against this team. Every rally ended the same way—one of us scrambling to recover, one of them already waiting to finish it off.

In fact, they went on to win the tournament.

Geoff and I only had a few minutes’ rest before our respective mixed doubles quarter-finals. Because Lana and I also finished second in our group, we had to play a top-ranked team too. Even as I stepped onto the court, my legs felt too heavy, my heart pounded, and my lungs burned. From the very first point, my movement around the court suffered. Lana’s ‘reduced mobility’ hadn’t improved since the final game before lunch, either, leaving wide gaps in our defence.

We didn’t even get close to winning a set.

Geoff and Madison made it through their match, so Lana and I decided to stay and support our friends. Later that afternoon, we watched them lift the trophy.

Neither of them was able to stop grinning as we walked back to our cars together.

“It’s a shame we didn’t make the semis,” I said as we drove home. “We might have done if I didn’t enter the Men’s.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame,” Lana said quietly. With her head tipped back against the headrest, she looked as weary as I felt. “But I think we did well just to make it to the afternoon session. There were some really good teams there. I don’t think playing with Geoff would have made a difference.”

“That pair that Geoff and Maddy played in the final were awesome, weren’t they? Really pushed them ‘til the end.”

“And they beat the team that beat us, who were really good, too.” She smiled at me. “It was a fun day, though, wasn’t it? I enjoyed it.”

I smiled back. “Yeah, it was fun. I enjoyed it too.”

“Wanna do it again? There’s one more chance to make regionals, isn’t there?”

“Let’s see how your knee is in the morning and then decide.”

She nodded. “Probably a good idea.” She paused. “Looking forward to the singles tomorrow?”

I shrugged. “I’m only doing this to keep my mind off…” I shook my head.

“The Oscars?”

I nodded.

“Are you planning to stay up and watch tomorrow night?” Lana asked. “She told me yesterday that she’s going to be on quite early in the show, so you can probably still get a good few hours’ sleep.”

“Honestly? I don’t know.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

“I just… I just don’t know if I can do it.”

“Well, you should. You’re going to have to get used to seeing her perform. She’s going to be everywhere for the next few months—maybe the rest of the year. And aren’t you part-financing her tour?”

I nodded. “Ben and Amiee are talking to Glenn about it, yes.”

“So don’t you think you should go to at least one show that you’re paying for?”

I glanced at her, then back at the road.

“Yeah. I probably should.”

“If you’re going to support her career, then she’s always going to be a part of your life, Paul. An important part. So the sooner you get used to—”

“I know.” I nodded. “I know.”

“How about I come over and watch with you?”

I glanced at her again and smiled. “I’d like that, but… It doesn’t start until something like midnight, doesn’t it? That’s really late with lectures in the morning.”

She shrugged. “I’ve stayed up later. Some nights Lily and I get talking, and we don’t go to sleep until four.”

I raised an eyebrow. “On a school night?”

She grinned and nodded. “On a school night.” She paused. “But only if we don’t have a nine o’clock lecture.”

“Okay, come on over then. And I’ll drive you back when the show’s finished. Can’t have you walking home in the dark.”

“Deal.”

Once we got back to campus and parked on the road outside Campus Heights, I opened the boot for Lana to get her bags, then walked with her up to the building.

“What are you doing this evening? Got any plans?” I asked.

She sighed. “Rest and recovery.”

I nodded. “Are your flatmates going out?”

She nodded too. “Yep. I’ll be all on my lonesome. But it’s fine. I’ll play some cello, and I’ve got some course reading to do.”

“Well… I’m not planning to go out either, but I know Mark and Gen are going to watch a movie, so… Rather than both of us being alone all night, why don’t you come over to mine to rest and recover? I’ll order some pizza, and we’ll watch a movie on the telly or something. Something mindless.”

She scrunched her nose. “I don’t really like mindless movies. I prefer something challenging.”

“Well, I’ve got all the movie channels and streaming. I’m sure we’ll find something.”

“Okay. But I get to choose the pizza toppings.” She wagged her finger at me. “No pineapple.”

I nodded. “I won’t order it until you get there.”

“Deal.”

“Shall I come and get you? Save you walking and risking your knee?”

She looked at her watch. “Give me a couple of hours to shower and stuff? Come get me at, say, seven? Eight?”

“Split the difference. I’ll be here at seven-thirty.”

She nodded. “Seven-thirty. See you then.”

---

After showering and changing out of my sweaty clothes, I messaged Lana and suggested we pick up the pizza since the takeaway was between campus and my house, right next to Jak’s Café. She agreed, so I picked her up as planned at half-seven, and we collected the pizza on the way back.

And it didn’t have pineapple on it.

By eight, we were sitting at opposite ends of the sofa. The pizza box sat on the coffee table in front of us beside a small bucket of buffalo wings. Lana held the remote control, scrolling through the list of films, trying to decide what to watch.

“There’s so much choice,” she said. “How do you even decide? And it’s only going to get worse, isn’t it? Remember what Lexi said in her lecture? Soon, every film and TV programme ever made will be available online on demand. How are you supposed to choose what to watch then?”

I shrugged and leaned forward to grab a slice of pizza. “Chloë said that Sam thinks that all the major studios are going to have their own streaming services within ten years. She told me he was already talking to one studio about a ‘launch series’ for theirs, but she wouldn’t tell me which one.”

“Sam? As in, Bradwell?” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you know movie stars. Chloë is one thing, I mean, she lives in Westmouth, but Sam Bradwell…”

“I’ve only met him once,” I said. “At Chloë’s premiere in January.”

She shook her head. “Yeah, but still… Sam Bradwell.”

“Yeah, well, if he’s right, then you’ll spend half an hour deciding which service to use before you even think about what to watch.”

“Nightmare!” She laughed. “The world was a better place when we only had four channels. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to say now?”

“It’s what our parents might have said. We were both born after Sky launched, so we don’t know any different.” I sighed. “I remember sometimes he’d just… he’d scroll through the programme guide and complain that there was so much choice but still nothing worth watching.”

I went quiet, staring across the room at the TV without looking at it. A small shiver ran up my back.

“He? Your dad? Are you thinking about your parents?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Sorry. That’s my fault. I shouldn’t—”

“No, it’s not,” I said, looking at her and shaking my head. “Don’t be silly. You’ve got nothing to apologise for.” I paused and took a deep breath. “It’s weird, you know? Most of the time, it’s like… I want to say I don’t think about them, but that’s not what I mean. It’s like, they are always with me, but it’s… under the surface. Does that make sense?”

She nodded.

“Then I’ll say something that makes me sound exactly like Dad… Say something he would have said, the way he would have said it. Or something happens, like just now, and it… sort of brings them to the front of my mind and…”

I shrugged.

“It reminds you of what you lost?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Exactly that.” I shook my head again. Then smiled. “You decided yet?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

She pressed a button on the remote, and the film she’d picked started.

“Silver Linings Playbook? Isn’t that a bit… Soppy? I thought you wanted something ‘challenging.’”

