GUIDE STAR a gripping and emotional rollercoaster of a novel about love life and not giving up Read online

  She stood down from the cross trainer and steadied herself against a wave of dizziness. Her grandmother appeared, holding out a water bottle. ‘Okay, kiddo, take in some fluids, have a quick shower, then I’ll see you in the pool for a wind down.’

  Stella watched her grandmother stride between the pieces of equipment towards the changing rooms. She was now seventy, but still wiry and as fit as a much younger woman. Before Stella’s injury, Beth had not only trained to run marathons, but was also an aerobics instructor. ‘I sure hope I’ve got your genes,’ muttered Stella, ‘because if I haven’t, this will probably kill me!’

  Like her grandmother, Stella swam like a fish. The pool was the place where all her problems left her and she could be herself again. Sometimes she was even able to smile.

  Beth swam up to her, flipped over and floated on her back. ‘Today was good in there.’ She nodded towards the gym. ‘Tomorrow will be even better.’

  Stella felt a rush of emotion, and dived before her grandmother saw her tears. She knew that without Gran, she would have given up by now. But the need to meet her expectations was sometimes almost too much to bear.

  Under the water, she had a sudden memory of waking up in the Intensive Care Unit and realising that her grandmother was by her side. In those confusing moments she had felt Gran’s outpouring of love covering her like a warm duvet on a cold night. She was grateful to the surgeon, but it was her wise grandmother who had brought her back from the banks of the Styx.

  She had to fight back and get well, for Gran’s sake. Before the shooting, Stella had climbed sheer rock-faces, leapt over roaring torrents suspended on a slim bungee cord, and had run several marathons. But nothing had been as hard as this.

  Stella swam harder, trying to fight the misery that threatened to engulf her. The problem wasn’t her body. Okay, her coordination was rubbish, her balance was shot and her hand had an occasional tremor, but basically she was really getting strong. She had miraculously avoided seizures and her sight was unimpaired, so she would soon be allowed to drive. She knew she was incredibly lucky, but it didn’t help. No, it was her mind that wasn’t responding properly, from some subtle but irritating little quirks to full blown dysfunctions that terrified her. And despite numerous therapy sessions, she still had no idea how to confront them. She wasn’t fighting the psychologists, in fact she readily embraced all the help they could offer, but the underpinning of her whole life had been knocked away from under her. She hardly recognised the woman she had become.

  Stella powered up and down the pool, trying hard to count her blessings. At first, the simple fact that she was still alive had been enough. She was a survivor! She had taken two bullets and was still standing! She had been surrounded by friends and well-wishers, all amazed at her strength and courage. Not that she thought of herself as brave — actually she thought she’d been a total prat to get in the line of fire in the first place. But then what did she know? She still couldn’t remember anything about it. Now the friends were distancing themselves, and she knew it was because she was pushing them away. Even Edward and Lexi sometimes seemed guarded, as if afraid of setting off an angry outburst. Last week she had snapped poor Robbie’s head off. His hurt look still haunted her.

  ‘Listen, I don’t give a damn about what a blinding good result the team had on the Godwin case! And I don’t care about the new arrest stats! If all you can talk about is force stuff, then don’t visit. Can’t you understand? It’s nothing to do with me anymore,’ she had told him.

  Later she had rung him and apologised, but his tone was reserved and she sensed that a barrier had come up. If it had been the other way around, she would have had nothing else to talk about either. They were both dedicated police officers, living alone with no partners. Their work was everything. What else would he talk to her about? God, she could be such an idiot sometimes.

  Stella turned and swam backstroke. She should never have been so harsh on Robbie, who was hoping she would accept the offer of a desk job.

  One day a high-ranking officer, someone she only knew by name and reputation, had appeared by her hospital bed and assured her that there would always be a place for her. She had held onto that like a drowning person clinging to a spar. Then, as the weeks wore on and the extent of her injuries became clear, the offer had subtly changed. She heard words like “limited” and “reduced,” and finally she realised that the “place” for her would be behind a desk.

