Amy's Story Read online

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  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  HarperImpulse

  an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2018

  Copyright © Georgia Hill 2018

  Cover design by Micaela Alcaino © HarperCollins Publishers 2018

  Cover illustration © Shutterstock.com

  Georgia Hill 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.

  Ebook Edition © October 2018 ISBN: 9780008281281

  Version: 2018-09-18

  To Bertie, with love and cuddles.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Acknowledgements

  Also in The Little Book Café Series

  About the Author

  About HarperImpulse

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  An early morning sea fret stole around Amy’s feet as she struggled to fit the key into the lock of the enormous double doors of the book café. Really ought to squirt some WD-40 in it, she thought, just as it unexpectedly gave way and she fell in. Switching on the outside lights, Amy peered out into the swirling mist which shrouded Berecombe harbour and hid it from view. It was cold this morning and a shiver ran down her spine. Glancing down, she dropped her bags in shock. The pumpkins, which she had spent ages carving and had arranged carefully on the outside step last night, had been destroyed! Getting closer for a better look, she saw that all three pumpkins, which she had whimsically named Mummy, Daddy and Baby Pumpkin had been stamped on. Whoever had done it hadn’t even wanted to steal the things; they’d just mindlessly flattened them and made an unholy mess in front of the bookshop.

  Amy stared horrified. She had spent most of the weekend taking out the pumpkin innards and carving comical faces into them. It was still only the beginning of October but she had great plans for the shop at Hallowe’en. Getting the pumpkins ready had been hard work, but fun – and it had filled yet another empty weekend. If this is what some Berecombe residents thought of her efforts, she may as well not bother. Tears prickling, she returned to the shop, stowed away her things and went to find a dustpan and brush.

  Just as she was putting the pumpkin filled bags into the commercial bins at the side of the building, she heard someone open the shop door. The bell jangled; its sound cutting through the still damp air, and her heart lifted. It was far too early to be a customer, and besides, she hadn’t turned the closed sign over yet. It must be Patrick. He often popped in for a chat and an early morning coffee. Hurrying round to the shop front, her heart sank back to it accustomed position when, instead of Patrick’s shock of unruly black hair and his dimpled grin, she saw the figure of her mother.

  Katrina Chilcombe was holding the shop door sign between her finger and thumb, as if its very touch would infect her. ‘“Sorry, we’ve closed the book for today,”’ she read. ‘“Please come back tomorrow for more wise words.”’ Looking up, she saw her daughter. ‘Oh there you are, Amy.’ Her lips curled. ‘Wouldn’t a simple “closed” sign do?’ Before Amy could stop her, she turned it over and read, with derision, ‘“Come in for a lovely read, comfortable sofas, fantastic coffee and yummy cakes.” Oh really, Amy? It’s hardly professional.’

  ‘But friendly,’ Amy wanted to say. ‘And sets the tone for how I want The Little Book Café to feel,’ but she didn’t. As usual, when her mother belittled her, she remained silent. Looking down, she scuffed her shoes in a smear of pumpkin that she’d missed. It was turning into a hell of a Monday morning.

  ‘And where have you been? The place is like the Mary Celeste.’ Katrina sniffed. ‘You really shouldn’t leave the place unlocked like that. Anyone could walk in.’ She swept past, leaving Amy to follow, stuttering out an explanation about what had greeted her when she’d unlocked.

  Katrina turned around, her camel coat swirling around her diminutive figure in the dramatic fashion she’d hoped. ‘Well, I told you this was a no-hoper. It’s all very well having a business down at this end of town in the summer, but in the winter the harbour is practically deserted. It’s not safe at all. Has the heating been switched on?’ she added as she pulled her coat collar up to her neck. ‘It’s very chilly in here.’

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to put it on yet.’

  Katrina looked around at the stuffed bookshelves, with their tempting selection, at the table that displayed enticing bestsellers, at the vividly-coloured children’s section with its balloons and posters, at the spiral staircase leading up to the cosy reading space, and dismissed it all with a sniff. ‘Oh I hate this time of year. So dreary.’

  Amy couldn’t agree. She loved the dark evenings and the cold crisp days. She loved piling on figure-concealing woolly layers and snuggling by a fire with a good book.

  ‘Of course, your father and I had plans to spend the winters somewhere warm when we got older. I always liked the idea of Cyprus. English enough but with weather.’ She said the last word with relish. ‘And then your father went and ran out on us and—’ Katrina’s lips compressed and her cashmere covered shoulders began to shake.

  Amy went to her mother and hugged her fiercely. She may be infuriating and occasionally a bully, but she had never really recovered from the divorce. When Tony Chilcombe had left them to set up home with the lissom – and very young – Jasmine, Katrina had been left with a substantially reduced lifestyle and had returned to her hometown and a poky two-bed bungalow.

