Love in Lockdown Read online

  LOVE IN LOCKDOWN

  Chloe James

  Published by AVON

  A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

  Copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

  Cover design by Holly Macdonald © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

  Cover illustrations © Shutterstock.com

  Chloe James asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008430573

  Ebook Edition © November 2020 ISBN: 9780008430566

  Version: 2020-10-29

  To Marianne, Grace, Madeleine and Francesca with love

  Author’s Note

  In writing Love in Lockdown I hope I have done justice to what has been a really tough time. I’m aware that reading about lockdown will bring up a lot of difficult emotions for many. Love in Lockdown is at its heart a love story, and a love letter to community – not a story about the virus itself, and it does not go into specifics around the medical or political side of the story. This is not to diminish these aspects of lockdown, but because I wanted to tell a story that reflected the courage, hope and love that can come out of darkness. So many of us have pulled together during lockdown, and this is the experience I hope you’ll find reflected in this book.

  ‘I like being alone, but I want someone to be alone with, if that makes sense …’

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: Sophia

  Chapter 2: Jack

  Chapter 3: Sophia

  Chapter 4: Jack

  Chapter 5: Sophia

  Chapter 6: Jack

  Chapter 7: Sophia

  Chapter 8: Jack

  Chapter 9: Sophia

  Chapter 10: Jack

  Chapter 11: Sophia

  Chapter 12: Jack

  Chapter 13: Sophia

  Chapter 14: Jack

  Chapter 15: Sophia

  Chapter 16: Jack

  Chapter 17: Sophia

  Chapter 18: Jack

  Chapter 19: Sophia

  Chapter 20: Jack

  Chapter 21: Sophia

  Chapter 22: Jack

  Chapter 23: Sophia

  Chapter 24: Jack

  Chapter 25: Sophia

  Chapter 26: Jack

  Chapter 27: Sophia

  Chapter 28: Jack

  Chapter 29: Sophia

  Chapter 30: Jack

  Chapter 31: Sophia

  Chapter 32: Jack

  Chapter 33: Sophia

  Chapter 34: Jack

  Chapter 35: Sophia

  Chapter 36: Jack

  Chapter 37: Sophia

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  It’s funny how in this world we all rush about like hordes of teeming worker ants, focused on our individual errands, together but not together, our paths coming close. They may sometimes cross, yet so often we aren’t even aware of it.

  Jack is intent on his own troubles, his dark head bent low into the torrential wind and rain driving relentlessly into his face. The fateful papers are clutched to his chest in a simple plastic wallet. Not very classy, but he can’t afford leather after all the solicitor’s fees.

  Besides, ‘there’s nothing more we can do at this point,’ the incredibly serious, smartly suited man had said with a sigh. Honestly, did he really have to be so dismal?

  ‘You’ll soon bounce back, mate – you’re like a rubber band,’ he could hear his brother Sam saying. Sam is four years older than him and therefore supposedly more mature, but can usually be relied upon to create comedy even in the most hideous of situations. ‘When life gives you lemons, just make a darn good gin and tonic,’ is one of his favourite sayings.

  Everything is a bit of a mess now, though, just when Jack thought he’d got his life all worked out. It had all been going so well. Finally he had been having some fun, being normal, right up until he blew it. Maybe he should have stayed in Greece; he’d been happy there – not settled with a family like Sam of course, but at least he’d had a good time. He remembers his first day in Agios Nikolaos, learning how to make Ouzotini. The Greek people treated him like family. The endless blue skies, the brilliant white of the ancient buildings glistening in the sun, the banter in the taverna had all been exhilarating. He wished it could have gone on forever.

  Especially on days like this, though to be fair the weather seems to match his mood. He pulls his hood further over his head and huddles deeper inside his coat against the onslaught of rain, as a car races past and splashes water up his leg.

  Greece had been wonderful, but he’d missed Sam. And now Sam is going to be a dad, and ‘Uncle Jack’ has a certain ring to it. He wouldn’t want to miss out on that. Not that it had been an easy decision. After years of medical tests, sheets of rules, special diets and regulations, Greece had been the sanctuary he needed. But it was an escape, running away from reality. Sam knew that and unlike their parents, he had vaguely understood. ‘Main thing is you got it out of your system, mate,’ he had said. But on the upside, Jack loves his job at Soho. It’s a laugh and there’s a terrific crowd of regulars, especially on a Saturday night. His daiquiri is legendary, so deceptively simple to make but incredibly difficult to get the balance right. He’d learned that on his course and it was well worth all the practising.

  Jack hurries across the street. It’s not long until his hospital appointment – nothing serious, just his regular blood test. He hopes they are more accurate than usual when they jab the needle in. His veins are all too prone to playing hard to get and afterwards he often looks as though they have been using him for target practice.

  His phone blasts out.

  ‘Where are you, mate?’ Sam asks. ‘I’m driving into the car park.’

