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One More Chapter
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London SE1 9GF
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Zara Stoneley 2019
Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Zara Stoneley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008363161
Ebook Edition © September 2019 ISBN: 9780008363154
Version: 2019-09-11
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue – Mistletoe Kisses
Act 1 – Must Try Harder
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Act 2 – New Year, New Me
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Act 3 – Nothing’s Going to Stop Me Now
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Acknowledgements
Also by Zara Stoneley
About the Author
About the Publisher
For everybody who has felt at some time in their lives ‘not good enough’.
Believe me, you are!
PROLOGUE – MISTLETOE KISSES
24 December 2004
‘I flung open the curtains and shouted look at my hedgehogs!’
Oh my God, I knew it. My mother is going to totally embarrass me. Here, at Uncle Terence’s Christmas Eve party, in front of everybody.
Want to be able to embarrass your kids as they get older? Get your own back for every little slip up? Well, bring them up in a village where everybody will know them, and nobody will forget anything they have ever done. And never ever move house.
I am eighteen years old, for heaven’s sake. I need to stop coming to family and friends’ parties so that I can avoid total embarrassment.
Nine months, that’s all. I just have to stick it out for nine more months and then I’ll be free.
I love my parents to bits, I sometimes even like them, but I cannot wait to go to university. My own place, nobody watching my every move and I will be able to snog who I like, when I like, where I like. I will be able to leave crumbs in my bed, read until 4 a.m., spend the weekend in my pyjamas.
I straighten my antlers self-consciously, set my jumper to ‘flashing’ mode as a distraction and glance at Dad, who just shrugs apologetically, because we both know that mother in full flow is unstoppable.
‘Wendy, darling?’ He does try, but like I say, she’s unstoppable.
‘And Stuart switched the patio light on and there they were!’
‘Hedgehogs?’ I hear somebody say, hopefully.
I edge back, try to sidle behind a bookcase before anybody notices me. One more step and I’m heading towards the ‘Narnia’ display. Another step and I’ll be safely hidden behind a giant White Witch.
‘Oh no, no! Our Daisy and a boy. Horizontal on the lawn, searching for slugs they said! I didn’t even know Joshua the postman’s son was interested in hedgehogs. I never even realised that Daisy knew the boy, she’d definitely not introduced him, had you dear? Daisy?’
I lean back against the bookcase and close my eyes. I am mortified. I mean, wouldn’t you think that when your parents are holding a dinner party, you’d be safe having a quick snog in the back garden?
If Josh had had his way, we would have been naked and have more in common with rabbits than hedgehogs, but the full moon, dew sodden grass and nip in the air had dampened my ardour (as well as my best jeans) a bit. I mean he’s okay, he’s quite a lot of fun actually but I’m not about to marry him. And I’m not a hedgehog. Or a rabbit.
He’s a bloody quick thinker though, he probably would have said we were doing some kind of druid-dance to summon up snails (I bet Mum would have fallen for that, not sure about Dad). While I just stared wide-eyed like a rabbit in the headlights then scampered for the safety of the summerhouse.
Anyway, having your parents and four of their friends (who you’ve known practically from birth) all staring out at you with glasses of wine in their hands totally chills off the warm feeling between your thighs and deflates your nipples. It does, believe me, so don’t do it.
Josh went home, and I went in for a discussion about why slugs come out at night, and what kind of beer you should put out for them, before I managed to escape to bed and my ‘A’ level revision. Thank God for revision, it will get you out of practically any social occasion where your parents are involved.
I quite wish I could do that now.
Except I do actually love Uncle Terence. Once I’ve put my Christmas jumper on and we’ve set off for his rather posh bookshop (which actually looks more like a wine bar when he’s got it fancied up and makes it a brilliant venue for a party), then Christmas has officially started. And I love his bookshop with or without its festive vibe. It’s a bit of an Aladdin’s cave if you’re a bookaholic like I am. I’ve been going in there since I was in a pushchair and I’m still discovering new books and book-related knick-knacks and pictures.
