Us, Forever: A moving and unforgettable novel about love and hope

By Laura Danks

When you’ve found your happily ever after, can you ever let it go?
 
Abandoned by her mother and left in the care of an absent father, as a child Francesca escaped her sad reality by dreaming of a better life. Her dream came true the summer she turned nine and she met the FitzRoys—a loving family who welcomed her into their world.
 
Almost two decades later, Francesca’s life is just about perfect. She has achieved everything she wanted and is engaged to her one true love, Paul FitzRoy. But, in a cruel twist of fate, on the day of her wedding, instead of walking down the aisle, Fran races to the hospital to find Paul lying in a coma after a brutal assault.
 
Days turns into weeks, and as she remains by his side, Francesca is swept up in a flood of memories.
 
When Paul’s condition deteriorates and their future appears to be slipping away, Fran is left with a heartbreaking question: should she keep believing that love can conquer all, or accept the reality that life is not a fairytale?
 
Us, Forever is a heart-wrenching tale of love, loss, and the power of hope.
 
“Emotionally charged and beautifully romantic, Us, Forever is a moving tale of love and hope in the most challenging of circumstances.” —Kate Galley, author of The Second Chance Holiday Club

“Heartbreaking, hopeful and so, so romantic. Us, Forever is a gorgeous read about finding love and holding on to it when life gets impossibly difficult.” —Suzanne Ewart, author of One Month of You

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jul 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9781504086615

Book preview

PROLOGUE

29th February

The winter sun is shining outside but, even at its brightest, it’s still just a dimmed glow behind the drawn curtains.

The bedroom is too dark to put every little detail into focus and I have to lift my hand close to my nose to see the ring on my finger. It’s antique, an heirloom passed down from bride to bride and last worn by Paul’s mother, Josephine. It shines even in the absence of direct light as if it’s the love passed down from generation to generation that makes it glow from within. It’s a stunning piece of jewellery and I absolutely love it but, truth to be told, I would have been happy with any old trinket if it came with a marriage proposal from Paul.

It’s corny – and perhaps a little old-fashioned – to believe in fairy tales but my parents’ marriage was a shouting match and when I was little the only respite I found from their constant fighting was to immerse myself in books where people magically fell in love and stay together forever.

Paul is my prince charming and today – my wedding day – my own happily ever after will become a reality.

When I hear Paul getting out of the shower I take a deep breath to release the emotions that are filling my chest. It isn’t often that you get to witness the beginning of the rest of your life. The door of the en suite opens and Paul appears in all his glory. My husband-to-be is properly hot and I’m wondering if I should try to convince him to lose the robe and get back in bed with me. A hot flush warms my cheeks.

‘Good morning,’ he says entering the room with a smile.

When he opens the curtains, I squint trying to protect my eyes from the brightness. ‘Morning – how can you be this cheerful at this early hour?’

‘It’s in the genes. My great-great-grandfather was a farmer.’ He walks to me rubbing a towel over his hair.

‘Your great-great-grandfather was a lord who owned half of Cambridgeshire,’ I mumble under my breath.

‘Potāto, potáto.’ He laughs shaking his head.

When some of the droplets splash on my skin, I complain. ‘Oi, just get further away!’

‘Away from you? Not a chance.’ He peeks down at me from under the fluffy cotton and my heart skips a beat. I can’t help it, I’m just a sucker for romantic-movie type of moments.

I clear my throat. ‘No cold feet?’ I ask, trying to keep my tone light even if there is a part of my brain that worries something is going to go wrong today. My stress is justified by the fact that Paul wasn’t always quite so upfront about his feelings for me and for many years I didn’t even know he liked me at all.

Paul frowns and I realise he has read my thoughts. I smile pretending I’m not worried but it’s too late, he knows about my – unfounded but nevertheless real – insecurities.

He sits on the bed and I turn slightly to my side so that I can look into his eyes. He takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. I take another deep breath trying to relax.

‘I’ve been in love with you since the first time I met you when you were eight years old; nothing is going to stop me from marrying you today…’

‘Good to know.’ I joke, but the tension is making my words come out harder than I meant them.

His smile turns bitter and I know he’s blaming himself for my paranoia. ‘I was young and stupid and a bit selfish,’ he says. ‘I know that by trying to protect myself, I hurt you. I was jealous of Harry and handled things the wrong way but I’m not a silly teenager anymore. I’m not going to fuck this up, I promise.’

I laugh. ‘Okay, I’ll try to do the same. I’m pretty sure half of the blame is mine to take anyway,’ I say, finally smiling.

