A Girl Like Lilac Read online

  A Girl Like Lilac

  Victoria L. James

  Contents

  A Girl Like Lilac

  About the Author

  Other Books By Victoria L. James

  Acknowledgments

  A NOTE TO THE READER:

  Prologue

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  Quote

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THRITY-SIX

  Epilogue

  EndNote from Featured Poet A. Stone:

  EndNote from Author:

  Playlist

  A GIRL LIKE LILAC

  ©2018 VICTORIA L. JAMES

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author, except that of small quotations used in critical reviews and promotions via blogs.

  A Girl Like Lilac is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products, for the most part, of the author’s imagination, except for those venues which do exist in Southwold. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, events or any other incident is entirely coincidental.

  COVER DESIGN:

  L.J. Stock of LJ Designs

  EDITED BY:

  Claire Allmendinger of BNWEditing

  PROMOTIONS:

  Wendy Shatwell and Claire Allmendinger

  Bare Naked Words

  FEATURED POETRY:

  Alistair Stone—A Stones View

  About the Author

  Victoria L. James is a teenage girl stuck inside a thirty-something-year-old’s body. A Corona and nacho appreciator with a ridiculous obsession for all things Rocky Balboa, she currently lives in Yorkshire, England, with her husband and two baby boys. Having had a strong passion for words and stories going as far back as she can remember, she credits her love of literature to her Grandma Bess who taught her that you don’t need a lot of money to travel to different worlds, experience new places, and live a thousand lives.

  Join my reader group here:

  The J Team

  www.victorialjames.com

  Victoria will also be releasing her debut novel under the name Vicki James in 2018. More details can be found at www.facebook.com/vickijamesauthor

  Other Books By Victoria L. James

  NATEXUS SERIES

  NATEXUS

  ALL THE WAY – A NATEXUS NOVELLA

  MARCUS

  NIGHT AND DAY – A NATEXUS NOVELLA

  BABYLON MC SERIES

  WITHOUT CONSEQUENCE

  WITHOUT MERCY

  WITHOUT TRUTH

  WITHOUT SHAME (COMING 2018)

  WITHOUT FOREVER (COMING SOON)

  OTHERS

  IZZY MOFFIT’S ROAD TO WONDERLAND

  CHERRY BEATS – BY VICKI JAMES (COMING 2018)

  Acknowledgments

  As all authors will tell you, releasing a book takes a damn village, and I’m lucky to live in a village called KissAss Town. I’ll try keep this brief. No promises.

  Lou J Stock—without you in my life, I’d be lost. Not just because of the incredible graphics you produce time and time again. Not because you give up your time so selflessly, and not even because you kick my arse and tell me to get my fighting gloves on every day. I’d be lost because your friendship has come to mean the world to me. I couldn’t do a day in this gig without you.

  Claire Allmendinger—you’re the best editor and friend a girl could have. You’re also there for me as a friend every single day, despite the fact that I once freaked you out by spooning you in bed. Banana!

  Wendy Shatwell—the promo queen. Thanks for giving the indie world Bare Naked Words and always being willing to step up for me. Thank you even more for your friendship.

  Alistair Stone—for allowing me to use his poetry in this novel. You are more talented than you will ever allow yourself to realise.

  Charlie M. Matthews and Francesca Marlow—two of my biggest cheerleaders. Thanks for always believing me, especially on the days when I forget how to believe in myself.

  My beta readers: Sue Hollingmode, Mary Green, Charlie M. Matthews, Zoë Lowdon, Sara Robertshaw, and again, Lou J Stock. My stories are better because of you guys. Thanks for giving up your time to help me wander through this indie jungle. Thanks also for always being the first people to tell you friends to read my goddamn books. Haha.

  The J Team. Once upon a time, when there was just a handful of people to thank in my reader group, I used to be able to call you out by name in these acknowledgements. I can’t believe how much we’ve grown as a group, and I can’t believe some of you wake up every single day with the sole intention of helping me get my name out there and you never ask for a thing in return. I love you guys. Genuinely.

  To all the friends out there who love me enough to be there for me at the drop of a hat, no matter how long it’s been since we last spoke. THANK YOU. You’re the kind of people I love to have in my life.

  To my family. Thank you for never asking me if my sex scenes are based on real life. I appreciate your silence on the matter. And I know the fact that I become Drew Tucker so easily worries you, but really, it shouldn’t. I’ve not killed anyone yet, have I? Winning.

  To my CPCCH unit.

  My husband and four kids.

