by Liz Eeles
But everything feels more ‘right’ with Josh, from kissing to, well, other things, and Alice says we’re made for one another. Mind you, she approves of anything that keeps me in Cornwall so she’ll be cock-a-hoop about the local job interviews I’ve got lined up. The first is for an accountancy firm needing secretarial support which sounds solid if boring, but I’ve set my heart on the second interview. That’s for a role as PA to the chief exec of a charity providing music sessions for people with disabilities. I can do everything on the job spec so fingers crossed, and I might mention that Josh and I are running Salt Bay Choral Society together. I could always tell the chief exec how the choir and its music helped bring me and Josh together, though that’s probably what Amber would call ‘TMI’ – too much information.
‘Are you ready then?’ Alice brings my thoughts back to what I have to do first. She hooks her arm through mine and we walk slowly along the gravel path to Celandine House. The care home looks imposing from the road, with high stone walls and a tall metal gate painted shiny black. But the building itself is softer with curves and bay windows and a bright blue front door with a ramp leading up to it. There are palm trees in huge terracotta pots on either side of the ramp and their long fronds are swishing in the breeze. We’re further inland here but the air still tastes of salt.
Alice rings the doorbell while I glance at Josh, who’s leaning against his car near the dent that’s a permanent reminder of how we met. Isn’t it funny how something seemingly insignificant can change the course of your life so completely? All it took was one small stone, one bad mood and one surprisingly accurate throw. Josh smiles reassuringly at me and puts his thumb up while I feel grateful for my good fortune.
Alice rings the bell again and, after a minute or two, the door is opened by a stout woman with pink apple-cheeks and the vaguest hint of a moustache. She gives a wide grin and beckons for us to come inside.
‘How are you now, Mrs Gowan? And how is your poor house doing? I read about it in the paper.’
‘It’s a bit of a mess but everything can be mended, thank you Maria. Annabella is overseeing the clean-up and I should be able to move back in before too long.’ Alice pauses to write our names and the time in the visitors’ book on the hall table. ‘How is Sheila today?’
‘Oh you know, much the same,’ says Maria, eyeing me curiously. ‘She was in one of her anxious states yesterday and very confused but she’s calmer today and she ate a decent breakfast. The last time I saw her she was in the Garden Room.’
While Alice and Maria are chatting about Sheila, I take a good look round. The hallway is elegant and high-ceilinged with white plaster cornicing and a picture rail. But there’s no disguising we’re in a care home. Charts and checklists on the walls are a giveaway, including a laminated sheet informing visitors that the latest CQC inspection awarded a ‘good’ rating. All the rooms leading off the hall have fire doors and there’s a faint acrid smell of urine overlaid with pine disinfectant. Staff are busying about in bottle-green tabards and an elderly man wanders past with his coat on although it’s hot indoors. He’s wearing a natty fedora hat which he tips at me before he disappears round a corner.
‘Follow me, Annabella.’ Alice bids goodbye to Maria and leads me through the hall, past a lift and into a bright room with lemon-painted walls. Comfy chairs with brown cushions are lined up around the edges of the room and there are double-glazed French doors in the end wall, leading into a small garden.
Residents are sitting on benches outside enjoying the sunshine but Alice makes a beeline for the far corner of the room where a woman is sitting hunched over and alone. A multicoloured crochet blanket is draped over her knees in spite of warm air from outside wafting through the open French windows.
‘Sheila, how are you? It’s Alice here to see you.’ Alice bends to kiss the woman on the cheek before smoothing white hair from the woman’s forehead. So this is Sheila. This is my grandmother. However many times I say it in my head, it doesn’t seem real. Sheila smiles up at Alice, like you’d smile at a kind stranger who’s just wandered in, while I hang back.
‘Come and sit down, dear.’ Alice sinks heavily into a chair and points at the chair on the other side of my grandmother. ‘Sheila, this is my friend, Annabella. And how are you doing?’ She rubs Sheila’s knee through the blanket. ‘Are you keeping well?’
‘Very well, thank you.’ Sheila looks at Alice and tilts her head to one side as though trying to place her.
‘Do you remember me, Sheila? You came to live with us at Tregavara House when you married my brother, Samuel.’
A flash of recognition flares in Sheila’s hazel eyes but is almost immediately extinguished.
‘How is Samuel?’ she asks politely.
‘Samuel is fine,’ says Alice quietly while I wonder whether forgetting your husband and child is preferable to the pain of remembering you’ve lost them.
‘Who is this?’ Sheila stares directly at me, ignoring two women in tabards who hurry past towards the sound of a bell ringing deep in the heart of the house.
‘This is my friend who’s going to be staying with me at Tregavara House.’
‘My name is Annabella and it’s lovely to meet you at last.’ Sheila’s hands are resting in her lap. I put my hand on hers and our eyes meet properly for the first time. She looks like my mum, or at least how Mum would have looked if she’d had the chance to age. They share the same snub nose and fine hair, and the almond-shaped eyes that Alice doesn’t have but I do. I suppose this is how I’ll look in fifty-five years’ time. Sheila pulls her hand away and leans her head back against the chair as though she’s tired.
I’m not sure what one says to a long-lost grandmother so I keep quiet while Alice chats. But though Sheila listens and smiles when Alice talks to her, she seems to be somewhere else in her head, somewhere she can’t be reached. News about the aftermath of the flood is greeted without a flicker and she doesn’t react when Alice explains that I’ll be staying with her when the house is repaired, and Emily will be moving in too.
