Could It Be Magic?

Could It Be Magic?
Melanie Rose

All it takes is a bolt from the blue to change your life forever…A magical novel full of heart and soul for fans of Cecelia Ahern and Sophie Kinsella.When Jessica Taylor is struck by lightning one afternoon whilst walking her dog, she has no idea how dramatically her life is going to change…Lucky to survive, Jessica wakes up in a hospital bed - but as someone else. Apparently she's now Lauren Richardson, wife and mother of four young children. No one will believe her story - she can hardly believe it herself.Later that night, Jessica wakes up again - as herself. She quickly works out that when Lauren sleeps, she wakes up as Jessica. But when Lauren is awake, she must sleep - whatever the time of day. Needless to say, it plays havoc with her work and her blossoming relationship with Dan Brennan, the handsome stranger who saved her on the Downs that fateful day.Jessica has no idea what has happened to her and whether she can get back to life as she knows it. Meanwhile, she must quickly get the hang of looking after four demanding children, an even more demanding husband and also learn all about the woman in whose designer shoes she now stands.But as she digs deeper into Lauren's life, she unearths some secrets, secrets which may tear the family apart…

MELANIE ROSE

Could It Be Magic?

Copyright (#u976bc18f-9e0e-5d0b-b754-cd6d17335370)

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.

AVON

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

An earlier version of this book was first published in

Great Britain as BeingLauren by Matador, an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd in 2005

Copyright © Melanie Rose 2009

Melanie Rose asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, 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 ebooks.

HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9781847561053

Ebook Edition © MAY 2009 ISBN: 9780007320073

Version: 2018-05-31

Dedication (#u976bc18f-9e0e-5d0b-b754-cd6d17335370)

This book is for David, with love.

It is also for all the courageous children both past and present who have been my inspiration.

Contents

Cover (#u5e3fa574-c5a7-520c-90c1-ed053a4fada5)Title Page (#u4e240777-2982-5a53-bbc1-b2c7c6f28682)Copyright (#ua734a8ae-aff5-511c-9f19-07c17c973ec0)Dedication (#ueb10118f-6466-5109-9cf4-b8cac08c2897)Prologue (#u7fecb462-6016-5b8e-ab95-bfdcf01bf40e)Chapter One (#u137cafed-a1b6-5c68-9f7a-7d04d9779b9b)Chapter Two (#u2903a793-0437-5d79-8446-052a214816fa)Chapter Three (#uf6ada693-4478-5fa7-93a8-84b991098117)Chapter Four (#ueddf003f-94a1-5e00-b389-dbea128a8535)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue (#u976bc18f-9e0e-5d0b-b754-cd6d17335370)

Frankie dragged me gleefully through the dusty car park onto the short grass of the Downs, where I paused to inhale the autumn air, grateful to be outdoors at last: away from the petrol fumes of the nearby road and the confines of my small flat. Bending to unclip the lead from her collar, I straightened up to watch as my three-year-old terrier streaked exuberantly away into the distance. Smiling, I found myself wishing I could run wildly after her with equal glorious abandonment.

Contenting myself with a brisk walk, I caught up with her eventually and we continued in companionable silence along a familiar track on the Epsom Downs, Frankie leading the way on her short businesslike legs. I allowed my mind to drift while the tensions of the week gradually subsided and my muscles slowly relaxed.

As we climbed a small rise, the sun slid behind a cloud and I glanced up, noticing how still the air had become. The sight and feel of it made me check in mid-stride. The Downs were still there, rolling away on either side of me, but the dry grass and distant trees, which a moment before had been green and brown in the early afternoon sunshine, had been touched by an eerie yellowish hue. Shivering, I pulled my sheepskin coat more closely around me and quickened my stride.

Frankie darted off towards some small trees and I cursed softly under my breath, hoping she wasn’t going to vanish just as I was thinking of starting the long walk back to the car. A sudden chill had descended from nowhere and the sky was turning as purple and black as a bruised plum. The landscape seemed bathed in an unnatural silence. I realised with trepidation that even the birds had stopped singing.

A deep rumble echoed across the distant hills and a few seconds later Frankie came racing back over the cropped turf, her hind legs going so fast with each panicked bound that they seemed almost to be sticking out from under her whiskery nose. She collided with my jean-clad shins and started to whine.

Stooping down, I picked her up and held her against me, ignoring the grubby marks her paws made on my coat. The feel of her warm living body and the scent of doggy breath on my face reassured me that I hadn’t stepped inadvertently into the stillness of an artist’s landscape painting. I stood and stared at the fearsome beauty of the picture around me with a feeling of awe. The strange light had brushed the autumnal trees on the far hilltop, tipping them with gold, yet the sky was growing blacker and more minous by the second.

And then the wind started. It hit with an audible ‘whoomp’, and with such force that I staggered back under the onslaught. It whisked my brown shoulder-length hair out behind me and clamped its cold hand over my face so that I had to gasp for breath. Frankie wriggled in my arms, but I was afraid to put her down in case she ran off again in fright.

Holding the terrier firmly under one arm, I struggled to clip the end of the lead to her tartan collar, and was lowering her to the ground when I saw the black Labrador rocketing towards us. She was almost upon us when the first streak of lightning split the heavens. The thunder-clap that followed seconds later had both dogs cowering against my legs, normal sniffing formalities forgotten. I hunkered down with them, remembering something I’d been told about lightning hitting the tallest point. I didn’t want it to be me.

