Author: Anna Bloom
Genre: Mature YA (intended for readers ages 16-19)
Publication: July 28th, 2014
Rebecca Walters harbours a dark secret, and as the fifty-three bangles she wears on her wrists as a self-imposed sentence of guilt remind her, she can’t even begin to consider moving on. Not after what happened on that night six months ago… a night which she can’t remember and yet managed to change her life forever.
When Rebecca comes across Joshua Adams, man equally haunted by past tragedies, on a moonlit beach, both of their lives are destined to change forever, and when the girl made out of the sun meets the boy made out of the moon and sea, anything can happen… but will the knowledge of their murky pasts bring them together or drive them apart?
Will Rebecca finally be able to claim her freedom? Will she stay and fight to be the girl she found on the sandy beaches of Cornwall or is she destined to keep running and hiding from a past that won’t stay Gone? One thing’s for certain: either way, nothing will ever be the same again.
down the lane from the pub I decide to take a detour to the beach. The light is
fading but the glimmer of light from the sun setting on the horizon is just
enough that I can make my way down the path without landing on my face.
spend a lot of time on the beach at night. This isn’t like the beach in Newquay
which is filled with drunks attempting to get it on under the cover of
darkness. Our quiet beach in St Agnes is perfect for a solitary ten minutes. If
I go home now I know Aunt May will be twitching around me like she has the last
half a year, ever since my life ended at the end of one drunken night. She
doesn’t know what to say to help my get out of the ‘phase’ I’m going through.
Six months in, I think we can rule out the chance of it being a phase. This is
just me. I’m a guy without a plan. Aunt May tries, but having her wandering
around wringing her hands, asking me every three minutes if I’m hungry and need
some food is not a relaxing way to spend an evening.
don’t know what people want. Do they expect that one day I will wake up and
suddenly be over the fact that I carelessly lost my girlfriend one night?
I walk down onto the beach I keep thinking of Faye’s words. “Bridge Cottage.”
“Painting.” “Mum and Dad.” They hammer inside my head.
waiting for me, for some resolution. They want to know that I’ve let go of the
past, and that if I can do it, they all can too. But I can’t. I want them to,
but I can’t do it myself. I can’t even acknowledge to myself what happened. I can’t
even think about it or let the thought enter my mind.
few months ago. “Just take small steps, Josh, and everything will work out.”
Today I have picked up a paint brush and drunk a pint of cider. That’s got to
be two small steps in the right direction. I’m not sure what direction those
things are taking me in, but it’s heading somewhere at least.
sand I can see someone sitting on my rock. That’s just plain rude. Everyone
knows it’s mine.
slip off my flip flops and sink my toes into the cool sand as I walk down the
beach and try to get close enough to investigate without being seen.
opposite direction but my damn legs won’t listen. Instead I stand there,
looming behind her on the sand, like an axe murderer.
silhouette in the sand.”
idiot working out what to say next. “Nice bangles.”
of your business, dreadlock boy.”
you’re a charmer aren’t you?”
was sitting here first. You’re the one with the stalking, stealth-like sand
my rock.” It’s my rock? It’s my rock? Really. . .?
does not say anything. Let’s be realistic there is not much to say to that
comment. She just sits there looking out to the sea, and I stand there my feet
sunk into the cool sand.
like your dreadlocks," she says after an age has passed.
They're a lifestyle choice.”
turns to look at me and for a moment, just one brief moment my mind swirls with
colours. The make-up is gone and the waning sun illuminates her skin. She look
different. So different. A better different.
should walk away. I don’t talk to holiday makers unless I’m taking their money
in the shop.
I fold my legs and sit on the sand, my fingers automatically picking up a
splinter of driftwood as I cast my eyes up at the sun and then I start to draw.
do you have a name girl with the bangles?” I’m trying to remember what the
young girl who was with her in the shop called her yesterday. Becca? Something
to me with a frown on her face she bites her lower lip. Jeez, I only asked her
frown and the angry glare instantly make me recall her name. “Bex.” I answer
for her. The frown deepens.
one calls me that, only my sister.”
I don’t know what else to call you?” I prompt. Her feistiness is rather
amusing, it’s actually doing a good job of distracting me from the usual shit I
try to keep out of my head.
little in distaste at my goading. She really doesn’t want to tell me her name.
Who doesn’t want people to know their name? My eyes flick over her with a
little more interest. She is rather pretty. Hot, Dan would call it. But I would
go with pretty. Pretty is a more delicate sounding word, easy to pair with the
freckles and flame hair.
realized what I am doing? I’m looking at another girl. I try and turn myself
away from her a little. She must register the motion because she speaks, her
voice low like she is sharing a secret.
her throat. “My name is Rebecca.”
tone makes me cast my eyes back over her. Well not exactly willingly, my eyes
just won’t damn behave themselves and head straight back to the smooth sunlit
fingers brushing over her overload of bangles.
second name?” My feet do this bizarre thing where they scoot over the sand
towards her toes.
are Rebecca No Name?”
I am Rebecca No Name.”
stare she lays on me make me do something I am not expecting in the least. I
laugh. Fucking loud. I laugh like I never stopped.
am Joshua Adams, it’s a pleasure to meet you and your bangles.”
her hand my fingers grazing against hers, sand rolls between our connected
toes into the sand, burying them deep. “Walters. It’s Rebecca Walters.”
has a nice ring to it.”
She spits her name out like it burns her lips to say it.
where are you on holiday from?”
talking to a wall. I don’t even know why I am still sitting here. This makes an
evening with Aunt May look like a social highlight.
brush the sand from my legs.
stares up at me from the ground and I hesitate. “London. I come from London,
and I’m not on holiday. My family have moved into Bridge Cottage.”
gushes out of my lungs. The girl with the attitude and the wrong clothes and
the frown lives in the house that I was fully expecting to move into one day.
The cottage I expected to grow old in.
with a bump.
two weeks.” Her gaze is on the sea as she speaks. “Two weeks. I’ve just got to
get through two weeks.” She repeats almost to herself.
weeks of what?
the attitude turns to me, her eyes hidden in the shadows of the dipping sun.
And that I just don’t know how to answer, so I don’t. I pick my stick back up and start
to draw some more.
Anna Bloom is a contemporary romance writer who writes about life as it happens. Combining a busy schedule of looking after two small children whilst working in a local school and completing The Uni Files series she also spends a lot of time imagining kissing hot guys – all in the name of her art.