Someone Like You: Escape with this perfect uplifting romance Read online

  Someone Like You

  Cover

  Title Page

  Prologue Monday, 4 January

  Chapter One Two months later…

  Chapter Two Sunday, 7 March

  Chapter Three Saturday, 13 March

  Chapter Four Monday, 15 March

  Chapter Five Thursday, 18 March

  Chapter Six Sunday, 21 March

  Chapter Seven Friday, 26 March

  Chapter Eight One month later…

  Chapter Nine Sunday, 2 May

  Chapter Ten Six weeks later…

  Chapter Eleven Monday, 14 June

  Chapter Twelve Monday, 21 June

  Chapter Thirteen Friday, 25 June

  Chapter Fourteen Saturday, 3 July

  Chapter Fifteen Wednesday, 7 July

  Chapter Sixteen Tuesday, 13 July

  Chapter Seventeen Friday, 16 July

  Chapter Eighteen Tuesday, 20 July

  Chapter Nineteen Sunday, 25 July

  Chapter Twenty Friday, 30 July

  Chapter Twenty-one Saturday, 31 July

  Chapter Twenty-two Saturday, 31 July

  Chapter Twenty-three Six months later…

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Cover

  Table of Contents

  Start of Content

  Prologue

  Monday, 4 January

  A low mist shrouded the gravestones. The trees were bare, their twisted branches like wizened fingers reaching up to the sky. All was quiet, the cemetery abandoned. The damp kept mourners away.

  The hearse crept past two ornate pillars guarding the entrance of the East London Crematorium, its low engine noise masked by the rattle of jangling bridle reins. Hooves tapped rhythmically against the concrete pathway as the horse-drawn carriage led the procession.

  Lilith Monroe rubbed condensation away from the window and blinked away the onset of tears as the hearse slowed to a halt.

  Rows of headstones stretched ahead. Grand statues of cherubic angels, contrasted with simple carved wooden crosses. Some graves were adorned with an abundance of flowers, others lay neglected, their eroded inscriptions covered with moss.

  It was an eerie sight. Made more poignant by the grim weather.

  The hearse door opened.

  A Victorian-attired funeral officiant bowed his head and offered Lilith his hand. She accepted the gesture and exited the hearse, regretting her decision not to wear gloves. It was bitingly cold. The frost had yet to melt away and her hands were feeling the effects.

  Buttoning up her black coat, she followed the funeral officiant to the main chapel doors, where she was instructed to wait until the pallbearers had unloaded the coffin.

  Silence filled the misty air, broken only by the occasional rattle of bridle reins as one of the horses whinnied and shook its head impatiently.

  Lilith glanced at her hands, white from the cold. Her warm breath was visible against the cold January air.

  She bowed her head when the wreath of white roses bearing the word ‘Granddad’ was removed from the glass carriage and placed on top of the dark wooden coffin. Strands of limp mousy hair escaped from its clasp, and fell against her pale cheek, the dank air making it even more lank than usual.

  Four pallbearers lifted the coffin and positioned themselves in front of the chapel doors.

  Lilith removed the folded handkerchief from her pocket and moved into position behind the coffin.

  The chapel doors creaked open.

  ‘In The Bleak Midwinter’ began to play.

  Slowly the pallbearers moved forwards, the coffin balancing on their shoulders.

  Lilith had experienced some desolate moments in her twenty-nine years on the planet. This was right up there. She’d lost her mother when she was four years old. She’d never known her father, and she had no brothers or sisters. She’d spent the majority of her adult life caring for two elderly grandparents, both of whom were now gone. Bleak didn’t come close to describing how she felt.

  But although life hadn’t been easy, she’d made the best of her situation. She’d had a good relationship with her grandparents and she’d been a happy child. She’d embraced what little family she’d had, and she had enjoyed being part of a loving unit.

  But the good times had faded once old age and illness had taken its toll on the older generation, and it had been a long while since she’d felt anything close to happy. Yet it was only as she followed the coffin between the rows of empty pews that the reality of her solitary existence truly hit home. She was alone. Painfully alone.

  The hymn rose in its crescendo, haunting and melancholic.

  She looked around the vast chapel. There were only three mourners: her grandparents’ elderly neighbours, Mr and Mrs Black. And Amir from the local Post Office.

  No distant relatives. No friends or work colleagues. Her granddad had outlived them all.

  Standing ahead was another solitary figure. The vicar. A silver-haired woman, with a soft lyrical voice and thick-framed glasses, the perfect requisites for a member of the clergy.

  Her grandparents hadn’t been regular churchgoers, but they considered themselves to be religious, so a Christian ceremony had seemed fitting.

  The vicar offered a consoling glance as the pallbearers neared.

  Lilith’s attempts to stay in control were waning. It was an effort not to dissolve into a crying puddle on the floor. Not helped by the haunting music, or the frosty chill, nor the sight of the coffin being lowered onto the platform.

  The shake in her legs reverberated up her body, making it hard to balance on her low heels.

