Love & London: The love story 2021 needs. Heartbreakingly beautiful and hilariously funny! Read online

  Love & London

  Ellie White

  Copyright © 2021 Ellie White

  Love & London Copyright © 2021 Elizabeth White

  All rights reserved.

  Please be aware that this book discusses death and grief. Includes mild swear words and scenes of an adult nature.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN: 9798597564722

  Imprint: Independently published

  First Edition

  For Jack.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Acknowledgement

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  For many, New Year’s Eve is a wonderful tradition, a time for reflection and a time to dream of what’s to come. For me? Well, I'm just thankful that my Mum is here to hold my hand tight while we stand in a room full of people listening to the overly enthusiastic radio DJ that counts us down to midnight.

  10, 9, 8...

  Another year has passed and, in 7 seconds, another year begins. New Year is a time where people all around the world make resolutions they will not keep; pay for gym memberships they will not use and attempt to give up alcohol for the month of January to make themselves feel charitable. They'll fight over who had the best firework display. Sydney? Hong Kong? NYC? Everyone knows that London does it best, Edinburgh, a close second.

  7, 6, 5...

  Here I am, as usual. Nothing has changed for me. I'm reliving the exact same New Year’s Eve as last year and the year before that and many more before that. I know exactly how this year will play out and it starts with just getting through tonight.

  4, 3, 2...

  The clock strikes midnight and everyone around me kisses and hugs each other, erupting in laughter and cheers, yelling ‘Happy New Year’ at the top of their drunken voices followed by the explosion of party poppers and air horns. As much as I don't want to, I make the effort to join in, for my Mum's sake. Just like every New Year, I give mum and dad a kiss on their cheeks before they start making their way around the room, embracing aunties, uncles, friends and neighbours.

  One of the things I hate about New Year is the unnecessary touching. Don't get me wrong, I like a brief hug every now and then but having people I've not seen for 6 months want to hug and kiss me seems like overkill.

  Like I said, it's the same every year. The same old people telling the same old stories. Janice from next door tries to set me up with her perpetually single son who she promises is a lovely man. Considering his first wife left him over his addiction to prostitutes and his second wife left him when he gambled away their life savings, I think I'll pass. Thanks anyway!

  My Great Auntie Tricia talks enthusiastically about how innovative silent fireworks are. Little does she know, her daughter has turned down her hearing aids to preserve what is left of her hearing.

  "Keep that chin up, you're doing great, kid," Ray, my dad's business partner and my boss, says as he claps me on the shoulder. He knows I hate these things but he also knows how important tonight is for my family.

  Ray and I are like two peas in a pod; driven and meticulous, some may even say picky. We love a plan, a to-do list and to be in control. Our similarities are why I'm the Director of Strategy at his and dad’s advertising agency, Sixth Street Advertising. My attitude towards our work is what makes me good at my job.

  "Always do," I reply with a loaded smile. I don’t pretend with Ray: He knows me too well.

  "I know, kid, I know," he says, offering a smile that mirrors my own.

  My in-laws embrace me next, squeezing my hand and giving me a knowing look. For a lot of the people here, this night is a time for celebration and rejoicing: For us, it's remembrance.

  My brother, James, walks in from the cold and empties his arms onto the living room floor. Coal and bread are among the items that spill onto mum's new carpet. I know she's going to have a shit fit when she notices and the thought of my perfect big brother getting into trouble makes me grin.

  "Gifts from the first foot," he says, dramatically pulling his girlfriend, Helen, in for an extremely passionate (and inappropriate) kiss before encouraging everyone in the room to stand in a circle. Everyone joins hands and sing Auld Lang Syne, bouncing their arms in time with the music. No-one bothers asking me to join in anymore, they know what my answer will be.

  James has always been the more outgoing one which, when you're an introvert like me, isn't such a terrible thing. He's a welcome distraction. People don’t pay attention to me when he’s around and he knows that’s how I prefer things. Put me in a boardroom or have me pitch a campaign to a hundred people, no problem at all. Stick me in the middle of a family party and it's a different story.

  It’s not just our personalities that differ, other than our matching Hazel eyes, we don't look alike at all. He's tall, almost 6’5” and with shoulders built like a rugby player. I'm short and petite, barely 5’4” and, when we stand next to each other, I look even shorter.

  As the music ends, Mum shushes everyone as she attempts to sneak into the front room with the worst kept secret that has ever graced our family. Every year, after the fireworks and singing have ended, she brings out my birthday cake like it's some shocking surprise. Every year, I dutifully blow out the candles and feign my excitement as my friends and family sing their terribly out of tune and out of time chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’.

  It’s not happy though. I haven’t had a happy birthday since I was twenty-one.

