He Will Be Mine: The brand new laugh out loud page turner! Read online

  The Magic sounded amazing.

  ‘Do you think Timmo is my soulmate?’ I’d asked thoughtfully. ‘How will I even know?’

  ‘Oh, you’ll know,’ Mum had said mysteriously, her warm green eyes twinkling in the glow of her table lamp. ‘You can just feel it. It might not be obvious at first and sometimes it takes a little while for your head to catch up with your heart. But you’ll know, love… You just will. It’s magic.’

  Turns out Timmo wasn’t my soulmate. The opposite, in fact. The only magic thing about Timmo was how quickly he disappeared after my parents died. He said my ‘sad vibes’ were ‘stifling his creative exploration’. So I’m still waiting to feel that big thunderbolt.

  ‘Mum and Dad were not the norm,’ Imogene grumbles as we trundle onwards, passing the edge of the park green, where a couple of young families are having a kickabout. ‘Dan and I didn’t have a thunderbolt and look at us! Together for six years now and perfectly happy.’

  Ugh Dan. Imogene’s reasonably handsome but pretty condescending husband, who is in no way good enough for her.

  ‘And anyway,’ Imogene continues, ‘even if thunderbolts and love at first sight were real, Nora, you’re not even trying to date anymore.’

  I don’t have a comeback for that, because she’s right. Last summer, I decided to take the soulmate situation into my own hands and declared it the summer of a million dates in order to get out there and be proactive about finding ‘The One’. It was exhausting. Since losing Mum and Dad I’ve had trouble socialising in general and especially meeting new people. I thought diving in at the deep end with the potential reward of meeting my soulmate was a good idea… It was not. In fact, it was actually more depressing because even the most on-paper perfect guys were just not doing it for me. Forget thunderbolts! These guys had less fizz than a wet sparkler on bonfire night.

  ‘I’ve dated every man in Brigglesford and the neighbouring villages,’ I point out. ‘It’s not like I haven’t tried. I went out on dates with total strangers twice a week for seven weeks!’

  ‘And you barely gave any of them a chance.’

  ‘I did! I literally gave everyone a chance.’

  ‘For like, one date each. That Jonathan guy was lovely.’

  ‘He didn’t chew his food right.’

  ‘What about that PE Teacher?’

  ‘Oh, Alan? Yeah, he smelt like baked beans.’

  ‘But you love baked beans.’

  ‘On toast, not on a life partner.’

  ‘And the hot, muscly Asian guy you went bowling with?’

  ‘His favourite film was The Next Karate Kid, Imogene. He had Karate Kid One, Two and Three to choose from and he chose The Next Karate Kid. I mean, come on.’

  ‘But your favourite bloody film is While You Were Sleeping!’

  ‘Sandra Bullock and Bill Pullman together are cinematic art, it cannot be denied.’

  Imogene tuts. ‘Look, my point is that all those things that stop you from pursuing anything real with those men, they’re all tiny, stupid, meaningless things. No one is perfect.’

  Imogene’s right. I probably could have gotten over those ‘tiny things’ if I had felt the thunderbolt Mum told me I was supposed to feel. But I didn’t feel it, not even a little bit, so why waste anyone’s time pursuing something that will inevitably turn into a big pile of awkward old nothing?

  I explain this to Imogene and she pulls a face, then stops walking again and gives me a serious and frowny stare. She swallows hard and takes a deep breath as if weighing up what she’s about to say next.

  ‘Not wasting anyone’s time is one thing, Nora,’ she begins. ‘And look, I don’t want to upset you, but, well, since what happened to Mum and Dad, you’ve completely given up. On singing and writing your songs, on doing anything other than slobbing out in your pyjamas. You’ve even given up on, like, basic socialising. You have no friends anymore. You fumble and turn red whenever you meet anyone you don’t know. You never used to be shy. Now you stay in all the time. You need to be out there. In the world. Living life! Not hiding.’

