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RACHEL LOUISE DOVE is a mum of two from Yorkshire. She has always loved writing and has had previous success as a self-published author. Rachel is the winner of the Mills & Boon & Prima Magazine Flirty Fiction competition and won The Writers Bureau Writer of the Year Award in 2016. She is a qualified adult education tutor specialising in child development and autism. In 2018 she founded the Rachel Dove Bursary, giving one working class writer each year a fully funded place on the Romantic Novelists’ Association New Writer’s Scheme.
Praise for Rachel Dove from readers:
‘Whenever I pick up a book by Rachel Dove, I know that there will be engaging characters along with a story that has warmth, humour and heartwarming vibes’
‘An entertaining and wonderful story’
‘Great read and a great ending’
‘I loved it so much, I sat up half the night to finish it’
Also by Rachel Dove
The Chic Boutique on Baker Street
The Flower Shop on Foxley Street
The Long Walk Back
The Wedding Shop on Wexley Street
The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street
RACHEL DOVE
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © Rachel Dove 2019
Rachel Dove asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for 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, 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.
E-book Edition © May 2019 ISBN: 9780008312688
Version: 2019-04-08
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Author
Praise for Rachel Dove from readers
Also by Rachel Dove
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
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
Acknowledgements
Extract
Dear Reader …
Thank You For Reading
Keep Reading …
About the Publisher
Dedicated to my gorgeous, clever and unique sons,
Book Worm and Little Man.
And to all the Mama and Papa Bears out there –
keep fighting and keep smiling.
Prologue
By the time the first alarm had sounded, Samuel Draper was already up, out of his bunk and running full pelt to his gear and the rig. His firefighter comrades were hot on his heels, all snapping into action the second the bell sounded. A mere few seconds after that and they were on the truck, peeling out of Euston Fire Station at speed.
‘House fire, Guildford Street. Originated in the kitchen. Suspected hob fire. All residents are out of the property, but it’s going up fast.’ Robert rattled off the details as they navigated their way through the streets of London towards their shout. Sam nodded, pulling on his helmet, ready. ‘Understood. Robert, you and I will do front door. Lenny, you head round the back. Assess any damage, check for hazards and stray looky-loos.’
‘Okay, ETA six minutes. You glad to be back?’
Sam flashed his colleague and friend a smile. ‘I’m going back, two weeks.’
Robert’s face dropped in surprise. ‘Back up there? What for, midwife school?’
Lenny, looking as big and burly as ever behind the wheel of the fire engine, laughed out loud as they sat in the back.
‘Good one, Rob. Why are you going back? Got something going on up there?’
Sam didn’t answer, just nodded in his usual quiet way. Lenny and Robert knew not to bother pressing him. Sam wasn’t a gossip, or one to judge anyone else. Whatever he was doing up there, it had to be important to him. Sam never did anything in life without assessing every aspect first. It made him the skilled firefighter he was, and he had all the lads’ unconditional trust the minute he walked through the door on his first shift, all those years ago. The only real thing that had altered was his hairline. When they did school visits, the others liked to joke that his mop of dark curls had been singed off – frazzled off in a fireball. The kids loved it. Sam, not so much.
They got to the shout in record time, putting out the small pan fire and comforting the understandably very frightened residents. These were the best calls, the best outcomes. Quick in and out, put the fire out and have no casualties or structural damage. A new pan or two, a lick of paint and the memory would be washed away, freshened up, made anew. The lads all knew from experience that it could have been far worse than a scorched splashback and smoke damage. Before long, they were heading back home to the station.
‘Come on then, Sam,’ Lenny teased, as he indicated left and waved at a small gaggle of schoolgirls who were frantically blowing kisses and waving at them from the corner of the busy street. ‘Why do you keep going up to God’s country?’
‘God’s armpit more like,’ Robert scoffed, wiping a black sooty mark from the side of his face. ‘Helping that woman deliver her baby must have been the most action you saw, right? You starting to feel your age?’
Lenny banged his meaty hand against the steering wheel.
‘That’s it! He’s getting some action! That’s it, isn’t it?’ He beeped at a cyclist who swung out wildly in front of their truck, chuckling to himself as the cyclist jumped about ten feet in the air and peddled frantically back into the bike lane where he belonged. ‘Bike lanes save lives, man!’ he shouted genially out of the window. The cyclist nodded apologetically, face as white as a sheet. ‘Finally, Sam! A real-life woman who is not your mother to talk to!’
‘Hey,’ Sam warned, ‘watch the mother talk.’
Robert laughed. ‘Come on, Sam, as if we’d dare rib her. She scares me more than you do with one of her looks!’ The lads in the truck all laughed together.
Sam, as eager as always to shut down the talk about his life, shook his head.
