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Copyright
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2019
Copyright © Alexandra Brown 2019
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2019.
Cover illustrations © Shutterstock.com
Alexandra Brown 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 e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, 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.
Source ISBN: 9780008110444
Ebook Edition © June 2019 ISBN: 9780008110444
Version 2019-05-16
Dedication
For QT – I got you babe!
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Keep Reading…
Also by Alex Brown
About the Author
About the Publisher
Chapter One
Cher, the landlady of the Duck & Puddle pub, loved this time of day. Early in the morning, as the sun was rising over the valley of undulating fields surrounding the village of Tindledale; before anyone else was up and preparations for another busy day began, pulling pints and serving the hungry villagers hearty, homemade meals. Today’s special was roast beef, sourced from Pete’s farm two fields over, with all the trimmings, followed by a giant wedge of lemon meringue pie. And so, with a mug of tea and a plate piled high with toast and marmalade, Cher settled on the bench at the back of the pub garden, tilted her face up to bask in the already warm rays and inhaled a huge lungful of fresh country air. Sighing, she smiled and gazed across the fields dotted with springy lambs cavorting without a care in the world. A rainbow of wild flowers as tall as the fence swaying in the warm, gentle breeze. A collection of cabbage white butterflies fluttering all around. Tindledale, the village where she lived now, really was idyllic and a million miles away from the concrete jungle of the East London estate where she had grown up.
‘You OK, love?’ It was Clive, aka Sonny, on account of him being Cher’s boyfriend, wandering across the grass towards her in his chef whites. When they had first arrived in Tindledale to manage the village pub a few years ago, one of the regulars had said it for a laugh, as in, ‘so if our new landlady is called Cher and you’re her fella, then you must be Sonny’ before belting out a line from the iconic duo’s song, “I Got You Babe”. And it had been that way ever since. Now everyone in Tindledale called him Sonny.
‘Yes,’ she smiled up at him. ‘I was just admiring the view and thinking what a marvelous place it is and that I’ll never, ever grow tired of living here.’ And she put her mug down on the grass before sweeping an appreciative hand across the glorious vista in front of them.
‘Well, you’ll never have to leave,’ he nodded, sitting on the bench beside her and pulling her in for a hug. We can grow old together here now that we’ve bought the pub from the brewery. I still can’t believe it’s actually ours and we’re no longer tenants.’
‘Thanks to your savings. And my dad, of course.’ Cher twiddled with a stray strand of hair that had escaped from her treacle-coloured beehive. It was a year ago that her dad, Bill, had died. He had been in his eighties and lived a lovely, long, happy life before slipping away peacefully one night in his sleep. Keen for his daughter to have security in these volatile times, Bill had left Cher enough of an inheritance so that with Sonny’s savings, and some money that she had also put by, they could buy the pub. Originally built in 1706 as a coaching inn, it had all the charm and whimsy of a traditional English pub with Tudor beams and a large Inglenook fireplace where a real log fire crackled away during the winter months, radiating a cosy glow through the mullioned windows. ‘Such a shame he had to go. I always thought he was invincible.’
‘I know, darling,’ Sonny soothed as he kissed her cheek and rubbed the palm of his hand up and down her arm, ‘he was a good’un.’
‘I guess I should be over it by now, but I do miss him so much. I went to call him earlier to tell him a joke that I overheard in the pub last night. You know how he loved a good joke. It’s daft really, that I sometimes totally forget he isn’t here ….’
‘No, love, it’s not daft at all,’ Sonny cut in, ‘your dad was an amazing man, larger than life. You’re bound to miss him ….’ He reached down to the grass to retrieve her mug before handing it to her. ‘And you can still talk to him, you know. He’s all around us. I bet he’s even earwigging right now.’ He laughed, shaking his head.
‘Thanks,’ she took the mug and drank the last of her tea. ‘And yes, you’re right. Dad always did love being nosey. People watching he called it,’ Cher smiled before tucking in to a slice of toast, licking her lips to savour the tangy sweet marmalade. ‘Fancy a slice?’ she offered the plate of toast to Sonny.
