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Coming Home to Ottercombe Bay: The laugh out loud romantic comedy of the year
Bella Osborne
Ottercombe Bay was originally published as a four-part serial. This is the complete story in one package.‘Bella Osborne has such a nice touch with description that I was utterly charmed by Ottercombe Bay’ Sue Moorcroft‘Absolutely brilliant. It's funny, heartwarming, entertaining and I couldn't put it down. It's exactly what you need if you want a delightful summer read’ Phillipa AshleyDaisy Wickens has returned to Ottercombe Bay, the picturesque Devon town where her mother died when she was a girl. She plans to leave as soon as her great uncle’s funeral is over, but Great Uncle Reg had other ideas. He’s left Daisy a significant inheritance – an old building in a state of disrepair, which could offer exciting possibilities, but to get it she must stay in Ottercombe Bay for twelve whole months.With the help of a cast of quirky locals, a few gin cocktails and a black pug with plenty of attitude, Daisy might just turn this into something special. But can she ever hope to be happy among the ghosts of her past?Authors and readers love Bella Osborne’s gorgeous novels:‘I really enjoy Bella Osborne’s books’ – Katie Fforde‘A warm and engaging story with relatable characters who will worm their way into your heart. A great read!’ – Talli Roland‘Loved it! Believable characters, a sweetly told, lovely story… a great read’ – Jane Lovering‘Romance, comedy, and mystery abound in this delightful British novel’ – I Read That Book!‘A great read, with some really special moments… so beautiful and romantic’ – Annie’s Book Corner‘A well-written and charming tale.’ – Paris Baker’s Book Nook'Makes me feel like I should be reading it while wearing a tea dress, drinking posh coffee from a china cup and eating Victoria sandwich cake with a dainty little fork. It's charming, adorable, amusing and all those sorts of words' – Escape Into Words
Copyright (#u99f1b219-0db4-559c-9c84-31bcf020b753)
Published by Avon, an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street,
London, SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2018
Copyright © Bella Osborne 2018
Cover illustration © Kim Leo
Cover design © Head Design 2018
Bella Osborne 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: 9780008258153
Ebook Edition © June 2018 ISBN: 9780008258160
Version: 2018-06-04
Dedication (#u99f1b219-0db4-559c-9c84-31bcf020b753)
For my mum – thank you.
Table of Contents
Cover (#u83d98ecd-13c8-53b9-902b-317fc0954558)
Title Page (#u3cb4e612-d154-5080-8126-3ddd4bae4485)
Copyright (#ucee1a47b-3762-5221-8f84-cfab60ca5beb)
Dedication (#uf2d90c71-6cc9-5c69-af8f-5b62772b331e)
Chapter One (#ud59148dc-0d3f-5511-b6e9-2e9c93ad7833)
Chapter Two (#uee1e9cae-eaf9-5e65-93de-f5cd31d25be6)
Chapter Three (#u81608542-cd42-58a7-9183-3b8a728bf2db)
Chapter Four (#u3cf7337f-b222-54fe-ac01-e11c67643141)
Chapter Five (#u5b134633-1cb4-51e8-818b-e3aca9945c3b)
Chapter Six (#u6fc9584c-f769-57ad-98f9-dbfdf06a762c)
Chapter Seven (#u2ecfc753-29d7-5153-90f1-7d50ade48d64)
Chapter Eight (#uf1724f11-143c-548b-839a-b3d464cfd2a1)
Chapter Nine (#u0ee2c214-41e2-5f57-ac5d-64cff5eab65b)
Chapter Ten (#ubacc706e-ab68-5ed0-8210-196962b22ade)
Chapter Eleven (#ue06855cf-a96a-557a-9ecd-05c7a9378984)
Chapter Twelve (#u001dbdb7-7637-500d-8b5b-4cf81a5b3fee)
Chapter Thirteen (#u5f944eae-121b-51c9-aa1f-f5a6649e2f14)
Chapter Fourteen (#ud055a304-4b26-5115-a5d1-2b391d914833)
Chapter Fifteen (#uf16b3f12-c5de-5284-8482-12532e71a10b)
Chapter Sixteen (#u6375ce79-d99c-5b6a-84c7-911149f426a6)
Chapter Seventeen (#u2340c783-52a0-58c9-819e-a62a9601eb49)
Chapter Eighteen (#u6884d015-29df-5fa8-82cd-b0bfb5f3d75e)
Chapter Nineteen (#u522cb0a8-375f-5318-b8ba-c1dea6f9f09e)
Chapter Twenty (#udbbca069-5b03-52e9-ba74-b36e510095b1)
Chapter Twenty-One (#ub99b2bea-6be7-5dc6-87fe-05e4f5b1f932)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#u12176321-d656-5e19-a5b0-982d2fe3e8c9)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#u950c2a36-ee7b-5640-a519-596b32773a0e)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#u53fbedfc-4ee0-5c19-aeb8-527ea26b2a8b)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#u7fb69eba-d462-509d-b9b8-0265373d56b2)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#u86c08104-7957-512b-8c3d-d3165300fc5a)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#uc5e3975c-ab16-51e3-ba79-d4c3ca2c5a39)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#u9a4c37ba-d11b-5209-baf9-ed4edc33a606)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#uafd07c68-04ca-5f37-9b0e-9dfbfb151623)
