In Little Stars

by Linda Green

Genres: Friendship; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

The powerful and emotional new novel from the million-copy bestselling author Linda Green

In a divided northern England, love and hate are about to collide . . .

Sylvie and Donna travel on the same train to work each day but have never spoken. Their families are on different sides of the bitter Brexit divide, although the tensions and arguments at home give them much in common.

What they don't know is that their eldest children, Rachid and Jodie, are about to meet for the first time and fall in love. Aware that neither family will approve, the teenagers vow to keep their romance a secret.

But as Sylvie's family feel increasingly unwelcome in England, a desire for a better life threatens Rachid and Jodie's relationship. Can their love unite their families - or will it end in tragedy?


HEAR WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING ABOUT LINDA GREEN:

'Took my breath away. Beautiful, heartbreaking, devastating' Louise Beech on One Moment

'Heart-rending and packed with emotion' Rosanna Ley on One Moment

'I tore through it' Shelley Harris on One Moment

'A real page-turner' Isabelle Grey on The Last Thing She Told Me

'Stunning, such a unique premise and really well executed. I got papercuts trying to turn the pages faster!' Jenny Blackhurst on After I've Gone

'Authentic, absorbing and unputdownable' Louise Jensen on After I've Gone

'A tale of love, loss and sacrifice with the cleverest twist. Poignant and intriguing, unusual and lovely' Milly Johnson on After I've Gone

'A terrifyingly plausible story' Sunday Mirror on While My Eyes Were Closed

'Linda Green is bloody brilliant!' Amanda Prowse on While My Eyes Were Closed

'Clever and compelling' Dorothy Koomson on While My Eyes Were Closed

'A well-written, thoughtful read about when love is put to the greatest test' Daily Mail on And Then It Happened

Release date: September 6, 2022

Publisher: Quercus Publishing

Print pages: 400

Sample

1

SYLVIE

Peace reigned in our house for approximately fifteen minutes. It was fragile, and as soon as I heard Rachid descending the stairs two at a time, I knew it was only a matter of time before it shattered.

‘Not a word,’ I said to Bilal, as he drank the last dregs of coffee from his cup.

‘I can’t bear to see him making such a huge mistake.’

‘I know, and I understand how hard this is for you. But we let him make his choice and it’s happening. That’s the end of it. Let’s try to have breakfast without another row.’

Bilal shrugged and rubbed his beard, which was now more grey than black. Rachid strode into the kitchen; he didn’t have to crow about having won the battle, his whole demeanour declared it.

‘Morning,’ he said, with a broad grin.

‘I hope you’ll be as bright and cheery as this every morning and not just on the first day,’ I said, resisting the temptation to ruffle his hair as I could see he’d already put gel on.

‘I will,’ he replied with a smile as he picked up a croissant from the table without bothering to sit down. ‘Because for the first time in my life, I’m doing what I want to be doing, instead of having people tell me what to do.’ He looked pointedly at Bilal as he said it. For a second, I thought that he would not take the bait. I even poured him a fresh cup of coffee, in the hope that might appease him. But my hope was misplaced.

‘Well, make the most of it,’ said Bilal, folding his copy of the Guardian. ‘Once you’ve finished this music production thing and get out into the real world, someone will be telling you what to do for the rest of your life.’

Rachid shook his head. ‘You don’t get it, do you? I’ll work for myself at the end of this, I won’t be a slave to anyone. Unlike you, when the NHS is sold off to the highest bidder.’

Bilal’s lower jaw visibly tensed. Bringing the future of the NHS into it was akin to waving a red flag. The principle of a national health service free at the point of delivery was, like his family, something he would lay down his life to defend. I asked Alexa to switch from Radio 4 to Absolute 80s, in the hope that the distraction might break the moment, or at least make Bilal, who always insisted on listening to the Today programme in the mornings, direct his ire at me, instead of Rachid. ‘Club Tropicana’ by Wham! was playing. I thought for a second it would be impossible for them to continue their argument with that as the background soundtrack. It did cause a momentary pause in hostilities, but it turned out Bilal was only using George Michael as cover while he loaded another round of ammunition.

