by Laura Carter
The house has been turned into a gala hall, with waiters serving canapes and champagne as a concert harpist plays in one corner.
“Ah, Isabella, how wonderful to see you.” Claudia Huckleberry almost swings me by the shoulders to face her. I perform the obligatory air kisses. “It has been too long. Your mother told me about your new book. She’s very proud. Said it’s a best-seller. New York Times, is it? A thriller, isn’t it? Oh, excuse me, I must say hello to Helena Delaney. Her daughter just got the results for her pre-university testing. It hasn’t gone well. Everyone knows about it. Helena will be distraught. We’ll speak soon.”
And I was just about to say hello, Claudia. Shame.
As a waiter passes, I take a glass of champagne. From the next, I take a caviar canape.
“Darling, do be careful,” my mother says. “We are having a three-course dinner. You don’t want to overeat. I didn’t think you drank alcohol these days.”
“Mmm, yeah, it’s a new me,” I say, purposely leaving caviar in my mouth as I speak. I know I’m turning over a new leaf and doing things for me rather than to piss off my parents but, well, I couldn’t help myself. I laughed, at least.
“Isabella, do not embarrass us this evening.”
“I would never, Mummy.”
A marquee has been erected in the grounds at the back of the house. It is lavish inside. Crystal chandeliers, red carpets, white-clothed tables with tall floral centerpieces. They’re going to have to really up their game for the wedding. As I think that, I snort-laugh at my own wit. People already seated at my designated table scrutinize me, then get back to their conversations. I take my seat, recognizing some of the faces from Chelsea’s social scene. Boy-girl seating has been enforced, with a rule that we all rotate two seats to the left at the end of every course.
“Hi, I’m Marcus Hendrickson.” I take the hand offered to me by the guy to my left. He’s kind of puny but his suit has been cut to fit his thin shoulders and skinny arms. He has a big forehead that I think is shiny from face cream. His hair is slicked back with so much product he looks like Leonardo DiCaprio’s version of Jay Gatsby.
Brooks wears a suit far better than this guy, or any of the five men at this table, for that matter.
“Nice to meet you, Marcus. I’m Izzy.”
“Izzy…?”
Trying not to roll my eyes, I tell him, “Coulthard. Izzy Coulthard.” Now he can mentally assess whether I’m worth talking to. Whether I might be able to do anything for his social standing.
“Oh, you’re Izzy Coulthard. I heard about your book deal. The stunt with the roughneck. Brilliant idea. I bet that sold a few extra copies.” He sort of laughs and sort of chokes on his red wine as he speaks. Whatever he does, it’s disgusting. “You know, I’ve been thinking about doing something similar, trying to get close to reality TV stars, to put my name on the map, so to speak.”
If Brooks were here, I think there’s a good chance he would punch this Marcus guy in his upturned nose. Since he isn’t here…
“For your information, Marcus, it wasn’t a stunt.” I rise, my chair scraping the floor as I stand. “Brooks Adams is a million times the man you could ever hope to be.”
I drain the wine from my glass and bang the empty down on the table. Then I leave the damn party and the farce of everything that is my life in London.
* * * *
“Look, I told you I didn’t want to be there. The guy was a dick.”
Anna stands in front of me with her hands on her hips, looking a little green since she started eating a slice of toast for breakfast. Maybe she should have slept off more of her hangover first.
“You know what, Izzy, why don’t you just go back to New York if you prefer it so much?”
I put my headphones into my ears. “Be careful what you wish for, Anna. I’m going for a run.”
I set my wristwatch and start a half marathon. I run through Chelsea, Kensington, around Hyde Park, checking my watch at each mile. By the time I reach thirteen miles, I have shaved eight minutes off my best-ever time.
I bend forward and drag air into my lungs, then start to walk off the run. My smile is so wide, my cheeks ache. At the next store I pass, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I buy a chocolate bar. I take it to a bench in St. James’ Park and I watch people walking by as I enjoy my treat, square by square. Brooks was right. If you work hard, a reward is fine. I don’t feel guilty at all.
