Chapter Five
Kensington
I pull in front of our family’s Georgian-period home in Kensington, turning off the engine to my car. I’ve just made the two-hour drive from Dorset, and now I’ll be in London for the next few days. Tomorrow, I have dinner plans with Bella, and Thursday, I’ll be helping with the art project at the school she is visiting.
And I would have had my first date with Noah if I hadn’t shoved him away.
I push that painful thought away as soon as it enters my head. I get out of the car and hit the button for the boot on my fob. It opens for me, and I retrieve my bag.
I stare up at the Grade II home that has been in my family for as long as I can remember. I haven’t been here in a while, and I’m eager to spend some time in London. I’ll spend the weekend here and go back to Wintersmith Hall on Sunday afternoon.
I’ll be so distracted by all the things I can do here; I won’t have time to think about Noah.
So why are you thinking about him now?My heart whispers.
I slam the boot shut and wish I could do the same with my thoughts. I sigh and make my way up the pavement to our house, retrieving the keys from my bag as I walk up the front steps and let myself inside the silent home.
I’m greeted by a house that is nearly the complete opposite of what I left behind in Dorset.
I set down my bag and suitcase and wander into the living room, which is decorated in blues and whites. Mum did this whole space with a more updated feel to it. Her big thing is her Chinoiserie ginger jar collection, which is beautifully displayed in white built-in cabinets. The sofas are white, and oversized navy armchairs anchor the conversation area. The glass coffee table has an array of LED candles set in a tray, and beside it, a glossy coffee table book about gardens. There’s a flat-screen TV hanging over the fireplace—which is also filled with LED candles—and family pictures in silver frames adorn the mantle.
I move over to the photos, reviewing them. I see happy family pictures. Some of me and Nicholas. Holiday trips and Christmases. There are all sorts of family memories captured here on this mantle.
One day there will be a picture here of Nicholas and Amelia, I think, tracing my finger absently along the shelf. Yes, I know they’ve only just started dating, but they were always meant to be together. So Mum will make room on this mantle for pictures of them. Their engagement photo and wedding …
Suddenly I get an image of frames filled with snapshots of me and Noah. Me wearing his jersey at a Stonebridge United game, cheering him on. My family supporting him with me at a match. Pictures of Christmases and New Year’s Ev—
What am I doing? Why do I insist on torturing myself like this?
I will never know if there could have been a me and Noah, thanks to my fears.
I blew it with Noah. B-L-E-W I-T. All caps. There’s no taking back what I said. Why would he trust me enough to even contemplate that?
Understood.
The word is sharp—I can practically hear the hurt in Noah’s voice from the way he texted me back that answer.
You can’t come back from understood.
And wouldn’t the inevitable happen and I’d disappoint him with my flighty ways? Annoy him with my continual state of floundering?
You made a mistakeby shutting him down, my heart tells me.
You did not,my head counters.
“Shut up!” I yell to myself, absently kicking at the iron candleholder in the fireplace in frustration. I send the pillar candles tumbling in all directions, and curse at them.
Then I curse at myself.
Okay. I need to pull myself together. I need to find something constructive to do that will allow me to not think of Noah.
And that will not require me to pick up the candles and put them back on display again.
I sink down onto the sofa and pick up the remote for the TV. I turn it on, and within seconds, my screen is filled with the image of Stonebridge United players on the pitch. Misery sweeps through me. Of course. The first channel that pops up has Stonebridge United on.
Even the TV wants to remind me of what an idiot I’ve been.
The reporter is talking about the summer transfer window, and I’m about to turn it to something else, but suddenly I see him.
It’s a game that took place in a downpour last season, and Noah has just scored a goal. He runs in the wet turf and drops to his knees, sliding through the mud and the grass, his hair soaking wet from the rain.
I hit pause on the remote. Noah is looking upwards, the water cascading down over him. His dark hair is wet and tousled, his jersey is sticking to his skin. I study him in awe.
Noah is so hot.
He is by far the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. How did I not pay him any attention when I met him at Wisteria House months ago? How did it take the man mentioning milk teeth before I finally saw him?
Because you’re an idiot,I remind myself.
But to be fair, I really like milk teeth, so that’s definitely something that would get my attention more than some guy hanging out at the bar at Wisteria House.
I unpause the TV, and Noah is gone, as they move to showing the goalie and some amazing save he made.
Next they show the Stonebridge United manager going on about signings made during the summer transfer window.
“I feel truly backed by our chairman, Declan Hawkes, and his brother, Rafe,” the manager continues. “We’ve all come together and talked about the needs of our club, and I feel confident all the players we’ve brought on board are going to make us strong going into the new season.”
They talk about some Brazilian defender they’ve added, and to be honest, I have no clue what they are talking about. But then they switch to talking about their summer tour, which includes heading to Australia to play a friendly in Sydney on 18 July.
That’s just weeks away.
Noah will be travelling with the team to Australia. Then his season will begin in August.
Not that it matters, of course. I’m simply thinking of calendar facts.
I quickly flip the channel and turn on Netflix, eventually settling on Amazing Interiors. Then I kick off my shoes, move over to the big basket next to the sofa to retrieve a blanket and a pillow, and make myself a little nest on the sofa and decide I’m going to take a long, indulgent afternoon nap.
I grin. This drives my mum crazy. I’m notorious for falling dead asleep on the sofa, make-up on, and then refusing to leave my cosy spot when someone tries to wake me up. I can get downright crabby if someone wants to get me out of my nest when I’m in a cosy sleep zone. Yes, I know Mum is right, I should get up and wash my face first, but all I want is to wrap myself up in the comfort of this throw blanket and some soothing TV viewing.