  After all she had been through as a serving officer. She couldn’t even bring herself to think about it. She imagined watching all her old mates pulling on their stab-proof vests and adjusting their equipment belts ready for the next shout, and it reduced her to tears. There was no way she could sit behind a desk and stare at a monitor all day. Best to be well out of it. If being a glorified clerk was her only prospect, perhaps it would have been better for everyone if she had not surv—

  ‘Are you done?’ Her gran appeared at her side. ‘Fancy a few minutes in the Jacuzzi?’

  ‘Okay, a couple more lengths and I’ll join you.’ Stella dived under the water to wash away the tears.

  * * *

  Beth laid the table for lunch, thankful that she had not sold her lovely home. Her friends had all insisted that she needed to downsize: the place was far too big for a woman living alone. Beth thought the old green eye might have something to do with their words. Most of her small circle of contemporaries lived in compact bungalows or two-bedroomed houses in the village, whereas Coggles Barn was a beautiful conversion with views over the Lincolnshire fields. It probably was too big for one, and it did take a lot of upkeep, but she loved it. Now that she had Stella staying with her, she was pleased that she’d stuck to her guns. One day she might consider moving, when Stella was settled back in her own house. Or maybe she’d only leave feet first! She didn’t want change, not at this stage in her life. She’d had enough of that as a young woman. She recalled the frenetic and exciting time when she had lived and worked in London, travelling extensively and dreaming of a place of her own. Well, now she had it, and she wasn’t going to let it go until she really had to.

  Beth wondered when her granddaughter would decide to move back to her own house. It would be a wrench for both of them, but Beth had a feeling that, as soon as she was able to drive again, Stella would go. Physically she was doing amazingly well. If they could just get on top of the mood swings and bouts of depression, then Beth would be happy to let her move on. After all, Stella’s house was only half a mile away, just a gentle stroll from Coggles Barn.

  A noise at the front door made her look around. Her dog Frisbee, with a mouthful of letters, padded towards her from the hall. ‘Thank you, Jeeves. Can I have those?’

  The spaniel obediently released the envelopes onto the floor and sat staring at them hopefully.

  Two of the letters were for Stella. It was handy living in a village, as the postman knew everyone and redirected Stella’s post to Coggles Barn. ‘Sorry, nothing for you today, Fris, unless you’d like to read the Dog’s Trust newsletter?’

  The dog strode off to his bed, where he scuffed the carefully folded blankets into an untidy heap and threw himself huffily onto them.

  Beth placed the letters on the table and called out to Stella. ‘Post’s here and lunch will be in five minutes!’

  Stella appeared a few moments later. Her pale face was drawn and the darkness beneath her eyes was more pronounced.

  A feeling of total helplessness engulfed Beth. It wasn’t working. None of it. Not the therapy sessions and now even the exercise routines were not enough. Stella needed help of a different kind, but Beth had no idea where to find it.

  Stella dropped into a chair, picked up the post and slowly opened one of the envelopes. Beth saw an official-looking document.

  ‘Another invitation to apply for a job.’ Stella’s voice was flat.

  ‘Surely that’s no surprise?’

  ‘No, I suppose not, even though I told them I wouldn’t be accepting it. T
hey don’t seem to get the message. If I can’t do detective work, then . . .’ Stella left the sentence unfinished.

  ‘They don’t want to lose you, sweetheart. You’re too valuable.’

  ‘I’m about as useful as a chocolate fireguard, and you know it.’ She stood up and threw the second letter down unopened. ‘Sorry, Gran, I’m really not hungry. I’m going to lie down for a while.’

  * * *

  In her room, Stella closed the curtains, lay on the bed and shut her eyes. All she wanted to do was curl up in a tight ball, sleep, and not have to face the world. No decisions, no confusion, no frustrations, no anxiety attacks, just deep, deep sleep.

  She knew she wasn’t being fair on her gran and she hated herself for it. The terrible emotional upheaval inside her allowed no room for others. She had no control anymore, and it wasn’t her at all!

