This Could Have Been Our Song!: A coulda woulda shoulda ballad Read online

  This Could Have Been Our Song!

  Danielle-Claude

  Ngontang Mba

  Copyright © 2013 by Danielle-Claude Ngontang Mba

  All rights reserved.

  This ebook or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This ebook is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Paperback Edition also available

  ISBN-13: 978-1481964081

  ISBN-10: 1481964089

  The Angone House of Publishing Limited

  145-157 St John Street

  London, EC1V 4PW

  United Kingdom

  www.theangonehouseofpublishinglimited.co.uk

  Cover: Music in heart background vector image © Vector Stock®

  Cover design by Danielle-Claude Ngontang Mba

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to Papa et Maman, I love you both so much. To all who wished me well on this crazy journey. To the loving memory of our friend James Massey. To sisterhood, friendship and family, to love and to music.

  To God.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Let’s not make this another novel but just where do you start to thank those that joined you, walked beside you, and helped you along the way on this journey. I’d like to first and foremost say thank you to my families. The Gabonese one who gave me my roots, my sense of ethic and good looks. Being the Gabonese fish out of water has never been an easy calling for me but you always made it OK. Mum, you’re the strongest most beautiful person I know and one of my many inspirations for my characters. Dad, you would have yes to me becoming clown if it would have made me happy, thank you. My baby sister Marie-Hélène who taught me more than she would ever know. Minouche… My second mummy, thank you. My younger brothers, all of them for never doubting me, you all rock! Then there was the Canadian one led by my angelical older sister Angela, strength, love and beauty, thank you. Dima, my beautiful saviour who taught me so much about friendship and loves; this book is for you, DD forever. Alison, Ben, Nancy, Nathalie, the entire gang, thank you for the encouragements, supports, karaoke nights, I have gained and grown so much just knowing you and having you in my life. I also need to thank a wonderful woman who completely changed my life some twenty years ago, yes Renée that was you.

  A special thanks to Hayley Sherman my fantastic copy-editor. Sarah Mlynowski, my favourite chicklit author who gave me the bug about a decade ago along with Melissa Senate and Wendy Markham. This is my first novel and it will not be the last so I wanted to acknowledge the writers have inspired me to tell such stories.

  Thank you Ladies.

  Lucia – The Intro

  What was that noise? Noor? Can’t be; she’s not supposed to pick me up for another... What time is it anyway? Oh my God! I either have a headache or I’m dying. But someone is definitely knocking at my door. I guess I have to see who it is. Let’s start with one eye then slowly opening the other, raising my head a little, and please make the knockings stop.

  Okay, I’m leaving the comfort of my bed now. I’m doing good. Looks like I’m not dying after all. I’m wrapping myself with a sarong and heading towards the door. I feel like I’m forgetting something, and Noor she would never be awake at – checking the clock in the living room – 9.00 a.m.! Just five hours after leaving me. She should be worse off than I am right now. She drank most of the shots. Besides, she has a key… So, who the hell is it? When was the last time I drank this much? Definitely Noor’s thirtieth in January and nothing has ever come out of our crazy nights out.

  “Yes I’m coming!” I scream back to the knocking stranger. “I heard you the first time.” I look in the peep hole. I stand corrected; something good has come out of our crazy night after all. It’s not Noor but another familiar face: a tall, dark, handsome one with a sexy five o’clock shadow and piercing hazel eyes. I knew I forgot something. Wait a minute; didn’t I just leave him in the bed? When did Marcus leave my apartment and, most importantly, why is he back?

  “Who is it?” I ask, but I know who it is. Or do I? I just met the guy last night. Maybe it’s not him. Maybe he’s still sleeping or is in the bathroom.

  “It’s Marcus. I’m back,” he answers, waiving a bag.

  Well thank you for stating the obvious, Mister Handsome. “Who?” I teasingly ask again, and what’s in the bag?

  “Very funny, Lucia,” he responds. “Open the door... Please.”