She shook her head. “I’ve not seen it, but it’s supposed to be really good. And no, it’s not soppy. At least, that’s what I read. It’s about mental illness or something. One character’s bipolar, I think, and the other has depression.”

“Sounds fun,” I said, dryly.

She reached across the sofa to gently slap my arm. “Behave. The story is about how they help each other. And Jennifer Lawrence won an Oscar for it, so it can’t be awful, can it?”

“I guess not.” I looked at the screen. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

2: Sherry Oak

For the first time in a few days, my alarm woke me. And I ached. Everywhere. My legs felt like lead, and my shoulders, arms, and back screamed the moment I shifted under the duvet.

My first thought was that agreeing to enter the singles tournament had been a poor decision. But I couldn’t back out now, so I forced myself out of bed despite the resistance from every single muscle in my body.

I don’t know which hurt more, my thighs, calves, or lower back. But a long, hot shower worked wonders, especially for my back. By the time I got dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast, I felt almost human again.

I was picking up Lana a little later now that I knew the route—quarter past eight instead of eight. I’d eaten and was getting ready to leave when my phone rang.

It was Vicky.

I swiped across the screen.

“Hey, sis.”

“Hey, Paul, sorry for calling so early on a Sunday, but I’ve got a huge favour to ask.”

“No problem. What do you need?”

“Some space.”

“Space?”

She took a deep breath. “You remember Dad’s old drinks cabinet. Well, your drinks cabinet, actually. He left it to you. And everything in it—all the glasses and bottles of booze.”

I paused. One heartbeat. Two. Three.

“Paul?”

“I remember.”

I hadn’t thought about that cabinet since—well, since before I left for America two and a half years ago. A sudden image filled my mind—that special bottle of Scotch I’d promised to open and share with Will in Dad’s honour.

But never had.

Then life got in the way. Or maybe I’d just let it.

“Well, the thing is, Paul…” She paused. “We’re getting new furniture for the lounge and, well, the cabinet doesn’t match. It seems a shame to put it in the garage or something, because it’s really a lovely piece, so I was wondering…”

“I’ll find room. I’ll make space for it even if I have to shift everything around.”

“Excellent! Can I bring it over this afternoon? I can use the restaurant’s van, and I’ll bubble-wrap all the glasses and bottles.”

“That’s fine, but I might not be here because I’m in a badminton tournament. I’ll make sure Mark is, though. He’ll help you get it into the house. And then I assume Imogen will find a place to put it.”

Vicky laughed. “It all sounds very… domestic. I’ll be over after three. Hopefully I’ll see you then. Maybe you’ll get knocked out early. How good are you?”

“Terrible. I’ll almost certainly be back by three. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

I hung up the call and then, for a second, I stared at the phone’s screen.

---

Lana was once again waiting for me outside the building when I parked by the kerb. But I didn’t even need to turn off the engine this time because all she had with her was a small canvas messenger bag slung over her shoulder, big enough for her phone, purse, and whatever else she insisted on carrying around all the time.

She smiled at me and, as she buckled her seat belt, said, “You’re—”

“I know. I know. My sister called right when I was about to leave.”

“Oh, okay, I forgive you then.” She grinned.

I rolled my eyes, put the car into gear, and pulled away.

“What did she want?” Lana asked after we had left campus.

I looked at her and, in my usual, eloquent way, said, “Huh?”

Now she rolled her eyes. “Your sister. Nikki, is it? What did she want?”

“Vicky,” I said. “Well, Victoria, technically. But I don’t think I’ve ever called her that.”

“Right. Vicky. So what did she want? Did she tell you off about something? You been a naughty boy?”

I chuckled. “No. If I’d been ‘naughty,’ she’d leave it to Will to tell me off. No, she wanted…” I sighed. “My dad left me this drinks cabinet. Really nice. I think it’s an antique or something. It’s mine, Dad left it to me. And everything in it. But it’s been at Vic’s since she moved out of the old house. Only now she’s having new furniture, and says it doesn’t match, so she wants me to take it. Finally. I’m surprised she didn’t ask as soon as I moved in last Easter.”

“What’s in it?”

“In it?”

She smiled. “You said your dad left it to you. That must mean he made it a specific gift in his Will, right?”

I smirked. “You’re doing a ‘Wills and Probate’ module this term, aren’t you? I’m sure that’s one of the second-semester compulsories.”

She nodded. “We are.” Then she shrugged. “So if he left it to you as a specific gift, there must have been a reason. And I’m guessing it’s not the cabinet itself, but its contents. So… what’s in it?”

I sighed again. I was approaching a roundabout, so I knew Lana wouldn’t expect me to answer until we’d passed it. But even when I didn’t answer immediately after the roundabout, she didn’t pressure me.

Eventually, I took a deep breath and said, “Whisky, mostly. Some brandy. Things like that. And the right type of glasses to drink it.”

She didn’t say anything, but I could feel her eyes on me. I glanced at her.

She raised an eyebrow and said, “And?”

I took another deep breath. “It’s the good stuff, you know? Not the cheap stuff you find in a supermarket. Most of them are special bottles. Expensive. There’s one that’s… Well, I don’t know exactly, but hundreds of pounds.”

Her eyes went wide. “Really?”

I nodded. “He bought them to share with his three friends from university.” I shook my head. “Only…”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

We were quiet for a long time. Then she said, “You going to open any of them? Share them with your friends?”

I stared straight ahead. Then said, “Eventually. Maybe. When the time’s right.”

She nodded. Then turned her face to look out of the passenger window.

---

I knew entering the singles tournament was a mistake. The format was the same as the day before, but I didn’t make it past the group stage. I got smashed in my first match. Humiliated. I only lost narrowly in my second—I made a match of it, but still lost. And yet, as I prepared to play my final game, I was still in with a shout of finishing second and qualifying. If I won and won well, I might just make it.

But I didn’t win well. I didn’t even win. My legs were gone before the first rally was over.

I lost all three games and left early.

“Fancy lunch somewhere?” I asked Lana as we got to the car.

She glanced at me, pretending to sniff, then smirked. “I think you might need a shower first.”

I rolled my eyes. “What if I just use half a can of body spray to mask it?”

“Ew!” Then she smirked and added, “It would take a whole can.”

We got in the car, and I started the engine.

“Seriously, though, if you can wait while I freshen up—won’t take long—then I’ll buy you lunch at Jak’s. I can’t really go anywhere else because Vicky’s arriving at three with the cabinet.”

She nodded. “Okay.” A few seconds later, she added, “So I get to go to the famous Jak’s, do I?”

I glanced at her, then focused on the road again. “Famous?”

She laughed playfully, filling the car with warmth. “Yes, ‘Famous.’ Carly told me about it. And about Jak herself. She said she’s lovely. And isn’t she Marie’s mum?”

I cast another quick glance at her. “You’ve been talking to Marie as well, now, huh?”

She shrugged. “We hit it off at the trust launch. I like her. She’s… grounded. Got her head screwed on.” She paused. “She’s a great choice for your assistant.”

