Authors: Anne-Marie Hart
The building in which we'd had our prom was now unrecognisable, and had been either extended or just rebuilt entirely, neither of us could tell. The bike shed in which I'd had my first kiss, and where I'd last seen Toby, had been completely modernised and was chock full of bikes. We walked as far as we dared onto the paved playground at the heart of the school that acted as a kind of courtyard between the art block and the rest of the classrooms, and then quickly ran back to the bike when we heard the bell go for lunch, as though we'd done something wrong just by being there.
We hung about near the bike and watched the kids pour out of their classrooms, every single one looking as much of a child as we must have been back then. Teachers followed them too, but there was no-one amongst the crowd that we recognised. Every one from our time must have either retired or gone on to work somewhere else.
Some of the kids that lived in the village and took their lunch at home, looked at the bike, and looked at us admiringly, like we were the kind of thing they aspired to be. We tried to guess who the cool kids, the bullies were, the nerds and the slappers were, and then we did the same with the teachers we saw, some of whom sat in their cars to eat their lunch, others who drove away smoking, and others still who looked like they were headed to the pub in the village for a couple of necessary pints to get them through the afternoon.
We got back on the bike, revved it up to a round of applause from one of the watching kids, and then headed for home.
We entered the village from the crossroads at the top, and passed my old house first. It had changed, but not by much. They'd put up a massive wooden gate which meant we couldn't see in from the road, so we parked up the bike right near the spot where I first met Toby, crept up to the wooden wall and peered in through the gaps at the side. They'd cut a few trees down, let the garden grow a little wild in places, but other than that, the house seemed to have remained pretty much the same. There were two cars in the driveway beyond the gate, one covered up with a greasy tarpaulin, a punchbag hung from a bracket on the side of the house, and a cat stretched out on the lawn, bathing in the warming winter sun.
I couldn't see my bedroom window from here, so we left the bike and took to the fields that ran around the house. There used to be an opening from one of the fields that led into the back of the garden, and I was hoping it would still be there so we could sneak a peak from that side. I was pretty sure I remembered where it used to be, but even if that was the place, the whole thing had long since been changed. Where a natural fence made of conifer trees used to run the perimeter, they'd been replaced now by a high brick wall, so in order to see anything but the roof, we had to take several steps back until my old bedroom window came into view. A dreamcatcher hung in a modernised window, next to a pair of blue curtains. I couldn't tell if it was a boy's room, a girl's room or neither, but whatever it was, it definitely wasn't mine anymore.
Toby and I left the house and went to what remained of the lake. It had been left to dry up, and was now pretty much no more than a puddle. The reeds had been cut back too, so the whole thing looked like a miniature version of what we both remembered. It was pretty disappointing. My house had become a fortress, and the lake, a puddle. I wondered what they'd done to the rest of the village.
We got back on the bike, parked up at the bus-stop that was still a bus-stop, even though I expected no buses stopped there, and walked the short walk up to where Toby's house used to be. The rest of the village seemed to be the same, apart from the row of terraced houses that were now a row of architecturally designed houses, each one of them as different to the next as oranges are to apples. What was once Toby's house was now something that looked like the front of a boat. On the left was something that looked like a fairytale castle, and to the right, something that looked like it had been made of plasticine, complete with textured walls and circular, port-hole style windows.
'Is Miro still buried in the garden?' I asked.
'Unless they dug him up', Toby said. 'I wouldn't put it past them. Do you know how much they sold each one of these for?'
'Something ridiculous', I said.
'A million', Toby said. 'A million pounds.'
We walked to the apple tree that we used to climb, past the church where we tried to raise the dead with a home-made ouija board each one of us pushed a little bit with our little finger to try and get the other one scared, over the fence into the bluebell woods, which had been further decimated by Dutch elm disease, past the red well, which had dried up, and onto the tree house.
'Fuck', Toby said as he saw it.
'No way', I said.
The thing had rotted a little bit, was covered in moss and vines where the rest of the forest had tried to reclaim it, but was still standing after all these years, even if it looked like it was on its last legs.
'I can't believe it', Toby said. 'I thought this thing would be long gone.'
'Me too.'
We looked at each other for a moment, and then ran to the structure, laughing all the way, desperate to beat each other to claim it.
The thing creaked as we fought our way on. One of the steps snapped underneath Toby, so he took to the tree itself, trying to clamber up that way.
'Does nobody know this is here?' I said. 'It doesn't look like anyone has used it since we were here last.'
'Maybe there are no kids in the village', Toby said.
The thing swayed a little bit with us both on, and creaked ominously.
'Look', Toby said, sweeping moss away from the tree. 'It's still here.'
Carved into the bark and still visible was the heart we'd put there almost twenty years ago, our initials at the side.
'It's smaller than I remember', Toby said, sitting down.
'We're bigger than we were', I said, joining him.
The tree-house was old, but it was holding firm. It had been well-built by whoever had done it all those years ago, and even after all this time, it wasn't going to give up on us. Looking around me, for the first time in eighteen years, I felt like I was at home, here in the tree house of my youth, with my once best friend and boyfriend alongside me.
'What?' Toby said. He could see me grinning like a maniac.
'Nothing', I said. 'I'm happy, that's all.'
'I'm hungry', Toby said.
I threw a twig at him. 'Hey', I said, 'I'm having a moment here.'
'I know, me too', Toby said. 'Come here.'
I crawled over towards him and sat down by his side.
'I've missed you, Alice', Toby said, holding my hand.
'Me too', I said.