‘And you think this college course will equip you to support yourself? That you’ll be able to buy a nice car and a home of your own and have enough left over to raise a family? Because if you do, you’re even more of a fool than I took you for.’

Rachid laughed. Always the worst thing you could do to Bilal.

‘Why do you think I want to end up like you?’ he said. ‘I can’t think of anything worse.’

You could almost hear the sting of those words as they landed. Faced with the prospect of a full-blown war breaking out across the kitchen table, I did the only thing I could think of. I started to sing along with George about the fun and sunshine, complete with obligatory shaking of the black pepper grinder on the kitchen counter. Bilal and Rachid both stared at me as if I had lost the plot.

‘Don’t look at me like I’m the crazy person here,’ I said. ‘You’re the ones having the same argument for the one hundred and twenty-seventh time. Rachid, sit down and eat your breakfast properly and will you both try to be civil to each other? I’m going to see where Amina’s got to, and when I come back, I don’t expect to find that you’ve come to blows. Do you understand?’

They both nodded, although neither of them appeared the least bit remorseful. I headed for the kitchen door, only stopping to issue one further command. ‘And please don’t change the radio station. “Club Tropicana” may not be the finest from their oeuvre, but any song by Wham! lifts your soul.’

 

I knocked on Amina’s door. I knew she was awake because my children were morning people like their father and never had to be dragged out of bed.

‘Yeah,’ she called, her voice sounding unusually flat. I went in to find her sitting on the bed, already in her school uniform, brushing her mane of dark, curly hair.

‘Morning, gorgeous girl,’ I said. ‘Are you coming down for some breakfast before I leave for work?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Are they arguing again?’

‘They were but I shut them up by singing to Wham!’

Amina managed a smile.

‘Everything OK?’ I asked, stroking her head.

‘I hate going back to school. Every year it feels like being the new girl all over again.’

‘Are you meeting Becky and Jasmine on the way?’

I was aware they hadn’t seen much of each other over the summer holidays. A couple of meet-ups and a handful of WhatsApp video calls, but that was about it.

‘No. I think they’re walking down from Becky’s house together – with their boyfriends.’

I nodded slowly.

‘It’ll be fine once you get there. You’ll soon slip back into how things were.’

‘We won’t. They’re treating me like I’m some little kid, just because I’ve never been out with anyone.’

I sat down next to her and gave her a hug. I’d been waiting for this to happen. Aware that her best friends were from different families to ours. Families where a daughter going out with a boy at fourteen was considered the norm.

‘For what it’s worth, they’ll probably have split up with them by half-term. It won’t last, it rarely does at that age. Anyway, you’ve got other friends, haven’t you?’

‘I guess so.’ She didn’t sound too sure.

‘Why don’t you call Leila when you get home later? Maybe arrange to go for a hot chocolate after your mosque group on Saturday. I’ve got a hair appointment, but I’ll come and collect you afterwards.’

‘OK,’ she replied. ‘If you’re paying.’

‘Cheeky,’ I said, smiling at her. ‘Think of it as a back-to-school treat for the two of you. Now, get yourself downstairs so I can get to work.’

Rachid had left the kitchen when I returned. Bilal was sitting alone, staring into his empty coffee cup. I gave his shoulder a squeeze, aware that I needed to show I wasn’t taking sides, that I merely wanted an entente cordiale.

‘I meant what I said, love, the fighting needs to stop. Amina’s sick of it and so am I. We’ve got to let him make his own way in the world, make his own mistakes if necessary. Who knows, he may even surprise you.’

Bilal looked up. ‘You think he’s right, don’t you?’

‘I think he’s doing something he’s passionate about, the same way you did. He’s not as different to you as he makes out.’

‘So why does he hate me so much?’

I hesitated. I’d never told Bilal about Rachid’s little face appearing in the bedroom doorway that day. The fear about what he might have heard before he ran away clutching his toy zebra. But I knew now was not the time to bring that up. The last thing I wanted to do was drive a further wedge between them.

‘He doesn’t hate you,’ I said, stroking his arm. ‘He’s simply trying to be his own person. And this is his way of doing that. He’s seventeen, almost a man. It’s like he’s marking his territory.’

Bilal snorted. ‘I think I’d rather he pissed all over the house than not do A levels.’

