The Last Piece of My Heart

by Paige Toon

  ‘I am sure.’ A tear slides from my eye.

  ‘I’m sorry I hurt you,’ he whispers, pulling me into the crook of his arm. ‘I’ll try not to do that again.’

  I wrap my arms around his neck, wanting to get as close to him as possible. He tightens his grip on me so our bodies are completely flush to each other.

  ‘You really do give the best hugs,’ I say after a while.

  ‘One. . .’ he murmurs, ‘two. . . three. . .’ – I smile and kiss him – ‘four. . .’ he says against my mouth.

  ‘Seven seconds won’t be enough, you know,’ I warn.

  He smiles at me in the darkness. ‘I’m okay with that.’

  Epilogue

  We get married in Lansallos church and make the whole congregation walk half a mile down the steep hill to the beach for a picnic reception. Marty, my mum and Wendy are just three of the women who openly complain to me about both the walk and not being able to wear heels, but I think even they accept our decision when they see the view.

  Charlie proposed to me on this same beach, the week after April’s second birthday. April is a couple of months short of three years old when we tie the knot, and she makes such a beautiful flower girl.

  Adam is Charlie’s best man and gives the funniest, most heartfelt speech any of us have ever heard. Even my friend Bronte confirms it, and she’s a wedding photographer, so she’s heard plenty. She comes all the way over from Australia for me to do the photos, and she brings with her a card from Elliot, wishing me all the love and luck in the world. Despite her fondness for Elliot, she hit it off with Charlie immediately. How could she not?

  Marty is my chief bridesmaid, not my matron of honour. I’ll have that title when she marries Ted later this year; she’s piqued that I beat her to it, but she wanted a longer engagement than I did. . .

  Our friend Laura comes, too, bringing with her a brand-new baby boy. Jocelyn, Edward and Thomas – our now good friends – also join the celebrations, and Charlie’s other pals arrive in force, seeming genuinely happy that he’s found love again.

  I wish I could say the same about Kate and Valerie. Relations are still strained, but Charlie and I won’t give up trying to build bridges. A few months after I moved to Cornwall permanently, which wasn’t that long after I had finished writing the book, I drove to Essex to speak to them both. I wanted them to know how much I love April, and how I will always respect Nicki’s memory and make sure April does, too. They were still very saddened at that time about Charlie moving on, but they did extend an olive branch by coming to April’s second birthday party. They say they’ll be at her third, too, but they declined our wedding invitation. We understood, of course, but at least they knew that they were welcome. Alain wished us all the best and encouraged us to go back to Thailand soon to see him. We said we’d certainly try.

  Confessions of Us was an immediate bestseller, but the reviews were mixed. Some journalists loved the book; others thought Kit should’ve been brought to justice. As for the reader reviews, many wished Kit had ended up with Morris, with one girl even claiming that she hurled her book across the room when he demanded a divorce. I think I might’ve poured more passion into him than Timo. It’s no surprise why.

  I’m still not sure if my ending was what Nicki had foreseen for her story. But, as Charlie said, maybe even she didn’t know where it was going.

  I can only hope that I’ve done her proud.

  Charlie, April and I still live in Cornwall and our new house is warm, happy and full of love, laughter, hugs and music. He still creates beautiful things with his hands; I’m now writing a novel of my own, which Sara and Fay say they’re looking forward to reading. I also still write about the places I visit – albeit with my family, most of the time.

  As for my darling adopted daughter April, she still has the last piece of my heart. And I’ll never ask for it back.

  Ever.