I smiled. “Yeah. She is.”

---

Less than an hour later, Lana and I were sitting at my usual table in Jak’s café.

“Well, I never, here’s my favourite student sitting opposite yet another pretty girl,” Jak said as she handed us the menus. “Why is it you always seem to be with a different pretty girl?”

She grinned at me.

“It’s my undeniable animal magnetism,” I said, in a deadpan monotone.

Lana burst out laughing.

Jak shook her head, then asked Lana, “I don’t expect he’ll introduce you, so who might you be?” She winked.

Lana smiled a genuine, friendly smile. “I’m Lana. Paul’s badminton partner.”

Jak raised her eyebrows. “Really? Well, I’ve never heard it called that before.” She winked again. “Can I get you a drink while you decide what to eat?”

“Carly was right,” Lana said as Jak bustled away to get us two cans of Coke. “She’s lovely.”

“Yeah,” I said. “She is.”

Jak never claimed to offer gourmet food. Her café was an unapologetic seaside town ‘greasy spoon.’ Oh, sure, it was clean and modern—Jak was very proud of her five-star hygiene rating—but the food was simple, traditional, and easy to prepare.

In short, it was the very best kind of ‘comfort food.’

That’s why I ate there so often.

After we’d ordered—we both had fish and chips—Lana took out her phone and started tapping on the screen.

“Who are you messaging?” I asked, guessing that’s what she was doing.

“Just telling Carly I’ve finally been invited to Jak’s.”

I rolled my eyes. Then, after a pause, I asked, “How is she?”

She looked up at me with narrow eyes. “You’ve been ghosting her, haven’t you? I know she’s been messaging you. She told me. And she said you’ve left her unread.”

I looked down at the table and sighed. “I’m not… I just…” I took a breath, then looked up. “I just… I’m not ready yet.”

“Not ready?”

“You know… To treat her like just another friend and not…” I half smiled.

“Like the woman you were madly in love with?”

I nodded.

She smiled and shook her head gently. “That’s what she figured it would be. And she’s patient, but her patience isn’t unlimited. You’re going to have to get over yourself and respond to her soon, Paul.”

I nodded. “I know.” I paused. “I know.”

“Look, like I said before, if you’re going to support her career, then she’s always going to be a part of your life. It’s obvious that she’s always going to be a little bit in love with you, no matter what happens—that’s how she’s wired—and I think a little bit of you will always love her. Just like there’s a little bit of your heart that’s reserved exclusively for Clarissa, so it’ll be with Carly.”

I stared at her. “How did you know…?”

“Because it’s blindingly obvious, isn’t it? At least, it is to anyone who knows you. Especially if they ever saw you and Clarissa together.”

“Like you did.”

She nodded. Then smiled.

“So, like I said, you need to get over yourself. The longer you leave it, the greater the chance it will sour your relationship with Carly completely.”

I didn’t say anything.

She put her phone down and reached across the table to put her hand on top of mine. “Paul, you let her go so she could fulfil her potential. You didn’t want to hold her back. Well, you need to either let her go completely or adjust to how things are going to be. Because what you’re doing right now is going to hold her back.”

I nodded. She was right. I wasn’t being fair to my Alabama Sweetheart.

“And, honestly,” Lana said, “you should be her biggest cheerleader, not the one holding her back.”

I nodded again. Then took another deep breath. “But… I just think… I mean, what about if… You know… Someone else?”

Lana closed her eyes, and then she took a deep breath.

“Paul…” She sighed. Her eyes softened, as did her tone. “Anyone you ‘end up with’ isn’t just going to have to accept your relationship with Carly. They will need to understand it.”

I stared at her. “And how—”

“You know how.”

“I do?”

She smiled softly. Warmly. “Communication. That’s the key, Paul. Always.”

I offered a weak smile. “You make it sound easy.”

“I never said it was easy. Quite the opposite.” She paused. “It’s just… necessary.”

---

It was around half past two when we finished eating, and we went straight home to wait for Vicky. She arrived in a Ford Transit with ‘Millie’s’ written on the side in that familiar script—a computerised version of Mum’s handwriting.

Mark and I carried the cabinet out of the van and into the house. Vicky and Jessica unloaded the cardboard boxes filled with glasses and bottles while Imogen and Lana stood and watched.

“Why is it so fucking heavy?” Mark said through gritted teeth as we tried to manoeuvre the thing through the relatively narrow hallway and the door to the lounge without scraping it on the wooden floor or the carpet in the lounge.

“Oh, come on,” Imogen said. “Two big, strong boys like you should have no trouble with it after all the time you spend in the gym.”

“Once a week!” Mark said, again through gritted teeth.

“Plus, they’re either standing still or lying down in the gym, aren’t they?” Lana said with a smirk. “They don’t really have to carry anything anywhere.”

I glanced at her and scowled. She just smiled back.

“True,” Imogen said. “Very true. Still, I enjoy watching men do manual labour. There’s something… primal about it.”

She glanced at Lana, who smiled back, then bit her lip.

“I’ll show you primal later,” Mark said, almost under his breath.

Imogen raised her eyebrows and grinned. “Promises, promises.”

“I still don’t understand why it’s so heavy,” Mark said.

“It’s oak,” Vicky said. She was now standing next to Imogen with one of the boxes. “And the glass doors don’t help. Now hurry up, I need to put this down. It’s heavy.”

“Oh, just put them on the dining room table for now,” Imogen said with a dismissive wave.

Vicky nodded and deposited her box in the dining room. Before going back to the van for another, she said, “Do you think I should tell them there’s a trolley on the van?”

Mark and I both looked at her and said, “What?”

She shrugged. “How do you think two weak little ladies like Jess and me got it on the van in the first place?”

---

“It really is nice,” Imogen said as she, Lana, and I stood in the lounge looking at the cabinet. We’d have to move the sofa completely out of the way and then put it back in a slightly different position, but we’d managed to find a home for the cabinet in the corner of the room. It didn’t seem as tall as I remembered, or maybe I’d grown a couple of inches. The lower half had solid oak doors, while the upper display case was framed in glass.

“It’s Victorian,” Lana said. She was reading from a document that Vicky had given me from the antique dealer who had valued it after my parents’ death. “Late eighteen-hundreds or possibly early nineteen-hundreds. Solid oak. Estimated value of over two thousand pounds. And that’s not including the glasses or drinks.” She looked up at me. “And this was what? Six years ago?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Six years last December.”

She gave me a sad half-smile. Then quietly she said, “I can’t imagine… Or maybe I just don’t want to.”

Mark came into the room carrying one of the cardboard boxes. “There’s a lot of booze here, mate,” he said, putting the box on the coffee table. “Two boxes’ worth. And you say this is all good shit, right? Expensive shit?”

I nodded. “It is. Or, at least, that’s what I’m told.”

“So, we’re not getting through it any time soon? Saving it for, like, birthdays and shit?”

“We’re definitely saving it.”

He picked up one bottle and held it out to me. “This the one? The one you told me about earlier?”