Chapter Thirty (#ubfe35e7e-886c-5e15-9297-e181fd464c19)
Chapter Thirty-One (#u99957528-0522-5c63-a5fd-7ddf5f34e13d)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#uf7e4bd09-0f84-57c7-ad4f-a180f7bb8a31)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#u46749a4c-5a45-53bd-bcfb-53cf5e70eff7)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#u7d29a1a3-24a6-5783-977c-c6feba5a0ad0)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#u1d5c8326-d3a7-52a7-82a1-396de0bb0648)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#udeb9255f-72d1-5f03-8be4-a31cb79bb876)
Chapter Thirty-Seven (#uc93e36b2-c9cc-5cc8-a1fb-203505e124dd)
Chapter Thirty-Eight (#u0e2fd743-5379-5379-8ee8-92dfcd699cb2)
Chapter Thirty-Nine (#u92d1a474-83fc-5422-bc81-9166a7fe9c90)
Acknowledgements (#ub7d45a54-7716-5eb3-8ce3-002fcbe7fbab)
Keep Reading … (#u08465b95-98eb-5598-86f1-cae03917e991)
About the Author (#uc36b553a-ff18-5906-a57c-efffdd6cd776)
Also by Bella Osborne (#ue66d4735-b7c3-5ba6-8cda-5f981bb672f8)
About the Publisher (#u9c383f8a-32ba-563d-b7c7-4ab7228b408f)
Chapter One (#u99f1b219-0db4-559c-9c84-31bcf020b753)
Daisy’s bum didn’t feel like her own thanks to four hours on an old motorbike. A pretty village sign welcomed her, but Daisy felt a long-buried sadness creep over her like frost across a windowpane. Coming back to Ottercombe Bay was a big mistake. If only I had a choice, she thought.
A good-looking man in an unattractive high-vis jacket interrupted her thoughts as he stepped out in front of Daisy’s motorbike. She hastily swerved and braked, and the ancient vehicle spluttered to a halt.
‘You can’t come this way,’ the young man said, his muscled arms clamped across his luminous chest.
‘Please,’ she said, followed by her best cheesy grin; something familiar about the man’s mop of dark hair had her memory working overtime.
‘No way,’ he said, pulling back his shoulders.
Daisy flicked up her helmet visor with an air of defiance; she wasn’t easily intimidated. ‘Don’t be daft. I need to get to Trow Lane.’ She looked longingly down the main road. She was only three streets away.
‘You’ll have to go around.’ The man was peering at Daisy. ‘Do I know you?’ he asked, a frown appearing briefly on his tanned face.
‘I doubt it. Look, it’s daft to go miles out of my way. I’m only going down there,’ she said, pointing. Daisy was tired after her long journey and didn’t need this jumped-up workman telling her what to do, especially when she could see no reason why the road was cordoned off on a sunny Saturday evening in late June.
She revved the motorbike back to life but high-vis man stepped up to her front tyre, blocking her path. They glared at each other. Daisy revved the engine again and made the motorbike hop an inch forward. He didn’t even flinch. She was vaguely aware of a crowd gathering nearby. Then she heard it – a distant clanging sound. She frowned and the man glared back. The clanging sound drew closer and Daisy recognised it as drums accompanied by what sounded like someone trying to get a tune out of an elephant. She spotted the bunting crisscrossing the road. The penny finally dropped – it was carnival parade night. He was right, there was no way she would be able to ride her bike through town tonight. She slammed down her visor and grumbled an apology before she skidded the motorbike away leaving the smug-looking high-vis man swathed in a fug of black smoke.
Daisy was still cross when she pulled up at Sea Mist Cottage. She stopped the bike, tugged off her helmet and tore the heavy backpack off her aching shoulders. This was not a good start and it was further confirmation that she shouldn’t have come back. She turned and looked at the cottage. It was like being transported back in time – it hadn’t changed a bit. The ancient building still looked like the sad face Daisy had imagined she saw when she was a child, with its heavy overhanging thatch eyebrows and symmetrical windows with half pulled down blinds giving the impression of drooping eyelids. The simple porch jutted out like an afterthought of a nose and its small front door like a forlorn open mouth was just a stride away from the pavement. She remembered that the door used to stick a bit but that was years ago, it had most likely been fixed by now. Daisy watched the silhouette of someone through the frosted glass as they gave the door a shove and stumbled outside.
‘Daisy, love. You made it,’ said Aunt Coral, enveloping Daisy in a tight hug. It had been a long time since anyone had embraced her like that. Daisy had forgotten there was no escape from Aunt Coral’s hugs.
