Turning Point Read online

  TURNING POINT

  The Point Series

  By Georgia Hamilton

  Acknowledgements

  This book has been a labor of love.

  I have probably started 11 books over the years and finished two maybe three, this story however, was a joy from start to finish. So much so that there are another three books to come.

  Love, romance and life are never easy, and writing this from both points of view I hope will show how easy it is to misinterpret life! There is a theme of music throughout the story, music makes my world turn in technicolor melody

  In Rayne, I wanted to portray someone who was human and relatable. I wanted her to have the same insecurities that we all have, because we all have them. I wanted her to be a strong woman, who is at the top of her game and says, who, when and where. Connor was a dream to write, he is a cocktail of every man I have ever known. Good points and bad! I wanted him to be sexy but vulnerable without being weak and wet. I fell in love with them as we journeyed through and I hope you do to.

  I want you to laugh, cry and shout, but mainly to enjoy. If all goes to plan, your appetite should be whet enough for Vantage Point…

  There are a million thank you’s that I need to make so bear with caller...

  Firstly, Faye, Amy, Vicky and Jacky. You have all had your parts to play! Listening to me go on, supporting me in helping the dream come to life, getting excited at cover designs with me and keeping me going! You are the very best.

  My amazing family, My Sister who will always be my biggest critic but also my biggest fan. Knowing she would read this book, pushed me to produce something we can both be proud of. My mum and uncle who have been my cheerleaders, letting me roll ideas off them and squealing as much as I did when it became a book.

  Mr M, who puts up with my drama daily, but loves me as much as I love him (which is a lot. A LOT) My daughters who have inspired me to follow my dreams – never give up girls, never let a NO define you, and always be the very best you that you can be.

  Me Julies – to whom I dedicate this book. 4 or 5 years ago I shared a small body of work with this group of amazing women. We all met online at Bounty (due in July – hence Julie) and our children and friendships have grown over the years. The original idea for a story seemed so farfetched, I planned out a book that had one of us dying and her husband taking over her profile, I shared the idea with them, and we thought it would be great. A Julie would be on TV because it was going to be that good. We even mentioned going on This Morning. I was half way through writing it, when we lost our Danielle and I scrapped every line because there were too many similarities and losing a Julie fucking hurt. I therefore dedicate this to that group of weird, wonderful and beautiful women. Who are there to support, love, guide and make you giggle when you need it most. #doitforDani

  My last dedication is to my very own Trent. You stepped up and stepped in. I owe you so much and if it takes me every day until my last breath, I will repay you. You are my best friend.

  I am going to shut up now, so you can get to the story (that’s if you have even managed to read this far) I love you taking a chance on me and my story. Stick around for the ride. It’s only going to get better.

  Rayne

  “Urgh!”

  I peak out from under my pillow and squint at the hideous stream of light blinding me

  Why are my curtains open and what is that insentient noise coming from my kitchen?

  I blindly bat for my phone on my bedside table, what the ever-loving fuck is the time?

  6.14 glares back at me, this has the hallmark of Rose Sinclair, my mother!

  “MA!” I shrill from my pillow heaven, no answer

  “MAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

  She’s deliberately ignoring me, I have regressed back to being a teen at home, she would play this game very Saturday morning when she was desperate to get me out of bed, the gentle taping of the vacuum cleaner on my bedroom door, the clanging of the toilet seat as she “quietly” cleaned the bathroom.

  I stumble out of my bed, groping the floor for tracksuit bottoms or something to cover me up before I assault my mother, being arrested in Winnie the Pooh booty shorts is not the look I am going for!

  I swear loudly as I stub my toe trying to get Nike to work with me as I speed towards my stairs

  “FOR FUCK SAKE GIVE ME A BREAK!” I scream at no one in particular

  “Language Rayne!”

  Oh, so now she hears me!

  I look up from my spread-eagled position at the top of the stairs and take in the view.