  ‘I’m an introvert,’ I retort, crossing my arms across my chest, forgetting, as I always do, that my boobs are way too hefty to do that comfortably. I plonk my arms back down at my sides. ‘I am living my life, just, you know… indoors. I like staying in! It’s delightful. I light scented candles, chuck on a fluffy blanket, make sweet, milky tea and read my books. I’m super hygge. There are loads of us out there! Hygge is a whole thing. Have you ever seen a night-time routine video on YouTube? That’s me, only most of the time, not just at night. It’s lovely. Plus, I do have friends. I have loads of online friends.’

  Imogene rolls her eyes, as if online friends are mere bots and not actual humans behind the avatars. ‘Well, I think you’re depressed,’ she says in a low, tentative voice.

  What?

  ‘I’m not depressed!’ I protest. ‘I’m fine! My life is just fine.’

  ‘And you’re happy with just fine?’

  ‘I’m… fine with fine,’ I say eventually, my heart starting to thud in my chest. I want to go home now. Back to my cosy bed, where everything is warm and easy, where I can do my untaxing work and watch my lovely movies and read my Harcourt Royals book series and fantasise about my future soulmate in peace and quiet.

  Imogene stares at me for a moment, her eyes glistening with tears. ‘I think… I think maybe you’re becoming a little too comfortable in your grief,’ she says, her voice wobbling a bit.

  My heart dips. ‘Comfortable? In my grief? What does that even mean?’

  ‘It means that you finding problems with every man you meet, discarding them because there’s no “magical thunderbolt” provides you an excuse to be alone, to coop up and to wallow in your misery because it’s easier than getting out there and opening yourself up to any more pain.’

  I feel hot tears immediately spring to my eyes. That was harsh. Why would she say something like that, today of all days?

  ‘Shit, Imogene,’ I mutter, my voice catching. ‘Shit. I… um…yeah, I… I have to go now.’

  I lean in to give Ariana a gentle kiss on the forehead before I turn on my heel and half walk/half jog out of the park. I wait until I reach home before I have myself a big old cry.

  Chapter Three

  Gary

  Dear Diary,

  This is weird. I feel like a fifteen-year-old girl. Hmm. Maybe it would help if I didn’t write ‘Dear Diary.’

  I’ll just write… ‘Hey.’ Like The Fonz. Heeeeeey.

  Gary, you are a dick.

  Heeeeeyy.

  Hey.

  So. Here I am, on the advice of Ira, my therapist, writing a journal for the first time in my thirty-year existence. According to his expertise, this will help me to deal with this peculiar overwhelming feeling I’ve been having the last couple of months.

  I guess I’m famous now and, to be honest, the reality of that is pretty fucking unexpected. I should feel happier than this, right? Success is what I wanted.

  The fact that I’m not happy makes me wonder if I’m just an ungrateful asshole. I have everything I ever wanted. My new movie—my first ever leading role—has smashed box office records and now I’ve got scripts from every big studio stacked in my den waiting to be read. I’m no longer scrabbling for money, working at Eckerman’s deli counter in Cedar Creek, and wishing I could find a way out of Texas. My Pops is proud of me. My girlfriend Tori is loyal and very sexy and way, way, waaaay out of my league. So why am I not wandering round with a stupid grin on my face at how fucking good I have it?

  Because I’m a dick. I said this to Ira and he disagreed, but I pay him so… y’know.

  I’m going away this weekend to try to clear my head. I’m taking Tori and Janet (the best, most gigantic dog you ever did see) back to Cedar Creek to make a surprise visit to my Pops. It’ll be nice to get out of Los Angeles for a while and being at home might bring me back to earth; it’s kinda hard to be an asshole around the man that raised you single
-handedly.

  Everything’s so sunny and shiny here in LA and since Justice of The Peace came out last month, people are stopping me on the street and asking for autographs, suddenly interested in me, which, I gotta say, is unnerving. Aileen, my manager (and Tori’s mom), told me it would happen, but I didn’t quite believe it would. And then one day I seemed to go from being pleasantly anonymous to finding paparazzos hiding behind palm trees and taking pictures while I’m sticking as much burrito into my face as I can in one go.

  I’m not complaining, because I know this is part of the job. But, still, it’s unnerving, man.