  Bridget’s Playlist

  ‘Tainted Love’ by Marilyn Manson

  ‘U Can’t Touch This’ by MC Hammer

  ‘The Sun Always Shines on TV’ by A-ha

  ‘It’s Still Rock and Roll to Me’ by Billy Joel

  ‘Ice Ice Baby’ by Vanilla Ice

  ‘Unbelievable’ by EMF

  ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ by Def Leppard

  ‘Frankie Sinatra’ by the Avalanches

  ‘Hold Tight!’ by Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich

  ‘Downtown’ by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis

  ‘A View to a Kill’ by Duran Duran

  ‘One Piece at a Time’ by Johnny Cash

  ‘Lose Yourself’ by Eminem

  ‘Let Me Clear My Throat’ by DJ Kool

  ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ by Israel

  Kamakawiwo‘ole

  ‘MMMBop’ by Hanson

  ‘Super Rat’ by Honeyblood

  ‘Up Where We Belong’ by Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes

  To find out more about Paige or her characters, visit her website, www.paigetoon.com where you can sign up to receive free extra content and short stories via her newsletter, The Hidden Paige.

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  Turn the page to read an extract from

  Prologue

  Angus

  She’s here. I’m instantly tense. The people around here are mistaken. They don’t all look alike. She’s special. She’s different. She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.

  I watch her in a daze through the crowded, smoky air as she gets herself a beer from the makeshift bar. I want to go over to her, but I stay where I am, leaning against the door-frame. After what happened last night, she has to come to me. But I don’t know if she will. I’ve been worried she wouldn’t even turn up.

  She swigs from her bottle, then looks around the packed living room, taking everything in. She’s late and everyone else is well on their way to oblivion. Turning up at a party alone at this hour is brave. It wouldn’t surprise me if she walked right back out again. That thought messes with my head, and it’s already messed up enough. I can’t believe I’ve let her get to me like this.

  I watch, fixated, as she puts the bottle back to her lips and then suddenly her eyes lock with mine. I force myself to stare back at her.

  She smiles at me and the relief is instant. I jerk my head backwards, willing her to come over. Still smiling, she slowly makes her way through the packed space, squeezing through bodies until she’s right in front of me.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, reaching down to touch my fingertips to hers.

  ‘Hi.’ She closes her hand into a fist.

  Okay, so we’re not cool. Her gorgeous eyes are wide as she stares up at me. My gaze drops to her lips. They’re shiny, like she’s just applied lip gloss. I want to lick it off her.

  Bloody hell, I’m drunk.

  ‘How was dinner?’ I ask.

  ‘It was fine!’ She shouts. I can’t hear her next words because the music is too loud.

  ‘What did you say?’ I shout back, cupping her head with my hand and pulling her closer.

  ‘I said it’s noisy!’

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply with a grin. ‘Sorry, I’m a bit pissed.’ I speak right into her ear.

  ‘Lucky you.’

  She is so sexy. Her hair is soft under my fingers. I run my thumb across her temple and she puts her hand on my chest. I think she’s trying to keep me at bay, but it’s not working. Her touch almost does me in.

  I take her hands and pull her closer.

  ‘Angus?’ She sounds uncertain as I touch my forehead to hers. I know I’m making her uncomfortable in front of all these people, but I need to be with her. I want her so much. Too much.

  Determination surges through me. ‘Come with me,’ I say firmly, putting our beers on a nearby table. I grab her hand and tug her out of the living room. My head is spinning as I push open the door t
o the cloakroom under the stairs. I pull her inside and hear her gasp as I slam the door shut behind her. Then my mouth is on hers. I hear her sharp intake of breath as my tongue pushes her lips apart. She hesitates only a little before kissing me back. I could kiss her forever.

  ‘I want you,’ I murmur into her mouth, pressing myself up against her so she can feel how much.

  Her breath quickens as I slide my hand up inside her T-shirt.

  ‘I want you,’ I say again, and then she silences me with fast, hungry kisses and I know that I’ve got her. She’s mine.

  Someone turns the doorknob and I whip my hand out from under her T-shirt and slam my palm against the door, keeping it shut.

  ‘Go upstairs,’ I shout, locking the door. ‘Whoops.’ I laugh under my breath as I pull her body flush to mine. But she’s tensed again. ‘It’s alright,’ I tell her, my hand returning to the hem of her shirt. But this time she catches it, stopping me in my tracks.

