Curl up with the magical novels of Emma Hannigan
‘Vintage Emma: wise, funny, full of wit and sparkle. Read and be uplifted’
Cathy Kelly
‘Brimming with warmth, love and friendship – Emma is on every page of this absorbing, heartfelt read’
Patricia Scanlan
‘A beautiful story about fractured families, unconditional love and the importance of friendship. I read it in one sitting’
Sinéad Moriarty
‘Warm, intelligent and brilliant’
Marian Keyes
‘The characters shine off the page. A tale packed with warmth, empathy and a deep understanding of the quirks and imperfections of family life. A wonderful storyteller’
S Magazine
‘Emma Hannigan pulls at the heartstrings . . . A beautifully written, inspiring story of hope and family bonds’
Express
‘A moving tale celebrating the bonds between women, Emma Hannigan beautifully captures the difficult and wondrous thing that is loving and learning to let go . . . just a little. An excellent read’
Irish Tatler
‘Emotional and heartbreaking . . . A fast-paced story with endearingly warm characters – you’ll savour this touching tale’
Candis magazine, Book of the Month
‘This fast-paced and endearing novel is about friendship between women, accepting yourself and trusting your own judgement’
Belfast Telegraph
‘Restores our faith in human nature and makes us feel warm inside’
Writing Magazine
‘Moving, imaginative and believable, this emotional novel is the perfect read for a rainy day’
Reveal magazine
‘Her heart and soul was poured into every word of this story and it just radiates from the pages. A wonderful, heartfelt, emotive book’
Shaz’s Book Blog
‘Savour a novel from an author who knows what makes people tick’
Irish Independent
‘I didn’t just like it, I really LOVED it . . . Grab this book, curl up on the couch and prepare to have a few lump in your throat moments too’
Celeste Loves Books
‘An inspirational novel. Warm, lovingly written and full of hope’
Bleach House Library
Copyright © 2019 Emma Hannigan
Cover illustration © Robyn Neild. Lettering by www.ruthrowland.co.uk
Author photo © Marc O’Sullivan
The right of Emma Hannigan to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This ebook edition published in 2019
By HEADLINE REVIEW
An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN 978 1 4722 4652 3
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
www.headline.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Contents
Praise for Emma Hannigan
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Also by Emma Hannigan
About the Book
Dedication
Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Four months later . . .
Acknowledgements
All Good Things Must Come to an End
In Emma’s words
Discover more novels from Emma Hannigan
About the Author
Emma Hannigan was the beloved and bestselling author of thirteen novels, including the No. 1 bestseller Letters to my Daughters. Her bestselling memoir, Talk to the Headscarf, was updated and revised as All To Live For: Fighting Cancer. Finding Hope.
In 2007, Emma was diagnosed with breast cancer and her eleven-year battle with cancer began. As an ambassador for Breast Cancer Ireland Emma worked to dispel the fears around cancer and spread hope about new treatments. In February 2018, Emma shared that her team of dedicated doctors had exhausted all avenues in terms of her treatment. She launched a social media campaign #HelpEmmaHelpOthers to raise €100,000 for Breast Cancer Ireland. Two weeks later, shortly before her death, Emma’s target had been reached.
In the final months of her life, Emma completed her thirteenth novel, The Gift of Friends, sending her acknowledgements to her editor just days before she passed away in March.
By Emma Hannigan
Designer Genes
Miss Conceived
The Pink Ladies Club
Keeping Mum
Perfect Wives
Driving Home for Christmas
The Summer Guest
The Heart of Winter
The Secrets We Share
The Perfect Gift
The Wedding Promise
Letters to my Daughters
The Gift of Friends
The Wedding Weekend (e-short)
All To Live For
About the Book
From the Number One bestselling author Emma Hannigan comes The Gift of Friends, a magical story of love, friendship and hope.
Kingfisher Road – a leafy, peaceful street in the town of Vayhill. But there are whispers behind closed doors. Who is moving into Number 10?
Engaged to handsome, wealthy Justin Johnston, Danielle appears to her new neighbours to have the perfect, glossy life. But not everything is as it seems . . .
In fact, each of the other four women who live close by has a secret, and each is nursing their own private heartache.
But could a gift be waiting on their doorsteps? And, by opening their front doors, and their hearts, to each other, could the women of Kingfisher Road discover all the help they need?
This book is for my family. They are the ones I spent most of my time with and they’re the ones I’ll miss every minute of every day.
For Cian, Sacha, Kim, Mum, Dad, Timmy, Hilary, Robyn & Steffy, with all my love.
