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Sunrise in New York
Helen Cox
The smart second novel in the Starlight Diner series‘Fresh, original and addictive’ PHILLIPA ASHLEYWhat brings Bonnie Brooks to The Starlight Diner? And why is she on the run?As the front-woman in a band, Bonnie is used to being in the spotlight, but now she must hide in the shadows.Bonnie only has one person who she can turn to: her friend Esther Knight, who waitresses at the Fifties-themed diner. There, retro songs play on the jukebox as fries and sundaes are served to satisfied customers. But where has Esther gone?Alone in New York City, Bonnie breaks down in front of arrogant news reporter, and diner regular, Jimmy Boyle. Jimmy offers to help her. Can she trust him?When the kindly owner of the Starlight Diner offers Bonnie work, and she meets charming security officer Nick Moloney, she dares to hope that her luck has changed. Is there a blossoming romance on the cards? And can Bonnie rebuild her life with the help of her Starlight Diner friends?
Sunrise in New York
HELEN COX
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2017
Copyright © Helen Cox 2017
Cover design © Becky Glibbery 2018
Cover illustration © Shutterstock (http://www.shutterstock.com)
Helen Cox asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © March 2018 ISBN: 9780008197018
Version 2018-03-13
For everybody who has chased a dream, even when somebody told you not to.
Table of Contents
Cover (#u5faa6a91-82ed-5715-a094-3ee82b7b228c)
Title Page (#u4d38d0db-2bf2-5fc0-b057-cf28ac8caa95)
Copyright (#u28874ed9-6565-5859-afc7-484c250a22b7)
Dedication (#u17dcc80b-08ab-58e3-9c32-160e62bc7281)
Prologue (#u55d40a5a-0208-5f48-8561-5541c7cb6214)
Chapter One (#u63a15f2e-e3ac-560b-9ba9-6c18699a7ce9)
Chapter Two (#ua8381beb-b505-59ea-89ba-d2be5ec483bf)
Chapter Three (#ue5f3be56-4300-58be-99ff-9cde6f2eaf27)
Chapter Four (#ua1ed1bed-47b3-5178-8a5b-dfb48674d3f8)
Chapter Five (#uf24912b7-0bea-50d5-b40c-6e5100c4c837)
Chapter Six (#u9d495a4d-014f-59f2-9e0c-b762d587c602)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u3d26b82c-36a6-5d84-b087-1ce74250a737)
Across the decades, people from all over the world have found a home in New York City. The same can be said about the Starlight Diner, a 1950s-themed eatery not far from where East Houston Street meets Clinton. Its blue neon signage lights up the sky on grey days and dark nights. All day, every day, between eight in the morning and midnight, the diner doors are open. A fact regulars from the East Village can count upon, and so many of them do.
Of course, when your doors are open, anyone can walk into your life – someone besides the local cops on their lunch break or the old lady who always asks for the corner table and orders ice cream in December and soup in August. The next person could just as easy be a stranger with a story you’ll never get to hear and secrets best left untold.
No matter who walks through the doors at the Starlight Diner, no matter how far they’ve travelled or how they’re feeling about their life just then, they’re all welcomed with the same warmth. All of them are invited to sink into the soft, red leather of the booths, smile along to the fifties ditties playing out on the jukebox and order themselves a milkshake.
But it’s the folks who work there and eat there that make the Starlight Diner really special. They may not always want you to know it, but they’ve got good hearts. Big hearts, too. And when you’re surrounded by people like that, it’s impossible not to feel at home.
Chapter One (#u3d26b82c-36a6-5d84-b087-1ce74250a737)
New York, 26 December 1990
The sultry notes of ‘Earth Angel’ by Marvin Berry and the Starlighters floated all around me as I pushed open the door of the diner. The song oozed out of a Wurlitzer jukebox standing in the far corner and a warm rush of relief swept through me as I realised I’d made it.
To New York.
To the Starlight Diner.
To Esther.
Before stepping inside, I glanced one last time over my shoulder, just to be sure nobody was out there. Watching or waiting.
Snowflakes danced in the pale glow of street lamps and steam blew out of the subway vents, but people were few, and hurrying home out of the cold. The coast seemed to be clear.
For now.
I didn’t know what kind of reception I’d get from Esther, not after what had happened between us. When she found out what was going on, the parts it was safe to tell, I’d at least be subjected to a tut and an eyebrow raise. That much was certain. Both were almost patented gestures for her. Still, I needed a friendly face and she was the closest thing I had.
‘Hi there, honey,’ said a soft, inviting voice, which was accompanied by the rich flurry of the saxophone playing in the background. Turning, I saw who had spoken: a waitress standing just behind the counter.
