Make My Wish Come True

by Fiona Harper

  Do it. Do it now. Let go.

  In the end it was the tiniest movement that set her free. Just the infinitesimal lifting of her trainer. And then she was sailing towards the next platform, heart thudding, muscles tensed, hands gripping the piece of the harness that held her to the wire so hard her fingers went numb, but she kept her eyes open and when she touched down on the other platform the rest of the party cheered.

  She looked from one face to another in surprise, and hardly noticed Davidson unhooking her harness from the wire and attaching her to a safety cable fixed to the giant tree trunk.

  She’d done it. She’d actually done it.

  And she would probably have felt more jubilant about it if there hadn’t still been another fifteen lines to go.

  Juliet didn’t have time to recover herself properly, because after that it was line after line. The terror subsided a little as the afternoon progressed, even though the platforms got higher and some of the inclines of the wires steeper. Juliet just kept her eyes on Davidson waiting for her on the platform in front and prayed. She lost count of how many lines they’d tackled until Davidson grinned at her and said, ‘This is it now. Last one. Make it count!’

  She gave him a wry look. ‘You mean the other ones were just practice runs for this one?’

  He shook his head. ‘I mean that you haven’t taken your eye off the wire or your hands off your harness the whole time.’

  Juliet looked at him. That had been the plan, even though some of the others had grown more adventurous, flinging their arms wide or leaning back. Davidson had done one run upside down with his feet sticking above the wire. She took a look at the last line. It was the longest run by far, but although it started high up on a tree, they were heading for a small hillock, meaning that, although the wire slanted gently downward, the bottom of the wire met the ground instead of another treetop platform. He was right. When would she ever get the chance to do something like this again?

  She surprised the group by volunteering to go first. Davidson clipped her on to the wire, and she sat down into her harness and let herself fall off the platform and into the jungle below. A split second after she was airborne she flung her arms wide. Without a hand to steady herself on the wire, she started to spin. Trees and ferns sped past, their fronds almost touching her, and she caught a glimpse of the others standing on the platform watching her as she swung round. The urge to grab her harness and tuck back into it was almost irresistible, but she forced herself to stay open. As she sped along the last section of the wire, her feet close to the ground, she let out a scream. Whether it was joy or relief she wasn’t sure.

  The rest of the group whizzed down behind her, Marco going last, and when he arrived he took her face in his hands and kissed her quickly and sweetly. ‘Brava! I knew you could do it.’ The other women in the party sighed.

  She hardly remembered the trek back down the rest of the slope to the main reception area, or climbing out of her harness or handing her helmet back. The kids would never believe she’d done it! The inner glow at her accomplishment lasted the whole ride to the plantation where they ate lunch and had a tour all the way round the Botanical Gardens. It was still warming her as they boarded the catamaran and cast off to travel, back up the western side of the island.

  Juliet wandered back to the metal railings at the bow as the sun started to turn the sky pink and the clouds blue, and Marco came to join her. He didn’t say anything this time. No dry comments, no amusing stories. He just reached over and placed his fingers over hers.

  Juliet held her breath.

  This was something. Something concrete. Something to say that Marco was being more than friendly. Right? Or was she misinterpreting this in some way? It hardly seemed possible that she would be his first choice above all the other women at Pelican’s Reach.

  But then Marco brushed his fingers over hers, picked her hand up off the railing and encased it in his own.

  Juliet could hardly believe it. It was a dream. That was it. She was still asleep in her bed and the alarm would go off in five minutes and she’d have to run to catch the boat.

  But the alarm didn’t go off. Marco’s hand stayed joined with hers as the catamaran rounded the headland and motored into the thin strip of Marigot Bay for its final port of call before the return to Pelican’s Reach.

  They broke contact for a moment as he jumped ahead of her onto the dock, but then he turned and held his hand out again for support.

  They were led to a viewing terrace at one of the fancy hotels there and were served cocktails while they waited for the sun to dip into the water. She stood shoulder to shoulder with Marco, their bare arms touching and she drank him in as much as she did the yellows and golds of the setting sun. As the last piece slipped beneath the surface of the ocean, Marco turned to her, took her cocktail glass out of her hand, laid it on the railing of the terrace and looked her in the eyes.

  Juliet almost felt dizzy. She hadn’t believed moments like this were real. Not proper romantic moments that felt that way when you were actually experiencing them, rather than viewed that way with the smudging of time, allowing you to ascribe things to the memory that hadn’t really been there in the moment.

  Marco’s pupils were large and black and he stared at her, his eyes resting on one feature and then the next, as if he was trying to memorise her. As if he was trying to see inside her.

  When had Greg last looked at her like that, as if he wanted to know all there was inside her and more? In the final years of her marriage she’d often wondered if he’d ever really seen her at all. She could have been a cardboard cut-out of a woman and he’d still have given her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek when he’d headed off to work in the morning, or patted her bum as his way of saying thanks for a home-cooked meal.

  ‘Marco...’ she whispered.

  He shushed her, pressing a finger to her lips, smiling so softly. ‘No talking, Giulietta,’ he whispered. ‘Just this...’