I took the Macallan from him, held it in both hands and stared at it. The last time I’d held this bottle was the night Clarissa and I had first slept together. I’d been so nervous that night. But it turned out to be perfect. This bottle really did deserve a special occasion. Something unique.

“Mate?” Mark said.

I looked up at him. “Yeah. This is the one.”

I held the bottle against my chest.

He nodded. I’d told him all about this bottle. About what it meant. He understood.

“We’ll find the right time, mate. I swear we will.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Lana put her hand on my arm. I looked at her, and she smiled warmly.

“So, Immy, when you put all this stuff away, that bottle gets pride of place, right?” Mark said.

“Hang on,” Imogen said. “Why am I putting all this away? It’s Paul’s stuff.”

“Because if we do it, you’ll only tell us we’ve done it wrong and redo it anyway,” Mark replied, smirking.

Imogen rolled her eyes.

“Paul and I will do it,” Lana said, still looking at me. “I’ll make sure we do it right.”

I nodded.

Imogen looked at Mark again. “I like her.” Then she strode towards the door. “I’m going to put the kettle on. Tea all around?”

---

“If you’re staying to watch the ceremony, why not just stay all night instead of trekking back to your flat at stupid o’clock?” Imogen said. “I’ll text Ness and ask if she minds you sleeping in her room. I’m sure she’ll be fine with it.”

We were at the kitchen table drinking Imogen’s tea, with the mandatory chocolate biscuits, of course. A quick rest before Lana and I tackled emptying the boxes and filling the cabinet.

I looked at Imogen and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” she said. “It just makes sense. And I’m sure Ness won’t mind. She hardly ever sleeps there now anyway. It’s almost like she’s moved out.” She turned her attention to Lana again. “She’s probably even got some clean pyjamas you could borrow—you’re both about the same size.”

Mark looked at me and smirked. I knew exactly what he was thinking. Lana’s similarity to Vanessa was obvious—the blonde hair, the blue eyes. Similar height, similar build. Just like Hannah. Just like Carly. Just like Clarissa. Just like all my previous girlfriends. Yes, she was ‘just my type,’ but it wasn’t like that with Lana. She was a friend, that’s all.

Imogen didn’t notice Mark’s smirk and just carried on. “We’ve got spare towels so you can shower in the morning, and we’ve even got a big pack of new toothbrushes that he—” she jabbed her thumb towards Mark “—bought in one of the pound shops in town. Although I’ve no idea why.”

He grinned and spread his arms wide. “What can I say, they were a bargain.”

Lana glanced at me, then looked at Imogen. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It’s no problem,” Imogen said. “It just makes sense, is all. Even if you decide to go home ‘early’—” she made air quotes with her fingers “—it’ll still be one or two o’clock or something. It just makes sense to stay here.”

Lana smiled and nodded. “As long as Vanessa says it’s okay.”

“Well, if she doesn’t, you can have my bed,” Mark said, grinning and putting his arm around Imogen.

She gave him the side-eye and said, “Nessa’s bed is bigger and more comfortable. I’m sure she won’t mind at all.”

I looked at Lana and smiled. She seemed to fit right in at this table, drinking tea and planning a sleepover. It felt… right. Unexpected, but right.

3: Kayla’s Night

Vanessa replied to Imogen’s message. She said she didn’t mind if Lana used her room and that she was welcome to borrow some sleepwear, too. But as grateful as Lana was for the offer to use the bed, she drew the line at borrowing Vanessa’s clothes. So after she’d helped me fill the cabinet, I drove her back to Campus Heights so she could pack an overnight bag.

“You do know it’s just overnight,” I said, sitting in the chair at her desk. Judging by the pile of clothes on the bed, she was packing for a week—or maybe she had something more important to do on Monday than lectures.

She looked up at me and smirked. “A girl needs options. You don’t expect me to decide right now what to wear to lectures tomorrow, do you?”

I shrugged. “Jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie. It’s not difficult.”

“Yes, but which T-shirt? Which hoodie?” She paused. “I would say which jeans, too, but I’ve packed my favourites, and they go with anything.”

I shook my head. “Just…” I smirked, then mimicked her whiny tone from the car the previous morning. “Hurry uuuuup!”

She picked up a small stuffed toy from her bedside table and threw it at me. I caught it and threw it right back.

“Hey!” she said in a mock-indignant tone. “How dare you throw Mr Flibbins!”

I stared at her. “Mr Flibbins? Really?”

She shrugged. “Nearly done,” she said. Then she looked at me and added, “You should text Carly.”

“Now?”

She nodded. “She’s probably already started getting ready, but she’ll probably still have her phone with her. I doubt they would take it off her until just before she’s ready to go on stage. You should wish her luck for tonight.” She paused. “In fact, don’t text. Call her. Do it now.”

“Call her? But that will cost—”

“Use the app, idiot. It’s free.”

“Oh, right. I never use it for that. Just texts.” I arched an eyebrow. “Wait, did you just call me an idiot?”

She shrugged again. “You were being an idiot. I mean, even if you had to pay for the call, it’s not like you can’t afford it, Paul. Is it?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I see your—”

“You’re stalling. Call her. Now. She’s about to give the biggest performance of her life. It will mean the world to her if she hears from you. Just wish her luck and let her know you believe in her. Tell her she’ll be amazing. Because you know she will be. She always is.”

I took a deep breath. “Yeah. I know she will. So…” I took my phone out of my pocket and stared at it. I knew I just had to press the green phone icon, but my thumb hovered over the screen.

One second. Two. Three.

Lana rolled her eyes. “Give it here. I’ll do it.”

---

Lana hit the phone icon, then put it on speaker before handing it back to me. After I took it, she went to sit on her bed, then tapped the space next to her with her hand.

By the time I’d moved from the chair to the bed, Carly had answered.

“Paul? You called!”

“Hi, Carly.”

“Oh, Paul!” She exhaled, and it sounded like she was letting go of several days of worry. “I’m so glad you called. I’m so nervous, and it’s just… God, hearing your voice is like…” She sighed. “I wish you were here with me.”

So did I—but I couldn’t say that. Not now.

“I told you I’d get him to call, didn’t I?”

“Lana? You’re there too? Thank you! I knew you would. You said you would. Thank you!”

“I’ll give the two of you some privacy,” Lana said, standing up.

“No, there’s no need. It’s fine. I’m happy to talk to you, too.”

“So, what are you doing?” I asked. “How long before you have to leave to go to the ceremony? What time is it there?” I checked my watch. “It’s just gone eight here.”

“Eight? It’s only midday here. I’m just having a break for a light lunch. My glam squad’s been here since ten, and I’m still not completely ready. Hair and makeup are done, but I’m still in the hotel’s robe. The designer will be here shortly to help me with my dress. Guess who designed my dress? Go on, guess!”

“I have no idea,” I said, grinning at the phone. She sounded so excited, it was impossible not to get caught up in it.

“Well,” Lana said, “I reckon that Chloë arranged for her favourite designer to sort you out. Jacques Surmont?”