Uncle T is not actually my uncle, but I’ve always called him that. And he lives in Stockton Hall, which is definitely not a hall. So, it could be confusing. But he is however hilariously funny and has a very impressive collection of waistcoats. He makes a mean cocktail and changes his girlfriends and wives more often than I have my hair cut. I was going to say change my knickers, but that’s not quite true. Close but not true.
‘Psst.’
I jump, stumble, and nearly topple into a life-size Harry Potter cut-out, adorned with tinsel. I’d rather collide with the White Witch to be honest.
Uncle Terence has popped through an opening between the book shelves, like a genie out of a bottle. He’s looking very dapper, as normal. But that is less important than the glass he is holding out to me. ‘It’s the Bee’s knees!’
I stare at him.
‘The cocktail, my dear! I thought it would suit the occasion, a nice drop of gin, something tart and a hint of something sweet.’ He winks. ‘And not a hedgehog in sight!’
He puts his arm round my shoulders and gives me a hug. ‘I will miss you when you fly the nest, my darling girl. You have become part of the fixtures and fittings in my little shop. Now, take a break and put your feet up for a second. I’ve got a wonderful stock of new and slightly racy books in your favourite corner.’ He puts a finger to his lips. ‘Our secret though, or else your mother and Vera will be here in a shot! I’m expecting an invasion by the playgroup mothers when the news gets out. Over there, between original editions and Spiritual Healing.’
He gives me a gentle shove, but I don’t need the encouragement. What could be better than a cocktail and a book?
‘Thank God, you’re still here!’ Ollie Cartwright flops down onto the small leather sofa nearly taking my eye out with his sharp elbow. Then stretches his long legs out, squashing me into the corner and nearly sends my book flying. ‘Thought you’d managed to come up with some excuse to escape and I was the only person here under forty! God, I hate these things!’
‘Why would I want to escape?’ I raise an eyebrow at him, cross that he’s come to annoy me, but also vaguely pleased. ‘I love Uncle Terence!’ And his book shop I could add. I really love his bookshop. And the books. I give this one a quick once over to check it’s not been damaged by Ollie’s arrival. Okay, I admit it. I’m a bit anal about books – unlike Mum who bends the corners over instead of finding a bookmark and bends the spine.
‘So, what are you doing hiding in a corner with a book?’
‘Well it is a book shop!’
‘It is a party!’ He grins.
We stare at each other. Impasse.
‘I needed to check something.’
‘Check something? What is that anyway?’ He makes a lunge for the book, but I am quicker, and I’m leaning back over the arm of the sofa, clutching it to my chest. ‘Riders? Ha-ha, the school swot Daisy Dunkerly reads porn!’
‘Don’t call me a swot! You’re just jealous I got a higher mark than you in Chemistry.’
‘I am.’ He chuckles. It’s quite a nice deep, rumbling chuckle that makes me want to smile stupidly back at him. But I try to resist, despite the fact that he’s leaned in and lowered his voice to a confidential level. ‘My mum will never forgive me for giving yours some extra ammo. I can hear it now: ‘Well, my Daisy came top in Chemistry! Can you imagine it? Isn’t she clever? When I was at school the girls thought chemistry was just what you felt when a boy tried to get in your knickers!’
I can’t help it. A grin escapes. It’s a pretty good impression of my mum, if a little high pitched.
His mum, Vera, and mine are best friends. She’s nice enough but honestly, the pair of them can be so competitive and embarrassing. I swear it started when they were both on the same maternity ward and Ollie weighed 3lb more than me (a win for Vera), but Mum was in labour for two hours longer (a win for her). From there it got worse, first child to say a word (shit from Ollie, but Vera insisted it was sheet), first one to poo on a potty (me, yay!).
They’re still at it. God knows what they’ll talk about when we leave home and go to university in the autumn. They’ll both have to get a puppy or something.