‘Oh, yes please. Can’t beat Kitty’s marmalade,’ he beamed, biting in to a slice, ‘which reminds me, I must pop over to the Spotted Pig Café and ask her to make two of her strawberry jam roly-polys for the lunchtime crowd. Sybil and her Tindledale Tappers are coming in for their monthly knit off meeting and you know how they love a wedge of roly-poly smothered in custard after they’ve knitted a mountain of those baby hats for the maternity unit at the hospital.’
‘Ah yes, we must make sure the knitters are kept amply fuelled with jam roly-poly,’ Cher laughed, thinking what a fantastic job her best friend, Sybs, did, not only running the haberdashery shop in the village, but all the knitting and sewing classes she organised too. And with toddler twins as well – and married to the local GP which seemed to involve her being routinely stopped in the village square by people keen to show her various injuries or discuss ailments ahead of their appointment with Dr Ben, she was a very busy woman indeed. ‘I’ll put it on the specials board in that case. We don’t want the prem babies going without their little woolly hats,’ she added, in between polishing off the last slice of toast.
‘Good idea,’ Sonny confirmed, then added, ‘so, what’s brought on the quiet mood this morning? You’ve not talked about your dad for a little while now, love.’
‘I’m not really sure, to be honest. I was feeling fairly peaceful about him not being here anymore … you know, that I could smile at the memories and chat to him in my head about the daft stuff we used to laugh about when I was growing up. I just wasn’t feeling as sad … in fact, I’d been feeling very upbeat and excited about our wedding. I know it’s going to be such a fantastic day, it’s just that …’ she left her voice tail off.
‘Oh, sweetheart, so that’s what has brought this on. It’s the wedding. Bound to be. It’s stirring things up for you, and understandably. It’s only a fortnight away … and not having your dad here on the best day of our lives,’ Sonny gave her a squeeze and another kiss on the cheek.
‘I guess so,’ Cher leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘And he would have loved it. A real knees-up, here in the pub, with your special seafood platters and all the fancy hors d’oeuvres you’re making. And the cupcake tower. Dad loved a cupcake.’
‘And don’t forget the actual wedding cake. Those three fruit cake tiers are brewing so nicely, I’ve been feeding them cups of sherry to keep them moist. I might start the icing soon too,’ Sonny said, enthusiastically.
‘Ah, I can’t wait to see your finished masterpiece, I’m so glad we went with family tradition and chose the same cake design as my parents had on their big day. It’s nice that they kept the figurines from the top of their cake and now we can use them too – it’s those little touches that are going to make our day so special.’
‘Yes, do you remember? Your Dad was over the moon when you told him you planned on doing this.’
‘Ah, he always was a big, sentimental, softy. Talking of which, do you remember how thrilled he was when you went all traditional and asked him if you could marry me?’ Cher smiled.
‘Sure do. He was properly made up. Did me an enormous favour too, when he produced your granny’s engagement ring, they don’t make Bobby Dazzlers like that these days. Saved me an arm and a leg your dad did. Very decent of him!’ And he lifted her left hand up and gave her a cheeky grin. Cher smiled at the tender memory of Sonny’s proposal on the village green. It was at the end of a glorious summer day, at the Tindledale Great Village Show. The sun was dipping down on the horizon, the waft of sweet candy floss still floating on the warm breeze and everyone had clapped, their friends all delighted for them when Sonny went down on one knee in the long grass by the disco marquee after asking the DJ to play “I Got You Babe”– their song. Cher glanced down at the beautifully cut square diamond on her ring finger, catching the sunlight as if Dad was twinkling at her and spurring her on to grab life with both hands, as he always had. And he had been a big fan of Cher, the singing superstar, even naming his only daughter after her, and so had been delighted when he heard the song that Sonny had thoughtfully organised for such a special moment. Then, on realising what Sonny was implying about not having to buy the ring himself, she playfully batted her hand into his chest.
