Just One Wish Read online

  Praise for Rachael Johns

  ‘The themes of infertility and pregnancy loss are movingly interwoven into a multifaceted story … [Rachael Johns] writes wisely and naively, hopefully and cynically, and there’s a character for everyone to identify with in Lost Without You. A gorgeously moving read.’ —Mamamia

  ‘Heart-warming and compassionate … Any book lover interested in life’s emotional complexities and in the events that define and alter us, will be engrossed in Lost Without You.’ —Better Reading

  ‘A delightful glimpse into the life of families and friends who come together in the most unexpected ways.’ —Starts at 60 on Lost Without You

  ‘Full of heartache and joy with a twist that keeps the pages turning … The Greatest Gift will appeal to fans of Jojo Moyes and Monica McInerney.’ —Australian Books + Publishing

  ‘I really have no idea where to start because this book was an amazing gift … Once again Johns has written a story that will appeal to different types of readers and it is clear that her talent is becoming more finely honed with every release.’ —Beauty and Lace on The Greatest Gift

  ‘Heartbreaking and heartwarming in equal parts, Rachael Johns’ The Greatest Gift takes readers on a rollercoaster ride of emotions. My advice? Make sure you have tissues handy!’ —Lisa Ireland, author of The Shape Of Us

  ‘Rachael Johns has done it again, writing a book that you want to devour in one sitting, and then turn back to the first page to savour it all over again. I loved the characters of Harper and Jasper; their stories made me laugh and cry, and ache and cheer and ultimately reflect on all the many facets of that extraordinary journey called motherhood.’ —Natasha Lester, author of A Kiss From Mr Fitzgerald, on The Greatest Gift

  ‘A beautiful story of love and loss, heartbreak and hope—this is Rachael Johns at her very finest. With achingly endearing characters and a storyline that packs a punch, The Greatest Gift will make your heart swell as you reach for the tissues and leave you smiling when you turn the final pages. Told with warmth, empathy and wisdom, it’s a book that will appeal to everyone who has laid plans for their life and discovered that life is something that can’t be controlled and that even if you think you have it all worked out, you never know what’s around the corner. My favourite Rachael Johns by a country mile.’ —Tess Woods, author of Love At First Flight

  ‘The bond between Flick, Neve, and Emma blossomed as their sons grew up, but even best friends keep secrets from one another … Fans of emotional, issue driven women’s fiction will welcome Johns’ US women’s fiction debut.’ —Booklist on The Art of Keeping Secrets

  ‘… a compelling and poignant story of dark secrets and turbulent relationships … I fell completely in love with the well-drawn characters of Flick, Emma and Neve. They were funny and flawed and filled with the kind of raw vulnerability that makes your heart ache for them.’ —Nicola Moriarty, bestselling author of The Fifth Letter, on The Art of Keeping Secrets

  ‘Written with compassion and real insight, The Art Of Keeping Secrets peeks inside the lives of three ordinary women and the surprising secrets they live with. Utterly absorbing and wonderfully written, Johns explores what secrets can do to a relationship, and pulls apart the notion that some secrets are best kept. It is that gripping novel that, once started, will not allow you to do anything else until the final secret has been revealed.’ —Sally Hepworth, bestselling author of The Secrets Of Midwives

  ‘A fascinating and deeply moving tale of friendship, family and of course—secrets. These characters will latch onto your heart and refuse to let it go.’ —USA Today bestselling author Kelly Rimmer on The Art of Keeping Secrets

  ‘Rachael Johns writes with warmth and heart, her easy, fluent style revealing an emotional intelligence and firm embrace of the things in life that matter, like female friendship.’ —The Age on Lost Without You

  ‘Heartwarming, entertaining and well-characterised, The Patterson Girls gives readers another reason to love Rachael Johns’ writing. As a storyteller, she just keeps getting better.’ —Write Note Reviews

  ‘But oh! The twist! The twist was SO DAMN GOOD … edge of your seat stuff. It took the emotion to a whole new level … Another example of what a brilliant writer Rachael Johns is.’ —Sam Still Reading on The Patterson Girls

  RACHAEL JOHNS, an English teacher by trade and a mum 24/7, is the bestselling, ABIA-winning author of The Patterson Girls and a number of other romance and women’s fiction books including The Art of Keeping Secrets, The Greatest Gift and Lost Without You. She is currently Australia’s leading writer of contemporary relationship stories around women’s issues, a genre she has coined ‘life-lit’. Rachael lives in the Perth hills with her hyperactive husband, three mostly gorgeous heroes-in-training and a very badly behaved dog. She rarely sleeps and never irons.