  ‘I’ll meet you inside,’ says Jack. ‘The solicitor took longer than I thought, boring old sod.’

  ‘You’re always bloody late. Any news?’

  ‘No of course not.’

  ‘What a surprise! See you in ten.’

  Jack is half-running towards the multi-storey – he’s going to be far longer than ten minutes. No one minds lateness if you’ve achieved what you needed to, but it had been such a waste of time. He cuts through the street and round the corner, slap bang into two women who are hurrying the other way.

  One is carrying a pile of magazines and papers, most of which spill onto the rain-soaked pavement.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ she shouts.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Jack says, attempting to scrap
e sodden pages off the unforgiving cobbles.

  ‘It’s fine,’ the woman, who has a choppy blonde bob, says tightly. It obviously is not at all fine, thinks Jack. The wet magazines in his hand are covered with images of brides resplendent in various white frothy dresses, now looking splodgy, the colour of the print running into the white.

  Next to her is another young woman – although it’s difficult to tell really, as she is dressed in a navy mac, hiding most of her features – but she bends instantly to help pick them up.

  ‘This would never have happened if we had left on time,’ the blonde complains.

  Her companion sends an apologetic grin in Jack’s direction. All he can see is her eyes, but he can tell by the way they crinkle at the corners that they’re full of amusement – she is obviously used to this complaint.

  ‘My brother is always saying the same to me.’ He smiles at her over Brides and Setting Up Home, but she is too busy picking up papers to notice.

  ‘I can’t apologise enough,’ he continues to the angry woman who by now has managed to retrieve most of her pile of magazines. ‘I feel really bad. Can I help you to get somewhere?’

  ‘No thanks,’ she comments abruptly, but then appears to reconsider. ‘Thanks anyway. We’re here now.’ She indicates the bridal boutique to the side of them and pulls open the door.

  ‘Good luck with that!’ Jack mutters under his breath, but oblivious she dashes into the shop.

  He is sure he hears the friend respond, ‘You said it,’ as she follows behind, but her words are drowned by the tinkling of the shop bell and the passing traffic. He’s left looking at her retreating back, wondering if he imagined it. He watches them in the shop for a split second, laughing at something, both the picture of excitement in spite of their wet gear. He is struck by their hopeful happiness. He looks at his watch and braces himself for Sam’s usual rant about how he’s always late.

  Inside the shop, Jess gingerly deposits her magazines on the ornate desk.

  ‘What a terrible afternoon.’ Valerie, the assistant, bustles towards them.

  ‘Awful. I hope we don’t have weather like this on my wedding day,’ says Jess, indicating the sodden and crumpled magazines.

  ‘They look a bit worse for wear,’ Val remarks, ‘but don’t panic, I’ve plenty more where those came from.’ She goes to the back of the boutique and returns with a veritable mountain of shiny new glossies.

  ‘Thanks so much.’ Sophia throws her wet mac on a nearby stand.

  ‘Now make yourselves comfortable, my dears. Would you like a lovely glass of bubbly or a hot cup of tea and we’ll get started on some more designs you like the look of?’

  Within minutes they are happily ensconced on the chaise longue, sipping from long elegant flutes of champagne whilst checking out gowns in the magazines.

  ‘Now I know you had a couple of favourites last time you were here, but I do have a few that are new in only this week,’ Val says, appearing from the back room under a mound of frothy fabric and lace.

  ‘Ooh I like the look of the one on top there,’ says Jess.

  ‘You have great taste – that’s a Bella Morilee. Very simple, with a gorgeous circular train.’

  ‘I love the simple styles,’ states Sophia, ‘rather than too much decoration. Makes a bit of a statement, don’t you think?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Jess muses, contemplating the satin dress on its fabric-covered hanger. ‘I’ll try it on.’

  Soon there’s a lot of muffled grumbling and expostulating coming from the changing room. ‘I’ve got the strap stuck round my arm and I can’t move,’ calls Jess. Val deftly rearranges the thin strips of fabric so Jess can actually move, then she wafts out of the fitting area, the simple dress curving effortlessly out from her waist. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Sophia, her head on one side. ‘What do you think?’

  They both look at each other for a second; words aren’t really necessary. ‘I’m not sure,’ they both say at the same time.

  ‘Maybe it’s a bit too plain,’ Sophia says. ‘Even though I like the diamante belt.’

  ‘I agree.’ Jess swoops off to try another new style, kindly handed to her by the ever-patient Val.

  ‘Your wedding dress has to be absolutely right,’ she tells Jess. ‘You’ll know when it’s the one.’

  Jess returns in a sheathed robe with a plunging neckline.

  ‘Wow,’ Sophia says. ‘That’s pretty spectacular.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Jess, turning this way and that and peering at her reflection in the mirror. ‘It feels a bit too, well … revealing. Don’t you think it is?’

  ‘Maybe. But you look incredible in it.’

  ‘I just think I’ll be worrying everything is going to fall out in the middle of the service.’