I laughed. ‘I wouldn’t,’ I said. ‘Because I’d be the one who had to clean it up.’

Bilal stood up and took his cup over to the sink while I got my things together.

‘Rachid’s getting the train after mine,’ I told him. ‘He won’t need telling to go, so leave him to it. Just make sure Amina’s OK before she leaves for school; she’s a bit wobbly.’

‘Why?’ Bilal turned to face me.

‘The whole social thing at school is starting to get difficult for her.’

‘She’s not being bullied, is she?’

‘No. She’s feeling squeezed out because her best friends have both got boyfriends.’

He raised his eyebrows. His little girl was growing up, probably a bit too fast for his liking. ‘She’s fourteen.’

‘I know. And at that age feeling different from your peers is the worst possible thing.’

‘Well, I hope it’s not going to affect her studies. I’d hate her to fall behind with her GCSEs.’

I sighed, aware that Amina was now his last hope for medical school.

‘I’m sure she won’t let that happen. But the last thing she needs is any pressure from you, OK?’

Having fired the warning shot, I gave Bilal a quick kiss, picked up my briefcase and headed for the door.

 

There was a nip in the air. Across the road, in the park, a handful of leaves were already starting to turn yellow. I loved this time of year. Not just the colours and the bright, clear mornings but the sense of new beginnings. I would never admit it to Bilal, but I was excited for Rachid to be following his dreams. His world was opening up, full of hope and possibilities without, at this stage, any responsibilities. I could still remember how good that felt.

I hoped Bilal had listened and would let it go now. While he’d never proudly tell people that his son was doing a BTEC in music technology, perhaps some kind of grudging acceptance would be reached. He’d simply focus on Amina instead. Discuss the differing merits of Oxford, Cambridge or Keele with her. But I was aware that the distance between him and Rachid had opened into such a chasm that it was difficult to see any way to bridge it. Particularly as the one thing they had in common was a stubborn sense of pride.

I checked my watch as I headed towards the station and quickened my step, seeing I was cutting it fine but knowing I could still make it without breaking into a jog. Five years of doing this journey meant I had it timed to perfection. I arrived on the platform as the train came in. I smiled at a few people I recognised as we waited for the doors to open: the older woman who always wore a mac, whatever the weather; the young man with floppy, dark hair who I’d have flirted with if I’d been thirty years younger. It felt good to be back on the morning commute. Out of the house, away from everything that had dominated my thoughts all summer. As much as I loved being with my family, I needed this time away from them too.

The carriage was busy. I sat down at the only window seat available in the far corner, opposite two teenage boys, both with heads bowed, looking at their phones. I got my phone out to send my usual message, which started, ‘Bonjour Maman’. My predictive text knew the rest of it now. Maman replied pretty much instantly. Her response was the same every day, too. She was no doubt aware that I was essentially checking she hadn’t had a fall, or any other medical emergency, and simply went along with the pretence to spare my feelings. She knew that not getting back to Paris to see Papa in time had left me racked with guilt for the past two years. And that this was my way of minimising the risk of it happening again.

‘You’re such a fucking dickhead.’ I looked up with a start. The teenage boys were doing a video call on one of their phones. They were not being quiet about it. Other people in the carriage were looking over disapprovingly without saying anything.

The laughing from the other end was followed by, ‘Suck it, you twat.’ I caught the eye of the older lady in the mac. She appeared uncomfortable. I raised my eyebrows at her and gave her my best ‘Yes, it is appalling but what can you do?’ look. If you lived in a country long enough, you started behaving like they do. And while I wanted to tell them to lower their voices and mind their language, I was aware that doing so in a somewhat muted but still undeniably French accent was asking for trouble these days. And on my first Monday back at work after the summer break, I did not want to risk that. So, I sat there, pursing my lips, trying to pretend it wasn’t happening like everyone else, and hating myself for being complicit in the process.

I took my book out and tried to start reading. But I was now worried that the boys might be on their way to the same college as Rachid. Perhaps they were even on his course. The thought that Bilal might be right after all was disconcerting. Because as difficult as he was when he was wrong, he was pretty much unbearable when he was proved right.

