Follow Me Follow You Read online

  Copyright © 2014 Laura E. James

  Published 2014 by Choc Lit Limited

  Penrose House, Crawley Drive, Camberley, Surrey GU15 2AB, UK

  www.choc-lit.com

  The right of Laura E. James to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the UK such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London, W1P 9HE

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available

  from the British Library

  ISBN 978-1-78189-189-6 (epub)

  ISBN 978-1-78189-190-2 (mobi)

  ISBN 978-1-78189-188-9 (epdf)

  To Alexander, Eleanor and Garry.

  This book is most definitely for you.

  No matter how many characters reside in my head, you inhabit my heart.

  Follow your dreams.

  Always.

  Love you.

  xxx

  Contents

  Title page

  Copyright information

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  More Choc Lit

  Introducing Choc Lit

  More from Choc Lit

  Acknowledgements

  To the wonderful band of sisters, The Romaniacs, who walked every step of this journey with me – thank you.

  www.theromaniacs.co.uk

  To Sue G, Debbie and Hayley, who listened so patiently to my incessant chatter about this book and gave such solid feedback – thank you. Have I told you about the next novel, ladies?

  With much thanks to my lovely friends, the experts: Alison Daniell, Alison Griffiths, Effie Merryl and Katherine Price for generously sharing their specialist knowledge and experience. Any errors are mine.

  To the members of the Romantic Novelists’ Association, and Off The Cuff – thank you for the friendships, guidance and opportunities you provide. It makes a world of difference.

  Readers, reviewers and bloggers – thank you for buying the books, thank you for the outstanding work you do in spreading the word about books, and thank you for sharing your endless enthusiasm for books. You are priceless.

  And love and thanks to my family and friends, in real life and online, for encouraging me, supporting me and keeping me strong during difficult times.

  Bro – thanks for always being a protector. And to Mum, who shared her joy of books with me. Miss you.

  To the team at Choc Lit and the lovely Tasting panel members – Rebecca, Jaimee, Melanie, Lynda, Mary, Betty, Sarah, Lisa and Vanessa. Thank you!

  Chapter One

  ‘I hate you.’

  It wasn’t the first time Victoria Noble recoiled at her son’s hostility, but on each occasion she hoped, sometimes even prayed, it would be the last. Mondays triggered the worst attacks.

  She looked at Seth across the breakfast bar, his arms folded and his scrawny legs swinging, left right, left right. His face and colouring was totally his father’s, but his wild mop of irrepressible curls was hers. She sucked in his words. ‘Well, I love you. And you’re stuck with me.’

  Was that the right thing to say to a four-year-old? Apart from a few well-intentioned, but unsolicited pointers from her sister, what Victoria knew of childcare came from the Internet. In hindsight, she realised she should have sought a more personal approach for raising a challenging boy, but requesting assistance wasn’t a strength of hers. She was the Director of EweSpeak, Britain’s most successful social networking site, and as such, was expected to have all the answers. It had been the same at school; her old science teacher was shocked when Victoria failed to demonstrate what happened when molecules weren’t attracted to one another.

  The image played out in her mind and she tilted her head. This was her and Seth. With the ease of oil repelling water, he resisted her attempts to steer him. Did it all come down to chemistry?

  If he was one of her EweSpeak operatives, she’d have sacked him by now – or he’d have sacked her – but Victoria was intelligent enough to understand working with a child was nothing like working with employees. Not even young employees. They did as they were asked and weren’t prone to throwing a paddy by the water cooler. She had taken time to choose her colleagues. They’d completed application forms, taken part in isometric tests and attended three interviews.

  Seth arrived under less stringent controls.

  Was it too late to ask for help?

  The nanny was a godsend with day-to-day issues, but offered no insight into how she managed Seth, and today she’d called in sick with flu – news neither Victoria nor Seth were happy to receive, and the catalyst for the bullets of resentment Victoria was currently dodging. Both mother and child relied on the nanny to get them through the day. This particular one, Cerys, was the first to survive longer than three months, the first to find a way to relate with Seth, and, by some miracle, the first to whom Seth had become attached. All reasons why Victoria had said no to a temporary replacement and yes to waiting until Cerys was better.

  The upheaval of introducing another nanny to Seth was more than he or Victoria could bear. Seth and Cerys had formed a bond; a friendly, mutually respectful, genuine bond, and he would do anything for her.

  And nothing for me.

  The thought wrestled its way down to Victoria’s stomach and slammed it into submission. She used the excuse of collecting Seth’s trainers from under the counter to bend double, hoping to ease the cramping.

