Reach for the Stars

by Kathy Jay

  ‘At least you’re honest.’

  Having her there with him would make an otherwise dull trip more fun, but an under-the-radar fling in sleepy Porthkara had been easy, Paris might be more tricky and he didn’t want to make things worse for her. Given her reaction to people seeing her ex’s photos online, he’d hate for her to get papped.

  ‘When do we leave?’ Layla suddenly lifted her glass, held it in front of her nose like a shield, dipped her head and shrunk behind Nick. ‘Hide me,’ she whispered.

  A car had screeched to a halt and was double parked in front of the pub. In a sudden gust of wind, the pub sign showing a keg of rum and a couple of jaunty chaps in three-cornered hats, creaked on its rusty brackets. A faint odour of burning rubber hung in the air. Around them, startled pub-goers looked up from their drinks to see what the commotion was about.

  ‘Why?’ He caught sight of a tanned, sporty-looking guy weaving his way through the tables and instantly knew.

  ‘Layla!’ Joe announced, clearing his throat, ‘I’m glad I spotted you. You do know you’re on the guestlist for the party tonight?’ A peculiar hush descended over the people in the beer garden, somehow sensing the aura of extreme awkwardness. ‘You know how it is. We mustn’t upset the parents.’

  Nick barely held back from remarking that it was a bit late for that. His fingers clenched around his pint glass, tempted to fling its contents in his face. Joe stared at him, sizing him up. ‘You’re welcome to bring your friend.’

  ‘My significant other,’ Layla corrected. ‘Nick, Joe. Joe, Nick.’ Her eyes darted between the two men and she took a gulp of piña colada. ‘Actually, we’re off to Paris—’

  ‘—in the morning,’ Nick cut in, offering his hand to Joe and shaking it tensely. ‘But we’d love to, wouldn’t we … darling?’ He hammed it up and smiled adoringly at her, letting his eyes linger like she was the most phenomenal woman in a one-hundred-mile radius.

  Not acting, Layla almost choked on her drink. ‘We would?’ She recovered and pasted on a smile. ‘We would,’ she agreed, nodding fervently to cover her lack of positivity. Assessing Joe, Nick doubted he realized that she was faking it.

  ‘Great. See you guys later. Lainy’s out shopping for a dress. She can’t wait to meet you.’

  Lainy? What happened here? Did the guy miss Layla so much he married the first girl who came along with a similar name?

  A holidaymaker whose car had been blocked in by Joe’s blasted his horn so he turned tail and ran. When he’d gone, Layla raised astonished brows at Nick. Pure fury burned in her eyes.

  ‘We’d love to, wouldn’t we darling?’ She mocked his deep drawl. ‘We would, would we? What the blazes was that all about? I need to go to Paris right now.’ Her voice rose into a petulant crescendo. Eyes that flashed like two lightning strikes about to go to earth told him in no uncertain terms that he’d made a huge error of judgment. ‘In fact, half an hour ago wouldn’t have been too soon.’ She stood up. ‘Let’s go. I need to pack.’

  He regretted the panic in her tone. He’d been eaten alive by moments of helplessness since he’d found out he was a dad. He’d bottled it up so as not to ruin things with Layla. It wasn’t her problem. When Joe had treated her as if there’d never been anything between the two of them, he’d recognized the pain on her face almost as if it was his own. He’d hoped that by going to the party they could shove it to the tosspot. ‘How dare you accept the invitation on my behalf? What a prize-winning idiot! I wanted to curl up in a ball and hide under the table. Why couldn’t you have said “No thanks buddy you know where you can stick your party!?”’

  ‘Because real life doesn’t have a script.’ He gently took her wrist, his fingers catching in her bracelet. ‘Relax,’ he coaxed, ‘Sit down. Finish your drink. We’re going to rock this party. That guy’s going to think you’ve forgotten he ever existed.’

  ‘With a bit of luck.’ Layla downed the rest of her ever-so-slightly-decadent lunchtime cocktail. ‘… I will have.’ A trace of froth left a rum and pineapple moustache over her top lip. He ached to lean in and slowly, slowly kiss it away. Instead he handed her a paper napkin and she dabbed at it. He doubted that a weekend away from Porthkara would do much to wipe away the hurt, but he’d do his level best to help her forget about it.