  Also by Rachael Johns:

  Man Drought

  Talk of the Town

  The Hope Junction novels

  Jilted

  The Road to Hope

  The Bunyip Bay novels

  Outback Dreams

  Outback Blaze

  Outback Ghost

  Outback Sisters

  The Kissing Season (e-novella)

  The Next Season (e-novella)

  Secret Confessions Down and Dusty:

  Casey (e-novella)

  The Patterson Girls

  The Art of Keeping Secrets

  The Greatest Gift

  Lost Without You

  Just One Wish

  Rachael Johns

  www.harlequinbooks.com.au

  This book is dedicated to author and friend Beck Nicholas, who holds my hand through the writing of every book and is always available to talk me through a plot problem; to my mum, Barbara Denton, who is both a practical support and an emotional one and who believes in me more than anyone; and finally to my publisher, Sue Brockhoff, who is always championing me and my career, but most of all, pushing me to write the best book I can.

  Contents

  Praise

  Also by Rachael Johns

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  1964

  ‘Alice Louise Abbott, you are the girl of my dreams, the love of my life, you light up my heart like the sun lights the sky. Please, will you do me the greatest honour of becoming my wife?’

  Oh God. Alice’s heart shook as she stared down into the dark eyes of the gorgeous Henry French. Any other girl would be jumping at the chance to marry him. Henry, who’d been courting her for almost twelve months, was without a doubt the best person on the planet. She loved everything about him—from his cheeky smile
to his warm heart, not to mention the way he looked when he got all dolled up in his swish grey suit. Within moments of making Henry’s acquaintance at the birthday party of her best friend’s brother, Alice had fallen head over heels.

  But Alice wasn’t the marrying kind. The way she saw it, marriage benefited men way more than it did women and, for this reason, she didn’t think she’d ever enter into such a contract. And she’d thought Henry knew this about her. She’d thought he understood and respected her stance.

  So why the hell was he down on bended knee at the end of St Kilda Pier on this beautiful summer’s night that had been perfect in practically every way? They’d had a delicious dinner at Leo’s Spaghetti Bar and were enjoying a lovely stroll before heading back to his place for a ‘nightcap’. Or so she’d thought.

  She laughed as if she thought he were joking, when in her heart of hearts she knew he was not. ‘Henry! Get up. You’ll ruin your trousers and people are looking at us.’

  Henry didn’t make a move to stand. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box. ‘I don’t care who looks at us—I only care about you and me. I’ve been offered a big promotion at work and the new role is in Geelong.’

  ‘Geelong?’ she whispered, feeling as if she’d been punched in the gut.

  Still smiling, he nodded. ‘And I want you to come with me. I want you to come as my wife. So … will you marry me?’

  He opened the box and a stunning square-cut diamond glistened up at her, almost winking in the moonlight. Alice couldn’t deny its beauty, and for a moment she tried to imagine what being married to Henry French would be like, but all she felt was dread.

  Maybe in a couple of years or if his proposal involved staying in Melbourne, she might have relented, but right now she needed to establish her career. And while she was happy for Henry’s promotion, he didn’t seem to have considered her work at all. Geelong might only be a few hours away but it felt like the ends of the earth. No way would she be able to commute there on a daily basis. She’d finally secured a role in the labs at the university, but she had ambitions far bigger than that.

  A voice from deep inside told her that if she said ‘no’ she could kiss Henry French goodbye. That thought was almost too awful to bear, but even worse would be giving up her dreams for a man.

  ‘You know I can’t,’ she whispered as Henry gazed up at her.

  His face fell.

  Had he really expected any different ending to this uninvited, unanticipated, undesired proposal?

  Still, her heart squeezed and twisted at the tortured look on her beloved’s face.

  ‘I’m sorry, Henry.’ Alice’s own voice choked. ‘You know I love you, I’ll always love you, but I can’t marry you. Congratulations on the promotion. I’ll support you, and come visit as much as I can. I’d move in with you in a second if you were staying in Melbourne, but I can’t move to Geelong. My work is here.’

  But Henry didn’t hear anything about her work. ‘Move in with me?’ he scoffed as he jumped to his feet, his cheeks turning crimson as he snapped the box shut and shoved it back in his pocket. ‘Your head is stuck in the clouds if you think that would be possible. I don’t know what fantasy world you’re living in, but if I want to be a respectable businessman, I need a wife, not a floozy!’

  ‘F-f-floozy?’ Alice spluttered, unable to believe the words coming out of his mouth. How dare he!

  ‘I’m sorry, Alice. I didn’t mean …’ His face a picture of distress, he reached out to grab her, but she stepped back.

  The damage was done. She’d seen the real Henry—a Henry she’d dared to believe didn’t exist. But he was just like every other man. Just like her father. The fact he genuinely thought she’d be overjoyed by such a romantic proposal only showed how little he really knew her. And she him. She held up her hand and shook her head, unable to speak. Tears threatened at the back of her throat.

  ‘I didn’t mean that. You’re not a floozy,’ he said, his tone desperate, pleading. ‘But can’t you see that you’re being unfair? I love you and I want to be with you, but the bank doesn’t take kindly to unmarried couples living together, and long-distance relationships never work.’

  Alice raised her eyebrows, unable to believe her ears. She didn’t give a damn about the opinion of a bunch of stuffy bankers.

