The Truth About Melody Browne Read online

  Lisa Jewell was born and raised in north London, where she lives with her husband and two daughters. Her first novel, Ralph’s Party, was the bestselling debut of 1999. She is also the author of Thirtynothing, One-Hit Wonder, Vince & Joy, A Friend of the Family and 31 Dream Street, all of which have been Sunday Times bestsellers.

  ‘Full of heart and humour, this will move you to tears. An absolute must-read’

  Cosmopolitan

  ‘Not many books can claim to be an instant page-turner, but from the moment you read about nine-year-old Melody Browne’s house burning down … you won’t be able to tear yourself away .…You will want to keep the Kleenex to hand. But this is not just a sad, sorry tale. Ultimately, it’s life-affirming and uplifting, and Lisa Jewell writes the tale so beautifully that the words just dance off the page and sweep you up in a literary waltz. Quite possibly our favourite Jewell yet. A stunning effort – perfect for the holiday reading season’

  heat, *****

  ‘Lisa’s best book yet. I loved it’

  Jane Fallon

  ‘Sincere and engaging with a great plot and believable characters’

  Daily Mail

  ‘A brilliant read that will have you in tears’

  Company

  ‘The Truth about Melody Browne perfectly illustrates the truth about Lisa Jewell. She writes like a dream, creates characters that you really care about and tells a story so compelling that it will still be with you long after you’ve read the last page’

  Mike Gayle

  ‘A refreshing departure from the usual girl-in-search-of-boy template … Jewell has a convincing eye for detail, and throws in a roller-coaster-worth of attention-grabbing twists and turns’

  Guardian

  ‘An engaging, easy read, where a first date to watch a hypnotist begins the heroine’s extraordinary journey through a maze of forgotten memories and oddly familiar strangers’

  Easy Living

  ‘Lisa Jewell’s writing is like a big warm hug and this book is a touching, insightful and gripping story which I simply couldn’t put down’

  Sophie Kinsella

  ‘What is revealed is a network of rewardingly complex characters, a dramatic, suspense-filled explanation of how [Melody] ended up where she did, and a family tragedy that is profoundly moving’

  Daily Telegraph

  ‘Classic storytelling’

  Elle

  ‘The Truth About Melody Browne is the perfect holiday read. It’s surprisingly light-hearted, despite the subject matter, as well as being suspenseful, gripping, touching, cleverly written and heartwarming. Melody Browne is a character who will stay with you for years’

  London Lite

  ‘Lisa is a great storyteller – always humane, kind and witty’

  Freya North, Sunday Express

  ‘Lisa’s latest offering, as ever, doesn’t disappoint’

  Closer, *****

  ‘Her skill comes to the fore in telling Melody’s past through a convincing child’s-eye view while giving insights into the lives of the dysfunctional grown-ups around her. Jewell wraps it all up in typically feel-good fashion, but not before an intriguing, well-constructed world has been laid out for us to chew on’

  Metro

  ‘An engaging and heart-warming book that moves and amuses as its tale unfolds’

  Bella

  ‘Mistakes and missing memories make up the world of Melody Browne … a warm novel from the bestselling author of Ralph’s Party’

  Marie Claire

  ‘I would recommend this book to anyone who likes a good, fast-paced story that’s full of surprises’

  Candis

  ‘I found this book difficult to put down as it was so intriguing … very good!’

  Essentials

  ‘Moving’

  The Times

  ‘This will make you laugh, cry – then tell all your friends about it’

  Daily Record

  Also by Lisa Jewell

  Ralph’s Party

  Thirtynothing

  One-Hit Wonder

  Vince & Joy

  A Friend of the Family

  31 Dream Street

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Version 1.0

  Epub ISBN 9781446410769

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  Published by Arrow Books 2010

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Copyright © Lisa Jewell 2009

  Lisa Jewell has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  First published in Great Britain in 2009 by

  Century

  The Random House Group Limited

  20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,

  London, SW1V 2SA

  www.rbooks.co.uk

  Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm

  The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9780099533672

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Epilogue

  Dedicated to

  Ruby Roxanne Seeley

  18.09.07

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to J
udith Murdoch and Louise Moore. My debt to you both is huge and I miss you both enormously.

  Thank you to Jenny C for being my buddy, generally, but in particular during the stormy weather of April 2008 which I don’t think I could have got through without you.

