The Secret Notebook Read online

  The Secret Notebook

  Julia Wild

  One More Chapter

  a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

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  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2021

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  Copyright © Julia Wild 2021

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  Cover design by Lucy Bennett © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021

  Cover images: Shutterstock.com

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  Julia Wild asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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  A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

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  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

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  Source ISBN: 9780008418588

  Ebook Edition © July 2021 ISBN: 9780008418571

  Version: 2021-06-25

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Thank you for reading…

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  About the Author

  One More Chapter...

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  Izzie

  West Hampstead, Thursday May 25, 2017

  Izzie’s head sank onto the desk that had once belonged to her late husband, Rufus, as she fought the overwhelming wave of sadness that threatened to engulf her.

  ‘I’m too young for all this…’ Twenty-nine was far too young.

  She knew it was time she got her act together and found some direction. Grabbing a handful of tissues, she wiped her face and pushed her tumble of copper curls out of the way.

  ‘Get a grip,’ she whispered hoarsely, but the tears didn’t listen.

  She felt lost, adrift, throat aching with unshed tears.

  Throwing the tissues in the bin, she took a deep breath, pushed herself to her feet and studied the shelf at eye level. She ran her finger along the dark spines of the books written by Rufus, the crime books made famous by TV, the books that made her a wealthy widow.

  ‘When will it stop?’ She rubbed her hand against the emptiness in her chest as she was drawn to the wedding photograph perched at the end of the row of books. She touched the picture, her forefinger tracing their outline. They stood close, holding hands, smiling towards the wedding photographer against a background of trees. Rufus, smart in a dark suit and white shirt – his mid-brown hair layered and short – stood several inches taller than her, her dress a cream, knee-length shift; a matching flower held her long curls back on one side.

  First there had been the denial, then anger at the unfairness of losing Rufus. She’d made endless bargains with unseen forces to change the outcome, then faced the depression…

  And now, finally, the acceptance was growing.

  ‘I know you’ve gone.’

  Despite her tears, she felt lighter inside for the first time in a long time.

  The soft beam of early morning sunshine peeping in through the French doors seemed to reflect the nascent sense of hope she felt.

  The neighbour’s cat, Horace, looked in as if to say a haughty good morning, and then moved on.

  The phone burbled, springing her from her indulgent moment. Clearing her throat and taking a deep breath, she picked up the handset.

  ‘Izzie Dean.’

  ‘It’s Justin, Justin Swift. Thank goodness I’ve got hold of you, Izzie!’ His tone was urgent.

  ‘What do you want?’ Her words sounded harsh, but it was the shock of hearing from him, his voice tempting her back in time to those first brush of love days.

  She fought the seductive pull of memories: a snapshot of hot summer days full of sea and sand and laughter … of the friendship they had shared for so long before something changed on the day his warm lips closed over hers, making her tremble with heated passion… Just the sound of his husky edged voice tumbled her back in time. It was mere seconds, yet the intense emotions they’d shared swamped her. The way he’d held her so tightly…

  ‘Can you come as soon as possible? Your nan’s been taken bad with pneumonia.’

  ‘Nan? No! Oh, no!’

  The summer memory medley fell from her mind.

  ‘Nan… God, no.’ Not her treasured nan, her favourite person in the world, delicate as a fragile vase, yet so strong of spirit. It was hard to breathe against the sudden panic and sadness swamping her insides.

  Justin explained he was visiting his folks, who lived next door to her nan, when he had gone around to see her and found her poorly. He’d called an ambulance and went along with her to the hospital. He gave Izzie details of where to find them when she arrived.

  ‘I’ll get the train.’ Izzie’s words squeezed past the lump in her throat. ‘I was due to come up north tomorrow to visit.’ She grimaced, feeling guilty and wishing she was already up in Blackpool. ‘Justin, will you … are you able to stay with Nan? Just till I arrive?’

  ‘Course.’

  ‘I’ll be on the next train out of Euston. Thanks, I – I really appreciate … everything.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  She set the phone in its cradle and called for a cab whilst she threw a few things in a rucksack, all the while whispering over and over, ‘Please be all right, Nan, please…’

  At the same time, she shoved down the gratitude that welled up towards Justin, the warmth his voice triggered inside her giving rise to random visions of them running, laughing, sharing everything and holding one another so tight, believing the closeness they had would last forever.

