Sometimes, Happy Ever After is where the real trouble begins…

Chelsea Donovan wasn’t supposed to amount to anything. But if there’s one thing the bad girl from the estate liked better than trouble, it was a challenge. So, to the amusement of her best friends Evie, Mollie and Ruby – and the disbelief of her teachers – this bad girl turned good.

These days, Chelsea is the kind of girl people are proud to know – and, after a surprise trip to Venice, she has a ring on her finger to prove it. But to get there, she’s had to learn to keep her deepest secrets from everyone – even her fiancé. And when wedding preparations threaten to blow her cover, Chelsea can’t help but wonder: in her battle to the top, might she have left the best parts of herself behind?

Nice Day for a White Wedding is Book 1 in A.L. Michael’s new series, ‘The House on Camden Square’

Also by A.L. Michael

The Last Word

Driving Home for Christmas

My So-Called (Love) Life

If You Don’t Know Me By Now

The House on Camden Square

Goodbye Ruby Tuesday

Praise for A.L. Michael

‘I know it’s a good book when I shut the Kindle cover and sigh with contentment. The Last Word totally did it for me.’ 4* from Angela*

‘This is a funny, funny book.’ 5* to The Last Word from Rosee**

‘Fresh, fast and…had that magical romance feeling and a bit of hotness that you just can’t help but love. Absolutely brilliant!’ 5* to The Last Word from The Book Geek Wears Pajamas

‘I LOVED THIS. I laughed, I cried, I fell in love. All of the emotions were felt in the reading of this book and it is definitely one of the best Christmas releases that I’ve read this year.’ 5* to Driving Home for Christmas from Erin’s Choice**

‘I laughed, I cried and I was left with that warm fuzzy feeling you get when you read something wonderful.’ 5* to Driving Home for Christmas from That Thing She Reads

‘The story put a huge smile on my face and it’s just a feel-good with a bit of spark, glimmer, friendship, heart, fun and love. I couldn’t put it down!!!’ 5* to My So-Called (Love) Life from Simona**

‘My So-Called (Love) Life was one of those books I just happened to read at the right time which completely lifted my mood and made me feel and smile and want to start reading again.’ 5* to My So-Called (Love) Life from Sophie*

*Review from Goodreads

**Review from Amazon

Nice Day for a White Wedding

The House on Camden Square

A. L. Michael

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2016

Copyright © A.L. Michael 2016

A.L. Michael asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for 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, downloaded, 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.

E-book Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9781474056120

Version date: 2018-06-20

A.L. MICHAEL

is a twenty-something writer from North London, currently living in Watford. She has a BA in English Literature with Creative Writing, an MA in Creative Entrepreneurship (both from UEA) and is studying for an MSc in Creative Writing for Therapeutic Purposes. She is not at all dependent on her student discount card. She works as a creative writing workshop facilitator, and copywriter, and is currently working on her new series. She has an alarming penchant for puns, is often sarcastic when she means to be sincere, and can spend hours watching videos of corgis on Buzzfeed. But it’s all research, really.

Acknowledgements

With thanks to Gabriella MacKenzie, who got used to me desperately scribbling down her hilarious one-liners and asking, ‘Can I use that?’

A big thank you to my mother, who took me back to Lake Garda this year and let me disappear into my own imagination, wondering where my characters might end up.

And as always, those writer pals who keep me sane and just continue to ‘get it’, offering wine, chocolate and multiple retweets - thank you!

Finally, thank you to Rachel Alltimes for being my cheerleader, wishing you and Jiri a more than nice day on your white wedding.

To anyone still trying to figure out how you can change and grow, and still be who you are.

I have no idea either.

‘Bitches are queens, boys can be mean,

He’ll tell you to own your name:

You be you, baby, all of you. And I’ll love you just the same.’

‘Sitting in the Park with Chelsea’ - Ruby Tuesday

Tooth and Nail Records 2012

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Praise

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

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

Epilogue

End Pages

About the Publisher

Chapter One

‘All right, babe?’

Chelsea shook her head, feeling foolish as the words escaped into the empty cemetery. Ruby’s grave wasn’t as bedazzling as it should have been, even as the sunflowers she’d brought brightly clashed with the black marble of her headstone. Time had passed – the flowers and teddy bears and cards from little girls who wanted to grow up to be Ruby Tuesday had gone. Rain-soaked and stinking, they had disintegrated in the summer storms, until eventually someone had cleared them all away.

Ruby would never have wanted such a drab headstone, plain and…appropriate. It should have been carved from a lump of garnet, showered with sparkle. Chelsea’s fingers itched with the need to improve it, to make it real in some way. She wanted to grab a glue gun and affix diamonds around the edges, but that would be wrong, disrespectful. At least to anyone who didn’t really know Ruby.

She could hear her friend’s voice in her head: ‘Go on, you’re not going soft on me, are you babe? You never cared about right or wrong before.’

And she was right, that imaginary voice. Chelsea had done whatever the hell she wanted when she knew Ruby. But things had changed.

The ground was damp beneath her feet, but the summer sun was bright and glaring, like Badgeley was punishing her for never coming home often enough. The whole town felt muggy, like there was no air, and the little that was left was stale. It seemed weird that Ruby should have been buried here, instead of in London, near her penthouse flat where people still left notes and flowers. No one in this little town gave a crap about Ruby Tuesday any more.

Chelsea wanted to sit cross-legged on the ground and put her head against the cool stone, conjuring memories of those teenage days resting her forehead against Ruby’s, pretending they could read each other’s minds, and freaking out the little year sevens. But the ground was wet, the air was dry, and things were different now.

She patted the cool headstone in a silent apology.

‘See ya later, babe.’

Chelsea pulled her handbag over her shoulder, clutching at the handle as she strode down the road, head held high. Confidence was everything on the road down to the estate. The hazy heat of summer had the kids of Badgeley looking for fun, evidenced by the beer cans placed on the wall of the cemetery, and piled up by the bus stop, fag ends on the floor. Summers growing up here had seemed endless, and not in a good way. Day after day of the same shit, the same life, over and over. They’d spent their time hanging around in the park, working on their tans and talking about their escape plans. One day they’d make it out, make it to London. Every sixteen-year-old in Badgeley probably had the same dream, even now.

Chelsea visualised London now, where Kit would be getting in from work, rolling his shirt sleeves up and making lasagne, singing along to some classic rock album she’d never heard of. Further across the city, Evie and Esme would be sitting at their kitchen table, whilst Mollie tried to show Killian how to make a basic meal for the hundredth time that summer. That said, Chelsea mostly subsisted on avocado on toast these days. Further down in London, there was her office, her lovely big office with a view of the river, only granted her days before, along with a raise and a new title that she had worked for the last three years to get.

And here she was, in fucking Badgeley.

Okay, so she was doing her sisterly duty, and bringing birthday presents for her little brother wasn’t such a chore. Neither was stopping by to visit a dead friend. It was just that these visits made her chest contract a little more every time, and there was a reason they became more sparse as the years passed.

Chelsea adjusted her handbag, grabbed tighter at the plastic bag of presents as she turned off of the high street, shaking her head as she looked through the window of the funeral director’s little shop. She’d dated a boy who worked there, a lifetime ago. She liked to look through the window whenever she was back, see if the names on those sample tombstones ever changed. They never did.

Chelsea adopted a strut as she turned right onto the estate she’d grown up on. She couldn’t decide if it looked smaller and harmless, or scarier and sprawling. Nothing had changed, she realised, recalling the multiples times she’d narrowly escaped trouble. She had a knack for attracting it then. You felt invincible when you were a kid. There was the time Leah Thomas decided Chelsea had flirted with her man. That’d been a big one. Chelsea had managed to head-butt her and knock Leah’s two front teeth clean out. She was called Gap Tooth from then on, and it got shorted to GT as the years went by. She probably still lived here.

She walked across the centre of the grassy verge, remembering the time one of her mum’s boyfriends tried to knock their front door down, because he was convinced Tyler had nicked his stash. He probably had too, but all Chelsea could remember was laughing and taunting him whilst he went mad outside, and they pushed a cupboard up against the front door until he went away.

So many years of screaming and squaring up and desperately being a smartarse, because if you were just funny enough, someone might give you a break.

Chelsea took it in, the light sky of summer reflecting off the concrete. A couple of boys were standing around, topless in the fading light, jeans low on their hips as they stood smoking, staring at her. She instantly recognised Ty, his pimply teenage skin and shaved head atop a skinny body. His eyes widened in warning: ‘Don’t you dare come over here in front of them.’

She hated to admit it, but Tyler was pretty much a lost cause. It might have been her fault. She got out, got a job and forgot about him. She left him with her mum and Jez and the little ones. Chelsea had convinced herself that maybe she’d inspire him, show him that he could do it too, go to college, uni, do whatever he wanted. Those first few trips home had been full of impassioned speeches about following your dreams and all that bollocks. Ty wasn’t buying it. Which was fair enough, because the person who had washed his clothes, helped with his homework and made sure there was dinner every night had up and abandoned him without a backwards glance.

Chelsea frowned, nodded at her brother and shook her head as she marched over to her mum’s front door. She heard the whistles and catcalls from behind her as Tyler’s friends realised she was going to his house.

‘Ty, your stepdad send over a posh prozzie?’ one asked.

‘Yeah, present for your little brother’s birthday yeah?’ another cackled.

She turned and Tyler just stared at her, chin raised defiantly as their eyes met.

‘Nah, it’s just my hoity toity bitch sister.’

The ‘oohs’ of the teenage boys were low as they watched Chelsea for her reaction. She had purposefully softened her look, her blonde bob clipped back at the sides, her jeans and plain T-shirt. The bag didn’t have a designer label, and her shoes were cheap. But they could see it as well as she could – she didn’t belong here any more.

She stared at Tyler, a dead blank stare until he shrugged and turned away. The old Chelsea would have marched over and punched him, grabbed his ear and dragged him inside the flat. But it was too late for that now. She had lost that right a long time ago. She turned back to the black door with a sigh. The peeling paint, the crap dumped out the front, it seemed to look worse every time she came back. She knocked, hard, the sound of the tinny TV booming in the background.