SHE WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING HOME. The day had started out beautifully, but now it had clouded over and the first drops of rain weren’t far away. As she turned into Kingfisher Road and walked under the granite archway, she was thinking of fresh coffee and the Victoria sponge she had bought in the bakery. Bliss!
There was a car and a van in the dri
veway of number ten. The back doors of the van were standing open and as she approached, a burly man pulled a large For Sale sign out of the back and strode over to the garden wall. He dropped the sign on the ground, then went back to the van for a large hammer. So, it was up for sale, she thought. That was interesting. Who would the new neighbours be, she wondered. It wouldn’t be on the market for long, that was for sure. These houses didn’t come up for sale often, so when they did there was always a scrum of buyers elbowing each other out of the way to nab one.
A man in a sharp suit stepped out of the house and smiled when he saw her.
‘Good morning,’ he called out very loudly. ‘Are you a resident?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, I live just across there.’ She pointed at the houses opposite.
‘I was just about to deliver these to the other houses,’ he said, waving a sheaf of papers in the air, ‘so you’ve saved me one journey.’
She waited at the wall until he walked down to her.
‘Here you go,’ he said, peeling off one of the brochures and handing it to her. ‘I’m Mark Scott, by the way. I’m with Berwick Estate Agents and Valuers and we would like to do business on Kingfisher Road.’
‘I see,’ she said. ‘Well, I’ll certainly take a look at this. Thank you.’
She crossed the road, walking slowly to her own house, looking at the brochure in her hand. It was a glossy full-colour production to sell number ten, and a page had been stapled to the front that said: Similar Required. Please talk to us if you are considering selling. We are very eager to acquire properties on Kingfisher Road, Drake Avenue, Heron Way and Mallard Park. Contact us in confidence for a valuation.
Well, she wasn’t thinking of selling. She hoped to live and die in her beautiful home. It was perfect for her needs.
Once inside the house, she made a coffee, cut a slice of cake and went up to the small sitting room upstairs to enjoy them. The room had a wide bay window that jutted out over the front garden, giving her views up and down the road. She loved to sit here and read, or just watch the comings and goings on Kingfisher Road.
She brought the brochure with her and read it as she sipped her coffee.
Kingfisher Road is the most sought-after address in Vayhill. This stunning property is the first house on the left upon entering via the stone archway that announces the enclave. Kingfisher Road is situated a mere ten minutes’ walk from the town centre, making it an easy commute to a vast array of shops, restaurants and bars . . .
Number ten is set behind wrought-iron electric gates, with imposing granite pillars. The grounds are landscaped and immaculately kept, with space to park six cars. The main house is finished in coarse granite and rendered plaster panels. Two brick chimneystacks stand majestically above the original clay tiled roof . . .
The interior of the property is wonderfully proportioned, with large rooms and high ceilings, with many original features still in place, such as ornate marble fireplaces and leaded windows . . .
There are lawns to the side and rear, surrounded by mature trees offering privacy to the sizeable paved patio. The entire glazed rear of this building can be folded back on warmer days . . .
This is a very special and enviable property. Houses on this prestigious street rarely come on the market, so this is a wonderful opportunity to join this exclusive community. Number ten is in impeccable condition and ready to move into for the lucky purchaser.
Well, they certainly made it sound desirable. It was a fantastic property, one of the best on the road. She couldn’t wait to see who would snap it up. She turned to the last page.
Kingfisher Road is the home of your dreams: beautiful, secluded, quiet and meticulously maintained by all residents. It is a prestigious address where we promise you will live happily ever after. Make your dreams come true: Live Happy!
She rolled her eyes. What nonsense. These estate agents had really lost the run of themselves – happily ever after? How could anyone promise that? Talk about false advertising.
She put down the brochure and sighed. Didn’t people understand that having the home of your dreams didn’t mean you’d have the life of your dreams? But then, she’d been naive enough to believe that once. She had thought she was going to have a wonderful life, she had honestly believed it would all go according to her grand plan. Instead, all her dreams had fallen apart, lying in pieces around her feet. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
She looked out at Kingfisher Road, the other ‘houses of your dreams’. Her best friends lived in those houses, wonderful women, but they didn’t really know her. She’d never had the guts to tell them the truth, and she reckoned she never would. She wondered if they were as happy as they seemed or were their houses like hers – perfect façades to hide the pain and heartache that lived behind them. Was it all a lie, just keeping up appearances? That was her life anyway, but she couldn’t admit that to anyone.