  ‘What. . . We. . . What are you doing?’ she asks, even more breathless than before.

  ‘What do you think I’m doing?’ I ask in a low voice, kissing her neck. We’re picking up from where we left off last night. She needs to know what she does to me.

  ‘Angus, stop!’ she says loudly.

  Oh fuck. Ice freezes my stomach and I jerk away from her, reaching for the pull cord to flood the room with light. She flinches at the brightness, instinctively lifting her hands up to block it. She squints at me from under the shade of her fingers and I stare back at her with horror.

  Same greeny-gold eyes. . . Same light-blonde hair. . . Not the same girl. ‘Oh. . .’ I say. ‘I thought you were—’

  Rose

  Phoebe

  Eliza

  You could say we’re freaks of nature.

  We look exactly the same with our blonde hair and green eyes, and we all carry the same genetic material. One of us could literally commit murder and blame it on the others without our DNA giving us away.

  Identical triplets are formed when a single fertilised egg splits into two, and one of the resulting two eggs splits again. The odds of this happening could be anything from 1 in 60,000 to 1 in 200 million, but one thing’s for certain: identical triplets are very, very rare.

  When our parents brought us home from the hospital, they were terrified about mixing us up. Apparently we wore our hospital armbands until they grew too tight, and even after Mum snipped the bands off, she painted each of our little fingernails a different colour. Sometimes she’s still baffled about who’s who in our baby photographs.

  But even though we look the same, and even though we came from the same, single, fertilised egg, we were separated into three before our mother even knew she was pregnant.

  And here’s the crux of it: we were born three completely different individuals.

  As time passed and our personalities began to shine through, Mum and Dad came to realise that we actually had very little in common.

  Yes, we could all scream very loudly.

  And yes, we were all extremely stubborn.

  But that was about it.

  Until we were seventeen, that is. Because when we were seventeen, Angus Templeton moved in next door. And unfortunately, all three of us fell head over heels in love with him.

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Phoebe

  When people say they’re living in the shadow of the mountain, it sounds kind of ominous. But there’s nothing ominous about this. The mountain is so close, I feel like I’m in it. I can’t even see the top unless I sit down on the sofa, and then my eye line reaches right up to the snowy peaks. What I wouldn’t give to be up there. . .

  ‘Why are you sighing?’

  I jolt at the sound of Josie’s voice, glancing over my shoulder to see my best friend gazing down at me. ‘Nothing. I’m just happy to be back.’ I smile warmly.

  It’s been almost ten years since we first came to Chamonix together at the age of eighteen.

  ‘What time did you get up?’ Josie asks, belatedly noticing that I’m fully dressed.

  ‘An hour or so ago,’ I reply, tightening my ponytail high up on my head.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ she grumbles, not expecting an answer as she flops onto the sofa beside me and yawns. Her medium-length dark hair is all tangled and her blue eyes look half asleep. She’s still gorgeous, though.

  ‘Coffee?’ I ask, bounding to my feet and heading into the small kitchen.

  ‘Yes, please,’ she replies.

  We only arrived yesterday, and last night we hit an old haunt and drank one beer too many. To Josie’s irritation, I rarely suffer with hangovers, but then again, I managed to avoid being roped into the shots she did at midnight.

  I switch on the radio and set about making the coffee, humming along to the music while she chills out.

  ‘What do you want to do today?’ she calls.

  ‘Climb a mountain.’ I poke my head around the door and flash her a hopeful grin.

  ‘Noooooo. No, no, no, no, no.’ Josie shakes her head adamantly and I continue with my task, chuckling to myself.

  ‘Sorry,’ she says, taking her cup from me when I reappear. ‘I don’t want to spoil your fun.’

  I frown at her. ‘Don’t be silly.’

  I’m getting married in two weeks, and all I wanted to do hen-wise was to come back here for a few days with my closest friend. I’ve thought a lot about Chamonix over the years, and as Josie and I experienced it together, it felt right that we should return, just the two of us.

