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The Summer of Second Chances: The laugh-out-loud romantic comedy
Maddie Please
‘The Summer of Second Chances is the perfect feelgood summer read.’ Chrissie Manby, author of What I Did On My HolidaysLottie is about to discover that even when you think you’ve lost everything, hope and romance can be just around the corner . . .It takes time to build your life. To get into a long-term (OK, a bit boring) relationship. To find a job (you don’t completely hate). Lottie might not be thrilled with the life she’s put together, but it’s the one she’s got.So when, in the course of one terrible evening, it all comes crashing down around her, Lottie has a choice: give herself over to grief at being broke, single and completely lacking in prospects.Or, brick by brick, build herself a new life. And this time, with a little help from new friends, a crumbling cottage in Devon and a handsome stranger, maybe she can make it the one she always wanted.THE SUMMER OF SECOND CHANCES is an irresistibly funny read about never giving up, whatever the world throws at you. Perfect for fans of Jenny Colgan, Jane Costello and Christie Barlow.
The Summer of Second Chances
MADDIE PLEASE
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by AVON 2017
Copyright © Maddie Please 2017
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
Cover illustration © Head Design
Maddie Please 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: 9780008257293
Ebook Edition © July 2017 ISBN: 9780008257125
Version: 2018-03-15
For my husband Brian, who never doubted me.
With all my love.
Thank you.
Table of Contents
Cover (#ud9bb7552-23d8-513c-8610-fe758dfdd185)
Title Page (#u071b7603-970a-59dd-835e-600934cf01fc)
Copyright (#u91774590-4c18-582d-98e1-eb29ab55ac92)
Dedication (#u20307ad2-7cf7-5710-b318-0cc10537770b)
Prologue (#u56046ee5-66d0-5b64-b10b-2cf30e5545e6)
Chapter 1: Snowdrops – a friend in adversity, consolation, hope (#u417617eb-42b0-53ee-8b1d-476b26494037)
Chapter 2: Daffodils – uncertainty, unrequited love, deceit (#u97014fc3-88d1-5209-adb7-278948748da5)
Chapter 3: Aquilegia – resolution, determination, anxiety (#uef120c70-3251-53b7-8ecc-d0ccd842596d)
Chapter 4: Rhododendron – deceit, danger (#u314457fa-e3a9-5ff4-844e-0d0393398388)
Chapter 5: Primrose – modest worth and silent admiration (#ua5fa7ec3-62f0-51ce-b18b-f9692e6499a2)
Chapter 6: Hyacinth – jealousy (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7: Foxglove – insincerity, deceit (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8: Purple iris – faith, hope, inspiration, friendship (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9: Daisies – loyalty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10: Wallflowers – courage in adversity (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11: Cherry blossom – kindness (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12: Honeysuckle – devotion, fidelity (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13: Forget-me-not – remember me, friendship (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14: Azaleas – passion (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15: French marigold – sorrow, deceit (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16: Geranium – determination (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17: Anemone – have you forsaken me? (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18: Yellow carnations – disappointment, rejection (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19: Morning glory – love in vain (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20: Lily-of-the-valley – returning happiness (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21: Gladiolus – courage and strength (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22: Purple lilac – first emotion of love (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23: Chrysanthemum – cheerfulness and truth (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24: Holly and ivy – domestic bliss and faithfulness (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgement (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#u284eb7fa-c6eb-557b-89dc-b5dcb2dc774a)
It was quite incredible really, when I considered what a long time things took to do as a rule. Meeting Ian and moving in, supporting him as he built up his business, entertaining people who drove me nearly mad with boredom, getting contracts, the crazy nit-picking of flaky homeowners. These things took months, sometimes years. To lose it all took no time at all.
I lost my partner, my home, a lot of my friends and my peace of mind – not necessarily in that order – and yet, only a few days had passed.
We had shared the usual formulaic Christmas with Susan picking at her food as though I was trying to poison her. And then Ian had started on about the bloody New Year’s Eve party we were having.
He’d rolled his eyes at his mother who was sitting opposite me.
‘I had to persuade her, you know, Mum. Lottie hates New Year’s Eve,’ he said. Quietly, as though I was simple and couldn’t hear him.
‘I don’t!’ I said. ‘That’s so not true.’
I would have said it more emphatically with words like bollocks or crap attached, but Susan has been known to leave the room when I swear so I didn’t. It was Christmas after all.
‘She says it’s just one more day,’ Ian continued. He sent me a mischievous grin to show he was teasing me. I pulled a face at him and tried to kick him under the table.
Susan put down her knife and fork and peered over her glasses at me.
‘You’re very young, Charlotte. Perhaps you think there will always be one more day.’
Oh God, I knew what was coming.
Susan sighed and shook her head.
Yes, here it was.
‘I would give anything to have one more hour with Trevor. One more day.’ She bit her lip, shook her head and struggled on bravely. ‘If I had known he would be taken from me so soon.’
And after the party, wallop! One bloody shock after another, everything getting worse and worse until I came to dread waking up each day because I knew something else horrible was bound to happen.