2

DONNA

‘Tibs is hurt. He’s been fighting again,’ Jodie rushed into the kitchen, the ball of matted fur, mud and blood in her arms unrecognisable as the beautiful white creature who had been preening himself by the radiator only yesterday.

‘Jesus, what is it about males in this house that they can’t keep out of trouble for five bloody minutes?’

‘I found him lying under Dad’s van. He must have been there all night. I can’t believe you didn’t hear him fighting.’

‘What, above your dad’s snores? World War Three could break out in street and I wouldn’t know.’

‘It’s not funny,’ said Jodie. ‘Tibs could have died.’

‘Don’t be daft. He could scrap for England, that one. He were probably just lying low and licking his wounds. Bit like your dad after United take a pasting.’

Jodie didn’t seem convinced.

‘He’s still bleeding, Mum. And it’s probably been hours. I think we need to take him to see Pete,’ she said, her voice high and imploring.

Pete was our vet. We were on first-name terms with him as we seemed to be in there that often.

‘Let me have a look,’ I said, taking Tibs from her and depositing him in the cat bed he never used while I prised apart his fur at various points to reveal a couple of nasty-looking wounds, deeper than I had expected.

‘He’ll be fine, love,’ I said, seeing Jodie’s face, ‘probably nowt worse than he’s had before, but I’ll get your dad to take him to be checked over, just to be on safe side.’

‘What am I being volunteered for now?’ asked Neil, entering the kitchen still doing up his flies, a habit that had grown no more appealing to me over the years.

‘Tibs has been fighting again,’ I said. ‘He’s in a bit of a mess. You’d better run him down to Pete’s after breakfast to get him checked over.’

‘Let’s have a look at him,’ said Neil, coming straight over. He was as soft as Jodie was when it came to that cat. He reached into the basket and parted Tibs’s fur, at which point Tibs hissed and went for him.

‘Oh my God, he bit you,’ said Jodie. ‘Look, he’s drawn blood.’

‘It were only a nip,’ he said, pulling his hand back and inspecting the damage to his thumb. ‘Poor fella must be in pain, though, he’s never done that before. I’d better warn Pete he might need his gauntlets on.’

Jodie was clearly still too worried about Tibs to be consoled by her dad’s attempt at humour.

‘Is he gonna be OK?’ she asked, looking between us.

‘He’ll be fine, sweetheart,’ Neil replied. ‘I hope other one came off worse, mind. I don’t want anyone saying us Cuthberts don’t give as good as we get.’

I rolled my eyes as I went over to the kitchen counter to pick up my mug of tea, the honour of our family name following a cat fight not being my major concern right now.

‘It’ll be that ginger tom from number eight, again,’ Neil continued. ‘Mangy old thing.’

‘And Tibs is completely blameless, is he?’ I asked.

‘Course he is, he’s better-looking for a start. That got me off the hook a few times back when I were in my prime.’

I shook my head as I plonked a stack of bowls down onto the kitchen table, but I didn’t have a chance to respond before Sam shouted from the landing.

‘Mum, I can’t find my PE kit.’

‘Maybe check wherever you dumped it in July. Follow your nose, it’ll be stinking to high heaven by now,’ I shouted back.

‘I’ve looked. It’s not there.’

‘Bloody hell, then that PE kit washing fairy must have been during holidays. Someone ought to give her a pay rise.’

It took a moment for the penny to drop before Sam lumbered downstairs and arrived in the kitchen.

‘Thanks,’ he grunted, still not grateful enough to give me a smile, let alone a hug. ‘Where is it?’

‘In your PE bag by front door. Bit of luck one of us is organised. Now, can everyone sit down, shut up and eat their breakfast, or we’ll all be late.’

To my surprise, everyone did as they were told. Cereal was poured without squabbles. For a few minutes, peace descended on the kitchen before the doorbell rang.

‘I’ll go,’ said Neil, standing up. ‘And if it’s owner of that ginger tom complaining about state of him, I’ll tell her she can pay our vet’s bill.’

I heard the door open. A few moments later there were raised voices. Neil’s and another man’s. I tried to ignore them in the hope it was someone complaining about a dodgy bit of joinery, but when I heard Neil say, ‘You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?’ I sighed, put down my half-drunk mug of tea and hurried out to the hall.