  She was thankful her son had someone he could love, who loved him back, and she was grateful for the care Cerys took of him, but it hurt. It hurt Victoria that as his mother, she’d fallen short of his expectations. And it crippled her not knowing how to set things right.

  The next couple of weeks were going to be tough.

  As she breathed away the last of the spasms, she straightened up. What did her sister say in times of trouble? It will pass? She was fond of Juliette, but she knew nothing about demanding children. She had four angels. Not to mentio
n she was a natural-born mother. Victoria raised a brow. Juliette was a natural-born everything; communicator, socialiser, wife. The fact the two women were related was a constant source of amazement to Victoria who, by her own admission, was the complete antithesis of her sister.

  Victoria groaned. Give her computers any day. She understood those. There was a logic to them she never found in people, not even in her own child. Algorithms she could handle; especially rigorously defined algorithms, but the thought of dealing with people on a daily, face-to-face basis was enough to keep her locked away in a sterile white office hour after hour, with only Juliette for company. Victoria never engaged with her EweSpeak flock. She baulked at the notion. The irony of her situation had not escaped her.

  She regarded her son, who was still sitting at the breakfast bar, his arms still secured across his chest, and his legs still kicking back and forth. ‘Shoes on!’ she demanded, hoping the change in tone would spur him into action.

  Seth crossed his ankles and the swinging came to a gradual halt. ‘No.’

  The coolness with which he responded sent a chill through Victoria and she was at a complete loss as to how to exert her authority. She traipsed the length of the tiled floor to the balcony doors and gazed out into the grey London sky. If there was a God, which she had fair reason to disbelieve, why had he sent her a difficult child?

  She raised her hand to the glass and spread her naked fingers across the reflection of her face. There were days, like today, when she wondered if she was being taught a lesson for putting her career above having children.

  When Seth was born, her husband … her shoulders sagged … her ex-husband, agreed to be the primary carer. He’d vehemently objected at first on the basis changing nappies was a woman’s job, and in case Victoria had forgotten – because they’d not had sex since the birth of the child – he was a man. Victoria pointed out she was the main breadwinner and with EweSpeak to run, it made sense for her to go back to work. At the time, she was happy to do so. Nurturing was not in her nature.

  After two months of bitter complaints, declarations of emasculation, and continued assertions of ‘This is women’s work’, Ben Noble walked away, leaving Victoria shocked, and Seth fatherless. His parting shot was a scribbled note that read: It’s your turn to deal with the crap.

  Studying her image, Victoria noticed her brow had furrowed into deep ridges, and she backed away from the door. It was insane analysing Ben’s motives; his conduct was as she had come to expect from his gender. The male sex first let her down when she was eighteen and had continued to do so ever since. That was almost half her life. The one man to stand by her was her father. That wasn’t to say he never got it wrong, but when he did, at least he displayed remorse and that made his flaws forgivable.

  Perhaps that was all it was with Seth. A flaw. A glitch. If she accepted it was his way, they might get along. With a sense of defeat, she turned, faced her son and forced a weak smile. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I get it. You don’t want to come to the office.’

  His round face remained expressionless and his dark eyes still. His feet unhooked, he reached for an apple from the crystal bowl before him, and he jumped off the tall stool. ‘No,’ he said, clenching the fruit in his fist. Before Victoria had time to react, he drew back his arm and propelled the firm, green missile at her. It smashed into her chest. She took a moment to regain her breath, experience telling her it would take infinitely longer to recover from her despair.

  This was not the first time her son had launched an attack.

  She stooped to retrieve Seth’s ammunition and breathed away the response to cry.

  As she dropped the makeshift projectile in the bin, she kept her son under surveillance. He made no attempt to apologise; neither did he flee. His unrepentant eyes narrowed, and his knuckles whitened with the exertion of clutching another apple.

  ‘Put it in your rucksack,’ Victoria said. ‘And be warned, if you’re not dressed in five minutes, you’ll come to work in your pyjamas.’

  She trudged into the hall, where she gathered several large files and dumped them into her briefcase. She hoped it wouldn’t come to it, but if she had to drag Seth into work kicking and screaming, then she would. As to who would be protesting the most, she was uncertain.

  As Victoria slipped her feet into her shoes, Seth charged past and gave a forceful shove to her hip, knocking her off balance as he ran up the stairs of their split-level apartment. Victoria crashed into the wall and the side of her skull whacked the corner of the chrome coat hooks she’d had mounted a week ago. She steadied herself, fingered her temple and tested for blood. Dry. She left her hand resting on her aching forehead and concentrated on absorbing the pain threatening to swamp her. Enough was enough. She wanted to scream. She wanted to yell at the top of her voice and rant and rave, but the culprit was four years old. And he was her son. The fact he provoked such intense feelings within her was proof she loved him. Wasn’t it? The question banged around her sore head. She wanted love to flow through her veins. She wanted it to flood her heart and be her life force, but it was hard with a child who communicated with words of hatred.

