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An Impossible Thing Called Love: A heartwarming romance you don't want to miss!
Belinda Missen
Don’t miss the new delightfully uplifting book from the author of A Recipe for Disaster!A second chance at love…When globe-trotting Emmy first fell for first-aider William on a freezing New Year’s Eve, she really believed that their love would go the distance. But when she returns to Australia, her letters start to go unanswered and her emails bounce back unread, Emmy decides it’s time to pick up the pieces of her broken heart and start afresh in London. So she’s shocked when William walks in on her very first day at her new job! Even worse, he’s hotter than ever. But why did he disappear for so long? What has he been hiding? And could this really be their second chance at falling in love…?Perfect for fans of Carole Mathews, Mhairi McFarlane and Carrie Hope Fletcher.Readers LOVE Belinda Missen:‘a captivating and compelling read I highly recommend!’‘A delightfully funny, engaging and warm-hearted read’‘the characters are brilliant, the setting is gorgeous and the writing is compelling’‘A pleasant. light funny read, well written and thought-provoking.’
About the Author (#u23b3b596-9d2c-5e55-ae22-58afe5c38102)
BELINDA MISSEN is a reader, author, and sometimes blogger. When she’s not busy writing or reading, she can be found travelling the Great Ocean Road and beyond looking for inspiration. She lives with her husband, cats, and collection of books in regional Victoria, Australia.
Also by Belinda Missen (#u23b3b596-9d2c-5e55-ae22-58afe5c38102)
A Recipe for Disaster
An Impossible Thing Called love
BELINDA MISSEN
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.
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
1
First published in Great Britain by
HQ, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Copyright © Belinda Missen 2018
Belinda Missen 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.
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,
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,
without the prior permission of the publishers.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade
or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without
the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than
that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this
condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Source ISBN: 9780008323028
E-book Edition ISBN: 9780008296902
Version: 2018-11-07
Table of Contents
Cover (#uc9b0654a-01b7-5515-832f-8c0660d05e1a)
About the Author (#ud4caa9e2-9404-5f17-b24f-0714f62a1496)
Also by Belinda Missen (#u6e0b5b01-d949-52e3-aa9e-210a47d6dcc2)
Title Page (#u0b118472-de44-5845-9cea-1adcf80e8ca7)
Copyright (#u00eee165-c08d-54a7-abe2-325a098b73da)
Dedication (#u2a0d4859-feb7-527c-9de9-eb9a71921f9e)
Chapter 1 (#u236c10a7-4288-5b1b-bb88-8aeb6c10c78d)
Chapter 2 (#ued8720dc-391b-5004-ae99-d74adde32b09)
Chapter 3 (#ucae49f89-3f42-58c5-8f72-d5eac88ebb81)
Chapter 4 (#u0d49765b-b2e2-5fd8-82f7-653844306f40)
Chapter 5 (#u27ec736f-3f6c-5360-9d40-f1b1a1580705)
Chapter 6 (#u3001c468-3aa3-5646-ac50-40488afb9c70)
Chapter 7 (#u14b3968d-8d46-5878-9688-67d73d5abf8a)
Chapter 8 (#ua7a1188e-fd66-5972-8090-a44ce41bde0b)
Chapter 9 (#ua83b3690-9c23-547c-a017-3e6eb1e7e073)
Chapter 10 (#u3d1109af-fe3e-52d5-8e7f-7ca35783e988)
Chapter 11 (#ueb3ad5ff-80a2-55f5-9490-dc648006b483)
Chapter 12 (#uc3cb50aa-cfe3-5e6b-a1df-9c54669b84e7)
Chapter 13 (#ubd868db4-c659-5326-a03d-140d5eb25372)
Chapter 14 (#u74450eed-7d7d-5c90-8f62-ccf39b1881ec)
Chapter 15 (#uffe2a131-394c-5d3e-b7cb-73affbeea627)
Chapter 16 (#u32fd6cc4-69ef-55f8-941b-5762603e4e44)
Chapter 17 (#ue97a54bb-212a-5be9-b172-974a4ee73078)
Chapter 18 (#uf41fd3e5-3acf-5dde-81e1-f8a62c0e35df)
Chapter 19 (#u192cccc6-4152-5ccd-853d-11842646c130)
Chapter 20 (#uff3a44a3-2be4-5670-a03c-b2d82957a313)
Chapter 21 (#u1b606fc3-627a-5c8b-ab65-0f857ad9b584)
Chapter 22 (#u3332deef-6da7-5e94-9bf3-0e7fb60c7715)
Chapter 23 (#u74d93b0d-b78c-5052-bae5-05e2325f0178)
Chapter 24 (#ue51c833c-09a8-5d38-8e2d-91cc919223e6)
Chapter 25 (#ud8151fcf-d397-5991-a53a-251a89a1d5d5)
Chapter 26 (#u59cfc2cd-a327-59c4-b520-0d4d85407498)
Chapter 27 (#u014092cf-3733-528d-a3af-723be37cfc33)
Chapter 28 (#ue46a1345-9736-5c93-b65b-f28b5578abb4)
Chapter 29 (#u6341a502-585a-5705-a371-bf45f64ef76c)
Chapter 30 (#u338e34cd-f823-5fa3-ad52-b26145093b1a)
Chapter 31 (#ubcab5b04-7104-519e-9fad-bf701ff8e0d5)
Chapter 32 (#ua6e8a74c-36f8-5b16-81ec-3a294c927575)
Chapter 33 (#u03e03eeb-27ab-5106-8bda-ab5f53c756fa)
Chapter 34 (#uce2ae03b-4503-5247-bf2b-bc7ff1a66c61)
Acknowledgements (#ucf3dbbdc-f2fe-5cdb-a2d3-a9c43acea5c1)
Extract (#u72d6b7b5-b2c0-544b-ba3b-fb0b5ef7d729)
Dear Reader … (#ueeadcaf9-f3a0-5210-9db8-0d6a9c33a209)
Keep Reading … (#u7ff02681-52c6-5181-9538-1bf82641f14d)
About the Publisher (#u61e70592-23f9-5871-b18d-1726f1bd3d19)
For Belinda.