‘Oi, cheapskate.’
‘Well, back then I was still trying to save so we could buy the pub, not to mention paying for the actual wedding – I was never going to let your dad foot the bill for that. No way. Asking for your hand in marriage is as traditional as I can go …. And good job one of us was on the ball as this wedding is ending up costing us a small fortune. We’ll have no money left at all at this rate. Who knew wedding dresses could cost so much, not to mention the grey and navy pinstripe number you want me to wear.’ He shook his head.
‘Oh, shush,’ Cher teased, gently. ‘You only get married once. Hopefully.’
‘Exactly! So why spend nearly all our budget on what you are wearing for just one day? It baffles me, love, as you could have a whole new wardrobe, that you could wear for years, for the same amount of money you’ve spent on your wedding dress.’
‘It’s not really the same though. Maybe I’m just being an old-fashioned, sentimental twit, but I love the idea of keeping my wedding dress for ever and maybe one day having a daughter that could wear it as well if she wants to.’
‘Hmm, good point. That would be nice, wouldn’t it,’ he said, seemingly mulling it all over. ‘So when will your wedding dress be ready?’
‘This week, hopefully. I’ve had the final fitting, the bridesmaids have too, and so the woman in the wedding dress shop in Market Briar is going to deliver the dresses any day now as soon as she’s made the final adjustments. She knows how busy it’s getting behind the bar. I’m rushed off my feet most days. We both are. Not that I’m complaining … it’s great that our lovely boozer is so popular, but it does make getting out to do other things a bit tricky sometimes … like collect my own wedding dress,’ she laughed.
‘Sure does. It’s kind of her to bring the dresses to you, we must give her a drink on the house when she arrives.’
‘Yes, I’m so excited and happy. I can’t wait to see the finished gown and try it all on at home with the shoes and everything. Sybs and the rest of the bridesmaids are looking forward to trying on their dresses too.’
‘Then it’s worth every penny to have you happy and excited, love.’
‘Thanks, and so no more grumbling about the cost. Besides, I didn’t hear you complaining when I told you about the sexy, silk underwear I’ll be wearing on the day … I’ve gone traditional on that too and got the garter and frilly-topped stockings to go with it all.’ She nudged him in the ribs and winked saucily.
‘Wow. And I am only joking, love. Honestly, it’s going to be brilliant, and I really want you to have your dream day. Although I’d marry you in whatever you decide to wear, you’re gorgeous just as you are … without stockings and garters and all that palaver.’ He nudged her back.
‘Ah, you’re a big softy too. And I do love you for it. It’s just a shame we opted for a long engagement, if we had got a move on Dad could have given me away,’ she sighed.
‘But your mum will do a fantastic job of it, I’m sure, love.’
‘Yes, you’re right. And she’s very excited too. I talked to her on the phone last night and she was gabbling on so fast about hats and flowers for the button holes and would I mind if she wore a lovely cream suit she’s spotted in the window of a shop in town and could she add her new friend, Sheila, to the guest list because she loves a good wedding and … on and on she went, barely drawing breath. At this rate, it’ll be a wonder if she doesn’t pop with joy before the big day.’
Sonny laughed, checking his watch and standing up. ‘Well, until then it’s business as usual. I’ve got Barry from the hardware store coming by in a bit so I need to get back into the pub.’
‘Oh, it’s early for him. What’s he coming for?’
‘He’s desperate for storage space after his cellar flooded. I said he could use our beer cellar. It’s nice and dry down there. And temperature controlled. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Of course not,’ she smiled, feeling much brighter now after their heart-to-heart, the excitement bubbling even more at the prospect of having her dream wedding dress soon, not to mention the gorgeous gowns she had picked out for her seven bridesmaids. But then she remembered the wedding cake that was brewing in the temperature controlled cellar. The best place for it in this super hot summer they were having. ‘As long as whatever it is Barry needs storing isn’t going to spoil our wedding cake.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, doesn’t he do key cutting and tool hire too in his shop? It could be smelly old lawn mowers he wants storing. He’ll have to use the old barn if that’s the case ….’
