Half the World Away

by Rebecca Banks

  Half the World Away

  Rebecca Banks

  “Gorgeously warm and romantic”

  Paige Toon

  Copyright © 2021 Rebecca Banks

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved

  Cover design by Lily Wilson

  No part of this publication may be replaced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Rebecca Banks has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author or this work.

  For Lennon

  Dream big little one

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER 1

  Perched on a cold wooden bench in the police station waiting room alongside Dave Jones, the London Town Football Club manager, Abbie waited in silence for Henry Smithson to work his magic. She stayed silent because she could see that Dave’s cheeks had gone so red, he was about forty-five seconds away from spontaneously combusting. She didn’t want to make a peep for risk of him exploding in her direction.

  Quite how Henry, the club’s lawyer, was going to get one of the country’s top premiership players smuggled out of the cell he was currently occupying after a seventeen-year-old girl reported him for sexual assault was beyond her. And how she was going to keep the press off the scent of this was another thing she hadn’t quite got her head around.

  Exactly what she needed on a Saturday night. Actually, scrub that. This wasn’t even something to be sarcastic about. She never needed this, ever.

  When had it become commonplace for a professional person earning a hell of a lot of money to behave like a complete bloody idiot? And it was her job to hide it and make it all go away so he could continue in his job as a pseudo god, earning squillions for kicking around a ball and, more often than not, missing the sodding net.

  She’d paid her own way through university, worked her arse off ever since, and still struggled every month to pay for a flat and a life in Central London, while this guy didn’t know any words longer than two syllables, regularly behaved like a complete Neanderthal and was sitting pretty in his Surrey Hills mansion. She didn’t feel bitter, just completely at the end of her tether. She also sadly believed that there was a chance the girl was telling the truth. She had seen enough over her years in the sport to know what went on. But this girl would get paid off or made to look like she was asking for it, and everything would be swept under the carpet as usual. Her younger sister Lily was the same age, and she couldn’t imagine something like this happening to her. It didn’t bear thinking about. It made her feel sick to her stomach.

  The door to her right clicked and Henry emerged, looking grim-faced. He was dressed in a grey pinstripe suit, the lighter grey vertical stitching seeming to lengthen his lofty frame even further. Abbie wondered how he looked so together at 4:00 a.m. It was as if he’d just popped out from his Chancery Lane offices. She knew her hair was dishevelled, her face make-up free and her clothes creased, but she was not one of those girls who shot up out of bed looking like they’d just stepped out of a shampoo advert.

  Looking around to check nobody was in earshot, Henry spoke. ‘They will let him out but not until the morning when he’s sobered up. I have an emergency injunction meeting scheduled for first thing Monday, but don’t worry, they can’t name him before then because he hasn’t been formally charged. Don’t answer your phones for now and I’ll draft you a formal response for when the calls start to come in.’

  ‘What has the little bastard got to say for himself?’ growled Dave through gritted teeth.

  ‘He’s not denying that he was with the girl, but he’s saying she said she was in her twenties and it was all consensual. It’s a bit of a tricky one, his word against hers. No damning evidence either way.’

  ‘Alright, enough, I don’t want to bloody hear any more. We had none of that back in my day, I tell you. I’m going to absolutely throttle him.’

  Abbie looked at her chipped caramel-painted nails as she listened to Dave’s northern lilt and wondered if she pinched herself really hard she would find herself waking up again. Sort of like a double nightmare, Inception style. Another minute and Leonardo DiCaprio would hurtle through the doors to save her and whisk her away to a paradise island. She grabbed the skin between her left thumb and forefinger. No, she wasn’t sleeping. She looked up again as Henry spoke.

  ‘We should all go home and get some sleep now, there’s nothing we can do until the morning. I’ve warned them that if this gets out we’ll sue everyone at this station, so hopefully we can avoid pictures. I’ll organise a car to collect him first thing in the morning from the back exit and take him home.’

  Dave looked over at Abbie and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘Get yourself home, pet, you shouldn’t be sitting in a bloody police station in the middle of the night. It’s no place for ladies.’

  Nodding, she arranged to speak to Henry in the morning and trudged out of the building into the freezing January air.

  As she ordered a taxi, the wind whipped at her face, and she pulled her scarf and winter coat tighter but still felt body parts beginning to go numb. In fact, the only warmth she could feel was the tears that had started to prick at her eyes.

  She wasn’t sure if it was the cold breeze or her frustration at the situation, but she bit the tears back and breathed a sigh of relief as the cab pulled over in front of her. She sank into the seat and the warm air inside the car started to defrost her frozen form.

  Twenty minutes later, she pushed open the front door. As she pulled off her coat and scarf, a giggle from the lounge told her that her flatmate Polly was home for once, but that she probably had company, so she quietly slipped into her bedroom and flopped down on top of the duvet, rubbing her eyes. She was asleep before she got around to taking off her clothes.

