No Matter What
By Michelle Betham
Copyright © Michelle Betham 2011
All rights reserved.
The story, characters and events in this book are a work of the author’s imagination, and are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to any person, places or events is purely coincidental.
Dedications
First and foremost I want to thank my husband for his patience and help with putting this book together. Without him this would have been a much longer and more frustrating process.
And some very big thank you’s go to my wonderful friends who, I have to say, have got the patience of saints for putting up with me throughout this whole process, but their support has been never-ending, always there when I needed it, and much appreciated. To Linz, who has been with me from the very beginning and has read this book from first draft to last. She knows the story and characters almost as well as I do, and to have someone there to talk to about it all has been a bigger help than I’d ever thought possible. To Helen, who also read it through for me and gave me much needed feedback. I know she’s a friend and they can sometimes be biased, but I don’t think she’d lie to me! And to Jen, Rae, Laura and Lucy, who put up with my ramblings but always encouraged me. Thank you, all of you!
PROLOGUE
London - November 2009
The green room was stuffy and hot, a total contrast to the cold November day outside and probably more to do with the under-performing air-conditioning than anything else, but it still made for a slightly uncomfortable atmosphere. Or that could just be because she was all too aware of what lay ahead, once she left this room. Still, if she’d been back home in Los Angeles she might have said something, got someone to look at that air-con, but November in L.A. was a lot warmer than November in London so it probably hadn’t even crossed anyone’s mind here to check it out, and she wasn’t one to complain. Even though she knew that if she had, they would have been on to it like a shot.
She was slowly getting used to being back in the U.K. but it was still difficult not to feel like a stranger, having spent so much of her life in America.
Sitting back against the sofa, she crossed her legs and scanned the room, looking far more comfortable than she actually felt as she watched everyone else milling about, chatting amongst themselves. She was too nervous to do anything but sit there. She laughed quietly to herself, studying her fingernails. Nervous? After all this time and everything that had happened, she was still nervous? Of course she was! So much had gone on, so many things - but everything was different now. Time had moved on.
She smiled, still looking down at her hands. They’d managed to pull it off so beautifully this time, so perfectly. It had gone like a dream and for that, at least, she was grateful, but she couldn’t wait to get everything out in the open now. It was time for everyone to know the truth, including those whose reactions she feared. Those whose reactions she cared about.
She reached over to the table by her side and picked up her mug of tea - years in the U.S. hadn’t stopped her from loving her tea – taking a quick glance at the plasma TV screen in the corner of the room that was showing everything going on outside in the studio. The current interview was coming to an end, which meant it wouldn’t be long now, and her stomach lurched slightly, even though she knew what they were going to ask, or she thought she did anyway. And she knew what she was going to tell them, it wasn’t like she hadn’t gone through anything like this before, but - well, that was then, she thought, taking one last quick sip of her tea as the green room door opened.
“Are you ready?” The young, dark haired runner smiled at India and she smiled back at the girl dressed in skinny jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt and thought how she’d been about her age when it had all started to happen – “it” being the journey that was to take her on that rollercoaster of an adventure and bring her right to this point. A journey she could never forget. Even the bits she’d tried so hard to. A journey she had a feeling wasn’t quite over yet.
She pushed herself up off the sofa, and, as she walked to the door she felt around in the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out the photograph he’d told her to keep with her. She looked at it for a second, smiling as she quickly returned it to her pocket. Maybe everything had been worth it after all, and as she followed the runner along the white corridor leading to the studio floor, she felt uplifted, confident that this was all going to be ok because he was going to be by her side, wasn’t he?
But then, almost as if they’d appeared from out of nowhere, a mass of people started to gather around her, throwing questions at her from all directions for a reason she couldn’t explain. She was totally confused. She had no idea what was happening, or why it was happening, and she swung around to see what was going on behind her. But, in that split second, in the time it took for her to turn around, she wished with all her heart that she hadn’t looked at all.
BOOK ONE
CHAPTER 1
1991
“Tell me again why we’re here?” India asked Charley as they tried their hardest to blend into a corner, somewhere near the free champagne. If they had to be here they were having perks.
“Because Mr Rogers thought we’d make attractive wallpaper, remember?” Charley replied, putting her empty glass down onto the tray of a passing waiter and immediately picking up a fresh one.
Mr Rogers was one half of ‘Wheatman and Rogers’, a rather prestigious firm of solicitors based in the North East of England and tonight they were hosting a large benefit dinner for charity, an event which had caused a large number of staff members to become rather excited due to the names of some of the rumoured local celebrity guests. That excitement had been quickly quashed, of course, when everyone had got wind of the ticket prices, with each ticket amounting to more than a month’s wages for most of them, thus rendering the whole evening a non-starter for the majority.