Working on cardio with Brooks was what got me to my best time today too. I take my phone from the bottom pouch of my yoga pants and snap a selfie.
I type the words:
YOU SHAVED EIGHT MINUTES OFF MY HALF MARATHON WITH YOUR BRUTAL CARDIO.
YOU KNOW THE SAYING, NOTHING TASTES AS GOOD AS SKINNY FEELS? WELL, IT’S BULLSHIT. THIS CHOCOLATE BAR TASTES BLOODY AMAZING.
I hesitate before finally hitting Send and enjoying the last of my sweet treat.
Chapter 32
brooks
“What do you think?” Drew asks.
I lean back against the window ledge and take another look around the second floor of the old building, just off Wall Street. It’s the perfect location for the new gym. And the space is enormous. But the renovations were abandoned by the previous tenant, and it’s hard visualizing a gym around polystyrene drapes and scaffolding.
A lady called Gloria is showing Drew and me around. She’s a Realtor his firm regularly works with. “You need to think outside the box, Brooks. The space always looks smaller when it’s empty. Try to imagine yourself working out in here.”
“I think the ceilings are tall enough to have office space on a mezzanine level, like you do in your current place,” Drew adds, walking around in jeans, boots, and a hard hat that’s a match for mine, only his is red and mine is blue.
As I try to “think outside the box,” I receive a text message. The name on the screen is the last one I expected to see and the only one I’ve been hoping for.
I smile at a picture of Izzy in her sports gear, sitting on a bench, eating chocolate, and admitting that my interval training has got her fitness up.
God, it’s only one text message and I feel like I can breathe again.
I reply:
IT’S NOT JUST MY CARDIO TRAINING. THE SQUATS AND LUNGES HAVE GIVEN YOU MORE POWER IN YOUR QUADS TOO.
She replies in an instant and I actually laugh out loud when I read:
SMART ARSE!
With more energy than moments ago, I walk into the middle of the floor and turn on the spot. I see Izzy running on a treadmill with a view out to the Hudson. I see her pummeling a punch bag, her music playing in her ears, or maybe humming her own songs as she winds down in the stretch-out area.
“I’m in,” I say.
Drew throws an arm around my shoulder. “Let’s make this happen, buddy.”
On the sidewalk, after exchanging details and agreeing on a time to talk through next steps, I have a thought. “Gloria, do you also deal with residential apartments? I’m in the market for a new two bedroom. My only stipulation is a view.”
* * * *
Stopping the car in the usual spot I would pick up Cady—on the edge of the cul-de-sac—I give myself a pep talk. This is Alice. Just Alice. Sweet, beautiful Alice. She can’t hurt you anymore. You have to do this for Cady.
Putting the car in gear, I drive into the cul-de-sac, following Cady’s instructions. In front of a large detached house, I see the black Range Rover Cady told me would be in the driveway.
Come on, dude, keep your shit together.
Cady is already out of the house when I shut the door of the truck behind me. As she walks into my arms, I see Alice over her shoulder, standing in the doorway. She’s older. She doesn’t look exactly like my Alice. Her hair is a darker shade of blond. There are a few different colors, not one light shade, not like Alice in Wonderland. And h
er hair is short, just below her chin. But her big blue eyes are just the same. And she’s glowing, like she did when she was pregnant with Cady.
“She won’t bite,” Cady whispers into my ear.
For the first time, as I meet the stare of my Alice, I know she won’t bite. I also know she is no longer mine. The strange thing is, it doesn’t upset me, or anger me. The relief I feel carries me to the door.
Cady steps inside ahead of me and disappears down a long corridor, leaving just the two of us. Up close, Alice’s eyes are different. There are fine lines at the corners. Her once pale, clear skin has makeup partially covering freckles.
Her lips curve into a smile. That I recognize. The way her skin folds at the corners of her mouth. She’s the same Alice and yet so different.
“Hi, Brooks.”
“Hi, Alice.”