  I love you because you encourage me to never quit.

  You’re the reason I do this. Besides me wanting to one day get a book turned into a movie and have Taylor Kitsch star as the lead male. Obviously.

  Author friends and bloggers who help me out on every release...

  I’m so lucky to have met you all. Thanks for being such positive influences in my life.

  And finally, to you, the reader of this book.

  You have no idea how in awe I am when I think about someone out there choosing my book from an ocean of possibilities. I cry. Like, all the time. I never take a single one of you for granted. I never expect your love and your spectacular reviews. You inspire me to carry on. Thank you for loving me the way you do.

  I hope you enjoy reading A Girl Like Lilac.

  With love and gratitude.

  Vic

  A NOTE TO THE READER:

  This story contains references to sensitive issues which some readers may not enjoy without being warned before reading. I truly believe that all readers should go into this story blind to gain the full impact of the journey, therefore I will not be publishing specific warnings in this book. However, should you have any real concerns about the content, please feel free to email me on [email protected], or contact me via my Facebook page on Victoria L. James

  The two characters of this story are about to embark on a story which some would consider coming of age, and while that’s true, I chose to categorise this as New Adult due to the fact that it contains sexual content.

  I do hope you enjoy Toby and Lilac’s journey.

  They hold a very special place in my heart.

  Happy reading x

  Mum,

  Than
ks for being the best friend a girl could ever have. You held me when I was a child with a bruised knee, an eleven-year-old too scared to go to grammar school because she might fail, a teenager with a broken heart and too many tears in her eyes, and you squeezed me tight when I squealed with happiness and told you I’d fallen in love with Mr Right. You were the first person to ever read a book I wrote. You always smile, hold on, never judge, and you don’t need a reason to break open a bottle of wine and celebrate life, whether it’s a Saturday night or a Wednesday afternoon. Thank you for always encouraging me to live.

  You’re one in a million.

  Just like Lilac Clarke.

  I love you.

  Prologue

  Lilac

  The first time I took a photograph with my aunt's camera I was seven years old and head over heels in love with what I held in my hands.

  “Do you have any idea what you're doing, baby girl?”

  Looking up at her through the strawberry-blonde strands of my fringe, I shook my head.

  “Good.” She smiled, her knees cracking when she bent beside me. Aunt Coral pointed to the flowers up ahead and whispered her secret in my ear. “Nobody should truly know how to capture free things. It should be a natural connection without rules or rights and wrongs, so look at the petals dancing in the wind. Look at the sway of the stem and imagine the smiling faces of the flowers that are putting on a show for you. Create whatever image you want in your mind and then chase it through the lens. Take the picture. Take one; take a hundred. It doesn't matter.”

  “What if I break the camera?”

  “Everything breaks eventually, Lilac. Does it really matter if it’s the first time or the hundredth? Technology is replaceable. This moment right here isn't. Less worrying, more living.”

  She squeezed my shoulder and flashed me a look of enthusiasm. It was the only cue I needed before I took off against the small breeze, my face filled with thrills, my skirt swaying behind me like a kite, and my hair bouncing on the waves of the wind.

  I rolled into the long grass, falling short of the first bed of daffodils, and then I posed the way I'd seen my aunt do so many times before: body laid flat against the ground, elbows resting in the grass with the camera held high, and the sky above us vivid and taunting like a tinted canvas. The sun blazed brightly, and I tried to stay looking at it for a heartbeat too long, but my eyes became watery, forcing me to look down at all the pretty dancing flowers in front of me. My cardigan itched against my skin with excitement. My chequered, cream and blue dress was too heavy and too light all at once, just like the camera. I felt naked touching the earth—naked and free like all the flowers around me.

  Once the sunshine tears had slipped down my cheeks and drifted away, I blew out a slow, overwhelmed breath. I was ready to capture my first shot. The daffodil hung close to me, bobbing up and down like an old friend. It was a giant flower, and I was in their giant world as it wobbled and swayed, enticing me to click, click, click and capture something good.

  Less worrying, more living.

  I pressed the button on the camera without hesitation. The very sound of it made my heart beat faster until I pulled my chin back and took a look at the picture on the fancy screen. It was beautiful—bright yellow with shades of blue, green, and a passing white cloud in the background. I wanted to cry. Not sunshine tears this time—real tears. My smile cracked my cheeks wide open. That's how it felt when my eyes got all crinkly around the edges and I was bursting with pride. Those cracks felt like an eggshell being peeled away from my skin.