  And then he leaned forward, touched his lips to hers and gave her the best kiss of her life.

  * * *

  THE CLOCK ON THE mantelpiece said twenty-two minutes past ten. One minute later than when Gemma had checked it the last time. Violet was supposed to have been home by now. Gemma dialled her niece’s number again and waited, not even bothering to put the phone to her ear.

  ‘This is the voicemail for number oh-seven-nine...’

  Gemma shut the smug-sounding recording off mid-sentence.

  She growled in frustration and pressed the button to send a text. It was only when she was halfway through jabbing a caustic-sounding message in with her thumbs that she looked up and screamed silently inside her head.

  Flipping heck. Six and a half days. That was it all it had taken. She was turning into Juliet.

  Hadn’t she been on the receiving end of just such a text only a week or two ago? And it hadn’t made her any more inclined to cooperate. Quite the opposite. Maybe this wasn’t the way to handle the situation. She backspaced with a rhythmic tapping of her thumb and started again. Something less confrontational this time. After all, Violet was fifteen. She’d probably lost track of time and the music might be thumping so loud she couldn’t hear her phone.

  Still, Gemma couldn’t help tapping her foot as she tried to watch the TV, and the mantelpiece clock kept drawing her gaze like a magnet. It was only twenty minutes. Well, twenty-five now. She shouldn’t be getting worried yet, should she?

  Or should she?

  It didn’t matter. She was starting to panic anyway, so she might as well just go with the flow. Suddenly, sending the first text—the one she’d deleted—didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all. She got up off the sofa and started to pace.

  She felt so helpless. She couldn’t go further than the street outside, because Polly and the boys were asleep upstairs, and she was totally at the
mercy of a teenager in possession of a possibly out-of-battery mobile phone. She’d done all the right things, too! She’d made sure Violet had taken her phone with her, and she’d made sure she’d organised a lift home.

  Thirty minutes.

  Was it too early to be calling the police?

  She ran out of the front door, up the short drive and stood at the end, watching the traffic zoom past, her heart thudding.

  Calm down, she told herself. It’s half an hour. Practically nothing in teenage time-keeping. And wasn’t Juliet always saying Vi was late for everything. She’d probably mislaid her handbag and Kiera and her mother were helping her look for it.

  With that rational explanation in mind, she forced herself to go back inside, sit down on the sofa and pick up on the storyline of The Holiday again.

  * * *

  WHEN JULIET HAD IMAGINED the perfect Christmas all those months ago at her bank holiday barbecue, this had definitely not been on her mental list. However, she quickly decided that kissing a hot Italian man at sunset on a tropical island may well become a must-have for all future Christmases.

  This was how a kiss should be, she mused, as his lips teased hers yet again, but the real thing never quite lived up to it. Marco knew just when to take control and when to ease off, when to sweep her away and when to let her lead. When he finally pulled away she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his chin. She needed a moment to compose herself.

  Finally she gathered the courage to tip her head up and look him in the eye. His expression was serious, but there was a warmth in his eyes. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  The tiniest of smiles hitched one corner of his mouth. ‘Because I wanted to.’ He must have read the following question in her eyes, because before she’d even parted her lips to ask it, he added, ‘Because I was enjoying a beautiful moment with a beautiful woman and it seemed the only possible way to celebrate it.’

  Juliet let out a shaky breath. Good answer. Did they train men in that kind of thing in Italy?

  She wanted to ask more, but at that moment their tour guide called and said it was time to get back on board the boat. Now the sun had set they would travel back to Pelican’s Reach. The moment was over.

  But then Marco took her hand and led her back down to the jetty, and something warm and feathery flared inside her.

  Hope.

  Not just for another kiss, but for herself, for her life.

  Why should she be so scared to hope? And why did she fill her life to the brim to stop herself from mourning the lack of it?

  ‘Ready to go?’ Marco asked, as he jumped down into the boat and held out his hand for her.

  Juliet looked at him. Was she?

  Didn’t she always moan that she wanted to be that free-spirited woman, who could go with the flow and enjoy the unexpected treasure that life gave her? Didn’t she want to be the kind of woman who wasn’t afraid to reach for perfection instead of just plan for it?

  She smiled as she placed her hand in his.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think I’m ready.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  AT JUST AFTER ELEVEN UK time, Gemma was back out at the edge of the drive, scanning every passenger in every car. A silver-grey one slowed as it approached, and her heart lifted, but it turned too early, pulling in to the drive next door.

  But instead of going all the way, the car paused at the entrance. Gemma’s shoulders sagged as the window rolled down. That was all she needed—a witness to tonight’s drama. Especially someone who might report back to Juliet. She didn’t exactly see Will as the enemy any more, but she wasn’t sure he was an ally, either.

  She walked over to his car, arms folded tightly over her middle.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked when she got close enough.

  Normally, Gemma would have told him to mind his own beeswax, but this was more important than that. ‘It’s Violet. She was supposed to have been home forty-five minutes ago, and she’s not answering her phone.’

  Will squinted at her and checked his watch. Gemma knew what time it would say—three minutes past eleven. Forget about blood, pure adrenalin was racing through her veins and she could feel the passing of each new second like a canon shot.