  My sisters were a little put out at not being invited, but now they’ve made other plans. Eliza and I are going to see a band in Manchester and Rose has organised a spa day. It’ll be great to have some one-on-one time with each of them. We don’t get to do that nearly enough these days.

  ‘So, aside from climbing a mountain, what else could we do?’ Josie perseveres.

  ‘Paraglide off one?’ I ask hopefully.

  She pulls a face. ‘You know I don’t do extreme sports. I’m a boring mummy these days.’

  Josie has a one-year-old son, Harry, back at home and this is the first time she’s been away from him.

  ‘How about we go on the Aiguille?’ I suggest. ‘You haven’t seen the top at this time of year.’

  She went home towards the end of the winter season in March all those years ago, but I managed to secure a contract working on the Aiguille du Midi cable car. I loved life here so much that I ended up staying on through the summer.

  ‘Okay, sure,’ she agrees, nodding. ‘Guess I’d better get cracking then. I assume we’ll have to queue for ages like all the other tourists?’

  ‘Mmm, unfortunately. I don’t know anyone who works there any more.’

  The thought makes my heart squeeze.

  A couple of hours later, we’re nearly 4,000 metres above sea level on the highest and most famous of the Aiguilles de Chamonix.

  I feel giddy with elation. Or maybe it’s the altitude. Whatever it is, I’m ecstatic to be back.

  ‘Wow,’ Josie murmurs as we stand in quiet reverence on the panoramic viewing platform. ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful it is up here.’

  I gaze around at the jagged browny-grey peaks of the surrounding mountains. Mont Blanc is ahead of us and carpeted with snow, nonchalantly indifferent to the fact that it’s summer. It looks deceptively close, but the way from here to its summit is one of the more technical climbing routes. I know because I’ve done it, as well as another route that is slightly less challenging, but not to be underestimated.

  ‘I can’t believe you climbed the White Lady twice.’ Josie appears to be reading my mind.

  ‘Neither can I,’ I reply, as another of Mont Blanc’s nicknames comes back to me: White Killer. . . It’s hard to keep track of how many people have lost their lives trying to reach the top of Western Europe’s highest summit, not to mention those who have perished coming back down again.

  ‘Getting to the top is only halfway’, my dad used to s
ay. The thought of him here, now, brings with it a sharp sense of loss.

  Dad died of a heart attack eight years ago, and I miss him so much, especially here in the mountains. He was the person who taught me how to climb.

  Josie snorts with amusement, oblivious to the dark turn my thoughts have taken. ‘You are such a jammy git. Did you really get paid to stay overnight up here? What a view to wake up to!’

  I can’t help but smile again. ‘Well, there are no windows in the staff apartment,’ I tell her. ‘But yeah, it was pretty ridiculous walking outside in the morning.’

  When Josie and I first came to Chamonix, we started off as chambermaids, but when she went home, I set my sights higher — a lot higher.

  I’d made friends with a few locals, and one of them, Cécile, worked here on the Aiguille du Midi. The likelihood of a non-Chamoniard securing a contract on the cable cars was so low that it barely seemed worth applying – once you got a contract, you didn’t let it go. But my French was fluent and Cécile promised to put in a good word for me, so I sent in my CV. When a couple of full-timers unexpectedly quit citing personal reasons, I got a lucky break.

  It’s hard to convey how much I loved it. I had to do everything from manning the cable cars to picking up litter, but the icing on the cake came once a month, when two of us would be guardians of the top, staying overnight in the staff apartment three floors down from where Josie and I are standing now. We were the last people to see the sun set at night and the first to see it rise the next morning. The experience was unforgettable.

  My thoughts flit away from me again and suddenly I’m on the footbridge, the sky tinged orange and the mountains jagged silhouettes all around. For a few moments, I let my mind drift, before gathering myself together.