He lifts my hand to his lips. When he kisses each of my fingers his stubble tickles my skin making me giggle. ‘That’s better.’ He watches my shoulders relax. ‘You are my past, my present and my future, Fran.’ He grins at me. ‘I think I just wrote my vows.’ His tone is still easy and relaxed but his expression has turned serious before he speaks again. ‘We don’t need to rush things.’

‘What do you mean?’ Then, it occurs to me. ‘You are worried people will think this is a shotgun wedding?’

‘Like I ever cared what people think.’ He kisses the tip of my nose and I smile knowing that’s true. ‘Plus, that would just add to the happiness,’ he says and a throng of butterflies flutter in my stomach at the idea of having a baby with Paul. I blame the human primordial need to procreate for this sudden broodiness.

He clears his throat. ‘I’m just saying we don’t have to elope to Vegas today. We don’t have to rush; we can make a new plan. We could get married next spring in Cambridge, or maybe next summer, in France. We could have the ceremony in the old chapel in the village, invite family and friends and even have a live band. We could ask Georgie and Harry to be maid of honour and best man. Throw some vintage champagne around.’

I smile.

‘It’s a classic for a reason.’ He pauses to let the words sink in. ‘But if you want something a bit more extravagant, we could choose a wacky theme.’

‘A wacky theme?’ I laugh incredulous: those words don’t match the man who said them.

‘I’m serious, something different, excessive even.’ He raises an eyebrow as if he’s really thinking about it. ‘I always had a soft spot for the circus, big top and all. That’s a great theme.’ He accompanies the last four words with a decisive nod.

He looks so cute I indulge him. ‘What else?’

‘I think we should include an element of danger, some peril, like using a trapeze or we could say I do while walking on a high rope.’

When I burst out laughing, he pretends to be offended. ‘Fine, be a meanie and make fun of my dreams.’

‘I’m sorry, Paul, I know you are a bit of a dare-devil but even so, this is out of character. You are the perfect example of British stiff upper lip and it’s hard to imagine you in a circus.’ I use my fingers to make inverted commas in the air.

He’s quiet for a second. ‘Okay, you choose then?’

‘Me? I don’t particularly want to try the trapeze or walk on a rope. Human cannonball is also a hard limit for me.’

‘No,’ he laughs, ‘I mean – what would your theme be?’

‘Oh.’ He has caught me by surprise as I never thought that much about my wedding. When I did, I pictured a simple affair. Mostly, I imagined myself in a white dress standing in front of Paul as we said I do. I dreamt of the man and the marriage more than the wedding party.

Yet, to my surprise a very clear image forms into my head. ‘Steam funfair.’ The words just pop out of my mouth.

‘I dig that.’ Paul seems pleased I’m playing along.

‘Something like the one we saw in Wandsworth Common last year for the harvest celebration.’

‘Oh yes, it was beautiful. It’ll be the perfect accompaniment to my circus.’ There is genuine excitement in his eyes.

‘I loved the old carousel with those wooden horses.’ Silly really but I was getting into it. ‘Maybe we could add some mystique, hire a fortune teller. She could read tarot, predicting good fortune for the guests, or warning them about bad omens.’ I smiled excited. ‘We need a stall with toffee apples and cotton candy.’

‘And a Ferris wheel,’ he adds.

‘Of course, that’s a must.’ I laugh. ‘I’d also like those cute wooden caravans painted in bright colours with cosy blankets and fairy lights for our wedding night.’

‘Perfect.’ He takes my hand and I’m suddenly an emotional wreck. Maybe I’m giddy with stress because of the enormity of what’s happening but I’m on a rollercoaster of moods.

‘I’m in for the long haul, Fran. Fully committed – actually devoted to you…’

‘Aww.’ For someone who’s excellent at keeping his emotions in check, he can be so romantic.

He then adds, ‘…even if we are not getting married today.’

A well-known nagging feeling appears again at the pit of my stomach. Here’s when the other shoe drops.

‘Do you want to wait?’ I ask worrying about his answer.

‘No, of course not,’ he holds my hands tighter. ‘I waited this long to propose only because it was your wish.’ He smiles and I know that’s true. I was the one that put a ten-year ban on a marriage. But now I was the one who had asked to bring it forward.

He smiles at me. ‘No, I don’t want to wait; I just think that it’d be good to celebrate with friends and family.’

‘I don’t want to wait.’ The quicker we say ‘I do’, the quicker my anxiety will subside. Paul, however, has a point about celebrating with the people we love. ‘What if we still elope, but then also have a nice party after? Good compromise?’ I ask, and he smiles.

