Beyond Angel Avenue
a novel by
Sarah Michelle Lynch
Copyright © Sarah Michelle Lynch, 2015
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. You must not circulate this book without the authority to do so.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Also by the Author
As Sarah Michelle Lynch:
A Fine Profession
A Fine Pursuit
The Chambermaid’s Tales
Unbind
Unfurl
Unleash
Dom Diaries
Fabien: A Vampire Novel
Angel Avenue
Beyond Angel Avenue
Hetty: An Angel Avenue Spin-Off
The Contract
The Fix
The Risk
Break the Cycle
They Say I’m Doing Well
Tainted Lovers
Christmas Lovers
As S. M. Lynch:
The Radical
The Informant
The Sentient
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Dear Reader,
I wrote Angel Avenue two years ago and never, ever intended on writing this sequel. The first book was such a hard novel to get over and I suppose, in a way, that might have been because there was still more to tell. For the past year, I’ve had Warrick whispering in my ear, telling me a brand new story – which also clears up some of the mysteries of Angel Avenue. I wrestled with whether I should tell this story because Angel Avenue is so special to me and I didn’t want to ruin that with a sequel that didn’t measure up.
I have loved every single second of writing these books. I’ve written many books but these ones mean so much to me. This story is based where I live and is imbued with the love I feel for the city I met and married my husband in. I’ve tried not to waste too many words on location because I like to think this story could happen in any town or city, in any country.
What I can honestly say is that this is “The End”. I knew it was a certainty the day I typed those words at the very end of this book. That day, a very red-eyed mother went to pick up her daughter from school, knowing Beyond Angel Avenue is the underscore of this particular chapter in my writing life. When I wrote Angel Avenue, it was one of the happiest writing experiences of my life. It was a lot of fun to write. However, Beyond Angel Avenue is a different beast and delves one layer deeper. I cried absolute buckets writing this second book.
A RECAP
In Angel Avenue, we learned Jules was an English teacher spending her Saturdays chasing after men. She would invite them to her flat but for nothing more than a cuddle. When Warrick came along, spotting her one day in the pouring rain, he became the only man she wanted a cuddle from.
Warrick, a former policeman turned social worker, spent his days acting ‘saintly’ as Jules termed it – living celibate, veering away from alcohol and any kind of worldly goods – also spending all his time at community centres, hostels and food banks. Soon, fireworks flew – their different takes on life forcing both of them to change.
When they realised their love, it was then life became complicated. Things happened. To give herself time to cool down, Jules went travelling abroad, following in the footsteps of her dancer mother who died when Jules was barely eight years old.
Beyond Angel Avenue now picks up as Jules walks back through the front door of their house – and back into Warrick’s life.
Jules and Warrick are my faves. Enjoy x x x
Dedication
For lovers, of course
My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date;
But when in thee time’s furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee,
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:
How can I then be elder than thou art?
Sonnet 22, Shakespeare
Prologue
Julianne, aged five, danced for her mother, some TV show blaring in the background. It was the Christmas holidays and they’d cleared a big space in the living room. Julianne’s father slept upstairs. Recently sacked from his job, he was constantly moody and irritable. Lorraine, the little girl’s mother, didn’t want her husband to know she was teaching Julianne to dance. She didn’t think he would understand. She also knew he might get jealous. Julianne’s one Christmas present was her first set of ballet slippers. While all the other boys and girls had piles of presents under the tree, this mother and daughter shared a gift beyond most people’s wildest dreams.
“Julie, no telling Daddy,” Lorraine would often say, and Jules would tap her index finger against her nose.
In her second year of school, Julianne would turn six in February but they didn’t have money for dance lessons so Lorraine taught her daughter at home.
“Extend, my pretty, oh that’s beautiful, that’s wonderful,” Lorraine exclaimed as Julianne – still so young – already demonstrated natural-born ability. “Have fun, move as you wish.”
Julianne pranced and giggled, swishing and swooping, her mother such a good teacher that she encouraged freedom of expression as well as discipline.
“First position Julianne, good.” The little girl raised her arm and held the back of the sofa to steady herself. “Plie, my darling, oh yes, keep your back… oh perfect, you don’t even need me to say.”
It was clear how much strength the little girl already had in her core. She had muscle definition, even for one so young. Lorraine had been teaching Julianne since she was three and a half.
They heard creaking upstairs, signifying Julianne’s father was getting up.
