Where the Heart Is (Hearts Series Book 1)

  Where the Heart Is

  L.S. Pullen

  Where the Heart Is

  Text copyright © 2018 L S Pullen

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright 2018 L S Pullen

  Published by: L S Pullen

  Edited by: Cassie Sharp

  Cover Design by: @savagehartbookservices

  The right of L S Pullen to be identified as the author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright, Designs and patents act 1988

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictional and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Quote

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Letter to reader

  Acknowledgments

  Also by L.S.Pullen

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Mum, my best friend.

  Quote

  “How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads, to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams.”

  Bram Stoker, Dracula.

  Prologue

  Summer – 1994 - Age 7

  I swipe at my face when he calls my name––the last thing I need is for him to see me like this. He’d tell me to stop being such a baby.

  “Flick, are you up there?”

  I sniff back my runny nose. It’s probably redder than Rudolph’s. I’m not going to answer him. Nope. Where else would I be?

  I wrap my arms around my middle, listening to the creaking of the wood as he climbs the ladder, followed by the tell-tale squeak of his stupid trainers making contact on the overused floorboards as he joins me on the balcony.

  I know this is a memory, I’m dreaming—of course I am—but it’s so vivid, and if I could be anywhere right now, it would be right here with him.

  The tree house was the last present he’d received from his parents. I remember the look on his face, how his eyes shone like fairy lights, and his smile—bigger than his scrawny face. But it was what he said that I’d never forget.

  “Thank you, but it’s missing the most important part.”

  His dad crouched down in front of him. “Oh, and what’s that, son?”

  Looking over his shoulder in my direction, he smirked before answering. “Flick’s swing, of course.”

  It gave me a funny feeling in my tummy—like when you’re going down a steep hill on your bike too fast.

  His dad let out a soft chuckle, winking to Nate. “Of course, you’re right. We knew something was missing, but we couldn’t put our finger on it, could we, sweetheart?” Standing to his full height—a giant in a child’s eyes—he pulled Nate’s mum into his arms and kissed her right on the lips. Gross!

  She held her hand out at Nate. “Baby boy, you have such a big heart.”

  His cheeks turned red—like how your tongue goes after you’ve had one of those Gob Stoppers. She squeezed his hand before he slipped his fingers free, making a beeline for the ladder. As usual, I was hot on his heels.

  Beside me, his legs mirror mine, dangling over the edge. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding?” He nudges me in the side.

  “I wasn’t,” I say, crossing my arms and sniffing, my nose still yucky from crying.

  His eyebrows make a wiggly V, causing his forehead to crinkle. “If you say so, but my Nan said she hasn’t seen you since I left for the party.”

  “So what?” I don’t even care that I’m acting like a baby.

  “Come on, you could’ve come if it was my party. I brought you some birthday cake.” He holds out a square wrapped in party napkins. I raise my hand, but then drop it quickly. He pushes it toward my lap. “It’s your favourite. Chocolate. Don’t be an idiot.”

  Whatever. He knows I can’t say no. I take it, trying not to look too eager. I love chocolate cake…a lot. “Thanks.” I want to spend as much time with him as I can possibly get. He’s my best friend. I don’t care if he’s a boy or even if Sophie says they’re smelly. To me, he smells like grass and bubble gum.

  “Don’t be upset,” He says.

  “I’m not,” I lie. It’s pointless. He can see right through me.

  “So, tell me. Why is your face all blotchy from crying?”

  I take a deep breath. “I have to go home soon and won’t get to see you again for ages.”

  He looks down, picking at some fluff on his jogging bottoms. “You know it doesn’t change anything, right?”

  I nod. It doesn’t bother him—me being a girl—and he’s never once left me out. There was only that one time when his friends came over. He was showing off and threw the coke can at my face. It split the top of my lip open; I still have the scar.

  A look of mischief crosses his face, his dimple poking out with it. I smile. He pulls out his Swiss Army Knife—the one Lawry told him was only for camping—and flips the blade open. He begins carving into the floorboard beside him.

  I grab at his arm. “Stop. What are you doing?” I hate the idea of him getting into trouble.

  “You’ll see. Besides, it’s my tree house.”

  I’m terrified he’ll get caught, but he finishes after what feels like forever and blows away the loose shavings. Chuffed as punch.

  “See? Done,” he says, snapping the blade closed.