‘Excellent compromise.’ His eyes are as clear as spring water and I can see his emotions floating under the surface. He stands and I take the hand he’s offering me. He pulls me out of bed then places his hands on my lower back and holds me closer.

I wrap my arms around his neck, boosting myself up on my tiptoes.

‘Talking about long haul, are you ready for a nine-hour transatlantic flight?’ he jokes, and I relax again. The storm in my chest has passed and there’s blue sky ahead.

‘I’m planning to sleep most of the way.’

I’m exhausted. I blame the food poisoning that took a toll on my body and the worries that kept me up all night. But also, the engagement sex we had over the weekend and last night and this morning. My cheeks flush hot at the thought.

‘Snore,’ he teases me, and I laugh.

‘Rude.’ I grin. ‘What are you going to do? Work?’ I’m intentionally confrontational.

‘No work.’ His expression turns intriguing. ‘In fact, I was wondering, how do you feel about the mile-high club?’ he asks and my mouth gapes open.

‘Mr FitzRoy! How forward of you to suggest something like that.’

‘Not so stiff upper lip after all, Miss Willson,’ he says kissing me hard. ‘Any chance I may be lucky even before we take off?’ He asks unbuttoning the top of my pyjamas.

‘Uhm, I wish we had the time but Cecilia is coming over to pick up the keys in twenty minutes.’ My brain is foggy with delight as Paul’s fingers and lips roams over my skin igniting all the right places.

‘Who is Cecilia?’ Paul asks and his breath against my neck gives me goosebumps.

‘She’s our new gardener. She’s supposed to start preparing the raised beds, and she will pick up the perfect plants at a horticultural auction this afternoon…’ I stiffen, my mind clears, in all the pre-wedding chaos I forgot that Cecilia needs money for the auction.

‘Shit,’ I pull away from Paul who looks at me with a frown.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Cecilia needed cash. Damn it… I forgot,’ I say, angry with myself.

‘That’s okay,’ Paul reply calmly. ‘We can transfer whatever she needs.’ He lowers his lips to mine again but I shake my head.

‘We can’t. She doesn’t have a bank account.’

‘She doesn’t?’ He looks at me in surprise.

I shake my head. ‘She doesn’t trust banks; it needs to be cash or we will lose the auction.’ I can’t stop the disappointment from colouring my tone. ‘I’m going to call her, there will be another auction.’

Paul smiles. ‘I can get cash. The off-licence down the road has a machine.’

‘We don’t have time…’ I say but he touches my hand.

‘I’ll be two minutes. I bet I’ll be back even before you are ready,’ he says with confidence.

‘Are you sure?’ I ask, somewhat unwilling to let him go.

‘Positive. It’s no trouble, I may even get us a couple of coffees on my way back.’ He reaches into his drawer for a pair for pants and I treat myself with the full view of his body before the clothes cover him up. He catches me looking and smiles.

‘Stop gawking and tell me what coffee you want.’ He’s dressed and ready to go.

‘Mocha please and make it a double shot because I’m still sleepy.’

‘Consider it done.’ He leans forward and smacks a kiss in the middle of my forehead and then without any warning he lifts me to him until we are at eye level. ‘We are getting married today,’ he says with contagious excitement.

‘We are,’ I answer, pulling him closer.

If I had known what was about to happen, I’d have never, ever, let him go.

CHAPTER 1

Earth is still turning around the sun, my heart is still beating and my breaths are still coming at regular intervals that follow a secret ancestral rhythm; but the world no longer makes sense to me.

It’s as if my cognitive faculties have been obliterated by the news of what happened to Paul. It’s as if I’m having an out-of-body experience, where I’m watching myself from above, from somewhere near the ceiling. My back is curved, my elbows bent and digging uncomfortably into my thighs. My head is burrowed into my hands. I can’t see my expression because knotted hair flops in front of my face, but behind the strands my eyes are staring at the wall.

I cannot remember how I got to the hospital. Everything is tangled in a blur of words and noises. I try to recall the journey through the traffic and remember the muffled sound of my sobbing filling the space around me but everything else seemed to be sitting outside my tunnel vision.

I remember my own voice shaking when I asked about Paul at the reception desk. There are blackouts alternated with vivid actions that flash up brightly in the dullness – like the moment when I almost slipped on a step running up the stairs and the sound of my shoes reverberating all around me as I ran through the corridor – out of breath I had to hold on to the rail for the final flight. Then time stopped and all I could do was sit and wait.

I’m here alone with no one around to answer my questions. The police are not sure what happened to Paul; the doctors are not sure about his prognosis and I’m not sure I’ll survive if he dies.