For legal secretaries India and Charley it had been a non-starter anyway. Or, at least, it had been in the beginning. They’d had other plans for that night, like planning their winter holiday to the Spanish Canarian Island of Lanzarote now they finally had the cash to go ahead and book it. ‘Wheatman and Rogers’ may not have been the height of excitement but at least it provided a steady - if not exactly over-generous - income. India especially couldn’t wait to get away from the North East for a couple of weeks. She really needed a break; some time away from the mess that was her family – apart from Terry, her wonderful big brother - and the drudgery of that nine-to-five routine. They’d also never been away at this time of year so it was even more exciting to think of spending their days sitting in the warm sun sipping sangria whilst back home the winter weather and countdown to Christmas swept the country with a vengeance.
India Steven was twenty-two years old with long blonde hair that hung down her back in loose, natural curls, large blue eyes and full lips in a face that was more than averagely pretty, infact, most people described her as beautiful but she never saw herself as that. At five-feet-seven with incredibly long legs and a body perfectly in proportion she’d often been told that she could have been a model, but that wasn’t something she’d ever wanted to pursue. She was more of a tomboy, and that probably came from having a professional soccer player for a brother.
Terry was the only stable thing around her, the only constant in her life. Sure, they had their parents but they were now divorced and, as usual, far too wrapped up in their own problems to give a thought to their kids, so it had almost always just been India and Terry - the two of them against the world. She only wished he was closer. Ever since he’d moved to Merseyside she’d missed him, despite their almost daily conversations. He’d suggested she move to the North West too, find a job there, start afresh
in a new city but she couldn’t quite pluck up the nerve to move away from the only place she’d ever known. She held the North East of England pretty close to her heart and she didn’t feel ready to leave that familiarity behind just yet.
Then there was Charley. She didn’t really want to leave her behind either. Charley Miles was twenty-three with long, chocolate-brown hair, dark brown almond-shaped eyes and an almost Mediterranean colour to her skin tone. She was tall and slim, just like her friend, but whereas India was most definitely the tomboy type, Charley was the archetypal bubbly girlie-girl but they’d hit it off from the day Charley had walked into ‘Wheatman and Rogers’ as the new receptionist. They’d been best friends ever since, as close as sisters, both of them loud, upfront and outspoken and both of them fiercely loyal to each other. The only thing they ever disagreed on was music. India was a bit of a rock chick with a love of anything guitar based, but Charley was more of a pop girl. It made for an interesting music mix at their parties, anyway.
They’d just moved into a little first floor flat on the outskirts of Newcastle city centre and spent most weekday evenings having girlie nights in with the usual chick flicks and chocolate and most weekends out on the town. It was predictable but it was fun, and fun was what India needed right now. Fun and just a little bit of escapism.
This is why they were here really, at this local-celebrity-filled but ultimately dreary benefit dinner that they’d originally planned to avoid, until Mr Rogers had approached India earlier that afternoon and asked her, completely out of the blue, if she and Charley owned anything resembling a cocktail dress. She’d looked at him like he was mad whilst trying to imagine what a cocktail dress actually looked like, and then managed to ask him why. He’d explained, totally seriously and without any realisation that he was verging on the sexist, that he wanted a couple of the more “attractive members of the female staff” to attend the dinner – for free – in order to keep some of the male guests that would be attending “entertained” and would she and Charley be up for it. India had been a bit taken aback at first, a little shocked at what he might have been implying, until he’d finally realised that what he’d said could have come out wrong and explained that he only wanted her and Charley to mingle with the guests, talk to some of the more higher profile ones, engage them in some friendly conversation, and maybe get them to cough up a bit more cash for charity. He’d always been a bit blunt with a tendency to put his foot in his mouth had Mr Rogers, so he’d left India with the idea and asked her to think about it. She’d grabbed Charley, thought about it over lunch, and they’d decided it would be a laugh, if nothing else.
It wasn’t. It was boring and dull and it wasn’t even eight 0’clock yet. They still had dinner to sit through and then more mingling. At least Mr. Rogers had given her and Charley the morning off tomorrow which meant one of those lovely, unexpected weekday lie-ins. India never took those for granted.
She took another sip of champagne, catching sight of Mr Rogers over the top of her glass throwing them another one of his “you’re not here to have fun” looks from across the other side of the room.
No chance of that, India thought to herself, nudging Charley, who appeared to be distracted by something going on at the other end of the room.
“What’s the matter?” India asked, standing up on tip-toes to try and see what it was that had caught Charley’s attention.
“I think I’ve just spotted someone who might actually mean this whole evening wasn’t a waste of time after all,” Charley said, turning to India and smiling as India finally caught sight of what, or - to be more precise - who it was that Charley was talking about.
“His name wasn’t on the guest list,” India gasped, blinking twice just to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.