We did think of telling Emily there was no longer a job for her, now that I’m moving back in. But we’ve grown rather fond of kind, other-worldly Emily so she’ll look after Alice as planned while I go out to work. I’m not sure I have the patience to be a full-time carer so it makes sense. Until then Emily’s been chucked in the deep end with a temporary job at The Whistling Wave. Roger took some persuading that ‘odd Emily’ could manage behind the bar, and he’ll be on my case if she messes up. But she needs to fill the gap until she moves into Tregavara House and maybe dealing with Roger’s punters will build up her confidence and be good for her.
It’s definitely good for Kayla, who’s heading off on an extended holiday Down Under with Ollie in tow.
‘I intend to show him off to my family and especially to my sisters, the Smug Marrieds,’ she told me with a wink, chucking another tiny bikini into her suitcase. ‘They settled for boring, stick-thin accountants while I’ve got my very own rugby god with thighs to die for. Let’s see if they think I’m the weird one now.’ I’m going to miss her.
Ouch! Sheila has grabbed my arm and is digging her fingers into my skin, and I’d guess it’s some time since she had her nails trimmed.
‘Are you all right, Sheila?’ asks Alice, concerned about the change in her sister-in-law who’s pulled herself up straight in her chair. Her eyes are different; more focused and alert. It’s as though someone has flicked a switch and she’s back.
Ignoring Alice, Sheila lets go of my arm – thank goodness – but grasps hold of my hand instead and raises it to her face. She holds my palm against the wrinkled skin on her cheek and breathes heavily. Her grip is remarkably strong for an old lady.
Sheila’s lips are moving though it’s hard to make out the words because she’s speaking so quietly. But then I understand.
‘Joanna,’ whispers Sheila, looking at me intently. ‘My darling Joanna. You came back to me. You came home.’
Alic
e makes a strangled sound and I realise that she’s crying. I’m blubbing too and big fat tears plop off our chins while Sheila beams at me in delight. But the moment is passing, Sheila’s memories are beginning to fade and her eyes become unfocused as she retreats back into her own world. I hope with all my heart that it’s a wonderful world where she’s standing with her daughter on the beach in Salt Bay, while seagulls wheel above them and a salty wind blows through their hair.
And now it’s my world too. I look at lovely Alice who’s dabbing at her face with a handkerchief and think of the kind, strong man waiting for me outside. Next week Salt Bay Choral Society will begin rehearsals for Charlie and Pippa’s wedding, and Josh and I will wander hand in hand to Tregavara House afterwards to check on my family home. This is what belonging feels like and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
‘Yes,’ I say, stroking the back of Sheila’s hand. ‘I came back to you. I came home.’
A Note from Liz
Well, the book’s written and this is the extra-special part for me where I get the chance to thank you for reading it. I really hope you’ve enjoyed getting to know Annie and following her struggle to settle in Cornwall with Alice. And with Josh, of course, who (you might have gathered) looks rather like a mixture of Aidan Turner and Richard Armitage. That’s how I see him anyway. If he’s different in your head, that’s fine. Just so long as he’s gorgeous.
If you did enjoy reading Annie’s Lovely Choir by the Sea, I’d be incredibly grateful if you could spend just a few minutes posting a review. I can’t wait to hear what you think, and your views might help persuade new readers to spend time in Salt Bay. It’s only a small village but the more visitors the merrier!
If you’d like to get in touch, you can also contact me through Facebook, Twitter or Instagram where I’m often loitering. I know I should be writing but I’m far too easily distracted by social media. In my defence, a writer’s life can be lonely so it’s great to catch up with old friends and make new ones – and whose day isn’t improved by GIFs of cats in party hats?
I’ve had that much fun in Salt Bay I don’t want to leave. So, I’m writing a new book about what Annie, Josh and the Salt Bay Choral Society get up to next. I can’t give too much away but I promise it’ll be Christmassy with lots more surprises for Annie as she adjusts to life in the wilds of wonderful Cornwall. If you use the link below and sign up to my mailing list, I can let you know when it’s published later this year:
Liz’s Email Sign up
Until then, thank you again and happy reading!
@lizeelesauthor
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www.instagram.com/lizeelesauthor
Acknowledgments
Annie’s Lovely Choir by the Sea would never have been written or published without the support of some very special people.
My heartfelt thanks to the talented team at Bookouture for making my writing dreams come true, and to fairy godmother Kirsty Greenwood who first brought me and Bookouture together. I’ve been pinching myself ever since. It’s been my good fortune to work with editors Emily Ruston and Abigail Fenton during the exciting (and slightly scary for a debut author) publication process, and my book is all the better for their astute advice and encouragement.
I’m indebted to my lovely family and friends for their unwavering support. In particular, northern goddess Sue Becker who went above and beyond as First Reader/Chief Cheerleader. And my wonderful mum and dad, Margaret and Ivor Eeles, who first sparked my love of Cornwall when they took me and my brothers there for family holidays. I have joyful memories of sitting on Perranuthnoe Beach in my plastic mac, making sandcastles – which proves that Cornwall is always magical, even in the rain.
Huge thanks also to the choirs I’ve belonged to over the years for giving me the opportunity to help make marvellous music.
Finally, I’d be lost without my husband Tim who gave me the time and chance to pursue my writing dreams. In return I introduced him to the genre of romantic comedy, which wasn’t quite as genteel as he’d imagined. To Sam and Ellie, who make everything worthwhile, I’d just like to say: hey kids, your stressy mum has written a proper book!
Published by Bookouture
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An imprint of StoryFire Ltd.
23 Sussex Road, Ickenham, UB10 8PN
United Kingdom
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www.bookouture.com
Copyright © Liz Eeles 2017
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Liz Eeles has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
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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.
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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: 978-1-78681-062-5