  Victoria studied her ringless finger. Love was hard. Full stop. Especially with a trampled heart. Twice she’d laid it in the open and twice it had been ridden roughshod over. Both men had said they loved her. Both men had lied. At least Seth was honest. Not once had those three little words passed his lips.

  He struggled with Mummy.

  As the adrenalin ebbed, so did Victoria’s energy and desire to fight. Four years she’d lived like this. In bedlam. It was a miracle she hadn’t been sectioned.

  She yearned for the sanctuary of her office where she knew what to expect. In her virtual world, she was the one who pushed all the buttons and every response was as she’d programmed.

  She checked her watch, walked to the bottom step and rested there, with her back, tense and hunched, to her son. She had to get to work. ‘Seth. Please get dressed.’

  A second after Seth’s footfall halted, the apple clunked and thumped its way down each stair, coming to settle by the front door.

  Victoria closed her eyes to it. Next week, she’d buy grapes.

  ‘That’s a nasty bruise.’ Juliette leaned closer to Victoria and inspected her forehead. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I walked straight into the new coat hooks. Stupid of me.’ Victoria focused on the sofa, where Seth was playing with his Nintendo DS, earphones in, oblivious to the world.

  Juliette stepped away. ‘You weren’t thinking of Chris Frampton, were you? He has a lot to answer for.’ She wiggled the white mouse on her desk and the small sheep cursor sparked the monitor into life. ‘Seventeen years and he still plagues you.’

  Victoria snorted. ‘I was thinking about Ben, actually.’ She directed her attention to her sister.

  ‘That low-life. I wouldn’t waste another minute on him.’ Juliette pulled out her leather chair and settled into it, smoothing down her navy suit. ‘He hasn’t concerned himself with you or Seth. I’m surprised you even talk about him, let alone show Seth photographs.’

  ‘Don’t you think a boy needs his father?’ It had crossed Victoria’s mind several times that having Ben in Seth’s life might moderate his behaviour. Seth’s. Not Ben’s. Although Ben would benefit from a shot of responsibility. She mirrored her sister, and assumed her position at her desk.

  ‘I’d rather raise a child alone than subject him to an uncaring parent,’ Juliette said.

  ‘That’s easy for you to say. You found the one decent man and married him.’ Victoria studied her amazing, bright and disciplined baby sister, whose ebony-black hair stayed where it should, whose clothes never creased and whose life overflowed with pleasure and wonderful moments of tenderness. Thank goodness she hadn’t suffered the humiliation and trauma of divorce. The tortured sister was Victoria’s role. ‘I’m glad you
and Dan have each other,’ she said.

  ‘We may have been young, but Dan knew when he was onto a good thing.’ Juliette cocked an eyebrow. ‘Anyway, he signed a scrap of paper that said we’re stuck with each other until death us do part. Unlike Ben-No-Balls, Dan believes that means something.’

  Victoria placed her hands on the desk and forced out a breath. Juliette saw only black or white, and made no disguise of the fact she was disgusted with Ben.

  ‘I know Seth was a shock to you,’ Juliette continued, ‘but Ben agreed to look after him.’ She jumped up from her chair. ‘And I’ll tell you what angers me the most. He watched you go through a traumatic birth, demanded you breastfed even though the very thought made you sick, and said you should have tried harder to be a mother. Do you remember? Then the pathetic excuse for a man walked out on you.’ Juliette puffed out her cheeks and released a gust of air. ‘Don’t ever wonder if Seth would be better off with him in his life. It’s a godsend he never came back.’

  Clearly satisfied her point had hit home, Juliette resumed her seat and turned to her computer screen. ‘So. Is that why you were late today? The blow to the head?’

  ‘Yes.’ Reeling from the conversation and sudden change of topic, Victoria was in no condition to elaborate; it was neither the time nor the place. She allowed herself a moment to settle before switching to work mode. ‘How are our star clients doing?’

  As efficient as Victoria, Juliette tapped on the keyboard and, after a fleeting silence, gave a nod of appreciation.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Your obsession, Chris Frampton. His flock’s grown substantially in the last twenty-four hours. There’s speculation he’s returned to the UK.’ She keyed in further information, and nodded again. ‘The board will be ecstatic.’

  Victoria rose from her chair and crossed to the coffee machine. ‘Money grabbers. I should never have agreed to one.’

  Juliette sighed. ‘Not this again. It was sound business practice.’

  ‘EweSpeak’s a private company.’