by Fay Keenan
Life was good. Harry was still living in his flat above the shop, but he was spending more and more time at Bay Tree Terrace. Kate was more than okay with his presence, and the two younger boys had taken to him well. Corey, of course, had gone from strength to strength, both in his usefulness in the bookshop and in his relationship with Harry. Both were more than happy with the way things were.
The party that afternoon was partly a celebration of the completion of the work on the house; Kate had taken hundreds of pictures of the renovations process, and they were proudly showcased on the website that Will had built for her, also as part of his coursework; this time for Computing. Work was coming in faster than she could commit to it, but she was loving the opportunity to make people’s décor dreams a reality. It was also an unofficial naming ceremony for little Mia, who had grown into a feisty but sunny character and, despite Harry’s early trauma at meeting her, she had been instrumental in cementing Harry’s place in Kate’s family. So much so that, after a little thought, Harry had agreed to be a kind of non-religious godparent to her, which had led Kate to joke that there really was no escape from the family, even if he wanted to.
Kate and Harry had been growing ever closer, but they were happy to let their relationship evolve at a slow, steady pace after the rush of the summer they’d spent together. This had allowed them both to really take their time, and for Harry to come to terms with the fact that, in dating Kate, he was also becoming part of her extended family. Kate’s mother, Selina, had decided that she quite liked the view from Kate’s well-appointed spare bedroom on the ground floor and was becoming a regular visitor to Willowbury. Kate was pretty sure that, eventually, her mother would end up living in the town permanently. Although Kate was sure that Aidan would have a word or two to say about this. Even he couldn’t dispute the good sense of having their mother where they could keep a better eye on her. Selina had already planted some new roses in Kate’s garden, which were just beginning to flower. Spending time at Bay Tree Terrace had done wonders for Selina’s relationship with not just her own children, but her grandchildren, too, and Kate couldn’t see her wanting to give that up in a hurry.
‘It’s all quite a change from where we were last summer, isn’t it?’ Harry said as he stood up from the kitchen table.
‘It certainly is,’ Kate agreed, putting her phone down on the counter and allowing Harry to pull her closer to him. ‘And although I never would have imagined it this time last year, I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
Acknowledgments
As ever, a huge thank you to all at Boldwood Books, especially Sarah Ritherdon, who is a wonderful editor and who ‘gets’ it, every time I write a book. To Nia, Amanda and Claire for continuing to support this career of mine in such important, empowering ways. To Cecily Blench and Shirley Khan for being excellent copy and proof editors, respectively. Thank you, all, for everything you do!
Also, thanks to my brilliant agent, Sara Keane, who encourages and curbs my process in equal measure. Thanks also to the extremely supportive members of the Romantic Novelists’ Association, locally and nationally, who provide endless banter, support and laughs. May we all be able to meet again in person soon! Special thanks to Teresa F. Morgan for the regular writerly chats and inspiration sessions over coffee.
To the usual friends and family for bearing with me through another book – I am so, so grateful. Nick, Flora and Roseanna, your understanding is something I will never take for granted, and I love you all for it.
A special shout out to Pippa Strachan, perinatal educator, for the help and advice on traumatic births and protocols, to ensure I was putting Florence and Sam through just enough.
To the Horrible Histories team, who made writing during a pandemic a bearable experience by keeping all of the family entertained with HH, Ghosts and Yonderland. You helped more than you will ever know, not least in giving me a style model for Harry Sinclair, who bears more than a passing physical resemblance to Ben Willbond!
Finally, to you, my readers, for seeing Willowbury through another book. I am so, so grateful to each and every one of you for taking a chance on my novels. I hope you enjoyed the ride!
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CHAPTER ONE
‘White sage is all very well,’ Holly Renton reflected, ‘but the ashes are a bugger to get out of the carpet.’ Earlier that morning, before the shop had opened, Holly had carried out a ritual called smudging, which was meant to purify the energy in a building, promote positivity and remove negative energies. Picking up the dustpan and brush, she emptied the pungent remains of the dried herb bundle she’d ignited and then wafted around the windows and doors of the shop into the bin.