  Ma is sitting at my breakfast bar, drinking a coffee and reading her newspaper, tortoise shell half-moon glasses perched on the end of her nose, her riot of curls loosely pinned on top of her head and her slight frame dressed in dark jeans and a bright yellow jumper – I squint again and check the clock at the bottom of my stairs – yep definitely 6.18 now.

  Righting myself I attempt to stomp down the stairs, trying to look indignant.

  My left foot still clearly hasn’t established how to function, and I practically skid down the 13 stairs to the bottom.

  Without taking her eyes from her paper, she holds out a coffee mug for me and nods towards the other stool – clearly, she wants me to take a seat…

  “what are you doing here Ma?”

  I sip the tar that she’s made trying to pass as coffee, and wince as the bitter liquid transits towards my throat. I feel like death and she’s not helping.

  “I wanted to make sure you hadn’t forgotten tonight, and to make sure you have something appropriate to wear” She says calmly, punctuated with a hint of distain.

  My mother still hast looked at me, she’s totally oblivious to my attempt at death stares over my steaming mug of java.

  I brace another mouthful of tar and cough signaling my authority

  “Hang on! You’re telling me that you rock up here, into my home, at ugly o’clock in the morning to go shopping??? ITS SUNDAY!!!”

  I slam my coffee cup down to punctuate my statement – take that mother 1 – 0 to Rayne!

  Rose Sinclair is now clearly pissed, she flicks her newspaper meaningfully and folds it neatly, she pushes her coffee cup to the side (still on the coaster mind you) and arranges her glasses on top of her head. Oooohh shit I am in for it. Once again, I have regressed to being a teen back at home.

  She stands, still not uttering a word, and picks her jacket and patterned silk scarf up from the back of the chair. As she reaches down for her handbag, I wait anxiously for her to say something.

  “Ma??” I squeak out. As brave and as bright as I would like to think I am, I am not. I am a sniveling little girl, who is bracing herself for the wrath of her rather tiny, but incredibly mighty Latina mother.

  She carries on tying her scarf, mouth pursed in a tight line. Her eyes are misty – damnit, she’s going for pity instead of anger. I have seen this routine a million times, but it doesn’t stop my heart from sinking. Disappointment. That is what she is going for. I fold. There is no way I can win. Taking a discreet deep breath, I hold my nerve and break the silence.

  “Ma stop ignoring me and being childish, I just …”

  “Rayne, I am sorry to interrupt your morning. I thought I handled everything this morning incredibly well, especially after passing whatever his name was creeping down your stairs, I thought it was rude him just upping and leaving you in bed, but he obviously wanted to avoid this super bitch that you are first thing in the morning! Now if you excuse me, I have better things to do than be insulted by you. I suggest you go and wash last night off your skin – you reek”

  As painful as that, almost rehearsed speech was, at least she’s communicating.

  I stop myself before asking who walked out, when last night comes ba
ck to haunt me, after a long week at work, we went out for a few drinks and I ran into Adrian, an old friend of mine, I needed a release and he was willing.

  It was so not worth the effort, I remembered quickly why we never got too serious. He’s the two-pump chump king who keeps his t shirt on! Urgh this day just got worse and it’s not even 7am.

  I shake my head and my own birds nest of curls fly around as I snap myself back to reality. Right Ma first and then life after

  “Ma, I am sorry, just give me a minute” I take a cleansing breath and start again.

  “ok, so tonight, Trent’s retirement dinner, outfit required – check, Adrian sneaking out – mistake big one – or rather not so big but that’s another…”

  My mother cuts me off with the wave of her carefully manicured hand

  “Rayne!!! Stop, it’s bad enough I must walk into your house and make nice with your sexual conquests, I really don’t need to hear how he is lacking in his trousers”

  I stifle a laugh, I love my Ma. She’s a Cuban diva with no filter, dressed up in fine silk but her tongue sharp enough to cut wood.