‘She doesn’t talk like that! Anyway, it’s not porn! Well, not that kind of porn! It’s Jilly Cooper.’
He shrugs, and sags back onto the sofa. Which leaves me feeling a bit cold and abandoned, even though he’s still only inches away.
Ollie Cartwright reads books, but only school books and weird geeky stuff based in alternative realities. He’s a bit of a smart arse.
‘And I’m not prim and proper!’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘S’pose not, not according to Josh the slosh anyway.’
Joshua, my fellow hedgehog hunter, is unfortunately in the same class at school as Ollie. My cheeks burn. ‘Why do boys have to be so immature?’ I will kill him if he’s been talking about us to his mates.
Ollie shrugs and looks faintly embarrassed, a tinge of pink along his high cheekbones. ‘One-upmanship I guess.’
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. ‘You’re eighteen for heaven’s sake! You’ll be going to uni in October! Don’t you have anything better to talk about than sex?’
‘Who said anything about sex?’ He laughs and leans in closer again, then frowns and touches my arm lightly. ‘You do know what kind of rep he’s got, don’t you? I mean I know he’s gobby but …’
‘Oh, shut up! I know exactly what he’s like!’ I move away a bit, because the touch of his hand is bringing out goose-bumps on my arm and making something deep in my stomach flutter. I can’t remember feeling that funny sensation with Josh, even when we were so close our hip bones clashed. The only goose-bumps I’d had was because it was bloody freezing.
In a strange way it would be nice if Ollie carried on, just to see what happens, but he doesn’t. He moves back as though I’ve swiped him away, not just retreated a bit.
‘So,’ he clears his throat, and points at the book, ‘what are you checking? Bet I can tell you more than a book can!’
‘In your dreams.’ I snap the book shut and sigh. Rupert Campbell-Black and Jake will have to wait another day. I mean, I know Riders has been about a while, but I read in a horse magazine that it is one of the books to read. So as soon as I spotted it was one of the new books Uncle T was stocking, I thought it was a good opportunity to try it out. ‘Anyway, why are you hiding in a corner, bothering me?’
Ollie rolls his eyes. ‘If I have to hear your mother saying one more time, ‘Well, my Daisy is going to be a vet, isn’t she clever?’ I will stick my head in the vat of mulled wine.’
‘Ha-ha, well I have to listen to your mum going on about you.’ I do. Uncle Terence’s Christmas eve party seems to bring out the worst in both of our mothers. ‘Doc Ollie, ha-ha. Suits you!’ Ollie isn’t particularly cool, he’s a bit studious (that might be the glasses), a bit geeky. His hair is a bit too long, and he’s very (and I mean very) lanky.
‘That Christmas jumper suits you!’ He grins again, his dark eyes twinkling.
‘You look a bit of a twerd to be honest, where the hell did you get yours?’ I say and giggle in a very stupid girlish way, to deflect the churning feeling that has just started up in the base of my stomach, and the desire I’ve got to kiss him.
Kiss him?
Now where the hell did that come from? I don’t kiss Oliver Cartwright! He’s the son of my parents’ best friends for heaven sakes. And he’s annoying and a smart arse, and always trying to compete, and, well, and quite gorgeous actually. In this dim light. But he’s got a silly jumper on.
‘Twerd?’ He’s closer again. Not grinning now though. In fact, he’s staring into my eyes.
I swallow.
‘Mix of a twerp and a nerd? My brain couldn’t decide before it came out of my mouth.’ God, my mouth is dry. And his mouth is so close.
‘Whereas your jumper is the height of festive fashion?’ He laughs and leans in even closer. He’s acting pretty chilled and relaxed by his normal standards. I think he might have been hitting the whisky with my dad, his own dad and Uncle Terence.
Whereas I have only Uncle T’s cocktails to blame.
