Chapter 48 Miracles
Miracles
Lily-Anne
I can finally ditch the crutches, though I’ll continue wearing the ankle brace for a while longer.
Ellenor’s been taking me to the physio, and Mum’s tagged along to be supportive.
She quit her nursing job to stay by my side, and I know she’s dipping into the savings Dad left behind to manage it.
I hate that she has to, even as I’m grateful beyond words that she’s here.
I didn’t think my ankle would be so stiff, or that I’d still wobble when I tried to walk.
It takes a few more weeks, but I’m slowly getting there. Thank goodness for my music. It’s kept me sane throughout all of this. I just wish I had my guitar.
I’m anxious to have it back.
The phone rings while I’m making tea. I snatch it up before the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Lily-Anne? It’s Ed, the luthier,” he says. “I’ve had a closer look at your guitar.”
My heart lifts. “Is it fixable?”
“Yes, but the damage is extensive. It’s a tricky repair. Not cheap.”
“How much?”
He tells me. The number punches the breath out of me, and that’s before I convert it to dollars. Thousands. I expected a few hundred, perhaps one thousand, but the quote for the repairs will cost more than a new guitar.
“Oh.” My fingers tighten on the counter. “I—I can’t afford that.”
“I understand,” he says. “No pressure. We can hold it here until you decide.”
I rub my eyes. “What about without the sea glass?”
“That’s not the expensive part,” Ed says, and my heart falls as he gives me a slightly smaller figure. It would empty my bank account—and require another loan from Mum.
“I’ll have to pass,” I stammer. “Just…send it back.”
A pause. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Thanks for having a look at it.” That’s all I can manage before hanging up.
I realise I’m standing in the bedroom, staring at the empty space at the foot of the bed.
The guilt hits immediately—like I’ve wasted his time. And Brandon’s time.
And worse: I’ve failed myself. I’m going to let the most precious gift Dad ever gave me stay broken.
I run a trembling hand over the case.
Miracles aren’t cheap.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a long time, feeling as lost as the girl who arrived at Heathrow months ago.
But I’m not her anymore, and I don’t have any tears left to shed.
Taking a deep breath, I dial another number.
When she picks up, I clear my throat. “Daisy, hi. I’ve been thinking about your offer.”
***
It’s a Monday night, and Brandon holds the door to Willoughby’s Café open for me as I step inside with his guitar strapped to my back.
The bell jingles softly, and the rich smell of roasted coffee wraps around me like a blanket.
Daisy looks up from behind the bar, her tired expression brightening beneath her streak of pink hair.
“Lily! You’re walking!”
“Hobbling,” I correct, though I can’t help smiling at my easy strides as I go to the stage to set up.
When I return to perch on a barstool beside Brandon, she slides a blue cocktail towards me. “On the house.”
“You don’t have to keep giving me free drinks,” I protest.
“I know,” she says with a shrug. “But I still feel like I owe you.”
I’ve offered to do a couple of gigs to help her out, letting her slot me in wherever she needs.
It’s only until I head off on our road trip, but it takes some pressure off her.
Especially now, with her hospital shifts, the café being…
well, very elaborate by design, thanks to Jack.
And he’s no longer holding it all together behind the scenes.
Brandon has a cocktail too, and he gives me a fond smile as he plucks the little umbrella into mine.
“Aww, cute!” Daisy says to us.
I sip the last of the cocktail, nerves beginning to hum beneath my skin. I’m about to go on stage when Brandon’s hand lands gently on my shoulder. I look up. His expression is tight, his body suddenly alert.
I follow his gaze.
Jack is standing just inside the doorway.
His eyes widen when he sees me. He stops short—a shocked silence falling over the room.
“What’s he doing here?” Daisy mutters under her breath.
I slide off the barstool, crossing the space between us. My spine feels stiff, my mouth set.
“I…didn’t know you’d be here,” he says.
He’s telling the truth—I can hear it.
“I removed your songs,” he adds quickly.
“I saw.”
He nods, giving me a sheepish, apologetic smile.
I don’t smile back.
But I don’t yell either, even though I’ve imagined doing exactly that.
Instead, something unexpected flickers through me—pity. He looks lost, stripped of his swagger.
“They were great songs, though. You were getting lots of views.”
He isn’t going to apologise, I realise.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Brandon—quiet, unreadable, a steady force at my back. Jack keeps casting him furtive, nervous glances, like he’s waiting for Brandon to step in, or judge him, or hit him again.
I know he won’t. Neither of us wants a scene.
So I move things along.
“I’m here playing a gig,” I say simply.
“Yeah, I…”—he rubs the back of his neck—“heard. Cheers for that.”
Behind the counter, Daisy scoops ice noisily with more force than necessary. “What are you doing here, Jack?”
“Came to beg for my old job back.”
His smile is almost convincing. Almost as charming as I remember it.
“I fired you for a reason,” she snaps.
“Yeah, I know. I deserve it. I was a… twat.”
He glances back at me. “Look, Lil, I know I went about things the wrong way. But we really could make something together. Maybe not now, but…” He gestures to the stage. “Even if it’s just here at the café. Whatever you want, you know?”
A prickle runs through me—not anger, but clarity. Something about the way he’s standing here, dishevelled and hopeful and suddenly very small, clicks into place.
Daisy beats me to it.
“Let me guess,” she says, folding her arms. “Hilary didn’t want you back either?”
Jack’s tenses. “It wasn’t—” He cuts himself off, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Dustin found out.”
The café goes very still, every patron listening.
Jack hangs his head defeatedly, his mumbles still carrying. “He knew I didn’t play like that. Not the way those videos made it look. He got suspicious, did some digging.” His gaze flicks briefly to me again. Ashamed. “Rebecca Navarro told him everything. And then he told Hilary.”
I hear Brandon’s sharp intake of breath.
I place a hand on his arm. He honoured my wishes and stepped back, even though he was ready to ruin Jack himself. The truth came out all the same.
“Did you really think no one would find out?” Daisy scolds.
Jack ignores her, stepping closer to me. “What do you say, Lily? I’d love to play with you again, even if it’s just a one-off…”
“No,” I say, stepping past him. “Sorry, Jack.”
It’s the only apology I’m going to hear tonight.
And that’s okay.
I don’t need anything from him.
The small crowd gathered near the stage is waiting, the singer I’m paired with tonight offering me an encouraging nod.
I unzip the guitar case and lift Brandon’s guitar into my arms. It’s not mine, but it feels like a friend.
I take my place at the mic.
“Good evening,” I say, voice steadying as the café lights soften around me. “I’m Lily, and this is Sarah”—I gesture to my duet partner—“and we’re so happy to play for you tonight.”
Brandon’s gaze meets mine from the edge of the room. Steady and proud.
And I understand that no matter what I’ve lost, this was never something anyone could give me—or take away.
I’m still here, making music.
And that feels like a miracle.