Page 1 of A Summer of New Beginnings
1
As she stared out of the small aeroplane window, Zara Bailey smiled. She was thousands of feet up in the air and the clouds were the thick, fluffy white of meringue. But instead of being topped with fresh, exotic fruit like that she’d had in the past five days, they were tinged with the honey-gold rays of the descending sun. The thought of food made her stomach rumble and she realised she’dbeen so late getting to Miami International airport that she hadn’t had the chance to grab a bite to eat.
Although she couldn’t complain really. The stateside trip had consisted of an abundance of rich food, from Cuban to Mexican and everything in between. She would have to watch herself or her next trip wouldn’t include that pretty bikini she had bought from her favourite designer boutique.There had been a tad more alcohol than she usually drank on a business trip but she’d got caught up in the whole atmosphere: the cocktails; the weather; the music; the people. She’d been well and truly sucked in. It was at times like this that she couldn’t imagine working anywhere else thanThe Bohemianmagazine.
Travelling the world had been something she had dreamed of all her life, especiallywhen things at school had got to be too stressful. She had lived an imaginary life in atlases and travel journals, creating scrapbooks listing the places she would one day visit. She had been one of the intelligent kids; the nerds. She’d never been invited to parties with the popular crowd, nor had she gelled with the misfits. She’d been in a category apart and there had been only a few otheroccupants – a couple of whom had been tolerable and become friends. Her best friend at school, and the only person she’d kept in touch with since, was Michelle Bean. Apart from their intelligence they had another thing in common: they had both been ribbed by the cool kids – Shelley for her name and Zara for her cheap, often second-hand clothes and her spectacles that had enlarged her denim-blue eyes.The two had become known as Granny Bailey and Jelly Bean.
They couldn’t wait to leave.
Zara’s parents had given up on trying to improve her high-school experience and had resorted to telling her, ‘One day, Zara, you’ll show them. One day when you’re a rich and famous journalist on TV shows they’ll regret ever teasing you.’ She’d hoped they were right but hadn’t been about to hold her breath.A couple of last-minute-deal package holidays to Spain with the family hadn’t quite matched up to the dream she had and so the world had remained a mystery she was desperate to solve. It was only after university when she’d landed a job as luxury travel writer with the prestigious magazine that ‘showing them all’ had looked like a possibility; although she had never been presented with the opportunityto make good on it.
Until now.
When the silver envelope had landed on the doormat of her two-bedroomed Peckham pad she had opened it with intrigue. But on seeing the invite contained therein she had stared at it in disbelief. The words New Malden High Sixth Form Class of 2008 Reunion screamed at her in shiny, Arial bold font from the card and a shiver of dread manifested itself in a funny littlesqueak from her throat. Memories of herself and Shelley in lower sixth form, being shunned and, worse still, laughed at and taunted, returned to torment her.
Perhaps she should say she was unavailable. After all, she hated school and most of the people she had attended with, so why the hell would she want to meet up with them now, after all this time when her life was finally on track?
Thenit dawned on her twenty-seven-year-old self. She’d bloody well earned her bragging rights. And what were these events if not to show off and tell everyone how well you’ve done for yourself? And to have pissing contests about who’d achieved the most amazing things since leaving school?And let’s face it, I’ve done pretty bloody well.
After graduating from university with a first-class degree inJournalism she had landed her job as one half of the travel-writing team at one of the UK’s top mags, based in central London. Her opposite, Dillon, was the adventure and outdoors writer – a job that she couldn’t imagine doing for all the tea in China. She’d finally got to travel the world and, not only that, she’d stayed in many of the top hotels too. She had so much of the world left to see andshe was excited to discover where her job might take her next.
Maybe the reunion would be a great way to stick two fingers up at the so-called popular kids – many of whom, she expected, had amounted to a great big nada. It wasn’t the best reason to go but it was a reason. She resolved to think about it. She had Miami to focus on. And so that was it, the invitation remained on the mantelshelfabove her modern, state-of-the-art, feature electric fire whilst she went off to write about the city at the southern tip of the sunshine state.
