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One More Chapter
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020
Copyright © Jane Linfoot 2020
Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Jane Linfoot 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 is a work of fiction. Every reasonable attempt to verify the facts against available documentation has been made.
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: 9780008408091
Ebook Edition © 2020 ISBN: 9780008408107
Version: 2020-09-28
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
February
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
March
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
April
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
May
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
July
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
August
Chapter 39
P.S.
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Jane Linfoot
About the Publisher
For Yoyo, my wonderful Old English Sheepdog, beside me all day, every day.
25.3.2004 – 26.5.2020
Sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.
—Marilyn Monroe
Chapter 1
Friday, Valentine’s Day.
The Harbourside, St Aidan, Cornwall.
Early birds and aftershocks.
It’s a boy!
There are certain significant moments in life you know you’re going to relive again and again. As those three small words bounce off my phone screen and resonate around inside my skull, I’m on the edge of a huge crowd of people with one of my oldest friends, Poppy, at my elbow, but I couldn’t feel any more alone. It’s the sting of the salty wind on my cheeks that’s being etched on my memory, the blackness of the water lapping against the quay, the dark lines of boat masts etched against the sky. The curve of lights out around the bay edge.
Even when you know a metaphorical tidal wave is coming your way, it’s still hard to predict how it will demolish you. I expected this would blow my heart apart, but it actually hits way lower. It’s nothing like the thousand tiny glass shards in my chest I was braced for, more a boot in my bowel.
All the same, I’d still rather know than not.
When your closest friend and business partner accidentally hooks up with your fiancé – well, my fiancé – then they decide that’s how it should have been all along. And then seal the deal with a baby.
This baby.
Let’s just say, this text from Lucy, our maternity-cover office assistant, is the latest in a year of seismic shocks.
In case you hadn’t already guessed, this is all playing out in tiny St Aidan on the furthest edge of Cornwall where the land meets the sea. Where the higgledy-piggledy cottages that start at the edge of the cobbles stack up the hillside in shadowy lines behind me. It’s somehow ironic that we’re out on this freezing February night waiting for a firework display to begin; that this tiny baby who’s turned my life upside down for the last few months has now claimed the Brides by the Sea Valentine’s Day celebrations as his own too.
Poppy is next to me, pulling her Barbour jacket closed against the slice of the wind, stamping her feet as we wait. ‘Everything okay, Milla? You’re lucky to find a signal down here.’
I’m watching the strings of lights in the distance along the prom being lashed by a gale. Pushing my phone back into my pocket, I say, ‘Phoebe’s had a boy.’
‘The baby’s here already?’ Poppy’s eyebrows shoot upwards in horror the same way they have ever since we played together as kids growing up in Rose Hill village, a few miles inland from here. ‘But first babies never arrive on time! The last two weeks waiting like a beached whale are what prepares you for everything ahead.’ She had her son Gabe two years ago, so she’s an expert. She’s also enjoying a rare night out on her own, but seeing as she’s Brides by the Sea’s cake baker, this counts as work rather than pleasure.
‘Phoebe won’t put up with lateness, especially not from a baby.’ Realistically she was never going to let herself get to the size of an elephant. Even with something as unpredictable as childbirth, she’s the kind of person who plans scrupulously and always comes up smelling of roses. And she’s good at it too. Like popping her baby out on Valentine’s Day, exactly a year to the day after she and my ex, Ben, got together – it takes a special kind of very dedicated control-freak to pull that off.
‘Christmas effing crackers, that wasn’t in the plan was it?’
I’m shaking my head at Poppy. ‘I haven’t even turned the bed down at my Airbnb yet.’ Okay, admittedly I’ve been at the wedding shop catching up with everyone since I arrived earlier this afternoon. But somehow, I’d counted on having more time to settle in. Get myself ready. Put my hard hat on.
It’s odd to think that this time last year I still had a fiancé and the flat we shared. Then, somewhere around midnight, my whole life plummeted to oblivion – in a Titanic-hits-the-iceberg kind of way. I’ll save the goriest details for later. But, just like the iceberg, I did not see this one coming. I’d been Phoebe’s head bridesmaid when she’d got married six years earlier and our business had sprung from us organising her wedding, so it was natural that I’d support her when her husband Harry walked out. And when she was suddenly left without a partner for the black-tie Valentine’s ball we’d paid a fortune for her to go to, I didn’t think twice about lending her my fiancé Ben. They were my two most trusted people, in business and in life. The last thing I imagined was them ending up in bed together when she’d been so meticulous about showing me the separate rooms on the booking.
What’s the old saying? One kiss is all it takes. Admittedly it was a bit more than that. A lot more. Enough to throw a wrecking ball through my relationship with Ben. But we were all very adult about it. Or at least, they were. However much I kicked and yelled, it wasn’t going to help – the damage was done, what I’d had was already gone. He moved his stuff around the corner into her place. And we went on from there.