“Yes!” Carly practically screamed. “You should see it. It’s incredible. I mean, you will see it. You are going to be watching, aren’t you? If it’s already eight there, how late will you have to stay up to watch the show?”

“I think it will finish about four, but we’re definitely staying up to watch,” I said. “We’ll be watching. Watching and cheering you on.”

“Both of you?”

“I’m going over to Paul’s to watch it with him.”

“Oh, excellent. It’s amazing to know my two favourite people are watching together.”

“What time do you need to be there?” I asked.

“Well, Jacques is getting here at two. He’s coming to me first, then going to Chloë. I’ve got, like, photos to do for my socials and stuff. Then I’m leaving here at three, and I’ll walk the red carpet about half an hour after that. Are you going to watch the pre-show too? Look out for me on the carpet? I’ll give you a shout out.”

“We’ll be watching,” Lana said.

“And, you know that I’m opening the show, right? I mean, I’m opening the show! How fantastic is that? It’s because of the orchestra, really. They say that they can’t really get an orchestra onto the stage during the show, so I’m going on first, and then they can close the curtain and clear the stage. I can’t believe it. I really can’t.”

She was speaking so quickly I daren’t even try and get a word in and her delightful Alabama twang made me smile. I looked at Lana. She was grinning right back at me.

“And do you know who I’m performing with?”

“Who?” Lana said.

“It’s the Youth Orchestra of Los Angeles. I got that idea from you, Lana. Paul, do you remember when I visited the youth orchestra on campus with you? And I sang with them?”

“I remember,” I said.

“I loved that. It was such fun. So I figured, let’s get young people on stage with me, just like we did with you and your quartet in London, Lana. I loved that, too. Oh, I’m so excited. Can you tell? I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

I shook my head and smiled. Lana was still grinning.

“You’re fine,” Lana said. “You have every right to babble. Every right to be excited.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “And you’re going to smash it tonight. I know you will. Everyone’s going to love you.”

“Aw, thanks. That’s real kind. Hey, did you guys see me last night?”

“Last night?” I said.

“Yeah. I was on Kimmel. He’s been doing Oscar specials all week. Well, last night he invited me on, and I did the Nightmare Mix with my new band. They’re good, but they’re not Roxie and the guys. But they are good. But you don’t get Kimmel over there, do you? So no, you wouldn’t have seen it. And then after the show, I did ‘Always’ as, like, an online special, and there’s a big surprise in it. I didn’t know about it, but wow, what a surprise. It was amazing.”

“What surprise?”

“Well, I’m not telling you. It will spoil it. Look it up on YouTube. It’s unbelievable.”

“We’ll do it when we get back to my house,” I said.

“Guys, sorry, Glenn has just come in to tell me to hurry up and eat. There’s a reporter here for an interview or something, and I need to make myself presentable. Thanks for calling, though. It means so much. And I love that you’ll be watching together. I’ll be thinking of you both when I’m on stage.”

“Okay, well, good luck. I know you’ll be brilliant.”

“Aw, thanks.” She paused. “Paul?”

“Yes.”

“I love you.”

I didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t. My throat was suddenly dry, and I could hear my own heartbeat. Then I felt Lana staring at me from my right.

I glanced at her.

She gave me a small smile and nodded gently towards the phone.

I nodded back.

“Love you, too,” I said.

There was a pause.

“Always?”

I took a deep breath and recalled the note she’d written to me on the second CD of Alabama Sweetheart—the CD full of covers of her favourite songs.

There’s a reason part two is called ‘Always.’

And it wasn’t because that was the first song on the disc.

I hesitated another second. I glanced at Lana and then nodded to myself.

“Always.”

---

“I’ve found it,” Lana said.

“Didn’t take you long,” I said, glancing at her.

She was grinning. “It’s the first video that comes up when you search her name. It’s a trending video.”

We were driving back to my house, and Lana had been searching for the performance that Carly had mentioned on her phone.

“You’ve got one of those streaming stick things, right? With YouTube on it?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“So, we can watch it all together on the big telly in your living room?”

I nodded again.

“I can’t get over the size of that thing. It must be twice the size of the one we have at home.”

“I doubt it’s that big,” I said. “How big is yours at home?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I know Dad was so excited when we got it a couple of years ago. He bought it to watch the football tournament and the Olympics that summer. I think he said it was thirty-seven inches or something.”

“Well, mine’s fifty-five, so definitely not twice the size.”

“It’s still massive, though. Bet it was expensive.”

I shrugged.

Imogen and Mark were in the lounge watching my ‘massive’ TV when we arrived, but Imogen took Lana upstairs to Vanessa’s room, telling her she’d changed the bedsheets as they went up the stairs. She really was our little domestic goddess. God knows how Mark and I would be living without her to keep us in check.

I told Mark about Carly’s two YouTube performances, and he switched to the streaming stick and found the first one by the time the girls came back downstairs. He hit play once we were all settled—Imogen sitting on his lap in the armchair he’d made his own, while Lana and I were in the same spots on the sofa we’d been the night before.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the host said. “Tonight, we have the final performance of the songs nominated for this year’s Best Original Song award, and it’s the favourite to win by some distance.”

He went on to discuss the song and the movie, revealing that Chloë, the movie’s star, was among his other guests. I smiled when he said that—I hadn’t spoken to my friend (and business partner) for a few weeks.

“And here to sing it,” the host said, “is my new favourite Alabama Sweetheart—that’s the name of her new album—it’s Huntsville’s own, Miss Kayla Valentine!”

The camera panned over to Carly, who was standing in front of her new band, whose line-up echoed Blackfriars’ Nightmare— electric and acoustic guitars, bass, drummer, and someone who could play any other instrument they needed. Roxie’s lead guitar spot had been filled by a female guitarist, too.

And sitting at the back of the stage…

“They’ve got someone playing my part,” Lana said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

I glanced over at her. “Miss the limelight?”

“It wasn’t really the ‘limelight.’ I was at the back of the stage, but…” She grinned. “Hell, yeah! BAFTA night, when I was at the front of the stage with her, was awesome. But…” She shrugged. Then smiled warmly.

I refocused on the screen, where Carly had already begun singing. She was wearing the white dress I’d bought her in Birmingham and looked stunning. When the director provided a close-up of her as she sang, I noticed she was also wearing the necklace I’d got her from the city’s Jewellery Quarter.

She was extraordinary. She always was.

I’d honestly never seen her deliver anything less than an outstanding performance. But watching her on screen instead of in person felt… different.

It felt wrong.

The purity and sweetness of her voice still gave me chills. And she was still able to convey the emotion of every lyric—joy, heartbreak, compassion, fear, her voice made you feel it all.

But less than a week ago, we were sharing a bed.

And now…

Now we’d never share a bed again.

After the song, the host conducted a brief interview and wished her luck for ‘tomorrow night,’ which, of course, was now only a few hours away. Then he informed the audience that Kayla would return to record an ‘online exclusive’ performance for the studio audience that would be available on their YouTube channel ‘later that evening.’