  Aside from New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day/My Birthday is my least favourite day of year but Mum always insists on having a party. This year, my 30th birthday, she went all out. Big cake, decorations, every single family member that still lives all crammed into her front room.

  ‘Maggie Jones promise me that, if you aren't married by thirty, you'll marry me.’

  Although it’s just a memory, his voice echoes in my ears, reminding me of the first time he proposed to me. We were just eight years old and it was the first time he kissed my cheek. The memory from twenty-two years ago was as vivid as yesterday.

  As it happened, Philip didn't need to wait until we turned thirty. He proposed for real on my 18th birthday and we married the day after we graduated university. We were only twenty-one.

  It was a small affair with only immediate family and friends in attendance but it was perfect, none the less. Philip was so handsome in his perfectly tailored, navy suit; he looked like he could be on the cover of GQ with his deep brown eyes and his usually shaggy, dark b
londe hair styled neatly.

  I felt like the luckiest girl alive that day. I was the luckiest girl alive.

  For the first six months of our marriage, life was perfect. I had my husband (who I had loved since birth) and my dream job working with my dad and Ray. We had booked a trip of a lifetime to Iceland for our honeymoon so we could see the Northern Lights, something we had always dreamed of seeing. Our life together was just starting. We had dreams, plans of a family one day and the desire to grow old together.

  We spent five days travelling around the Land of Fire and Ice. We had a spa day at the Blue Lagoon, walked across a glacier and visited the beautiful waterfalls and geysers. We had never seen such a beautiful landscape before and promised that we would be back again.

  We had arrived back to London Heathrow on New Year’s Eve, the night before my 22nd birthday. As we drove to Mum's house for her annual New Year’s Eve party, we were in a car accident.

  We hadn’t been married long at all; I hadn't even had chance to legally change my name to his.

  I survived with a few broken bones, a mild head injury and a collapsed lung but Philip… Well, he wasn't so lucky. They kept him alive long enough to donate his organs and, although my life fell apart that night (or rather when I woke up from my coma), so many other people were getting a second chance: Other families were seeing hope for the first time in forever. How could I resent that?

  He was as selfless in death as he was in life.

  My true hero.

  My mum had held a joint New Year's Eve/Birthday party every year since my first birthday but continuing the parties was my mother-in-law’s idea. She wanted the anniversary of her son's death to be a celebration of his life, to be a reminder that life is too short and the fact that I get to grow older each year is a blessing to each one of us.

  How can I argue with her when she is so desperate to remember him like this?

  As much as it was a painful reminder of what I had and what I have lost, I go because it's what they need. I go every year when I would rather be wallowing in my own grief. I smile, blow out my candles and thank my mum and dad for a lovely evening. I hug my mother and father-in-law, make sure they know how much I love them and then I return home to my small flat, alone, so I can try my best to remember him.

  As a result of the head injury, I don't remember anything from that night but memories I've formed based on what people tell me feel real.

  "Welcome to the thirties club. How are you holding up?" Laura asks as she brings me a large slice of cake, pulling me back to the present. Laura is Philip's twin sister and my best friend. She's gorgeous and tall with the longest legs and the brightest pink hair that sits neatly on her narrow shoulders. She's the only one who knows the real extent of my hatred for this party and, like me, she only endures it to appease her parents.

  “You know, the usual. Cake’s good though. I didn’t think you could improve on last year’s but you've done it," I say with my mouth full of the salted caramel, lighter-than-clouds sponge cake.

  Laura is our resident cake maker. On every special occasion, Mum orders from Laura's bakery and for good reason: She's the best baker around. We keep telling her that she should enter Bake Off: The Professionals but she says she does it for love, not fame.

  "I've already packed some up for you to take home, too. I assume you're leaving soon?"

  "Yeah, I have a big meeting on the 2nd. I need to be well rested and focused."

  "Okay, drinks are on Harry on Friday since he had to work tonight."

  Harry is our other best friend. He lived in the student flats over the road from ours when he was a studying to be a paediatric nurse. The job suits him perfectly; he’s strong and compassionate yet goofy and fun. He has a knack for making people smile and an ability to calm any situation, a godsend since Laura and I were both known for being slightly over dramatic.

  "I'll be there. Promise"

  At 1am, my taxi arrives and I say my goodbyes. I hold it together as we drive through residential London, Christmas lights flashing, music filling the air around me as the feeling gets heavier and heavier. It's not until I'm finally alone, wearing my new comfy pyjamas that Laura bought me for Christmas, that I finally let the tears flow free, like they do every year.

  ***

  January 2nd is when my life goes back to normal, when I rebuild the walls that surround my vulnerability and lock up the sadness in a tiny box. Apparently, that's called compartmentalising my grief, so the hospital appointed therapist told me after the accident. I don't have time to dwell on the past for any longer than one day. I don't want to dwell on it, I can't change what happened but that doesn't mean my mind doesn’t run through a thousand ways in which I could have done something differently.