'You know, I wanted to kiss you the other night', Toby said. 'I know it sounds stupid but, I don't know, maybe it's stupid. It's been eighteen years, you've moved on.'
'I haven't moved on', I said, quickly.
'What about your billionaire?' Toby said.
'He's not my billionaire anymore', I said.
'Oh', Toby said.
'Yeah', I said. 'It's the story of my life.'
'Maybe it's just a chapter', Toby said. 'Maybe the real story is here. You know, us.'
'Toby?' I said. 'Do you want to kiss me now?'
'More than anything in the world', Toby said, and there, in a creaky tree-house where we'd sat and done the same thing for the very first time over twenty years ago, with a pair of Dutch elm diseased trees and the yellow disc of the sun as our only witnesses, Toby and I leaned into one another, pressed our lips together and kissed away the eighteen years we'd been apart. Nothing has ever felt more real, more perfect or more true to me. In that moment, I knew that finally, I'd made it back home. I had everything I needed here, and for the first time in my life since I'd left, all that time ago, I felt complete.
I know this sounds like a bit of a cliché, but Toby and I picked up where we left off. I knew it all along, but I just couldn't see it. I never fell out of love with Toby, and there was no-one else in the world that could replace him. Devizes gave me all the money I could ever want, but there was one thing he didn't have, and that was something he could never change, no matter whether he was telling the truth or not. He just wasn't Toby. He wasn't the man I was madly in love with, and no matter how many islands he took me too, how many expensive bottles of wine he poured me, and how many sports cars he bought, that was never going to change.
I always thought sex with Devizes was incredible, and I was right, it was, but sex with Toby took on a whole different meaning. It was a connection of body, mind, soul and spirit, and it took me to places I didn't ever know even existed. I knew then what I had experienced with Devizes was lacking in one crucial ingredient, and that was love. Toby and I loved each other and it was a tangible, visceral thing, that presented itself in the most magnificent way possible whenever we held hands, looked deeply into each other eyes, kissed or fucked. And when we fucked, Christ it was like the moon was cracking open, only for thousand of fireworks to explode out of it and light up the sky. It was like we had the power together to light up the whole universe, bring dead stars back to live, and burn suns up in seconds.
When I gave up Devizes, I gave up everything that came with him. He took back his flat and his Ferrari, and we dissolved the book contract. I agreed to pay back the two hundred thousand pound advance he had given me in order for them to relinquish the book rights back to me, and after that, all of the unsold books were recalled, collected and ceremoniously pulped.
Devizes tried desperately to hold on to me, calling me, sending lavish presents, turning up unannounced at the house, until he finally got the message and turned cold. Everything from that point on was about cutting me loose, as efficiently as possible.
After that day at the tree-house, Toby and I returned home, and he stayed for a while at the house drinking tea and talking to Sophia, Tad and I about nothing important, yet it felt like the most natural and important thing in my life, and like it wasn't the first time that he had done it. Sophia had never met him before, but five seconds after doing so, she declared that he was absolutely perfect for me, and she saw something between us that she had rarely seen before, and believed had to be cherished, nurtured and preserved.
I began writing again, went back to the old manuscript for Falling Away, edited it, added bits, updated it, changed it, and re-submitted it to several places for re-publication in its newer form. So far, I have thirteen rejections, while I wait for another sixteen responses. When those come back, I'll readjust it if need be, and send it on to more places.
In his early attempts to win me back, Devizes sent me pages and pages of unedited thoughts and diary entries, that he'd torn directly from his journal and stuffed into very expensive looking envelopes, to prove to me that despite everything else that went on, he had always loved me. These barely legible scrawlings, written with remarkable frequency over the period of our relationship, seemed to indicate his continuous struggle with what he called an addiction to cheating, and his unsuccessful attempts to keep it out of our relationship for as long as possible. I still haven't decided whether to include them in the finished book or not, largely because I don't know whether to believe they are genuine.
Devizes Carter isn't his real name, and it never was, but his story remains the same. What you read in 'One In A Billion' is exactly what happened, without embellishments, alterations or enhancements. Toby really did have that beast of a Honda, and it turned me on more than a thousand Ferraris ever would, and Sophia really is that weird. If anything, I had to tone down the parts she played. In case you are wondering, she's still with Tad, still having sex with several other people, and still doing her thing. Whatever they have together works, even though there would be no way it could work for me.
My parents know I've ditched a billionaire and a writing contract for my childhood sweetheart, and gone back to work in Fabio's Italian kitchen. Dad nearly had a heart attack when I told him, and had to go and lie down upstairs for the rest of the afternoon with a medicinal brandy, juts to calm down.
James couldn't hide his happiness at not having the competition any more, even though he tried his best to do exactly that, by being overly supportive. When James lies, his eye twitches in the corner and the tips of his ears go red, so I knew he wasn't telling me the truth when he told me how sorry he was that everything had 'gone tits up on the money front', as he so delicately put it. Fuck them all. Mum, dad and James can think what they like, I know I've made the right decision.
I finished 'One In A Billion', a few months ago, and I've started on another, which I'm already half way through drafting. It's another romance, of course, but this time it isn't based on my life, nor is it about the time traveller. I've decided to put that project on hold, even though I know Vicky will be extremely disappointed. I'm writing again and it feels good. In fact, even if 'One In A Billion' doesn't ever pick up publication or sell, I know it won't bother me. The story is complete now in the way it wasn't before, and as long as I'm writing, and I have Toby by my side, my friends and a job, whatever that may be, I'm going to be happy.