The door opened and Jermaine threw himself at her. At least one of her brothers was happy to see her. Chelsea grabbed him, lifting him up in a tight hug as she walked through the door and kicked it shut behind her. Jermaine’s soft bushy hair tickled her chin and she gave him a final squeeze before releasing him.

‘Look at you, birthday boy! You’re so big!’

Jermaine held up his arms as if he was bodybuilding. ‘I’m doing judo at school! My teacher says I’m well good!’

Chelsea grinned at him, ruffling his hair. ‘That’s so cool! You’ll have to show me some moves!’

She breathed a sigh of relief that the money had gone through for Jay’s lessons. She’d started dealing directly with the school last term, after she realised the money she gave her mum wasn’t being used for the kids in the way that she’d planned. And she could see why.

She walked into the living room, the paint still peeling, that damp patch still on the ceiling. The TV on the wall was new, obnoxiously huge, and blaring.

Her mother looked up, bleary-eyed, a mug of weak tea in her one hand and a fag in the other.

‘Ah, the prodigal daughter returns, eh?’ She snorted, taking in Chelsea’s outfit. ‘What happened, the stock markets crash so now it’s okay to see your scumbag family?’

Chelsea took a breath. ‘It’s Jay’s birthday.’

‘I know when my own son’s birthday is, thank you very fucking much.’

Yeah, but the father’s name is still a mystery, isn’t it? Chelsea thought spitefully, rolling her eyes and staying silent. Jermaine’s dark skin and green eyes set him apart from them as a family, but once her mum and stepdad had got back together, Jez took Jay on as his own, just like the rest of them. Besides, Jay was the sweetest of them all. He was naturally kinder, slow to anger, easily pleased. Whoever Jay’s dad was, he was probably a nice guy, Chelsea had often reasoned. For some reason, Jay hadn’t been inflicted with that poisonous spitefulness that Chelsea and Tyler both had. And it was easy to see where they got it from.

‘So did you get him a big expensive present, or what? Don’t know what else you’re good for if you’re not even going to provide for your family with that big fancy city job.’

‘Well, I’m clearly providing for your B and H, and your White Lightning, aren’t I, Mum?’ Chelsea spat the words, holding Jay close to her. ‘Nice TV by the way, seems like you’re doing all right to me.’

She could feel how her voice had changed the minute she stepped into the flat. It became rougher, more guttural. She spat words instead of saying them, missed words out to get to the point quicker.

‘No thanks to you.’ Carly Donnolly wearily moved from the chair to refill her tea.

‘Might wanna change your approach, Mum, if you’re gonna ask me for money before I leave tonight.’

Her mother was noticeably silent, and she counted eight seconds before her voice called from the kitchen in a cheerier tone, ‘Want a cuppa?’

Chelsea sighed, feeling her stomach ache. ‘Yes please. No sugar.’

She turned to her little brother. ‘Want your present now?’ she grinned at him, shaking the plastic bag.

She admitted some of it wasn’t fun stuff, a new school bag, colouring pens, books. But Jermaine looked at everything with joy, wonder and gratitude. The last thing he opened was the pair of trainers, Air Nikes that had cost her more than she wanted to think about. But she remembered how horrible it had felt all those years ago, before she’d realised that fitting in wasn’t an option. All she wanted was what everyone else was wearing, instead of raggedy second-hand crap. She wanted Jay to have something new and shiny.

His face lit up and he flung his arms around her neck. ‘Thank you, thank you! Mum! Look what Chels got me!’

Carly’s face turned from piqued interest to disdain as she put a mug next to Chelsea and returned to her seat. ‘He’ll grow out of them quick as anything. Woulda been better to give him the money.’

Yeah, and I know exactly where it would go, Chelsea thought, sipping at her tea and wincing. Two sugars. Every fucking time.

‘I bought a birthday cake. I wasn’t sure if you got one –’ Chelsea started.

‘We were gonna do our birthday special, weren’t we, babe?’ Carly grinned at Jermaine, who smiled back and shrugged, open and grateful as usual. Chelsea remembered the ‘birthday special’, on the occasions that her mum had remembered her birthday at all. A pile of chocolate spread and jam sandwiches, with a candle on the top. She recalled being excited about this as a kid, that moment of her ninth birthday where she had to try to cut the mould off the bread before she could cover it in jam. Her mum would jolly her along, make her laugh about it. ‘The green stuff’s good for you!’ she always used to say. ‘You’ve got to eat your greens, haven’t you?’

Carly was better with the younger kids. Maybe it was because Chelsea was the only girl, or because Tyler had always been a handful, but she was better with Jermaine and the baby. Back when they were growing up, her mother had been too busy being in love with her dad to even see them. Mostly they got rat-arsed and threw parties every night, whilst Chelsea would try and get Tyler to sleep, telling him stories about dragons and kids who went off on adventures where there weren’t any parents.

‘Well, we can have both, can’t we?’ Chelsea smiled tightly, daring her mum to call her on it. Carly just shrugged.

‘Where’s Kai?’

‘Sleeping,’ Carly shrugged, ‘he’ll probably be up soon if you want to bring him downstairs.’ She turned her attention back to the television, and Chelsea thought, not for the first time, that if you didn’t really like children, you should be brave enough not to have them.

The door burst open, and in came Jez, shouting out, ‘Where’s my Petal? Is she home yet?’

Chelsea got up to give her stepdad a hug, which was difficult as he was laden down with plastic bags.

‘Give us a hand, birthday boy,’ he said, handing the bags to Jermaine, ‘chicken and chips for everyone!’

Jay punched the air in success, ‘Yes!’ and took them into the kitchen.

Jez was in his late fifties, and still insisted on wearing a flat cap and polo shirts. He had the air of Del Boy about him, but Chelsea knew he could be menacing when he needed to be.

Jez was king of the estate. He kept the order. He was fair, and looked after the little guy, but you lied to him and he’d break your legs. Or rather, he’d get one of the goons he employed to break your legs.

‘Look at you, lovely lady! All grown up!’ His watery blue eyes took her in. ‘You look sophisticated! Carly, doesn’t she look smart?’

Her mother looked at him, and softened. Her mother always looked prettier in love. That permanent scowl that left sharp little lines on her young face melted, and she smiled at him like he was her saviour. Which, Chelsea supposed, he was. Sometimes watching her mum look at Jez was the only time she liked her, or could remember what she looked like without the weight of a surly anger, of a sense of unfairness. They’d never figured out how to speak to each other. Chelsea had done everything a kid could to make her family proud, and each time she achieved something, it was like Carly took it as a knife in the back, a two-fingers ‘fuck you’ to her way of life.

‘She’s looking good,’ Carly nodded at her partner, smiling at him, but not meeting Chelsea’s eyes. It was times like those, she thought, she could live to a hundred and never understand her mum. She focused on her stepdad instead, a much more straightforward specimen.

‘Looking good yourself, Jez. Keeping off the red meat?’

He held up a hand. ‘Nothing but bacon on Sundays, and a steak on my birthday. I’m feeling ten years younger, darlin’!’

They sat down with their food on trays in front of EastEnders, and as long as her mum was quiet and Jermaine smiled, everything was fine. Kai was cuddled into her side, constantly reaching for her food, and she nuzzled his head. It was like home on a good day.

Tyler stormed in through the front door.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Carly yelled as he thundered up the stairs.

‘Out!’

‘Come down and see your sister.’

Jez made it sound like a request, but even Tyler knew an order when he heard one. She heard the slow steady clump back down the stairs.

‘All right, your highness?’ Tyler threw himself onto a chair in the corner, stuffing a few chips into his mouth.

‘Look what Chelsea got me!’ Jay lifted his feet in the air, and Tyler looked, turned to his sister, and then looked back at the trainers.

‘You gonna get me some for my birthday, sis? Or do I not matter any more?’

‘I got you a games console last year, you selfish git.’

‘He doesn’t have it any more,’ Jay supplied helpfully.

‘Let me guess.’ She looked at him. ‘You were bragging and one of your mates decided they wanted it.’

‘You can talk about bragging,’ Ty said uncomfortably, ‘fuck this for a laugh.’

He bounced upstairs, and Chelsea shook her head as Jez went to follow him. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

He paused, then sat back down. ‘So, Chelsea. Tell us all about life in London! You still seeing that fella, Chris?’

‘Kit, yeah,’ she smiled softly, ‘he’s really nice.’

‘And he can look after you?’ Jez assumed a fatherly pose, arms crossed, head tilted to the side. Chelsea watched with interest as her mum shuffled in her seat, pretending to be watching the TV. The sad thing was, Jez was actually asking out of concern for her. She knew that was not her mum’s intention.

‘I can look after myself,’ Chelsea shrugged.

‘But he’s loaded,’ Carly said, a question in her tone, eyes not moving from the screen.

‘He does all right. He works hard.’

Jez nodded magnanimously. ‘He sounds like a good lad.’

‘He popped the question?’ Carly was focused on her fully this time, her dull grey eyes small and mean. Chelsea didn’t like the feeling in her stomach when her mother paid attention to her. It was like she’d suddenly woken up covered in gold and her mum was wondering how much she could get if she chopped off an arm.

‘Nope. We’re not in that place,’ Chelsea shrugged.

‘It’s been a few years, hasn’t it?’ Jez said gently. ‘You don’t think he’s the one?’

‘It’s not –’

‘She’s too good for marriage,’ Carly shrugged, ‘she wouldn’t do something so bloody normal, would she?’

Chelsea frowned at her mum. ‘You’re so into the idea, you two get on and get married.’

Jez chuckled. ‘We’re common law married at this point, love.’ He looked across at Carly, that light grin playing around his mouth. ‘Once you reach your twenty-fifth fight about the laundry basket being too full, it’s the same as being married five years, so they say!’

He wheezed a little and Carly looked at him in concern before allowing her square gaze to settle on her daughter, goading her. ‘Get knocked up. Or tell him you’re knocked up. That’ll hurry him along.’