  Anyways, Ira suggested that, as well as having therapy and trying to spend more time outdoors, each day I journal three amazing things that happened, because writing them down will keep my mind focused on the positives, thus making me a happier, healthier human, instead of the brooding dork I naturally am inclined to be.

  So these are my three amazing things for today:

  My dog Janet straight up stole a huge raw carrot from the kitchen table and sauntered about the house with it in her mouth like it was a cigar. She had this expression on her face like she knew exactly what she was doing. I laughed so hard it made my nose run.

  I start filming a new movie next week and I’m beyond excited. It’s another action movie called Nightcar. The first day of a new shoot has this amazing energy, it’s a crazy anticipation and all the hopes of what we’re gonna make together. I can’t wait to dive into a brand-new character for the next three months. Is it entirely embarrassing to write about how much I love acting? Yes. Yes, I reckon it is. But, fuck it, I do. I HEART ACTING.

  I can’t be sure because Tori wouldn’t taste it to confirm, but I reckon that this afternoon I made the best grilled cheese sandwich that has ever been made by anyone ever. I did it in the skillet and used a mixture of sharp Cheddar and Gruyère and it was verging on, I don’t know how else to say this… it was verging on sexual. Might have had a quarter chub. A fifth of a chub at the least.

  I hope Ira doesn’t intend to actually read this thing.

  Okay. Well, I made it through my first official journal entry. Not quite sure how it’ll help, but at least I can say I tried.

  Chapter Four

  Nora

  I cheer myself up with a cheese toastie made with both extra mature Cheddar and Gruyère cheese for extra comforting cheesiness and stick Serendipity on the DVD player to distract myself from all of the feelings.

  When Kate Beckinsale and John Cusack and their sweaty five-dollar note are finally reunited, I check my emails before heading over to the Harcourt Royals book forum I’m a member of. The small but passionate fandom is called The Crown Kissers and I visit pretty much every day because The Harcourt Royals romance books are my favourite book series ever, ever, ever. I discovered them last year online when I was looking for a book to take me out of my own head. I’d never heard of the author, CJ West, but the Goodreads reviews from other readers were all so ardent that I ordered book one.

  I’m now completely hooked on this sexy, super-kitsch indie series about a princess called Esme and her secret affair with a commoner – a hot trumpet-playing, eco warrior, geek called Bastian who works as a stripper at a club called Dreamy Dix to pay his way through a marine biology degree. It’s ridiculously steamy, kind of cheesy and totally tongue in cheek, but also swoonsome and addictive and surprisingly funny.

  I look at the updated Crown Kissers forum posts – everyone is getting excited for the release of the next book tomorrow. There are lots of posts guessing at the plot and I love reading them. Every day for the past week I’ve been adding in my own ideas.

  My favourite plot guesses always come from the user SunshineKennedy90291. They’re usually totally outrageous and hilarious. Sometimes we chat on the instant messaging feature about Harcourt Royals books and, occasionally, if we’re feeling a bit bitchy, other members of the forum who are getting on our nerves.

  See? Imogene is wrong. I have friends. SunshineKennedy90291 is my friend! Yes, her profile image is a picture of a sunset and, as far as I know, her surname is 90291, and, yes, we generally avoid sharing personal details in our messages because internet safety is very important, but we like each other’s posts almost every day and she makes me laugh. Friend!

  Sadly SunshineKennedy90291 isn’t online right now so I shut down my laptop, head into my bedroom and reach my hand under the bed, feeling around for the old trunk I keep there. My hand accidentally comes to rest on the massive guitar case also nestled underneath. I haven’t touched my guitar since the accident and I don’t plan to ever again. I squeeze my eyes shut and ignore it, flapping my hand about until I find the trunk.

  I drag it out and open it up, swiping through the collected sentimental junk of my whole existence: old birthday cards, gig flyers, photo albums and, creepily, three of my childhood teeth in an old matchbox. I riffle around until I find the blank DVD case. I press it to my chest for a moment before taking it through to the living room and placing the disc into the player. I plonk myself onto the sofa, curl my legs up beneath me and press play.

  There’s no fancy opening credits, no jaunty uplifting music by Hans Zimmer. This isn’t one of my romcoms, but it is the most romantic movie I’ve ever seen. It’s the video of my mum and dad’s wedding.

