Twice in a Lifetime Read online

  Contents

  Cover Page

  Copyright

  Also By Clare

  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

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  A Note From Clare

  Also By Clare

  Acknowledgements

  Twice In A Lifetime

  By

  Clare Lydon

  First Edition October 2017

  Published by Custard Books

  Copyright © 2017 Clare Lydon

  ISBN: 978-1-912019-73-1

  Cover Design: Rachel Lawston

  Editor: Laura Kingsley

  Copy Editor: Gabriella West

  Find out more at: www.clarelydon.co.uk

  Follow me on Twitter: @clarelydon

  Follow me on Instagram: @clarefic

  All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters & happenings in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons (living or dead), locales or events is purely coincidental.

  Also By Clare Lydon

  London Romance Novels

  London Calling

  This London Love

  A Girl Called London

  Other Novels

  The Long Weekend

  Nothing To Lose: A Lesbian Romance

  All I Want Series

  All I Want For Christmas (Book 1)

  All I Want For Valentine’s (Book 2)

  All I Want For Spring (Book 3)

  All I Want For Summer (Book 4)

  All I Want For Autumn (Book 5)

  All I Want Forever (Book 6)

  Boxsets

  All I Want Series Boxset, Books 1-3

  All I Want Series Boxset, Books 4-6

  All I Want Series Boxset, Books 1-6

  Get a free lesbian romance when you join my VIP Readers’ Club!

  I didn’t meet her when I was 17.

  She was worth the wait.

  Chapter One

  Sally McCall had a fear of water, and that was mainly her Aunt Paula’s fault.

  Scratch that, it was solely her fault.

  Sally was a scant five years old when her aunt, then 20, picked her up and threw her into the hotel swimming pool — unfortunately before checking if the young Sally could swim. She still remembered the shiny blue tiles of the swimming pool wall as she was rudely plunged underwater, the muffled shouts from above, along with the fizzing panic as her tiny limbs worked overtime to save her.

  When Sally’s dad, Rick, dragged her to the surface, his strong arms clamped firmly around her waist and Sally flapping like a sardine, she recalled her mom gesticulating wildly at Paula, her pistachio-green swimsuit clinging to her slender frame. After coughing up her excess water, Sally sat wrapped in a soft towel on her mom’s lap, the sky bright blue as if it were illuminated, the thud of her mom’s heartbeat in her ear. Sally’s mom had smelled like cigarettes and sunshine.

  One of the other memorable times Sally met her aunt was ten years later, when Sally was sitting with her dad’s family in a fancy restaurant to celebrate his birthday. At the awkward age of 15, Sally was shy, and dealing with only her third-ever period, still not believing this was due to happen to her every month for the next 40 years: surely some cruel mistake?

  That day, Aunt Paula had barreled in late and given her a crushing hug, before asking, in a voice that could have carried right across Lake Michigan, whether or not she’d had sex yet. Sally had died on the spot.

  So now, sitting opposite her dad in her favorite New York City steakhouse nearly 20 years later, Sally was understandably hesitant about his news. All around her, servers rushed by balancing eye-level silver trays stacked with New York striploins and skirt steaks, the air seared with the smell of roasted meat and silky gravy.

  “She wants to meet me for lunch. The woman who tried to drown me before my life had even begun?”

  Sally was still scared of water to this day, which had affected her life and relationships, too. The Hawaiian holiday with Casey; Mexico with her friend Taylor; even the lake house all those years ago with Harriet. She blew out a long breath, tasting Harriet’s sunscreen on her lips, before shaking her head, bringing herself back to the moment. With Harriet, the memories were so vivid, the feelings called up as if on speed dial.

  “You know Paula — she’s excitable,” her dad replied, swishing his red wine around his tall glass. He took a sip and nodded his head in approval.

  “She’s an excitable menace.”

  “Try being her brother, you got off easy.”

  Sally smiled at that. Her dad was laidback to the point of being horizontal, and she couldn’t imagine what he’d gone through having a sister like her. Even though he was 12 years older, Paula had been born a crazy whirlwind, kicking up a storm that had never died down.

  “Why does she want to see me? She’s been living abroad for so long now.” As soon as Paula was old enough, she’d fled her home to work on cruise ships, returning on a very irregular basis. Sally had heard muttered tales of her investing in property, but nothing more.

  “From what she told me, she’s got a business proposition for you, so it might be worth taking this meeting, honey. It sounds like she’s got money burning a hole in her pocket. She’s coming back to the US for good and wants to settle in Chicago and get to know her family. That includes you, her beloved niece.”