‘Never worked for you,’ Chelsea said, her lips a thin line.

Carly said nothing, lit up a cigarette and exhaled loudly. Jez paused briefly, then laughed, shaking his head.

‘How about it, love, then? Shall we get hitched to make Chelsea here happy?’

Carly rolled her eyes, but quirked a lip. ‘Quiet, you, the telly’s on.’

Chelsea looked down at Kai sitting on her lap, burbling away, and she stared at her mother, the ash from her cigarette tapped onto a small dish resting on the arm of the chair. Chelsea cleared her throat and rolled her eyes. Getting no response, she heaved her youngest brother onto her hip, and stood to open the window.

‘It’s cold, don’t open that!’

Chelsea felt herself regress instantly. ‘He’s got fucking asthma, Mum! You call yourself a parent?’

Carly glared at her, hackles raised. ‘Only out of necessity.’ She turned back to the screen, and Chelsea stood frozen, her baby brother in her arms.

‘When can we meet your boyfriend?’ Jermaine sang the word, teasing her. He’d always aimed to lighten the mood, even as a little kid he’d run around and dance and sing to stop them fighting. Chelsea smiled at him, wanting to say he could come to London, that he could stay with her and meet Kit then. Maybe he could stay over the summer and –

‘You’re not.’

Carly’s voice was cruel with laughter as she looked at Jermaine, explaining loudly and simply, ‘You see, baby, your sister’s ashamed of us. She don’t want her posh boyfriend seeing her chavvy family. She’s too good for us now.’

Jermaine frowned, looking to Chelsea for confirmation. She shook her head and twirled her fingertips at her temple, mouthing ‘crazy’. He half-smiled, but she felt like he was looking at her with new eyes.

‘How about some birthday cake?’ Chelsea stood, handing Kai over to Jez. ‘I’ll see if Ty wants some.’

She pounded up the stairs, knocking three times on the door, then pausing before another two quick taps. Their secret code as kids. She heard a brief grumble in response and slowly opened the door. The site was a tip as usual, but she focused on Tyler, leaning out of the window with a cigarette.

‘Gimme one of them, will you?’ She waded through the room to jostle beside him at the windowsill. He produced the pack wordlessly, lighter inside the packet.

‘So…how’s things?’ Chelsea breathed out a smoke circle, a skill she’d perfected at sixteen and never lost. She only smoked at home now.

‘Same as always, fucking shit.’

‘I know.’

He pursed his lips, breathing out against the cool air and she simply looked at her brother. He was seventeen. There’d been a big enough age gap between them as kids but she’d always been his confidante. And then she left.

He’d been a good-looking kid, Tyler, never really smiled but he had that cheeky way about him. Now his skin was bad, his fingernails were yellow and he seemed to glare from hollow eye sockets.

‘How’s work? Thought any more about college?’

He gave her a blank look. ‘Don’t start that bullshit again. I know your life is so fucking wonderful, but I’m not going to study.’

‘Okay,’ she shrugged, ‘but what about an apprenticeship or something?’

He was weakening a little, she could tell, that same way of shifting his weight from side to side when he wanted a hug or a word of encouragement, but didn’t want to explain himself or seem weak. Some things didn’t change. She nudged his shoulder gently.

‘There’s a ’pprenticeship goin’ at the garage. My old teacher, McKinnon, he always liked me, it’s his brother’s place. Said he’d put in a good word for me but I gotta pass a maths test.’

‘Can you do it?’

Tyler huffed, shrugging half-heartedly.

‘Is it that it’s too difficult, or you’re letting your dickhead mates fuck with your future?’

Tyler scowled at her. ‘They’re my mates! We spent years in school. It’s crap and pointless.’

‘As pointless as working in the chippy for the rest of your life?’

‘You’re a broken fucking record, Jesus!’

Chelsea took a deep breath to give herself the patience to proceed. She knew she’d have to go carefully.

‘Babe, it’s the only way. What else you gonna do? Sell a bit of weed on the side and get nicked, like everyone else?’ She tried to stop herself rambling. ‘An apprenticeship could set you up! You’d be qualified, you could always learn more and specialise – work on Ferraris one day or something! Can you imagine?’

Tyler looked at her with a strange mixture of exasperation and affection. ‘You’re such a bloody dreamer. I think it’d be nice to work down at the garage and you start going on about Ferraris. Have you ever seen a fucking Ferrari drive into Mike’s garage?’

‘If it did, it’d come out in parts,’ she laughed, and watched as his lips tilted up briefly.

‘So pass the test, what’s the problem?’

‘Mum says it don’t pay enough. Starting salary’s less than the chippy.’

Chelsea growled a little, stubbing out the fag on the windowsill and turning to her little brother. ‘Tell her you spoke to a careers person at the youth centre and he’s found a way to get you more money for working there, a subsidy or a grant or something,’ she exhaled. ‘I’ll pay the difference into your account.’

Tyler looked at her, surprised and wary.

‘That’s not money for you to go boozing. It’s so you can get ahead and Mum can’t stop you. And don’t you fucking breathe a word to her.’

‘But Chels—’

‘You pass the test, you get on the programme, and I’ll even out the money. But you drop out and you don’t bother, I’m not helping you with shit. Got it?’

He nodded sombrely and she caught his eye, holding out her hand.

‘Deal?’

Tyler nodded and shook her hand. She took the chance to pull him in for a hug.

‘Good choice, dickhead. Now come downstairs for some birthday cake before I kill Mum.’

Tyler went to follow her, then paused. ‘Chels, you know Dad’s been asking about you. They think he’ll be out soon.’

‘And then he’ll do something stupid and be back in again,’ Chelsea shrugged, ‘what’s the point?’

‘I dunno, he’s family?’

She looked at her younger brother. ‘Is it important to you that I see him?’

Ty shrugged, looking outraged at the question. ‘I don’t care, do what you want.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

The rest of the afternoon passed easily enough into the evening with Jermaine chattering away about his birthday wishes, and Kai playing with Chelsea on the floor. When the time came to go, Tyler offered to walk her to the train station. Carly didn’t do much beyond what she normally did, which was hand Chelsea any post with her name on, mostly pointless advertising that she would bin when she got home, and stand stonily, like she’d been called to attention, part of a parade that Jez had ordered. The only thing that comforted Chelsea about it all was that she imagined her mother did exactly the same thing she did as soon as she left, take a long, deep breath, close her eyes, and be relieved it was over for another few months.

She walked in step with Tyler, her strut softening to match his slow, lazy strides.

They didn’t talk – it seemed pointless trying to catch up on lives that barely made sense to the other. They just walked next to each other, happy enough in the silence. Every now and then she noticed that Tyler looked at her like she was from a different world, one that didn’t know anything about who he really was, or how they lived. She was an impostor. But the truth was, Chelsea had always existed in a different world, even when she was stuck on that estate in Badgeley.

Chapter Two

She called Kit on the train back, and hearing the warmth in his voice as he insisted he’d meet her at the station was a balm.

‘I don’t know, I’m exhausted,’ she sighed, ‘I was just going to walk home from the station.’

‘I’ll get you! Come on, even if it’s just the five minute drive home, I want to see you.’

She’d relented, as she often did in the face of Kit’s enthusiasm. Most days, when she was her best, most Chelsea self, she’d match him quip for quip, egging on his excitement with ideas for new adventures.

Occasionally, when he’d been working on a horrible case that seemed to draw the life out of him, he’d become quiet and soft, and she’d be the one in control, the one caring for him and suggesting things to do. Often, she was relieved at the downtime. Life with Kit was a hundred miles an hour.

Chelsea stumbled out of Kentish Town Station and a car flashed its lights further down. Inside, Kit waved, a huge grin on his face. Chelsea got in the car and looked at him, this kind, gorgeous man who for some strange reason had picked her. Kit was tall, his blond hair shorter now that he was at a big office unlike the unruly mop he had when they first met. His skin was pale, but tanned instantly, his eyes an alarming blue that always looked kind. He had that adorable sloppy look, she noticed, like he’d relaxed for the night. She loved that most, when he took off the expensive suit and left the fancy education at the door so they could curl up in comfy clothes on the sofa to watch a stupid movie. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his collar unbuttoned, and she had never seen something that looked so much like home.

‘Hello, gorgeous.’ He reached for her, capturing her lips briefly. ‘I missed you.’

‘It’s only been a couple of days, you soppy git.’ She grinned as he pulled out into the road. Chelsea paused, feeling like somehow she had to readjust her language to her life.

‘Soppy git indeed,’ he laughed, nodding. ‘I like that. It’s been a long couple of days. I haven’t even seen you since you got the promotion – congratulations, Miss Big Executive.’

‘Why thank you,’ she said, twisting her wrist in a royal impression, ‘and they rewarded me for all my hard work by making me take time off after getting a bigger workload – it’s nuts!’

Kit raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips as he tried to stop the smile on his face.

‘Baby, do you think maybe that’s because you refuse to take your holiday and the accounts team are getting pissed with you?’

‘But still!’ Chelsea huffed. ‘Making me take three weeks in one go! I’m going to be so behind!’

‘You’re probably already ahead into next year, knowing you.’ Kit shook his head, indicating. ‘Want to get some stuff from yours and come to mine?’

Chelsea shrugged. ‘I’ve got some stuff at yours, it’s not like I’ve got to be anywhere tomorrow.’

Kit paused. ‘Yes, unless your charming, exciting, alluring boyfriend missed you so much that he booked a surprise trip for the both of us. Well, a surprise for you, obviously I know about it.’

Chelsea blinked. ‘You managed to get time off?’

‘I spoke to your assistant, who confirmed you had to take your holiday, so I booked three weeks for me too. Charlie can cover me, it’ll be fine.’

‘And you’ve booked something?’ Chelsea wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or exhausted. She’d been quite looking forward to a few days of doing nothing.

‘I booked a short trip with the option for further stuff. It’s all very relaxed though,’ Kit explained, placing a hand on her knee as he parked outside her flat. ‘I thought you’d want to relax, but I know you wouldn’t last longer than two days before climbing the walls.’