‘Lawn mowers?’ Sonny creased his forehead. ‘They don’t smell.’
‘Petrol ones do. And I’d hate for our wedding guests to bite into a slice of cake and be hit with a horrible petrol taste.’
‘Ah, I see what you mean now. Don’t worry, I’ll tell him all the smelly old lawn mowers will have to go in the barn,’ Sonny assured her, shaking his head and laughing.
‘Good! In that case, I’m always happy to help out if I can,’ she beamed, not wanting anything at all to spoil their big day.
‘And that’s another reason why I can’t wait to marry you. You are the loveliest, most kind-hearted, generous, thoughtful person I know, Cher Hughes.’ And he bent down to kiss the bridge of her nose before ambling back towards the pub.
Chapter Two
A week later, and Cher had woken up convinced she could smell smoke. She nudged Sonny before sitting up and pushing the duvet back. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning according to the clock on the bedside table.
‘No, I can’t smell smoke. Go back to sleep, love,’ murmured Sonny, only half awake.
‘I’m going to check. I’m sure I can smell it – I bet there’s someone outside smoking. It smells like cigarette smoke wafting in through the open window,’ she sighed.
Standing up she found her dressing gown, slipped it on over her nightie and went to the open window to look outside. Their bedroom was to the side of the pub where the car park was and it wouldn’t be the first time she had caught groups of lads from Stoneley, the next village, hanging out on their mopeds and sharing cans of lager.
‘Oh come on, Cher, it’s the middle of the night. I’m exhausted and you must be too.’
‘I can’t see anyone in the car park,’ she said, ignoring him.
‘There you go. Maybe you were dreaming. Come on, snuggle up next to me. Let’s have a cuddle and we’ll both be fast asleep in no time.’
‘No, I can’t sleep now that I’m wide awake. I’m going to make a cup of chamomile tea and see if that helps me get back to sleep. Fancy one?’
‘Err, no! I was actually already asleep until a few minutes ago.’ And he turned over and gave his pillows a dramatic thwack as if to emphasise his disgruntlement at being woken up so abruptly.
‘Sorry love, I didn’t mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep. I’ll sit downstairs where it’s cooler.’ And she tiptoed out of the room.
BANG. BANG. BANG. Cher blinked and opened her eyes before going to roll over, only realising at the last minute that she wasn’t in her bed. She was snuggled up on one of the big squishy sofas in the snug. Sitting up sharply and gathering herself, she realised that the chamomile tea must have had the desired effect and that she had nodded off briefly after drinking it. She glanced at the empty mug beside her on the table. What time is it? And what is that noise? The banging started again. It was coming from outside the pub so she left the comfort of the sofa and went to open the door, fully intending on giving whoever it was that had woken her up, a piece of her mind. Surely they didn’t think the pub was still open? But then she realised that the lights in the snug were on. Perhaps the person banging on the door thought there was a lock-in. She knew that Sonny sometimes let a few of the well-behaved regulars from the village stay on after normal closing time on the proviso they were quiet and sensible and didn’t wake up Mark, the village police officer who lived in the police house on the opposite side of the village green, on their way home. This usually happened when she was away visiting her mum or on a training course at the brewery, as late night drinking sessions really weren’t her thing. She liked to feel fresh and alert the next day, not weary after an extra late night.
There it was again.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The noise was deafening and quite urgent.
They were rattling the door now as if trying to get in.
‘OK, I’m coming,’ Cher said, feeling irritable and tired from nodding off and now being woken up. She knew it couldn’t be one of the locals as they would never make such a racket at this time of night.
‘Cher? Sonny? Are you in there?’
Dr Ben?