  Promising one another it would last forever.

  Those random visions and sensations were immediately followed by the needle-sharp pain of broken promises, the deepest disappointment she had ever known. It was piercing, buried deep inside years ago. It was almost six years since they had planned to meet on her twenty-third birthday. That date was burned into her soul.

  Yet, after hearing his voice, it felt like only yesterday.

  She didn’t want to feel anything like that
ever again.

  He’d let her down.

  Until minutes ago, it had all been locked safely away; it was a shock to acknowledge what Justin had tossed aside, and that it still hurt when she let herself glimpse what they’d had.

  He would be different now. His successful photography career had seen him travel the world, meet so many different people, dating and photographing many beautiful women, his work appearing in glossy magazines galore.

  But as she boarded the train at Euston, the anxiety of reaching her nan, the worry that she might not be okay, took over all of her thoughts. She willed the train faster, faster…

  Chapter Two

  Izzie

  Blackpool, Thursday May 25, 2017

  Just a few hours later, Izzie ran into Blackpool Victoria Hospital to be met by Justin.

  ‘Is…?’ She could hardly get the words out for a mixture of emotion and the fear of being too late. He held open the ward door and indicated to a single room further down the hallway.

  ‘Molly’s hanging on, Izzie.’

  Entering the room and easing into the plastic bedside chair, she took the frail, freckled hand in hers.

  ‘Hello, Nan. What have you been getting up to?’ She smiled when her nan’s eyelids fluttered in response to her words.

  ‘I’ve come a day early. We can catch up with any plans you have in mind. I love you.’ All the love Izzie felt for this feisty, beautiful woman seemed to lodge in her chest, an overwhelming weight. This strong woman had given Izzie somewhere to run to, a haven to escape to so many times in her young life. Nan was the best; she called Izzie ‘her little pal’. Loved her unconditionally.

  They’d spent hours in the fresh air, either on the beach, paddling, or walking the promenade. ‘Do you remember when Grandpop came along with us to the beach, how we always took a bat and ball?’ Izzie’s memory was jogged by her own mention of her Grandpop. Barely breaking contact for a second, she dug a framed photograph from her rucksack’s front pocket and set it on the bedside locker. It was the same one she knew her nan had by her bed at home. Nan and Grandpop in profile, laughing happily together.

  ‘There, Grandpop’s with you now, too.’

  Izzie ran the back of her forefinger gently down Nan’s cheek; the skin was smooth over her cheekbones, lines sinking away.

  ‘Do you remember, when I was seven, I announced to the whole street that you were prettier than the Queen?’

  That had been during one of the many school holidays Izzie had spent with her grandparents. Because it had made Nan chuckle with delight, Izzie had made it her mission to repeat it to everyone they met on their walk down to the beach.

  A nurse smiled a hello as she entered the room and picked up the photograph Izzie had just set out.

  ‘You’re the image of your grandma when she was a young woman,’ she said, looking from the framed snapshot of Molly laughing into Grandpop’s face, and then at Izzie. ‘You both remind me of Nicole Kidman when she was younger… Beautiful.’ She set the photo down again. ‘And your grandad was very good-looking.’

  Izzie made a soft affirmative sound whilst the nurse checked the clear drip bag hanging from a pole next to her grandmother’s bed and the nasal canula feeding precious air to her.

  All the while, Izzie kept her eyes on her nan’s face. Briefly, her eyes opened slightly.

  ‘A … book.’ She gasped, her breathing laboured. The effort it took for her to try and speak was palpable. Realising that she was trying to communicate something important, Izzie leaned closer.

  Her words were muffled, almost inaudible. Izzie gently held her nan’s fingers and gave them a comforting squeeze. ‘Try again, Nan?’

  The words Molly spoke were indistinct, but Izzie held them tight, like an audio recording, ready to decipher, replay. She tried again, attempted to be clearer. ‘Hid-den. At-attic. Picture. You…?’

  ‘Course. I’ll sort it, Nan.’ She had no idea what Nan was trying to tell her, but she would work it out. Stroking the sparse but still lively curls from her grandmother’s forehead, Izzie felt her heart lurch with love when her nan’s pale lips shifted slightly into a ghost of a smile and her pale blue eyes stayed open just a little, just for a moment.

