by Fay Keenan
A Place To Call Home
Fay Keenan
To the Mums’ Hotline Bling Ring
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
More from Fay Keenan
About the Author
About Boldwood Books
1
‘White sage is all very well,’ Holly Renton reflected, ‘but the ashes are a bugger to get out of the carpet.’ Earlier that morning, before the shop had opened, Holly had carried out a ritual called smudging, which was meant to purify the energy in a building, promote positivity and remove negative energies. Picking up the dustpan and brush, she emptied the pungent remains of the dried herb bundle she’d ignited and then wafted around the windows and doors of the shop into the bin.
‘I know you recommend this all the time for other people’s houses, but why are you so bloody obsessed with doing it in the shop?’ Rachel, Holly’s sister, glanced down at where Holly was still brushing the rug under the mullioned front window of ComIncense, the shop specialising in herbal remedies and well-being aids that Holly ran in the sleepy but nonetheless New Age small town of Willowbury and smiled. Just beyond the shop’s counter, the door that led to Holly’s small back yard was open and Harry, Rachel’s three-year-old son and Holly’s nephew, was playing happily with a set of wooden animal-shaped blocks in their own lorry, which had come from a box of assorted toys that Holly kept specifically for the younger customers. Holly didn’t believe, unlike some of her business-owning neighbours, that children should be banned from places like hers, and since the early-spring weather was warm and pleasant, Harry had trundled out into the sunlight to play.
‘You’ve got to refresh places from time to time,’ Holly replied. ‘Especially when there’s been a lot of negative energy about, and since all of the scandal with Hugo Fitzgerald, I really felt like this place needed a spiritual cleanse!’
‘You can say that again,’ Rachel reached under the wooden apothecary’s dresser that displayed countless jars and pots of dried herbs and flowers, all purporting to be of some spiritual or physical benefit, to retrieve one of the toy llamas that Harry had thrown under it. ‘What a way to go…’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Holly replied, still sweeping. ‘At least, having had a massive coronary, he wouldn’t have known much about it.’
‘But what a waste of a good plate of scones and jam!’ Rachel grinned. ‘Mum told me that his constituency agent found him face down in them at his desk.’
‘I wouldn’t have fancied digging him out of them,’ Holly said. ‘But from the size of him, the heart attack was an accident waiting to happen. And gossip has it, he had his finger in a lot of pies, not just the odd plate of scones.’
‘Oh, you know how the rumour mill goes into overdrive when something like this happens.’ Rachel, who had more of a tendency to see the good in people than her sister did, dismissed Holly’s comments with a wave of her hand. ‘I mean, I’m not saying he wasn’t a prat, but nothing was ever proven about his financial misdemeanours. Although, I have to admit, since he couldn’t have given a stuff about Harry’s condition, and getting access to these new drugs, I’m hoping the new guy will be more receptive to the cause.’
‘It’s still bloody unfair that he gets to swan in here and take the seat after only the quietest by-election,’ Holly grumbled as she replaced the dustpan and brush on the shelf behind the counter. ‘I mean, the guy’s only a year older than me and he’s been parachuted into one of the safest seats in the country. Even if we have a change of government, he’s unlikely ever to lose his seat. What if he’s just as crap as Fitzgerald and couldn’t care less about us here in his constituency? We’re stuck with him until he chooses to retire.’
‘Give him a chance,’ Rachel said reasonably. ‘He might be good for this place.’
‘Have you made an appointment to see him yet?’ Holly asked, glancing down to where Harry was now building a tower of exotic wooden animals that was getting more and more precarious the higher it got.
From the outside, Harry looked like any other energetic three-year-old, but on the inside, it was a different story. Weeks after he’d been born, Rachel had been launched into a perpetually revolving carousel of physiotherapy, medications and experimental trials in an attempt to alleviate the chronic condition, cystic fibrosis, that would, in all likelihood, limit Harry’s life. The latest medication, which might make a huge difference to Harry’s life expectancy, was currently being held up because the government was still negotiating with the pharmaceutical company involved over a reasonable price to supply it to the National Health Service. How it was possible to put a cost on a life such as Harry’s was a source of increasing frustration and heartbreak for Rachel and the family.
‘Not yet,’ Rachel sighed. ‘If Hugo Fitzgerald couldn’t be arsed to do anything other than toe the party line, then why should this new guy be any better? Especially if he is a total rookie. I doubt he’ll stick his neck out for Harry.’
Noticing Rachel was, unusually for her, close to tears, Holly hurried around from behind the counter and gave her sister a hug. ‘Don’t let it get you down,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll always be right there with you, campaigning to get this little munchkin the treatment he deserves.’