*
The flat always felt chilly and impersonal when she arrived home after a trip. And seeing as the sojourns were becoming more frequent, she had pondered finding a lodger. She had been with Josh, her boyfriend, for around a year now and even thoughhe was wonderful it felt a little too soon to be thinking about asking him to move in. And there was no way the two of them would fit into his rented studio flat for longer than a weekend at a time. But coming home to an empty apartment was a little depressing and having someone around might just make things better. Instead of humming Eric Carmen’s ‘All By Myself’ like Bridget Jones, she’d feel inclinedto hum something happier and at least it would mean the place wouldn’t feel quite so lifeless and cold. Her obvious choice of housemate was no longer a possibility seeing as Shelley had recently moved in with her boyfriend.
Zara had been so lucky to find her place and at such a great price too. It was an ex-local-authority block, which wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but inside it wasspacious and bright with an open-plan layout, thanks to the changes she’d made. She’d wielded a sledgehammer on more than one occasion, under the strict supervision of her dad, Carl, who was fortunately a builder by trade. It had taken quite a bit of refurbishment and there was still plenty to do – another problem with being away so much – but her dad always insisted on working on the place whilstshe was away. Now, it was beginning to look every bit the modern, independent woman’s bolthole that she had hoped for. To make matters even better, estate agents had recently valued it at around fifty grand more than she’d paid so she knew she was on the right track as far as her investment was concerned.
Living alone wasn’t something she’d slipped into easily. Coming from a family of three kids,two dogs and two parents all crammed into a three bedroomed local-authority house in New Malden meant that the peace and quiet of her new place was somewhat alien. Her mother, Suze, was obsessed with the royal family and every royal celebration – of which there seemed to be many – meant bunting and flags and neighbours round for frequent parties, increasing the occupants of their relatively smallhome tenfold. Royal memorabilia covered every possible surface and every event that had occurred since Suze had been a child herself, and Carl was incredible to put up with it, so Zara thought. He would often come home from working at some old lady’s house with a token that he had been given for his collector wife.
Andrew, Zara’s older brother, had followed in the footsteps of her father andwas now working with him, and even though he had moved into a rented flat with his pregnant girlfriend, they seemed to spend every spare minute in the family home. Whilst her younger brother – William, a latecomer to the family – was on the verge of leaving high school and trying to figure out what to do with his life. He had a tendency to play his music too loud, which hadn’t been conducive to studyorwork when Zara was at home. The quiet at her own place was sometimes welcome and she often tried to convince herself that living alone was a breath of fresh air. But in reality she knew that there was no air quite like that of the cake-aroma-filled stuff she inhaled when she visited her family.
As she wheeled her case from the entrance, along the hardwood floor towards her bedroom she triedto think of possible flat-share options. She knew there were a couple of new starters at the office in the Fashion department so perhaps that would be a good starting point. She would weigh up the pros and cons when she had more energy but right now she needed sleep.
In her peripheral vision she spotted the silver envelope on the mantel and rolled her eyes. She would have to make a decision soon.Whether that entailed an acceptance or an excuse she hadn’t decided 100 per cent, so it too would have to wait until she was capable of cognitive thought.
Catching sight of herself in the decorative hall mirror, she scrunched her nose distastefully. Her chocolate-brown hair was falling in straggly tendrils from the bun she had tied in a hurry as the plane had landed and the mascara that had beenrubbed around her tired, puffy eyes made her look like a goth, but she was too exhausted to shower. Procrastination was definitely the name of the game for now.
Once her case was unpacked and the dirty laundry stuffed in its basket she wandered, zombie-like, to the kitchen. She tugged open the fridge and smiled.Bless you, Mum.There was a stack of ready meals for one, some fresh fruit and acarton of milk. A bottle of Pinot Grigio, her absolute fave wine, was chilling on the bottom shelf. She was so hungry and the fact that she had slept through the meal service hadn’t really helped much. However, it was almost one in the morning and even zapping something in the microwave seemed too much effort. She spotted a wholemeal loaf on the counter top and decided she would make toast instead,and as she waited for it to pop up she leaned on her elbows, yawning. After managing only a couple of bites she abandoned the thought of food and surrendered to the bigger priority. Sleep.
