The Hopes and Dreams of Lucy Baker

by Jenni Keer

  Published by AVON

  A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

  Copyright © Jenni Keer 2019

  Cover design © Becky Glibbery 2019

  Cover illustrations © Shutterstock

  Jenni Keer 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 ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, 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 © January 2019; ISBN: 9780008309688

  Version: 2018-12-05

  To Lauren for starting me on the journey, and Linda for helping me get there.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Epilogue

  Lucy Baker’s Dairy-Free Cherry Muffin Recipe

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  ‘Bloody hell. There’s a cat back here.’

  A voice reverberated from the depths of the red and white removal van as Lucy Baker approached. It had been blocking in her tiny yellow Fiat for nearly two hours and despite popping out at regular intervals to check on progress, she saw it was still there. The Hobbycraft centre would be closing in half an hour and she wanted to pick up some more balls of the Candy Crush double knit while it was still on offer.

  She peered around the side as a pathetic almost-meow echoed off the van walls. A cautious black paw appeared from behind an upright double mattress at the far end, followed by a tiny pair of luminous yellow eyes.

  ‘Don’t just stand there. Pick the poor sod up,’ said the older man to his younger, spottier companion, who grunted and made a sudden lunge for the cat.

  Startled by the movement, the bony creature dashed down the centre of the van and leaped from the back, bypassing the ramp. It caught Lucy’s arm as it jumped and pelted up the pavement.

  ‘Idiot,’ the older man muttered and turned to Lucy. ‘You all right, love?’

  She nodded mutely and rubbed her arm as a noise to the left made her turn. In the open doorway of the newly occupied number twenty-four stood an extremely tall, suited man. Not too shabby on the eye, with a look of self-assurance, he was enough to get any heart fluttering. A subconscious hand went to her hair. Things were looking up if this was the new neighbour. Perhaps she could forgive him for failing to warn the residents of Lancaster Road it would be blocked for most of Sunday afternoon. After all, everyone deserved a second chance.

  ‘You own a cat, mate?’ the removal man called over to the suit.

  ‘God, no. Allergic to the damn things.’

  The zooming rocket of attraction, which had shot into the sky as she’d appraised the fine figure in the doorway, floated gently back to earth like a downy white feather. His second chance evaporated, along with the initial appeal she’d mistakenly conjured up based purely on his muscular frame and a pair of serious, dark eyes.

  ‘Well, we either brought him with us up the A1, or he’s local and we nearly took him home. Shame Liam here scared the poor bugger off. Let’s hope there’s not some broken-hearted kid pining for it this evening.’

  The suit strode over to the van. He was dressed terribly formally for someone who had spent the day moving house. Perhaps she’d got it wrong and he was the estate agent.

  ‘I hope the bloody thing hasn’t left cat hair all over my mattress or I’ll be up all night sneezing and rubbing my eyes.’

  Damn. It appeared Lancaster Road was stuck with him.

  ‘I don’t think it’s from a loving home,’ ventured Lucy. ‘The poor creature was in an awful state. It looked more like a stray to me.’

  The young lad finished unstrapping the mattress from the cargo rail and shuffled it forwards. ‘You take it on then,’ said the suited man, ‘if you feel so sorry for it.’

  ‘Oh no, I can’t.’ Lucy’s eyes were wide. ‘My landlady doesn’t allow pets.’

  They stood facing each other for an awkward moment.

  ‘Right,’ he finally said. ‘So then you’re loitering at the back of the removal van because…?’

  ‘Um, I’m just waiting to get my car out,’ and she pointed to her Fiat.

  ‘We’ll be done within the hour,’ he replied, not bothering to look across at Lucy’s trapped vehicle.

  ‘Great.’ Her smile was forced and her heart sank to the bottom of her flip-flops. The Hobbycraft centre would be closed by then.

  The suit cast his eyes around the few remaining items of furniture and returned to the house, closing the front door firmly behind him.

  Manhandling the wobbly mattress down the ramp, the removal men momentarily rested it on the pavement between them. The older guy looked over to the closed door and sighed, just as another front door was flung open. They heaved it up again and walked towards the house.

  ‘Okay, what’s going on?’ asked Brenda, the elderly lady who lived between Lucy and the new arrival. ‘Honestly, Lucy, your aura is all over the place. I could sense your frustration from the pantry.’