  At least he remembers my name; that’s a good start. I open the door and let him in.

  “Did you forget something?” I casually ask.

  He looks at me then smiles. Did he go home and change? I’m almost certain he wasn’t wearing jeans last night. Okay, Did I forget something? I’m stepping back as he’s stepping forward, still flashing that sexy, arrogant smile of his. I remember too well where that smile led to the night before. And he has changed his clothes. This is awkward; I have plans with my sisters.

  “I told you I’d be right back,” he says before handing me the bag and giving me a quick kiss on the lips. He did? I really don’t remember; must have been sleeping. I’m what my sisters call a sleep talker.

  “Happy Birthday, Luce. You look beautiful first thing in the morning.”

  He’s good; I look like an escaped mental patient. I forgot to tie my hair up and now my big curls are all over the place. I clumsily comb them with my fingers.

  “Don’t open it now. You can check after I leave. My team’s playing today but I wanted to make sure you have your gift this morning.So… It was lovely meeting you, Luce.” “Thank you. Very nice indeed,” I manage to say. At that moment my sarong slips from the back of my neck and of course, Marcus catches it as it reaches my bust. Avoiding complete eye contact, I try to take it back. I don’t know where that sudden shyness came from; I can even feel myself blushing. I’m sure he can be a gentleman about all this, right?

  Wrong! Somehow I end up getting pulled even closer. “

  Yes, very…very nice indeed, Luce,” he softly states, leaning his face down towards mine for a passionate kiss, and I wonder how you can ever know whether a kiss is great because you’re a great kisser or because you’re being kissed by a great one. Marcus is an amazing kisser; I can’t even feel the ground just his hands all over me. He’s carrying me back to my room. “What about the game?” I ask him as he gently places me on my bed.

  He laughs. “They’re not having the best season anyway. I’m sure I won’t be missed.”

  I pull him toward me and take his shirt off. Oh my… Happy birthday to me…

  “So, he came back. Then what?” Noor is asking, chewing on her eggs benedict.

  We had finally made it to brunch. She was only two hours late, something about her alarm clock not going off probably because she never set it. To be truthful, it was a blessing in disguise; Marcus left fifteen minutes before her arrival.

  “Then, nothing. He left. His team was playing, remember?” In reality, we shared a very hot and steamy shower. I’m still nicely flustered just thinking about it.

  I can barely stand the smell of my own food; I should just have ordered pancakes. But no; it’s my birthday so I had to get the fancy dish, Eggs Baron à la carte: two eggs, fancy looking home fries, expensive-looking sausages with a very heavy mustard sauce – something I could have cooked with my eyes closed. And I’m sure it would have tasted much better.

&n
bsp; “I don’t believe you,” Noor says. “What kind of man will leave a naked woman?” She points her fork at me. “This naked woman. Please! Your breasts alone –” I stop her before she goes too far. “Noor, please! We have an audience. We spoke about this.”

  She flashes me her “I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about” look with those big, dark-grey eyes, so identical to mine. The rest of her face is also the same as mine, from the button nose to the slightly rounded frame. We used to have the same mouth but Noor went for the Angelina Jolie lips a few years back. She also went for a dark-red hair color, which is still blow-dried straight from yesterday but in a ponytail. My hair is still a total mess; I didn’t have much time to do anything with it after Marcus’s departure. I did my best to control my big black curls but they refused to be tamed and we were already late. So, I went for the bohemian chick look, wrapping my head in a scarf to cover most of them up. It’s classy enough for The Four Seasons on a Saturday afternoon, but I have to say that with the red sundress, the big earrings I’m wearing and my light-brown complexion, I look like a gipsy. Noor opted for her favorite Lululemon black pants and a matching tank top; this has been a rough morning for her after all. She still looks cute, dark circle around her eyes and all.