  My tummy becomes warm as I lean over to see what he’s done. He’s carved a heart shape. It’s silly, but I love it. Unable to resist any longer, I unwrap the cake, picking a piece off the corner. He chuckles, nicks a chunk, and wraps his arm around me. I attempt to pull away; he doesn’t budge. And then it hits me—a thought—and I can’t help the giggle that springs forward.

  He steals another piece and pops it into his mouth. “What’s so funny?” he asks with his mouth full.

  “When we grow up, I’m going to marry you.” Warmth spreads across my face.

  He pulls his head back and chokes on his cake. “What? For real?”

  I nod; he raises his eyebrows. With an exaggerated shudder, he puts two fingers in his mouth and makes a fake gagging sound. I elbow him in the ribs.

  “Yes, stupid, for real. But I want chocolate cake, not the horrible fruitcake my Mum’s friend had at her wedding. It was dis-gust-ing. And I want to get married here.”

  He tilts his head to the side, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth like he always does when he’s thinkin
g.

  “Well, if I marry you, I wouldn’t have to kiss you or do any of that other yucky stuff. But why here? Why not some church?”

  I look at the view and inhale deeply. “Churches smell funny. And besides, this is my favourite place with you.”

  His smile is both familiar and comforting.

  It’s home.

  I blink. Everything around me is fading into a mirage. It begins to disappear, and I’m free falling into a dark abyss. My stomach feels queasy, like it’s going to jump out of my mouth. My whole body lurches when I come to a stop. I open my eyes but don’t wake.

  I’m back in a room I’d never seen before that morning—a room that will forever be tattooed into my memory. The musky stench. The sheets beneath my partially naked body are rough against my bare skin. The tick–tick–ticking of a clock.

  My breath quickens, my pulse racing. Frozen in place, unable to make a sound, I squeeze my eyes closed tight. Wake up. Come on, wake the fuck up, already.

  Chapter One

  Present - Summer – 2007

  I can’t remember the last time I thought back to that moment in the tree house, let alone dreamt it. But my dreams end like they always do—a waking nightmare—barely able to catch my breath. With sheets twisted around my body like vines of thick poison ivy. Slick with a cold sweat, and my nightshirt damp. My heart thunders a thick staccato rhythm as I suck in shaky breaths.

  Unable to rid the all too familiar sense of dread, each night I relive that same moment over and over again. Each night, I’m caught in the nightmare of waking in that same ghastly room.

  But I’m not there.

  I wipe away the crusty remnants of sleep from my sore eyes and untangle myself from my bedding. I stifle my yawn, hunched over, still weary from sleep, and toss my damp sheets in the linen bin. Great, more washing to do.

  Cold shivers roll over my body and down the back of my neck, as though someone has walked over my grave. I try to rub away the eerie sensation. Pull yourself together. My body is protesting. Tense and stiff, I force myself to the bathroom.

  I’d hoped coming to France with Nana would give me some semblance of normal—a reprieve from my demons. Evidently not. Two weeks we’ve been here, and thus far, every morning I’ve woken at the crack of dawn in pretty much the same state. Something feels…off. I can’t shake it. I tug at the hair band around my wrist.

  Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, the anxiety begins to curl its way around my gut. I squeeze my eyes shut, expecting the worst, although I’ve come a long way since…everything changed. I left my house and got on a plane. That’s progress, right? I tug on my hairband, twisting it, and then pull it back as far as it will go before I release it, the sting welcome.

  By the time I join Nana in the kitchen, I’m lightheaded from my erratic breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth. I repeat it to myself over and over, until my heart settles and I can find air.

  Placing a soft kiss on Nana’s cheek, I make my way over to the breakfast bar. I need tea. I fixate on the task at hand. When I shake the kettle, the swoosh alerts me it’s only half full. I pour the water away and refill to the brim, then light the stove before settling it on the centre hob. Where’s my cup? Oh, right where it always is, front and centre. Searching the cutlery drawer, I rifle around until my fingers connect with the teaspoon I want. Removing the lid from the tea caddy, I dig my hand in to pull out the third tea bag from top, flicking it once, twice, three times, before dropping it into my cup.

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee is strong in the air. Nana still makes it every morning—Papi’s coffee—though he’s been gone for years now…and we both drink tea. I’ve never had the heart to mention it. Nana’s a creature of comfort, and she misses him.

  “You didn’t sleep again?”

  I study the ceiling, trying to ease the tension in my neck.