We were still huddled together, heads bowed, my arms thrown protectively around both dogs, when a hand touched my shoulder. My head jerked up to see a man standing over us, dog lead dangling from his hand. ‘You okay?’ he shouted above the roar of the wind.

Heat flooded into my neck and cheeks with embarrassment. I struggled to my feet and found myself looking into the blue eyes of a man in his early thirties. I took a deep steadying breath, trying to pull my flapping coat together while keeping my balance against the buffeting gusts and Frankie’s insistent pulling.

A second flash of lightning crackled above us and we both flinched instinctively. Disjointed thoughts flickered through my mind, one of which was why did I have to meet every girl’s dream while being found huddled in a heap on the Downs with two muddy dogs in the middle of a thunderstorm?

‘Is she yours?’ I yelled, glancing at the black Lab, which was now bounding around the man in delight.

‘Yeah, she ran off. Thanks for stopping her.’

He seemed reluctant to walk away, and I found myself flipping wildly through possible excuses to keep him talking, but my lips seemed obstinately welded together. I watched helplessly as he clipped the lead to his dog’s collar smiled his thanks, and began to move off along the track. That would have been the end of it, I was sure, except that the rain started then: huge shimmering drops that smacked down, on and around us like small cannon balls, creating dark splotches on the dry earth where they fell. The man turned back in my direction, pulling up the collar of his jacket and bowing his head against the onslaught. As he drew level with Frankie and me the deluge increased in its ferocity until we couldn’t see more than an arm’s reach in any direction. It was like standing under a waterfall, and my eyes and mouth and nose were full of it. My sheepskin coat blackened and my hair was almost immediately reduced to stringy tendrils. We looked at one another, this stranger and I, and started to laugh. He had a lovely laugh, deep and throaty, and even with his short hair flattened against his head, and water dripping off the end of his nose, I think I realised he was someone special right there and then.

‘My car’s parked over there,’ he shouted, pointing vaguely in the direction he was heading. ‘Do you want to make a run for shelter?’

I nodded, and to my complete delight, he took my cold wet hand in his and pulled me along beside him, the two dogs, tails tucked miserably between their legs, trailing along in our wake.

Our breathing became laboured as we ran, increasing with the ferocity of the driving wind and rain. I could feel the blood pounding through my veins, and my fingers, entwined with his, were tingling in a kind of ecstasy that was something akin to pain.

We were almost at the car park when the lightning flashed again, illuminating the row of cars hunched in the mist ahead of us. As we drew closer I could see the sheeting rain bouncing off the sleek metal bodies and puddling on the ground beneath. The plunging drops created a misty upward spray, which was beautiful in its way, but not as wonderful as the feeling of belonging I had to this man I hardly knew, whose dripping fingers were burning holes in my palms. There was an electricity between us, something I’d never experienced before, a connection I couldn’t begin to put into words.

The rain pummelled our backs, pushing us onwards, our steps pounding in perfect unison, and as we neared the car, panting for breath, he looked into my eyes and a tremor of excitement ran through me. He dropped my hand for a moment to reach into his pocket for the car keys, and at that split second the whole sky lit up with a crackling roar. A shaft of lightning entered my body in a convulsive explosion of white noise.

The euphoria I had been feeling vanished as if someone had flicked off a giant switch. There was a searing pain through my shoulders. I watched, entranced, as the stranger’s eyes widened in horror. I could smell the sickening stench of burning flesh and knew with a detached sort of knowledge that it belonged to me. For a split second I felt as if I was hovering above myself, my earthly body engulfed in an aura of red. Then I shuddered and sank down onto the wet ground, closed my eyes, and knew only blackness and nothing.

Chapter One (#u976bc18f-9e0e-5d0b-b754-cd6d17335370)

As dreams went, it was a scary one. I snuggled deeper into my pillow, preparing to drift back to sleep, to try and recapture the feeling I’d had with the handsome stranger. But some alien scent or sound roused me, tugging at my consciousness. I opened one bleary eye and turned to look at the bedside clock. It wasn’t there. What was there was a stark Formica cabinet topped with a plastic water jug standing next to a white plastic beaker complete with drinking straw.

Pushing myself up on one elbow, I discovered that a needle had been taped in place on the back of my left hand. It appeared to be attached to a clear bag of fluid, which dripped into my veins via a thin line. I stared at it for a few seconds, then peered round at the small windowless side room. Apart from the cabinet and the bed, there were various monitors bleeping rhythmically against the wall. Wires led from them towards the bed. Running my hands over the starched white hospital gown in which I found myself, I located the sticky ends of the monitors—they were attached to my chest and sides.

I sat bolt upright and immediately wished I hadn’t as stinging pain fizzed across my back and shoulder. Gingerly, I fingered the gauzy material at the back of my neck and across my left shoulder. Bandages. My mind turned back to the lightning strike. It hadn’t been a dream then. For a moment I sat quite still, trying to regain a clear memory of what had happened: the handsome stranger in the storm, the two dogs cowering behind the car, the rain pelting relentlessly down. And what of Frankie? Who was looking after her now?

I lived alone in my basement flat on the outskirts of Epsom. My parents lived miles away, buried in a quiet hamlet in Somerset—a village consisting of a handful of cottages, a pub and a post office/general store—the sort you could drive through and never notice was there. No one would know to tell them I’d been hurt, or that Frankie was all alone somewhere.