Chelsea grinned. ‘I love you.’

Kit’s face lit up. ‘So go pack some clothes.’

‘I’m assuming I’m not going to be told where we’re going?’

‘Pack…light layers? Pretty stuff for evenings. Shoes that can walk on cobblestones. And a swimsuit.’

‘City break meets summer holiday?’

Kit blinked. ‘It’s warmer than here, but you might want a jacket or scarf or something for the evenings. And I’m not saying anything else.’

‘You know I hate being out of control.’ She rolled her eyes, opening the car door.

‘And you know I’ll make it worth it.’

The man was not wrong. His surprises, whilst they tended to mess with Chelsea’s natural need to be in charge, were always flamboyant and unusual. The problem was, she often felt that they were too much, that she didn’t deserve them. Like the private booth on the boat for Valentine’s Day, the weekend away in that castle for her birthday, the extravagant Tiffany box at Christmas. Kit did nothing by halves, but it was at least a comfort that he also seemed to enjoy the simpler things in life too. The pint in a Wetherspoons, the McDonald’s on the way home from some posh work function where they’d both drunk too much and eaten too little. He responded to each of these experiences as if they were adventures, something exciting and unusual. And from what she’d heard of his childhood, they were.

Chelsea let herself into her brightly lit but undeniably cramped studio, stopping to water the sad spider plant by the door and dump the bundle of letters and adverts from her mum’s on the side. She pulled out a few slim-fit dresses and wrapped them in tissue paper, then haphazardly threw in some jeans, tank tops and cardigans. She fished out a bikini, her very favourite white dress with the roses printed on it, and a pair of strappy heels, just in case. She didn’t like not being able to make her methodical lists, but she had to admit, every other time Kit had whisked her away it had been worth it. If she had to trust someone to take control, Kit was the one who could do it. Even if he had to wrestle it from her stiff, cramped fingers.

Chelsea dumped the entirety of her make-up bag into her suitcase (a small leather wheel along that Kit had bought her for the surprise trip to Spain for their first anniversary) along with shoes, and a light coat.

Chelsea normally took care of her clothes, not forgetting that she’d once never even dreamed she might own things that could cost so much. Fifty pounds on a pair of trousers? Teenage Chelsea would have smirked, ‘What, have they got no personality?’

She bundled the case down the stairs and Kit came out to help load it into the car, ever the gentleman. The man couldn’t help but be a cliché sometimes.

‘A woman who packs light, and packs quickly,’ he exclaimed, slamming the boot of the car and enveloping her in his arms. He always smelled spicy, clean like soap but with some masculine undertone she could never distinguish. He smelled like Kit, and that scent was both a turn on and a comfort.

‘Have I mentioned that I missed you?’ His lips captured hers, soft and full as his hands roamed her back, pulling her closer. A passing car honked at them, and Chelsea pulled back laughing, a blush on her cheeks.

‘You might have brought it up,’ she laughed, stepping away to get into the car.

‘You haven’t.’ He wiggled his eyebrows. ‘Didn’t you miss my various charms?’

‘I always miss your charms, darling, it’s the dirty clothes on the floor every time I come round that I could do without.’

‘You know I’d never leave my clothes on the floor,’ he gasped dramatically, jumping into the car. It was true, the man was a neat freak. He had a cleaner, Helena, come in once a week to re-clean what he’d already done, and iron his shirts for him. He tried, but never managed to get it right, so admitted it was better to ‘just throw money at the problem’. It made Chelsea uncomfortable in a way she couldn’t identify.

Maybe because his flat always seemed so clinical, she thought as they arrived at his bachelor pad a few moments later. It was only twenty minutes’ walk away, a walk in the park for two twenty-somethings who had just realised they were crazy about each other. She’d walked over to his so many times in those first few weeks, excited and hesitant, wondering what his place would look like, then where this was going, what it meant. She’d been shocked the first time she’d seen Kit’s place. A penthouse that seemed so typically masculine and modern, all black shiny surfaces and oversized technology.

Now she stayed quite often, because it was more spacious and comfortable than hers, and easier to get to work in the morning but almost everything about it screamed ‘rich pretty boy’. Sometimes she imagined seeing it through Tyler’s eyes and she knew he’d just roll his eyes and mutter ‘rich prick’. Some days even the ice machine in the fridge seemed to mock her, or the underfloor heating, or the remote control blinds. Here was a man who’d never had to huddle up with his siblings, wearing all his clothes, squished up under their duvets because the heating hadn’t been paid again.

‘Home sweet home,’ Kit said, putting her bag by the door and running a thumb down her arm, switching on the air conditioning. ‘Wine?’

‘Tea,’ she smiled, ‘it’s been a long day.’

Kit looked at her, scanning her face for a trace of something, his eyes soft and concerned.

‘How was the birthday boy?’

‘Thrilled with his presents, the trainers especially.’ Chelsea smiled her brightest smile, her I’m okay, really smile, and Kit nodded in that small way he had, like he was telling you he accepted that you didn’t want to talk about something. It was one of her favourite things about Kit, he didn’t push.

His blue eyes held hers for a fraction longer, then he simply kissed her cheek and went to put the kettle on.

The rest of the evening passed exactly as Chelsea wanted, cuddled up on the sofa, a comedian spouting rubbish on the TV as she laughed into Kit’s chest and tried not to hold his arm too hard.

Some days it seemed like she was desperately clinging to him, holding on as tight as she could without cutting off circulation. Kit seemed to sense these moments, usually after visiting her family, and held her a little tighter, rocking her slightly against his chest. He knew she liked to be quiet at times like that.

His soft eyes held hers that night in bed, as she looked at him, saying nothing, trying to convey in that small smile that she was grateful for him, for his patience and understanding when she retreated into herself.

She watched as he closed his eyes, smiling as he yawned and snuggled into the pillow. She always thought at times like this, of Kit’s offhand comment, a few months into their relationship: ‘You’re hard to get to know, but it’s okay because you’re very easy to love.’

So far he had been happy just to love her, but Chelsea wondered how much longer it would be until he wanted more.

***

‘It’s all about confidence,’ Ruby said as they walked down the high street, ‘start small, smile, and try to be invisible.’

‘You could never be invisible,’ Chelsea snorted, looking at her beautiful friend with the red hair, wearing their pathetic school uniform, the checked skirt clashing horribly with her Titian curls.

‘Watch me.’ She pulled the sides of her hair back, and pulled on a pair of badly fitting reading glasses.

‘Where did you –’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ she grinned, slipping her arm through the crook of Chelsea’s elbow, ‘watch and learn.’ She seemed to suddenly become an airhead the minute they walked into the shop, chatting away laughably about some imaginary boyfriend and the troubles she was having. Chelsea nodded along, watching warily as the security guard walked past them.

Ruby’s sleight of hand was on a par with any magician. One minute she was holding a nail polish, the next it was gone, dropped in her pocket. She alternated, picking up and putting things back, getting more animated as she kept her back to the security guard.

She smiled, shrugged, and said, ‘Shall we try somewhere else? I need to find a dress for Gaby’s party.’

Chelsea shrugged, and they walked along at a leisurely pace until they left the shop, the security guard not even giving them a second glance.

When they reached the bus stop, Ruby emptied her pockets, revealing lipsticks, hair ties, necklaces as well as even more random objects that Chelsea hadn’t even noticed in the shop – pens, paperclips, hand sanitiser.

‘What’s the point though? We don’t need half of this stuff.’ Chelsea shrugged, her fingers gripping the baby pink nail polish a little too tightly.

Ruby looked at her, eyes serious and dark. ‘Babe, we are starting this race at a disadvantage. I’m just evening out the playing field.’

‘What race?’

‘Life.’ A small smile played about Ruby’s lips. ‘You want to do something fabulous? You want to dance on a stage and play the diva and drink Champagne for breakfast one day? Everyone else has got something on us. They’ve got a name, or education, or the Bank of Mummy and Daddy. We deserve a leg up.’

‘And stealing some cheap crap is going to help us how?’

Ruby rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, say you’ve got a job interview, and you need a shirt. Say you need to do a class that needs materials. We deserve a little help.’

Chelsea knew it wasn’t right, but something about it felt right. They did need help. They were at a disadvantage. And who was going to help them, two girls from the estate? What hope did they have for a life that was more than what everyone else got in Badgeley?

‘Life skills, babe,’ Ruby nodded certainly, pulling her hair free and taking off the ridiculous glasses. ‘Your education begins.’

Chapter Three

‘Wake up, sleepyhead.’

Kit was a morning person. Which Chelsea actually loved. When she had to get up early for work. Not when she was still emotionally drained from dealing with her family.

Before she even opened her eyes, she could smell the coffee. Kit had a thing about making coffee in a cafetiere. He loved the ritual of it all. He had a posh espresso machine on the sparkling kitchen counter but he said it was too instantaneous, too easy. Good things came to those who waited for decent coffee, apparently.

‘What is this?’ Chelsea blinked a little at the sunlight streaming through the windows of the bedroom.

His smile matched the sunlight. ‘I walked down to your favourite bakery to get those almond things you like.’

He wasn’t kidding. On a tray was a pile of almond croissants dusted with sugar, a cafetiere with two mugs, a bunch of sunflowers and a Kit Kat.

Chelsea smiled at him. ‘Is it my birthday?’

‘I’ve decided I want today to be your favourite day ever,’ Kit shrugged, bouncing in that way he had, the ever-eager puppy. ‘We’ll leave for the airport in a couple of hours, okay?’

Ah. That was the Kit Kat. Chelsea had said to him years before, maybe even on their first date, that she considered a Kit Kat an essential travel item. He’d made a joke about hoping he could be essential too. And whenever they travelled, he bought her the chocolate bar.

‘Do I get to know where we’re going then?’

‘I imagine you’ll figure it out pretty quickly once we get to the airport – let’s at least try to keep some of the magic, shall we?’ Kit arched a blond eyebrow, and Chelsea huffed.