And then the day came when I packed my clothes, my jewellery box, my grandmother’s clock and as many of my belongings as I could fit into my car – the only thing I now owned – and handed back the keys to the house to an anxious solicitor who looked like Rodney Trotter’s younger brother doing work experience. I could almost imagine Susan’s glee as she closed one claw-like hand over them with an evil cackle. I’d always known she had never really liked me, but now she could make her feelings more than clear. She blamed me for what happened, and this was the perfect revenge.
CHAPTER 1 (#u284eb7fa-c6eb-557b-89dc-b5dcb2dc774a)
Snowdrops – a friend in adversity, consolation, hope (#u284eb7fa-c6eb-557b-89dc-b5dcb2dc774a)
I reached Holly Cottage – my sanctuary – just before the late January sunshine faded into the grey-green hills of Devon. I had lost just about everything familiar to me; my partner, most of my friends, my job, the home I had loved. I pulled into the gravelled drive, turned off the car engine and opened the window. The silence was deafening. I took my seatbelt off and listened for a while; I realised it was the first peace I had encountered for a very long time. Hardly anyone knew where I was, that was the marvellous thing. And that was the way I wanted to keep it.
The road, if you could call it that, meandered up past the house and then tapered off as though it had lost interest into an unmetalled track with grass growing down the middle. Holly Cottage looked as though it had been dumped on the grass verge on the brow of the hill with views over the rolling countryside. It was like a child’s drawing of a house; stone walls, a slate roof, three upstairs windows and two downstairs, either side of a black front door. I had only travelled about forty miles, perhaps it was just my state of mind, but as I got out of my car, the air seemed livelier, different. I took a deep lungful of freedom and felt a bit shaky.
This was it, then, all pretence was gone. For the last few years I had lived in happy ignorance in Ian’s five-bedroom house surrounded by a half-acre of garden. I’d been anticipating a summer holiday in the Dordogne in a customer’s gîte. I hadn’t even known, much less cared, who my electricity supplier was. In hindsight, I had been beyond naïve; I’d thought nothing would ever change. Now I was going to live in a borrowed two-bedroom cottage with nothing much to recommend it but the view. How the hell did this happen?
But of course, if I was honest, I knew exactly how I’d ended up here. I’d trusted Ian, trusted him completely. And then everything had come crashing down. If it hadn’t been for the kindness of Jess I don’t know what on earth I would have done. I parked in front of the black door and remembered the conversation that had changed my life.
Jess had pouted for a moment, running a hand through her blonde hair.
‘Of course, Holly Cottage!’
‘Oh, I don’t think…’ Greg said, his brow furrowed in thought.
‘Please, don’t, I’m not a charity case just yet, you’ve been so great these last few days. A lot of my friends…’
I didn’t finish the sentence. I stood up and wandered around their conservatory, clearing my throat, pretending to look at their garden. Really I was trying to control my easy tears. A lot of my so-called friends had silently disappeared from the scene, as though Ian’s sudden death and my destitution might be infectious. To be honest, I didn’t want to talk to anyone any more, I couldn’t bear explaining everything over and over again. So I had got used to ignoring my mobile. I didn’t log on to my laptop to look at my emails.
Jess turned in her chair, the wicker creaking.
‘Lottie, you’d be doing us a favour, honestly you would.’
Her enthusiasm grew the more she considered it.
‘It’s only a little place. I bought it just before I married Greg. I used to work in a club in London. Greg calls them my wild years but they weren’t really. I lived on Uncle Ben’s Rice in a ghastly place in Peckham. I saved all my tips for two years. Very generous some of them were.’ Jess widened her blue eyes at me. ‘Oh nothing dodgy, so don’t worry.’
I looked at Jess with astonishment and new respect. She might look like a complete airhead but obviously she wasn’t. I was the nitwit here, with no financial sense at all, no career, finding myself at thirty-four broke and without prospects.
‘It’s all furnished; you wouldn’t need to take anything. Just your clothes and your bits and pieces. We could help you with that, couldn’t we, Gregsy? The van, you know.’
Her husband grunted and shifted in his chair, evidently not thrilled with the way things were turning out. Jess didn’t seem to notice; either that or she was ignoring him.
‘It has been rented out for three years but the tenants have just gone, owing money of course.’ She gulped as she realised the tactlessness of her words. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to say it like that. I’m not sure if I want to rent it out again or sell it. But either way it needs an upgrade. It’s right out in the country, the other side of Exeter, but less than an hour away. It’s a bit out of the way but really pretty. Ideal for you, in fact.’
I didn’t look at her. I tried to gather my thoughts.
‘How much would it be?’
Greg opened his mouth to speak but Jess interrupted him.
‘Nothing. All you need to do is give it a clean up, do the clever stuff you do with curtains and wallpaper and have a good flick around with a paintbrush. You’re ever so good with the interior décor sort of thing. Much better than me, that’s for sure. I know I need to spend a bit of money on the place. You’d be doing me a huge favour.’
‘Oh, Jess!’
‘No really, you would, wouldn’t she, Greg?’