  Wrapping my arms around her, she wriggles out of my grasp and turns her head away from me

  “Morning breath and left-over sex does not mix with Coco Chanel my darling, wash quickly and let’s go for breakfast”

  I smother her with stinky wet kisses

  “give me 10 minutes”

  We are all kinds of messed up but for years it was just me and Ma.

  Trent, her husband, fell in love with Ma when she worked as a PA for his law firm.

  He used to let me spend afternoons in his office during the school holidays studying and if it wasn’t for him I would never have made it pass my entrance exams.

  It was when I passed my GCSE’s and he took us out to celebrate that I knew he had feelings for her.

  Before I knew it, they were dating, falling in love and mum had moved out of this house and into Trent’s mini mansion in Barnes.

  He paid off Ma’s mortgage and put the house in my name as a present when I got into University. I love Trent. Ma and I owe him our lives.

  I quickly shower and throw on a pair of jeans and a white cotton shirt.

  I add my, were once, white converse and drag a brush through my hair. Staring at my reflection I giggle; Ma and I are so alike yet so different. We’ve both got mad curly hair, mine’s brown almost blonde, her hair is auburn brown, I’ve got light brown eyes, hers are green – she’s olive skinned, I’m kind of bronzed, we’re both about 5’ 5 with a Cuban curve (hips, butts and boobs) I twist my hair into a bun on top of my head and grab my aviators. The sooner we leave the sooner I can eat!

  Rayne

  Shopping with ma is always fun, everything I like, she hates we entertain the sales assistants with our bickering and Ma, ever the lady will sometimes lose it and curse me in Spanish. We always grab a bite to eat, with plenty of wine, maybe a cheeky shot of some kind.

  I drop my bags on my kitchen counter and kick off my trainers. Its 2pm and I must be ready for 5.

  I am excited to be there for Trent – like I said he has been there for me and I am glad to be able to support him in this final chapter.

  Grabbing my phone to switch on a playlist I notice a Facebook notification – usually I ignore them, I only have it out of habit, as much as don’t use it I still cannot bring myself to delete it.

  Opening it up, it’s a request from a Mack DaSilva.

  No, it can’t be.

  That’s my sperm donors name – it’s got to be a joke. There’s a message waiting for me

  Hello Rayne, I hope this is you? I don’t know if you even know who I am, but I am your dad and I have waited years to find you. This is probably very unexpected for you, I never thought I would be able to find you. Rose probably doesn’t talk about me, and I can’t blame her, there is a lot I want to explain and would like the opportunity to meet with you one day, if you want? If you don’t accept the request, I understand. Take Care Mack x

  As if today couldn’t get any weirder. I flip my phone in my hand for a while, do I respond? Do I delete it? I don’t know!

  Ma will tell me to ignore him like he has us for so many years, but I don’t think I can.

  My heart is pounding out of my chest and I am physically shaking – 15 years ago I would have jumped at the chance for contact – rumor has it he went back to Cuba after getting involved in a nasty drugs deal, others tell me that he went back to pursue his music none of which I believe.

  I reach over the counter and pour myself a shot of tequila. I need to settle my nerves.

  Deciding against doing anything tonight I switch on my playlist and listen to my 90’s feel good – a little Jodeci will put me right.

  ‘Forever my lady’ pumps out of my Bluetooth system and I knock back the tequila. I lay my outfit out on my bed and warble along

  “there’s nothing more precious than to raise a family, if I ever lose you tell me where would I go, life would have no meaning”

  The song goes on, but I have no voice, for some unknown reason hot salty tears are escaping my eyes. My balance is off, I settle on the floor and let the lyrics bathe me.

  That’s all I ever dreamed of as a little girl, a dad who truly believed I was the most precious thing in the world and as I grew up I longed for a man to sing those very words to me and mean them.