‘I know,’ Rachel replied, giving Holly a shaky smile. ‘I’m fine, really. It’s just when he has a bad day, it reminds me of the challenges he’s facing, which will only get worse as he gets older. And knowing that the new medications could potentially make those challenges so much easier to face…’
‘We’ll get there,’ Holly said. ‘I’ll be with you every step of the way, like I always have been. And I still think it’s worth a punt with this new guy, you never know.’
‘I’ll try and get in to see him over the summer,’ Rachel replied, breaking the embrace from her sister and grabbing the last of the wooden animals to add to Harry’s tower of jungle wildlife. ‘Can I make a drink?’
‘Of course,’ Holly said. ‘I’ve got some organic fair-trade matcha tea in the kitchen.’
‘Is that the super-energising stuff?’ Rachel asked. ‘After being up with Harry last night, I could certainly do with a lift.’
‘Honestly, it’ll keep you going until mi
dnight!’ Holly said. ‘Go on… you know you want to.’
‘All right,’ Rachel replied. ‘But if I end up buzzing around Willowbury like a wasp for the rest of the day, I’m blaming you.’
‘Fair enough. And make me a cup, too,’ Holly called as Rachel disappeared up the stairs to Holly’s flat above the shop. Popping the dustpan and brush behind the counter again, she continued the conversation, since Rachel had left the door to the flat open. ‘Perhaps I should give this new guy the benefit of the doubt,’ she said, adjusting the labels on the jars of dried herbs and plants on the dresser so they all pointed uniformly outwards. ‘After all, new blood could be a good thing.’
‘Perhaps we should be fair and reserve judgement until he’s been in the job a few months,’ Rachel said over the bubble of the kettle. ‘You never know, he could be just the tonic this place needs, politically.’
‘You always try to look on the bright side, don’t you?’
Holly was preoccupied for a moment with the Bluetooth speaker that usually piped relaxing, locally composed and produced music through the shop during business hours. The thing was a touch temperamental, but she’d just managed to reconnect it to her phone. Scrolling through her Spotify playlists, she thought she’d better try it out with something a little more lively, so she selected one of her current favourite film soundtracks, an all-singing, all-dancing number that was sure to blast out any gremlins from the Bluetooth connection. As the singer’s voice boomed through the shop, Rachel’s response to her somewhat rhetorical question was lost in the pleasant din of the soundtrack.
Determined to stop talking about a subject that was clearly getting more under her skin than she’d anticipated, Holly raised her voice above the music, calling up the stairs to her sister, and, unable to help herself, lifting her arms to sway to the beat of the song. ‘Well, he’ll have to do a whole lot more for this constituency than Fingers-in-the-till Fitzgerald did to get my vote. And, to be honest, I don’t really hold out much hope for some career politician who’s just been parachuted in, do you?’
Holly, caught in the rhythm of the song, completely failed to notice the appearance of a figure at her open shop door, who paused, motionless, unsure now of what his approach should be. To be fair, though, even if she had been aware, she probably wouldn’t have been too concerned; Holly wasn’t one to worry too much about what people thought. Having lived the life she had, and owning the business that she did, public opinion was the least of her worries. What she didn’t realise, though, was that the encounter with this particular customer would change her life forever.
2
The voice, clear as a bell, cut over the top of the cheesy tunes of The Greatest Showman as Charlie Thorpe walked in through the open door of ComIncense. Although somewhat stung by the stridency in the speaker’s voice, he reflected, perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised. Surveying the shop floor, he’d been assailed by hanging crystals, his nostrils filled with the scent of burning herbs, his eyes assaulted by the myriad rainbow-coloured New Age books on the shelves, and his mind overwhelmed by the shelves of apothecary jars of weird-looking dried plants, all labelled, he admitted grudgingly, with exquisitely handwritten names. He wondered how many of them were strictly legal, despite what the labels said.
‘Er, Miss Renton?’ he asked, closing the shop door behind him, which elicited an alarming jangle from the bells tied to the top of it.
The dancing figure froze with her arms above her head; slim arms, Charlie noticed, with the hint of a tattoo peeking out from one shoulder, revealed by her vest top. Charlie felt even more like an intruder on some strange planet. He’d known Willowbury was the home of all things alternative when he applied to stand as the replacement Member of Parliament, but the last time he’d been inside this shop, admittedly some years before, and long before he’d considered becoming an MP, this place had been a toyshop. He’d bought a cuddly toy dog for his newborn nephew, which the baby had promptly vomited on. The only touch of normality, to his eyes, was the sight of an adorable, curly-haired toddler sitting on the floor by the open back door, playing with a selection of exotic wooden animals.