  Clasping the front pew, she slid onto the bench seat, knocking the kneeling cushion from its hanger. The chapel seemed to close in on her as she struggled for breath, making her feel dizzy. She should have eaten breakfast and not allowed her grief to interfere with the need for sustenance. She was paying the price now.

  As the final chords of ‘In The Bleak Midwinter’ faded into the rafters, the vicar approached the ornate wooden lectern and opened a large Bible. Behind her, the illuminated stained-glass image of Jesus cast her in a soft glow.

  Adjusting her glasses, the vicar paused before beginning her sermon, taking a moment to make eye contact with the congregation. ‘Praise to the God of All Comfort,’ she began, her voice enhanced by the microphone attached to the lectern. ‘Who comforts us in our troubles, so that we can comfort those in trouble, with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.’

  Lilith closed her eyes. She didn’t feel comforted in the slightest.

  Far from it. The only life she’d known had ended. Her family were gone. Her daily routine of caring for her granddad and nursing him through crippling arthritis and dementia was no longer required. What the hell was she going to do with her life?

  There would be no daily visits from the care team while she was at work. No frequent discussions with the GP about her granddad’s medication, and no curling up on the sofa to watch Pointless together, even though her granddad no longer knew the answers.

  A work colleague had commented that she was finally ‘free’. It was a burden lifted. She’d been unshackled from the relentless responsibilities of caring for an elderly relative.

  But Lilith didn’t see it that way.

  She felt untethered. Cast adrift. Orphaned and very, very much alone.

  The vicar finished her opening sermon and beckoned for Lilith to join her at the lectern. ‘We will now hear from Royston’s granddaughter, Lilith.’

  There seemed little point using a microphone to a
ddress three people, so Lilith stood by her grandad’s coffin, resisting the urge to reach out and touch it, fearing her voice would fail if she did.

  She turned to the congregation and removed the poem from her coat pocket. The paper shook in her hand, the folded crease marks blurring the words. But she knew the verses well enough to recite them by heart.

  When she’d finished reading ‘Gone, but Not Forgotten’, she returned to her seat.

  She’d spoken too quickly, garbled her words. But it was hard to remain composed when a crushing weight was pressing against her chest, making it hard to breathe.

  The vicar resumed her sermon. ‘Thank you, Lilith. What a beautiful sentiment. Memories are indeed a precious gift. They allow us to keep the person with us, treasured in our hearts, as we move on with our lives. Gone, but not forgotten, as the poem aptly reminds us.’

  Lilith covered her mouth, trying to stem the noise threatening to escape. Why was it that British culture didn’t allow for grief wailing as other cultures did? Why was she expected to grieve quietly and in a dignified manner? She didn’t feel like being dignified. She wanted to scream and yell at the cruelty of it all.

  But she couldn’t do that. It wasn’t the done thing.

  Instead, she suffered in silence as she listened to the vicar speaking about her granddad, relaying stories from his time in the Navy and his career in the Post Office. She talked about his forty-five-year marriage to his beloved wife, Julia, and the loss of their only daughter, Hannah, aged just twenty-seven.

  Lilith swallowed past the ache in her throat. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about her mother. Keeping it together was hard enough as it was.

  Thankfully, the vicar moved on to a lighter topic and began talking about her grandparents’ love of music. In particular, their joint adoration of Elvis Presley.

  The mention of Elvis made Lilith smile. Her earliest memories were of listening to Elvis records and watching his films. Her granddad used to impersonate him, while her grandma would watch the crooner embroiled in a punch-up with the film’s baddie and proclaim, ‘Elvis is such a good fighter – he never loses.’ Funny that.

  They’d bought every single one of his albums and had even visited Graceland for their Ruby wedding anniversary.

  Lilith remembered her granddad crying when they’d played ‘Love Me Tender’ at her grandma’s funeral twelve years ago. It had been ‘their song’. The song they’d danced to at their wedding in 1965.

  And here she was again, about to bid goodbye to her granddad with another Elvis classic.

  The vicar peered through her glasses at the CD machine on the lectern. ‘Let us now enjoy Royston’s favourite Elvis song. Dedicated to his beloved wife, Julia. “The Wonder of You”.’

  Lilith braced herself for the inevitable wave of emotion she knew would engulf her. It was the song her grandparents had sung to each other, and the song her granddad had chosen to be played at his funeral today. There was no way this wasn’t going to hurt.

  So it was something of a shock when the distinctive opening chords of ‘Jailhouse Rock’ filled the chapel.

  For a moment, she froze, stunned into silence. Too dumbfounded to react.

  As her senses returned, she glanced at the vicar, expecting to see a horrified look on her face – recognition that she’d selected the wrong track. But there was no indication that she’d realised her mistake, only a slight look of puzzlement at the Monroe family’s odd choice of funeral song.

  Lilith turned to Mr and Mrs Black.

  They flinched as Elvis, ‘began to wail, in the county jail—’

  Amir from the Post Office looked at her as if to say, ‘What the…?’

  What the… indeed.

  Even the pallbearers looked uncomfortable. Their sideways glances and hunched shoulders indicated they were trying not to laugh. She couldn’t blame them.