‘Fran?’ A voice calling my name echoes inside my head, resounding through the ringing in my ears, distant and foreign. The fact that I’ve known that voice for twenty years bears no significance in the dark place I am in. Georgie, my beautiful, strong, loyal friend is rushing towards me but I don’t have the strength to get up. Her steps are hurried and she calls my name again. Her tone is urgent, preoccupied, but I don’t even have the strength to answer her and I remain exactly as I am. Motionless.

She calls again, softly this time, but it’s only when she places her hand on my shoulders and shakes me gently that I stir. I tilt my head up to look at her face. She seems enveloped by a hazy glow but it’s probably because my eyes are tired and sore from crying. It takes lots of blinking to focus even if she is only a few inches away.

‘I’m here,’ Georgie murmurs wrapping her arms around me and like shattering glass, the very fabric that was keeping me together disappears, leaving me in a million pieces. Tears have left a dull ache in their place but pressing my face against her shoulder gives me a moment of relief. Her familiar scent is comforting and takes me back to growing up together.

‘Georgie, oh my God…’ I whisper and my dry lower lip cracks. When I run my tongue over it I taste the saltiness of my blood. Immediately my thoughts return to Paul, I imagine his blood spilled on the floor of the off-licence near our house and sobs come at once, uncontrollable fits fuelled by a raw fear that slashes through me with each breath I take.

Georgie rubs my back as I let the pain out. She’s murmuring soothing words in my ears and I cling to them, to her, as if someone else’s hope is the only thing that will keep me afloat.

‘Harry is on his way too. He won’t be long, I’m sure,’ she says, and I feel relief. This is a burden too heavy to bear by myself.

‘This is one of the best hospitals in the country, Fran,’ Georgie keeps talking; calm and reassuring. ‘Possibly in the world, and they are just going to do the impossible to make Paul better,’ she says, and those words become a mantra looped into my murky brain.

They’ll make him better.

They’ll make him better.

They’ll make him better.

I keep repeating that sentence to myself until its ripple washes away some of the panic bubbling inside my chest. I’m not sure how long it takes to calm down but the crying has stopped, and my breathing is returning to normal. I dry my cheeks with the tissue Georgie gave me.

Georgie is squeezing my hand in a supportive hold and our fingers entwined make a yin-yang pattern of perfect balance. ‘Do you know what happened?’ she asks eventually.

I wish I had the full answer. ‘Not really.’ I shake my head and frustration fills my throat. When I speak again my voice sounds hoarse. ‘The police… they think Paul may have walked into a robbery, but they’re not sure exactly. They’ve opened an investigation…’ I struggle to get the words out. ‘Today was supposed to be the happiest day of my life,’ I whisper to Georgie, who looks at me in surprise.

‘Paul and I had planned to elope. We were supposed to get married in Vegas tonight.’ It sounds so unreal now – almost absurd. I open my mouth to say more, to explain our reasons but then close it again. It doesn’t matter.

Georgie’s deep brown eyes fill with an array of emotions and eventually they settle to sorrow. In different circumstances we would be laughing at this outlandish idea and she’d be chewing my ears about not asking her to be my maid of honour. She’d demand to see pictures of the venue and we’d discuss dresses and hairstyles. But those actions belong in normality and there’s nothing normal about today.

When her phone buzzes Georgie looks at the screen. ‘Harry’s here; they are looking for parking. Albert’s with him.’

I nod, looking down at my hand, at my engagement ring. If none of this had happened, Harry would be my brother-in-law as well as my best friend.

My heart goes out to Albert. He’s Paul’s father and one of the nicest men I’ve ever met. Strong, intelligent, positive, and full of life. But he has withered since the death of his wife Josephine six months ago. She was ill for a long time – for as long as I’ve known her. Her illness was life shortening but Albert never gave up hope. When she eventually died, the doctors agreed that it had been a miracle for her to live as long as she did, beating even the most optimistic prognosis by more than ten years.

‘Amor vincit omnia – love conquers all,’ Albert had said in his eulogy to his beloved wife and those words in this moment of despair are the only glimpse of hope I can see, so I hold on to them to get some strength from them. Suddenly I feel the need to be with Paul. I need to do what Albert did with Josephine and spend every second with Paul if I want him to get better.

I stand up. I’m a bit wobbly on my legs but my resolution will carry me through.

‘Where are you going?’ Georgie asks, standing too.

‘I need to see Paul,’ I murmur heading towards the nurses’ desk.

‘Fran, wait. I just asked them, remember? They said he’s still in surgery. You can’t see him until he’s in the recovery room.’ I keep walking and Georgie takes my hand then squeezes it.