  She wanted to beg her grandmother to stay alive – to not leave her – and, as if reading Izzie’s mind, Nan whispered, ‘I-I’m ready…’ Her words again were barely audible, but more easily decipherable now. ‘Join your Grandpop…’

  Izzie held the cool, bony fingers of her nan’s hand and leaned down to press her cheek to the palm. Against the lump in her throat, she whispered, ‘Grandpop will be happy to see you again.’ Izzie knew it was selfish to wish her to stay. She was ninety-six and clearly ready to leave this world.

  Molly’s mouth moved in the flicker of a smile, then her laughter lines relaxed, her eyes closed, and a slight puff of air left her mouth.

  Grandpop had been gone ten years and her nan had never stopped loving him. Handsome rascal, she’d called him many times whilst he’d been alive – and since.

  The hand in her own cooled and Izzie felt Justin’s palm rest on her shoulder. She had forgotten he was there.

  He spoke after a few minutes. ‘I swear, she was waiting for you to get here, Izzie.’

  The part of her that had visited the past when she’d heard his voice again, that had loved Justin so deeply, wanted to shrug him off, tell him to take a running jump…

  But the Izzie of now, stunned by the loss of her most precious relation, shook her head, unable to speak, and laid her free palm over his fingers, grateful for the comfort.

  The past didn’t matter just then.

  The three of them remained unmoving, undisturbed, for a long while.

  Chapter Three

  Izzie

  Blackpool, Thursday June 15, 2017

  It was three weeks after Molly Blackshaw had passed. Her funeral had just taken place: a simple service attended by half a dozen neighbours, Izzie and Justin.

  The day had been warm and had been both a comfort and a sad affair at once.

  Justin stayed for the short service and reception afterwards before leaving for a photo shoot on the Welsh coast.

  ‘I wish I could stick around,’ he said as he frowned, ‘but this job’s been booked for a long time.’

  Izzie nodded. ‘I’m just glad you came, Justin. Thank you.’

  He gave a small nod in response, looking as if he didn’t know whether to do or say something else.

  ‘Take care, Izzie.’ He took hold of her hand and gave it a squeeze. Izzie felt a pang of sadness when he turned to leave, but covered the sensation with a smile as she waved him off from the small local restaurant where she was hosting the reception.

  She wanted to ask him when he’d be back, but stopped herself; she didn’t want him to know that she might care. She didn’t even want to acknowledge to herself that she might care, or that she sensed bubbling emotions struggling to break out of the locked box inside, where she’d forced her powerful feelings years ago.

  As per Molly’s request, her will was read by her solicitor at his offices in Blackpool the following day. The solicitor had arranged for Izzie’s mother and stepdad to join them via video call from their home in South Africa.

  Nan had left almost everything to Izzie, with the instruction to do with the property as she wished, and to use the money bestowed to enjoy her life. She left a small legacy to daughter-in-law, Valerie, along with a charm bracelet she had once admired. ‘I’ll send you the bracelet, Mother,’ Izzie said, and the solicitor agreed to let Valerie have a bank transfer for the bequest.

  ‘Thanks for organising Molly’s send off, Izzie,’ Valerie said. ‘You know we’d have come if we could, but it’s not safe for us to fly these days with David’s COPD.’

  ‘I know. Health comes first.’ Izzie secretly thought that David’s occasional allergies had been upgraded to COPD to create an acceptable excuse for not travelling. The man was as fit as a fiddle and the three of them knew full well th
at Molly wouldn’t have wanted either of them at her funeral service…

  After Izzie’s father, Tom, had died unexpectedly of a heart attack when she was six, Valerie had hooked up with holidaying South African David just weeks later, shocking everyone in their vicinity. Most of all, Molly as Tom’s mother.

  Molly had called David a money-grabber, and said he needed to pay his own way, not sponge off Tom’s life savings. But more than that, she felt very strongly that Valerie should have more respect than to take another man into her house so soon after Tom’s death, right under six-year-old Izzie’s nose.

  She’d felt it was wrong and damaging for Izzie.

  Molly’s outspoken attitude hadn’t won her any affection from her daughter-in-law, and as Izzie had never been close to her mother, the whole thing strengthened her allegiance to the grandparents she already loved to bits.

  Strange, Izzie thought, returning from the solicitor’s office, but she felt only relief when she waved her mum and stepdad cheerio from the video call screen and returned to her favourite bolt hole.