Looking at her, my shoulders tightened. They were already sore from three days and two nights sleeping on buses and hostel beds and I winced at the sting.
It wasn’t Esther.
God damn it, where was she? Why couldn’t she have just put her home address on those letters she sent? Well, I had my suspicions about why. But I couldn’t think about that. Esther was pretty much the only person I had to turn to and the only lead I had on her was this restaurant.
‘Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll be right with you,’ said the waitress. I was still holding the door half-open, letting in the wintry darkness.
Nodding, I shuffled in, past some guy sitting at the end of the counter. I didn’t look right at the fella but I could feel him staring. More than likely he was eyeing up my hair, which I’d dyed blue with a three-dollar rinse and hacked off just above the shoulder with a pair of kitchen scissors on my way out of Atlantic City. I still wasn’t quite used to the attention it got me. Being a brunette was a lot less conspicuous but, after what had happened, looking anything like myself could be lethal.
Deciding on the seat furthest from the doorway – and the bitter chill – I set down my guitar and suitcase on the red and white chequered lino and sat up at the counter. Only then, when I’d stopped shivering, did I pause to properly size up my surroundings.
This wasn’t your average diner, that much was for sure. It was one of those fifties-themed restaurants built to preserve the good times gone by. That explained the Marvin Berry and the Starlighters record, and something came back to me then from one of Esther’s letters, about the diner having a retro twist.
That was no understatement.
The place was painted a blinding shade of red and had vintage signs hanging around the walls advertising sodas and milkshakes, each one complete with some sickly-sweet slogan like ‘Put a cherry on top of your day’. The smells left behind from the cooking of hot dogs, omelettes, grilled cheese sandwiches and French fries all lingered, creating their own unique, sweaty perfume. Yep, the place was just how Esther had described it alright. Well, according to the parts of her letters I could understand. Truth be told, she was a bit of a walking dictionary. Even with a college education, I only understood eight out of every ten words she said.
‘What can I get for you, honey?’ The waitress, who according to her name tag was called Mona, leaned on the counter with her notebook in hand. She looked weary, as would anyone who was still at work past eleven the day after Christmas, and was wearing quite a bit of make-up to cover up the fact she was beat. She’d glazed her lips with a cherry-coloured lip gloss and lightning bolts of silver powder zigzagged across her eyelids in sharp contrast to her black skin.
I opened my mouth to place an order but then hesitated. I had about seven dollars left in the world. No point ordering big if Esther wasn’t even around.
‘Matter of fact, I’m looking for Esther Knight. She still work here?’ My question came out casual enough, which was a miracle considering how desperate I was.
‘Oh, you’re a friend of Esther’s?’ said Mona.
Neat. How do I answer that one honestly?
Am I a friend of Esther’s?
I think so. I think she forgave me for what I did. It was months ago now and she’d written me a couple of letters like she promised so she couldn’t be that sore about it.
‘Uh, yeah,’ I said.
Oh, nice going, Bonnie. Just spectacular. A commendation to you on delivering the least convincing declaration of friendship ever.
‘Well, she’s over in England, visiting her mom for Christmas. Not back till late tomorrow,’ the waitress explained.
‘Oh.’ I heard the crack in my voice but Mona didn’t seem to notice. Hearing that news was like being shot through the heart. Esther really wasn’t here. Not even in this country, let alone the city. I had no money, no place to go and it was glacial outside. What the hell was I going to do? Ride the subway all night? That seemed to be about my only option. It was that or freeze to death on a park bench.
‘Want something to drink while you’re here?’ asked Mona.
‘I’ll get a cuppa coffee. Thanks,’ I said, trying to ignore the empty churn of my stomach. I had to save what money I could. Tomorrow, people would be out shopping again and I could busk for a few more bucks. Probably scrape together enough for a decent-sized pizza and a night in a cheap motel in case things didn’t work out with Esther.
‘Not a problem, just gotta run out back and get a fresh pack of beans. Won’t be a minute, honey,’ Mona said. I was going to say something polite. That she should take as much time as she wanted, I wasn’t in any rush to be back out in the cold, that kind of thing. But at the idea of being outside, alone in New York, all the words caught at the back of my throat. So I just did a little shrug and smiled as best I could.
The second she pushed through the swing doors out to the kitchen however, it happened. Tears, thick and salty, forced their way out. My whole body shook with the might of them and I covered my eyes and mouth with my hands in an attempt to block out the world. To forget the fact that I was howling like a kid in a downtown diner, all to the tune of ‘Shake, Rattle and Roll’, which had followed up ‘Earth Angel’ on the Wurlitzer.