  ‘And what about children?’ he went on. ‘You can’t believe it’s okay to bring them into the world out of wedlock?’

  To be honest, she hadn’t given much thought to children—possibly she didn’t want them, definitely she didn’t want them in the near future. There were other things more pressing, more important for her to dedicate her time and energy to. As much as she loved Henry, accepting his proposal, becoming his wife, would mean turning her back on everything she believed important.

  ‘I’m sorry, Henry,’ she said, gulping back her tears, ‘but I just can’t.’

  And that was the last time Alice Abbott saw Henry French for over fifty years.

  1

  Now

  ‘Carly and I are thinking about getting back together.’

  What? Christos could not be serious! I almost gagged on my prosecco as I yanked the sheets over my bare chest and searched his flushed face. Was this some kind of sick joke? After almost a year together, I was comfortable, confident, in our relationship. But my boyfriend didn’t look like he was joking. Although his eyes refused to meet mine, the serious expression on his face turned my insides to ice.

  But hang on, he’d only said ‘think’.

  ‘What do you mean you think you’re getting back together? Are you? Or are you not?’

  He slowly raised his head and when his gaze met mine his eyes were watery. No. Dread poured into my stomach and slithered up my chest like a snake working its way up my oesophagus.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Ged. I love you, but first and foremost I’m a dad, and things haven’t been that great for the kids lately. They’re really struggling with our living situation and Carly and I have been wondering if the best thing for them is if we try to make a go of things again.’

  Make a go of things? Again?

  He made it sound so casual, so easy, but they were divorced, which I’d thought was final. I couldn’t believe my ears. Surely in a second he’d pull me back into his arms and tell me he was pulling my leg.

  But there was no laughter. Only a man who thirty seconds ago I thought I knew better than anyone else in the world. A man who, despite his complicated living situation, I believed only had eyes for me.

  ‘Oh my God. You’re serious?’

  ‘Nothing’s set in stone yet—we’re just considering our options. But I didn’t want to keep you in the dark. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I’d left work early for this!

  It was Christos’s week with his kids, so we’d arranged a Thursday afternoon rendezvous at a fancy city hotel around the corner from our office and I’d been looking forward to it all day.

  But suddenly I felt sick, dirty, like some kind of harlot.

  ‘Does this mean we’re breaking up?’ I hated the way my voice cracked. ‘You’re choosing your kids and your ex-wife over me?’

  ‘Ged, please. It’s not like that.’

  ‘But you are considering getting back together with Carly?’

  He confirmed my worst fear with another slow nod.

  ‘I can’t believe you still came here, that you let us …’ I couldn’t bring myself to say the words as I tried to swallow away the pain that suddenly burned in my chest. ‘Why couldn’t you have told me in a text message like a normal bloody person? Or at least in a cafe where I could have thrown a hot drink over you?’

  We both eyed the half-flute of prosecco still in my hand but no matter how mortifying the situation, no way was I wasting good alcohol on Christos. I poured it down my throat instead, threw back the sheet and leapt from the bed.

  I snatched up my tangled black lace knickers and tailored navy pants and yanked them apart. I cou
ldn’t put them on fast enough. My top had landed on the plush velvet armchair and my heels were near the door but where the hell was my bra?

  ‘Ged. Baby. Please. Don’t be like this.’

  Holding my silk blouse against my bare breasts, I glared at him. ‘How the hell do you expect me to be?’

  Oh Lord, my eyeballs prickled painfully but I refused to cry in front of Christos. To hell with the bra. It had been a gift from him anyway.

  I tugged the blouse over my head, grabbed my handbag and raced out the door. Half-walking, half-running and occasionally hopping, my hands shook as I tried shoving my feet into my shoes without stopping. God, how far was the lift? The long corridor stretched out in front of me in a tear-blurred tunnel and I hauled in a noisy, snot-filled breath. A guy from housekeeping glanced up, presumably to smile, but took one look at me and retreated into the room he was attending to.

  At the elevator, I stabbed my finger so hard at the down button that it hurt. I winced but the pain had nothing on the ache in my heart. How could Christos do this? He didn’t love Carly—not in the way he loved me.

  I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting to see him running after me, ready to tell me he’d made a mistake. But all I saw was the cleaning man venturing back into the corridor.

  Maybe I should go back and talk to him? Make him see sense.

  My grandmother’s voice rang out loud and clear in my head. You do not need a man to give you value. Certainly not one who could treat you with such disrespect.

  And, no matter how much I loved Christos, what he’d just done hadn’t made me feel respected in the slightest. I wasn’t about to beg. I was furious at him for making me even consider it.

  The lift pinged and the doors opened to reveal it was empty. I rushed inside and scrutinised my reflection in the mirrored walls. Mascara streaked down my bright red cheeks like some ghastly painting; my hair had taken the term ‘bird’s nest’ to a whole other level and my nipples were clearly visible through my crumpled blouse. No chance I could slink back to the office looking like this.