  “I did it," I cried before I rolled on to my side and called over my shoulder. "I did it, Aunt Coral. I made a picture.”

  She bounced towards me—all curly red hair and bright white teeth that reminded me of those fluffy clouds in my picture. Her knees fell to the ground carelessly, covering her jeans in the same dry mud I was covered in.

  “Show me.”

  Rolling back onto my belly, I pressed a button that brought the screen back to life. Her gasp was loud and sounded a bit like she was acting, much the same way my mummy did when she was saying how proud she was of me for my schoolwork. Everything my family did and said was pure ice cream flavoured love with hundreds of sprinkles on top to make every occasion even better than it really was.

  I loved the world they created around me.

  “Oh, my talented niece,” she cried proudly, her hands cupping her mouth before she tickled my neck and made me laugh. “I knew you could do it.”

  “Is it pretty?”

  “Yes.”

  “How pretty?”

  She fell back onto the heels of her feet and pressed her hand to her chin. “Hmm. Well, It's prettier than me and your mummy dressed in pretty pink skirts and sparkling white shirts while wearing silver and diamond tiaras.”

  “That's really pretty,” I sang.

  “It's beautiful, Lilac. More beautiful than anything in the whole world.”

  “Even love?” I asked innocently. Besides photography, love was the only thing Aunt Coral talked about with a big smile on her face.

  Her eyes turned sad, and she dropped both hands to her knees and leaned forward again. Another secret was about to leave her lips. I liked those secrets. I liked them a lot.

  “Nothing is more beautiful than the right kind of love.”

  “What’s the right kind?”

  “Let me see.” She turned her head in the direction of the daffodils and tulips. “It feels like all of these flowers are dancing inside your belly. Kinda tickly. Love makes every colour look as bright as these petals, and no matter how many amazing pictures you take of it, nothing, not one single photograph, will ever be able to capture it better than how it feels to be standing right in the middle of it.”

  I glanced back down at my photo on the screen and scowled.

  “You think I could do better?” I asked her.

  “There’s always room for improvement. That’s how we grow.” She reached over to peel the camera from my hands before she pulled it to her chest and held it hostage. Mum said Aunt Coral’s shiny green eyes held the same mischief in them as my amber ones did. "But be careful, Lilac... Sometimes it really is good enough the first time. If you keep chasing something more, you'll end up losing what you already have, and you’ll never look at it the same way again.”

  I didn't want to think about the look of sadness she wore just before she turned away.

  Aunt Coral didn't look sad often, but whenever she did, it was always after she'd spoken about love.

  ONE

  Toby

  Lilac Clarke wasn’t like the rest of them. She didn’t look the same as the other girls at school. She didn’t say the same things, move like them, dance like them, talk like them, and she didn’t acknowledge me the same way other girls did, either. Whenever I was lucky enough to see her smile, she’d look straight at me with warmth and honesty, a slight air of a daydream lingering in her eyes as she flashed her teeth, blinked slowly, then bowed her head and walked on by.

  The two of us lived on Crooked Mount; a cul-de-sac filled with sand-stone bungalows, perfectly manicured lawns, and generations of families that had all grown up around one another. Except for my family. We were the new arrivals.

  The first time I saw Lilac I was seven years old and I watched her rolling around in the grass in her back garden, a camera aimed high in the sky before she turned to try and capture the image of a flower up close. She was like a bright yellow ball of light in a dull, grey world. Her dress was white, covered with embroidered daisies, and her strawberry-blonde, shoulder-length wavy hair was a tangled mess as she got it covered in grass and dirt. She wore horrible green shoes and blue socks, with her lemon coloured cardigan falling off one shoulder. Nothing matched, but she made it seem like everything she was wearing had been created just for her. Even the mud streaks on her angelic face.

  She wasn’t afraid of getting dirty.

  I’d stared from my bedroom window—the one that looked out onto her fa
mily’s back garden—and I’d watched her for hours.

  The second time I saw her had been the next day in school. The teacher introduced me to the new class I was to be a part of, and the moment I saw her amber eyes flash my way and her soft smile hypnotise me, I began to walk forward. We’d chosen each other as friends without saying a word. I dropped my backpack on the floor, sat down beside her, and crossed my legs, reluctantly looking back at the teacher.

  “Lilac Clarke,” she whispered from the corner of her mouth.

  I swallowed quietly, not wanting to tell her that her name sounded like something from a book and it was beautiful to me—she was beautiful to me—because I was only seven, and so was she, and I’d never wanted to call anybody beautiful before except for my own mother.