As he said that, the link to the next performance appeared on the screen, and Mark, who had the remote, clicked on it.

I held my breath for the few seconds it took for the video to load.

I recalled the first time I’d seen her perform this—when she joined Blackfriars’ Nightmare on stage in Porky’s. It wasn’t planned. There was no set list. They knew the song. She knew the song. And she’d kept looking down at me in front of the stage every time she sang the line, ‘I will love you, baby, always.”

The host appeared alone on screen again, introduced the ‘Online Exclusive,’ and talked briefly about Alabama Sweetheart.

“I actually have a copy of it right here.” He held up the CD case. “Freshly burned. So fresh, it doesn’t even have a cover.” He looked over to his right. “You only finished recording it last week, is that right?”

The camera cut to Carly, who was standing with the band again, ready to start singing. She was smiling.

No, smiling isn’t right. She was beaming. Her smile was wide, her eyes bright, and she seemed to have an inner light. “That’s right, Jimmy. Put the finishing touches to it on Monday.”

The camera swung back to Jimmy. “Amazing. I feel so privileged you’ve given me an advance copy.”

In exchange for his advance copy, he did his part by hyping up the album and some of its songs.

“So, here with her version of the Bon Jovi smash, ‘Always,’ which is currently sitting just outside the top twenty on the Billboard Hot 100, please welcome back, Miss Kayla Valentine!”

It was a fantastic performance. Naturally. However, Carly was right when she mentioned there was a surprise. After the first chorus, she opened her mouth to sing the second verse, but a completely different voice came through the speakers.

One we all instantly recognised.

“Oh, my God!” Lana said, one hand covering her mouth and the other reaching out towards me. She grabbed my arm and shook it. “Oh, my God!”

I stared at her, opened my mouth to say something, but couldn’t.

Jon Bon Jovi himself walked onto the back of the stage, threaded through the band, and joined Carly at the front. She’d obviously recognised the voice too and hadn’t sung a word. The audience was going wild. And Jon stood there, grinning as he sang.

He reached out to Carly as she stared at him. Even as he kept singing, he pulled her to him for a quick hug. Then he let her go, Carly visibly composed herself and two lines later, they were singing in unison like they’d been duetting their whole lives.

As the song ended, the two singers hugged, and the host joined them.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Kayla Valentine, and rock legend, Jon! Bon! Jovi!”

You could hardly hear him; the crowd was cheering so loudly. Kayla looked stunned. Jon looked relaxed. He waved to the crowd, then glanced at Carly and smiled until she did the same.

Eventually, the crowd settled sufficiently, with some encouragement from the host, for the interviews to begin.

“First of all,” the host said, “Kayla, you had no idea about this, did you?”

She shook her head and said, breathlessly, “No. No idea. This is so awesome! I just sang with Jon Bon Jovi.” She did the same ‘happy dance’ that she’d done at her Manchester concert when she announced she’d finished recording the album—stomping both feet and shaking her head so that her blonde hair flew around her. I grinned as I watched.

“So, Jon,” the host said. “Care to explain?”

Jon explained he was in town for the Oscars, and someone had asked him what he thought of Kayla’s version of his song.

“I saw that one video in the nightclub that was leaked, where it looked like it was a completely impromptu performance—”

Carly nodded and said, “It was. It really was.”

“And I saw the one you did at your last show over there—in Manchester, was it?”

She nodded again.

“Yeah, Manchester, a fantastic city. Well, I saw that, and I was blown away. And, I tell you, I don’t know who you kept looking at in the front row as you sang, but I’m guessing he’s someone special and he’s a very lucky man. Very lucky.”

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. Everyone in the room knew who he meant. I stared at the screen, unable to look at any of my friends.

“I love your interpretation of the song, Kayla.” He looked at the host. “Jimmy, to sing with as much control and precision as Kayla does, and still fill every word with such passion, is tremendously difficult, and Kayla does it effortlessly. Mark my words, she’s the future of this business.”

As the video ended, I finally looked around the room. Imogen and Mark were both staring at me. I shrugged, then looked at Lana. She was also looking at me with a warm smile, and her eyes were just as warm.

“He’s right, you know,” she said. “She is amazing. And you really are very lucky.”

I looked at the screen, now filled with a still image of Kayla and Jon singing in unison.

“Yeah. I know. I was. Very lucky.”

---

I’d never watched the Oscars before. Honestly, I just wasn’t that interested in Hollywood superstars slapping each other on the back. Ten minutes into the pre-show, I realised I hadn’t missed out.

It began at ten, hosted by a man and a woman I didn’t recognise.

“Andrew, this year we’re getting a grand performance of each of the six nominees for Best Original Song, and the favourite for that award is actually opening the show.”

“That’s right, Susan. Kayla Valentine, someone who is the very definition of ‘Rising Star,’ will be performing ‘A Woman’s Work’ with the Los Angeles Youth Orchestra.”

At about twenty past, the show’s format changed as the stars began to arrive. Now, a ‘fashion expert’ named Joel joined Andrew and Susan to discuss the stars’ outfits. I’ll be honest, it seemed a little crass to me—discussing the people, particularly the women, like they were livestock up for auction.

And I wasn’t the only one thinking that way.

“This Joel bloke is an arsehole, isn’t he?” Mark said. “Three women, three dresses, and he’s found something to criticise on all of them.”

“It’s what they do,” said Imogen. “And notice he’s only criticising the women. Not the men.”

I shook my head and looked at Lana. She was smiling, and her eyes twinkled. Mark was right. Joel was an arsehole.

“We have another limo pulling up, Susan. Do you know who’s in this one?” Andrew asked.

“Let me check my schedule…” Susan moved her finger across the tablet she was holding. “Yes, just as I thought, this should be… Yes, it is, she’s getting out now. It’s Kayla Valentine. And my, doesn’t she look wonderful?”

“She does indeed,” Andrew said. “All that sweet southern charm we’ve seen from her in the past few days, wrapped up in a package that would make a dead man’s heart flutter.”

“Well, we all know you have a thing for Alabama girls, don’t we, Andrew? That’s what got you into so much trouble last year.”

“She was worth the trouble,” Andrew said with a hearty laugh. “That’s why I married her.”

“So, Joel, what do you make of Miss Valentine’s outfit?”

“She certainly does look like a star, Susan. And she is wearing the heck out of that dress…”

I didn’t catch the rest of the conversation. I was too consumed with the sight of my stunning Alabama Sweetheart in a glittering silver dress that made her look like an actual goddess—a vision from Greek mythology in the California sun. The dress draped across her shoulders and flowed to the floor—she looked regal. Her entire appearance—her hair, makeup, and dress—embodied her dual personality. She projected both Kayla’s confident star quality and Carly’s vulnerability, woven together.

“Paul?” Lana’s voice cut through my all-consuming thoughts about my ex-girlfriend.

My ‘ex’ girlfriend.

I looked over at her. She smiled. Then reached up to wipe away a tear from the corner of my eye. I hadn’t even realised…

Her touch was so soft.

