Stars and Hearts



  Stars and Hearts

  By Candy J. Moon

  Copyright Candy J. Moon 2016

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Website: candymoonmagic.wordpress.com

  Twitter: Candy J. Moon @CandyMoonMagic

  Facebook: Candy J. Moon Author

  For Mum and Dad

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  About the Author

  Other Books

  Chapter One

  “Yes!” I cried, throwing my phone in the air and catching it with both hands. “I’ve got the job!” This wasn’t just any old job. I’d landed the job I wanted most – the job in the box office at my local theatre. “I’m going to be working with famous people!” I exclaimed, spinning around the room like a demented demon, before flopping into my favourite squishy purple chair and texting Mum to give her the good news. I couldn’t believe my luck. I was going to get paid to watch plays and party with actors in the most exciting place in town. Perhaps I could even overcome my shyness with men and grab myself an actor boyfriend!

  I’d achieved quite a bit in my eighteen years - won three swimming galas, appeared on a documentary singing a protest song about chickens, and passed most of my school exams with flying colours. But I’d never had a boyfriend. When it came to men, I’d always been a super anxious quivering mass of jelly. Whenever anyone even vaguely attractive was around, I’d have a virtual panic attack and forget how to speak properly. Men just found me weird.

  My parents had recently split up after Mum discovered Dad was having an affair with the butt ugly bitch next door. He was a heavy drinker, so living with him hadn’t been the easiest ride. Mum and I decided to leave the small town I’d lived in all my life and move to somewhere more lively, thirty miles north of London. It was far enough away from our old place to escape the gossiping neighbours, but close enough to still see friends and family. Moving from a house to a flat was like a permanent holiday – no garden to tend to, no stairs to vacuum, less cleaning to do. And the longer we were away from my dad, the more we realised just how awful living with him had been. The affair had been a wonderful blessing in disguise.

  Mum and I were lucky – she landed a job in a café less than two weeks after moving, and I was given my box office job about a month after that. I’d desperately needed something good to happen, and this was the best news I’d had in a long time.

  The afternoon before I started my new job, I arrived at the coolest hair salon in town to get myself a sexy new haircut. As soon as I stepped through the glass door of the modern black and white salon, I was greeted by a tall, skinny, thirty-something lady with short blonde hair.

  “Hiya!” she said, all smiles. “How can I help?”

  “I have an appointment with Sandra,” I said.

  “That’s me!” she replied, sliding her finger down the appointment book. “Yazmin?”

  “Yep!”

  She fastened a black cloak around me and led me to the nearest chair.

  “Would you like a drink?” she asked, as I hopped into the seat.

  “Black coffee please - no sugar.”

  Sandra disappeared through a beaded curtain at the back of the salon as I gazed at myself in the mirror. There was no reason I couldn’t get myself a really nice bloke. I was as pretty as the next girl with my glittering dark eyes and chestnut brown hair, and I was easy to get along with. I could surely find someone if only I could somehow learn to string two words together when an attractive man was within thirty foot of my aura.

  Sandra quickly returned, carrying a steaming cup of coffee.

  “Now, what can I do for you?” she asked, placing the cup down in front of me.

  “Something like this, if you can,” I said, leaning sideways as I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out a picture I’d ripped from a magazine. The model on the pic looked a bit like me.

  Sandra studied the photo. “So, just below shoulder length and graduated around your face. No problem – that should really suit you.”

  After lathering my hair in a strong minty shampoo which made me sneeze, she led me back to the chair and set about combing and chopping and snipping.

  “Been on holiday this year?” she asked, as I interrupted her work to take an awkward sip of coffee.

  “No, I haven’t had a holiday since I was a kid. Mum and I have only recently moved here though, so it feels kind of like we’re on holiday at present.”

  “Yeah, it’s a nice town,” she said, pulling my head straight to check my hair had been cut the same length both sides. “Fixed up with a job yet?”

  “Yes!” I replied, excitement bubbling up inside me. “I start at the Two Masks Theatre tomorrow – in the box office.”

  “That’s nice! Be careful of those actors though – they’re only after one thing. If I was you, I’d stay well away.”

  “Oh,” I said, thinking how narrow minded it was of her to presume every actor was the same. Perhaps she was jealous because she’d quite like an actor boyfriend herself. Perhaps she’d applied for a job at the theatre and been turned down.

  She picked up a hairdryer. “I hope you’re listening. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Have you had a bad experience with an actor?” I asked, catching my own puzzled expression in the mirror.

  “No! Wouldn’t touch one with a barge pole. I just know what they’re like. I’ve heard numerous stories over the years from ladies. They’ll love you and leave you!”

  Yeah, right! I thought. Sad, jealous bitch!

  She dried my hair and flashed a mirror around my head. My new hairdo looked great. I was ready to wow all those young actors!

  After paying her the straight fee, without a tip, I continued through the shopping centre to have a look at some clothes. Mum had given me some money to treat myself to a smart outfit for my new job.

  I swished into a clothes shop floating on air, imagining that hairdresser seething with bitterness as she spotted my wedding photo on the cover of OK Magazine. I had to stop myself from laughing out loud as I imagined her face twisting as she wished she’d messed up my hair so my sexy new famous husband would never have given me a second glance.

  I picked out a stunning red mini suit and a baby blue jumper with black jeans and made my way to the unattended changing room, where I strolled into a cubicle and swished the curtain shut. I tried on the red suit, it fit perfectly. I didn’t even try the other outfit on. I wrestled my way back into my clothes, draped the beautiful suit in my arms and headed toward the cash tills where I was greeted by a young girl with skunk striped hair and a big cheesy grin.

  “Thank you for waiting!” she said.

  I looked around in puzzlement. “I didn’t wait. There’s n
o queue – I walked straight up to you.”

  “I’m being polite,” she said. “We were shown a video last week called Ninety-nine Ways to say Thank You for Waiting. It was really interesting.”

  I stared at her in disbelief. Had the company removed her brain, placed electrodes on her head and drummed silly phrases into the empty place between her ears? I suddenly decided I didn’t want to give them the trade. I looked down at the suit in my arms. It was gorgeous, but I’d save my mum some money by not taking it. She’d only just got her first pay packet and couldn’t really afford it anyway. I’d rather forget the suit than be practically starving for a fortnight.

  I couldn’t control myself. I didn’t want to shout, but I felt like my blood was boiling and I couldn’t help it. “Keep the suit, bimbo!” I screamed, before storming out of the shop in front of a dozen open-mouthed staff and customers.

  As I stomped away, I wondered how many ways of saying thank you for waiting there could possibly be. Thank you for waiting in sign language? Thank you for waiting in a mock Jamaican accent? Perhaps there was even a thank you for waiting rap using the arm movements and everything. I didn’t really want to know.

  I went to bed early that night, excited about what the next day had to bring when I started my new job.