  Nana taps her wedding rings against the cup she’s holding, and the bone china chimes. “Things will get better in time. Granted, time doesn’t heal all wounds, but it does add a layer over the scars they leave. And you learn to carry on, despite the fact—”

  Her phone interrupts her speech, and she pauses to answer. Only one person calls her apart from me. I get a deep, sinking feeling right in the pit of my stomach. Clenching my hands onto the worktop, I will the lightheaded feeling to pass.

  It’s Evie.

  Her voice rings through the receiver. Nana keeps the volume on high, holding it away from her ear. Radiation, she once told me. I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t fancy a clip around the earhole—something you’re never too old for from Nana.

  From what I overhear, Evie’s distraught.

  Lawry passed away in the early hours this morning. It’s not long before Nana’s sobs join in with hers and their combined grief vibrates through me.

  Bile threatens to rise, my stomach unsettled. Swallowing hard, I turn to her, watching the tears cascade down her face. Tea discarded, I move over to her side, taking her hand in mine in an attempt to offer her comfort.

  The news, although it was inevitable, is still hard to process. My already fractured heart shatters a little bit more.

  I want to cry, but the tears don’t come. Not that I’m surprised—they’ve been dry for a long time, now. I shake my head, pushing away wayward thoughts.

  It only takes one emotional conversation after Evie hung up, and I’d consoled Nana, that had me promising I’ll come back to England with her. As if I was going to let her travel back alone, especially without Papi at her side.

  I scroll through my recent call list, dialling Simon’s number. He answers on the first ring

  “Hey beautiful, how are you holding up?”

  I pull up the hem of my dress and begin picking at the scab on the inside of my thigh.

  “I’m not sure it’s really sunk in yet.” I hiss through my teeth as the scab comes away, and seconds later blood seeps through the thin cut.

  “Well, he was practically a Granddad to you.”

  I let out a puff of air. “I should’ve gone to see him, though. Do you think he knew how much he meant to me?” I fall back on my bed, covering my eyes with my forearm.

  “Of course, he did, Sweetness.”

  “I hope so. I booked our flights home. I still can’t believe this is happening.”

  I hear him clear his throat. Here it comes.

  “You’ll have to see Nate again. With the exception of the occasional Facebook post or postcard here or there, you two haven’t spoken. Are you ready for this?”

  Simon doesn’t beat around the bush—one of the things I love about him. I’ve never told Nate what happened. My family agreed it was my story to tell, but I wasn’t ready then. And I’m sure as hell not ready now.

  “Nope. But what choice do I have? Besides, we were best friends once, and regardless, he’s still like family. I need to be there for Nana and Evie. And…if Nate needs me, I’ll be there for him, too.”

  I let out a shaky breath, resisting the urge to laugh at the thought of me being strong for anyone when I can barely take care of myself.

  “Listen, I’m not trying to make you more anxious… I can’t stand the thought of you hurting and me not being with you. But it is about time you put the past behind you.”

  Unable to keep still, I stand and begin pacing in circles, making myself dizzy in the process. My stomach is churning, and there’s a thickness in my throat when I speak. “I don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes. I’ll let you know when I’m back, okay?”

  “Okay, I miss you. Have a safe flight. Remember, you managed to get there, so coming home will be a piece of piss.”

  “I’ve never understood that phrase.”

  “What? Piece of piss?”

  “Yeah.” I let out a chuckle and hear Simon’s laugh float down the line, too, the sound welcome.

  “Me neither. I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  “And Felicity… remember, you’ve got this.”


  I wish I had as much faith in myself as Simon does in me.

  I find Nana sitting in the garden. I inhale a deep breath as the familiar aroma from the wild lavender assails my senses. She’s looking through an old photo album—one I don’t recall having seen before. As I sit down beside her, she begins to speak without looking up. “Lawry was my first love.”

  Blindsided, I muffle a curse… “What? I thought Papi was your first love?”

  She removes a photo from its sleeve. Holding it out in front of us, she points, her hand slightly trembling.

  “See that man right there? That’s Samuel sitting between Evelyn and me.” She points to another man. “That’s Lawrence. This photo was taken a few days before Samuel died. He was training in the RAF, God rest his soul. The saddest part was, he never even knew Evie was pregnant.”

  Still trying to process that my Papi wasn’t her first love, I catch up to what she’s just told me. “Evie was pregnant? What happened to the baby?”

  She drops the photo onto her lap, looking over the field of lavender. “He was born seven months later.” Her eyes graze over my face.

  I take the photo from her lap and stare at it for a moment. When I see it—the resemblance—it clicks.