Wool part one, p.1
Time to Take a Chance, page 1
TIME TO TAKE A CHANCE
DEBBIE HOWELLS
In memory of my mum
CONTENTS
Prologue
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
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
More from Debbie Howells
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Debbie Howells
Love Notes
About Boldwood Books
PROLOGUE
I remember distinctly that crisp December day and how an early fall of snow brightened the greyness, crunching underfoot as we walked slowly from the car park. That day my life changed forever… Oddly, I felt elated when they told me. At last I understood those terrible headaches, the mood swings and why, from time to time, my legs would collapse from under me, without any warning at all.
And now that all these doctors and consultants at last knew what was wrong with me, they could get on with fixing it – at least, that was what I thought, back then. But it doesn’t always follow. Particularly in the case of an aggressive tumour, like the one they’ve found, in my brain.
My euphoria had been short lived of course. I struggled to accept the truth. How could I possibly have a brain tumour? It had to be a mistake. My scan results had got muddled with someone else’s…
But there was no mistake. Life in all its fullness had dealt me a rogue card, and in the blink of an eye turned everything I’d ever known on its head. But there was no time to be wasted, I was told. No putting off the inevitable. Not if I wanted to live… And so Lizzie accompanied me to the hospital, the last thing I’d want to put her through, waiting outside as I went for my treatment – such a small figure as she sat there, such a heavy weight on her shoulders.
I’d never envisaged anything like this. But does anyone? The future’s always there in front of us, and even now, as I sit in my garden, I’m looking ahead. I catch myself thinking I’ll plant a clematis to tumble through the Albertine rose for next summer or maybe I’ll move that lilac, before it gets any bigger. There’s nothing to stop me doing it, of course. Life will go on without me… But it’ll be someone else who watches the vivid splash of purple amongst the tiny pale roses, or the lilac thrive in years to come because I moved it to where the soil is better drained.
It’s not that I’m giving up, but I can’t pretend any longer. The facts are there in front of me and through long wakeful nights, I’ve reached my own conclusions. I can’t deny what’s happening, my legs so weak I can barely walk, my balance worse than ever and those headaches… pain like I’ve never felt before, that refuses to go away. But I have to face the reality – that it’s all coming to an end.
What is it like to die? Is it a drifting away into a dreamless sleep never to awaken, or an arrival, somewhere unimagined, carrying the story of a life like a backpacker… Would it be easier not to know it was coming? Not to have had the scan and to just have nature take its course, knowing what lies ahead… for me and Lizzie.
With her long, tawny hair and dark brown eyes, she’s as beautiful on the outside as she is inside. There’s a trusting gentleness about her, perhaps a little too trusting I think sometimes. She always expects the best from people, relies on them even, and every so often they let her down. Not that she isn’t capable because she is, but she looks for reassurance, as though she doesn’t quite trust her own judgement.
It’s Lizzie’s future I’m worried about. She needs the wind in her wings, light in her path and dreams to take her wherever her heart desires. She’s forgotten what it is to stand on a beach in a storm and stare in awe as the waves curl over and crash onto the sand, or to laugh and laugh until she cries, or to love so unreservedly you feel it in every cell of your body. What it is to truly feel alive…
There’s an inner strength buried somewhere inside her. When she finds it, it will change her life forever. I wish with all my heart that I was going to be here to see it, but of course here lies the irony: it’s only when I’ve gone that she’ll discover it.
I’m so tired… of this losing battle I’m fighting. Time is running out, and while the rest of the world lies sleeping, I think of Lizzie. Of everything I want for her, firing my one wish into the darkness, breathing the same words in my head.
Hoping someone, somewhere, is listening.
1
It had been the strangest day. As though fate itself had taken a hand, reaching into Lizzie’s life, bombarding her with annoying trifles and odd coincidences tweaking her thoughts this way and that like some cosmic plaything, until finally it cut to the chase.
Sitting on the floor of her bedroom, she stared at the letter that had just fallen into her lap, a most peculiar feeling coming over her. The handwriting was unmistakeable – how come it had stayed hidden all this time? With fumbling hands she opened it, unable to think of anything else.
The day had begun with the kind of May morning that breathed promise.
But not for everyone. To Lizzie, the world was grey, like London in the rain in January, the worst month, with the sparkle of Christmas over and months before the first hint of spring. She didn’t glance up at the brilliant, azure sky spun with threads of gossamer, or feel the heady warmth on her face – just closed the front door and began that walk she could have done with her eyes closed.
This was how it was – had been – for almost a year, her perceptions dulled by the fog that followed her around and the hole in her life her mother’s death had left, like a gaping wound that refused to heal.