As the dancer turned around, Charlie noticed her clear-blue eyes, the pale skin and the long, messily tied-back auburn hair, tendrils escaping to soften the high cheekbones and the slightly pointed nose. A large, generous mouth, probably captivating when it smiled fully, was curled up slightly at the edges as she looked him briefly up and down.
‘It’s Holly,’ the woman replied, seemingly not embarrassed in the slightest by the fact she’d been sprung swaying to some highly suspect soundtrack during business hours, not to mention slagging off the local MP to his face. Well, almost. Not that she knew that, of course. ‘And you are?’ She glanced down to her phone and slid the volume control down a notch or three, to a more sociable level, before putting it back on the shop counter.
‘Charlie Thorpe.’ He extended a hand and tried not to look too closely at the one she offered in return, which appeared to have traces of nicotine staining on the fingertips. ‘I’m just doing a quick tour of the local, er, businesses to introduce myself.’
‘Why? Are you the new manager of the pub?’ Holly asked, having clocked his looking-but-not-looking glance at her fingertips and the way he dropped his hand immediately after he’d shaken hers. She was surprised he didn’t wipe his hand on his jeans, he seemed so put off. She thought about explaining that she’d been hand-dyeing some fabric out the back in a strong turmeric solution but didn’t bother. He probably wouldn’t have got it anyway; from the looks of his clothes, he was more of a designer guy. The crisp white shirt, open at the neck and the dark blue, slim but not skinny jeans with a tan belt looked suspiciously expensive. As did the boots he was wearing. Somehow, she doubted that they were vegan leather…
‘Not exactly,’ Charlie smiled what he hoped was a winning smile. ‘I’m the new Member of Parliament for the area.’
Charlie felt a stab of satisfaction as Holly’s cheeks flushed slightly, clashing with her hair. Clearly she hadn’t expected to be overheard in her vocal criticisms of him and his new job.
‘So, you’re the one taking over from Fingers-in-the-till Fitzgerald, are you? Good luck with that.’
‘Thanks,’ Charlie said gruffly. He wondered if he should leap to the defence of his predecessor but conceded that actually Holly was probably right about the fiddling, and not just with cash, but also with interns, if local gossip was to be believed, so he decided not to. ‘It’s going to take a while to get my bearings, so I wanted to come and say hello while Parliament’s in recess for the Easter holiday. Since I’m new to the area, I want to make the most of the time to settle in.’ Among his plans was a visit to every local business in his constituency, which included several cider farms, as well as quite a few smaller concerns like Holly’s shop. While he was looking forward to sampling some of the produce at the cider farm if he got the chance, he wasn’t entirely sure if anything from ComIncense really took his fancy.
‘Oh, I see,’ said Holly. ‘Doing the rounds, checking out your patch, then?’
‘So how long have you had the shop?’ Charlie asked, ignoring the veiled jibe. Press the flesh, Charlie… form a rapport with everyone you can. You never know when you might need their support.
‘About four years,’ Holly replied. ‘I was left some money by my grandfather, and after wondering what on earth to do with it other than blowing it on fast cars and drugs, I decided to invest in this place.’ She grinned. ‘I’m joking about the drugs, by the way.’
Charlie found himself smiling back, and trying not to glance again at the weird dried herbs and plants that had caught his attention as he’d walked in. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He glanced around the shop. ‘So, what are your, er, best-selling items?’
‘Oh, you know,’ Holly replied. ‘Everyone who moves house wants a stash of white sage to burn to chase away the bad vibes, and I get a lot of tourists in who love the fact we’re in the shadow of Willowbur
y Hill here, which, I’m sure you know, is a hugely important spiritual and archaeological site.’ She pulled an odd-looking doll off the shelf behind her. ‘And people fed up with their jobs tend to like these.’ She pressed it into his hands.
Charlie looked alarmed, until he took a closer look and found it was a jokey representation of a voodoo doll, split into sections marked with things like ‘talked over me at the meeting’, ‘stole my ideas’ and ‘denied me a pay rise’. He laughed gamely. ‘I can see why they’re popular. Perhaps I’ll buy a few to take back to the House!’
‘Have this one on the house,’ Holly said. ‘Or would that constitute a bribe?’
‘I think I can put it on the declaration of members’ interests,’ Charlie said.
There was a barely perceptible pause between them.
Charlie cleared his throat. ‘Well, thank you for this,’ he tucked the doll into his pocket. ‘And it was nice to meet you. As a local business owner, I hope we’ll be able to discuss your concerns in more detail.’
‘Oh, you can save me the political spiel,’ Holly’s eyes sparkled. ‘I’m afraid you shouldn’t count on my vote. I’m rather more in the Green Party camp these days.’