  Beloved niece? Sally was pretty sure she’d never been that to Paula, because Paula had never really stuck around long enough to get to know her. Where her friends had aunts that were present, Paula had always been a mystery to Sally.

  “That sounds ominous. Plus, I live in New York, in case you hadn’t noticed.” As if emphasizing the point, a Yellow Cab slammed on its brakes to the right of the leather booth they were seated at, the driver honking his horn and gesturing out the car window. You didn’t get that in Chicago.

  Her dad smiled, rubbing his hand over his gray stubble. They both shared the same strawberry-blonde hair, the subject of much teasing when she was in school, but now a color she’d embraced. Her dad’s hairline was rec
eding, but he still had a good covering approaching his 61st year.

  “I’m not sure anybody’s ever told Paula no, but you could try.” He gave her a grin. “I’m picking her up from O’Hare when she flies in next month. I did offer to come along to break your fall, but she was insistent. She wants to get to know you without me being there, so I have to respect that.”

  Their steaks arrived, garnished with Béarnaise and fries, their waiter topping up their wine before leaving them to it with a smile. Sally’s stomach growled as she picked up her knife and made the first incision: it was perfectly pink, just the way she liked it.

  “You think she’s going to try to drown me again?” Sally asked.

  “Make a reservation somewhere pool-free, that cuts your odds,” her dad replied. “What have you got to lose? She’s offering to help you out, and you’ve always turned down offers of help from me and your mom. But if Paula gives you some money, look at it as payback for all that childhood trauma she put you through.” He paused. “Speaking of which, maybe she should reimburse me for all the trauma she put me through.”

  Sally laughed, chewing her steak before replying. “I’ll get her to write two checks.” She put down her knife and fork. “Next month?”

  “That’s what she said. Can I give her your email address? Then it’s in your hands, I’ll leave you both to sort it all out — just don’t shoot the messenger, okay?” Her dad licked his lips, catching some stray meat juice.

  “I’ll try not to,” Sally said. “You know Mom’s going to go crazy, though, right?”

  “Only if you tell her,” her dad replied.

  Sally chuckled, thinking of all the times her mom had berated her dad. He hated confrontation, so he’d always backed down. Of course, it wasn’t an issue anymore now they were divorced.

  “So I’ll tell Paula it’s a yes?”

  Sally nodded, resisting her need to be independent. Maybe her dad was right: Paula owed her, and god knows, she could use the money. This steak was the first decent meal she’d had all week, and she was enjoying it twice as much knowing she wasn’t paying.

  “Tell her it’s a yes, just name the time and place. And preferably in New York. Some of us have work to do.”

  Chapter Two

  “So it went well?” her business partner Joanna asked, her voice faint at the other end of the line.

  “It went really well,” Harriet replied, shuffling forward in the queue, her feet still swollen even from the short flight. The fluorescent lights screamed overhead, the AC turned up to chiller cabinet-efficiency. Someone nearby was eating beef-flavored chips, and the smell was making her stomach churn.

  “The woman who owns the company was really cool, and we both think we’re a good fit.” Harriet stifled a yawn — it’d been an early start this morning, with her breakfast meeting at 7am. “We talked financials and distribution, she loves our roster of clients and wants to be a part of it. Their designs are amazing, too — you should see the executive toys and gadgets I’ve come back with, along with some gorgeous stationery. Apparently, we could be the gateway for them to go into orbit. Her words, not mine.”

  “Perfect, I love orbit. And I love my beach house, have I mentioned that?”

  “Once or twice.”

  Joanna continued. “We need to get big clients so that I can fulfil my dreams of retiring by 40 to my beach house in the sun. Remember our promise?”

  Harriet laughed softly, this being a speech she’d heard before. “This deal could take us one step forward to your beach house.”

  She paused, moving forward a little more, stooping to wheel her black carry-on suitcase. She shouldn’t have to stoop, but the plastic pop-up handle wasn’t obeying orders, just as it hadn’t ever since she bought it. She should have returned it right away, but life had taken over and she’d forgotten.

  A woman dressed in a black, official-looking immigration uniform leaned over the barrier, waving a dry hand in front of Harriet’s face. “Excuse me, ma’am – no cell phones allowed in here.”

  Harriet gave her a nod. “Listen, I gotta go,” she told Joanna. “No cell phones in immigration. I’ll see you later on — I’ve got to drop my stuff at home and swing by my parents’ house, but then I’ll be in, okay?”

  “Okay, see you then.” Pause. “And remember, beach house, baby!” Joanna signed off, as was now customary.

  Harriet pocketed her phone in her green pants and kicked the bag forward with her foot, watching as it slid to the left. The queue for immigration at Chicago’s smaller Midway airport wasn’t too bad — she’d had a lot worse during her many days of travel to and from New York, especially when she flew into O’Hare.