It’s hard to say which of us makes the first move. We end up locked in an embrace, squeezing each other hard. Holding the past and letting it go at the same time.
“Can we eat? I’m starving!” Cady shouts from somewhere, presumably the kitchen.
Alice and I pull apart, still smiling at each other. “You always did look beautiful pregnant.”
“You always said that and I always felt like crap.”
“I guess I missed that.”
“It’s good to see you, Brooks.”
“It’s good to see you too, Alice.”
I follow her along high-polished wood flooring, passing white walls filled with pictures of countryside and beaches, to a large kitchen. Cady is already perched at the farmhouse-style table.
“Richard, this is Brooks. Brooks, Richard,” Alice says.
Richard is around five ten in height and thinning around the crown. He turns from where he’s putting bacon onto four plates, wiping his hands down an apron as he does. He holds out his hand and I shake it. Firm, but not aggressive.
It turns out Richard isn’t the alpha douche I expected, ordering Alice around while he sits with his feet up in checked slippers, smoking a pipe all day. Go figure.
We eat bacon, eggs, and French toast. All cooked by Richard. It’s not the nightmare I have thought about for years. It’s…nice. Alice and I share a few glances and tell Cady and Richard a few stories of when we were kids. It’s surreal but fine.
Eventually, we get on to Cady’s drop-off day at college. We agree to all go with her. College fees are never mentioned. It was agreed a long time ago that I wanted to and would be paying those. But Richard does ask my permission to buy a few niceties to make Cady feel more at home in the dorm. I respect the guy for asking and I have no problem with it.
It’s hard to describe the weightlessness I feel as I drive back into the city. It’s like Alice, or the thought of her, has been a concrete block crushing my chest for so long, and now, everything feels easier, lighter somehow.
As I roll to a stop at a red light, my hand braced on the top of the steering wheel, I also realize for sure that what I felt, feel, for Izzy is nothing like what I have been feeling for Alice all these years. Alice was a sense of loss. Any happiness was nostalgia. If Alice is water, Izzy is fire. What I feel for Izzy is not calm, passive, past. It’s exciting, scary, hot, and so very present. It’s real, tangible, and something I want back.
Alice is happy without me. I see that. She was young when her parents told her she couldn’t be in love with me. Maybe…what if Izzy isn’t happy without me? What if she does want something different from what her parents want for her, and I was too damn scared to wait and find out?
As the light changes, I look down at my bicep and the image of Alice in Wonderland I had inked on me a lifetime ago. I make one more stop before I head home.
Chapter 33
izzy
Week 3 without Brooks.
I wake from a dream I can’t remember but one that left me happy and sad and thinking of Brooks. I haven’t heard from him since I sent that text message after my run.
He told me he loved me once. I haven’t stopped loving him and craving him in three weeks. Could he have stopped wanting me already?
I put on my dance clothes and head down to the studio. Francesca is working with two ballet students when I walk in.
“Izzy, come in. We’re almost finished and I have something I need to discuss with you.”
I nod and sit on the floor to start stretching. I haven’t yet looked at my phone this morning but I take it out now and see I have a message from Brooks. My heart flutters and I press my hand to my stomach.
There are two messages. Both images.
The first is a picture taken through a window looking out toward New York’s skyline. I recognize the Empire State Building immediately. The caption reads:
YOU WERE RIGHT. I DID NEED A CHANGE OF SCENERY. THIS IS THE VIEW FROM MY NEW PAD.
“It’s stunning,” I whisper for my own benefit.
I click the second image and it takes me a moment to realize that what I am looking at is Brooks’s bicep. I recognize the inked forest that spreads from the beams of sunlight on his chest, the familiar birds and musical notes.
I gasp, dropping my phone and then retrieving it to double-check what I think I see. Alice in Wonderland is gone. She has been covered by the face of a girl or woman. The image resembles Cady.
I DECIDED IT WASN’T ALICE I WAS CLINGING TO. IT WAS CADY.
I don’t know why but I reply.
WHAT HAPPENED?