Logically she knew the painful part should be behind her, despatched to that part of her brain which holds even the haziest of memories. She’d read enough about brains to know that most of her life was stored there, a series of snapshots and recordings filed away in the depths of her temporal lobes. It had been a year now, hadn’t it? Long enough surely, for the worst of her grief to have faded into a dull, aching kind of backdrop.
If there was time, she’d slip into Joe’s. After another delay on the tube, she really shouldn’t, but as she walked past, she lingered just long enough for an invisible hand to reach out and pull her in. Just for five minutes, of course… what was the harm in that?
Joe’s was her sanctuary, blasting the sixties guitar music she loved out of oversized speakers – Hendrix and Santana this morning. A whole other world where she could lose herself and today her luck was in. The table in the window was empty and quick as a flash she slipped into the chair, still warm from the large fat man who’d just got up.
Safely cocooned and with a strong dose of caffeine flooding through her veins, Lizzie took a breath and sighed. It came from the heart, that sigh, though she barely knew she was doing it. She had too much on her mind – work, Jamie, her wedding…
It was hard to believe it was three years ago. New Year’s Eve, one of the most romantic nights on the calendar, Lizzie had always thought. Though not when you’d just been dumped, most unceremoniously – and for a surgically enhanced, St-Tropezed nymphomaniac.
She’d had a talent for it – falling for the easy-come easy-go types, who’d leave at the drop of a pair of knickers, floozying from one bed to the next without caring.
Enough was enough, she told herself, as the countdown started. They were history. The second bottle of wine had done it – along with the sparkly lights and the schmaltzy music – and the cheer as Big Ben rang out. Out with the old, in with the new, she’d thought suddenly, gazing at Jamie through rosé-tinted spectacles. Maybe this serious-looking man, quite sexy in his designer suit, might it be he was the one?
It was the beginning of three years that changed everything – chiselling away at her, moulding the free spirit into someone grown up and organised. With a proper job and neat skirts and fitted jackets in her wardrobe, instead of her sassy minis of old as she flitted between temping jobs.
Jamie planned – everything. Considered and deliberated over everything. It was contagious too and spendthrift Lizzie who could never resist a bargain had been replaced by a most sensible girl, whose every purchase was calculated.
‘Eliza… Look. It’s frightfully good value, this Jaeger sale… You can save 50 per cent on your suits… You really ought to buy half a dozen now and put them away…’ Not getting at all that Lizzie in Jaeger suits would be like dressing your maiden aunt in Vivienne Westwood. Lamb dressed as mutton, she thought, pretending not to hear him.
No longer did Lizzie wish on stars or gaze at the moon the way she used to – those hippy happy days were behind her and friends had drifted away. After all, that old life of riotous nights out with the girls, drinking until they fell over, belonged to a past she
d put behind her.
One person remained from Lizzie’s old life. Katie – who never said I told you so when the iffiest of Lizzie’s decisions backfired on her. Who’d mopped her tears when her mother died. Who occasionally winkled out the old Lizzie, who’d long gone to ground.
‘Cocktails at the Warehouse, just one or two… Come on! He’ll never know…’ she’d added persuasively, and unbeknown to Jamie, they’d snuck off giggling and crawled home pickled after midnight.
It was Katie too who’d egged her on to buy that glorious dress for her thirtieth birthday party. Actually, it was more a dinner than a party – a dull affair, organised by Jamie, who, never one to miss out on a networking opportunity, had invited a bunch of work colleagues.
Wow, Lizzie! You’re a goddess… like Titania out of A Midsummer Night’s Dream…
A brilliant swirl of green and blue with a beaded halter neck, the dress had somehow clung in all the right places, reminding Lizzie of simpler, more carefree times. On the night, she’d had spent ages fiddling with her hair, pinning it up so that long strands here and there artfully tumbled down. She’d felt gorgeous – for all of five minutes – until Jamie utterly destroyed it.
How frivolous, Eliza… I rather imagined you’d wear that new suit…
It wasn’t the words, more the way he’d spoken them. The disdain and disapproval on his face. It had hurt way beyond vanity. He simply didn’t get it – that this was her, that colour and frivolity and sexy made her feel alive.
It had been downhill all the way after that, with her and Katie getting blitzed as the only way to survive such a deadly evening.
I can’t believe you behaved so immaturely. Jolly embarrassing actually… I can’t imagine what the chaps thought. Really, Eliza… I don’t know why you’re friends with that dreadful girl…
A pang of nostalgia struck her as she’d shoved the dress to the back of the wardrobe. Oh what I wouldn’t give to be footloose and fancy free and without a care in the world…
But with her mother ill, it was no time to think about herself. Not the time either for Jamie’s proposal. The last thing she expected – now, of all times, when she needed to be thinking about her mother. But knowing what lay ahead, she’d felt a sudden rush of gratitude, that he’d still be there after her mother wasn’t. He’d produced the enormous diamond before she could change her mind.
