the Author
About the Publisher
This book is dedicated to my gorgeous Fiancé, who has always championed me, supported me, challenged me and loved me, in the best possible ways. Mark, this story is my love letter to you.
This book is also dedicated to anyone who has ever felt lost. We’re all in it together, and you’re not alone. No matter how dark it is, there will always be stars in the sky, guiding us on.
LOST:
One precious charm bracelet with
great sentimental value.
Last seen near Lulworth Cove,
Dorset on 31 August.
If found, please get in touch –
REWARD ON OFFER.
Contact [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re. My Charm Bracelet
Today at 12:32 p.m.
Dear Caitlin,
Thank you so much for getting in touch about finding my bracelet. You’ve no idea how much it means to me. I’ve been checking my phone about a hundred times a day ever since I put up the posters and plastered the ad all over social media. The feeling of relief is almost indescribable.
It was gifted to me on the eve of my eleventh birthday, and without the bracelet, I haven’t felt like myself. Each and every charm on the silver link chain with its little heart-shaped locket clasp is significant, marking a special memory which has the power to make me laugh, smile, or cry.
Caitlin, have you ever loved someone so much that every time you look at them, a piece of your heart swells with joy simply because they’re in the world? Well, that’s who Jake is to me. Each charm on the bracelet is a part of our story. My life, his life, our lives … and how they’ve intertwined over the past fifteen years. I need the bracelet back, and to convince you it’s mine I’m going to tell you all about the precious memories that come with those special charms.
I’ll start before our beginning, because you need to know how I got the bracelet and how that day affected my whole life. By the end of this re-telling, I hope you’ll find it in your heart to return my bracelet to me, so I can finish the birthday treasure hunt Jake created, find the last charm, and put it where it belongs.
Mine and Jake’s story isn’t over yet, no matter what other people might think.
The Charm Bracelet & The Heart Charm
There’s glistening jewellery lying on my bedspread when I get in from seeing Eloise – a silver charm bracelet with a heart-shaped locket holding the clasp together and a tiny chain dangling from it. Turning it over between my fingers, I see a plain silver heart charm hanging down halfway around it. I frown. It’s my eleventh birthday tomorrow so maybe the bracelet’s an early present? But why isn’t it wrapped? And who is it from? There’s no label. I can’t picture Dad buying it, going around shops after spending all day at work plumbing. It can’t be from Mum, because she always wraps presents she says are ‘fit for royalty’ with carefully folded paper, tape sticking the edges down neatly, and a ribbon tied in a bow with the ends curled into spirals.
Sitting down on the bed as I undo the bracelet to see if it fits me, a scrunching sound echoes around the room. Frowning, I look down and pull a piece of paper from under my leg. Unfolding it on my bare knees, I smooth it out and see a single word and a kiss. It’s both the simplest and the hardest note I’ve ever read.
Sorry. X
A heavy thudding sounds up the stairs and Dad bursts into my room, eyes wide, blond hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. He’s clutching a crumpled note in his hand, and the paper matches the note I’m holding. ‘It’s your mum,’ he whispers brokenly, ‘she’s gone.’
I actually feel my eyes widen with shock, and my breath catches in my throat, choking me.
How could she? How can she leave us? Leave me? I trusted her.
I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.
The motorway that’s whizzed by for most of the journey melts away into grey pavements and red-roofed houses, and Jake can see his reflection in the car window. He turns away. His mum always says he’s striking looking, but Jake’s not sure that’s a good thing, even though she tries to make it sound that way. The last time his dad, Terry, caught her saying it, he’d said Jake was a freak. That it was her fault their son had been born with a cleft palate and different coloured eyes. Having a normal healthy baby, he’d yelled, was more than she was capable of.
The car journey’s taken forever. They’d left Birmingham as dawn was breaking and Jake can’t wait to get to their destination. He’s fed up of moving houses. He’s twelve or thirteen – he doesn’t know his actual age because his dad won’t let them celebrate his birthday, even though his mum has tried to – and they’ve moved at least six times that he can remember.
Finally, they roar up outside a white house with pebbles on the bottom half and a red front door. It has double-glazed windows, and the small front garden has trimmed grass. It’s nice. Hopefully it’ll last more than a few months. His dad called their last house a shithole, but it hadn’t been when they first moved in. Even Jake knows that if you don’t mow the lawn, if you leave rubbish in the grass, and kick in the walls and doors when you’re angry, a house will soon fall apart. Just like a family will if you don’t care for it.
A few minutes later, he’s following his dad up the beige-carpeted stairs with a heavy box in his arms. ‘You’re
