by Karen Clarke
I braked, holding my breath until she’d driven off, then reversed back to the vet’s and parked alongside Tom’s Land Rover.
* * *
‘Can I help you?’
The receptionist was staring at her computer screen, the glare bouncing off her glasses so it looked like she had no eyes.
‘Could I speak to Tom Hudson, please?’
‘He’s not working today.’ She gave a bristle, like a tiger protecting its cub, and I guessed his confrontation with Megan hadn’t gone unnoticed. ‘You could speak to one of the other vets.’
‘I don’t have an animal,’ I said, backing away, knocking into a woman who’d come in with a cat stuffed into a basket. It yowled, and tried to lash out at me, but only succeeded in bashing its paw on the wire.
‘Now look what you’ve done.’ The woman gave me a dirty look. ‘There, there, Tabitha,’ she soothed, as the cat bared her fangs. ‘She’s here for her check-up,’ she added to the receptionist, and while they were engrossed I slipped out, and round the side of the building to the little courtyard.
Hovis was on his belly, chewing a rubber monkey, but jumped up when he saw me, wagging his tail.
‘Hey there, boy.’ I scratched him under his chin, and he rolled on his back and offered his tummy for rubbing. I crouched down and indulged him, feeling the roar of my heartbeat in my ears.
What if Tom didn’t want to see me? He’d probably had enough for one day. For a lifetime.
I stood up, wiping my clammy palms on my shorts. He could always tell me to go, but I wanted – needed – to know he was OK.
I gave a light knock on the open door and stepped inside, letting my eyes adjust. The kitchen was empty, a mug by the sink, and an open tin of dog food by Hovis’s bowl.
‘Tom?’
I ducked through a low wooden door, into a small sunny hallway with a couple of open doors leading off it. ‘Tom?’
I was surprised he couldn’t hear the thud of my heart, and nearly jumped out of my skin when he appeared at the top of the narrow staircase.
‘Carrie?’ He ran halfway down and stopped, one hand on the banister, staring as if I was a phantom. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I – I’m sorry,’ I stuttered, clasping my fingers together to stop them shaking. ‘The door was open, and I—’
‘No, I mean in Shipley.’ He jumped down the last few steps and stood in front of me, just like he had on the night of his twenty-first, only this time his hair was rumpled and he hadn’t shaved.
‘Where else would I be?’ It was a poor attempt at levity, which I instantly regretted when his eyebrows knitted together.
‘Megan said she spoke to you on Wednesday, and you told her you were going back to Manchester.’
My insides drooped. ‘And you believed her, because she’s such a pillar of honesty.’
‘Carrie.’ He took a step closer, and I smelt something lemony. His wrinkled T-shirt was damp, as if he’d had a quick shower and not dried himself properly. ‘I went to your aunt’s after surgery on Wednesday, to talk you, but your car wasn’t there.’ He reached out his hand then let it drop. ‘I knocked, but there was no answer.’
I remembered driving Kate back to Christchurch and Ruby, over-excited in the flat, with music blasting out of the television.
‘You could have come to the stall,’ I said shakily.
‘I did, the next morning, but your aunt was there…’
‘Why didn’t you talk to her?’
‘She was so busy.’ He combed his fingers through his hair. ‘I suppose I took it as confirmation that you’d gone, but I know I should have double-checked.’
‘It’s OK.’ I shook my head, hating how smudged and weary his eyes looked. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’
‘You know the wedding’s off?’
I nodded. ‘Did she tell you she wasn’t pregnant?’ I tried not to feel like a schoolkid telling tales. ‘It was her stepmother’s baby photo.’
‘She didn’t have to,’ he said, a tremor in his voice. ‘I caught her stuffing her face with Mr Kipling’s French Fancies.’
Random. ‘Well, they are quite tasty—’
‘She never eats cakes.’ His voice sounded odd. ‘She looked so guilty, I just knew.’
The penny dropped. ‘She was doing it to look pregnant.’
His white-lipped silence said it all.
‘Oh god, Tom, I’m so sorry.’
His eyes were glassy with tears. ‘I suppose I’d got used to the idea.’ His voice caught. ‘How could she do that?’
I felt a wrench inside. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Maybe she wanted it to be true.’
‘She didn’t even sound that sorry when she admitted she’d lied.’ A trace of anger entered his voice, and I guessed he’d been going over it all in his head. ‘It was almost like she’d been playing a game where only she knew the rules, but once it was up…’
‘She decided it was time to move on.’