  Thank you, for similar reasons, to Jascha. You are always at your best in a crisis and this was no exception.

  Thank you to Jonny Geller and Kate Elton for steering me so patiently and gently through the choppy waters. You made it as painless as could reasonably be expected and I look forward to many years of smooth sailing with you both.

  Thank you to my lovely girls, Amelie and Evie, the smallest of whom was a mere pillow up my top when I first started writing this book and is now a little girl with burnished gold curls, slate blue eyes and a fondness for the word ‘mine’. I am a lucky mother.

  Thank you to everyone at Century and Arrow Books who has worked so hard to transform my typed sheets of A4 paper into a thing of great beauty, get it into bookshops and under everybody’s noses. And thank you to everyone who sells a copy and everyone who buys a copy. It’s all a bit pointless without you.

  Lastly, but never leastly, thank you to my friends on the Board. You know who you are and you know the score.

  Prologue

  Melody Browne opened her eyes and saw the moon, a perfect white circle, like a bullet-hole shot through the sky. It was fully lit and beamed down upon her, as if she were the star of the show.

  She closed her eyes again and smiled. Around her she could hear the rapturous applause of creaking timber, blistering paint, popping windows, a fire engine’s alarm wailing dramatically somewhere in the distance.

  ‘Melody! Melody!’ It was her. That woman. Her mother.

  ‘She opened her eyes! Did you see? Just for a second!’ Another voice. The man with the bald head. Her father.

  Melody breathed in. Her throat and her nose felt like they had been doused in acid, the smoky air burned like fire as it passed down into her lungs. It stuck for a while, halfway to her gullet, like a lit match. She held it there and waited a heartbeat for her body to expel it. But for that tiny moment, lying on the pavement in front of her house, the moon shining down on to her, her thoughts muffled and her parents at her side, she felt suspended somewhere both dark and light, painful and comfortable, a place where her life finally made some sense. She smiled again and then she coughed.

  They were smiling at her, her mother and father, smiling with sooty faces and frazzled hair. Her mother put her hand to her hair and stroked it. ‘Oh thank God!’ she cried breathlessly. ‘Thank God!’

  Melody blinked at her and tried to talk, but she had no voice. The fire had taken it. She turned to look at her father. There were tear tracks running through the dirt on his face. He held her hand inside his.

  ‘Don’t try to talk,’ he said. His voice was raw and gravelly, but full of tenderness. ‘We’re here. We’re here.’

  In her peripheral vision, Melody could see the strobe of blue lights playing out in the splintered windows of the house. She allowed her mother to pull her into a sitting position and she gazed around her at an altogether unexpected vision. A house, her house, roaring and alive with flames. Crowds of people, huddled together in dressing gowns and pyjamas, watching the fire as though it was a Guy Fawkes Night offering. Two big red engines drawing up in the middle of the street, men in yellow helmets unfurling thick hosepipes and rushing towards them and the moon still hanging there, fat and bright and oblivious.

  She got to her feet and felt her knees trembling precariously beneath her.

  ‘She was unconscious for a while,’ she heard her mother saying to somebody. ‘Out cold for about five minutes.’

  Somebody took her elbow and moved her gently towards the bright light of an ambulance. She was wrapped in a blanket and fed oxygen through a strange-smelling plastic mask. Her eyes were riveted by the mayhem around her. Slowly reality seeped through the layers of smoke and chaos and something hit her like a thunderbolt.

  ‘My painting!’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said her mother. ‘It’s here. Clive saved it.’

  ‘Where? Where is it?’

  ‘There.’ She pointed at the kerb.

  The painting was propped up against the pavement. Melody stared at it, at the Spanish girl with the huge blue eyes and the polka-dot dress. It moved her in some strange, unknowable way. It soothed her and reassured her like it had always done, ever since she was a small girl.

  ‘Can you look after it?’ she croaked. ‘Make sure it doesn’t get stolen?’

  Her parents glanced at each other, clearly reassured by her preoccupation with a shoddy junkman laughed backshop painting.

  ‘We’ll have to take her into hospital,’ said a man. ‘Get her checked over. Just to be on the safe side.’

  Her mother nodded.

  ‘I’ll stay here,’ said her father. ‘Keep an eye on things.’

  All three of them turned then, as one, to acknowledge the shocking sight of their home disintegrating in front of their very eyes, to ash and rubble.

  ‘That’s my house,’ said Melody.