“Quick baby, let’s put the room back.”
They returned the sofa against the wall and put the coffee table back in the middle of the main floor space. They sat on the sofa and Lorraine grabbed some Value crisps for them to sit and eat, making it look like they’d been doing nothing but
veging out in front of the TV.
“Where’s my tea?” Julian Simonovich asked gruffly, falling heavily into his armchair.
Without a word, Lorraine stood up and went to the kitchen.
Julianne stared at the TV, not looking at her father.
When Lorraine returned to the room with tea and toast for Julian, she told him, “We’re going out for the groceries, alright?” Her voice carried little affection.
“Get me some more of them pop tarts,” he grumbled, “fucking hate scabby toast.”
For your munchies, more like, thought Lorraine.
“We can hardly afford bread let alone overpriced junk,” Lorraine countered.
“So get another job. It’s not my fault I got sacked.”
Lorraine bit her tongue. It was his fault, but he was looking for anyone else to blame it on.
“I can’t. What about Julie? Who will get her to school and pick her up?”
He grunted. He was barely out of bed before ten everyday and he would no doubt forget to pick his daughter up. Besides, Lorraine didn’t trust him to look after Julianne. Lorraine would do anything to keep her daughter safe. Anything. Working as a receptionist for six hours a day was all she could manage and she didn’t want to put upon Julie’s grandmother, who was a bitter woman with a bias for her son. A pub job in the evening would mean leaving her child with Julian and Lorraine didn’t trust him not to go out and leave her all alone. She wouldn’t have put it past him. In the last year everything had changed for the worse and Lorraine was worried about the future.
“Let’s go, Julie,” Lorraine ordered, helping the girl on with her coat and boots.
They left the house, trundling down the hill towards the centre of town and the shops. In Frozen Foods, they picked up all the bargains on the £1 shelves and Lorraine submitted to Julian’s demand for pop tarts.
“Why are you sad, Mummy?”
“I’m not sad.”
“You are. Why don’t you dance with me? Why don’t you want Daddy to know I dance?”
Avoiding Julianne’s eyes, Lorraine explained, “A demon lives in Daddy. It makes him say and do and want bad things. Dancing is a good thing, yes?”
“Yes,” Julianne nodded, happily.
“He might try to take away anything good from us. We must keep all our good locked away, so he can’t steal it. That’s why I put your dance fund under the floor, honey.”
“Oh.”
Lorraine was saving up a few pounds each week so that Jules could go to dance school when she was older. For now, most of her hopes and dreams seemed so far off – but she had great ambition for Julianne, her second chance.
“Can we go to the park?” asked Julianne.
“Okay, but it’ll be very snowy!!”
“That’s okay, I want to build a snowman.”
“Okay.”
Lorraine sat on a bench with the shopping at her feet, chilling it on the ground. Julianne pranced and rolled in the snow, giggling her head off.
“Show me how to dance the snow angel dance, Mummy! Show me, show me!”
“No, darling, no.”
“Pleeeeassse!”
Lorraine stood and wobbled on her feet. “No, Julianne. No. Let’s go home.”
The child held her mother’s hand on the way home but she was shaking and trembling, in fear of her mother suddenly.
“I’m sorry, Julie, but I had my love of dance stolen from me. I never fulfilled my promise darling.” Bitter tears gathered but didn’t fall from Lorraine’s eyes.
They arrived home to an empty house and Lorraine grumbled to herself. Julian had no doubt gone out for his fix. While he was gone, Julianne suggested, “I’ll dance again to cheer you up?”
“No, no, darling, it’s okay. I don’t want you straining your little legs. We’ve tired you enough today. Why don’t we just do each other’s hair, hmm?”
“I like doing your hair, Mummy.”
Julianne brushed out her mother’s hair, which fell to her waist. The little girl tried to plait it but wasn’t quite skilled enough yet and by the end, she was making more knots than anything. Then Lorraine skilfully plaited Julianne’s hair into a French braid.
“You’re my beautiful mummy,” Julianne exclaimed out of the blue, and Lorraine squeezed her daughter tight, feeling richer for having a daughter’s love.
Lorraine would never leave her daughter to that foul man.