‘I know you recommend this all the time for other people’s houses, but why are you so bloody obsessed with doing it in the shop?’ Rachel, Holly’s sister, glanced down at where Holly was still brushing the rug under the mullioned front window of ComIncense, the shop specialising in herbal remedies and well-being aids that Holly ran in the sleepy but nonetheless New Age small town of Willowbury and smiled. Just beyond the shop’s counter, the door that led to Holly’s small back yard was open and Harry, Rachel’s three-year-old son and Holly’s nephew, was playing happily with a set of wooden animal-shaped blocks in their own lorry, which had come from a box of assorted toys that Holly kept specifically for the younger customers. Holly didn’t believe, unlike some of her business-owning neighbours, that children should be banned from places like hers, and since the early-spring weather was warm and pleasant, Harry had trundled out into the sunlight to play.
‘You’ve got to refresh places from time to time,’ Holly replied. ‘Especially when there’s been a lot of negative energy about, and since all of the scandal with Hugo Fitzgerald, I really felt like this place needed a spiritual cleanse!’
‘You can say that again,’ Rachel reached under the wooden apothecary’s dresser that displayed countless jars and pots of dried herbs and flowers, all purporting to be of some spiritual or physical benefit, to retrieve one of the toy llamas that Harry had thrown under it. ‘What a way to go…’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Holly replied, still sweeping. ‘At least, having had a massive coronary, he wouldn’t have known much about it.’
‘But what a waste of a good plate of scones and jam!’ Rachel grinned. ‘Mum told me that his constituency agent found him face down in them at his desk.’
‘I wouldn’t have fancied digging him out of them,’ Holly said. ‘But from the size of him, the heart attack was an accident waiting to happen. And gossip has it, he had his finger in a lot of pies, not just the odd plate of scones.’
‘Oh, you know how the rumour mill goes into overdrive when something like this happens.’ Rachel, who had more of a tendency to see the good in people than her sister did, dismissed Holly’s comments with a wave of her hand. ‘I mean, I’m not saying he wasn’t a prat, but nothing was ever proven about his financial misdemeanours. Although, I have to admit, since he couldn’t have given a stuff about Harry’s condition, and getting access to these new drugs, I’m hoping the new guy will be more receptive to the cause.’
‘It’s still bloody unfair that he gets to swan in here and take the seat after only the quietest by-election,’ Holly grumbled as she replaced the dustpan and brush on the shelf behind the counter. ‘I mean, the guy’s only a year older than me and he’s been parachuted into one of the safest seats
in the country. Even if we have a change of government, he’s unlikely ever to lose his seat. What if he’s just as crap as Fitzgerald and couldn’t care less about us here in his constituency? We’re stuck with him until he chooses to retire.’
‘Give him a chance,’ Rachel said reasonably. ‘He might be good for this place.’
‘Have you made an appointment to see him yet?’ Holly asked, glancing down to where Harry was now building a tower of exotic wooden animals that was getting more and more precarious the higher it got.
From the outside, Harry looked like any other energetic three-year-old, but on the inside, it was a different story. Weeks after he’d been born, Rachel had been launched into a perpetually revolving carousel of physiotherapy, medications and experimental trials in an attempt to alleviate the chronic condition, cystic fibrosis, that would, in all likelihood, limit Harry’s life. The latest medication, which might make a huge difference to Harry’s life expectancy, was currently being held up because the government was still negotiating with the pharmaceutical company involved over a reasonable price to supply it to the National Health Service. How it was possible to put a cost on a life such as Harry’s was a source of increasing frustration and heartbreak for Rachel and the family.
‘Not yet,’ Rachel sighed. ‘If Hugo Fitzgerald couldn’t be arsed to do anything other than toe the party line, then why should this new guy be any better? Especially if he is a total rookie. I doubt he’ll stick his neck out for Harry.’
Noticing Rachel was, unusually for her, close to tears, Holly hurried around from behind the counter and gave her sister a hug. ‘Don’t let it get you down,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll always be right there with you, campaigning to get this little munchkin the treatment he deserves.’