  They both giggle. ‘Maybe not then,’ Sophia admits. ‘We don’t want to upset the older guests.’

  Three dresses later and still nothing is quite right. ‘It’s no good, I’m going to have to try on the Madi Lane dress again,’ Jess says disconsolately.

  ‘Which, the rose or the drape?’ asks Sophia.

  ‘Both,’ they say at the same time, then laugh.

  Of course Jess looks gorgeous in each of the gowns, apart from a puffy dress with far too much ruching. They discard the meringue but they’re left with a huge pile of possible winners. ‘Which one feels like the one?’ asks Sophia.

  ‘I don’t know,’ ponders Jess. ‘This is such a big decision.’ To many it’s just a dress, but for Jess it means everything. She wants to be the centre of attention, just for once, to look and feel amazing. This is her wedding day and it’s got to be perfect.

  ‘Why don’t you try each of them again, this time with the shoes and the veil?’ suggests Val, hovering eagerly, refilling their champagne glasses with a generous hand, no doubt with the hope that a little inebriation might soften the sting of the high price tag for this particular collection. Having done so, however, she speedily trots off to replace the bottle in the back room; she doesn’t want them so tipsy they spill sparkling wine on the dresses.

  Jess goes back into the changing room before reappearing in the rose dress. She looks beautiful but Sophia can sense she’s not in love with it. ‘Now the next,’ she says, idly flicking through a magazine. Something about one of the brides attracts her notice. She’s laughing, her long brown hair cascading down her back, and her cute husband is holding her hands and smiling into her eyes. The backdrop is of a stunning beach in the Maldives, or somewhere like it. Sophia swallows and quickly turns the page. She can’t get upset here, this is Jess’s time – but she can’t help thinking that this could have been her, if only …

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ Jess returns in the draped Madi Lane dress, the first one she ever tried on, funnily enough. It is breathtaking; layers of lace cascading down from the bodice showing off Jess’s figure to perfection. The finespun trim on her delicate veil is hovering gently on her shoulders, tiny gems sparkling in the shop lights like dewdrops. She looks stunning and this time she knows it.

  ‘So, do you have your answer?’ asks Val anxiously, sensing an imminent, highly lucrative sale is finally within tantalising reach.

  ‘I think we do.’ Jess smiles across at Sophia. ‘This is the one, I can just feel it.’

  ‘It’s perfect. I love it,’ agrees Sophia. ‘You look amazing and Zach is one incredibly lucky guy.’

  ‘I’ll make sure he knows it,’ Jess says with a laugh, swishing back into the changing room in a flurry of cream fabric.

  Sophia goes back to her magazine, but the print blurs and swirls in front of her eyes.

  ‘Are you all right there, love?’ asks Val, taking the discarded dresses in her arms.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ says Sophia with an attempt at a smile. She doesn’t feel fine; she feels a bit weird, a little out of it, even. Just like on that fateful day that changed everything. She had worked so hard; everything was all mapped out perfectly: her succe
ssful high-powered job, her future marriage to Ryan. And then in one brief episode, the course of her whole life had changed. Four minutes, that’s all it had taken – well, four minutes and thirty seconds to be precise. Because on that day, Sophia had suffered her first epileptic seizure.

  It’s okay not to be okay – that’s what they say. And of course it’s true, but it’s a weird fact that in this world, sometimes you can feel alone even when you’re together.

  Chapter 1

  Sophia

  ‘This is totally ridiculous,’ I say, staring disconsolately at the row upon row of empty shelves, where the loo rolls should have been.

  This is actually a crisis of epic proportions; shortage of toilet roll is a problem for the two of us in our flat at the best of times. We use it for pretty much everything: clearing up spillages, wiping the door handles with disinfectant (a regular occurrence these days) and for make-up emergencies, so we get through a fair bit.

  ‘We’re on our last roll,’ Erica says at the other end of the phone, confirming my worries.

  ‘I knew I should have stocked up, but I thought the reports were exaggerated.’

  ‘Obviously not – it just takes one national crisis and everyone is reaching for the loo roll,’ comments Erica.

  ‘Anyone would think it’s a stomach bug.’ I poke about desperately to see if by some miracle a small pack of toilet rolls has hidden itself behind the tins. ‘We’ll have to improvise. What did they use in wartime?’

  ‘Newspaper I think, but I don’t fancy that much – it would be flipping uncomfortable.’ Erica laughs. ‘And we could hardly flush it down the loo after.’

  ‘Doesn’t bear thinking about,’ I say with a chuckle.

  ‘I’ve got to be on shift in a few hours. Have you seen my tunic?’ asks Erica. I can hear her rummaging about for her midwife’s uniform; she’ll be trashing the place.

  ‘It’s hanging up ready in the wardrobe,’ I say.

  ‘You’re a star, Soph. Just grab something and get yourself back. I need to be early tonight as we’re short-staffed and last time we ate dinner together, I was late.’