“Thanks,” I said, wiping first one eye then the other with the ball of my palm.

“You okay?”

I nodded. “I’m fine.”

“You should text her. Send her a photo of the television and tell her how amazing she looks.”

I smiled, nodded and picked up my phone.

I managed to snap a photo before Carly was guided away to make way for the next celebrity, beginning her walk up the red carpet, no doubt to face countless photographers and reporters, all chasing the perfect shot or quote.

Imogen got up from Mark’s lap. “I’m going to make a drink before the show starts. What would everyone like?”

“Tea,” Mark said, automatically.

Imogen rolled her eyes at him. He was the only one who didn’t need to answer; his choice was assumed. “Paul?” she said. “Lana?”

“I’ll have a hot chocolate, please,” I said.

“Oh, yes, me too,” Lana said. “I love hot chocolate. I’ll come and help.”

Imogen nodded and went into the kitchen. She returned five minutes later with a tray of drinks and a plate of biscuits. She handed Lana her drink first, who sniffed the chocolate and clutched the mug as if it were a hand-warmer. Imogen smiled at Lana before handing me my drink.

Carly appeared twice more for brief interviews before Chloë arrived about half an hour later in a gold dress designed to evoke the Oscar itself, but as the parade of celebrities continued, we gradually talked more and watched less.

Eventually, all the stars had arrived, all the interviews had been done, and the show was ready to begin.

---

After the broadcaster’s and Academy’s logos appeared, the screen faded to black. Then, in the centre of the screen, a white dot emerged. The dot expanded, revealing a montage of famous movie scenes, from grainy black-and-white to stunning high-definition colour. By the time the video package filled the screen, the montage raced through iconic quotes. It ended with perhaps the most famous movie quote of all time.

“Here’s looking at you, kid.”

As the screen faded back to black, a lone violin played the opening bars of ‘A Woman’s Work,’ joined by the rest of the string section a few seconds later, just before an electric guitar cut through with a short riff.

Then Kayla’s voice filled the room—a voice so extraordinarily pure and beautiful that it filled up my soul as much as the room—and the screen faded up to show her standing in front of the orchestra, her microphone on a stand in front of her. She sang with her whole body—her whole being.

From the quiet, intimate opening—her voice soft enough to pull you in—to the soaring final chorus, where even the orchestra at its majestic peak couldn’t mask the perfection when she hit and held that last high note…

It was a flawless performance.

And as the celebrity audience rose to their feet and the show’s host walked onto the stage to thank ‘Kayla Valentine and the Youth Orchestra of Los Angeles,’ tears ran silently down my cheeks.

---

The curtain fell, hiding the orchestra and their departure from the stage, and the camera followed Kayla as she walked towards the wings, waving at the audience. Then the camera cut to the host, who began his opening monologue, and I felt a hand on my leg.

I looked down at the hand, then up at Lana.

She was smiling.

“You okay?” she asked, quietly.

I took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

“Sure?”

I nodded.

Her smile widened for just a second. “She was amazing, wasn’t she?”

“She was,” I said, smiling. “She really was.”

“Told you she would be. She always is.”

My phone, which was sitting on the coffee table, beeped and vibrated. I picked it up and read the message.

I smiled.

“From Carly?” Lana said.

I nodded, then turned the phone around so Lana could see the screen. Carly had sent me a video of her walking off the stage, taken from the wings. Once she was off stage, she got up close to the camera and said, very quietly, “That was for you, Paul. I love you.”

Then she blew me a kiss.

Lana’s eyes flicked up to me, then back at the screen. She looked… passive. Expressionless. As if she were hiding something.

I took the phone back and tapped in a message.

“Let’s do a selfie,” I said. “So that she knows we’re all watching.”

Mark and Imogen got up and came around to stand behind the sofa, and Lana leaned in close to me while we posed.

“Do it as a video, mate,” Mark said.

I looked up at him, nodded, then switch the camera to video.

“On three,” I said. “One. Two. Three.”

I hit record, and we all cheered, waved, and told Carly she was amazing.

Because she was.

Then I hit ‘Send.’

---

“I’m going to bed,” Mark said. “I’m not sitting through three hours of celebrity back-slapping. I’m not a fucking masochist. And besides, I’ve got a nine o’clock.”

I nodded at him.

“Me too,” said Imogen.

“But you don’t have a nine o’clock lecture,” I said with a smirk.

She stuck her tongue out at me as they left.

I turned to Lana. “Guess it’s just me and thee, then.”

Me and thee? I was spending too much time around Mark—I was turning Northern.

She smiled. “Guess so. Although…”

I narrowed my eyes. “What? You’re not going to bed, too, are you?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s just that Mark’s got a point. Do we really want to sit through the whole ceremony? We’re only interested in whether Carly wins. Which she will. And they have to perform all the other nominated songs first. She told me earlier her category is scheduled for the start of the third hour of the show.”

“Well… Yeah, but I want to know if Chloë wins in either of her categories, too.”

“Which are both likely to be in the final hour. The acting awards always are.”

“So, what do you suggest?”

She shrugged. “Bottle of wine and a movie? Or… Maybe a couple of episodes of a sitcom. Something light? We can follow the awards on Twitter, anyway.”

“That’s… Not a bad idea.” I reached out and picked up the remote control to the satellite set-top box and the streaming stick, then held them out to Lana. “Find something to watch. I’ll go and steal some of Imogen and Vanessa’s wine.”

“Steal? Isn’t it yours? Don’t you pay for it?”

“I pay for it, but it isn’t mine. I’ll have to replace whatever we drink by Friday when the girls are ready to go out, or they’ll… They won’t be happy with me.”

Lana smirked. “How can you be under the thumb of two girls you aren’t in a relationship with?”

I held up my hand and then counted off the reasons.

“One, Imogen knows how laundry works. Two, she keeps the house clean. Three, she makes a fantastic cup of tea. Four, she’s an excellent cook.”

Lana shook her head and grinned.

“Red or white?” I said.

“White, please. And something sweet, not dry.”

“There’s a difference?” I said with a wry smile.

She rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the remote controls. But as I left the room, she said, “Paul?”

I stopped on the threshold of the room and said, “Yeah?”

“That list…” She grinned. “Three of them apply to me.”

“Really? Which three?”

“I make terrible tea. I’m a coffee drinker.”

I nodded. Then said, “I’m going to need proof of number four.”

“Stay for dinner after badminton on Wednesday, then. It’s my turn to cook this week. I’ll actually put the effort in for once.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“If my flatmates find out just how good a cook I am, I’d end up doing all the cooking. I’m not that stupid.”

4: Chosen Family

I woke before my alarm went off, despite not falling asleep until well after three. Lana and I watched a couple of episodes of a classic British sitcom she’d found on the iPlayer, then turned back to see ‘A Woman’s Work’ win its award. Carly wore a huge smile as she stood on stage next to Harry and Ellie, clutching her statuette. The award went to the songwriters, not the singer, but Harry and Ellie had insisted on giving Kayla a retrospective writing credit because, in Ellie’s words, “the song we recorded was different from the one we wrote, and that’s because of Kayla.”