  As the chorus rang out and Elvis serenaded ‘everybody in the whole cell block’, Lilith noticed the funeral officiant making his way towards the lectern. The discreet slicing motion he made across his neck was met with a confused expression by the vicar.

  It was only after he’d whispered in her ear that she lunged for the CD machine.

  The music cut off abruptly.

  An awkward pause followed.

  A red-faced vicar then sheepishly approached the microphone.

  ‘I do apologise,’ she said, looking crushed. ‘There seems to have been an error in the CD track selection. You may have gathered that my musical tastes favour more classical tunes, rather than popular modern music.’

  Modern? Elvis had been dead for forty years.

  ‘Please accept my sincere apologies.’ The vicar wiped her forehead. ‘Let’s try again.’ She lifted her glasses and squinted at the CD machine. ‘We will now hear… “The Wonder of You”.’ She made a show of pressing play.

  If ‘Jailhouse Rock’ had been the most inappropriate song to play at a funeral, then ‘Return to Sender’ had to be the most appropriate.

  For the first time in a very long while, Lilith laughed. Really laughed. As in… hysterical-uncontrollable-shouldn’t-be-laughing-but-can’t-help-it kind of laugher. Her sides hurt. Her face hurt. She couldn’t stand upright. She clutched hold of the pew, doubling up as she tried, and failed, to compose herself.

  Forget wailing, this was worse. She was almost snorting. It was agony. Her body was in torment. Conflicted between heartbreaking grief and bellyaching hysterics.

  But it was okay. Because she knew her granddad would be laughing, too. He would have loved this. Her grandma, too. They’d asked for ‘The Wonder of You’. Instead, they’d got a medley of Elvis hits.

  She could see the vicar looking at her, puzzlement on her face.

  Lilith didn’t care.

  She couldn’t have planned a more fitting goodbye if she’d tried.

  She waited until the song had played out, and her heightened emotions had settled, before approaching the lectern.

  The vicar frowned. ‘Is everything all right, my dear?’

  ‘I’m fine, Vicar. But I do have one request.’

  ‘Of course.’ The vicar looked concerned. ‘Whatever you need.’

  ‘Any chance we could hear “The Wonder of You” before we leave?’

  The colour drained from the vicar’s face.

  Chapter One

  Two months later…

  Lilith dismounted her bicycle and secured it to one of the railings outside the ironmongers. Not that anyone was likely to steal her ancient pushbike. It was hardly a desirable item. What with its flaky paintwork, rusty wheels and old-fashioned basket attached to the front, it looked more like a museum relic, than a reliable mode of transportation. But needs must.

  Maybe she’d add ‘get new bike’ to her wish list – along with the other life decisions she was now free to make since she was no longer a full-time carer.

  She dug out a tissue and wiped her eyes.

  Trying to put a positive spin on her situation was exhausting. However hard she tried, it didn’t stop the grief undermining her attempts to move on with her life.

  Checking that her bicycle was secure, she removed her shopping bag from the basket – which currently contained various condiments for her elderly neighbours, Mr and Mrs Black – and checked her surroundings.

  North Haringey was a bustle of heavy traffic and irritated shoppers. Cars were parked bumper to bumper, their exhaust fumes filling the grimy London air. Drivers leant on their horns, pausing in their frustrations as a police car sped by, its blue lights flashing.

  Lilith checked her directions. Retro Reds Beauty Salon should be a few doors down.

  She walked along the busy pavement, slaloming her way around the animated shoppers, not knowing what to expect from the salon that her work colleague had recommended. Taye was an extrovert, his black skin inked with tattoos and his hair shaved into an intricate design. But he’d assured her this was the perfect place for a ‘reinvention’.

  And she was in
desperate need of an upgrade.

  But then the doubt crept in and she began questioning whether she really wanted to do this. Maybe it would be safer to stick with her current look? But this just depressed her even more. Her current look was so nondescript she was almost invisible – a point proved when a passer-by bumped into her as though she wasn’t standing there.

  She found the salon and stopped outside to study the fancy artwork painted on the window. Unlike the other shops lining the street, Retro Reds Beauty Salon was a blast of vibrancy. It looked glamorous, funky and quirky. All things she most definitely was not.

  Had she made a mistake in coming here? But how else was she going to kick-start her new life? Drastic action was called for. And this looked like the kind of place where ‘drastic’ would be on the menu.

  Ignoring the trepidation she felt, she opened the door. A loud bell announced her arrival, preventing an unobtrusive entrance. The sight ahead made her blink. Maybe she needed to wear the sunglasses she’d just purchased ready for her holiday.

  Black and white chequerboard tiling covered the floor. The walls were painted turquoise and covered with prints of glamorous 1950s pin-ups. A baby-pink sofa sat to one side, contrasting with bubblegum-pink cushions.

  A stylist was blow-drying a woman’s hair. The stylist was wearing a turquoise top and pink circle skirt, a match for the decor. Her arms and legs were decorated in tattoos and her long bouncy hair was a vivacious red. The client’s hair was… green.