  Abbie shifted position and opened her eyes as the bright winter sunlight shone through the blinds. Her taste buds went into overdrive as the smell of frying bacon reached her nostrils, and taking note of the angry growl of her stomach, she quickly changed her now very crumpled trousers and shirt for jogging bottoms and a hoodie and made her way to the kitchen.

  Polly was singing along to the radio wearing her signature black from head to toe with a patterned headscarf tying back her long, currently ruby red, locks. She turned as she heard Abbie enter.

  ‘Good morning, you d
irty stop out. Don’t think I didn’t notice you sneaking in at all hours this morning. Tell me, what was his name? It’s about time you got back in the saddle.’

  Leaning against the kitchen counter, Abbie sighed. ‘Sadly, I was out at a work emergency. No men involved. Well, none worth talking about anyway. I was more surprised to see you home but figured you had company so thought I’d leave you to it.’

  ‘My little Scouse beauty, you need to get out more. You know what they say about all work and no play.’ Polly said this over the noise of sizzling bacon that she was pushing around the frying pan with a fork.

  ‘Yeah, I know, I know. I need to come and see you play soon. How was last night’s gig?’

  ‘It. Was. Epic.’ Polly mimed playing her electric guitar while headbanging. ‘You have to come soon. We’ve got so many new songs that you haven’t seen us play, and you used to come to so many nights.’

  ‘I know. I’m a terrible friend and I need punishing. Give me your worst.’

  ‘Ah, I love you too much for that. You can have a bacon sandwich instead. If you’re going to work like a boring old cow all the time, then you need to eat.’

  Abbie grinned as she took the plate Polly offered, squeezed on some brown sauce and sat down at their little kitchen table.

  She had moved in with Polly two years ago. She never knew how Polly paid her rent. Her ‘job’ was that of guitarist in struggling pop rock band The Flame Effect, and she spent most nights out performing or going to other gigs. It meant they passed like ships in the night most times, with Abbie at work during the day.

  She took a huge bite of the sandwich, wiped the sauce that trickled down her chin and savoured the taste of the salty bacon, quickly satisfying her hunger.

  ‘I’m out for drinks with Violet tonight if you want to come along, Pol. It’s been ages since we’ve all caught up.’

  ‘Out with Damian tonight, I’m afraid, but keen for next time,’ Polly replied, through a mouthful of bacon.

  ‘Which one’s Damian?’ Abbie asked, raising her eyebrows up and down a few times and leaning towards Polly on her elbows.

  ‘The artist. He wants to paint me. How romantic is that?’

  ‘Sounds like an excuse to get you to bare your beautiful body, but go ahead, you’re only young once.’

  ‘I hope that’s what he wants!’ she squealed.

  The two girls collapsed into giggles and Abbie felt a million miles away from the cold bench she had been sat on just hours before.

  Eight hours later Abbie occupied a corner table in the White Horse, nursing a glass of pinot grigio the size of a fish bowl. She was deep in thought, dreading tomorrow at work, when she was disturbed by a loud commotion. She looked up to hear Violet shouting apologies as she ran in from the drizzle and cold towards the table. Despite having just made a mad dash across town, Violet still looked her impeccable self. Her perfectly coifed auburn hair fell in loose curls around her porcelain face. She always reminded Abbie of a perfect little pixie, and she had lived up to that by bewitching boys ever since they first met at university in Liverpool. The boys had loved her Dublin lilt and petite features, and Abbie had loved her full stop.

  ‘I’m so sorry I’m late, darling. It’s bloody impossible to get a taxi in this weather. I’ll get us some drinks.’ And she was off again like a firecracker, tearing towards the bar. The barman didn’t know what he had coming, Abbie thought with a smile.

  Violet seemed to return to the table before she had even left, and Abbie could see a young man scurrying behind her carrying a tray with two drinks on it, another wine for her and a Johnnie Walker, straight up and on the rocks for Violet. Unbelievable. They were in the local pub, not The Ritz, yet Violet had got them table service. She suppressed a laugh as Violet motioned to the boy where she wanted the drinks placed, throwing him a thankful grin as he retreated towards the bar, barely able to take his eyes off her, which Violet didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘So, tell me what’s happening. You said you were having a shocker, I thought you were going to cancel on me.’

  Abbie sighed. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

  ‘It’s just work. One of the players has been up to no good and I’ve had to spend some of my weekend with the lawyer.’

  ‘Leave! You haven’t liked it for ages. You’re just dealing with selfish prima donnas. You’re better than that, darling, and I hate to see you so down. You look like crap.’