“No, it certainly wasn’t. But he’s with Tim Taylor, y’know, that director guy from North Yorkshire, and I’m sure they’ve been shooting some scenes for a new movie round here. Down by the coast, I think. I read it in the paper coming into work the other day.”
The man who’d just walked into the room, with an entrance that now appeared to be causing quite a stir, was Reece Brogan - movie star - and Hollywood wasn’t something anyone had expected to see tonight but, with the arrival of this very famous Irish actor, it had just walked in through the door, and every head in the room was now turning to catch a glimpse of him.
Reece Brogan was in his early forties, tall, tanned and extremely handsome with a smile that could floor any self-respecting female at fifty paces. He’d first made his name on TV during the 1980’s with a handful of successful series’ before heading to America, where he’d quite easily made the transition into movies and quickly became a name to be reckoned with in Hollywood. Only the other week India and Charley had seen his latest film at The Odeon and looking at him now, in the flesh, even from a distance, they could see that he was just as good-looking as he was on-screen. He had a smile that seemed to light up the room and every female in the place seemed to be gravitating towards him. Even the men looked impressed.
“Maybe this evening is looking up after all,” Charley smiled, fluffing up her dark curls, running her tongue over her front teeth to remove any lipstick that might have found its way on there.
India looked at her. “He’s not going to come and talk to us.”
“Why not?” Charley asked, as if it was a dead cert that he’d be heading their way any time now. “Mr Rogers told us to mingle with the guests, didn’t he?”
“Mingle, not throw yourself at,” India half-smiled, grabbing herself another glass of champagne. It was going to her head a bit and she found herself almost looking forward to dinner.
“I’m going over,” Charley said, in a more than determined tone, until a voice announcing dinner was served stopped her in her tracks. They both burst out laughing.
“Hold that thought, missy,” India giggled. “Let’s get this over with first. Then you can think about seducing Mr Gorgeous for dessert.”
***
India held her glass of brandy close to her chest as she stared out at the view of the Tyne Bridge. The city stretched out ahead of her, the darkness lit up with what looked like a blanket of twinkling fairy lights as the stars in the clear, night sky met with the street lights and lit-up windows of the buildings, shops and apartments in the distance. It was a sight that made her realise how much she loved this place. She was a Northern girl through and through and, no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t think of herself living anywhere else. Not without a very good reason, anyway. Maybe that was boring to some people, and maybe she did lack a certain spirit of adventure, but she liked it here. She felt safe here. It was a warm and friendly city filled with warm and friendly people and as long as she was happy here, she saw no reason why she should be anywhere else.
She took a sip of brandy and shuddered as the liquid burned the back of her throat. She didn’t usually drink this stuff but she’d found herself being handed a glass so she’d accepted it. She’d try anything once. Well, almost anything. She had limits. The burning sensation changed to a lovely, warm feeling as it reached her stomach and she closed her eyes for a second, her mind wandering off to the sandy beaches and pool-side bars of their forthcoming holiday, which suddenly reminded her that she hadn’t seen Charley for a while now.
She turned round and quickly scanned the room, looking for her friend, whom she’d lost almost immediately dinner had finished and the speeches had begun. God knows where she was but doubtless she’d hear all about it later.
India turned back around and continued to look out of the huge picture window, watching as the people on the street down below shielded themselves from the wind and rain as they hurried about their business. It was making her feel quite cold just looking at them, collars pulled up around necks and hats shoved tight down onto heads. She took another small sip of brandy and waited for the warmth to hit her again.
“Excuse me.”
A gentle tap on the s
houlder made her jump, almost spilling what little brandy was left in the glass.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She slowly turned around and found herself looking up into the dark and beautiful eyes of none other than Reece Brogan himself.
“Are you ok?” he continued, in that soft, almost lilting southern Irish accent, with just a hint of American, she realised. Then she also realised that she was probably staring and quickly pulled herself together, knocking back the rest of the brandy, putting the glass down behind her on the window-sill.
“I’m ... I’m fine, thanks,” she replied, still trying not to stare at him. Was that really Reece Brogan, Hollywood movie star, standing there in front of her on a cold Tuesday Autumn night in Newcastle-upon-Tyne? Or was she just having another of those elaborate but very pleasant dreams she sometimes had? The ones she never wanted to wake up from.
“I’ve been watching you all evening,” Reece smiled, sitting down on the window-sill and inviting India to sit down next to him. She looked around, half expecting to see someone else behind her because she was positive he wasn’t talking to her.
“Come on, sit down. I don’t bite,” he laughed. A rather lovely laugh, India thought as she perched herself carefully down beside him, wondering where the hell Charley was. For some reason she thought she’d have been with Reece, or at least hovering somewhere near him.
“Like I said, I’ve been watching you all evening ...” He held up his hands and laughed that laugh again. “And I didn’t mean that to sound like it did. I’m not some kind of stalker who picks up women wherever he goes. Well, not anymore anyway.”
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