  On January 2nd, no matter what day of the week it is, I always go into the office to get a jump on the year ahead. This year, it's a Friday and most of the team have taken the day off so the office is still half empty when I arrive from my meeting, just before midday.

  I was glad when the client called a meeting this morning as it gave me a reason to get up, wash my hair and put on my makeup when all I wanted to do was stay in bed.

  "Good morning, Maggie. How was the meeting?" my assistant of 4 years, Sasha, asks as I place her favourite Maxwell's takeaway coffee down in front of her.

  "Well, we've made progress. They've asked us to pitch an idea for their Easter campaign which starts just after Valentine’s Day. I need you to call a meeting with senior staff for first thing Monday morning, please. We've only got six weeks to make this work and I need all hands-on deck."

  "It'll have to wait, Maggs," a smooth, deep voice says from my doorway. I know who it is immediately. Only one person on the planet calls me ‘Maggs’.

  "Knock much?" I snap in annoyance at my familiar yet unwelcome visitor.

  He rests his lean shoulder against my door frame in a way that would have most girls melting into a puddle on the floor. As he brushes his ink black hair away from his face, he brings his ice blue eyes up to meet mine, smiling his most perfectly charming smile my way. It may work on the floozies he usually keeps company with but he should know better than to try his charms on me. That's not to say I'm not occasionally dazzled by him - Okay, most of the time, he dazzles me but the only time it causes a reaction are the moments when he's not purposely trying to flirt with me or bait me, which are rare.

  "What do you want, Jake?"

  Jake Mills only ever comes to my office to point out a mistake in one of my business plans or annoy the living daylights out of me by telling me about his latest conquest. Right now, I don't have the time, nor the patience, to deal with his shit.

  "We've been summoned."

  I sigh in annoyance as he pushes away from the door frame to let me through. "Do you know why?"

  "Nope," he answers as we make our way to the office belonging to our dads.

  Jake is the only child of my dad's business partner and co-founder of Sixth Street Advertising, Raymond Mills. He is tall with a body that looks like it was chiselled from the finest marble and he is, of course, devastatingly handsome. He's also arrogant and obnoxious and a huge pain in my arse. I've known him since I was born. He is just over two years older than me, the same age as James. Growing up, he wasn't always entirely insufferable and, as kids, we got along well. Our parents are best friends, along with my in-laws, and we were all raised together; my brother, Philip, Laura, Jake and me. We were a second generation of best friends.

  It was childish and unrealistic, thinking that we would be friends forever, but something had changed between us when he left to study at Leeds University. I'm not sure if it was the distance between us or if it was intentional when he stopped talking to me out of the blue. I hoped he would have gotten over it when he started working as a Junior Graphic Designer in the Creative Department on the same day I started my internship as a Planning Assistant. I was so excited to have a friend here since everyone else was so daunting to my eighteen-year-old self.
>
  A lot of people didn't have much faith in me: They thought I got an easy ride because I'm the boss' daughter, they thought that was the only reason I got my job. I assumed he would understand since he's the other boss' son and had worked just as hard as I had to get to where we were. I was wrong and, no matter how hard I tried, he just wasn't my friend anymore. I just couldn't put my finger on what it was that had changed but it didn't stop me trying to get him to talk to me, at first.

  I gave up trying after the accident. I had bigger problems to think about than Jake's attitude towards me so I just got on with my job and chose to ignore him. I focused on perfecting my skills and worked my way up the company. At least I had started to gain some respect from my peers if not from him.

  "Sorry, I couldn't make it the other night," he says, breaking the silence between us as we walk together through the unusually empty office. "James said you had a great night."

  My brother would say that, he has my back completely and it sounds better than the truth that I couldn't wait to get home to wallow in my own self-pity. I should thank him for keeping my secret as last thing I want is for Jake to know how pathetic I am.

  "Didn't know you were invited. You haven't stepped foot in my parents’ house since my 18th birthday party when you got drunk and threw up in Mum’s good vase."

  "Come on, Maggie, it’s not like I ruined your night. Philip is the one who got me drunk in the first place with those Jaeger bombs he was making. Your mum has forgiven me so surely you can too," he says, nudging me playfully while we walk. I've always been accident-prone so it's no surprise when I stumble over my own feet. Thankfully, he catches me before I crash right into an intern passing us in the corridor.

  "I'm so sorry," I say to the young girl who can't seem to tear her eyes away from Jake when he winks at her. I roll my eyes as he hangs his arm casually around my shoulder. When we were kids, he would always do it to try and make Philip jealous. It would never work and everyone knew I only had eyes for the boy I loved. Besides, Jake was always a massive flirt with everyone he ever met and he didn't mean anything by it. It's just the way he was and, apparently, still is.