I’m not sure if he’ll understand from my reply that I’m asking what happened to make him change his perspective on Alice. But he does because, despite whatever unearthly hour it must be in New York, he replies:
I WENT TO THEIR PLACE. SPOKE TO ALICE. MET HER HUSBAND. SHE’S WONDERFUL. BUT SHE’S NOT THE WOMAN I’M IN LOVE WITH.
My heart starts hammering beneath my ribs, so fiercely I wonder whether it is possible to break your ribs from the inside out. Does he mean he’s over Alice or is he telling me he’s still in love with me?
“Izzy, I have great news. I was tempted to call you last night, but it was late.”
I shake my head, trying to clear my erratic thoughts, as I look from my phone to Francesca. “I’m sorry?”
“I’ve got you an audition. If you want it. It’s a new musical. It isn’t big yet. And the audition is for a standby role only, but I think you’re good enough.”
I jump to my feet. “Oh my God, that’s insane! Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
I throw my arms around her neck, which encourages her to say, “But there is a catch.…”
“Oh.” I step back. “What is it?”
“The audition, and the production if you get through, they’re in New York.”
Have you ever felt the earth move? Had a moment when you realize that everything in the universe is working toward one, glaringly obvious conclusion? That’s what I’m feeling now.
“When is the audition?”
“Next week.”
I process that for a second. “Can you get me ready, Francesca? Can you get me ready for New York?”
“We can work our hardest to try.”
I bite down on my lip as my eyes fill with happy tears. “Well, all right, then.”
Chapter 34
brooks
Week 4 without Izzy.
Kit lays punches into the pads I’m holding in the boxing ring. He’s getting stronger. I might try sparring with him properly soon. Drew waits for his turn, his arms resting on the corner post of the ring as he watches us.
“When do you move into the new pad?” Drew asks.
“Two weeks. Keep going, Kit. He’s talking to me.”
“Fucker,” Kit says breathlessly, landing another punch.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I admit. “Things are changing and I…I guess I feel good about it. I only wish I’d had my shit together whe
n Izzy was here.”
“Have you spoken to her lately?” Drew asks.
“One-two, one-two, Kit. Keep up the pace. I sent her a couple of messages last week. Showed her the view of the apartment and, ah, the new tattoo.”
Kit stops punching and bends forward over his knees, raising a hand in surrender. “Good effort, buddy,” I tell him, patting his back with my pad-covered hand.
“She knows about Alice in Wonderland, huh?” Drew asks.
“Didn’t take much working out.” Kit and I move to the corner of the ring while Drew steps in. “Let’s aim to spar properly next week,” I tell Kit. He nods as he drinks from his sports cap bottle.
Drew and I bounce in the middle of the ring, smirking, staring, generally winding each other up to spar. He moves first, as I expect. I block his punch and I get in a jab.
“So, what did they say, these messages?” Kit asks.
“I guess I was trying to show her that I’m changing.” I block another shot from Drew. “When she left, we both knew we had shit to figure out. I thought… I don’t know, man. She just didn’t reply. Maybe I’ve been working on me and she got back to London and realized she liked being a spoiled rich girl.” As I say that, I hope to God I’m wrong. The distraction allows Drew to land a blow to my temple. Hard enough that I feel it, but not so hard it’s going to hurt me—that’s kind of the point.
“Did you outright say, I love you, I was an idiot to let you go and I want you back now I’ve stopped acting like a pussy?”
Drew and I stop sparring and I glare at Kit. “I know you didn’t just call me a pussy, man.”
“I did. And the reason you’re not already over here putting your glove in my face is because you know it’s true. Look at Drew. When he realized he might lose Becky, he got on a plane and flew to London, like a hero, to get her back. So, did your messages tell her you want her back or not?”
“Well, no.”
“Then you can’t be sure she got the message.”
“We’re not like Drew and Becky, Kit. When Izzy left, she said we both had stuff to work on. Just because I’ve been doing that doesn’t mean she has, or that she still wants to, or even if she does, that she’ll want me at the end of it.”
