Unlucky Break
Authors: Kate Forster
For Tansy
CONTENTS
Sneak Preview! Tall, Dark and Distant
Andie stood in the doorway of the plane, her worn leather backpack hanging off one shoulder. She looked inside the cabin, trying to act as though flying first class was usual for her.
‘Welcome aboard, Miss Powers,’ said the attendant. ‘We’re so pleased you’re choosing to fly to Los Angeles with us today.’
‘Ah, yeah,’ Andie said, shuffling her Doc Martens, acutely aware of the other first-class passengers staring at her.
They were all ridiculously well dressed and looked like they’d been born to fly first class. Andie imagined what she must look like to them, in her worn jeans and vintage leopard-print coat. Her long dark hair was loose, and the only make-up she wore was a smudge of red lipstick, bright against her pale face. It was her signature look back home, and she’d always thought it worked for her. Until now.
Perhaps they’d all think she was the daughter of a rock star. A girl who didn’t care what anyone thought of her. Yes, that was the vibe she would channel for the flight: she had always flown first class, and her leopard-print coat was vintage couture, not from her local op-shop.
As Andie put on her seatbelt and settled into the huge leather seat, she thought about how much her mum would have hated this.
Piss elegant
, she would have called first class. Ironic, given it was her mum’s fault Andie was here at all.
Andie felt tears prick her eyes at that thought.
Don’t cry
, she told herself sternly.
You have cried enough
.
Crying doesn’t solve anything.
When they were in the air, Andie opened her bag and grabbed her notebook, favourite pen, and her copy of
The Great Gatsby
.
‘Let me take that for you,’ said the flight attendant, lifting Andie’s backpack off her lap and putting it in a small compartment behind the seat. ‘I’ll bring you a selection of magazines and newspapers in just a moment,’ the woman added. ‘But in the meantime, would you like a tea or coffee? Perhaps a cool drink? Something to eat?’
Andie forced a smile and ordered a cafe latte and an apricot danish, mainly to give the attendant something to do other than fuss over her. Being fussed over made Andie uncomfortable. She usually did the fussing and organising.
She flipped over the cover of her notebook, reading the first page as it fell open.
Property of Andie Powers. Ideas are all my own.
If you plagiarise, then a plague on your literary career!
Andie had written this in all her notebooks since she was ten years old. For as long as she could remember, she had dreamt of being the next Zadie Smith, Nicola Kraus or Jennifer Egan.
She was a good writer – everyone said so.
Andie smiled wryly as she remembered how she’d mapped out her life years ago. She would study English at university, then write her first novel by the time she was twenty-one. It would be a debut masterpiece. She would use the royalties from it to travel the world with Cameron, and together they would save rainforests and dig wells in Africa.
She had never been as socially minded as Cameron. Looking back now, she realised she’d faked enthusiasm about most of Cameron’s causes. She could hardly believe how much of her life she’d wasted at half-baked rallies and protests with him.
Andie ran her fingers over the pages of her notebook and glanced around the cabin. The couple across the aisle from her were drinking champagne and nuzzling each other’s necks.
Honeymooners
, thought Andie as she chewed the end of her pen. It made her think of Cameron again and she felt her tummy tighten in anger for the millionth time.
Don’t think about him,
she ordered herself. Her life had become an endless list of things she wouldn’t – couldn’t – think about.
The suited guy in the seat in front of her was reading a thick document and drinking his third espresso. Every time the attendant passed he asked when he could turn on his laptop.
An elegant middle-aged woman wearing a green dress, black boots and heavy perfume brushed past Andie’s seat. To distract herself, Andie tried to imagine who the woman was – a fashion designer, maybe, or the CEO of an international company.
The flight attendant returned with Andie’s coffee and pastry. Andie took a sip of coffee, which was surprisingly not terrible and stared down again at her open notebook.
Typical,
she thought. She finally had time to write, but the words just wouldn’t come.
She’d been writing less and less as her mum’s condition had worsened and she’d stopped altogether in the last four months. Each time she’d tried, everything she wrote seemed small and stupid compared to watching her mum die.
