I knew my cousin, Emily Rose, had been named after Auntie Jasmine’s best friend who died, but no one ever mentioned the fact that she was also Dad’s girlfriend. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It felt like a lie, but was a lie the same as an omission?
When Mum told me about Emily that day, she called her ‘Dad’s first love,’ in such a matter-of-fact, unapologetic way. She said she felt as if she knew her, from the way Dad talked about her. She said she thought Dad and Emily might’ve been soul-mates. I wanted to object, because it felt wrong to talk about Dad loving another woman like that. But Mum wasn’t jealous. She wasn’t in competition with her, she said. She didn’t feel like a consolation prize. I had a small insight that day into why Dad fell in love with her.
I couldn’t get the story out of my head. I never told Dad that I knew, but I saw him in a different light after that. It’s strange, when you try to imagine your parents with different partners. It’s like looking at a photograph that keeps changing every time you blink.
A couple of days later, I went to the cemetery and I found Emily’s grave. It was in the old part of the cemetery, but it was well-tended, with fresh flowers. She was so young when she died. I tried to imagine Dad at that age, and how he must’ve felt when she disappeared, and then when she came back to him, albeit briefly. The heartache must’ve been crushing. It made what Georgia and I were going through seem so bloody miniscule by comparison. I proposed not long after that. I never told her about Emily or what happened. Their story wasn’t mine to tell.
Nevertheless, I know in my heart that it wasn’t Mum that came to collect Dad that night at the hospital. It was Emily.
He was feverish, pale. He kept pushing the oxygen mask off his face, trying to talk. I thought he was trying to tell me something at first, but then I realised he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking through me.
He was looking at her, talking to her. I leaned close, holding his hand, and I heard him say her name, only once. It was his final breath, and it was only a whisper, but the look in his eyes was one of unequivocal love.
The kind of love that lasts forever.
About the Author
Amanda Dick is a night-owl, coffee addict, movie buff and music lover. She loves to do DIY (if it's not bolted down, she'll probably paint it, re-cover it or otherwise decorate it) and has tried almost every craft known to man/womankind. She has two sewing machines and an over-locker she can't remember how to thread. She crochets (but can't follow a pattern), knits (badly) and refrains from both as a public service.
She believes in love at first sight, women's intuition and in following your heart. She is rather partial to dark chocolate and believes in the power of a good vanilla latte.
What lights her fire is writing stories about real people in trying situations. Her passion is finding characters who are forced to test their boundaries. She is insanely curious about how we, as human beings, react when pushed to the edge. Most of all, she enjoys writing about human behaviour - love, loss, joy, grief, friendship and the complexity of relationships in general.
After living in Scotland for five years, she has now settled back home in New Zealand, where she lives with her husband and two children.
The Trouble with Paper Planes is her third novel.
Acknowledgements
As always, my biggest thanks goes to my husband, Willie, and my children, Georgia and Cameron. You guys are the best, and I’m so grateful you let me do what I do! It was a conversation with Cameron one day that gave me the title of this book – thanks dude! And thank you Georgia, for letting me use your name for one of my characters.
Thanks to Bruce MacDonald, for sharing his surfing tips and expertise with me. Any inaccuracies are mine!
Thanks to Anita B. Carroll for this incredible cover, that captures the essence of the story so well.
To my awesome support group and beta readers, Jennie Coull, Amanda Edwards, Anita Carroll, Sandi Laubhan, Susan James, Tracy Skerratt, Vicki Waters and Kathy Townsend – thank you! Your insight helped to make this story better. Thank you for sticking with me through the writing process, and for giving me the encouragement I needed when the going got tough.
Sarah Widdup – girl, you are so much more than just my editor! Thank you again for your editorial genius, but also for your razor-sharp perception, your encouragement and your enthusiasm – without it, this story wouldn’t be what it is. And while I’m here, thanks for being awesome. So grateful to call you my friend.
Thanks to Cassy Roop for making this book look so wonderful, in print and on your ereader.
Big thanks to all the amazing bloggers who helped and supported me throughout this journey (far too many to mention, but you know who you are!).
Thanks to my Pop, Claude Pettigrew, for providing the inspiration for Henry. Love you.
And finally, thanks to you – the reader. Because you bought this book, you have supported my dream and I can’t thank you enough for that.
Playlist