  Abbie felt tears pricking at her eyes again, and she looked down before grabbing her glass and taking a large gulp.

  ‘I can’t just give up. I’ve been working so hard and it’s a good job. People would kill for it. It’s just stressful sometimes, that’s all.’

  ‘No, that’s not all. Honestly, Abbie, I’ve wanted to give you a good talking to for a long time but I just think that you’re going to burst into tears so I’ve been avoiding it. You can’t go on like this. You’ve done nothing but work since, well, you know, and I’m really worried about you.’

  Abbie couldn’t speak. She knew if she did, she wouldn’t be able to stop an emotional outburst and she couldn’t deal with that on top of everything else that was going on.

  Violet never could leave a silence, and Abbie saw concern shoot to her face as she waited for a response and saw she wasn’t going to get it.

  ‘Don’t you agree, Abs, you’ve not been yourself? All you do is work. You never go out anymore. When was the last time you dragged me to one of your grungy underground music dives to listen to groups that look like they need a good scrub?’

  She grinned, and lifted her brows.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m okay really. I’ve just been busy.’

  Violet’s grin fell.

  ‘Don’t give me that shit. More than ten years I’ve known you, Abigail bloody Potter, I know you better than you know yourself. We’ve got to do something. This has been going on too long, and it’s killing me watching you live this empty life. There’s never any light in your eyes anymore.’

  Violet let the ensuing silence continue while she stared at Abbie, a mixture of frustration and concern etched across her face.

  Abbie sat there. She felt the bubble of the upset, the one that she tried hard to keep squashed, building in her stomach. Yes, Violet was right, but was it going to do any good to bring all her past crap back to the surface?

  Violet continued to stare at her. Abbie looked up and Violet folded her arms across her chest.

  ‘We’re not going anywhere until you start talking so you may as well just get it over and done with. It’s time.’

  That did it. The tears started slowly, then began to cascade, and Abbie was grateful she’d picked a discreet corner table.

  ‘I just can’t make it go away, every day I think about what happened. If I work it makes me think about other stuff for a while and it’s the best way to cope.’

  ‘It’s clearly not because you haven’t dealt with it. It’s been two years now since the divorce and six years since, well, you know, and you’re getting worse, not better. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that you didn’t do anything wrong. It was his fault. He’s the fuckwit. God, Abbie, I love you more than life itself, I need to help you get out of this hole.’

  Abbie swallowed and breathed deeply, trying to calm down before the people in the pub started staring at the slightly tipsy girl who was ruining the ambience of their relaxing Sunday evening.

  ‘What we need is a plan,’ Violet stated simply.

  Sniffling away, Abbie stopped delving into her handbag where she was searching unsuccessfully for a tissue and looked up. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands instead.

  ‘I know you’re right, Vi. I’m bloody miserable, but I just don’t know how to get out of it. I’m completely lost. And part of me thinks I deserve to be miserable.’

  Violet left her chair to join Abbie on the bench seat and put her arms around her, drawing her in for a hug. ‘We’re going to get you a fresh start, it’s what you need
. First of all, the job. You have to leave that awful place with those feckless idiots. And you have to start leaving the house for something other than work.’

  Abbie nodded and took another gulp of wine while Violet continued explaining her plan of attack.

  ‘And men. You have to get back out there and get on a date.’

  ‘No way. I am drawing the line at that one, Violet. I don’t need or want a man.’

  Violet sighed dramatically, exasperated at her best friend. ‘You do, you’re just scared. It’s like riding a bike though, once you get back out there it will all seem so easy again.’

  ‘Easy! It definitely wasn’t easy the last time, was it.’

  ‘Quit this bullshit, Abbie, this stops now. Josh the tosspot is not going to ruin the rest of your life. I won’t let him.’

  ‘I’m hardly the most baggage-free of prospects though, am I? Sad and lonely old divorcée who hasn’t had so much as a sniff at a man for too long to remember. It’s hardly attractive.’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous.’ Violet slapped her on the arm. ‘Who doesn’t have baggage nowadays? You’re nearly thirty. You’ve been married before. So what? Elizabeth Taylor was on her fourth husband by the time she was your age. Really, you’re underachieving.’

  Abbie felt butterflies of anticipation in her stomach. It felt very much like a mixture of absolute panic combined with a small slice of hope. She looked at her friend and, on a whim, agreed to the plan. Things couldn’t get any worse, could they?

  ‘Okay, so let’s do it like this. I know you’re right. I’m absolutely petrified of all of it, but I know I have to do something. Let’s sort out the job and getting my social life back first, and phase two can be the man thing. I can’t quite think about that at the moment. I need to do this in manageable chunks.’

  Violet smiled, the triumphant grin of someone who had got her own way and was very pleased about it. Like an Irish pixie who’d found a pot of gold.