  I turn to another almost identical face at the table with us, but with no makeup or tired lines to hide, unlike Noor and me. Axelle is too quiet; her food can’t be that good. She’s eating a smoked salmon omelet. Her hair looks perfect in its natural, light-brown shade and is cut very short. Her dark-grey eyes, nicely hidden behind her glasses, have been avoiding mine for the past fifteen minutes. She sure put her judging hat on this morning.

  “So, are you going to see him again?” she asks, finally making eye contact. She looks lovely as usual, even when she looks disappointed, dressed up in nice-fitting jeans, high heels and a designer blouse. She is about the same age our mother was when I last saw her and right now she looks exactly like her, from her current hairstyle to her light-brown, almost white, complexion. I’m suddenly very hungry and shove a big piece of sausage in my mouth. Axelle’s inquisitions never end well for me. I send a pleading look toward Noor.

  “Axelle, not all women meet the lover of their life at eighteen and follow him across the globe,” Noor says. “Some of us play the field, have a little fun.” She winks at me. “Or a lot of fun. Was ‘Just Marcus’ a lot of fun, Luce?”

  “So says the one who’s getting married in less than six months, on September twelfth,” Axelle responds, shifting her attention to Noor. “Don’t encourage her. She’s twenty-six now. The fun, as you call it, must stop at some point.”

  “Just let her live her life, Lelly. It’s not our fault if you couldn’t make it last night. You’re such a hater! But if you’d seen him, this Marcus guy… He was so yummy!” Noor teases. “Well built, brown, reddish hair, off the shoulder… And that smile… British…” Noor adds. She turns to me and I swear she’s blushing. Marcus is yummy and then some. I smile and blow her a quick kiss. She’s the best. But I know those looks; she and Axelle are not done with me yet. What have I done? And we’re not even drinking.

  “I didn’t catch the color of his eyes. What was it, Luce?” Noor asks me, all smiles. An awful wicked smile. I take it back; she’s my evil, older twin sister: four years older to be exact.

  Hazel, deep, sweet, hazel eyes. I quite remember them and the way they felt staring back at me.

  “Don’t worry, Noor. I’m sure she remembers that much… Or that little – I’m not judging,” Axelle teasingly says. Great! Now they’re both ganging up me and on my birthday no less. “But really, honey, are you going to see him again?” Axelle asks again, but this time sarcastically.

  “I don’t know, Lelly, if I will see his hazel eyes again.” I pick up the bags by my side. I really need to get myself more friends. Hanging out with older sisters is really starting to get old – what do you know – just like me. “I can’t even get a day off with you two!” I protest. “Check the calendar – March twenty-eighth. It’s my freaking day! Bad sisters!” I just needed to let it out. “Now, can I open my presents?” I ask, all excited.

  The rest of the day went pretty fast. After our traditional Mpobo-Riddell’s sister birthday brunch, I went home and back to bed, but alone this time. I needed the beauty rest and when I woke up twelve hours later, I was starving but finally well rested. I checked the phone, but had received no calls from Marcus – not that I was waiting for one. Really.

  Now, with a cup of fresh, premium coffee in my hand, I’m sitting on my balcony, witnessing the morning sunrise. My apartment faces south, so I can see the CN Tower; it’s really a beautiful sight. It’s unusually warm today for this time of the year, not April yet, but I haven’t worn my winter jacket for a couple of weeks now and traded my winter boots for my stilettos. There is no snow left in Toronto, just how I like it; the rest of the country is still fighting a few winter storms even though spring started a week ago.

  I stare down at my bare legs. I’m still wearing my nightgown and it doesn’t cover anything mid-thigh down. The rest of my body is kept warmed by my Hello Kitty blanket. The fresh air smells like rain. I love that smell; it reminds me of my childhood in England. I take a deep breath in. Closing my eyes, I can almost see Papa walking Noor and I to school in London.