  ‘Where did she go?’ he said, frowning.

  ‘Look, I didn’t just let her go wandering off into the night on her own,’ she said. ‘Juliet knew about the party. It was all properly arranged with a lift home from a parent and everything!’

  Will frowned harder. ‘Give me a second,’ he said, and pulled his car fully into his drive. A few moments later he was rounding the hedge, looking grim.

  Gemma pressed the redial button on her mobile, all the while listening for any sign of movement upstairs. Even as she prayed silently Violet would pick up, another part of her brain worried that Vi’s phone had been going off in her bag unheard all this time and that the repeated triggering of the ring tone had depleted the battery.

  ‘Do you know where the party is?’ Will asked.

  ‘Of course I know where the party is!’ She pulled the slip of paper on which Violet had written her friend’s name and address out of her pocket and handed it to him.

  ‘Do you want me to drive over there and look for her?’

  He’d do that for her?

  No. Not for her. For Juliet.

  But, to be honest, she didn’t care why. She was just glad someone else was there. This was one occasion when charm and ‘winging it’ were no asset whatsoever.

  Then something struck her. ‘You can’t go. Abby’s mother is never going to let Violet go off into the night with a strange man,’ she explained. At least, she presumed the woman wouldn’t. There was no way Juliet would do that if she were the one hosting the party. ‘But I could go, if you’d stay and watch the kids.’

  Will glanced nervously at the house. ‘Are they likely to wake up?’

  Gemma shrugged.

  ‘And do you know your way round the housing estate? It’s bit of a rabbit warren. Lots of cul-de-sacs and roads that never go where you think they’re going to.’

  She shook her head, suddenly feeling very weary. ‘No...’ And hadn’t she already got lost three times driving around Tunbridge Wells? And two of those instances had been in broad daylight. ‘And...oh, crap... I’ve had a large glass of wine. I really shouldn’t be driving.’

  They stared at each other. ‘Leave it to me,’ he said, then rushed away.

  Gemma stood there shivering for a few moments—she hadn’t put a coat on when she’d come outside and now the night air was starting to seep past the goosebumps peppering her skin and into her muscles and bones. She darted back inside and reached for one of her sister’s warm coats. Juliet was taller than her, so the sleeves hung down over her fingertips a bit, but it shooed the chill away nicely.

  While she waited for Will to come back, she tried Violet again. He turned up after her fourth attempt, a middle-aged woman in tow.

  ‘This is Linda,’ he said, and Gemma nodded and smiled, even though she thought it was a bit of a weird time for introductions.

  ‘Three doors down,’ the other woman explained. ‘I’ll sit with the little ones, if you like. I can’t count the number of times Juliet has come to my rescue in the past. I’ll be glad to do it.’

  So there was an upside to having a sister who was on the cusp of sainthood after all!

  ‘Thank you,’ Gemma said, grabbing the woman’s hands and smiling warmly at her, and she wasn’t even putting it on.

  She and Will didn’t waste any more time, but headed next door to Will’s car. The drive to Abby’s house took a torturous ten minutes and Gemma’s heart pumped harder with every junction they encountered. She was starting to feel a little sick.

 
‘Are you okay?’ Will said.

  She’d been so lost in her thoughts, she’d almost forgotten he was sitting there, and his voice made her jump. It sounded low and rich in the darkness, not at all the bland geography-teacher-type tone she’d ascribed him in her memory.

  ‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘Fine.’

  And then she realised that was Juliet’s motto, and that it was Juliet’s handy little lie she was spouting, sitting in Juliet’s coat in Juliet’s next-door neighbour’s car.

  ‘No,’ she added quickly, correcting herself. ‘I’m pooping myself.’

  That was better, even if it did make her feel weaker and smaller, something she suddenly realised she’d never wanted to feel around this man.

  ‘I’m sure she’s okay. You know what teenagers are like...’

  ‘Yes, I know...’ she said wearily, remembering her own lack of punctuality, her own ‘without a trace’ moments that had driven her parents crazy. It should have been a comforting thought, but then she remembered some of the things she’d got up to at that age, a time when she’d been testing her parents, pushing them to see just how far she could go before they’d stop being so understanding and forgiving, seeing if there really was a limit to their adoration.

  She turned to face Will and laid a hand on his arm. ‘Can you go any faster?’

  Will just gave her the hint of a nod and pushed his foot harder on the accelerator.

  Gemma sunk back into the passenger seat, frowning. She didn’t want Vi to be pushing the boundaries like she had. Even though, if there had been a point at which she could have stretched their parents’ love to snapping point, she’d never found it. Sometimes she’d done it so they’d tell her off and ease up on Juliet a bit, but it had never seemed to work that way.

  Of course, that had only made things worse with Juliet, the good girl who by then had a job and a nice boyfriend and who always came home on time. It must have looked as if Gemma had been taking all their parents’ love and throwing it back in their faces. She’d never thought about how it must have seemed to her sister back then, had only seen her as a sourpuss who liked to tell her just how badly she was getting things wrong. She hid her face in her hands and wished the car there faster.