But after those long years literally spending all my waking hours scrambling to make a go of our Brides Go West wedding company, and borrowing to the hilt, I couldn’t afford to let the business slide and lose that as well. But it was more than that. As my life imploded and my self-esteem went with it, Brides Go West became my one refuge. I might feel like a worm in every other area, but an award-winning business lets me hold my head high. Phoebe and Ben might have whipped every other metaphorical carpet out from under me, but I refuse to let them run away with the business too.
So, for the last nine months I’ve watched Phoebe’s bump growing across the office desk like a slow-motion horror movie. In the end I decided if I actually had to be there for the birth, my screams were going to be louder than the ones coming from the labour ward. So after a whole year of gritting my teeth so hard they’re stumps of their former selves, I left town for a couple of weeks around the baby’s due date.
Poppy’s arm slides around my shoulder. ‘You do know you are worth more than this?’ Her voice is low in my ear. ‘It might feel like the end of the world now …’
I’ve heard it so many times I can finish it myself. ‘… but it will get better.’ The problem is, deep down, I can’t imagine ever getting to a place where there isn’t a stone in my gut and my chest isn’t aching. When I can look at a wedding dress and not have my mouth fill with the taste of sour lemons. Which isn’t the most practical thing to happen when I write about the damn things most days on our blog.
Poppy lets out a groan. ‘Sorry, it’s not the best timing, but you’re about to meet Gary and Ken. They’re doing a great job giving out flyers for our Brides by the Sea cocktail event later, but they’re insatiably curious too.’ She pulls a face. ‘Remember what it’s like in small-town St Aidan?’
I grimace. ‘Where everybody knows, and everybody cares?’ It’s very different from Bristol where I’ve been happily anonymous for the last twelve years. As a teenager growing up here, I dodged the worst of the spotlight because my mum was ill and I was her carer. When you barely leave the house, you become pretty invisible. But even if I don’t recognise many of the faces in the crowd here tonight, the reason I’ve run back here now is to be with my oldest friends.
As Poppy and I are both in the wedding business, we’re often in touch. And as my life unravelled, Poppy’s the one who’s been there for me, texting and messaging. And she was the one who literally saved my sanity when she suggested I take this working holiday. I know if Ben were the last guy in the world on a desert island, I’d actually have to make a boat and leave. And that’s saying a lot from me, who came bottom of the class in woodwork. But however much I don’t want Ben anymore, this baby moment is still so monumental it’s a relief to be three hours down the road.
‘So who are Ken and Gary?’ So far as I can see they have great taste in tight, spangly shorts and are experts at elbowing their way through a crowd while rocking their Cupid costumes.
‘They run a highly decorated local B&B, and they’re also stars of the Hungry Shark’s karaoke nights and the Chamber of Commerce.’
I shake my head. ‘They were never going to let a fancy-dress Valentine’s pub crawl pass quietly.’
Poppy calls to them as they wriggle into our space on the cobbles. ‘Hello, you two, you’re the only men I know who can wear so little red lamé and make it work.’
The smaller, portlier one fans his fingers in front of his face. ‘Thanks, Poppy, you’re a sweetheart, as ever.’ He turns to me and flutters eyelashes so long they have to be fake. ‘You’re from Brides Go West, aren’t you? We saw you getting out of your van earlier.’
‘Also known as Milla Fenton.’ This is where I have to admit I’ve half borrowed/half absconded with the works vehicle, although it was actually mine to start with. As it’s got two-foot-high light-up letters on the top, it’s not exactly subtle.
‘Lovely to meet you, Milla, there’s a lot of vintage camper envy going on here. We’ve always wanted pink paintwork and our names in lights, haven’t we, Ken?’ He turns to Poppy. ‘So, do tell, is this another of Jess’s protégés coming to sprinkle her fairy dust on Brides by the Sea?’
As if he hasn’t got enough of my attention already with his all-over sequined T-shirt and matching wings, Ken grabs my arm. ‘It’s the most wonderful shop Jess has created here, four floors of bridal gorgeousness overlooking the sea!’
I’m about to tell him the shop’s a big favourite of our Brides Go West blog followers too, but Gary carries on seamlessly. ‘Poppy’s the cake maker there. The five-tier confection she made for us was Cornwall’s first EVER naked wedding cake. But you probably know that?’
Ken and Gary seem to ask non-stop questions with no space for answers, but Poppy finally dives in. ‘Milla’s here for a couple of weeks to help with social media and to set up some special wedding fairs for the Brides by the Sea anniversary.’
Gary’s eyes are popping. ‘Fabulous and even more fabulous! Ten years since Jess took over the whole building, how amazing is that?’