  Stella pulled the duvet over her face. She knew she had to fight the black depression that threatened to overwhelm her, but sometimes the sense of failure and despair was just too much to bear. Her reason for being had gone, stolen in the blink of an eye. The rising star of the Fenland constabulary had plummeted to earth, brought down by a gun. She had only ever wanted to be a good police officer.

  * * *

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Beth bit her lip hard. There must be something she could do, another avenue to try. If only . . . Beth drew in a sharp breath. Where were her brains? Of course!

  She turned and almost ran to the small room that she used as an office. She pulled open her desk drawer and began to rifle through the old diaries and notebooks it contained. Finally she found what she was looking for. The pages of the old address book were creased and faded, and many of the names were crossed out.

  ‘Bugger old age,’ she muttered angrily.

  She leafed through to the letter ‘L.’ It was a long shot, but worth trying. It had been years, decades, but . . . ‘Ah, here you are.’ She stared at the name, overwhelmed by an avalanche of memories and emotions. Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all.

  Beth eased herself down onto a chair and exhaled loudly. ‘Get a grip, woman! Time for all that later. Right now, if anyone can help my girl, it’s you, Michael. Just please, please be still there!’

  Her hand shook as she began to dial, and her finger remained poised above the last digit for some time.

  ‘Michael Lindenfeld,’ he answered.

  The voice was exactly the same. It took Beth’s breath away.

  ‘Michael?’ Her voice was hoarse. ‘I’m so sorry to bother you. It’s . . .’

  ‘Beth?’

  For a moment there was silence, the connection as charged as a high-voltage power line.

  ‘Beth? Is that really you?’

  For a while Beth couldn’t answer. Memories crashed around her like waves over rocks.

  ‘Is something wrong? Are you alright?’

  ‘No, Michael. Well . . .’ The dam burst. ‘Yes! Yes, something is wrong. Terribly wrong. I would never have asked this of you, but I need your help.’

  It took almost fifteen minutes to pour out the story. When it was done she exhaled and added, ‘Please tell me if I’m being unfair to call you after all this time, but I didn’t know who else to turn to.’

  ‘I would have been devastated if I’d found out about this and you hadn’t contacted me.’ The hint of an accent was still there. ‘And this is now my field of expertise. A lot has happened in recent years and I’m no longer a neurosurgeon, Beth. I am a neuropsychologist. I practise here in Bad Harzburg, but I lecture all over the country — well, all over the world actually.’

  ‘Then could you recommend someone, someone you trust, who might be able to help my Stella?’ Beth hated her pleading tone, but right now, she’d crawl over broken glass for her granddaughter.

  ‘Oh yes. As it happens he’s the very best.’ There was a hint of a chuckle in his voice. ‘Depending on flights, I should be with you by tomorrow afternoon.’

  Beth let out a small cry. ‘But—’

  ‘No protestations, Beth Cartright. I am due to give a talk on cognitive neuropsychology at the University of Essex in Colchester next week, so it will be no hardship to fly in earlier. I’ll hire a car at Heathrow and drive up. Could you book me in somewhere local? Just a B&B would do nicely.’

  ‘Of course. We have a very nice place right here in the village. I’ll ring right away.’

  ‘Give me your mobile number and email address and I’ll let you know my flights and times.’

  Beth rattled off her contact details and stammered some words of thanks.

  ‘Forget it. It’s my pleasure, and I can’t wait to see you again.’ His voice became gentle. ‘How have you been?’

  She didn’t know where to start. ‘Apart from my desperate worry about Stella, I guess I’m fine, Michael.’

  ‘Still married?’

  Beth drew in a breath. ‘Widowed. Years ago. And you?’

  There was a pause. ‘I’m still with Frida.’

  In the ensuing silence, Beth felt a sudden twinge of discomfort. ‘Have I done the wrong thing, Michael? Perhaps I shouldn’t have called you. Will this cause a problem for you? I’d hate it if—’

  ‘Stop! There’s no problem, I promise. Frida is staying up in the mountains, helping our youngest son and his wife with their new baby. She could be gone for weeks. And I, well, I spend more time away from home than ever, with my lectures and my patients.’