‘I know,’ Rachel replied, giving Holly a shaky smile. ‘I’m fine, really. It’s just when he has a bad day, it reminds me of the challenges he’s facing, which will only get worse as he gets older. And knowing that the new medications could potentially make those challenges so much easier to face…’
‘We’ll get there,’ Holly said. ‘I’ll be with you every step of the way, like I always have been. And I still think it’s worth a punt with this new guy, you never know.’
‘I’ll try and get in to see him over the summer,’ Rachel replied, breaking the embrace from her sister and grabbing the last of the wooden animals to add to Harry’s tower of jungle wildlife. ‘Can I make a drink?’
‘Of course,’ Holly said. ‘I’ve got some organic fair-trade matcha tea in the kitchen.’
‘Is that the super-energising stuff?’ Rachel asked. ‘After being up with Harry last night, I could certainly do with a lift.’
‘Honestly, it’ll keep you going until midnight!’ Holly said. ‘Go on… you know you want to.’
‘All right,’ Rachel replied. ‘But if I end up buzzing around Willowbury like a wasp for the rest of the day, I’m blaming you.’
‘Fair enough. And make me a cup, too,’ Holly called as Rachel disappeared up the stairs to Holly’s flat above the shop. Popping the dustpan and brush behind the counter again, she continued the conversation, since Rachel had left the door to the flat open. ‘Perhaps I should give this new guy the benefit of the doubt,’ she said, adjusting the labels on the jars of dried herbs and plants on the dresser so they all pointed uniformly outwards. ‘After all, new blood could be a good thing.’
‘Perhaps we should be fair and reserve judgement until he’s been in the job a few months,’ Rachel said over the bubble of the kettle. ‘You never know, he could be just the tonic this place needs, politically.’
‘You always try to look on the bright side, don’t you?’
Holly was preoccupied for a moment with the Bluetooth speaker that usually piped relaxing, locally composed and produced music through the shop during business hours. The thing was a touch temperamental, but she’d just managed to reconnect it to her phone. Scrolling through her Spotify playlists, she thought she’d better try it out with something a little more lively, so she selected one of her current favourite film soundtracks, an all-singing, all-dancing number that was sure to blast out any gremlins from the Bluetooth connection. As the singer’s voice boomed through the shop, Rachel’s response to her somewhat rhetorical question was lost in the pleasant din of the soundtrack.
Determined to stop talking about a subject that was clearly getting more under her skin than she’d anticipated, Holly raised her voice above the music, calling up the stairs to her sister, and, unable to help herself, lifting her arms to sway to the beat of the song. ‘Well, he’ll have to do a whole lot more for this constituency than Fingers-in-the-till Fitzgerald did to get my vote. And, to be honest, I don’t really hold out much hope for some career politician who’s just been parachuted in, do you?’
Holly, caught in the rhythm of the song, completely failed to notice the appearance of a figure at her open shop door, who paused, motionless, unsure now of what his approach should be. To be fair, though, even if she had been aware, she probably wouldn’t have been too concerned; Holly wasn’t one to worry too much about what people thought. Having lived the life she had, and owning the business that she did, public opinion was the least of her worries. What she didn’t realise, though, was that the encounter with this particular customer would change her life forever.
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About the Author
Fay Keenan is the author of the bestselling Little Somerby series of novels. She has led writing workshops with Bristol University and has been a visiting speaker in schools. She is a full-time teacher and lives in Somerset.
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First published in Great Britain in 2021 by Boldwood Books Ltd.
Copyright © Fay Keenan, 2021
Cover Design by Alice Moore Design
Cover Photography: Shutterstock
The moral right of Fay Keenan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologise for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Paperback ISBN 978-1-83889-102-2
Large Print ISBN 978-1-80280-233-7
Hardback ISBN 978-1-80280-201-6
Ebook ISBN 978-1-83889-104-6
Kindle ISBN 978-1-83889-103-9
Audio CD ISBN 978-1-83889-227-2
MP3 CD ISBN 978-1-80162-726-9
Digital audio download ISBN 978-1-83889-101-5
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