Going La La Read Free

begin its slow journey down the runway. Craning her neck, she stared out of the small porthole window, watching as Heathrow Airport began to whiz past, blending into a blur of grey concrete. Suddenly there was a surge as the engines roared beneath her and she felt the thrust of the g-force as the plane tilted sharply upwards, the wheels leaving the ground.
    Taking a deep breath, she slunk down in her seat. Well, this was it. It was finally happening. She was waving goodbye to London and her life as she knew it. A mixture of relief, panic and second thoughts washed over her. Was she doing the right thing? Frankie didn’t know. All she knew was that yesterday she’d been depressed, dumped and on the dole and today she was on a 747 bound for LA and the bright lights of Hollywood. It was too late to change her mind, but as daunting as it was, she knew she couldn’t have stayed. It would have been just too painful. Closing her eyes, she wiped away the tear that had trickled down the side of her nose and for the first time in ages started to smile. Yep, the decision was made and, whether she liked it or not, there was to be no turning back. Frankie was going to Hollywood . . .

2
    It had all started less than a week ago when she’d discovered the receipt from Tiffany’s the jeweller’s. Not that Frankie had been meaning to go through her boyfriend’s pockets, but it was a Monday morning, she was late and she’d been looking for change for the tube. After taking apart the sofa – cushion by cushion – scouring the edges of the carpet along the skirting boards and emptying all those little candle-holders and ethnic bowls along the mantelpiece, she’d almost given up. Until in desperation she pulled out Hugh’s grey woollen overcoat from the cupboard in the hallway.
    Breast pocket – nothing; inside pocket – an empty Snickers wrapper and a lottery ticket; side pocket – a pound coin and a scrunched-up receipt. She was about to throw it away when something stopped her. A gut reaction, sixth sense, woman’s intuition: whatever it was, something caused her to carefully unfurl the piece of paper, lay it on the kitchen work-surface and smooth out the creases with the palm of her hand. That’s when she saw it came from Tiffany’s and the words ‘item of jewellery’ printed underneath. Feeling a jolt of excitement, she tried to see the amount, but the ink had gone all blurry. Undeterred, she held it up to the sash window and squinted – it looked like a 2 and a few noughts. Her mind raced from nought to 2,000 in less than a second. Two thousand pounds!
    Her heart accelerated into fifth gear to keep pace with her imagination. Hugh had bought jewellery at Tiffany’s for two thousand pounds. Nothing cost that much, unless of course . . . She couldn’t bring herself to even think the words, let alone say them. But it was her birthday in a couple of days and he had been acting very oddly recently. Still, surely he wouldn’t have, he couldn’t have . . . could he? She looked at the receipt. He had! He’d bought an engagement ring . There, she’d said it. He’d bought a Tiffany’s engagement ring and was going to propose – and on her birthday!
    Feeling her legs tremble as if they were going to buckle and give way beneath her, she plonked herself down on top of the stainless-steel pedal bin, still clutching the receipt. Her stomach was doing gymnastics and she felt as if she was going to laugh and cry at the same time. It was such a surprise. Such a fantastic surprise. Looking down at her left hand, she wiggled her ring finger in anticipation. Mrs Hamilton, Mrs Hugh Hamilton. Grinning ecstatically, she thought about Hugh. She’d had other boyfriends, but she’d never felt like this before. Never had a man made her regress from being a twenty-eight-year-old career girl with a private pension, gym membership and a Boots club card, to a dippy, daft, dumb-struck teenager every time he even looked at her. Never before