She impatiently rubbed away the tear that slid down her cheek. Self-pity wouldn’t help her. She was ashamed, that was the real truth of it. The secret she hid from everyone made her feel pathetic and defeated. If her friends knew, they would shun her. So yes, she lived in a perfect home on the perfect street, where everything was beautiful and to outsiders it looked gorgeously glamorous, but behind her closed door it was a very different story. It was horribly far from perfect.
Chapter 1
BETSY COX WAS USUALLY THE FIRST TO KNOW about anything concerning Kingfisher Road. Proud to be the longest-standing resident on the salubrious and beautiful stretch of road she called home, she made it her business to know what was going on and to ensure her neighbours were well informed too. As head of the Residents’ Association, she took her role very seriously. Kingfisher Road was special, and Betsy wouldn’t let anything threaten its happy and civilised existence.
This was why the sight of the For Sale sign being removed at number ten made her stop in her tracks. She had only walked the fifteen minutes to the town centre to get the newspaper for Noel. When she’d left, everything had been quiet and the For Sale sign was standing erect in the spacious garden at number ten, but now, on her way back again, a man with a lump hammer was busy taking it down. A van was parked outside, its doors standing open and a jumble of signs inside. She walked determinedly over to him.
‘Good morning. It’s sold, I see. Can you tell me who bought it?’
The man looked up in surprise. ‘Me? No, sorry, love, I haven’t a clue about that.’ He gave her an apologetic smile. ‘They don’t tell the likes of me that sort of thing.’
Betsy felt a shot of frustration dart through her.
‘Right so. Well, thanks for doing such a neat job. Goodbye.’
Really, the estate agents should have to inform the Association in advance of anyone moving in, to give them an idea of their new neighbours. It was such a tightknit community here – the complex had just ten houses, which meant that every resident had a big impact on the whole look and feel of the place. It was essential to get people who were the right fit.
In fact, she’d had that thought after the last owners of number ten had moved in and out in jig time. They were a young couple and insisted on keeping to themselves, which was very annoying. A sense of community was very much part of the experience of living on Kingfisher Road, but those two had failed to realise that. Betsy had sent over invitations to various get-togethers, but she’d barely received an answer, let alone an acceptance. It didn’t augur well to Betsy, and she’d been proved right. After a honeymoon period when they gazed adoringly at each other, no matter who was trying to talk to them, the pair of them started to look miserable.
The odd thing was, strange things started to go wrong with the house – there was a burst pipe that flooded the kitchen, an unheard-of occurrence for these houses. They had been built to the highest specification and with the very best materials, so problems were rare. But number ten suddenly went rogue, with the flood, and then part of a window-sill just fell off one day, one of the gates unacc
ountably came off its hinge and Betsy had heard that one of them had put a foot through a stair on the steps down to the basement, like something from a Laurel and Hardy movie. As far as Betsy was concerned, the whole fiasco was the house letting them know they didn’t belong here – or with each other, for that matter. They finally got the message and went their separate ways and the For Sale went up. The houses on Kingfisher Road knew what was right, Betsy thought, unlike the estate agents obviously. As she made her way up to her own gate, she resolved to put that question on the agenda of the next Association meeting: should we petition Berwick Estate Agents and Valuers to supply information in advance of a house sale/arrival of new owner?
As she walked up the driveway to her own house, Betsy smiled. She adored her home. Even the sound of the name made her feel happy. Mount Liah, with its fine red-brick finish, Edwardian proportions and sweeping flower gardens was the envy of most of the population of Vayhill. Betsy and her husband of thirty-five years, Noel, lived in the first house on the right-hand side of the road, number one. Each house was different and some were bigger than others, but all were set behind granite walls and wrought-iron gates. Nowadays, of course, they all had electric gates fitted. Mount Liah had been the first to get them installed. It was for security, Noel insisted, and besides, they couldn’t let the standards of the road slip. It was important to Betsy, and to Noel, that they lived in such a beautiful, well-maintained and quiet area.
Before she married Noel, Betsy used to walk her dog down Kingfisher Road and wonder what the people in each of the houses were like. She was born and raised in Vayhill town, in a small ex-corporation house where every penny was counted and accounted for. Betsy came from a family of eleven children, and there had been no time or money for fawning over anyone. From the time she became a teenager, she had felt her life was narrow and claustrophobic. She had to mind the younger ones and do the lion’s share of cooking and cleaning, so free time was a precious commodity. When she did manage to slip out with the dog, she came here, to walk through a dream. These houses and the lives of the people who lived in them seemed impossibly glamorous and free to Betsy, the opposite of everything she’d ever known.
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