  ‘I wish you’d consulted me before you decided to offer yourself up as my plus one,’ Layla continued.

  ‘Significant other. Your words. Not mine.’

  ‘Said in desperation,’ she argued sulkily. ‘It wasn’t your cue to say yes to the party. You’re about as much help as spare tyre with a puncture.’

  ‘And almost as reliable,’ he agreed. ‘I should have kept out of it, but I reckon that Joe deserves to be reminded what he’s missing out on.’

  Stuck for a reply and hopping with nerves, Layla stood up and bolted, taking a random route through the tables to the pub door. She headed straight for the Ladies’ and locked herself in a cubicle. If she was going to have a meltdown she intended to do it in private. She lowered the lid and sat down to consider her options. She picked ferociously at a hardened splatter of paint on her t-shirt. She had no decent clothes. Where was Maggie when she needed a fashionista to figure out the dress code? Miles away. Perhaps a video chat would help. She tried to call her but getting a signal in the village was haphazard at the best of times – in the pub loo it was hopeless.

  The door to the Ladies’ squeaked on its hinges as it opened, and the buzz of multiple conversations filled her ears, abruptly followed by the clear voices of the two girls who’d come in.

  ‘My auntie lives across the lane from them, and apparently, he’s not sleeping at Maggie’s! He’s staying with Layla! And get this! She says there are never any lights on in the spare room!’

  Layla crumpled.

  ‘Scandal.’

  ‘Do you think they’re …?’

  ‘Totally.’

  ‘Go Layla.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be awesome if they got married like Maggie and Alex?’

  ‘That’s never going to happen.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It was in a magazine my mum read at the hairdressers, that he was dating some princess. He’s a notorious player. He’ll have his way with her and vanish into the sunset.’

  ‘That’s awful. Do you think Layla knows?’

  ‘Maybe yes. Maybe no.’

  ‘Maybe we should warn her.’

  ‘Maybe she doesn’t mind. Who’d blame her for going off the rails with Nick Wells after the way Joe treated her?’

  ‘In that case, best not interfere.’

  She stayed very still, both furious and nauseous at the latest village gossip. She was ready to burst out of her cubicle to vent on out-of-date magazines and not believing everything people read at the hair salon when she overheard the next snippet.

  ‘What do you think of Lainy?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her yet. Have you?’

  She stuck her fingers in her ears and studied a poster on the back of the door about sponsoring well-digging projects in Africa, but the girls were so loud she’d have heard them through a thick stone wall.

  ‘She looks a little like Layla, I reckon.’

  Layla couldn’t help taking one finger out of one ear.

  ‘Wow. Scarlet hair?’

  ‘Not so much. I think she’s a natural redhead.’

  ‘Layla’s a natural red. My sister was in her class at school. She had thick auburn hair down to her waist. My mum swears she’s never seen a child with such beautiful hair. Not even in a catalogue!’

  ‘Spooky! That sounds a lot like Lainy. There’s definitely something similar about her. A few people have said it.’

  ‘Layla’s lovely. She doesn’t need to dye her hair to stand out.’

  ‘Each to their own. Nick Wells definitely seems to like it.’

  They erupted into giggles and Layla couldn’t bear to hear any more. She quietly pushed open the frosted glass window behind the loo and climbed onto the se
at. She stepped up onto the cistern, cringing when it rattled beneath her feet, and squeezed herself out onto the ledge. As she jumped onto the carpet of soft grass and daisies she was gripped by an overwhelming urge to paint. She was itching to start something new.

  Irked beyond belief, she circumnavigated the beer garden and set off up the street, straightening out the chaos in her head.

  ‘Layla, wait up.’ Nick’s mid-Atlantic drawl rumbled through her, filling her veins with electrical current. She quickened her pace. He matched it.

  ‘Go back and finish your pint, Nick. I’ve got things to do. Maybe you haven’t heard but I’ve got to go home and pick out a dress because the man I thought I was going to marry invited me to his wedding reception.’

  ‘Strictly speaking it’s not a wedding.’

  ‘Oh yes, silly me, he’s already married.’