‘Definitely.’ I swallow again. I’ve gone to town this year. Found a very smart jumper, with two robins, whose chests light up. Ollie has a giant reindeer head with a big flashing nose. Not original or new, I’m sure he wore it last year. Except now it’s a bit tighter, stretched over his chest which I’m sure is broader, and a bit tight over his flat stomach, and …
‘It’ll be weird next year, won’t it? We won’t have seen each other for months!’
‘Ha-ha, there’s a good side to everything!’ I laugh, to cover up my embarrassment. Because it will be weird; in fact, it’ll be very strange to not see Ollie at school, at parties at his parents’ and my parents’.
He’s staring down at the book I’m still holding. ‘You didn’t bring Josh tonight, then?’
I shrug. ‘It’s nothing serious. Just a bit of fun, why should I bring him?’
‘Just wondered.’
‘It would be daft to get serious, I’m off to Edinburgh Uni, he’s going to Bristol or somewhere daft, I mean who gets serious with somebody when they’re still at school?’
‘Yeah, you’d have to be mad, wouldn’t you?’
‘Totally.’
I suddenly realise that he’s stopped looking at the book and he’s staring straight into my eyes.
His mouth is only inches from mine. His thigh is warm against my bare leg. I feel all fluttery, not-quite-sure what to do. Whether to pull my skirt down, shoot off the chair, or say something clever. Instead, I just stare back. My breath catching in my throat as he raises a hand and touches my cheek.
‘Mistletoe.’ He mumbles glancing up.
‘Oh, yeah.’ I look up as well, then back down.
Our gazes lock, and it’s like I’m seeing him for the very first time. I don’t want to look at anything or anybody else, not even my book. All I can see is him. All I can feel is the soft imprint of his fingers against my cheek, his warm breath fanning my skin.
My heart is hammering, and I’m trembling inside and out. But I know this is going to happen.
I lean in. I can’t help myself.
‘We should …’ Then his lips brush over mine. It’s the lightest of touches, but it sends a shiver down my spine.
I freeze, and then I can’t help it. I close my eyes and I kiss him back.
His lips are soft, his hand warm on my waist, and I’m tingling all over, nervous but weirdly excited. He tastes of whisky and mince pies. And something else, something that is Ollie and nobody else. Something I want more of. And a small part of me deep inside, that I didn’t know existed, has woken up leaving me all breathless and shaky.
I’ve never kissed Ollie before. Well, I have, or rather he kissed me. But we were six years old, and he was Joseph to my Mary in the school Nativity, and he was showing off.
But this is way different.
I mean though, we’re not like this. Are we?
‘Daisy, Daisy, where are you hiding?’
‘Oh God, it’s Mum!’ I pull back, my lips feeling bruised and swollen, and I just know I’m flushed and flustered.
‘Right, er, well.’ Ollie blinks at me.
I cough and glance up. ‘Bloody mistletoe, he puts it everywhere.’ The stupid giggle comes out before I can stop it.
We both stand up abruptly at the same time, collide, lose balance and sit down. Then he stands up, holds out a hand and helps me to my feet.
‘Well, er, see you at school, I guess.’ His hand lingers on mine, and we’re close enough to kiss, again.
I nod, swallow. ‘Yeah, you sure will.’ I sound embarrassingly like a cowboy and do a thumbs up which is totally uncool.
‘Have a good Christmas, Dais.’ We both look down at our still-joined hands then let go awkwardly.
‘You, too, Ol. Happy, er, Christmas. Just, er, going to check out the other books.’ I edge up the aisle one way, and he sidles the other way.
‘Good.’
‘Er, right fine.’
‘Think I’ll get another drink, find out when we’re going.’ He points. ‘Might have drunk too much whisky with Dad.’
‘Sure.’
‘That was, er …’
‘Cool, cool, whatever.’ I do not want him to say ‘mistake’, ‘silly’ or anything like that. ‘Just for the mistletoe!’