Ken’s carrying on. ‘And a whole year of birthday celebrations starting with tonight’s fireworks … did you know they’re actually Jess’s Valentine’s present from her fiancé Bart?’
Gary gives a sigh. ‘He’s our favourite pirate – handsome and loaded, she can’t go wrong there. We wouldn’t have thrown him out of our bed would we, Ken?’
Ken gives a shudder. ‘Speak for yourself, Gaz, he’s years too old for me. But who’d have thought? He offers her diamonds, and she asks for fireworks instead …’
As if on cue, a huge boom echoes across the bay, and a cascade of multi-coloured stars arches up, then shimmers down the sky and falls into the sea.
Poppy’s murmuring in my ear. ‘They’re letting them off from pontoons anchored out beyond the harbour. Watch out for the Valentine-themed ones too.’ Her smile widens. ‘Jess and Bart are down the front, if she chose this over a Tiffany necklace, we should be in for a spectacular display.’
As the explosions rock through my body and the wind splits the coloured reflections on the water into a thousand mirrored fragments, the people around me huddling deep into their padded jackets are letting out gasps and wows. Again and again the starbursts rip through the blue velvet sky above the bay. And as I listen to the swish of the waves rushing up the beach underneath the fireworks’ bangs, I’m remembering how final it felt as I pushed the keys of our flat through the estate agent’s letterbox earlier this morning. It’s as if I’m watching my old life disintegrating into pieces high above me. I couldn’t cry then, but now, in the dark, my tears are flowing too fast to wipe them away.
As I take a moment to dip in my bag for a dry hanky and look back at the boats on the harbour, there’s a lone figure leaning against a mast. So maybe I’m not the only person in the world on their own tonight. It just feels that way.
Poppy nudges me. ‘We must be close to the end, don’t miss the best bit.’
As I look back up at the sky, there’s a volley of booms above the waves and the heavens fill with red heart-shaped outlines that sparkle and crackle. Then there’s a final rattle of explosions and they all drift downwards. As they sink behind the line where the sky meets the water and everyone starts to cheer, it feels a lot more bitter than sweet for me.
My phone beeps and this time Poppy’s watching me. ‘More news?’
I nod. Then, as I read, my saliva turns sour again. ‘Hunter Benedict, 2.8kg.’
Poppy’s brow furrows. ‘If it’s upsetting you, why not switch it off?’
I push my phone away and pull out another tissue. Ugly nose-blowing is one of Phoebe’s worst hates but right now I’m past caring. I can’t help my wail either. ‘Hunter was my name, I bagged it first. I know I found it on her wellies, but it still feels like she’s stolen it.’ Baby names are a whole minefield of rules I’ve only dipped my toe into since I turned thirty and it seems like our entire friendship group apart from me suddenly got pregnant. You can’t call a baby the same name as any other child you’ve ever heard of, but at least for people like me where children are lightyears away, it’s still possible to stake an advance claim. Or it should be if your friends aren’t completely disrespectful. This feels like Phoebe’s final wave of the finger.
Poppy’s hugging me again. ‘Pinching your name is outrageous.’
‘It bloody is.’ I’m staring at the black smudges on the hanky, knowing there’s worse on my face. ‘I might go back to the van for a moment.’
Poppy links arms with me. ‘Don’t worry, we’ve got a few minutes before we need to be back at the shop. I’m in charge of cocktails so the bar will open when we get there.’ We break away from the crowd and hurry to where the van is tucked away beyond a line of fishermen’s cottages at the end of the quay.
‘Okay, time for repairs.’ I open the door and heave myself into the driver’s seat, and peer into the rearview mirror.
As Poppy joins me from the passenger side, she’s staring around the inside of the van. ‘Even though it’s dark, how cool is this interior?’
As I scrub away my panda eyes and dab at the blotches on my cheeks, I’m already feeling calmer. ‘I still love the pink-and-white-checked seats.’
Poppy passes me a lippy from her pocket. ‘Here, try this – fuchsia gives you a lift every time.’ She’s biting her lip as she watches me put it on. ‘I know today’s been the crappest, with handing in your keys and the baby coming. But at least that’s the worst over.’
I look sideways at her in the half light. ‘You’re going to tell me it’s time for a new start?’
‘Well isn’t it? St Aidan is heaving, the singles club is out there running wild.’ Her face twists into a grin. ‘It would be a shame to waste the opportunity.’
As I let out a breath, I’m sorry to flatten the mood. ‘The last thing I want is another boyfriend.’
She laughs. ‘Who said anything about committing? It just feels like it’s time for you to stop being sad and get back to having a good time.’
I blow. ‘We both know Ben is a tosser and I’m better off without him. But am I ready to hit the world and party?’ I really don’t think so.