‘Oh… oh… it’s beautiful…’
‘Doesn’t he get what’s happening to your mum?’ Katie could see what was happening, but then, this was Jamie after all. About as subtle as a brick, as always.
‘I think he just thought it was a good idea, to do it now. So she would know before… I mean, we have been together for years…’
Jamie, of course, had thought no such thing but with her mother slipping away before her eyes, Lizzie’s logic was more skewed than ever.
Katie had bitten her tongue. It was hardly the time after all.
If only she’d stopped and thought. About how wise it was, making such a huge commitment in the wake of losing her mother. That losing your cornerstone as she had sent ripples through your soul, changing you inside forever.
But a kind of numbness had moved in, clouding everything. And now, nearly a year had passed and the big day was almost here. Lizzie could barely believe there were just four days to go. Most things were now in place but without Isobel, nothing felt at all the way it used to.
Life goes on, Eliza… Jamie had said most firmly just a week after the funeral, wasting no time as he booked exclusive hire of a small-but-classy London hotel.
‘We’ll have the Hamachi tuna sashimi, don’t you think, Eliza? Followed by roast poulet with blah blah blah…’
He hadn’t wanted Lizzie’s input, just as Lizzie hadn’t wanted Katie’s:
Lizzie! What’s the hurry? Is he frightened you’ll change your mind?
Lizzie rested her head in her hands. She’d like to hide here in Joe’s all morning, Jamie’s to-do list buried in her pocket – he’d emailed it to her after dashing off to some last-minute conference.
But with her latte finished all too soon, she couldn’t put it off, and with a regretful sigh and a wave to Maria, who called a cheery ‘ciao, Lizzie’ from across the room, she reluctantly melted back into the madness on the streets. And out of nowhere, as she walked, the thought came into her head.
Why don’t I feel excited? It’s my big day. I have my designer dress, flowers to die for, a top chef, the best vintage champagne… Shouldn’t my heart be thumping, my blood fizzing with anticipation, my cheeks aching from all the smiling at absolutely everyone I pass…
No, she told herself firmly, ignoring the irritating voice. It wasn’t surprising at all. She was quite simply exhausted. It was all this rushing around trying to organise everything. Taking a deep breath, she tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. When Saturday came, and she put on that dress and her hairdresser had worked her magic, then she’d feel excited, she knew she would. How could she possibly not?
Meanwhile, there was today to get through. One last day, starting with this meeting she was late for, before she left as early as she could.
Ignoring the blast on the horn as a taxi driver swerved to avoid her, she darted across the road and in through the glass doors.
‘Three minutes late, Lizzie! What time do you call this? Come on…’
It was Julian, standing there, tapping his watch. But then he started early, worked late and didn’t have a life, she supposed, unlike the rest of them. Her heart sank into her boots.
‘This really isn’t good enough… They’ll have started without you…’
He leaped up the stairs quite nippily – no mean feat in such obscenely tight trousers. It was definitely the ageing rock star look this morning, thought Lizzie, trying her tear her gaze from his leopard-print bottom.
But as the meeting had droned on and on, Lizzie’s mind had drifted off – miles away, awaking with a jolt at the end. Slightly disbelievingly, she’d glanced at the clock – it couldn’t possibly be that time already… But as she looked around, stars appeared before her eyes, then the room started to spin. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe.
I need some air, she thought in a panic, her heart racing erratically. Squeezing through everyone, she edged towards the door and slipped away.
Out of the building and in spite of the clouds gathering ominously overhead, she fumbled in her bag for the Ray-Bans. Safely camouflaged and lowering her head, she walked unsteadily down the street and across the road towards the relative quiet of Green Park.
Still light-headed, Lizzie kept going until, away from everyone, she found an empty park bench where she sat, rather heavily for someone so slight and sighed a shaky sigh.
Breathe, Lizzie, breathe… She sat, taut, ready for flight.
Something was in the air – but Lizzie dragged herself back to the office, still feeling at odds, staring at the clock. Since when did time pass so slowly? Her attempt to sneak away early again was scuppered by the odious Julian, whose earlier agitation had subsided into extreme good humour for some reason.
‘Ah, Lizzie, do you have a minute?’ He’d appeared from his office, a benign smile on his face.
But, well-meaning, he’d summoned everyone, and to Lizzie’s intense embarrassment, had rambled on with his usual verbosity about what he affectedly referred to as ‘the blessings of marriage’ and ‘lifelong commitment’, words which sent a chill down Lizzie’s spine, before opening a bottle of champagne.