‘Let me look at you.’ Aunt Coral held Daisy at arm’s length. Daisy shook out her mop of caramel-blonde hair, which had been cocooned in the helmet for the last four hours.
Tears welled in Aunt Coral’s eyes. ‘Oh, Daisy, you have grown into a beautiful young woman.’ She bit her lip. ‘And you look so like your mother.’
At the mention of her mother Daisy felt the sorrow settle on her afresh. Even after all these years it still hurt like it had happened yesterday. The sense of loss was exactly the same, as was the empty sensation clutching at her gut. Ottercombe Bay held only sadness and bad memories for Daisy.
Despite this, Daisy forced a smile because she knew this was the required response and Aunt Coral beamed back at her. ‘It’s good to see you. Come in and I’ll get the kettle on,’ she said, ushering Daisy inside. As Daisy reached for the door handle a strangled screech of a bark made her flinch. Further frantic barking accompanied the arrival of a small black dog now pogoing up and down on the other side.
‘Oh, Bugsy Malone shush now,’ said Aunt Coral, bustling past Daisy. She tugged open the door and the small black dog shot out and started to nip at Daisy’s boots, making her jump back. ‘Now, now,’ said her aunt, scooping up the protesting canine who continued to bark at Daisy.
‘What is it?’ said Daisy, recoiling from the snarling bundle that was trying to escape from her aunt’s clutches. Daisy didn’t know much about animals; she didn’t have anything against them and some seemed quite cute, but her nomadic lifestyle meant there had never been an opportunity for pets.
Aunt Coral chuckled. ‘He’s a pug,’ she said, leading the way into the cottage. Bugsy continued his vocal assault. Daisy followed at what she hoped was a safe distance.
‘He doesn’t seem very happy,’ said Daisy over the high-pitched yaps.
‘He’s a bit out of sorts since your Great Uncle Reg died. Devoted to each other they were. I don’t think little Bugsy can work out why he’s not here any more.’ Aunt Coral’s voice went a bit wobbly. She cleared her throat and popped Bugsy out of the back door where he was temporarily distracted by the smells of the garden. ‘Right. Tea?’
‘Yes, please. Milk, one sugar,’ said Daisy with one eye on the paws now trying to carve their way back into the cottage. The kitchen was filled with the smell of freshly baked sponge. Daisy breathed it in greedily and her mood lifted. She dropped her rucksack and sat down at the small kitchen table with its pristine white tablecloth. She looked about her whilst Aunt Coral busied herself with the tea. It was as though time had stood still. The kitchen was just as it had been when she was a child; the only changes she could spot were that the walls had been painted yellow, when they used to be blue, and there appeared to be the addition of a corkboard with a variety of pieces of paper and notes pinned to it. She spotted the last postcard she had sent from France and her good mood quickly faded when she remembered the disaster of her French boyfriend Guillaume.
Daisy looked down at her rucksack. Everything she owned was in it, apart from the motorbike. That was it. All her worldly goods in one package. She pulled back her shoulders and gave herself a mental shake. This was the way she liked it. No ties, nothing to keep her in one place or hold her back. She was as free as a bird and that suited her just fine. Aunt Coral ferried a large tray with a teapot and a pair of fragile-looking cups and saucers to the table and sat down opposite Daisy. She pointed at the rucksack. ‘You’re not planning on staying long, then?’ There was a sadness in her eyes as she poured their tea.
‘No, sorry. I need to leave straight after the funeral.’ Daisy broke eye contact and picked up the delicate teacup. She didn’t know where she was heading next. She had been staying in a hostel in Canterbury, hopping from one job to the next, when Aunt Coral had telephoned. It had seemed like an ideal opportunity to make it a permanent departure from Kent. As to where she was going next, she had no idea, but she wouldn’t be staying in the small Devon town any longer than was absolutely necessary.
‘Well, you can’t leave directly after the funeral, I’m afraid, because there’s the will and—’
A knock at the door was simultaneously accompanied by frantic barking from the garden making Daisy feel she was under attack from two different directions. Aunt Coral calmly got up and headed for the front door. As soon as Daisy heard the high-pitched voice a bell started to ring in the deepest recesses of her mind.
The visitor’s Devonshire accent was strong and her voice got louder and faster as she approached. ‘OhMyGod. I can’t believe it’s actually you. I mean I hoped it was when I saw the bike because I don’t know anyone with a bike like that. Not round here. And it is you, you’re here!’ A young woman with long straight dark hair flung herself at Daisy and hugged her tightly. ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she said, sitting down without taking her eyes off Daisy, which was quite disconcerting.
‘Tamsyn,’ said Daisy, recognising her. ‘It’s lovely to see you. Do you still live next door?’
‘Yeah, with Mum and Dad. They’ll be thrilled to see you too.’
‘Tamsyn has been a wonderful help keeping an eye on Reg while I’ve been at work. Reg has kept every card or letter you have ever sent from all your travels and I think he’s read them all to Tamsyn a few times over. And you know how he always liked to tell stories and you featured in quite a few of those too.’