But for some reason, she did…
Chapter One
Warrick
Christmas Eve
I close the front door behind us and turn the key in the lock, trying the handle to make sure we’re safely stowed inside. Her tall figure is silhouetted by silver moonlight shining through from the back door and down the entire hallway, so that with her back to me as she’s standing still, she seems like a spirit trapped between two worlds. She’s not really dressed for winter, given she’s spent most of the past three years in the Southern Hemisphere. She has no idea what to do with herself because she’s actually made it home – and I think we both know what that means.
“The snow’s going to settle,” she says in a weary, emotional voice, “I haven’t seen snow in what feels like absolute years.”
I walk up behind her, sensing so much. She covers her face with her hands and takes some deep breaths, her shoulders hunched over, struggling to take in the reality. I dare not touch her. The emotions ripping through me are so strong and I don’t know if she’s ready for that yet.
I reach out and touch her shoulders and when I do, she doesn’t recoil and even whispers, “Warrick,” in a husky voice of anticipation.
She knows I prefer Rick. Yet, she still uses my full name. She likes it.
“There’s been nobody else; I just want to clear that up,” I blurt, desperate for her to know it. It’s only ever been her.
“Me either,” she replies, sounding weary.
I won’t press her for details because she’s travelled a long way but I can’t help wanting to know things – to hear from her lips how she’s missed me as much as I’ve missed her.
“Let me take your coat.”
She begins shrugging out of her jacket-coat-type-thing and I realise with pain, she probably wore out the coat I bought her all those years ago. I remember the day fondly – a day we spent gallivanting the streets of the Old Town before we rounded things off with purchasing her a new coat to replace the old one. She wasn’t poor and could afford herself a better coat than the holey, threadbare one she was rocking, but I had to buy her something new because she never liked treating herself.
I wonder whether she’s changed, whether we’ll still fit, and my mind’s whizzing a million miles an hour when the coat she’s wearing falls from her shoulders. I gather it in my hands to drape it over the hallway bench.
As I unwrap her tasselled black and white scarf, I find the sway of her long hair over the exposed nape of her neck deeply erotic, her ponytail swishing. I’m lost, so lost, already. It’s like no time has passed. I kneel down behind her and she instinctively reaches back for my shoulder to steady herself as I slip her Doc Marten boots off. She’s still standing stock-still in the moonbeams as I chuck my own coat and shoes on top of hers.
I can’t stop myself. I can’t. My heart is thumping so hard, surely she can hear it? I also sound like a panting dog, needing her, wanting her, my whole body craving the touch of her naked skin.
I wrap my arms around her body from behind, pressing myself against her. My nose is in her hair, I’m breathing heavy and she’s back – my Jules is back – and I’m still so in love with her. I whisper kisses at the side of her throat and a tiny whimper escapes her lips. She reaches behind herself to take a handful of my hair, her head falling back against my shoulder. When she turns her head to look up at me, a painful lump in my throat forms when I see her eyes rimmed red, her nose shiny and her cheeks blazing. I only know of one way to take the pain away from her so I kiss it all away.
Our lips brush gently at first
and my eyes remain open while hers shut, a tear sliding from her eye. I want to wipe it away but I’m also enjoying that tear because it means she actually feels something for me. It means she was gone but she missed me, it means there were reasons but the reason wasn’t that she didn’t love me enough. She loved me too much, maybe?
Temptation gets the better of me and I bite into her top lip, licking furiously to gain entry, wanting her to open up and let me kiss her properly. She turns in my arms and throws her arms around my neck. I pull her in close and with her tugging and raking my hair, I take hold of her arse and lift her into my arms. I’m taking her straight to bed.
I take one step towards the staircase and her hands are already on my belt buckle. She’s making fast work of this. I want her breast so I squeeze it and she moans, “Warrick, Warrick…”
I manage to take two steps upstairs before her hand is inside my pants.
“Ah Jules, fuck it.”
We fall back on the stairs and I lift her jumper dress up, getting to her bra. I lean down and bite, tug and suck over her lace. Her head thrown back, her nostrils are wide, her lungs and heart pumping fast.
“Please touch me, touch me!” she begs.
I take a fistful of her tights and knickers and yank them down. Oh god, that smell of her. I know she’s ready for me.
She’s tugging my jeans down, her hands on my buttocks. She’s whining, “Warrick, oh my god, I need you.” Her words give me encouragement and remind me that when it’s like this, she wants me to be in charge. I swipe a finger through her wetness and taste it. She’s musky and needs a bath but sometimes I like her just like this. I pull her tights and knickers to her knees and the materials tear a little as she spreads her thighs and I lie on top of her.
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