  ‘We can’t change that. But we can make him regret it.’

  ‘He’s not sorry and nor am I.’ She huffed out a breath. ‘So why in the world would I want to do that?’

  ‘What do you want Layla? Do you want me to go away?’

  ‘Newsflash. I want to stop feeling like the local entertainer. It’s like everyone around here has switched to Channel Layla. I need to get away.’

  He drew her to him, and her bones dissolved as he ran his fingers through the hair at the back of her neck and held her firmly. Her body next to his gave her a natural high. He lowered his head and his lips crashed with hers, melting her fury. Her mind stopped whirring, the calm at the eye of a storm. ‘Let me do what I do best,’ he murmured. ‘There’s an upside to hiding a Hollywood fugitive. I guarantee you that tonight we’ll put on a performance Porthkara won’t forget.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘You need a dress with the wow factor.’

  ‘And where am I going to get one of those by sunset? I have no idea how to work a high fashion look.’

  ‘Taxi?’ He laughed. ‘Luckily I didn’t drink the beer. I’m okay to drive.’ He tossed the keys to the sports car into the air and caught them with the other hand.

  She dropped into the passenger seat while he held open the door. It clunked shut, and he rounded the bonnet, and slid in next to her. He started the engine. Its deep rumble was seductive, like everything about him. As his fingers gripped the gearstick, her eyes were drawn to the way his faded denim jeans hugged his thighs. He skillfully wove the car out of the village, collecting awed glances from strangers. He wound around the high-hedged Cornish lanes, shifting up a gear and increasing his speed when they hit an empty stretch of straight road. The wind whipped at her hair and sent it flying into her face. She felt so uncool next to the head-turning man in the driving seat. Behind dark shades, he fixed his eyes on the road, throwing an instinctive glance every now and then at his rearview mirror. Self-conscious about the comments at the pub, she dug around in her handbag for something to tie her hair back.

  ‘Why are you helping me Nick?’

  Focused on driving, he didn’t look at her. ‘Why not?’

  ‘You don’t have to. You could set off for Paris right away and leave me to it.’

  ‘I want to.’ Hitting the edge of town, he stopped the car at a red light, and turned momentarily to meet her eyes. She looked away. ‘We’re buying a dress. Don’t over analyze it.’

  That was typical Nick. He did nice things for her. He did explosive things to her body. But there was a defensiveness about him that warned her off as clearly as a ‘keep out’ sign.

  He parked the car in the market square. Sitting amongst a couple of cafés and some small gift shops, a handful of chain stores dotted one side of the square. Picking one she liked, she pushed open the door. Nick touched her shoulder. His fingers slid to her upper arm, connecting with bare skin, and spinning golden threads of warmth through her veins.

  ‘Not this one,’ he said shaking his head. ‘Let’s try that one over there.’

  In a restored Georgian building with a fancy façade and gleaming windows, a smart department store dominated the market square. ‘It’s rather high end. I never go there. It’s not very me.’

  ‘It’s exactly what we’re looking for. When I was a kid I went to boarding school in a little town about forty miles from London. My mother used to fly in to visit me and Alex. She’d take us out for afternoon tea in a store exactly like that. Alex would hang out in the audiovisual section watching TV while I spent hours listening to the shop assistants give her advice.’

  Her heart fluttered. ‘That sounds like an endurance test.’

  He smiled. ‘I didn’t mind. I liked spending time with her – when she was sober. We didn’t see her often.’ He gently laced his fingers through hers and they walked across the square. Reluctantly she kept putting one foot in front of the other as if her legs were made of lead. ‘The makeovers were nothing more than a quick fix. My mother had a hard time feeling good about herself.’

  She stared at the window display, avoiding her reflection, and doubting that there’d be a single item inside that she could afford without blowing some of her savings. She pushed fluttery fingers into her windblown hair. They stuck fast in knots. ‘I can’t go in there. I look like I’ve been through a hedge backwards.’

  Nick swept her ahead of him into the revolving door. Inside the store he pulled off his sunglasses and looked her up and down appreciatively. ‘You look fine.’ The wicked smile twisted his lips. ‘Tousled,’ he added. ‘But fine.’ He lowered his voice to a throaty whisper and adopted his best period character voice to suit the centuries-old building as if it was a stage set. ‘And most charming, I might add, Miss Rivers.’ She was grateful that he wanted to help, but it stung that this was her real life and to him it was just a bit of fun.