  Trent isn’t a step dad, he didn’t step in, he stepped up and gave me a life most could never imagine. He’s been a father figure to me and until 10 minutes ago I thought that was enough.

  How dare Mack come into my life without so much of a knock just straight in, wham!

  I’m your dad, wham!

  I want to see you, wham!

  I am going to fuck with your head. (you get my drift)

  Not today Satan.

  I flick back to Facebook and delete the message. Throwing my phone onto my bed. I start to get ready. Deleted. Gone from my phone.

  Just not my head.

  The party is being held at Ma and Trent’s house, they live alongside the River Thames and they have more bedrooms than they can use, parking for enough cars to service the o2 and a kitchen to make most restaurants blush.

  Although its huge, it’s a home. I have my own nook on the second floor; Trent let me decorate it over 10 years ago. It’s bigger than my current bedroom and it was my haven.

  I had it decorated in Farrow and Ball Elephants Breath because I liked the name, there are Liberty prints on the sofa that sits under the window and a distressed bookshelf with all my favourite books haphazardly piled on the shelves. There’s a little writing desk in the corner and space for a laptop or a book, with a pale green Lloyd loom chair that I found in a skip across the road and repainted myself. It’s a carnival of colour and chaos and still my favourite place in the world.

  My own house is white from front to back, it’s a 2-bedroom cottage not far from here in Acton where Ma and I lived BT (before Trent) I painted it white as a blank canvas and the plan was to add colour and life to each room, but for some reason my stark white stayed. I wish I could recreate this space but for some reason I stumble when it comes to redecorating my own house.

  “I thought I would find you in here”

  Startled out of my trance, I see Trent standing in the open doorway. I walk over to him and he hugs me tightly.

  “What’s wrong storm cloud” he asks me

  That’s his nick name for me, he used to say it was because I frowned all the time, I looked like a thunderous cloud just waiting to pour holy hell down on someone

  “Nothing Trentmeister, just stepping away from everyone for a while”

  He looks down at me with his crinkly eyes and raises an eyebrow.

  I love Trent, he’s a booming hulk of a man, at least 6’4, slightly longer hair than most 58-year-old men, with shocking silver streaks all over the top. He’s always tanned due to his love of the outdoors, whether he’s on his boat somewhere or playing golf, he prefers outdoors
to in.

  He looks like he should be a movie star, someone like George Clooney. He wears a suit better than any James Bond but has the bluest eyes and longest lashes that should be illegal on a man. I see why Ma loves him. He’s amazing.

  “Don’t raise your eyebrow at me, I promise I just needed 5”

  “Well I’ve been here for 2 and you’ve been gone longer than 3 so...”

  “Take my hand and come with me” I finish for him.

  It’s our thing, that saying, started when I was about 12 and used to disappear into my own world where I made it safe to dream. Trent always said 5 minutes alone each day is all anyone needs, as long as you had someone to hold your hand, you could do anything and be anyone, but you were never to do it alone.

  I take his outstretched hand and follow him down the seeping stairs. I can hear the chatter and the laughing from the garden. Ma made me wear a dress, we compromised on length and it’s a fitted black sheath that flares out a little sitting just below my knees.

  I’ve got on my trusty nude heels; my hair is pinned back with nothing but diamonds studs in my ears. It’s simple which I like and classy which works for Ma.

  Trent kisses the back of my hand and sets me free in the kitchen as he pulls Ma into his side as he escorts her out to the party.

  I grab a glass of bubbly from one of the trays and make my way to rear patio. There’s at least 50 people here, laughing and joking, it warms my heart to see my Ma in the middle holding court with those she once worked for and with.

  Ma looks over and winks at me – she’s happy. There’s a small band playing a stand that’s been erected for tonight, they’re playing Luther Vandross, a house is not a home – Trent used to play this for Ma on his piano, she’d stand in the family room, looking out on the garden whilst he played her every song that reminded him of her. They both love music, that’s what I believe got them and keeps them together.