  Not exactly a conventional pensioner, Brenda’s purple-streaked, silvery hair fell down her back in a tidy plait, and her slightly hunched body was swathed in a rainbow of cotton garments. A silver locket was swinging from her neck but she tucked it out of si
ght as she walked towards the road. Her sharp eyes focused on the young lad and he wriggled uncomfortably. Juggling mattress and doorknob, the pair wrestled their way into number twenty-four.

  ‘You told me you were going to the retail park this afternoon, Lucy. Have you been waiting for the van all this time?’ Brenda ran her fingers back and forth through the purple buds of lavender growing in the narrow border down her path. Lucy caught the aroma and felt calmer.

  ‘It’s not a big deal. I can pop over after work next week.’

  ‘Nonsense. It would have taken them two minutes to shift the van across and let you out. Honestly, I do believe you wouldn’t have said anything if they’d parked it in the middle of your living room.’

  The family from across the road tumbled out their sunny yellow doorway; the harassed mother clutching a baby to her hip, and the little girl giving Brenda and Lucy a cheery wave. They waved back with equal enthusiasm.

  ‘I must finish those crocheted flower brooches for the preschool fête,’ Lucy said. ‘Chloe came over with her mother last week asking for tombola prizes. I have so many scraps of wool to use up, I feel I’m killing two birds with one crochet hook.’

  Brenda chuckled. ‘She’s not easy to refuse, is she? With that cheeky grin. She’s cleared me out of blackberry and apple preserve.’

  The family piled into their people carrier and Lucy couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous at the ease with which they pulled away from the kerb and trundled into the distance. If only the stupid removal van had parked three metres further down.

  Brenda peered over the low wall as the front door to number twenty-four finally clicked shut. ‘I glimpsed our new neighbour walking past earlier – quite the stud muffin. Good enough to eat and go back for seconds.’ Her hand went to her throat and she played with the silver chain. ‘A bit of male companionship would do you the world of good, young lady. Knitting needles and assorted buttons do not a fulfilling life make.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t.’ Lucy crossed her arms and stared at her dear friend, a woman most locals considered something of an enigma, but whom Lucy adored unreservedly. It wasn’t that people didn’t like Brenda, they loved her, but she made them feel uncomfortable. They would happily stop by for one of her herbal remedies if they had a migraine coming. Or the lotion from the doctor couldn’t clear up their intimate rash. But they didn’t like to stop for tea. It didn’t taste quite right… ‘I don’t need you to start matchmaking, and I certainly don’t want you chanting incantations at midnight in a potato sack in the hope the universe shifts slightly to the right and lots of non-existent chakras align – or whatever it is you do.’ Brenda was prone to floating about and pretending to be mysterious, and Lucy happily indulged her friend. It was harmless enough and Lucy suspected Brenda was playing out an elaborate theatrical charade purely for her own amusement. ‘You’ll make me drink something from a glass vial and three days later I’ll wake up with a headache, naked in a wheat field, surrounded by journalists.’

  ‘Tish. You do talk nonsense sometimes. I’m merely an enabler. And if we search deep enough inside ourselves, it’s amazing what can be summoned from within.’ She closed her eyes, her body rising as she inhaled slowly and put out her hands, palms upward. ‘Anyway, it’s pointless to protest, because things are afoot without any intervention from me. He’s already arrived,’ Brenda said, opening her eyes and looking serious.

  ‘Yes, we know all about his arrival: three hours blocking the road without so much as a note through our doors,’ said Lucy.

  ‘Not the sexy neighbour. The cat. I had a feeling there was one on its way.’

  ‘How on earth…’ began Lucy, but she had given up trying to find answers for the mysterious things that happened around her friend. Because if Brenda Pethybridge had been expecting a cat, Lucy suspected the universe wouldn’t dare fail to deliver.

  Chapter 2

  Lucy spotted the stray in her tiny square of garden later that evening, weaving its way in and out of the assorted pots of straggly begonias and half-stacked piles of bricks. The poor little thing was all jutty-out limbs and tufty black fur, and had no more meat on its bones than a Lowry matchstalk cat.

  Her efforts to coax it out were met with catty indifference and the nonchalant wipe of a chin along the edge of the battered metal watering can, so she changed tactics and five minutes later the nervous scrap was in her kitchen, peering up from the edge of a saucer of tuna.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Lucy begged. ‘I’d give you a home if I could.’