‘I delivered a wedding planner’s baby, and she is now planning her own wedding, to the man she loves. As a matter of fact, they asked me to go be part of it. I like the country, the station lads are nice, and I’m due a change. No woman involved.’
Robert sighed dramatically. ‘Sam, Sam, Sam. You make my heart bleed, bro. You really do. How could you leave London?’
Sam just sat back and smiled at his friend. His mother Sondra had said much the same when he had told her, but she understood, as upset as she was.
Being a gangly lad in primary school, a white boy with a loud, bubbly African mother behind him and an array of temporary siblings, he was used to people trying to suss him out, wondering aloud and questioning his life choices. The thing was, Sondra Okeke Draper, his larger-than-life foster mother, always taught him to ignore the stares, hold your head up at all times, and do what felt right. Westfield, as bizarre as it was to his colleagues, was right. It felt right, and it wasn’t his life going forward he needed to sort out. It was his backstory. He loved London, sure, but aside from a few colleagues and his mother, he was alone here, too. Moving to the North wouldn’t be such a wrench, and one thing that Sam wasn’t afraid of was making the bold moves. He might be the strong silent type, but Sam knew exactly what was going on, and what felt important. This did, and without quite knowing what the outcome would be, Sam knew he had to at least open the puzzle box of his past, and peek inside. A wedding was a new beginning. Maria Mallory and James Chance, the couple with the baby he had delivered in front of the fire house, had their happy ever after. Sam had decided to at least look for his, and all signs pointed north.
The Day of The Mallory–Chance Wedding
Sam waved off the happy couple, and went to collect his bag, to head to the night do at Maria’s friend’s restaurant.
The chief of the fire house came out to shake his hand.
‘Well done, Sam, nice bit of publicity there. With us being a little local fire station, we need all the good news stories we can get. Keeps the penny counters happy. We haven’t always had a dedicated fire service in this village you know, and we need to make sure these damn cuts don’t change that.’
Sam shook his hand back, shaking off his praise.
‘It’s okay, sir, it was an honour. Nice to see a couple doing so well. It’s a good station.’
Chief Briggs nodded. ‘Beautiful baby too.’
Sam smiled, and this time it reached his eyes.
‘Sure is, Chief, Hope is gorgeous.’
‘Have you considered my offer?’ he asked Sam, all business now. ‘You’ve done a few cover shifts here, including the one where you were delivering babies, so have you decided what’s next? I know we’re not very exciting, compared to what you’re used to, but we’re a good group of guys, and we’d love to have you onboard permanently. Good scope for progression too, believe it or not.’
Sam looked around him at Westfield Fire House. It wasn’t what he was used to, by any means. Working in London was a world apart from here, and the fires were a lot different too, along with the other terrifying call-outs he had endured lately. He realised that his personal quest had become much more. Lately, instead of coming to Westfield to figure out his past, it had made him consider his future.
The day that Maria and James had slammed onto the drive of the fire house, he had done his job. He didn’t hesitate, he didn’t think twice. He reacted, he planned and he galvanised the others into action. The baby was born safely, and it wasn’t till Maria had held the child in her arms, James wrapped around them both protectively, that it had hit him. He wanted to find out the truth, he needed to. He had to find out what his past was, before he could even think about forming a future. Every time he had tried in the past, it had ended in failure, leaving him more alone, lost and confused than before.
He looked at Chief Briggs who was watching him, as though realising that he was thinking it through. It was this quiet, unassuming air that tipped the scales for Sam. He liked his new boss, felt at home.
‘I’ll take the job,’ he said, shaking his hand before he could second guess himself and back out.
The chief looked delighted, pulling Sam into an awkward spontaneous hug.
‘Ah lad, I am pleased!’ He slapped him on the back and Sam patted him back gently. Given that Chief Alan Briggs was half his size, he felt fearful of breaking his new boss.
‘Family coming with you?’ he asked, looking a little embarrassed. ‘Sorry, Sam, I never asked if you had a wife, or kids.’
Sam shook his head, the sunshine shining off his broad bald bonce.
‘It’s just me, sir. I’ll be moving from London on my own.’
The chief nodded, seemingly satisfied.
‘There are some cottages in the village, they do long-term lets as well as holiday ones. I’ll get you a number. You can’t be staying in the pub B & B or hotels when you come for good. That’s if you don’t want to buy, of course.’
‘Great, thanks, sir. I’ll be off then. Will check them out later, I have a wedding reception to attend.’
Chief Briggs gave him a thumbs up and Sam walked up to the staff quarters to collect his stuff. He was booked into a hotel in Harrogate that night, and due back on the train to London the day after. He sat down on one of the bunks, thankful that the room was empty, and dialled a number.