  Her parents nodded.

  ‘And you’re my mum and dad.’

  They nodded again and pulled her towards them into an embrace.

  Melody felt safe there, inside her parents’ arms. She remembered a few moments ago, lying in her bed, a pair of strong arms pulling her, carrying her through the roasting house, towards the fresh air. And that was all she could remember. Her father saving her life. The moon staring down at her. The Spanish girl in the painting telling her that everything was going to be all right.

  She lay down on the crisp white sheets of the emergency bed and watched as the doors were pulled shut. The noise, the lights, the crackle of destruction all faded away and the ambulance took her to hospital.

  Chapter 1

  When she was nine years and three days old, Melody Browne’s house burned down, taking every toy, every photograph, every item of clothing and old Christmas card with it. But not only did the fire destroy all her possessions, it took with it her internal memories too. Melody Browne could remember almost nothing before her ninth birthday. Melody’s early childhood was a mystery to her. She had only two memories of it, both as vague and as fleeting as a flurry of snow. The first was of standing on the back of a sofa and craning her head to see out of a tall window. The second memory was of a perfumed bed in a dimly lit room, a puff of cream marabou and a tiny baby in a crib. There was no context to these memories, just two isolated moments of time hanging pendulously and alone, side by side, in an empty, echoing room that should have housed a thousand more moments just like them.

  But when she was thirty-three years old, and the past was just a dusty fragment of what her life had turned out to be, something unpredictable and extraordinary happened to her. On a warm July night, one of only a handful of warm nights that summer, Melody Browne’s life turned in on itself, stopped being what it was and became something else entirely.

  * * *

  Melody Browne would have been home that night, the night everything started to change, if she hadn’t decided, upon feeling a fat droplet of summer rain against her bare arm, to hop onto a number 14 bus after work one afternoon, instead of walking. She would also, most probably, have been at home that night, if she hadn’t chosen to put on a sleeveless vest top that morning, revealing her bare shoulders to the world.

  ‘You have the most amazing shoulders,’ said a man, slipping onto the seat next to her. ‘I’ve been staring at them since you got on.’

  ‘Are you taking the piss?’ was her poetic response.

  ‘No, seriously. I’ve got a bit of a thing about shoulders and yours – they’re incredible.’

  She touched her shoulders, self-consciously, and then threw him a suspicious look. ‘Are you a fetishist?’

  He laughed, full-throated, showing the three silver fillings in his back teeth. ‘Not that I know of,’ he said. ‘Unless fancying women beca
use they’ve got nice shoulders makes me one.’

  She stared at him, agog. He fancied her. Nobody fancied her. Nobody had fancied her since 1999, and even then she wasn’t sure if he had or if he’d just felt sorry for her.

  ‘Do I look like a pervert?’ he asked in amusement.

  She appraised him, checked him out from his loafers, to his pale blue shirt, to his shampoo-fresh hair and his stone-coloured trousers. He couldn’t look more normal.

  ‘Who says that perverts look like perverts?’ she said.

  ‘Well, look, I promise you, I’m not. I’m totally normal. I’ll give you my ex-wife’s phone number if you like. She found me so incredibly normal that she left me for a bloke with a stud through his eyebrow.’

  Melody laughed and the man laughed back. ‘Look,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘I’m getting off here. Here’s my card. If you fancy a night out with a fetishistic pervert, give me a ring.’

  Melody took the card from his tanned fingers and stared at it for a moment.

  ‘I won’t hold my breath,’ he said, smiling. And then he picked up his rucksack and disappeared through the puffing hydraulic doors and out onto the busy pavement.

  The woman sitting in front of Melody turned round in her seat. ‘Bloody hell,’ she said, ‘if you don’t call him, I will!’

  She didn’t call him. She waited a full seven days and then she texted him, not because she particularly wanted to – the last thing Melody Browne needed in her life was a man – but because everyone, from her son to her best friend to the women at work, wanted her to.

  ‘Hello,’ her text read, ‘I am the woman whose shoulders you were perving over on the no. 14 bus last week. This is my number. Do with it as you will.’

  Less than five minutes later he replied.

  ‘Thanks for the number. Not sure what to do with it. Any ideas?’

  She sighed. He wanted to banter.

  Melody didn’t want to banter. Melody just wanted to get on with her life.

  She texted back, somewhat abruptly. ‘I don’t know – ask me out?’