‘You know –’

‘– that you hate surprises, you really dislike being out of control and that you’re going to bear it as best you can because you love me?’

Chelsea pursed her lip, said ‘Exactly’ and took a massive bite of her croissant so she didn’t have to seem like a selfish control freak.

The day was perfectly lovely, and Kit had spared no amount of thought or expense. He’d booked a town car to the airport, which felt as luxurious as it was unnecessary.

When they got to the airport he paused in front of the check in gates.

‘All right, so I assumed by this point you’d have to know so we could check in.’ Kit shrugged boyishly, his 6’4” frame somehow unsuited to it. ‘So I’ve given you some clues.’

‘Beyond what’s up on the departures board?’ Chelsea teased, getting into the game.

‘Well, if you want to sit here and guess for half an hour, but I thought you’d want to get through the gate to have a boozy lunch in the departures lounge.’

Chelsea’s eyes widened. ‘Okay, I’ll play.’

‘You’ve never been to this place before.’

That’s not hard, Chelsea thought to herself sadly, looking at the board. She’d been to Paris, Barcelona and Rome, all with Kit. She’d been to Iceland with a friend from uni, and LA for work. She was hardly well travelled.

‘I’m gonna need another clue.’

Kit grinned at her, apparently unaware of all the other travellers walking around them to look at the departures board. ‘The most romantic city on earth.’

‘Paris?’

‘It only thinks it’s the most romantic city.’

‘Well, thanks for correcting it,’ Chelsea rolled her eyes.

‘You said you wanted to go here almost two years ago when we were talking about bucket lists and you said that you’d never trust –’

‘– something that had a public transport system dependent on water.’ Chelsea looked up at him in amazement. ‘You remember that?’

‘I always remember those tidbits about your life,’ he replied.

‘We’re going to Venice?’ Chelsea whispered, a smiled already on her face and he nodded, grinning.

‘That’s amazing!’ she laughed, throwing her arms around him, breathing him in.

‘I thought you might say that!’

‘You, Mr Christopher…you’re just a bit wonderful you know.’

‘That’s the idea, Miss Donovan.’ Chelsea’s smile held, just a little tight at the mention of her surname as he kissed her softly. The only surname he’d ever known her with, the one she’d changed as soon as she left uni, ready for a new start separate from the father in and out of prison again and again.

She held him a little closer. ‘You really are too good for me, you know.’

It felt too intimate to be throwing around those truthful words in an airport terminal. The one time she’d expressed the exact fear, the exact love she felt.

‘Sweetheart, if you knew all the ways in which you’d saved me, you’d never even think of saying that.’ He swept a piece of hair back from her face. ‘Before you, I was an arsehole. As cheesy as it is, you’ve made me a better man.’

Chelsea snorted, raising an eyebrow. ‘Well, stop improving. I can’t imagine you being any more of an angel than you are now.’

‘Then let’s hurry up and get to that kingsize bed in the hotel on the Grand Canal so I can prove you wrong.’ His blue eyes gleamed and Chelsea grinned, kissing him.

‘Sorry bub, you’re always going to be a Prince Charming, no matter how much you want to play the bad boy. Some guys are just made that way.’

She took his hand and they walked through the terminal, him taking her bag from her without a word.

‘See?’

‘You want me to stop doing all the stuff I do automatically, because it’s too nice?’ Kit laughed, head tilted as he waited for her answer.

‘No, what am I, fourteen? Bad boys have nothing on the nice guy.’ She kissed his cheek, wondering how on earth she had managed that perfect transition, from the angry girl with nothing to the one who had it all.

***

‘What happened?’ Ruby’s eyes had this way of glowering.

‘It’s nothing. I gave as good as I got.’ Chelsea stood, hand on hip as Ruby seemed to suddenly take up the doorframe. ‘You coming in or what?’

‘You’re letting the cold in! Shut the fucking door!’ her mum’s voice called from the living room over the sound of the TV blaring.

Chelsea rolled her eyes, winced, and gestured for her friend to enter. She slammed the door loudly and pounded up the stairs, Ruby following her silently.

‘So?’

Ruby closed the door behind her and leant on it, as if afraid that her friend would make a run for it. Instead, Chelsea sat in front of the mirror, gently daubing at the angry purple bruise forming around her eye, ugly and angry.

She shrugged, eyes still on the bruise. ‘Tina Davies said something about my mum, so I started something.’

‘Naaah,’ Ruby made a buzzer noise, ‘try again.’

‘Tina Davies was trying to get Johnny so I decked her.’

Ruby rolled her eyes. ‘Chels, come on. You’re not even trying to sound convincing.’

Chelsea looked past her in the mirror. ‘One of mum’s fellas was drinking in the kitchen when I came down for water at 3am. Apparently Mum hadn’t worn him out.’

Ruby shot across the room to her, reaching for her shoulder.

‘Don’t crowd me, and don’t feel sorry for me.’ Chelsea’s lips were a thin line, and she refused to make eye contact, simply looking at her own reflection, the tightly pulled back blonde hair making the purple of her skin look even more painful. She loosened the ponytail and fluffed the hair around her face, covering her cheekbone on one side.

‘This is concern, bitch.’ Ruby’s voice was stone. ‘That’s what’s happening here. Look at me.’

Chelsea could feel the fight in her friend, and she couldn’t decide whether to stay mad and aloof, or crumple and let herself be comforted. She set her jaw as she turned around.

‘Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.’

‘I don’t,’ Ruby said, ‘doesn’t mean I can’t be angry for you.’ Ruby’s eyes seemed to be hollowing her out, trying to hypnotise her. ‘Did he –’

‘No,’ Chelsea shook her head, ‘I stopped him.’

‘Hit him over the head with a bottle or something?’

‘Didn’t need to.’ Chelsea laughed hollowly. ‘The bastard tried to stick his tongue down my throat so I bit down. Hard.’ She started to giggle, a little manic, eyes blinking rapidly. ‘I bit off the fucking tip of his tongue! He ran out of there screaming!’

Ruby watched as Chelsea collapsed into giggles, holding her stomach, wheezing as she tried to breathe. Somehow the shaky gasps became sobs, tears rushing down her cheeks and Ruby collapsed onto the floor next to her.

‘You know what the worst part was?’ Chelsea hiccuped, not thinking about where his hands had been or how dark his eyes were, breathing deeply and slowly until she felt calmer.

‘Almost swallowing a bit of someone’s tongue?’ Ruby made a silly face and Chelsea snorted.

‘No. It was my mum. Once I told her what happened she said, “You can never stop competing can you? You want to take everything I have”.’

Ruby’s eyes darkened and her fingernails dug into Chelsea’s arm. ‘Bitch.’

Chelsea shrugged. ‘That’s Carly.’

‘What’s Ty say?’

‘He doesn’t know what’s going on, I just said I got drunk and walked into something,’ Chelsea shrugged. ‘The old bag next door heard me scream though, keeps looking at me in horror and giving me all her fags. It’d be sad if it weren’t so funny.’

‘I think that’s the other way round, babe.’

‘Nope.’ Chelsea’s mouth set, lips pressed together. ‘I get to decide. And I have decided that this is one more horrific fucking adventure on Chelsea’s road to awesomeness.’

‘You get to decide,’ Ruby nodded, loosening her grip, ‘but someone has to make sure there’s justice.’

‘I’m not going to the police, Ruby.’

Ruby raised an eyebrow and looked unimpressed. ‘You know me, right? And I know a very important man named Jez.’

‘Jez who runs the estate? Who keeps the gangs sorted? I don’t even want to know why you know that guy.’

Ruby grinned. ‘He’s a sweetie really. All the oldies are. London gangsters, old school. They break the legs of bad men, but they look after their women.’

‘I’m not their woman. I’m no one’s fucking woman.’ Chelsea felt the rage building up, her hands shaking from anger or shock, she wasn’t sure.

They sat in silence, Ruby waiting for an answer, waiting for permission she was sure Chelsea was too proud to give.

Suddenly Carly’s shriek of laughter cut through the house, matching the noise from the television. Chelsea’s eyes hardened.

‘Give me his name, Chelsea. That’s all you’ve got to do.’ Ruby’s eyes held hers, wincing a little at the sound of that screeching laughter, like salt in the wound.

Chelsea gave her the name.

***

The flight was easyJet, and there was something immensely comforting about that. Kit apologised, said it was the only thing he could get last minute. She stuck out her tongue and called him a snob. In retaliation he ordered a bottle of Heisdeck, which Chelsea assumed must have been one of the few times anyone did that. Why pay half the price of your flight for a bottle of Champagne to drink it from plastic cups? And who’s the snob now, she laughed to herself, and thought about what Evie and Mollie would say when she told them about this trip. They were already convinced Kit was a Disney prince, and so far he was only adding fuel to the fire.

He wasn’t perfect, he had flaws, Chelsea had to remind herself as her eyes traced his face. He was human. He…ate noodles with a fork instead of even trying chopsticks…and he always called the waiter over in restaurants if she didn’t like something, even when it made her cringe…and she couldn’t think of anything else. Maybe that would change when they moved in together. Maybe the way he hummed the tune from Oklahoma! when he used the bathroom in the morning would start to grate. Maybe him insisting on making complicated dishes each night and refusing to drink five pound bottles of wine would start to irritate her. But somehow, she couldn’t imagine him being less than perfect. Which was terrifying.

He’d asked her to move in years ago, and she was there most of the time anyway. It would be the smart thing to do. But the idea of leaving her little dingy flat with the damp walls and mismatched furniture for his modern, sleek home seemed like the final step. She’d be leaving behind the last little part of Chelsea from the estate, leaving behind the last speck of proof that she wasn’t a middle-class London executive. And she wasn’t sure she was ready to let her go just yet. She didn’t want to forget.

‘Hey, where’d you go?’ Kit looked into her eyes, his finger stroking her cheek.

‘I just feel like I’m standing on a cliff edge.’

‘The altitude?’ he frowned.

‘No. I just…’ She struggled to find the worlds and downed her glass of Champagne. ‘I just have this feeling like everything’s building up. Like everything is about to change.’

