Lola Jaye - While You Were Dreaming

LOLA JAYE

While You Were Dreaming

If friends are the family you choose–

this one’s for my sisters!

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Lola Jaye

Copyright

About the Publisher

I tried my best not to puke up my lunch, standing in the doorway, watching the man I was supposed to love having sex with another woman.

A cauldron of emotion sloshed about within me–disbelief, denial, anger–before the inevitable star of the show, Acceptance, finally appeared, letting me know that this was real and it was happening. To me. With my boyfriend and with a woman I had trusted.

If only it was possible to teleport back in time, say, to twenty minutes ago, when I was sitting in a cafe across the road, tucking into a giant piece of chocolate cake and daydreaming. Well, in fact I’d been daydreaming most of the day–in between thinking about all the massive things that needed changing in my life. Things I had previously been so scared of discussing but suddenly felt more ready than ever to talk about.

But here I stood, watching my boyfriend’s Oscar-winning porn performance, and all those so-called plans began to shatter into miniature shards of hopelessness.

I felt for the notepad and yellow fluffy pen in my back pocket as a shiver sprinted through my entire body; the forgotten half-empty can of ginger beer fell from my hand, its contents spilling out over the hard wood floor. That’s when they both stopped, opened their eyes and whipped their heads round, like the girl from The Exorcist .

‘Lena?’ Justin gasped, sounding like a complete stranger and not the man I’d spent the last two years with. I lifted my face up and felt my eyes betray me and begin to moisten. My mouth widened to speak, but nothing came out. I just knew that I had to get out of that flat and as far away as possible. I had never witnessed anything so painful in my entire thirty years on this earth.

Backing out of that door, my knees were ready to buckle. I reached for the banisters to support myself as Justin called out to me in a pathetic, yet desperate-sounding voice. ‘Lena!’

My legs were turning to blancmange. I had to get out of there. To refocus. To think. My mind was jabbering something incoherent and silly, as my body was too damn numb to respond. I was now moving in slow motion, heading for the stairs, placing one foot on the first step in front of me.

I needed to think .

Second step.

I needed to be alone .

Third step.

I needed space .

I suppose, in normal circumstances, I’d have noticed the sparkling sandal that clearly wasn’t mine, jutting out from the fourth step and glistening in the sunlight that was pouring in from the window. I’d have kicked it out of the way in rage, or at the very least avoided it. But in my current state I wouldn’t have noticed an elephant dressed in a tutu; all I could focus on was the rapid beating of my heart, very runny nose, and the tears that were now coursing down my cheeks. So I’d no chance against that sandal as it attacked my left foot and sent me flying down those stairs. My stomach juices swished about like the inside of a washing machine: porridge, plantain chips, lychees, the giant slab of chocolate cake–all conspiring together to form one big indigestible mass.

My body finally landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs in a position that would rival any advanced yoga devotee. And then I waited. My mind entering a place where nothing could get to me any more.

I waited for the onset of pain that was sure to come.

I was ready.

Go on, hit me with it . It’s not as if the day could get any worse.

My eyes slowly flickered shut like a malfunctioning antique television. I knew it was coming. It was definitely coming…Yes…it was almost here, now…

The pain.

So much pain.

And then. The darkness.

Cara would always remember where she was and what she was doing the day she found out about Lena.

She was where she’d always been on a Tuesday evening–serving some pig of a customer who this time was insisting she’d incorrectly handed over change for a ten-pound note when he’d actually given her a twenty.

‘It was a tenner, I can assure you,’ she said plainly, at the same time indulging in a fantasy that involved ramming said ten-pound note down his throat.

‘I suggest you check at the till and see the last note you placed inside, Miss,’ he said pompously.

Cara rolled her eyes, unable to care if he noticed. Ade was always going on about the customer always being right and, in all honesty, she’d always taken great offence to that line. This was her bar (well, hers and Ade’s) and the only person who was right (in this instance especially) was her, and she was about to prove it.

She pressed the button and the till drawer opened.

‘Unless it’s one of those rare magical and invisible ones, it isn’t here and you gave me a tenner. Would you like anything else, sir?’ she said sharply, hoping this particular customer wouldn’t be back. Ever. It wasn’t as if the bar needed him. After three long years of hard slog, sleepless nights, and some tense meetings with their teenage bank manager, A&R was finally turning over a profit. Everyone, especially her sister Lena, had warned her that such a move was going to be tough and a high risk. But Cara and Ade had poured their heart and soul as well as blood, sweat, tears, and everything else they had into making it work. Even as the world seemed to be sinking into a global recession, Cara and Ade were still holding their own as East Dulwich fast became a more convenient and cheaper option to the West End. And A&R could compete with the best of the West End bars, with its relaxing and cool décor–low lighting provided by mini-chandeliers, miniature booths with cosy leather sofas, separated by diamante-encrusted muslin curtains. Away, but not too far away in Overhill Road, Cara and Ade lived in her dream flat, which had a beautiful view of what seemed like the whole of London. She was ‘sorted’, basically. Everything was the way it should be in her life: great boyfriend, beautiful flat, and a thriving business.

Cara ran her fingers through her short crop. She was tired and her feet were starting to ache, which was probably due to a combination of being on them all day without a break and the fact that she was wearing a new pair of satin purple high heels that she’d yet to break in. That was another thing her thriving business afforded her: a pick of shoes. She was on first-name terms with the girls in Kurt Geiger and Bertie, owned a pair of Christian Louboutin’s, a pair of Sergio Rossi’s and would soon be holding a beautiful pair of five-inch orange and black Gina’s. The higher the shoe, the more confident she felt–especially as she was only five foot.