Jakub, the oldest of Pawel and Eva’s two sons from next door, was standing outside. He didn’t look happy.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

Before Jakub could answer, Neil spun around and said, ‘Flash Harry here reckons I owe him for a few little scratches on his precious car.’

Jakub turned to me, presumably having realised he would get no sense out of Neil.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Cuthbert, I didn’t want to cause a fuss, but I looked out when I heard the noise last night and saw your cat fighting another one on the bonnet of my car. And there are quite a few scratch marks there this morning.’

‘Let’s have a look, then,’ I said, stepping outside. Jakub’s Mercedes was parked on their drive, only a couple of yards from Neil’s van. A trail of blood ran from the bonnet of the car to the rear of the van.

‘Looks like Tibs has been caught red-pawed to me,’ I said.

‘Don’t take his side,’ hissed Neil.

‘I’m simply telling truth.’

Jakub pointed out the scratches on his bonnet. A clump of white fur was still attached to the windscreen wipers.

I turned to look at Neil and raised an eyebrow.

‘It’s only a few little scratches, you can’t hold me legally responsible for what our cat did.’

Jakub shrugged. ‘I thought you’d want to do the neighbourly thing.’

‘That’s rich. Being lectured on how to be a good neighbour by immigrants my taxes provide for.’

Jakub looked stunned. I turned to stare at Neil.

‘Have you not noticed Polish supermarket and second-hand car dealership in town? Only I think you’ll find our neighbours don’t get a penny from us.’

‘Yeah, well. Rest of them do.’

‘Get back inside,’ I said to Neil. ‘Now.’

For a moment I thought he was going to protest, but he’d been with me long enough to know when it was futile. He shook his head and went in.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said to Jakub, feeling the heat rush to my face. I wasn’t sure if it was a hot flush or embarrassment, probably both. ‘He shouldn’t have said that.’

‘I know. I hear it from plenty of people, but you don’t expect that from your neighbours.’

‘We’ll pay for damage, just let us know what it costs. Will you be able to get it done at work?’

‘Yeah. I’ll only charge you for materials, not labour.’

‘Thanks, pet. And if you hear cats fighting again, chuck a bloody bucket of water over them, would you?’

Jakub managed a glimmer of a smile, but the damage was clearly done. I imagined him telling his parents. I’d never be able to look them in the eye again. I went back inside, aware I needed to be leaving for the station in five minutes and I still hadn’t finished my breakfast.

‘Pleased with yoursen?’ I said to Neil.

‘He were one in wrong,’ he replied, still visibly bristling.

‘Yeah, right. I’m sure you’d see it like that if it were other way around.’

‘What did Dad do?’ asked Jodie.

‘Only refused to pay for damage Tibs has done to Jakub’s car because “my taxes support enough immigrants.”’

Sam struggled to disguise a snort.

‘It’s not funny, Sam,’ I said.

‘See, this is where he gets it from,’ said Jodie. ‘Dad and Grandad set him a bad example.’

‘I still think he were a right cheeky bugger, asking us to pay for damage,’ said Neil. ‘You didn’t agree to it, did you?’

‘Course I bloody did. You’d expect him to do same if he trashed your van.’

‘It were only a few little scratches. It’s his fault for having a flash car. Asking for trouble round here, it is.’

‘Drop it and give vets a ring, will you?’

I put my phone into my bag. ‘Now, Jodie, make sure you’re on next train for college, and Sam, get that smirk off your face and your arse in gear for school. And if I get a call from them about your behaviour today, I shouldn’t bother coming home.’

I stomped through the hall, pulled on my jacket and slammed the door shut behind me.

The relief of leaving the house flooded through me. Sometimes I had to fight the urge to go off somewhere, like Shirley bloody Valentine. No one would plan a life that ended up like mine. It was hardly the stuff of Disney fairy tales. But when your boyfriend dumps you after years together, and suddenly you’re on the scrapheap at thirty, you don’t stop to complain that the person who comes along and ‘rescues’ you isn’t quite the Prince Charming you’d been hoping for.

Mam had brought me up with a heavy dose of realism. If he wasn’t an alcoholic or in debt and was capable of keeping his pants on when around other women, then he was a keeper, according to her. And Disney could go and do one.