  ‘I wish we’d stayed in touch.’ There, it was said.

  ‘We couldn’t. We agreed.’

  Was that sadness or regret in his voice? Beth wasn’t sure, but there was certainly something.

  ‘But there’s barely been a day gone by when I haven’t thought about you,’ Michael added.

  ‘After all these years?’

  ‘Too many years.’

  ‘We’ll talk, when you get here.’

  ‘Yes, Beth. We will.’

  ‘And, Michael? I’m not sure how to tell Stella about your coming to see her. Her emotional state is so unpredictable at present that I don’t know how she will react.’

  ‘Then tell her nothing. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I’m used to reluctant patients. Sometimes they are hostile and aggressive. It comes with the territory. Maybe, if I could impose on you for dinner tomorrow night, you could just mention that an old friend, a former colleague, is in the country for a while?’

  ‘And do you still like your steak rare?’

  He laughed. ‘What a memory! Now I need to get online and book a flight. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Beth replaced the phone with a sigh of relief. Then a river of excitement coursed through her. She was going to see Michael again, and he would help them. The hospital doctors and therapy groups had done their best, but Michael would not treat Stella as just another patient. She would be Beth’s beloved granddaughter. They just needed to get Stella on side, and that could be a nightmare, given her frame of mind. Stella had refused all further counselling. But then she hadn’t met Michael, who was one of the most charismatic men Beth had ever met. She hoped his old charm was still working.

  Beth returned to the kitchen and finished preparing their lunch. She’d take Stella something on a tray.

  She knocked softly, told the girl that there was food and a hot drink outside her door, and then tiptoed away without waiting for an answer. She took her own lunch to the table. For the first time in many months she didn’t feel alone. There would be someone else fighting in her corner.

  She glanced up at a framed photograph that stood on her bookcase. It was a picture of her crossing the finish line of the GrimReaper ultramarathon. Stella had taken it. She was a brilliant photographer, and had managed to capture all Beth’s emotions in a single shot. There was pain, relief, and most of all the jubilation of completing that gruelling challenge. Beth desperately wanted to be that woman again, powerful and successful, taking every trial in her stride. Maybe she could, with someone to support her.

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sp; She took a forkful of pasta and tried not to let memories of Michael Lindenfeld overwhelm her. Her past, and all its complicated emotions, was bubbling to the surface. There had been so much between them, but circumstance had forced them to take different paths.

  ‘What if?’ Even then she had never permitted herself to whisper the words aloud. ‘Don’t even go there, Beth! Oh God, I need a distraction.’ She pushed her chair back and picked up her plate. Then she noticed the unopened letter that Stella had discarded on the table. The crest on the envelope was clear to see.

  Buckingham Palace.

  Beth gave a little gasp. It could only be one thing. She’d seen one of these before. A letter asking the recipient not to mention the contents to anyone, but the news of her Queen’s Commendation for Bravery would be printed in the London Gazette.

  ‘Oh, Stella,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I know you won’t believe you deserve this, but you have no idea what you really did. Your selfless action saved several lives.’ Beth placed both the letters on the dresser and went to dispose of her plate in the dishwasher. They’d talk about the award later. Well, Beth hoped they would.

  She stared out of the window and surveyed her garden. Once it had been perfect. Now, the sight of the ragged weeds and uncut grass brought home to her just how much of her life she’d let slip since Stella had been shot. She didn’t begrudge a second of it, but as time went on she would need to find a balance, or they would both fall apart.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Edward Byrne sat at the kitchen table and watched Lexi empty the dishwasher and stack the crockery in the appropriate cupboards. Her slender back was towards him. Everything about Lexi was neat, from her delicate, elfin face to her crisply ironed denim shirt.

  He shouldn’t, he knew, but even after all these years, he still found himself comparing her to Stella. He blamed the fact that he still lived in the house where he and Stella had begun their ill-fated marriage. Her presence still haunted the house. He could almost see her sitting on the sofa in the front of the big open fire.