‘Nice.’ He blushes bright red and is off before the word has even settled in the air.
I look at the books, not seeing them. Then shake my head. In a few months’ time I will sit my exams and then head off to Scotland and a brilliant, exciting few years at uni. And Ollie will move to London and meet a whole new set of friends.
Our futures lie ahead, separate futures.
‘Fine, nice, bye.’ I stare after him. My fingers rest on my bruised lips, and I blink to try to get rid of the taste of him, the feel of his hand on my waist, the sensation that prickled through my body as his teeth clashed with mine, then his tongue skittered over my teeth.
Oh. My. God. I just kissed Oliver Cartwright, and it left me all wobbly and weak-kneed in a way that Josh’s never did. But it meant nothing. Definitely nothing. It is Christmas. We are drunk. It was a goodbye snog.
But an amazing snog.
I shouldn’t have done it. We’re mates, he’s always been just like an annoying brother to me. But now we’ve kissed.
I’ll never be able to look at Ollie in the same way again.
In fact, I’m not sure I’m going to ever be able to talk to him in the same way.
Is it a good or bad thing that we have new and exciting lives ahead of us – in different places?
Chapter 1
24 December 2017
‘Oh. My. God! Look at this place!’ Frankie, my friend and flatmate is standing in the open doorway of the bookshop and staring in as though she’s just discovered an alternative reality. She throws her arms wide as though embracing the whole place. ‘This is so fucking quaint. I didn’t know places like this still existed!’
‘You sound like a tourist who’s just discovered Stratford-upon-Avon.’ I can’t help but laugh, despite my nerves. ‘It’s a bookshop.’ Uncle Terence’s bookshop to be precise.
‘Well yeah, but look at those proper wood bookcases, and wow, cute nooks and crannies, and … cocktails!’ She leaps on Mabel, Uncle T’s bookkeeper, who nearly drops her tray in shock. ‘Oh my God, I’m going to orgasm, this is the best Dirty Martini I’ve had in ages.’
Mabel gives her a horrified look and scurries off to the safety of a nearby cranny. Dumps the tray and then heads for the protection of Uncle T.
‘Stop, please stop.’ I’m trying not to laugh. I think Frankie must be on some hallucinogenic drug. I mean, she’s not got much of a filter, she says what she wants, but she’s not normally this full on.
Frankie’s sheet of long black hair swishes in my face as her slim fingers spin the martini glass, and the look of mischief in her eyes is positively dangerous. Most of the time she’s cool and languid, but tonight she is positively buzzing.
She’s had a bust up with Tarquin, her boyfriend, which is (1) why she begged me to let her come tonight, and (2) why she’s ready to party with a capital P.
I am now beginning to realise that agreeing to let her tag along with me to Uncle T’s Christmas Eve bash could have been a mistake.
After all, this is not some swish cocktail bar, this is a bookshop, and I use the word ‘bash’ loosely – it’s more a close friends and family do. I will undoubtedly have known everybody here for most of my life, and there’s a fair chance I will be the youngest attendee by a country mile.
Which is why I agreed to wear the customary Christmas jumper and antlers. No chance of making a fool of myself in front of an attractive man tonight! Only the opportunity to once again be a slight disappointment to my mother, who would very much like a daughter to be proud of. A daughter with an impressive career, a handsome partner, and preferably a bun in the oven. Or at least the knowledge that said oven is nicely warming in preparation.
I have a job on the local rag, Frankie, and an empty womb. Oh, and Stanley – my four-legged date.
Therefore, I am still hovering on the doorstep. I am not ready to party, with or without a capital P. I’m taking a deep breath and pulling my metaphorical big girls pants up, preparing for the onslaught.
‘Here goes, Stan!’ I shoot him a pensive smile, which he ignores, plaster a grin on my face and follow her in. I’ve not got any choice. She’s grabbed the front of my jumper and Rudolf’s nose is being stretched to its shiny limit.