‘Change can be good,’ Kit said carefully, topping up her glass.

She smiled at him. ‘In my life, it always has been.’

He looked at her, his head cocked to the side as if he wanted to ask more, as if he was storing that nugget of information for another day.

And then the captain’s crisp voice came over the Tannoy to announce that they were about to land in Venice.

Chelsea threw herself on the kingsize bed and giggled, watching how Kit just stood there in the doorway and looked at her, a bizarre smile on his face.

‘What?’

‘It’s nice to see you relaxed, that’s all,’ he shrugged and moved to the shuttered windows and door at the end of the room, opening them and walking out onto the balcony. It looked out onto the Canal, and Chelsea joined him, slipping an arm around his waist as the plush heat of the summer afternoon soaked into their skin. They watched in silence as the boats swished through the water, the smaller ones silently gliding, the larger ones offering a low thrum of engines. Everything was vibrant and alive, there was blue everywhere and Chelsea wanted to jump in and float. She leant her head against Kit’s shoulder, wiping her forehead against his shirt.

‘Oi!’ he laughed, pulling her closer.

‘Not sorry!’ she sighed against Kit’s mouth, tasting his smile. Twenty-four hours ago she’d been anxiously getting on the train to Badgeley, prepping herself for the jibes and the screaming and the jokes at her expense. And now here she was in Venice, surprised by someone who loved her. Maybe it was time to leave the old Chelsea in Badgeley, and finally live her life.

Kit was like an excited puppy at times, which was an impressive feat for a six-foot-four lawyer who looked like a Viking.

That evening he dragged her through the city, high on everything. They skipped over bridges and tripped on cobblestones, and everything was ‘more, more, more!’ The little candles on outside tables, the greetings from hosts outside every restaurant, the fairy lights in hidden courtyards and ice cream shops offering expanses of colour – everything made him giddy. And he’d been here before, she knew, he told her about a trip to Venice with his family when he was fourteen, after he’d been kicked out of his second boarding school. Or was it the third? Something comforted her about Kit being a bit of a trouble maker at school, like her. Except in his versions it was taking someone’s dad’s Lamborghini for a drive that got him expelled. It wasn’t quite the same.

‘Baby, you’ve got to calm down,’ Chelsea laughed, pulling back on his hand to slow him from charging ahead to some restaurant he was desperate to try, ‘we’ve got a couple of days here, right? We don’t have to do everything this instant!’ He looked at her, holding her hand even more tightly. He looked like he’d been told off, a puppy who’d been tapped with the newspaper. She’d hit a nerve, and she suddenly regretted her comment. Why not let him be an excitable child for a weekend, before he went back to his high-stress job? Why did she always have to be serious, boring Chelsea?

Kit took a deep breath, shaking his head and leaning back against the stone railing as they looked out on one of the canals. The water was dark and comforting, the cobblestones lit by old-fashioned street lights, and the warmth of the evening settling around them as the smells of coffee and delicious pizzas filtered through the air.

‘You’re right,’ he said distinctively, ‘there’s only one thing I want to do tonight and I’ve been focusing on everything else! It’s not good to procrastinate, you’re always saying that, Chels.’

He was starting to babble and Chelsea frowned at him.

‘There’s just been one thing I wanted to do here.’ He grinned at her, suddenly adorable and dangerous. The same look he had when he turned up at her flat at 5am and told her they were climbing the O2 centre, or he jumped in and started jamming with a busker in Covent Garden and the whole crowd cheered for him. He was going to do something ridiculous.

And sure enough, Kit raised his arm dramatically, showing her the scenery and threw back his head.

‘Just one Cornettoooooo!’ he sang loudly, imitating the operatic style ridiculously well. ‘Give it to meeee!’

Chelsea rolled her eyes, wondering how many poor Venetians had been subjected to such terrible renditions by drunk English tourists. She felt her cheeks colour as passersby smirked, laughing at that silly Englishman. They seemed to stop and hover to look at him, forming a relaxed semi-circle.

Chelsea looked back and saw Kit kneeling on the ground at her feet. He had stopped singing and was simply staring at her, a desperately hopeful look on his face as he held out a small, velvet box. The ring was obnoxiously huge, catching the light of the shop fronts and reflecting back into her dazed eyes. Three huge circular diamonds sat in a row, and a small smile graced her lips as she remembered him buying her a necklace years before, three small drops, and she’d said, ‘I love things in threes. It’s so symbolic, past, present and future,’ and he’d nodded like he was making a mental note. And he had.

‘Say something, Chels!’ he whispered through gritted teeth.

‘You haven’t asked anything, Christopher,’ she teased.

Kit looked at the crowd, hamming it up as he grinned and projected his voice.

‘Chelsea Donovan, light of my life, centre of my universe, apple of my eye – marry me, or I shall perish here and now!’

Chelsea rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, tapping her foot as the crowds gathered to look at the silly Englishman’s idea of romance. ‘Ask properly.’

‘I love you, Chels.’ He smiled that gleaming, white smile. ‘Will you marry me or what?’

‘Yes.’ It exploded out before he could finish asking and he nodded, like he wasn’t sure she was serious.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah!’

Kit jumped up and kissed her as the crowd erupted into applause, his arms holding her tight, rocking her back and forth as she laughed against his lips. When she pulled back she felt his tears on her cheeks, and cupped his face, wiping them away.

‘You big softie!’ She kissed his cheek, feeling her own eyes water. Just a little.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, and none of it was the painful extravagance that Chelsea had dreaded. They strolled through cobblestone streets, hands clasped, occasionally bursting into giggles. They sat in a square eating pizza, drinking Prosecco and commenting on how wonderful everything was, and how amazing their life was going to be.

They drunkenly stumbled back to their room, excitedly showing the doorman, receptionist and bellboy her ring and receiving smiles and pats on the back in return.

Finally, Chelsea collapsed on the bed, arms out like a starfish. She closed her eyes and smiled.

‘I don’t think tomorrow can beat today. Today was perfect.’

‘Well actually, I do have another question to ask you.’ Kit plonked himself on the bed next to her. ‘I mean the first one was worse, but…’

‘Oh God, what?’ Chelsea groaned dramatically, not bothering to open her eyes. ‘You’re secretly a Mormon and you’re wondering if I’m okay with sharing.’

‘No,’ he laughed, and she could feel the bed springs bounce. She opened her eyes.

‘Okay, shoot.’

‘Well, it just so happens that my parents are at their place in Garda for the summer, only a short train ride away…’

‘You want me to meet your parents,’ Chelsea said simply, feeling the fear rise from her stomach, the sparkling wine suddenly turning on her.

‘Well, you agreed to marry me,’ he shrugged, looking at her with wide, hopeful eyes, ‘it’s got to happen eventually.’

‘Does it?’ Chelsea sighed. ‘You hate your parents. I kind of thought we’d make it through to our first wedding anniversary before I had to meet them.’

Kit frowned. ‘I never said I hated them…’

Chelsea rolled over to face him and raised an eyebrow.

‘You said, and I quote, “my mother is a vindictive harpy and my father hasn’t been sober since 1993”.’

‘All said with love,’ he laughed, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her closer, till they were nose to nose. ‘Look, we’ll go, we’ll tell them we’re engaged, we’ll swim in the pool, drink their expensive Champagne, and then we’re gone!’

He kissed her neck and she could feel herself softening, the exhaustion of an exhilarating day and too much wine catching up with her.

‘Okay, we’ll drink their pool and swim in their wine, and then we’re out of there.’ She nodded sagely, then frowned. ‘Wait, where are we going after that?

‘Wherever my future wife wants.’ Kit kissed her shoulder. ‘Rome? Sicily? Leave Italy and jump over to somewhere else? Or go home and plan the wedding?’

Chelsea wrinkled her nose and made a face. ‘Rome, and then wherever you want. We’ll take turns until the holiday is up.’

‘We’ll be like backpacking teenagers, making it up as we go.’ Kit snuggled against her.

‘I never did that as a teenager,’ Chelsea sighed. ‘The idea of being out of control used to terrify me.’ And the fact that I had no money, no skills and had to work. I couldn’t gallivant around Europe cashing in my trust fund.

‘And now?’ Kit murmured sleepily against her skin.

‘Now I don’t feel scared of anything at all,’ she smiled, drifting off to sleep.

***

‘Jez has been round three times this week,’ Chelsea hissed at Ruby as she plonked herself down beside her in the form room.

‘Why?’ Ruby frowned. ‘He sorted it, didn’t he? The guy who –’

‘Yes,’ Chelsea growled through gritted teeth, looking around the room, ‘he sorted it. And now he keeps coming back.’

She looked at Ruby darkly, her overly plucked eyebrows high on her forehead. She smoothed down her high side ponytail, the dark roots almost greasy.

‘Oh. Carly.’

‘Yep. Jez is dating my mum. What’s next? The Krays turn out to be my fucking fairy godfathers?’

Ruby snorted, ‘even I’m not that good, babe. This is a gift. A gift that happened because of me, by the way.’

Chelsea’s eyes hardened. ‘None of this has been a gift. Do you even know what happened to that guy?’

‘Was it worse than someone biting off his tongue?’

Ruby’s eyes were dark, her mouth smirking with no softness around the edges. Chelsea glowered, staring straight ahead.

‘Jez being your stepdad could have a lot of advantages you know,’ Ruby laughed, ‘he’ll scare off anyone who might hurt you.’

Chelsea snorted. ‘You scare off anyone who might hurt me.’

‘Well, maybe it’ll be all happy families and he’ll make your mum a better person. Maybe he’ll end up being that dad-type person who walks you down the aisle at your wedding.’

Ruby fluttered her eyelashes, hands clasped as she stared off into the distance dreamily for a moment, the whole thing a farce. She snorted and shook her head.

‘Married?’ Chelsea hooted. ‘Who the hells shackles themselves to someone for better or worse? No one goes down with a sinking ship, babe, no matter how good a person they think they are.’