‘Exactly.’ He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. ‘As soon as I told him, my father fired her,’ he said heavily. ‘It turned out he’d had his suspicions, and even before that he said she’d been getting too cut-throat, offering to buy properties for less than they were worth, even though he’d told her he doesn’t operate like that anymore.’ His breath came out in a jagged sigh. ‘She’d bigged up her mother’s royal connections, apparently. I think he’d been half expecting an introduction to the queen.’
‘Oh, Tom, I don’t know what to say.’ My mind swirled. ‘I suppose at least it’s brought you and your father closer.’
‘There is that.’ A brief smile appeared. ‘He offered to let everyone know the wedding was off, and I’m afraid I left him to it.’ His mouth tightened again. ‘Megan just came to tell me she was keeping the engagement ring, and to take back the coffee maker she bought me.’
So, that’s what had been in the box. ‘Charming.’
‘I didn’t really like it anyway.’
At last, something seemed to fall away from him, and as our eyes locked together my mind scrolled back to the night of Tom’s twenty-first. It hadn’t all been Megan’s fault. Tom had had issues, trying to break free from his father, and I wasn’t equipped to deal with it, or brave enough to hold out for what I wanted.
Maybe the timing hadn’t been right for us then. Or later, when I was with Sam, and Tom was tending to horses up in Scotland.
He cleared his throat, seeming to refocus. ‘How… how’s Cooper?’
‘Sorry?’ It took a second for my brain to catch up. ‘Oh, listen, I’m sorry about the other night.’ My cheeks pulsated. ‘He got drunk, and I behaved like an idiot.’
Tom’s face had regained some colour. ‘He seemed nice,’ he said evenly.
‘His real name’s Toby.’ I might as well come clean. ‘He’s a painter and decorator, and I doubt he’s ever been to Budapest. Oh, and he’s still in love with his wife.’
Tom seemed to digest this for a moment, his gaze soft. ‘And how do you feel?’
My stomach squeezed with longing. ‘How do you think?’
His gaze grew intense, and desire tore through me, so strong I was surprised I was still standing.
‘Carrie.’ His mouth twitched, as if words were fighting to get out. ‘I just…’
He was so handsome. ‘Go on.’
‘It’s just… if it was my twenty-first tonight, and you turned up in that gorgeous dress, with your smile, and that hair…’ He paused, his eyes burning into mine. ‘I can’t imagine letting you go, and not telling you I loved you.’
‘Loved?’ It was obvious from the heat in his eyes what he was trying to say, but I wanted to hear it.
‘That I love you.’
Joy fizzed through me, like a rocket going off. ‘And you’re not just rebounding from finding out about… because you might need some time to—’
‘I’m not rebounding,’ he said, looking more like his old self with every second that passed. ‘If anything, I’m bouncin
g to where I want to be.’
I gave a blurt of laughter. ‘That’s terrible,’ I said, giddy with happiness.
‘I know, I’m sorry, but it’s true.’
As I closed the gap between us, Hovis ran in and dropped his rubber monkey. His damp brown eyes darted hopefully between us.
‘I think he wants a walk.’
‘I think you’re right.’
When I looked at him, I read in Tom’s face all the memories we shared, which had bound us together through the years like the pages of a book, and I knew that this was where I was always supposed to end up.
As I straightened, I spotted a holdall standing by the front door. ‘Were you going somewhere?’
‘I was.’ Tom reached for my hand and drew me gently to him. ‘I was coming to Manchester to find you.’
My heart skipped. ‘You were?’
He gave a solemn nod. ‘Another five minutes and you’d have missed me.’
His face came closer, and finally his arms were around me and his lips were on mine, and our first kiss was everything I’d always dreamed it would be, despite my phone vibrating halfway through.
‘Sounds like I’m not the only one who wants you.’ Tom’s voice was husky with longing and I gave him another, lingering kiss before reluctantly taking my phone out.
‘Sorry,’ I said, light-headed with bliss, ‘but it might be my first cousin once removed.’ I laughed at his puzzled look, amazed by how right it felt to be standing in his hallway, Hovis hovering by the door. ‘I’ve so much to tell you,’ I said.
The first text was from Mum.
We’ll be at Ruby’s by six, will you be there? Xx
I quickly typed
Yes xx
The second was from Kate.
Dad’s agreed to meet Ruby, and promised not to go off on one. He’s thinking next weekend if you can arrange it, and I thought while they talk me and you could hang out for a bit. Is that OK? Xxx
I bit my lip. I was supposed to be going back to Manchester tonight. I was almost certain Tom would come too, if I asked him, and perhaps might even stay, but his home was in Shipley, and I suspected he loved living here.
And so did I.