  “Does the rain ever stop?” he would always say. Coming from a much warmer country, the Republic of Central Africa, he was always complaining about the cold and the constant rainy weather. I don’t think he would have enjoyed living in Toronto; he was always putting extra pieces of clothing on us in the morning before heading us to school. But Axel Mpobo loved London, come rain or shine. He loved it because that was where he met Mom and he loved it because it was where his three daughters were all born.

  My birthdays always remind me that I haven’t spent one with him since I was eight and I’m sure Noor and Axelle feel the same way during theirs. On that last birthday, Papa gave me Belinda, my guitar and most precious possession. Twenty-six and one day and I already have the blues. But one thing always makes me feel better – cooking. And right now my oven just beeped, meaning my almond croissants are ready. So, let’s eat those feeling away! I get them out of the oven to cool down and they look delicious. Nothing calms me more than baking madeleines, reducing a red wine and cherry sauce or whipping a butter almond frosting. I’m too hungry to wait any longer and take a croissant back with me outside.

  On my way outside I grab my laptop to check my emails. It was my birthday after all. I received about a dozen emails and hundreds of Facebook wall messages Most of them are from my first Riddell cousins and the Mpobo ones; I can’t wait to see those crazy, wonderful women at the wedding. I’ve got one from Greg McMullan, one of my closest and oldest friends. He’s touring right now so he couldn’t be here.

  Lulu, Saeng-il chukahae[1]. Love Greg.

  He has this adorable habit of mixing Korean and English all the time, an exercise his parents used to make him and his sister do to develop both languages when they were children.

  I write back, gamsahabnida, bogo sip-eoss-eo[2]. Lulu. I’ve picked the language up after ten years of friendship.

  I then open a message sent to me at 1.00 a.m., according to my mailbox. It’s from Lloyd Sarrow, one of my bosses from Noël-Sarrow Records; he’s granted me an extra couple of days off. A well-deserved second birthday’s gift as he calls it. He already gave me three VIP tickets to the exclusive Origin Lounge on Friday morning, which had included a table and a prepaid tab. I never got to use the perks from Noël-Sarrow Records until that evening, so it was very nice of him and it turned out to be perfect for my birthday celebration soirée.

  Still no phone calls from Marcus I notice, and I’m still not waiting for one. However, there is one from the famous Beesly Marsh. She’s inviting me to a birthday party? Patrick De Guerra’s party, on my birthday weekend? That’s a no. I have family duties anyway. I’ll call her back later. Still, I have to be smart about it; she chose m
e to write and produce Beesly & Matt’s second album. When Lloyd told me last month, I thought I burst out of happiness. After almost three years at Noël-Sarrow, I’m finally going to fly completely solo.

  “She liked your work and said she wanted more, a whole album more. And you know what they say – whatever Beesly wants, Beesly gets,” Lloyd announced to a very speechless me.

  Right after the news I got to meet the famous twosome. Their first album, Perfect Matrimony, was released five years ago and went triple platinum. They became a household name, especially because they have been married for more than six years. Beesly was as excited as I was about this. She instantly decided that I was her new soul sister.

  “Your song, ‘Head to Toe’, was my favorite song three years ago. You can ask Matt!” She told me, passing her fingers though her fake hair, smiling with her fake lips. Should I mention the fake tan? Beesly Marsh is a poster child for plastic surgery.

  “She loved it alright.” Matt added. “We used to listen to it at least a hundred times a day.” But then he took out his phone and started to dial. Very rude, but I guess when you’re a star you’re allowed to be a total British wanker. I knew the type; I’ve been dealing with it all my life – cute and arrogant, sexy and a real jerk.

  “Thank you. That song was dear to my heart and having Jonnie Lynch singing it was nothing but a pure honor,” It got me my job here with a very comfortable salary and let’s not forget, substantial royalties with which I bought my condo.

  Matt smiled back at me and then said, “If you ladies would please excuse me…” and he left the studio,

  but not before planting a very big one on Beesly’s fake lips. They’re just so fake. Noor had a much more realistic job done.