She recognised the voice, his Dublin accent was very distinctive. But what was he doing making such a commotion at this time of night? And then a dart of fear shot through her, maybe something had happened to Sybs, or the twins? And there was that acrid smell again, stronger this time?
After reaching a hand up to slide the bolt across, the door burst open, almost knocking her over as Dr Ben came charging into the bar with a panicked look on his face.
‘Come on. You need to get out of here. Where’s Sonny?’ And Dr Ben darted off towards the door behind the bar that led to the stairs up to their private home.
‘Hey, what’s going on? Is everything OK?’ Cher called after him.
‘I’m not sure,’ he called out over his shoulder. ‘There’s smoke coming from the wooden drop doors outside. I spotted it as I was walking past after doing a home visit. There could be a fire in the cellar.’
‘A fire?’ Panicking, Cher went to run past him to get Sonny. But just as they jostled each other to get through the tiny doorway, an almighty popping sound, followed by an even louder whooshing noise, made them both freeze. Momentarily stunned, they stared at each other before Cher yelled, ‘What on earth was that? We need the fire brigade!’
‘I’ve already made the call,’ Dr Ben said, hurriedly, before mounting the stairs two at a time, shouting for Sonny to wake up and get out. Cher hurtled after him, ignoring protests from Dr Ben about it not being safe. There was no way she was leaving the pub without the man she loved and was going to marry in two weeks time.
Moments later, and Sonny was out of bed and tearing down the stairs after Dr Ben and Cher. On reaching the back door, Sonny grabbed Cher’s hand and they ran out into the pub garden together, closely followed by Dr Ben. Mark, the village police officer appeared, running across the garden towards them in shorts and a T-shirt.
‘Get out. The fire engine is moments away. Quickly. Follow me.’ And he herded Sonny, Cher and Dr Ben to safety through the pub garden, over the fence, across the car park and on to the village green.
Later, and shivering with shock, Cher wrapped her arms around herself and gawped at her lovely pub that was now shrouded in thick black smoke billowing out of the beer cellar’s wooden drop hatch in the pavement. Seconds after they had got outside, two fire engines, lights ablaze and sirens wailing, had pulled up in front of the pub just as an enormous flame appeared to whoosh from the hatch and roar towards them. Fortunately, the fire fighters had managed to put the fire out very quickly, but had told her the whole pub might need renovating due to the smoke damage. It was impossible to tell until daylight and the expert investigators had been in to take a proper look.
‘Cher!’ It was Sybs, wearing pajamas and wellies with her red curls flailing out behind her as she came running across the village green. ‘Sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I had to wait for April to come and sit with the twins, and the road from Orchard Cottage was closed off to let the fire engines and ambulance through and so she had to go the long way around via Stoneley. Are you OK?’
‘I honestly don’t know,’ Cher cried, falling into her best friend’s arms before letting out an almighty sob.
Chapter Three
By six o’clock in the morning, they were all sitting in stunned silence in The Spotted Pig café. Kitty had woken up on hearing the commotion with the fire engines arriving and a police car moments later and so had opened up the café earlier than usual and invited them all in for cups of tea and big breakfast bacon butties.
Sonny and Cher were sitting in a booth with Sybs and Dr Ben. Molly, the butcher’s wife had arrived too and was giving Kitty a hand to make enough trays of tea and butties for all the fire fighters and police officers who had arrived. Plus a big group of villagers who had come to see if they could help out.
‘There you go, my love,’ Molly said warmly as she placed a large mug of tea in Cher’s shaking hands, gently helping her to clasp it securely when it looked like Cher might drop the mug. ‘Oh dear, you’ve had such almighty shock. And is it any wonder. It’s not every night you have to evacuate your own home, thank God. But we are all here for you and Sonny. And our lovely village pub, we’ll get it all sorted out in no time, you’ll see,’ she reassured, even though Cher still didn’t know exactly what had happened. ‘In the meantime, Lawrence who runs the B&B is having you and Sonny to stay as his guests.’