Her eyebrows edge upwards. ‘How about your challenge for this evening is to collect five kisses?’
I can’t believe how impossible that sounds. ‘When I was twenty-one and first went to Bristol I’d have done it in five seconds. Now I feel I’d struggle if I had five years.’
Poppy’s eyes are wide. ‘This is so much worse than I thought. Let’s set a more achievable target – how about one kiss, and all evening to claim it?’ She sends me a wink. ‘It’s dark, you’ll never see them again. And it’s a watershed – once you’ve crossed the making-out bridge you’ll be able to get on with the rest of your life.’
‘I—I—I …’ It’s all sounding very ‘old-style hen party’. Someone should tell her, hens have moved on, these days they don’t get smashed, they do self-care. If she’d suggested kick-starting my new life with a massage therapy afternoon at The Harbourside Hotel, I’d be so much more up for it.
She’s wiggling her eyebrows, which is never a good sign. ‘Hunk coming our way now, he looks like he’ll do nicely. Get your window down and shout him over.’ She’s sitting up straighter. ‘In fact, no need, he’s coming straight for us!’
As he saunters our way, what I’m getting is dark hair blowing in the gale. Shadowy cheekbones. A chunky sweater inside an open windcheater jacket.
I’m muttering. ‘Considering the weather, it seems like someone’s completely missed the point of wind wear.’
Poppy’s hissing back. ‘You can’t write him off because he hasn’t done up his coat, I need a better excuse than that.’
I reach for the window winder. Being vintage, they’re the keep-fit, do-it-yourself version. By the time the glass slides down far enough for me to speak, I’m breathless from the exertion. ‘Anything we can do to help you?’ However much he’s making a beeline towards us, I’m confident there won’t be.
Poppy lets out a low laugh behind me. ‘You’ll have to be more direct than that to score.’
He clears his throat. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help noticing your van when you parked it earlier.’
I’m used to comments, we get them all the time. ‘The pink was deliberate. Hopefully it sidesteps dirty white and dated cream but still shouts bride really tastefully.’
He’s blinking at me. ‘Sorry, I’m not talking about the colour. You’ve parked in the boat owners’ area – if you don’t display a permit the wardens will ticket you.’
Poppy gives a low laugh. ‘Bribing traffic wardens by snogging their faces off? It might sound desperate, but I wouldn’t disallow it.’
I shut out Poppy and concentrate on the guy. I was up at six this morning, taking the last of my stuff out of the flat and putting it into storage. It’s been a hell of a day. All topped off with Phoebe stealing my effing baby name. I’m just not ready for another argument. ‘Well, if you’d like to step a yard to your right, I’ll get the hell out of your precious owners’ area and find somewhere else to park.’ I haven’t got the first idea where, it’s a surprise it’s this crowded.
He’s shaking his head. ‘You don’t have to move. I’ve brought you a visitor parking pass. So long as you bring it back to Snow Goose before you leave town, you’re welcome to use it.’
‘You’re offering to lend me a permit?’ I’m picking my jaw up off the car mats.
He gives a small cough. ‘It’s us against the wardens down here, I’m happy to help out.’ The permit’s already so far through the window that all I can do is grasp it and drop it on the dash.
‘Thanks a lot. I’ll be sure to return it.’ My voice jolts as Poppy jabs me in the side.
She’s hissing in my ear. ‘Go on, ask him – if you don’t, I will …’
‘Great, well, thanks again. Snow Goose, got it, I’ll drop it back.’ This is me dismissing him and it’s worked because he’s waving and backing away.
But Poppy’s like lightning. She’s already out, across the cobbles, and murmuring in his ear. Talk about sitting targets – as he turns around to the open window there’s literally nowhere for me to go.
This time he’s laughing. ‘Someone in need of a Valentine’s kiss? I’m sure I can help out with that too.’
It’s one of those instant decisions. I could make a dash for the crowd, but if I escape this time, I’ll only get ambushed later. At least here there’s only Poppy to see it. So long as she takes the permit back for me, I’ll never have to set eyes on him again. So I make my spine rigid, screw my eyes closed. Pinch my lips together for the quickest of pecks.
But somehow his hand is behind my head, and as he comes in sideways through the open window his delicious scent is a split second ahead of him. And when his lips hit mine they’re not hard and cold, they’re soft and persuasive, like warm chocolate. As I give in and go with him, it’s like there’s a super-heated tornado rushing through my body. It can’t be more than thirty seconds – thirty seconds of what? Pure, undiluted, liquid pleasure. With an overtone of lust that leaves me clutching the steering wheel to steady myself. Enough to say, when he pulls away he leaves me breathless and open-mouthed.
‘Wow!’ That’s every last molecule of Poppy’s lippy demolished. And for anyone wanting marks out of ten – I’d have to go with a straight fifteen.