Summer Daydreams
Hi everyone!
Just a note to say
THANKS SO MUCH
for choosing to read
Summer Daydreams
. There are so many demands on your hard-earned cash these days, that I really appreciate it. I hope that you’re managing to take a break from the daily grind this summer to kick back with family and friends.
I love it when readers write to me and tell me where they’re taking me on holiday! I have been halfway round the world and back in someone’s luggage or backpack. Even better, sometimes readers send me photographs of my books up the top of mountains or on cruise ships or even on sunloungers by the pool. It’s lovely to know that you’re sharing that time with me.
Whether you take me somewhere exotic or whether you’re in the back garden with me, I really hope that you can just take some time to sit back in the sunshine, relax, have a lovely read with maybe a glass of something chilled and recharge your batteries.
Wishing everyone a lovely summer!
Love Carole xx
P.S. Wear sunscreen!
Let’s Meet on Platform 8
A Whiff of Scandal
More to Life than This
For Better, For Worse
A Minor Indiscretion
A Compromising Position
The Sweetest Taboo
With or Without You
You Drive Me Crazy
Welcome to the Real World
The Chocolate Lovers’ Club
The Chocolate Lovers’ Diet
It’s a Kind of Magic
All You Need is Love
The Difference a Day Makes
That Loving Feeling
It’s Now or Never
The Only Way is Up
Wrapped up in You
Published by Hachette Digital
ISBN: 9780748123629
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 Carole Matthews
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
Hachette Digital
Little, Brown Book Group
100 Victoria Embankment
London, EC4Y 0DY
Contents
In Conversation with Carole Matthews and Helen Rochfort
A Beginner’s Guide to Designing a Handbag by Helen Rochfort
EXCLUSIVE Excerpt from With Love at Christmas
To my dear friend and long-time hairdresser, Sue, who has gone far, far too soon.
You’ll be missed more than words can say, lovely lady.
Susan Margaret MacGregor Perry
27 March 1955 – 20 July 2011
‘Two cod and chips?’ I look up from the counter.
‘Yes please, love.’ The man gives me a welcome smile.
It’s lunchtime, Friday, and we should be busier than this. Much busier. There’s been a steady trickle, but the usual queue at Live and Let Fry has been noticeably missing for some weeks now, maybe even months. I dish out the chips, golden and hot, and top them with two cod, freshly cooked, with crisp batter sizzling.
‘Salt? Vinegar?’
‘Just as they are,’ the customer says. He’s licking his lips already. It’s certainly not Phil’s fish and chips that are putting off the customers.
Wrapping them in white paper, I hand over his package and with a spring in his step, the customer leaves.
Phil Preston, my boss and fish-fryer extraordinaire, looks at his watch. ‘How many have been in today, Nell?’
‘Not many.’ I give a sympathetic grimace. A handful at best.
‘The cold weather normally brings in people in droves.’ Phil rubs his hands together even though it’s as warm as always in here.
As well as the takeaway counter, we also have a small eat-in café too, which is normally very popular. Today, there are just two people enjoying their lunch. Jenny, my co-worker, who is the waitress today, has spent most of her time flicking through
Heat
magazine.
‘I could stand outside and waft some chips about,’ Jenny offers helpfully as she drags her attention away from the latest celebrity dramas.
‘It’s going to take a bit more than that.’ Phil shakes his head. ‘We can’t keep blaming everything on the credit crunch.’
‘What about up-selling?’ Jen continues. ‘Like they do in coffee shops. Do you want a pie with that? Mushy peas? Pickled egg? Gherkin?’
We all laugh.
‘You have that down to a fine art, Jen,’ I tell her.
‘I’m going to try it tonight,’ she insists. ‘You watch me.’
Pinching a chip from the warmer, I nibble it absently. I’ve worked at the chippy now for well over a year. I do shifts at lunchtime – twelve until two – and then I’m back again in the evening – six through to ten. It means that my boyfriend, Olly, and I can share childcare for our daughter, Petal. I’m not saying it’s easy – we could probably both get jobs in the circus with the amount of juggling we have to do to get through the week – but needs must. We’re not alone in having to keep a lot of plates in the air these days. Everyone has to do it. Right? Petal’s just four years old and as much as I don’t want to wish her life away, I can’t wait for her to start school. I’m hoping that once she does, life won’t be quite as frantic as it is now.
‘What am I going to do?’ Phil asks, running his hand through his hair. ‘This is getting dire.’
The unspoken thought is that if it goes on like this then he won’t need to keep on so many staff. It’s probably only because Jenny, our other colleague, Constance, and I have been here for so long and the fact that we all get on so well that Phil hasn’t let one or more of us go before now. It’s a worrying time.
I look round at the café. The tables are glossy orange pine, the walls are painted peach and there’s a flowery border at waist-height that’s curling up in more places than it’s stuck to the wall. ‘It does look a bit tired in here, Phil,’ I venture. ‘If you don’t mind me saying.’
‘You think so?’
‘You’re a bloke,’ I remind him. ‘You never notice these things.’
‘It is a bit of an eighties throwback look,’ Jenny adds.
‘Really?’ Phil looks round as if he’s seeing the café with new eyes. ‘I’m useless with a paintbrush. I could get a decorator in to give us a quote if you think it needs a spruce up.’
‘They call it a makeover these days, Phil. It probably wouldn’t hurt,’ I say. It’s fair to say that it’s been a long time since Phil spent any money on the interior of this place.
Phil tuts. ‘What do reckon it would cost? Cash is the one thing I haven’t got to splash about.’
‘Give me some money,’ I say before my brain has fully engaged. ‘I’ll do it for you.’
Phil laughs.
‘You said yourself that you can’t afford to bring in the pros. I could do it a lot cheaper. We can all muck in to help. After all, it’s our jobs that are on the line if this place sinks.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘I’m a great decorator,’ I protest before he lays out his objections. ‘You’ve been to my house.’