By then, it was after two, and only the ‘big’ awards remained to be given out, so we decided to watch the rest of the show.

I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling. I’d already reached out to the empty space next to me.

I hated waking up alone.

I glanced to my right at the clock on my bedside table. It was just after seven-forty-five. I picked up the CD player remote from beside the clock, pointed it at my desk on the far side of the room, and hit ‘Play.’

Alabama Sweetheart came through the speakers at a low enough volume that it wouldn’t disturb my housemates. Although Mark and Imogen were probably already awake, since Mark had a nine o’clock lecture, and Vanessa was at her boyfriend’s house. Again.

Lana.

Lana was in Vanessa’s bed.

I’d almost forgotten.

Neither she nor I needed to be on campus until ten. I had Lexi Bennett’s lecture, and she had a seminar. But before we turned in last night, I’d offered to buy her breakfast at Jak’s, so she was either already awake or would be very soon.

I closed my eyes and pictured the scene as we parted last night.

Before we started watching the sitcom, Lana decided to change into her pyjamas. She might have updated her wardrobe after her GCSEs so that she was no longer, in her own words, ‘Mousey Alannah,’ but it didn’t look like she’d gone so far as to buy new pyjamas. When she joined me back downstairs, she was in a thick, heavy cotton red pyjama set covered in pictures of puppy dogs. Later that night, when we stood on the landing between our rooms, having a whispered discussion about the next morning, it was… odd. She was a beautiful young woman in her pyjamas. It should have felt ‘sexy’ or ‘awkward,’ but it didn’t.

And after we’d decided to have breakfast, when she hugged me, and then stood on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek before going into Vanessa’s room, it felt…

Right.

It felt right.

I shook my head to clear it. I was starting to imagine what was underneath Lana’s pyjamas, and that wasn’t appropriate—she was in the room just across the hallway.

I looked at the clock again. It was five to eight now. I had time to make a pot of coffee—Lana might want some before we went out. Then I could jump in the shower. If we left the house at nine, that should give us plenty of time to eat breakfast and still make it to campus for ten.

---

I grabbed my robe from the back of my bedroom door, pulled it on, then walked out onto the landing.

And found Lana standing at the entrance to Vanessa’s room, still in her pyjamas and holding a towel and a wash bag.

“Hey,” I said. “Morning.”

She smiled. “Morning.”

“Sleep well?”

“Like a log. I always do after a couple of glasses of vino. You?”

I nodded. “I slept fine. I got another video from Carly about four that woke me up, though. I watched it, replied, then went straight back to sleep.”

“Show me later?”

“Sure.” I frowned. “Erm… Why are you waiting there?”

“Because that big lump of a boyfriend of mine is taking longer in the shower than he needs to,” Imogen said, coming out of her room. “I’ll kill him. He said he’d be quick.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re waiting for the shower?”

Lana nodded.

I shrugged. “Use mine,” I said. Then to Imogen I added, “That way, you don’t have to wait until Lana’s finished to take yours.”

“Are you sure?” Lana said. “What about you?”

“Are you going to take as long as Mark?” I nodded towards the shared bathroom.

“No. I’ll be pretty quick.”

“So, it’s fine. I’ll go make a pot of coffee, and by the time that’s ready, you’ll be finished, and I can shower.”

“I wouldn’t want—”

“Lana, it’s fine. In fact, it makes the most sense.” I nodded towards my room. “Go on. I’ll go and sort the coffee out.”

She nodded and stepped forward out of Vanessa’s room. I stepped out onto the landing so she could enter my room.

She paused in front of me, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed my cheek. Then she slipped into my en-suite. I watched her until the door closed behind her and the lock clicked into place, then looked at Imogen.

She had that ‘look’ again. The one that said she knew something I didn’t, and that I was an idiot for not knowing it.

“What?” I said.

She shook her head. “Nothing.” Then she smirked. “Make sure there’s enough coffee for all of us. Well, for three of us. You may as well put the kettle on for Mark’s tea too.”

I nodded. “Sure. But he can make his own bloody tea. He only ever complains that I do it wrong. Mine’s too ‘southern,’ apparently.”

---

Jak raised an eyebrow at me when she came to take our order.

I raised an eyebrow back.

She smirked, then said, “The same pretty girl two visits in a row?” She put her hand to her mouth, covering it from Lana, then stage-whispered, “You must like this one. Am I right?”

I swear I saw Lana blush out of the corner of my eye. I shook my head and rolled my eyes at Jak, but when I looked at Lana, she was just smiling.

Innocent. Composed.

I arched an eyebrow at her, and her smile widened.

“What can I get you?” Jak asked. “The usual?”

I nodded. “Naturally. Lana?”

“Oh, just a breakfast. Full English?”

Jak nodded. “Two big breakfasts coming up. I’ll bring your tea over shortly.”

“Actually, could I have coffee, please?” Lana said. “I don’t really drink tea.”

Jak smiled. “No problem.”

“You drank Imogen’s tea yesterday,” I said as Jak went back to the counter.

“I was being polite.”

I stared at her. “Are you sure you’re British? Not… I don’t know, French or Italian, or something?”

She shrugged. “I think there’s some French ancestry on my mum’s side, but I’m as British as roast potatoes.” She grinned. “I’ll do roasties on Wednesday when you come for dinner. My mum showed me how to do them properly.”

I nodded. “Okay, sounds good. My mum did wonderful roasties too. But I need to teach you how to drink tea.” I shook my head. “Coffee with a Full English. It’s bordering on sacrilege. Mark would have a fit if he found out.”

“Yes, well, what can you expect? He’s northern.” She grinned.

I grinned back. “Yeah. Very northern.”

---

Marie called ten minutes after my lecture ended. She knew my timetable and when she could and couldn’t call.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey, Paul. Are you busy today? I mean, other than your lectures, obviously. Any chance you can meet me for lunch?”

“Sure, no problem. Can I ask why?”

“I’ve got the initial sales figures for the first week of ‘Always.’ Thought you might like to see them.”

“You could just email them.”

“I could. But where’s the fun in that? I don’t get to see the look on your face when you find out.”

“Well, I already know they must be good. The song went straight to number one.”

“Here it did. But it did well in America, too. And in a lot of Europe and around the world. You’re going to be so surprised.”

“Okay. Well… Meet me outside The Union at twelve?”

“Okay. Do I need to dress down again? Because I’d have to go home and change.” She giggled. She was referring to my first meeting with Ben and Amiee, my media law experts, when I’d asked Marie to dress in jeans and a hoodie to put them both off their guard. It didn’t work. They both took everything in their stride.

“I’m sure whatever you’re wearing is fine. I’ll see you at twelve.”

---

I met Imogen in the library after my call with Marie, and we studied for nearly an hour before heading across the Grand Plaza. Marie was already there, chatting with Lana and Lily by the clock tower.