  Fifteen minutes later she was at baggage claim, the overhead lights reflecting on her screen as she checked her phone, waiting for her larger suitcase.

  She rolled her shoulders and yawned as she waited, her breath tasting sour, her stomach rumbling. She’d skipped lunch and just had a coffee on the plane, so she should remember to pick up some food on the way to visit her dad, who was still recovering after his “episode”, as her mom was calling it. Her mom was having trouble coming to terms with her dad not being the robust man he’d always been, burying her head under the hood of her beloved Mustang, not wanting to face the real world.

  She glanced up to the baggage screen, double-checking she had the right carousel: she did, but there was still no baggage in sight. On the other side of the carousel, she spotted a woman in a Cubs cap, and a white T-shirt with denim cut-offs. When the woman glanced up at the screen, there was something familiar about the shape of her mouth, her hair the color of roasted golden sunsets. She looked like… Harriet’s heart began to race, the protruding vein on her right hand pulsing like crazy.

  The woman looked a bit like Sally.

  Could it be Sally?

  Harriet bent her head and squinted, but before she could assess the woman, the carousel jerked to life. Harriet straightened up as suitcases began spilling onto the scuffed gray slatted belt. She saw her suitcase with its distinctive orange ribbon right away; she grabbed it, before looking back over toward the woman, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  Harriet wheeled her suitcases a few feet away from the belt, looking around, but the woman was gone. Her heartbeat slowed to almost normal and she ground her teeth together, breathing deeply.

  It probably wasn’t Sally.

  And what would she say to her if it was?

  She sent a text to her brother Daniel, who was already at her parents’ house, to see if they’d eaten. He replied almost instantly, telling her to pick up Chinese food for lunch, Dad’s favorite. She had her instructions.

  Harriet glanced around the baggage hall one last time before gripping both suitcases and heading to the airport car park, and her waiting silver Prius.

  Chapter Three

  “I am freaking out here!” Sally looked up to the ceiling of the airport baggage hall, its square ceiling tiles leaking an off-yellow light, the color of soured milk. The space smelled musty, too, like laundry that had been left in the machine too long.

  “Slow down, tell me again what happened.”

  It was good to hear Taylor’s voice, even down the phone: it was calming her down, which was what she needed. Taylor was a wallpaper designer who worked in the same creative co-op as Sally in Queens, and they’d been close friends ever since Sally took the workspace down the hall from her nearly three years ago. They’d bonded immediately over color choices and beer brands, the two most important discussions designers can have.

  “Somebody has taken my suitcase.” She paused. “Correction, some idiot has taken my suitcase.”

  One month on from meeting her dad, her Aunt Paula had arranged a dinner in Chicago, paying for Sally’s flight and accommodation. So here she was, hauling her butt from La Guardia to Midway on a Thursday morning, flying into her home city for the first time this year. Only, just a few hours into her trip, it wasn’t quite going to plan.

  “I thought you
had that orange ribbon on your suitcase that you saw on that show? You were very proud of that orange ribbon.”

  “I did! But it didn’t stop someone taking it.”

  Taylor had told her she should tie a rainbow ribbon, just to be a bit different and gayer, but Sally had told her she didn’t want to be a walking cliché. Now, she wished she’d listened to Taylor’s advice.

  She sighed loudly as a man and woman wheeled a trolley of suitcases past her, oblivious to her pain. She spotted an orange ribbon on one of them, and shook her head. It seemed like everyone had taken the advice of that travel show and put an orange ribbon on their luggage, thereby negating its original purpose.

  “So, you’ve got nothing? Did you pack anything in your carry-on luggage?”

  Sally frowned. “No, smart-ass, I didn’t.”

  “So you overpacked for a weekend away when you could have just taken a carry-on, and now you’ve lost your suitcase?”

  Sally heard the amusement in Taylor’s voice, which made her smile at the absurdity of her situation. She rolled her eyes and fingered the peak of her Cubs cap, lying in her lap. “Yes, that is correct, and yeah, I might have overpacked.”

  “You’re screwed then — at least until whoever took it brings it back. Assuming it was accidental.” Taylor paused. “You didn’t have anything incriminating in there, did you?”

  Sally sucked on her top lip. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know — a bright pink dildo, some bondage gear?”

  “I left that at home this time,” Sally replied, deadpan. “No, nothing weird, just all my clothes, my shoes, my journal.” She paused. “I knew I should have put my journal in my bag.” Her stomach clenched as she thought of all her private thoughts dropping into a stranger’s hands.

  “Is there anything with your name in it? Your address?”