Chapter One
Manchester to Paris
“Have you got your passport?” My da asks for the hundredth time.
“Yes, Da. And my wallet.” I roll my eyes at his overbearing nature.
“And Noah’s meetin’ ya in Paris?”
“—Da, can I go to Paris?” My younger brother Connor chimes in.
“And what the hell would you be doin’ in Paris, son?”
“I heard they have great bread.”
“There’s bread in the kitchen, ya eejit, now say bye to Sammy and bugger off.” Da goes to give Con a smack to the back of his head, but he ducks just in time. “Go tell Niamh to come down and say bye too.”
Connor bounds up the stairs with all the exuberance of a fourteen-year-old shifter, shouting Niamh’s name obnoxiously.
Once I’ve said goodbye to my family and confirmed to my da that I will, in fact, call while I’m away, I head out the front door with my rucksack on and make my way to the train station.
It’s early September, and some of the leaves are already beginning to turn. The tips of the leaves are tinged with yellow before they will inevitably brown and drift to the ground below. Autumn has always been my favourite season; as a redhead, I’m invariably ready to leave the summer behind. I’m made for moody skies and colder temperatures, which is largely why I chose to do this trip now instead of in the height of summer.
The station is quiet, past the rush of morning commuters, but I head to my platform as soon as it’s listed on the board. Next to me, waiting for the train is a short brunette woman holding a chubby little baby who keeps waving at me. I smile and wave back. Because of my size, most people give me a wide berth, but kids rarely care about things like that.
I wonder sometimes if I’ll ever have kids of my own. With my future set as Alpha of our pack, the idea of being responsible for my own children as well as a whole pack is a daunting prospect.
Thankfully, the train arrives—on time for once—interrupting the thoughts I try to steer away from. I board, choosing a window seat with a table. Once I’m settled, I pull out the Moleskine diary that started this whole idea off. It’s a simple diary, a now faded black cover with the year 1990 indented onto it. Surprisingly inconspicuous for the journal of an eighteen-year-old girl.
June 1990
Dear future Cara
Ugh. I already miss him. But I’m determined to do this. Siobhan and I have been planning this trip since we were 15. I even spent most of my weekends babysitting the O’Brien twins, and I’m pretty sure they’re possessed. Lord above may I never have to babysit twinseveragain.
Anyway, it’s happening. Our flights are booked, and this time tomorrow, we’ll be on a plane to New York City!
I cried when I said bye to Sean this morning. How embarrassing? I’m only going to be gone for two months, and then we’ll be getting married before long. I promised I’d email him any chance we get. It’s kind of romantic I suppose. Like modern-day love letters via the world wide web.
It’s important for a young woman to have some adventures before she settles down, so that’s what Siobhan and I are going to do. We’re not going to cry about a boy back home. No, we arenot.
From past Cara x
I’ve read this whole diary from back to front so many times, yet it still forms a lump in my throat that’s hard to swallow past. It also never fails to make me laugh that she ended up with menacing twins of her own.
Connor and Niamh are fraternal twins, four years younger than me. Connor is the double of Mum, with almost black hair and bright green eyes; he has her sharper features as well. Niamh on the other hand, looks more like me and Da. We got his ginger hair, freckles and dimples, although she also got Mum’s green eyes. In some ways, I think it’s fortunate that it’s Connor who looks so like her. It might have slowly killed Da to see a younger version of his lost mate every single day.
A few months after my mum and da met, Mum spent two months travelling around America with her cousin, Siobhan, and she kept this journal of their trip.
Shortly after Mum died two years ago, Da gave it to me. The diary is worn from being well-used by a carefree eighteen-year-old on her travels, but I’ve treated it like my most prized possession since it was entrusted to me. Stroking the pad of my index finger carefully over her words, I can feel the slight indentation of them on the page, a reminder that she really was once here. Like the gaping hole she left behind wasn’t reminder enough. With one last glance at the first page, I gently closethe journal and put it back in the clear plastic wallet I keep it protected in.
So, now that I’m eighteen, I’m going to spend two months travelling around America, just like she did. Going to all the places she visited and seeing if it brings me closer to her.
I’d do anything to feel closer to her.
I think she’d be proud of me for going on this trip. She always used to say I worried too much. She’d tell me that sometimes you have to leap head first and live a little. Well, here I am, Mum, living a little, just for you.
Paris airport is like a giant labyrinth. I scan the screen overhead to see where the boarding gate to New York is.