She looked old, her nose twitched up in derision, like she knew the answers about the world. She felt ancient, like she’d already seen every stupid thing that anyone could do in this stupid town. That people were essentially bad, and you just had to let it go, because they were too stupid to be better.

Ruby paused. ‘Do you wish your mum had waited for your dad? Done that whole “stand by your man” country music thing?’

Chelsea shook her head, smiling just a little. ‘The man gets arrested, gets locked up, gets out, and does it all over again. Maybe he’s happier there. Or maybe he just makes shitty decisions.’

She looked down at the scratch marks on the table, the promises of loving ‘4eva’, the ‘Tracey is a bitch’, the random phone numbers and crude drawings. Horny little stick figures that had since been scraped over in the hopes of erasing them. But you could still always see what had been underneath.

‘Either way,’ Chelsea shrugged, ‘man’s an anchor. My mum’s a bitch, but she was right to let him sink. The man invites trouble, always has.’

‘And Jez doesn’t?’ Ruby grinned, thinking about the ageing cockney gangster with the ancient trilby.

‘I think Trouble knows to only call on Jez when she’s been invited,’ Chelsea grinned and Ruby pointed, grinning, her button nose turned up in triumph.

‘I knew it! You like him!’

‘He’s sweet for a gangster,’ Chelsea said, shrugging and turning silent as the teacher walked up to the front of the room and started writing on the board. If she was going to shock them all, and get out of Badgeley in the most unbelievable way possible, she was going to have to listen.

Chapter Four

Kit and Chelsea woke up in the same positions they’d fallen asleep in. Which looked adorable, but hurt. A lot.

‘Why, the older I get, do the hangovers stop being those ones that hover gently in the background that can be cured by coffee and pizza?

‘Think you answered your own question there, babe.’ Chelsea laughed, then winced, stretching her arms above her head and twisting her neck. She hadn’t opened her eyes.

When she did, Kit was standing in front of her, holding out a glass of water.

‘Don’t regret saying yes now, do you?’ He stuck his hands in his pockets and bounced on his heels, a cheesy grin on his face. But his words were soft like his eyes.

‘I regret that last bottle of wine,’ she laughed, standing up to wrap her arms around his neck, still holding the glass of water in one hand, ‘and that I think I may have fallen asleep on this massive rock on my finger and indented my face forever.’ She stretched her mouth out and rubbed her cheek, laughing.

She took in the deep blue of his eyes, the light stubble around his chin and the strength of his arms around her. He seemed to glow, even with the sleep in his eyes and the creases from the pillow on his face. ‘Did you think I would regret it?’ she asked quietly, putting the glass of water on the side table, and curling her fingers around the hair at the base of his neck.

Kit looked at her, head tilted as if he wasn’t sure how to answer.

‘No, but…you tend to draw back when I get close. It’s like a dance we do.’ He shrugged, and Chelsea knew exactly what he meant, those parts of her life she didn’t share freely, like he did, those times she changed the conversation or wordlessly shrugged. A small part of her yelled, ‘then why marry me, if I’m so cold and distant?’ but she knew there was no way to get into that. At least not yet. In time she would share her history with him, the real one, not the one she’d sewn together like a shroud made from assumptions and silence.

‘Well, maybe that should be our wedding dance.’ She winked and made a face, watching as his face fluttered through emotions.

‘We’ll meet in the middle, I know we will,’ he shrugged, his arms still encircling her waist, ‘as long as you’re here, I don’t care. As long as you’re here.’

She held him tightly, suddenly afraid and overwhelmed with love at the same time, as if the idea of not being there tore at her chest. This was what it felt like, being vulnerable. Making a promise you intended to keep.

‘Yesterday was the best day of my life,’ she whispered, half to him and half into the dull room, only a shred of sunlight threatening the shutters, ‘and I could never regret it.’

Kit pulled back and stroked her cheek, smiling. ‘You say that now, you haven’t met my family.’

She stepped away to retrieve the glass of water, downing it in one and feeling no more refreshed, although the pounding in her head was receding. ‘Are you nervous?’ She laughed, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous.’

‘I was nervous that first day I asked you out for breakfast,’ he grinned, dimples appearing suddenly, making him look like a naughty child.

‘Only because I’d just asked you out to dinner and you were a cheeky bastard!’ she laughed. ‘You were lucky I didn’t deck you!’

‘Ah,’ he nodded, ‘that’s right. I was scared. Scared was the word I was looking for.’

Chelsea thought back to that night, in the living room of her friend’s new flat, where they all sat round a sad fondue set because it was ‘ironically post-70s revival chic’, listening to a man with pretty eyes and a sharp jaw tell her she looked like someone who had something interesting to say. She’d told him he could stick his smooth chat-up lines up his arse, and if he wanted a real conversation, he knew where to find her. She’d waltzed out to the balcony with a bottle of wine. He’d followed with two glasses and no more stupid lines, and they sat there for the rest of the night talking about everything and nothing.

‘Who are you embarrassed of?’ she said suddenly, pausing at the door of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. ‘Them or me?’

Kit raised an eyebrow. ‘Them, obviously. They drink too much and they’re loud and obnoxious and seem to care about pointless, trivial shit that doesn’t matter.’

Chelsea rolled her eyes. ‘I promise you, however bad they are, I’ve grown up with worse.’

She started brushing her teeth, eyes on the ring on her finger, a little smile threatening to send toothpaste foam flying everywhere.

‘Oh really? So when do I get to meet your family?’ Kit laughed, carefully straightening the bed sheets before he opened the case up. ‘Not until the wedding, I bet?’

Chelsea sighed, spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing. ‘About that – how do you feel about eloping?’

A few hours later, Chelsea found herself looking at the bluest water she’d ever seen. The train had been much like any other train in any other city, cramped and uncomfortable, filled with driven commuters and confused tourists. Kit seemed like a natural amongst them, his loose-fitting white linen shirt rolled up to the sleeves, his blond hair slicked back, looking out from behind his Ray Bans as he held on with one hand, holding a book in the other. Chelsea had tried to match him, to look like someone who would be right with the perfect man who stood next to her. She had picked her favourite white sundress with the blue floral pattern on it. Her own dark sunglasses covered most of her face, and she tilted her head back like she was Audrey Hepburn or Jackie O. But the truth was, her hair was sticking to her neck, the sun was beating through the window until she was sure her fair skin was crisping and the dress was stuck to the back of her knees, where sweat droplets occasionally rolled down her calf.

When they stepped off the train platform in Desenzano, Chelsea felt herself breathe for the first time in hours.

‘How do you still look so fucking cool?’ she frowned as Kit carried over the bag, taking a deep breath and grinning at her.

‘Because I’m awesome,’ he shrugged, ‘and looking cool when you feel like Satan himself is licking your balls is a talent a lawyer has to have. Come on, the next bit’s the best bit.’

They trundled down the hill from the station, the wide roads and tall trees offering shade, but looking so obviously different from the cobbled streets of Venice.

‘It’s…not what I was expecting.’ She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice. Sure, it was sunny, but these houses could be on a suburban road back home.

‘Just wait,’ Kit shook his head, handing her a bottle of water, then grinning at her as the road became narrower and narrower at the bottom, until the wheels of the suitcase were suddenly bumping along cobbles and the large houses turned into narrow, tall buildings that seemed to loom at unusual angles.

‘Welcome to the Lake,’ Kit grinned, holding out his hand to her as they walked into the town square, where tourists roamed slowly, reaching out to touch leather handbags in bright colours, staring at the latest fashions in glossy shop windows. They walked around a corner and Chelsea suddenly saw a wide expanse of blue, vibrant and brighter than she could ever remember the sea being. Even the way the sun had sparkled from the canals of Venice as she had looked down at her ring couldn’t beat this.

‘I’m not being funny, babe, but that doesn’t look like any lake I’ve ever seen.’

Kit grinned. ‘The question now is, have we made it in time for the boat?’

‘The boat?’

‘Up to my parents. They’re in Malcesine.’ She heard as his voice inflected the ‘ch’ sound in the name.

‘And that’s not where we are?’

He shook his head.

‘And we have to get a boat?’

Kit laughed. ‘I love how you’ve actually let go and trusted me with this. Can you imagine any other situation where you don’t actually know which city you’re in?’

‘Not one that ends well,’ Chelsea huffed, fanning herself.

Kit grabbed her hand and they walked along to the ticket booth, where Chelsea looked on in shock as he suddenly launched into a fairly confident conversation in Italian. He laughed, grinned, handed over the money and all Chelsea could pick up was that he thanked him. She’d picked some Italian up, even if it was only from watching Roman Holiday over and over again as a kid, but she was nowhere near Kit.

Kit nodded and led her back towards the bar on the corner, picking a seat in the shade. He was almost more himself here, more dominant. His hand hovered at the small of her back as they walked, and then he pulled her chair out for her without hesitation. Sometimes he did that stuff back home, but it was different here, like he was suddenly local.

He relaxed back into the chair, surveying the people around him with undisguised interest. Everyone seemed to be sitting out, watching everyone else. The old lady in the red dress with the poodle at her feet. The old men playing cards. The young couple laughing, hands interlaced loosely. Everyone seemed to be dressed up, like they knew they were playing the extras in the glossy version of Chelsea’s life today. The idea made her snort.

Suddenly the waiter appeared, and Kit once again launched into Italian, talking with his hands in a way he never had.

‘Wine?’ he suddenly said to Chelsea, who winced.

‘Aperol,’ he nodded, and the waiter grinned, saying something else that Chelsea had an idea was not pleasant, before disappearing in to retrieve drinks.

‘What was that?’

‘He said you’re beautiful but unhappy,’ Kit snorted, looking at her from behind his tilted sunglasses. ‘He said English women never do well in the Italian sun. It beats them or it converts them.’

‘Meaning?’

‘They get burnt and spend all their time in the shade, or they become obsessed with getting an even tan.’

‘Hmmf,’ was Chelsea’s only response.

Kit waited until the drinks were delivered, two bright orange goblets with ice. Chelsea took a delicate sip and made a face.

‘You get used to it.’