  The decree absolute coincided with Amy beginning university and, once she had graduated, she’d joined her mother, a woman who had never really coped on her own. Amy had commuted to jobs in bookshops in Exeter for a while but the travelling had got too much, so when Millie Henville, owner of the newly-opened Little Book Café had
offered her the job of managing the shop, she’d jumped at it.

  ‘Oh Mum. Ssh. You’ve got to move on.’ Amy said the first thing that came to her and patted her mother’s back. ‘It’s been nearly ten years.’

  ‘Move on?’ Katrina shoved her daughter away with surprising force. ‘What, like your father has, I suppose?’ She stamped her delicately shod foot in anger and then sighed as her temper distilled into self-pity. ‘Who would want a washed-up fifty-seven-year-old like me? Haven’t you heard? It’s all about the youth now. Oh, why don’t you move back in, Amy? I’m so lonely without you. It used to be so cosy with the two of us and it’s silly for you to pay rent.’

  Amy had lived with her mother for a while but had felt so suffocated, she’d moved out to an attic studio deemed too tiny even for use as a holiday let. It had two windows, noisy neighbours and views over the rooftops of the old town but she had her independence. It made dealing with her mother a little more bearable. Just.

  ‘Think it works better if we live apart, don’t you?’

  As usual, when her mother didn’t get her own way, she went on the attack. ‘I don’t know why you want to live all on your own.’ She sniffed again. ‘After all, it’s not as if you’re ever going to get a man again. Not looking like a lump of lard. Not after Lee jilted you.’

  Amy took in a sharp breath. Katrina often pointed out her inability to lose weight but she was rarely vindictive enough to mention the jilting at the altar by Lee Styles. ‘Mum,’ she said, more tears erupting. ‘How could you be so cruel? Maybe that’s why I don’t want to live with you!’

  As if sensing she’d gone too far, Katrina deflated. ‘Oh my darling,’ she cried, putting a conciliatory and manicured hand on her daughter’s arm. She pouted a little. ‘I only want you to be happy.’

  ‘I am happy, Mum.’

  ‘Really?’ Katrina’s eyes widened. She spread her arms. ‘Working here? In a shop? It’s hardly using your degree properly, and you were always such a clever girl.’

  Amy had had enough. Time was getting on and she needed to get the bookshop ready for the day. ‘Did you come here simply to insult me, or was there a proper reason?’

  ‘Now now, no need to be snippy. I just popped by to tell you that I’m going away for a few days.’

  Amy raised her eyes heavenwards. This was the main reason her mother had no money; she was impossibly extravagant. ‘I thought you had no money?’

  ‘Oh don’t be so ridiculous, Amy. A weekend in an out of season hotel in Scarborough isn’t going to break the bank.’

  Amy was just about to launch into an explanation that money in had to equal money out when she heard a familiar, softly accented voice.

  ‘Feck, it’s cold this morning. Anyone around?’

  Chapter Two

  ‘Hi Patrick.’ Amy smiled and blushed, aware her mother was watching them avidly.

  ‘Amy. Hi. Couldn’t see you. I’m on the early side but thought I’d treat us to a wee coffee and pastry.’ He held up a bag. ‘Badgered Millie into selling me two apricot Danishes. They’ve only just come out of the oven. Thought we could go through the spring catalogues. See what you want to stock after Christmas.’

  ‘There’s the literary festival in January too. We’d want to stock books by the writers taking part.’

  ‘Ah, so we should.’

  ‘Well, hello there.’ Katrina put out her hand. ‘Amy has kept you very quiet.’

  ‘Not much chance of keeping me quiet,’ Patrick said affably. ‘Patrick Carroll.’ He shook her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘This is my mother, Patrick,’ Amy supplied, as Katrina raised her immaculate brows in a silent demand to be introduced.

  ‘As Amy is making such a mess of introducing us, I’ll finish the task. I’m Katrina Chilcombe.’ She smiled, showing small white teeth. ‘How absolutely delightful to meet you. Are you Amy’s boss?’

  Amy shifted, irritable that her mother should assume, simply because Patrick was a man and older, that he should be her superior.

  ‘Ah sure. I just help out now and again.’ Patrick gave Amy a warm look. ‘It’s your daughter here who’s the one in charge and a fine job she does of it too.’

  Katrina simpered. ‘Really? How very kind of you to say so. And is that an Irish accent I can hear? So terribly charming.’

  Patrick gave a modest nod but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Mum, I’ve got to get on. I haven’t done anything this morning yet, apart from clean up.’

  Katrina made a great show of examining her watch. ‘Goodness, yes. I must away. Can’t be late for Suki.’ She patted her hair. ‘Having my hair done before my little holiday,’ she said for Patrick’s benefit.