That’s me, btw.
Twelve-year-old you is thrilled.
Chapter 1 (#u23b3b596-9d2c-5e55-ae22-58afe5c38102)
Hogmanay, 2010
Flames danced towards the night sky, slowly snaking their way along the cobblestoned street like a slow-moving river of fire. At the front of the procession, Viking warriors chanted to the steady rhythm of a beating drum, blending with the sound of bagpipes.
It all sounded so medieval, but it wasn’t anything like that – not by half. Positioned near St Giles Cathedral on Edinburgh’s famous Royal Mile, our tour group huddled tightly near the end of the spiralling mass of people taking part in the traditional Torchlight Procession.
Tonight officially kicked off Hogmanay, one of the most spectacular – and exciting – ways to ring in the New Year. And I was there to experience it all.
An icy wind sprang up, causing the flames of our torches to wobble excitedly. I tugged my jacket tighter, warding off the chill that blasted my face, and pulled my beanie further over my dark brown hair. Somewhere nearby, a bagpipe started another frenzied rendition of a Proclaimers song. This wouldn’t have been a problem normally, but it felt like the same song had been on repeat for the last two days while we’d wound our way up from London, after already hitting a dozen European cities. Hearing the song again caused raucous groans and laughter from our group.
‘You know what this reminds me of?’ My best friend Heather leaned in. ‘It reminds me of that time in primary school where we had to practice those Beatles songs over and over.’
For months, our class of ten-year-olds spent day after day rehearsing the same four songs, all from the Yellow Submarine album, the culmination of which was being crammed on a tiny stage in the town hall to sing for the masses – mostly other schools and mums, but it was our five minutes of fame. One misplaced step saw Heather, the periscope of the submarine, fall off the edge of the stage.
I smiled at the memory. ‘I was a bright pink octopus.’
A crackly loudspeaker and the shuffle of feet announced the beginning of the procession and, just like the song, we were on our way. My breath formed small cloudy bursts in front of me and, not for the first time this trip, I was thankful that I’d packed another layer of clothing. Even though we’d been in Europe almost three weeks already, the cold took some getting used to, especially as we were more acclimatised to roasting under the Australian sun at this time of year.
‘Josh was seaweed,’ I said, the memories of our gone too soon childhood flashing before my eyes. A small child bounced off my leg and collapsed onto the muddy ground, before getting up and running off again. Her exasperated mother was hot on her heels, a puff of fringe and muttered words under her breath.
‘Actually…’ Heather looked around. ‘Where is he?’
Along with half of our tour group, Josh had dispersed as soon as the procession began, blending in with the hundreds of other people joining us for the traditional Scottish event. He was weaving in and out, looking for new, unsuspecting girls to charm with stories of Australian urban legends. Lanky and a little bit standout-ish, I managed to identify him by his Where’s Wally beanie over by a group of girls. One on each arm, he looked more than happy with how his night was progressing. He turned the corner with the crowd and disappeared towards Princes Street.
Wet roads glistened under street lights, and grass glowed an iridescent shade of green. Everything here just seemed so … vibrant. From the architecture, to the history, the people, and the fiery shade of red hair over by a first aid station. I couldn’t help the small smile that spread across my face as I realised that I was finally here.
For almost eighteen months, Edinburgh had been circled on our calendars as the pinnacle of our trip. Heather, Josh and I – friends for most of our remembered lives – had decided we would embark on a European bus tour at the end of our gap year. When one year became two, it only afforded us more time to save, adding more destinations to our trip.