The last thing she’d written was from before, when they thought the cancer hadn’t spread. Looking at it now, it was abundantly clear to Andie that the girl who’d written this rubbish knew nothing about life.
She started a new page.
I am Oliver Twist
, she wrote, then crossed an angry line through it. Indulgent. Oliver Twist was sent to the poorhouse after his mother died. Andie was going to Hollywood.
Not quite the same
, she thought.
She started another new page.
Things that can’t be undone:
- Mum dying
- Finding Cameron and Marissa in bed together
Looking around at the other passengers again, Andie realised no-one was looking at her, and probably never had been. No-one was whispering about her or wondering who she was or what she had written or not written. She was the only person who cared about her little life.
Andie slammed her notebook shut and took a bite out of her pastry. She could tell it was delicious, but everything still tasted like chalk.
She was an impostor on her way to Hollywood.
A city of wannabes
, her mum used to say. Andie should fit right in.
Andie snuggled up in her squashy seat, watching a recent James Hawthorn action movie on her personal screen. She’d changed into the complimentary PJs and tried out all the free cosmetics and lotions in the toilets. She’d never really been into make-up or super expensive creams, but she did love free stuff. Who didn’t?
First class was growing on her, she realised guiltily.
On screen, James Hawthorn made an impossible jump from one tall building to another. He wasn’t really her type, but god, he was hot.
An attendant came by to fold her seat down flat and make it up with proper sheets and a soft blanket. Settling in for the night, Andie realised she was more relaxed than she’d been in months. She was a little disgusted with herself. Her mum had only been dead six weeks and all it took was a bit of pampering to make her feel good?
No wonder her mum had said what she’d said that last time.
No wonder Cameron had done what he’d done.
Andie curled herself in a ball and wished she’d put her teddy bear in her hand luggage. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but thoughts swirled through her head, keeping her awake.
She wondered what her aunt Cece would be like. Her mum had always dismissed Cece as a self-absorbed movie star. But it was her aunt who’d insisted on flying Andie to LA first class, to stay as long as she liked. Cece may have been too busy being a beautiful rich actress to ever visit her sister and niece in Australia, but at least she was giving Andie a home now everything had gone to shit.
Andie wondered for the thousandth time what had gone so wrong between the two sisters that they never spoke to each other again. And with that, exhaustion finally overcame her and she drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Emerging from customs at LAX, Andie immediately spotted a sign with her name on it. It was held by a man wearing a tight black polo shirt and crisply tailored pants. He had a Bluetooth device in one ear and extremely muscled arms. He looked so LA that Andie wondered if all the clichés might actually be true.
As Andie made her way towards him, a crowd of photographers, security guards and airline staff pushed in front of her. Beyond the crowd, Andie glimpsed a couple walking briskly past.
‘James! Nikki!’ one of the men with a camera called as he pushed his way through. ‘How was your holiday?’
‘Is it true you’re struggling with an addiction, Nikki?’ someone else yelled.
It was James Hawthorn and Nikki Morgan – Hollywood’s hottest couple.
Andie craned her neck to get a glimpse of them. James was wearing blue jeans and a black coat, his jaw set as he strode past the paparazzi, flanked by security. Nikki looked beautiful in a cream coat, her blonde hair perfect. They ignored the questions, clearly accustomed to the circus.
‘James, is it true that you and Nikki went away to work on your relationship?’ another reporter called.
Wow, these people have no shame
, Andie thought.
James waited calmly while Nikki dug a pair of black sunglasses out of her oversized handbag.
Andie wondered momentarily what they’d think of her in her shabby leopard-print coat and clunky boots. Then she realised, as on the plane, that they wouldn’t give her a second’s thought. People like Andie were invisible to people like James Hawthorn and Nikki Morgan, and always would be.
Andie waited until the crowd moved on, then continued over to the man holding the sign.
‘Welcome to Los Angeles,’ he said, smiling warmly at Andie and taking her trolley. A small part of her was annoyed, as though he thought she couldn’t push it herself. But mostly she was glad she no longer had to manoeuvre all her worldly possessions through the crowded airport.