  ‘Now, why would you, when doesn’t it already look grand?’

  ‘Oh,’ Katrina giggled. ‘It’s true then, the Irish are charming.’ She caught Amy’s glare. ‘Right, off then.’ Reaching up to air kiss her daughter, she trilled, ‘Bye then both. Lovely to have met you, Patrick.’ Then she was gone, leaving a Dior-scented whirl in her wake.

  ‘You’re not at all like her,’ was Patrick’s only comment.

  ‘Apparently I take after my father.’ Amy caught Patrick’s look. ‘Thank God.’

  He laughed and held up the paper bag again. ‘Now, come on, I can’t function without coffee at this unearthly hour. Let’s eat breakfast and you can tell me why you’re running so late.’

  Over their coffee and pastries, eaten at one of the scrubbed pine tables in the café end of the bookshop, Amy filled Patrick in on what she had found when she’d opened up that morning.

  His blue eyes widened over the rim of his mug. ‘That’s a shame. I remember you saying you were going to carve them when I came by on Friday.’

  ‘It doesn’t make me feel very secure down at this end of town when the days are so short, to be honest,’ Amy said, thinking about what her mother had pointed out about the harbour part of town being deserted off season.

  ‘It’ll just be kids, Amy. Bored I expect. And sure, isn’t the biggest crime around here the theft of the traffic cones from the one way system? Bet that’s kids too. A gang of lads thinking they’re the big “I Am.”’

  ‘A gang?’ Amy’s voice trembled. ‘In Berecombe?’

  Patrick put his hand over hers. ‘Sure, they’ll just be lads, no older than ten or twelve.’ Patrick pulled a face. ‘Think we can safely assume they’re not blessed with imagination. They’ll claim there’s nothing else for them to do.’

  Amy’s fears deflated a little. ‘You’d think Paul Cash has got enough on his plate,’ she said, referring to the town’s only policeman. ‘What with Tash’s court case looming.’

  ‘Is that still happening?’

  Amy nodded. ‘Poor woman can’t move on until it’s all sorted.’

  ‘So this Adrian, this ex of hers is up for rape, is that your man?’

  ‘Yes. He did all sorts of horrible things to Tash too but she got out in time, before it escalated. All sorts of – coercive, is that the right term? – behaviour.’

  Patrick scowled. ‘Can’t get my head round men who treat women like that. And you’d never know, from looking at her, that there was anything wrong in her life. Always seems so in control.’

  Amy gathered their mugs and plates. ‘Well, she likes to keep things private, does Tash. I’m always a bit scared of her, to be honest. Sharp tongue.’

  ‘Maybe she’s had to be like that to survive with this Adrian fella?’

  ‘Maybe. I hadn’t thought of it like that. She put their breakfast things on a tray. I’ll wash these up and then perhaps we can have a look through the spring catalogue.’

  ‘Grand.’ Patrick leaned back on his chair and looped his hands around the back of his head. ‘And Amy, if you like, I can come and work in here for a few hours a day. To keep you company and keep the wee beasties away,’ he added, casually.

  Amy turned, the tray still in her hands. The thought of having Patrick in the bookshop for most of the day was al
most too much to contemplate. His suggestion was the best thing that had happened all morning. Admittedly, there had been little competition. ‘Would you?’ she breathed, trying to keep the love out of her voice. ‘Would you really?’

  ‘Of course. That’s if you don’t mind me hogging the internet and scribbling at something in some dark corner. Oh,’ he added, as he warmed to his theme. ‘And I need constant refuelling. A writer runs on coffee and carbohydrates, at least this one does. It’s pure selfishness on my part. It means I don’t have far to go to get at Millie’s lemon drizzle.’

  As well as owning the bookshop, Millie and her husband, Jed, also ran the café next door.

  ‘Wouldn’t it interfere with the next book?’

  He paused, appearing to decide what to say. ‘Ah, no real deadline for the next and I’m still at the planning and ideas stage, so I can work anywhere that’ll have me. If I get here about three I can hang around when it goes dark and you won’t have to lock up on your own.’ He looked about him, at the still empty shop. ‘Not sure how much trade there’ll be and you haven’t got many talks or children’s events on this month, have you?’

  Amy shook her head. ‘One or two a week until we’re nearer Hallowe’en.’ She blushed. ‘Plus your book signing, of course. I really would love the company. Have to confess to feeling a bit spooked lately. Oh Patrick, it’s so terribly kind of you.’

  ‘No problem, darlin’. I like it in here. I like the company too.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Now,’ he nodded to the tray still in Amy’s hands. ‘A coffee refill is required and we’ll get down to this catalogue.’

  Amy beamed. ‘Right away!’