  I fast-forward through the shaky camera work showing colourfully dressed, excitable guests entering the church, and stop at my favourite bit. It’s the moment that the vicar has just announced Mum and Dad as husband and wife and after they’ve kissed they both hold hands and start jumping up and down like a pair of idiots. The pure joy and excitement on their faces, entirely borne out of their love for each other, is daft and joyful and magical.

  I finger my long black hair, thick and shiny just like my mum’s. Then I softly touch my nose, slightly turned up at the end like my dad’s. I rewind to watch again, but before I can press play, there’s a knock at the door.

  I frown. No one knocks on my door apart from the Tesco delivery person and I had all my loo roll and cheese toastie supplies delivered yesterday.

  I plod over to the front door and open it to see Imogene standing there, a guilty look on her face.

  ‘I’m sorry, sis,’ she says. ‘About before.’

  ‘’S’okay.’ I shrug, forgiving her immediately. This is a sucky day for both of us.

  She peers in and sees the still frame of Mum and Dad on my TV screen. She closes her eyes for a second.

  I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot.

  ‘Do you want to do something? Get out for a bit?’ she asks me eventually.

  I look over at my warm couch and think about Brigglesford high street and all the people who’ll be out there, happy and revelling on a Friday night. ‘I’m not sure…’

  ‘Come on. Dan agreed to have Ariana for the night. We don’t have to go into town. We could go to the pictures? We haven’t been to the pictures for ages. Come oooon. I’ll let you choose the film. I’ll even watch a romcom,’ she says, miming a puking motion.

  A dark room and a big-screen romance to get lost in actually sounds like one of the few things I feel like doing…

  ‘I’m in.’

  Brigglesford Cinema is located on a retail estate that also houses a giant Next, a giant Boots and an Italian restaurant that got a two-star food hygiene rating in the latest inspections. There’s a lovely-looking Kristen Wiig romcom that I want to see, but the young woman at the ticket booth tells us that it’s fully sold out.

  ‘Ooooh noooooo,’ Imogene says with mock dismay. She finds romcoms to be ‘a vehicle for unrealistic fantasy.’ Then again, her notion of true romance is when Dan gives her a five-second warning when he’s about to let one rip.

  ‘Do you have any other, um, r-romance films showing?’ I ask, trying not to stutter in the presence of this unknown person.

  ‘Nah,’ the assistant replies. ‘But there’s this film you should definitely watch. It’s called Justice of The Peace. It’s epic. A real on-the-edg
e-of-your-seat thriller with a shocking twist, as they say.’

  Who wants to watch a film from the edge of their seat? That doesn’t sound comfortable at all!

  ‘Ooh, what’s that one about?’ Imogene asks.

  ‘It’s about a young high-powered judge… and, get this… he’s a vigilante in his spare time!’ the assistant explains, eyes blazing with excitement at this whole concept. ‘All the criminals in the county, the ones he thinks are guilty, he tracks them down and dishes out his own form of retribution! As if he’s not already busy enough, being in his own court all the time!’ She throws her hands up in the air.

  Ugh. An action thriller. Men running around punching each other and crashing cars into the windows of innocent businesses. Great.

  ‘That actually sounds amazing,’ Imogene breathes. ‘A vigilante judge!’

  ‘It is.’ The girl’s eyes are wide and earnest. ‘But it doesn’t start for another hour and a half. I suppose you could go to the bar and get some drinks and some food? And seeing as you’re here so early, I could upgrade you to some premier seats for free!’

  ‘For free!’ Imogene nudges me with excitement. ‘Shall we do that?’

  I mean, it’s not ideal, but there’s nothing else to do at the retail park beyond getting E. coli at Mama Romano’s. And the taxi to get here cost a tenner. And it will be all busy and loud on the high street. And it actually feels unexpectedly nice to be out in the world with Imogene.

  ‘Sounds brill,’ I say eventually. ’Let’s do it.’

  ‘Drinks are on me,’ Imogene declares with a little wiggle of excitement.

  ‘Justice of The Peace,’ the assistant says. ‘You’re going to fall in love with it.’