  Ahead of them, through an ocean of perfume and cosmetic counters, a grand stone staircase oozed bygone elegance. Trying hard to ignore the half-pitying, half-disapproving stares from the pristine shop assistants, she looked straight ahead. Even so, the admiring glances reserved for Nick didn’t go unnoticed. She avoided the other women’s immaculately made-up eyes, embarrassed to look left or right and catch sight of a mirror.

  Upstairs in the fashion department her heart beat faster. ‘This is madness. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t need a dress because I’m not going to the party.’ She spun around ready to run down the stairs and back out into the safety and fresh air of the street.

  ‘Wait.’ Nick grasped her arm, his touch firm and gentle. She turned back to face him, sucking in a deep breath. ‘Chill. You can do this.’

  She tossed her head and let her breath go irritably. ‘You’re wrong. I’m not like you. I’m not an actor. I can’t switch my emotions on and off at the drop of a hat. If I go to the party I’m going to look like a wally, hanging around, waiting for whatever crumbs of attention Joe’s prepared to give me.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen. You’re with me.’

  Her heart skittered. She looked away only to be caught out by the sight of her full-length reflection in an ornate mirror. Amazingly – bright red bird’s nest hair aside – she didn’t look as ridiculous standing next to Nick as she’d imagined. She hated to admit it, but he’d got it right. If she stayed at home, hiding, while half of Porthkara partied, everyone would think she was miserable. They’d worry. Like it or not, she’d have to put on a smile, go to the party, and act like she was having a good time. If she didn’t people would be upset. Trish had worked her socks off to get everything ready at such short notice. Whatever she thought of Joe, his mum and dad were friends, they’d always been kind to her. She hadn’t expected to be invited, but since she had been, she’d tough it out and put on a show of no hard feelings, to keep everyone happy.

  ‘I kept quiet about finishing with Joe because in a tiny corner of my head I held on to the possibility that we might patch things up.’

  ‘When all along it turns out you didn’t want to?’

  She didn’t answer the question. She paced between the rails, collecting a selection
of dresses, her choices based purely on the size printed on the tags and nothing to do with colour or style or whether she particularly liked them. She fumed with annoyance. ‘I’ve been in limbo for months, waiting to hear back from him.’

  ‘Marrying somebody new makes for a much more dramatic ending than simply ‘fessing up and telling people that you and he fizzled out.’

  ‘You make it sound like he only did it to get back at me. That’s outrageous. Nobody could be that stupid. Not even Joe.’

  Her arms too full of dresses to continue searching, he helpfully took them from her, forcing her to meet his eyes. ‘Here, allow me!’

  ‘The truth is I didn’t know what I wanted.’

  ‘You didn’t want to hurt people.’

  ‘I ended up hurting me.’

  ‘I can’t undo that,’ Nick said solemnly.

  ‘If this is what it takes to prove I’m over him, bring it on.’ She tossed the words over her shoulder on her way to the changing room. ‘I’m stronger than when he went away. I’m ready to turn my ideas into something concrete. As soon as I get back from Paris, I’m waiting for nothing. I’m getting my business up and running. By the time he gets off that campsite my life’s going to be running on such a different track he won’t recognize me.’

  When she appeared in her umpteenth dress, Nick was reclined provocatively on a red leather sofa outside the changing room. It was actually only about the seventh dress, but to him it felt like more. His expertise was strictly amateur, and owed itself to years of assuring his glamorous mother she looked the part, but none of the dresses looked right on Layla. There was nothing wrong with them. They were lovely, and she looked good, but gut instinct told him that good wasn’t enough. He wanted nothing short of spectacular.

  ‘I look like a ballerina crossed with a cappuccino.’

  In a froth of tulle layers in shades of light coffee and off-white he tried not to smile at her comparison, but felt a rogue wry twinge break across his lips regardless and had to laugh. He couldn’t admit it wasn’t the jaw-dropping gorgeous he had in mind without making her feel bad.