The One

Hollie Jones had adored Matthew Scott from afar for years, but they live seperate lives. He was a world famous popstar, she was a call centre worker. Yet Hollie had always been convinced that he was her 'one'. When their paths meet unexpectedly nothing could prepare her for the path her life is about to follow.

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2. Chapter Two

I drove out of town and towards the new Severn River crossing. I cursed as I realised I hadn’t picked up my bag. I had no mobile phone and more importantly no money - no cash, no credit cards, nothing and I had just passed junction twenty-two, the point of no return. I indicated left and swerved onto the hard shoulder, slowed the car, stopped, then put my hazard warning lights on. I rummaged in the glove compartment for any loose change I might have had, and found a ten pound note.

How the hell had that gotten there?

I shrugged, kissed the ten pound note, shoved it in my jeans pocket and prepared to set off again.

I drove past Newport and continued past Cardiff, as soon as I passed Junction thirty-three, I knew where I was headed. I came off the motorway at junction thirty five and headed down the b-roads until I reached my destination. Ogmore by the sea.

I remember thinking when I was little and visited the area with my parents that it sounded like a made up name. Somewhere that belonged in a film, or a book. It was the type of place that a disgruntled character might come to ‘blow the cobwebs’ away. Maybe that was my intention.

I parked the car near to the edge of the grass verge and got out. It was a warm night, but as I looked out to sea I couldn’t help but shiver slightly. It wasn’t late. It was just past eight pm. It felt like a long day, but then Tom and I had been on the early shift, starting work at eight am and finishing at four-thirty. He had been cooking dinner (it made a bloody change) when I had fallen asleep on the sofa. My stomach groaned softly as if it had read my mind. I didn’t feel hungry. I rarely did after any sort of argument, but it obviously did.

Well it would have to wait.

I wandered along the coastal path for a while, thinking how beautiful the place was, but had such an ugly name. When I got tired of walking I found a small rock and sat down for a bit, hugging my knees to my chest for a bit of warmth.

I sat and though about our ‘little’ argument. Tom had nothing to worry about. Matthew Scott was about as far removed from our world as your could possibly be. For a start he lived in Ireland, our paths were unlikely to ever cross. He was ten years older than me, he had two ex-wives and a lot of bad press for the ‘quiet one‘ in a boyband.  

I had one boyfriend. Tom Smith (yes, he had heard all the cracker jokes). We had been together on and off since we met (properly) in the first year of university. We were supposed to be engaged, but as he had failed to produce a ring. I had failed to tell anyone.

From the outside looking in, you could see that our relationship was doomed to fail. At that time though I was oblivious. Couldn’t. Didn’t want to see it.

We were polar opposites.

Tom liked football, I liked Rugby. Tom loved vegetables, I hated them. Tom hated skiing holidays, I loved them. Tom loved surfing, I hated it. I know they say opposites attract. But I wasn’t so sure any more. In fact the only thing that Tom and I had ever really had in common was music. We both hated boy-bands (Boys Next Door were the one exception to that rule). We had both grown up listening to bands like, Pulp, Dodgy, Blur and Oasis and we had both listened to older bands like Thin Lizzy, The Jam etc. Tom from his older sisters and me from my older cousins.

Tomas Andrew Smith was English through and through, born and bred in Bristol. His parents however were Welsh, even giving their only son the Welsh spelling of his Christian name. Which he hated. I am about as Welsh as you can get, and his parents loved me for it.

Tom was born in the middle of August to loving parents. I’d been born on Christmas day to neither of mine. They had adopted me at the age of two and christened me Hollie as soon as they had found out my birthday.

Tom came from a large family, he had two elder sisters and two younger, making him the middle member of the family. That on it’s own would normally be awkward enough, but he was also the only boy. He had grown up trying to approve his elder sisters boyfriends and protect his younger sisters from having boyfriends. In contrast and by adoption, not choice, I was an only child and as soon as I had been deemed old enough my parents had been trying to get me married off.

They had liked Tom. They had only met him once though, when we were in our first year at University, he had come home with me in the Easter holidays. My mother had said he was ‘a nice boy’ and I think she saw wedding bells on the horizon even then. They never met again.

Two weeks later my parents were dead. They had fallen from the sky along with one hundred and forty seven others, when the plane they were travelling on from Sharm El Sheikh back to the United Kingdom crashed into the Red Sea. They had only gone on holiday for a week.

I was lost without them. The bond between adoptive parents and children, I believe to be stronger than that of blood. What was I ever going to do without them?

Tom didn’t have the answers. But he did have a shoulder to cry on, and I think that it is part of the reason that Tom and I stayed together. I suppose he was used to looking after heartbroken women. He’d have had enough practise during his sisters teenage years. He seemed to understand what I was going through, when some of my other friends didn’t.

But it wasn’t enough to keep us together now, and I was a fool if I thought it was.

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