I had to run the last fifty yards to the station. Though the word ‘run’ probably suggested something more impressive than the sight of me lumbering down the zigzagging ramp towards the platform. I knew it was there for the disabled, but it was a pain in the arse when you were legging it for the train and had to run a hundred yards when the platform was only ten away.

I arrived just as the train pulled in. I got on and sat down heavily on a seat near the end of the carriage, while I tried to get my breath back. The teenage lads behind me were on a video call with someone, only they weren’t being quiet about it.

‘You ought to ask her out,’ one of them said. ‘She’s a complete minger but she’d probably suck your cock.’

‘Piss off,’ said their mate.

I looked around at the other passengers. An older woman in a mac was shaking her head. Everyone else was trying to pretend they hadn’t noticed. I turned around in my seat and tapped the mouthy one on the shoulder. He looked up at me, startled.

‘No one on here wants to listen to what you’re saying, so I’d keep it down if I were you.’

‘It’s a free country. No laws against talking on trains.’

‘No, but I could take your phone, find your mum in your contacts and tell her what you just said, for starters.’

For a second, I thought he was going to gob in my face, but I was saved by the lad on the other end of the phone shouting ‘Burn,’ and the laughter that followed before they fell quiet.

The woman in the mac gave me a little smile of gratitude. I turned back around, feeling rather proud of myself. Sometimes, the raging hormones came in bloody useful.

3

RACHID

I see her as soon as she gets on the train. It’s her hair that I notice first; long, shiny and auburn, it catches the sunlight streaming through the window and gives off an amazing glow. Her skin is pale and flawless. She’s wearing black patent laced boots, a short black skirt, and a green velvet jacket. Not that I am staring weirdly at her or anything. I take it all in within seconds. I can’t help but notice because she’s so different from all the other girls I know. And I like different.

She sits down facing me at the table opposite mine, perching on the edge of her aisle seat like she is afraid of catching something from the man next to her. Which isn’t surprising given that I’m pretty sure I can smell him from here. She puts earbuds in. I can’t hear what she’s listening to, but there’s a good vibe about her.

I look back down at my phone, but I can’t stop thinking about her. I decide not to fight it, as it beats thinking about all the grief from Dad, so I try to work out what music she might be listening to. She looks arty and she clearly likes standing out from the crowd. So, maybe Amy Winehouse. I’d be well happy with that. Not that it would matter to her whether I like what she’s listening to. Jeez, she hasn’t even given me a second glance. And when she gets off, I’ll probably never see her again. Unless she catches this train every day, of course. In which case, I’m gonna have a problem concentrating for the next two years.

At Bradford, a middle-aged woman in a business suit gets on and sits down across the table from me. I pull my legs in, so I don’t accidentally touch hers. Mum is always going on about my long legs getting in the way.

She has an overnight case with her and puts it on the table between us, rather than in the overhead storage rack. I’m about to offer to put it up there for her, but before I can ask, she unzips the case and starts rooting through it, looking for something, piling things up on the open cover as she goes. A moment later, the pile topples and a large pair of black, lacy knickers lands in front of me. I stare at them, unsure what to do. I glance up and see the red-haired girl across the aisle desperately trying to stop laughing. Our eyes meet for a second before I look away quickly and bite my bottom lip hard.

The woman reaches out, picks up the knickers and stuffs them back in the case without a word. I’m pretty sure I can feel the warmth of her cheeks from here, so I spare her the further embarrassment of making eye contact and stare down at my phone. But for the rest of the journey, I am conscious that the girl with the red hair is, like me, trying to hold herself together.

The girl gets up as we start to pull into Leeds station and moves towards the doors. I stand and make my way over towards her, relieved to be able to make my escape and finally allow a smile to spread across my face.

As the train slows, other passengers gather behind me and push forward, edging me nearer to her. She has her phone out and is messaging someone, her slim fingers flashing back and forth across the screen. Her lilac nail varnish matches the colour of her lipstick. I don’t know how I notice, but I do. And her lips are so perfect, they are unreal. The train comes to a halt. I hesitate for a second. She’s nearest the button, but she seems too busy on her ph. . .