And I love a good sleep on the sofa.
A bonus to being here by myself,I think as I snuggle in. I can sleep here as long as I want.
And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
* * *
Chiming.
Since when do I hear a clock chime in my room?
I groggily open my eyes.
WHERE AM I?
For a moment, panic seizes me. This isn’t Dorset. I’m not in my room and wha—
Oh wait, I’m in London. Whew.
Relief fills me. I mean, not that the odds were good I was kidnapped without me knowing it, but I always have that moment of panic when my brain is trying to place myself when coming out of a deep, long, and unexpected sleep.
Now that I’m in the right place, I remember I took a nap. Something tells me I’ve been asleep for hours.
I get up, turn on the lamp on the side table, and then go to retrieve my phone from my bag, which is still in the hallway on the console table.
Eight o’clock? I’ve been out for four hours?
I must have been exhausted.
I unlock my phone and see I have several messages. Mum is asking if I’m still alive and if I made it to London okay. Oops. Forgot to text her when I arrived. I quickly answer that with a “NO I AM NOT DEAD” text and tell her I’m safely tucked away in our house in Kensington. There’s one from Bella, confirming what time I’m to arrive at St. James’s Palace for our dinner tomorrow and if I like tacos. I text her back that I will be there, and tacos are perfect. I scroll through the rest, and though I know it’s stupid, my heart catches when I see there’s no text from Noah.
Not that there should be, of course. But I did say we could be friends. And I guess a part of me—once I realised what a colossal mistake I made—hoped he’d reach out and open the door for me again.
You don’t deserve that, Violet,I remind myself. He should stay clear of you, and you should want that for him, after what you did.
Even if I did it to protect him and me.
One message does surprise me, though. It’s an old friend from St. Andrews, an Aussie named Aimee. We met during Freshers week and were so close. I adored Aimee. She made me laugh. She never tired of me talking nonstop. We shared so many good times going out in Scotland. Drinking pints in pubs. Flirting with boys at parties. Going shopping together and sharing dinners …
But then graduation happened. Aimee ended up getting a job in London, and I stayed at St. Andrews to get my master’s degree before heading home to Dorset. Our messages, over time, became less frequent and then non-existent. Due to nobody’s fault, the friendship kind of died out.
I think on this for a moment. How does that happen? When you are friends so close, you are texting and messaging all the time, and then it kind of trails off to just liking their posts here and there on Connectivity?
Does this happen so someone else—like Bella—can come into my life? Or does this door open and close based on fate?
I grin. Oh, I have BIG thoughts this evening.
I tap open her message, wondering what it is:
Vi. I know this is kind of out of the blue, but I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately and our friendship. I regret so much that I lost track of you. There’s no excuse. But I miss you. I was thinking back to our times at uni and when I would visit Dorset—remember the huge crush I had on Nicholas???!!!??? OMG. So embarrassing, I was a fool around him. Hopefully he has no memory of that. Anyway, I know you occasionally make trips to London, and I would love to go out and get a drink with you if you would like to catch up. If not, I completely understand. XO, Aimee
Aimee has opened the door to see if we can be friends again.
I eagerly text her back:
Aimes, I am so happy to get this text. I miss you, too. And I would love nothing more than to catch up with you. Your text couldn’t have come at a better time because I’m in London RIGHT NOW. I arrived this afternoon, and I’m in Kensington. I know this is last minute, but would you want to meet me for a drink tonight? I know you always loved Wisteria House—maybe start at the bar and end up at the rooftop restaurant?
I hit send.
Aimee is typing …
I wait with anticipation. Aimee loved going to Wisteria House with me and Nicholas after we first graduated, and it seems like a great place to see if our friendship can pick off where it left off.
OMG are you serious? I would LOVE that!
I ask if she could meet me there at nine-thirty, if that’s not too late for her.
My stomach unleashes a hideous growl that makes me laugh out loud.
As well as give me some time to eat, I think.
Another message from Aimee drops in:
I will be there! I’m so excited to see you, Vi!
I text back that I feel the same way. I grab my luggage from the hallway and dash upstairs to my bedroom so I can rifle through it for an outfit. I decide on a cute little summery minidress and strappy heels. I go to the bathroom and turn on the light. Then I gasp when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the sink.
I LOOK LIKE A ZOMBIE.
My foundation is half-worn off my nose, and my lipstick is smeared on the corners of my mouth. And my eyeliner and mascara? Yes, ZOMBIE.
Okay. Mum was right about not sleeping with make-up on.
But to be fair, I didn’t expect to be going out on a Tuesday night to hit Wisteria House, either.
I retrieve my facial cleanser and make-up out of my suitcase and begin the process of getting ready, with a complete redo on all my make-up, starting from scratch. I slip into the dress and heels—thank goodness I packed something fun because I wasn’t sure what Bella wanted to do for dinner tomorrow, and it’s perfect for Wisteria House.
For a moment, I picture myself walking into the bar. The last time I was there, I was introduced to Noah.
My mood deflates at the memory. Noah told me he was interested then, but I thought absolutely nothing of it when I met him.
It took his inside to intrigue me, which is the first time something like that has ever happened to me.
Yet I pushed this man away.
Okay. I need a mental do-over tonight. If a man flirts with me, I’m going to flirt back. If a man approaches me, I’m going to talk. Unlike my friendship with Aimee, I don’t have a second chance with Noah. I need to stop wallowing in thoughts of him like I’m a lovesick teen with an impossible, all-consuming crush.
Tonight, I’m turning the page.
And Noah Darby is no longer a part of the plot.