Of course, I would have to return, to sort out the house; perhaps call Jasmine’s bluff and ask her to buy it. And I needed to find a job, but there was bound to be someone in Shipley who needed help with their accounts. I could always ask Doris to keep her ear to the ground, and I was sure that Ruby wouldn’t mind if I stayed with her a bit longer.
‘What is it?’ A furrow of anxiety appeared between Tom’s brows. ‘Is something wrong?’
I looked at him, my world shifting and rebalancing. ‘Tom, do you want me to stay?’
He didn’t hesitate. ‘More than anything, if you want to.’
Joy bubbled through my veins. ‘Yes, please.’
I typed, Can’t wait xxx and hit ‘send’.
‘OK?’ Tom’s face had cleared.
‘Couldn’t be better.’
I knew we would talk about Megan again, while we came to terms with her lies, but for now it was just the two of us, striking out in a new direction.
Finally.
Our smiles were huge, and through the open doorway I spotted a jug of pink and blue flowers on the table in the living room; the asters I’d given Tom. A talisman of love and a symbol of patience.
‘Shall we go for that walk now?’ I said, holding out my hand. ‘I think Hovis has waited long enough.’
A Note from Karen
It’s been wonderful to revisit Shipley, and to write Carrie and Tom’s story, and I’ve loved researching how to run a flower stall – which isn’t easy, it turns out! But where nicer to have a stall than opposite the beach, in summertime?
I have lovely memories of my grandfather growing flowers, particularly roses, carnations, and sweet peas, which smell so evocative, and enjoyed learning about their meanings and symbolism. I now find myself choosing flowers to suit an occasion.
I’m already looking forward to returning to Shipley for my next book, which has a lovely Christmassy theme. I hope you’ll come back to find out what everyone’s been up to, and to meet some new characters.
Writers like to know if they're getting it right, so if you enjoyed The Beachside Flower Stall, and feel like popping a review on Amazon, it would mean a lot. Just a line or two will do.
If you’d like to contact me with thoughts and feedback, I’d love to hear from you, or you can sign up to my email list below:
www.bookouture.com/karen-clarke
@Karenclarke123
karen.clarke.5682
www.writewritingwritten.blogspot.com
The Beachside Sweet Shop
Beachside Bay Book 1
Chocolate fudge, butterscotch and raspberry bonbons… treat yourself to some sugary treats, a big slice of friendship and a sprinkling of romance at The Beachside Sweet Shop.
* * *
When Marnie Appleton inherited a sweet shop from her grandfather she was determined to do his legacy proud. The shop has been a much-loved feature of the little seaside town of Shipley for years, but now Marnie needs to bring it up to date, and she’s recruited gorgeous new assistant Josh to help.
* * *
Marnie gets busy redecorating the shop and choosing delicious new sweets to stock, but things are never that simple: new neighbour Isobel, a fame-hungry blogger, is on a crusade against sugar, and she’ll go to any lengths to secure bad publicity for Marnie’s shop.
* * *
Marnie fights back with homemade sugar-free treats, but with her best friend Beth heavily pregnant, her grandmother Celia recovering from an operation, and her very recently ex-boyfriend Alex returning to Shipley with a new love, Marnie has a lot on her plate.
* * *
And then there’s Josh, with whom Marnie is struggling to keep her relationship strictly professional…Will both the sweet shop and love flourish?
* * *
Available now!
* * *
A deliciously heartwarming read about family, friends and handmade coconut ice. Perfect for fans of Cressida McLaughlin, Debbie Johnson, and Tilly Tennant.
Also by Karen Clarke
The Beachside Sweet Shop
Acknowledgments
A lot of people are involved in making a book, and I would like to thank the award-winning Bookouture team for making it happen. Particular thanks to my wonderful editor, Abi, for her clever and insightful comments, to Anne for her seamless copy-editing, Emma for the gorgeous cover, and Kim Nash, for spreading the word.
Special thanks to flower sellers, Paula’s Petals in Aylesbury, and Somora at Flower Love London for answering my questions. I’ve learnt a lot, but couldn’t do what you ladies do – your days start far too early!
As ever, I owe my lovely readers a massive thank you, as well as the blogging community, whose reviews are a labour of love, and Amanda Brittany, for her tireless feedback and friendship.
And last, but never least, thank you to my family and friends for their constant encouragement, my children, Amy, Martin and Liam, for their unwavering support, and my husband Tim for everything – I couldn’t do it without you.
Published by Bookouture
* * *
An imprint of StoryFire Ltd.
23 Sussex Road, Ickenham, UB10 8PN
United Kingdom
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www.bookouture.com
Copyright © Karen Clarke 2017
* * *
Karen Clarke has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
* * *
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
* * *
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those
clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-78681-156-1