‘That’s what they say about smear tests and London rental prices – doesn’t make them any better.’ She raised an eyebrow but took an extra gulp all the same before resting the cool glass against her neck.

‘You know, I take it back, you’re going to get on with my family just fine.’

They sat in silence, Chelsea closing her eyes as she listened to the sounds of lilting Italian accents, chatting tourists and the slow horn of a boat in the distance.

‘Hey babe?’ she heard Kit say, almost miles away on the edge of sleep. ‘You know what the waiter said about English women? I think you may have burnt your nose.’

The boat wasn’t what she was expecting, it was smaller and sleeker than the large ferry she’d been looking at earlier. They stepped down into the air-conditioned seating area, all the seats facing forward in rows, just like a bus. She checked her nose in the mirror in the toilet, massaging the tiniest dot of suncream into it. She was not going to be one of those English tourists. It was bad enough to turn up at Kit’s parents’ home with a burnt nose and a sweaty dress, let alone turning up with a thick block of suncream down the middle of her face. It would be fine, she assured herself, fluffing out her flat blonde hair and flicking cold water from the tap on her neck. The water seemed to be choppier, the boat bouncing up and down more violently as she struggled to turn the tap off in the little water closet. Chelsea suddenly felt very claustrophobic, being swung back and forth in the tiny toilet, and struggled to open the lock with her wet hands. Panic gripped her stomach and squeezed, and she took a deep breath, trying to stay calm as she leaned in against the door. She was flung out suddenly, as she’d heard Kit’s voice saying, ‘Chels, you okay?’ somewhere to the right of her. She couldn’t see him though, only the edge of the boat, her arms out to cling to it as that last rocking movement churned her stomach and she threw up into those vibrant, promising waters of the prettiest lake she’d ever seen.

***

‘And what is it you’re planning to do with yourself when you leave here…Chelsea?’ The careers counsellor was in her mid-twenties, her dark, knotted hair pulled back in a ratty bun. She had a large pimple on her chin that looked angry, like she’d spent the afternoon in front of the mirror trying to pop it. Despite that, Chelsea actually quite liked her outfit; dark, skinny jeans, a dark blue shirt and a black, smooth suit jacket. She had a statement silver necklace and small diamond studs in her ear. Jessica Baker had been the careers counsellor for six months, and she was living proof that you could polish a turd, give it a suit jacket and convince it that it smelled like success. Unfortunately for Jessica, despite her airs, graces and ‘local girl done good’ attitude, everyone still knew that she gave Michael Grimsby a blowjob under the headteacher’s desk in 1995, and it was still the stuff of legend.

Even now, when she tried to tell some of the boys about different apprenticeships or training schemes, she was shut down. She told them they had potential; they asked if she’d bring it out of them in the headteacher’s office.

Which would have been sad, if she wasn’t such a massive bitch.

‘I’m going to university,’ Chelsea said staunchly, leaning back on the itchy blue sofa that Jessica had asked to be crammed into her tiny little stockroom of an office, filled with motivational posters and about five prospectuses, all to local colleges, all out of date by at least two years.

She watched as Jessica wrinkled her nose and raised her eyebrows. She tilted her head, her voice saccharine. ‘Now, Chelsea, do you really think that would be the most sensible option for someone with your…history?’

Chelsea chewed her gum more obnoxiously, taking pleasure as Jessica winced, at the wet sound as she chewed with an open mouth.

‘Yeah,’ she shrugged, ‘whatcha mean?’

Jessica shook off the irritation. ‘I just mean that you don’t seem to have done any of the things people who want to go to university do.’

‘Oh,’ Chelsea shook her head, leaning in as if she was concerned that Jessica was mistaken, ‘I don’t just want to go to any university. I’m going to Oxford.’

Here, Jessica burst out laughing, a short sharp hoot escaping before she clamped her lips together, her eyes still laughing even after she was silent.

‘Chelsea, that’s very easy to say, but…why would you want to go there? What could it possibly offer you?’

A way out of this place and the biggest two fingers up this school has ever seen, Chelsea thought grimly. A way to get the taste of that bastard out of my mouth. To erase this place completely.

‘Miss, I think what you’re really asking is what do I have to offer them,’ Chelsea said shrewdly, leaning in, ‘and I dare you to say it, Miss, I dare you.’

‘Well, I’m being honest, Chelsea, what about you is so special that one of the best universities in the country is going to want to take you? Your grades –’

‘Have jumped from Ds to As in two weeks,’ Chelsea answered.

‘You have no extra-curricular activities,’ Jessica grinned stiffly, her teeth gritted.

‘Except for the drama society, student council, science club, the environmental society and the debate club. I’m also pretty good at playing the accordion.’

Chelsea grinned, arms crossed, taking a delicious victory in seeing the woman’s cheeks redden.

‘Well, even if that were true –’

‘Even if it were true, you would not help me,’ Chelsea said simply, tipping the silver snowglobe on Jessica’s table, watching intently as the glitter flickered around the wording at the base that said, ‘World’s Best Mum’.

‘And the sad thing is, you’ll think that you’re choosing not to help me, you’ll think it’s your own choice,’ Chelsea snorted, ‘but the truth is, you’re just another sad little wannabe who thinks she’s better than everybody else because she went to community college and actually made it further than Northampton before coming back to have kids and settle for a life that’s just as shit as you always knew it would be.’ Chelsea stood up. ‘I gave you a chance, Miss. I gave you the chance not to laugh at me. And now I’m going to prove you wrong.’

That week, Chelsea had signed up for all the societies she thought sounded impressive, she’d sent off for prospectuses, she’d started playing an accordion she found in a charity shop for seven quid and had signed up for every sort of university grant going at the youth advice centre in town. That was also the week that Robbie Larson was found dazed and confused around the back of Tesco, with both his legs broken. Everyone said he’d been in so much pain he’d bitten off the tip of his tongue in shock.

***

Chelsea had to admit, it was beautiful. As much as she felt like pouting, still slightly green as they stepped from the boat out onto the dock at Malcesine, she couldn’t stop herself from admiring it. Her trick was to always seem slightly less awestruck than she felt. That was how they saw you as a fraud, when you were really enthused. But she couldn’t help it, the sun hit the water, the bright pink flowers and vibrant greens of the trees sang as the mountains hovered in the background and she actually gasped when she saw the castle.

Kit just grinned, grabbing the case and taking her hand to help her down from the ramp. They walked over to the shade, Kit getting his phone out as Chelsea simply stared at the brightly coloured shops and restaurants, taking in the relaxed atmosphere of the place. Sure, the tourists were looking through iPads and desperately taking photos, but Chelsea stood in the cool breeze and just took in the moment. She paused the future, the next few days of pretending to be impressive and in control, clever and unruffled and just breathed, closing her eyes as the strain of music came from the square, feeling the strange heaviness of her left hand with that diamond promise sitting upon it.

‘Hey, we’re here,’ she heard Kit say, pacing back and forth. ‘Did Al bring the car down or shall we get a cab?’

He nodded. ‘Vinnie? Okay. We’ll be there soon.’ He paused, smiling. ‘Yes, she did. Okay, ciao.’

‘Onto the next leg of the journey?’ Chelsea asked. ‘And what did I do?’

‘You said yes.’ He wrapped an arm around her, kissing her cheek. ‘My sister has been desperately bugging me about it since she found out I was going to ask. Anyway, Alistair brought the car down for us this morning. He left the keys with his friend in the bar, we’ll just get them and then we can get going.’

‘And Alistair is… ?’ Chelsea asked, following him along the cobbled streets, taking his hand.

‘Al…helps around the house. Drives places. Makes a cracking Martini,’ Kit said faintly, looking straight ahead.

‘Are you telling me your family has a butler?’

‘He’s more like family.’

‘A family member who gets paid to do things for you?’

Kit stopped, turning around and taking off his sunglasses. ‘Babe, you’ve got to remember, this is their life, not mine.’

‘But it was yours, once.’

Kit smiled, shaking his head. ‘And there’s a reason I didn’t choose it for myself. But, to be honest, I prefer Alistair to most members of my family. You’ll love him, he’s a cheeky bastard. When I was a kid I used to pretend he was my dad.’

Chelsea laughed and Kit stroked her arm. ‘Just…reserve judgement, okay?’

They picked up the keys from the bar, where Kit was embraced by an older, white-haired man. They spoke quickly, with Kit pointing over to her a few times. The older man smiled, clapped his hands together and brought over a bottle of wine to give to her, congratulating her on her engagement.

‘So many weddings!’ He clasped her hands, awkwardly holding the bottle.

They found the car around the back in a small side street, and Chelsea breathed a sigh of relief as Kit turned on the air conditioning. She pulled down the mirror in the visor, and checked her burnt nose.

‘What did he mean about so many weddings?’ she asked, reaching for her make-up bag and trying to hide the angry, pink skin.

‘There’s weddings at the castle all the time. In the summer there’s a couple a week, probably more.’

‘Can we go see the castle at some point?’ She applied some mascara and tried to make her eyes look less red. ‘I hate –’

‘– to go somewhere and never actually see any of it. I know.’ He patted her knee. ‘You’re not nervous, are you?’

‘About going to your parents’ Italian villa now that I know they have servants?’ she snorted. ‘Nah, why would I be nervous?’

‘I meant about telling them we’re getting married.’

Chelsea looked at him. ‘They don’t know?’

‘How would they know?’

‘Well, I thought maybe when you said we were coming up here, you might have said why.’ She frowned. ‘You didn’t tell them you were going to propose?’

‘Didn’t come up,’ he shrugged, ‘plus I always find it’s better to tell them things after I do them, so they can’t have an opinion.’

‘You’re really helping me feel confident about all this.’ She sighed, resigned to it all now.

‘Celia knows, though. I told her ages ago.’ He nudged her leg. ‘She’s really excited to meet you.’

‘What’s she like?’

‘She’s sweet and kind, quiet. They’re constantly telling her to be louder, paying for elocution lessons and drama classes, but that’s just how she is. I think you’ll like her.’

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