‘Hey, Gina,’ he said as the line of the fire station he worked at down south was answered by their receptionist.
‘Hey, Sam! How’s village life? Did the wedding go well? Rob had a bet with Lenny that you’d end up getting off with one of the bridesmaids.’
‘Yeah,’ he replied, looking out of the window at the green fields around him. He could see the Mayweather Estate beyond that, and further still the cottages and shops, laid like pearls in the countryside. ‘It was nice. Tell Rob and Lenny that they’re idiots, and to get their own love lives. Listen, tell the chief I’m taking the transfer. Chief Briggs will be in touch with him later today, I expect.’
Gina sighed. ‘Aww, honey, we sure will miss you. Are you positive this is the right thing to do? You can talk to people you know, people here. I know you’ve had a few bad shouts lately. Moving stations won’t change that you know.’
Sam’s large jaw flexed, and he stood and leant on the windowsill. Just looking at the scenery soothed him. The thought of going back to London filled him with dread, and frustration. He knew he was making the right move, and he always followed his gut.
‘I’m sure, Gina. I want something different from life. I’m fine mentally, but a break would be good.’ He straightened his tie, which felt like it was strangling his thick-set neck in his collar. ‘I need to make a fresh start.’
She made all the right noises, not that Sam was really listening. He thanked her and rang off, promising to stay in touch.
After leaving the fire house and saying goodbye to the lads who would soon hear that he had taken the job, he got into his hire car and pulled away. He liked the team already, but he wasn’t one for a big fuss. He would let the chief tell them. He headed out of Westfield, making his way to Harrogate and his hotel. A few days in London to pack up his life, and he would be on his way back here. To Westfield, to live a new life. Put down some roots, and finally find out the truth of how his story started.
Somewhere in Westfield was the father he had never met. A mother he wanted to find. And once Sam set his mind on doing something, he didn’t let anything stand in his way. Westfield had a secret, and Sam was going to find out the truth. Surely, someone in Westfield knew something. They had to. After all, it takes a village to raise a child. If you took the child from that village, someone would at least notice. Wouldn’t they?
Chapter 1
Lucy pulled Xander along the platform edge as best she could, whilst juggling her suitcase on wheels and heavy holdall. Iain would be annoyed that she had taken his favourite gym bag, but at this point that would be the least of her worries.
‘Mum, what about school? It’s illegal to play truant. Mr Elphick told us last week when Billy went to Mallorca but his mum lied and said he had diarrhoea.’
She smiled down at her plain-speaking son, trying to keep the worry from her face, the anxiety from her voice. He would pick up on it and the last thing either of them needed was a meltdown at the train station. He had pulled his ear defenders off one tiny ear to listen to her, and she could already see that he was tense; his hand pulling on the fingers of the other, his eyes darting from side to side, searching for unknown and unseen dangers.
‘You’ll only miss one day, sweetheart, and then it’s the summer holidays. Your teacher said that your class was only going to be watching videos all day anyway. I brought your iPad for the train.’
‘Lego Movie?’ he asked hopefully, and she nodded.
‘Yep, and I downloaded Lego Batman too.’
Xander smiled, and she felt the relief wash over her. Luckily, Xander loved trains, so the journey wouldn’t be too much of a trial. Thank God for J.K. Rowling. King’s Cross would have been impossible without Harry Potter, but now with the shop there, Xander had made it to the train doors unscathed, a new Hedwig stuffed owl in his hand. The travelling wouldn’t be the problem. It was what was waiting for her at the other end that worried her. What the hell was she going to tell Xander? Would he cope with all the changes? She had packed all of his notes, his medical letters, his medication, and his repeat prescription slips, so they could get his sleep medication, but the upheavals to his routine would still be immense. She shuddered at the thought, but pushed on, till they were sitting on the train, near the doors and toilets. She stashed their luggage on the racks behind them, putting her oversized grey handbag on the seat next to her. She sat backwards, facing Xander who was sitting looking out of the window, humming to himself. She saw a few passengers giving him a sideways glance, and she tutted loudly at one man who didn’t hide his judgement. She motioned for Xander to take off his ear defenders, and passed him the iPad, his soft cushioned earphones already plugged in. It had a full charge, and the charger in her bag was on hand, along with a spare, just in case. Worst case scenario he could watch Netflix on her smartphone. He was halfway through a documentary on global warming, so he could watch that, or draw or read. She had even bought a paperback for herself, a delightful romance book that she had picked up in the station bookshop. She had heard some of the other school mums talking about it at the gates, from a distance of course. In another world, she could have shared it with them, been friends perhaps.