  There it was again, the feeling her stomach was doing a series of inelegant roly-polies. Realistically, there was no way her landlady would drive all the way out to Renborough for a spot check on a mid-May Monday evening, but Lucy couldn’t escape the nagging possibility, even if statistically it was more likely that the Prime Minister would stop by for a Jaffa Cake and a quick chat about the state of the NHS.

  As the tiny creature licked up the last flake, Lucy swiped open her phone and googled local cat rescue centres. Renborough Animal Rescue was the nearest, but it was overflowing and under-resourced. There was a heartfelt plea on the website for people to consider offering a forever home to one of their twelve black cats as they were either considered unlucky or boring; the cute kittens and striking ginger toms were always chosen first. If the centre took Lucy’s neighbourhood stray on, it would be number thirteen and that made her feel even more uncomfortable.

  Reluctantly, she dialled the number as the cat halted its post-banquet ablutions, cast her a catty glance and attempted to meow in protest. A pathetic squeak came out.

  ‘Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t have a choice.’

  The centre was closed but the answerphone invited her to leave a message or dial another number if it was an emergency. Lucy looked over to the cat, who was strutting up and down the kitchen and sniffing the stretcher rail of a chair. It hardly qualified as an emergency so she hung up.

  Fetching a hand-crocheted blanket through from the living room, she folded it to make a temporary bed on one of the mismatched pine kitchen chairs, but the curious cat had wandered into the hallway, so she scooped up the creature and returned it to the kitchen. Carefully closing the door behind her, she went into the living room to pick up her knitting. Not a skill mastered by many twenty-five-year-olds but the only real talent Lucy believed she had. Such a shame there wasn’t a great deal of demand for it in a professional capacity, knitting Shreddies for Nestlé aside, and she was fairly certain you had to be a nana for that.

  Later that evening, in the middle of a complicated bit of shaping, there was a genteel knock at the front door, followed by a cheery ‘Co-ee!’

  Lucy’s heart didn’t exactly sink but it certainly didn’t do a joyful skip as she opened the door to reveal her elegant mother; the sort of woman who coordinated everything from her soft furnishings to the contents of her fridge and expected everyone else to do the same.

  ‘Darling. Stand up straight. We don’t slouch.’ She double-kissed the air either side of Lucy’s face and took in her daughter’s resigned expression. ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’

  ‘It’s always lovely to see you, but you could have rung first. I might have had company or been out somewhere.’

  Her mother laughed at the joke Lucy didn’t know she’d made.

  ‘I’ll have a coffee please if you’re offering, but only if you’ve got the decent ground coffee in. Your father has driven out this way to collect an oily engine part from some eBay person for that damn BMW of his, and I said I’d come along for the ride so I could tell you about my simply marvellous plan for September.’

  Lucy gave her mother a blank look, the significance of September momentarily eluding her.

  ‘My Big Birthday,’ her mother prompted.

  ‘Oh.’ An uneasy feeling began to ripple across Lucy’s body. ‘I thought you’d decided to go for something low-key?’

  ‘I know I said I didn’t want to advertise the fact I’m turning fifty, but a
fter that poor woman across the road dropped down dead with an undiagnosed brain tumour at fifty-nine, it started me thinking. Life is precious and I want to celebrate that. Plus, it will be a wonderful excuse for a party. I rarely get the opportunity to dress up these days. You know what your father’s like with social occasions. And it’s not like I’m going to be buying another wedding outfit any time soon.’

  Lucy felt a bubbling panic rise in her chest. ‘I’m hardly an old maid.’ She had enough insecurities without the announcement of a forthcoming event where they could be bandied about by her less than subtle mother, in front of an intimate gathering of close family and friends. This was not a simply marvellous plan; this was a total and utter catastrophe.

  ‘Emily was married for two years and expecting her first child by the time she was your age.’

  Deliberately not responding, Lucy walked towards the kitchen to hunt for the packet of Colombian ground coffee she kept in especially for these visits. Not a coffee drinker herself, except in emergencies, she’d never quite got around to mentioning it to her mother.

  ‘I’m not saying motherhood is for everyone, but perhaps that’s where your strength lies. Perhaps you are a homemaker rather than a breadwinner?’

  Again, Lucy didn’t comment. Even though she loved Emily dearly, she wasn’t in the mood for a soliloquy about the virtues and achievements of her big sister. They had always been close, despite a five-year age gap and sixty miles between them, but her sister’s high-flying career and two adorable daughters were the bright orange carrot her mother periodically waved in front of her, even though Lucy wasn’t sure carrots were her thing.