‘I’ve been waiting a long time; I need to be with him.’ My voice shakes. ‘Maybe I should ask again.’

‘Fran.’ Georgie pulls at me, her hand a gentle restraint. ‘I know it’s hard to just sit here, waiting for God knows how long, but until surgery is over there would be no news. I’m sure they’ll tell us something, as soon as they can.’

‘He needs to know that I’m here; that I’ll stay with him every second and we will do this together.’

‘They’ll tell him that you are here as soon as he’s out of surgery. He’s probably under anaesthesia now anyway.’ She’s speaking slowly, using simple sentences as if I’m a child.

‘I know, I know. You are right.’ I free my hand and sit down again.

She does the same. ‘We’ll have to wait,’ she says and I nod.

I look around absent-mindedly and twist the engagement ring on my finger until the skin around it turns red and tender. ‘I can’t just sit here anymore.’ I stand up and Georgie frowns. ‘I won’t do anything stupid, I promise. I just want to stretch my legs a little.’

‘Of course, I’ll be here if you need me,’ she says lightly but there is still concern in her eyes.

I only manage a few steps when I spot Harry walking into the waiting area. He looks so much like Paul, tall and lean, with the same unruly hair, and yet he and his brother couldn’t be more different.

‘Fran!’ Harry runs to me. Immediately we are in each other’s arms. Albert is only a step behind.

Now that they are here, I feel better and worse in equal measure. I’m reassured by their presence, which makes Paul’s situation even more real. At least we can carry this enormous weight together.

I take a step away from Harry when Albert reaches us. ‘How is he?’ he asks giving me a hug; his voice shakes with worry.

‘Still in surgery.’ I don’t have a better answer.

‘I thought I’d be seeing you for an engagement party.’ Albert’s tone is terribly sad as he looks at the ring on my finger. ‘Instead, here we are.’

I swallow the news about Vegas and our impromptu wedding; there’s no point to mentioning it now.

‘You look pale.’ Harry lifts my chin to him. ‘Have you recovered from the food poisoning yet?’ He’s deflecting his worries onto me.

‘Still struggling, but I’ll be fine.’ I had almost forgotten about the bad seafood I had in Paris at the weekend. Paul's marriage proposal eclipsed everything else.

The three of them are hovering over me and it feels overwhelming. ‘Shall we just sit?’ I suggest and they all nod.

Albert chooses one chair on the opposite side of the coffee table; I return to my previous spot; Harry and Georgie flank me.

I don’t feel like talking and any attempt at conversation from them fails miserably after a few sentences so we sit in silence, while worries consume us.

The next few hours turn into a series of vignettes without any real story joining them.

Harry is restless, a tense energy radiating from him. He stands up and starts moving around. I follow his pacing with my gaze like one would watch a caged animal at the zoo. He walks around for a while, then he sits again rubbing his chin or stroking my hand, then he goes to the windows. He stops to look at the booklets on the table. He studies the prints on the wall, then he returns to sit before starting the routine again. His eyes always turn a deeper green when he’s stressed and his lips, set in a straight line, make him look older than his age. He’s struggling to keep his frustration under control and the worried look in his eyes tightens the knots in my stomach.

Georgie is on the phone, talking animatedly to different people in her team so they can take on some of her most urgent tasks. She’s a successful social media manager for a fancy agency in central London and it’s hard to keep up with the relentless rhythm of business. She’s juggling things masterfully and I’m grateful for her effort to be here.

Albert, sitting still in the same spot, seems lost in a separate dimension. He is quiet, his hands in his lap and the weight of the world on his shoulders. His blond hair is turning grey and his light blue eyes are hollow, the spark I remember in them now lost. He spoke with Robert, Paul’s youngest brother, in Rome. He’s promised to be on the first flight back. Then Albert kindly called my father and my sister Becca on my behalf to give them the news.

Paul is still in surgery with his life hanging in the balance and I’m just lost.

CHAPTER 2

The four-hour surgery timeline the doctor gave me originally has turned into six, and we are stretched to our limit with worry.

Unable to sit for another minute, I get up and wander down the corridor. Hospitals are like mazes, a fascinating and frightening warren of closed doors.

I pass a few crossroads where corridors meet and lead to different departments, some with names I don’t fully understand. A nurse carrying a chart under her arm is the only person I encounter; her rubber soles squeak in the quiet around us. I walk some more, checking my phone to make sure it has reception, until to the left I spot a smaller waiting room with a bookshelf.

I head for it, curious about the books on display. It’s a very eclectic collection offered by a local