Lucy never usually got much time to herself, but she was hoping that this, as well as many other things, would change now. Xander put his headphones on and settled down in his seat, his coat now discarded and used as a pillow. She had felt bad making him wear it on this July day, but it had been both a good disguise for the neighbours and a means of transporting the coat to their destination. He was wearing his weighted jacket too, and she decided to give him a minute before asking him to take it off. Maybe when the train had set off would be better. Nowhere to run then in the event of a tantrum. She took off her own coat, laying it on the seat next to her. She had reserved all four seats, with the table, so she could relax in the knowledge that no one was going to crowd them and they could spread out a little. Xander was engrossed in his iPad, and she took out her new mobile, tapping out a text that they were now on the train. She got a text straight back, and smiled at the reply before slipping it back into her bag.
‘Excuse me, is this yours?’ A deep voice came from the side of her. It sounded like it had come down from the heavens, as high in direction as it was deep in tone. She could see a flash of white in the corner of her eye. Xander’s new owl.
‘Hedwig!’ Xander shouted, reaching forward to grasp the toy, his fingers opening and closing like pincers. Lucy winced as a past memory came to mind, and as she watched her son cuddle his new snow-white companion, she wished for the train to leave, fast, and spirit them both away from here, and the memories she was trying so hard to forget.
‘Why does he even need that stupid thing? He’ll only lose it.’
Iain’s whining was already in full flow, and they had only just gotten onto the bus to the airport, the one that took you from the long-stay car parks to the actual airport itself. They were juggling cases and bags, and Xander was sitting next to her on the seat, backpack strapped to his shoulders, playing with a tangle toy. One of many that she had bought and stashed in her case, not that she would tell Iain that. A bored-looking couple at the side of them looked across to see what Xander was holding, and she gave them a pointed look as if to say, ‘Mind your own beeswax,’ and turned to her husband. He looked like he was chewing a bee or two himself.
‘He needs it, for his anxiety. Airports make him nervous,’ she hissed. ‘It’s only a toy, I’ll keep an eye on it.’
‘Bloody waste of money if you ask me,’ he chuntered on, his jaunty holiday panama hat making him look all the more curmudgeonly atop his sour face. ‘Half the stuff you buy him doesn’t get used.’
Not true, but Iain had never let the truth get in the way of a good whinge and moan.
‘Really,’ she said, monotone, watching Xander watch the planes as they took off overhead. His fingers ever moving, bending and reshaping his toy. It kept him calm. She almost wished she had one herself. A large one, that she could tie around her husband and the nearest car park meter. ‘Bit like your fishing gear then, and the model airplane in the garage? Perhaps we should sell those, then we will have more money for stuff to help our son cope, eh? This toy cost less than a fancy coffee, Iain.’
He looked out of the window like a petulant child, taking a swig of his large extra hot no foam rip-off, and said nothing else till they got to the airport. The gulf between them was getting wider than ever, and she’d hated it at first. Now, she was just beginning to hate him. Where was the man she married, the one who danced around the room with her, holding a positive pee stick? That Iain was gone, replaced by this bitter, twisted, work-driven man. As they stepped down off the bus, cases in hand, she tried to stay positive and lock her own snark away. This holiday had been hard work to pay for, and she had planned everything down to the last detail, so she was going to go for it.
This holiday was more than just Xander’s first holiday abroad with his family – it might just be his last unless things improved. Make or break, as the cliché went. She was determined to save her marriage, and their father–son relationship. Here, all together, they might just pull it off.
‘Xander,’ Iain shouted, drawing attention their way. ‘Pick up your bloody toy, now!’
Lucy sighed and, putting her shiny optimistic face on, picked up the toy and took her son’s trembling hand.
Chapter 2
The day Sam decided that he was going to be a fireman, no one in the household batted an eyelid. It was written in the stars, pretty much, and had been since he was a small dot in someone’s arms. To young Sam, though, it seemed like a revelation. That he, little orphan Sam, could one day be a hero. Someone who people would turn to on their darkest days; someone strong, sturdy. Someone who would never let you down, would always come to your aid, no matter what. The kind of person he wanted around him. The kind of people who had saved him.
When his mother tucked him into bed that night, kissing the top of his little head and smelling the shampoo scent of his baby soft brown hair, he snuggled down under the covers, and finally felt like he had a plan. Not a thing to be sniffed at, having a plan, especially at five years old. He didn’t realise it at the time of course, but he had in one day achieved what many people waited half their lives to feel. Purpose. Little five-year-old Samuel had purpose. He had a plan. That sheer bloody-mindedness fuelled his whole childhood, and never once did he detract from his mission. He had learned from an early age if you wanted something, you went for it. No excuses. His future was all down to him. Or, as his mum would say, ‘We make our own destiny in the face of fate, Sam. Fate dealt you a bad deal, but it’s not the end of your story, just the start.’