of my childhood. How would it feel to step back inside that building? A shiver of excitement ricocheted through my body at the very thought.
We spent the next twenty minutes enjoying our food and chatting about all the people I might remember in the village. The pair of them reeled off a long list of names, mainly from the dance school days, but I couldn’t remember half the people they mentioned.
‘Dessert?’ asked Connie, standing up and collecting the empty plates from the table.
‘Not for me, thank you.’
‘Or me,’ Grace smiled up at her mum. ‘Sit down, I’ll clear away in a moment.’
‘If you’re sure?’
‘Of course.’
‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to get going, leave you girls to it,’ she said, slipping her arms into her coat and grabbing her bag from the worktop.
‘Thank you for picking me up from the airport,’ I said, smiling up at Connie.
‘You are more than welcome. Shall I collect you around eleven-ish tomorrow and we can visit your grandfather? Would that time suit you?’
‘Perfect,’ I answered with a little apprehension. I was beginning to feel nervous about seeing him again.
Connie must have noticed the look on my face. ‘There’s no need to be nervous, I promise.’
Grace stood up and kissed her mum on the cheek before Connie disappeared out of the cottage.
‘Here, have a look through that while I wash up.’ Grace handed me a programme from the latest production she’d performed in.
‘I’ll help you clear up.’
‘You will do no such thing,’ Grace insisted. ‘Sit and relax, it won’t take long.’
‘I could get used to this.’
Grace began to run the hot water while I browsed through the thick booklet she’d handed me. ‘Wow! Good photo of you there,’ I cooed, incredibly proud of her. ‘Just think where it all started, in a little village dance school.’
‘I know, two superstars from the same community.’ She flashed me a grin, placing the dishes on the drainer.
This was my opportunity to come clean, to tell Grace I’d never made it on to the stage, I’d never passed an audition or even got a call back. My face would never be printed in a programme. But I didn’t tell her. Instead I kept quiet, not wanting anyone’s pity. I didn’t want people to know how badly I’d failed, so I brushed over it once more, hiding the fact that I was a disappointment.
Turning the pages casually, I knew at any second Sam Reid would once again be staring back at me, and there he was on page twelve, making the hairs on the back on my neck stand to attention.
Grace must have noticed I’d gone quiet and glanced over my shoulder.
‘Sam Reid, Birmingham Hippodrome’s favourite heart throb.’ Grace pressed her lips together then whistled softly.
‘Which I’m assuming is undisputed.’ I knew I was staring gormlessly at his picture. ‘It’s a hard job but someone has to do it,’ I murmured, still not able to tear my eyes away from the page.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Will Sam Reid be joining us in the pub tonight?’ I bit down on my lip to stop my smile from escaping.
‘No, afraid not, but I’m sure it’s more than likely you’ll bump into him very soon.’
‘It’s a pity he’s not out tonight.’
‘You’re staring!’
‘His eyes are mesmerising. There’s something about Sam Reid.’
‘Which is?’ Grace quizzed.
‘Very photogenic.’ I paused. ‘What’s the relationship status of this man?’
With a wide grin Grace smiled in my direction, ‘That’ll be single!’
After a quick shower, I hung up my clothes in the wardrobe and chose an unassuming outfit of white skinny jeans, accompanied by a light-blue stripy blouse before sitting at the dressing table. I used a couple of wands of mascara and a dab of nude shiny lip gloss, brushed through my hair, squirted my perfume and declared myself ready.
The jetlag was beginning to kick in now, but if I could manage to keep going for a few more hours, I’d hopefully fall quite easily into the UK time zone.
Grace rapped on the door. ‘You still awake?’ she asked, leaning against the doorframe.
‘Just about,’ I said, standing up and slipping my comfy battered pumps on my feet. ‘You have permission to flick my ears if I fall asleep on you.’
‘Ha! You’ll be fine. Once you’re there you’ll get a second wind … just shout up as soon as you want to come back,’ Grace said with a smile. ‘The pub is only five minutes’ walk away, if that.’
‘Which one are we going to?’ I asked, grabbing my bag and a cardigan.
‘The Malt Shovel, the one on the high street.’
As Grace and I set off up the lane with our arms linked and the warmth of the evening sun on our faces, a sense of contentment flooded my veins as the pub grew close. This was the pub Grandie and I used to sit outside regularly … happy memories from a time before everything changed.
The outside benches were already jam-packed with drinkers chatting and laughing while enjoying the weather. Grace led the way through the heavy oak door then pushed through the thirsty customers and waved towards the barman. I was taken aback by the charm of the place; as a child, I’d never really noticed. It was so different from the rooftop bar overlooking Manhattan. The quintessential low ceiling held aloft by wooden beams, the stone floors and the fireplaces gave the whole place a cosy feel. The mahogany shelving in the corner was littered with bric-a-brac and books. From the flashing fruit machine in the corner came a clatter of falling money as a man stood and scooped up his winnings.
Grace stopped in a space and I lingered behind her. As soon as he finished serving the girl at the side of us, the barman turned towards Grace with a full-on beam.
‘Good evening, do you remember Alice?’ Grace gestured towards me.
I smiled. His face looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite picture him. ‘Hi,’ I said, narrowing my eyes and scrutinising him.
‘That’s not a local accent … American?’ He scrunched up his face and bit down on his lip.
‘No shit, Sherlock,’ chuckled Grace. ‘Definitely an American accent.’
He studied my face.
