by Lucy Diamond
‘That leaves you, India. How are things? Laura said you’ve taken up the violin or something?’ Jo finished.
India’s lips gave a funny little twist. ‘Well . . .’ she began.
It had been the happiest of discoveries for India, having her own violin again and realizing that, after a somewhat rusty start, she could still play and that it made her feel wonderfully . . . well, alive, if that wasn’t too melodramatic a word to use. She’d had a couple of lessons with a local teacher, just to remind herself of the basics, and then George had found some app on the iPad, which proved to be a treasure trove of sheet music, and she’d plunged back in, picking her way through some easy waltzes and minuets at first, before gradually moving on to harder pieces that took greater concentration and practice. She would pick up her bow, meaning just to have a quick ten-minute play, but somehow an hour would slip by; a heavenly hour when she lost herself utterly in the music, working on the dynamics and rhythms of a piece, marvelling repeatedly that she was playing again, that she had retained so much musical knowledge up there in her brain, as if it had been waiting patiently for her return all along.
Even better was the fact that, along with the music, came forgiveness – forgiveness of her own self. Because that was why she’d stopped playing in the first place: out of self-punishment, desolation at Alice’s death, the conviction that she didn’t deserve to be happy any more. But now those feelings had finally evaporated, leaving a space inside her to be filled with more uplifting things: listening to Tchaikovsky’s heavenly violin concerto at top volume in the car and letting the emotions wash over her; plucking up the courage to join a local string group, as suggested by her teacher, and absolutely loving every rehearsal session; even thinking ahead to taking a teaching diploma of her own one day and moving into that field. It would be a damn sight more interesting than Mini Music, that was for sure, and, with that end in sight, she’d taken a deep breath and agreed to sell on the franchise at the end of the year.
‘You dark horse, you!’ Jo cried as India told her friends this. Well, most of it, anyway. They still didn’t know about Alice, and all the complicated feelings she had tied up in that story, yet to be fully untangled. Perhaps that was a tale for another day, when she had dealt with it properly herself. She was getting there, though. Maybe in a few months’ time, when there was enough distance between now and the events of the summer, she might be ready to bare her soul to them.
India smiled and wrinkled her nose as they started teasing her, trying to guess what other obscure hidden talents she might have kept quiet about (‘British Scrabble champion?’ ‘Expert bonsai-grower?’ ‘Snake-charmer?’). Even if she had the odd secret from her friends, at least she had been honest with Dan now, and since her mega-confessional over the summer, they’d felt closer than ever: a good solid relationship cemented with trust. Determined to carve out some proper time together, the two of them had recently started a salsa class once a week – ‘No arguing!’ she’d cried, booking them in online. Despite his initial protests, he’d proved surprisingly adept at the old salsa moves, sure-footed and actually quite . . . well, seductive, to be honest. Was there anything sexier than being swung around the dance floor by your loved one, hips swinging suggestively, a twinkle in the eye? She could even forgive him for being better at it than she was. ‘Still got it,’ he’d say, winking, whenever the teacher singled him out for praise.
Robin hadn’t been in touch again, which was a good thing; old hurts laid to rest. But she had received a letter from Mr and Mrs Goldsmith in reply to her own agonized-over missive, which had both comforted her and made her cry. We understand, Mrs Goldsmith had written in rounded black letters. Thank you for explaining. We’re sorry you lost your Alice, too.
Goodness, why was she thinking such maudlin thoughts today, when it was Jo’s special lunch, and there was so much water under the bridge since her own birthday celebrations? It was partly having recognized lately that this was life – this random collection of moments and experiences strung together like beads on a string: pain, happiness, doubt and wonder, accumulating to make one beautiful, messy, glorious necklace. Why had it taken her so long to realize that the dark and difficult times had their place there too, and actually served to accentuate the sheen of the more joyful ones? Living through pain and coming out the other side, braver and more resilient, was what being human was all about. Not that she was about to start pontificating on such deep and philosophical matters to her friends right now, especially when they’d probably all wised up to such things long ago anyway. Look at them today, enjoying and celebrating the good times! She was glad for them, so glad.
‘Hey, do you know what I’ve just realized?’ she said, a new thought striking her as the waiter appeared to take their starter plates away. ‘Next time we have one of these lunches, for Eve’s birthday, it’ll be January – and there might be five of us here, if Laura’s baby is the punctual sort.’
They all made excited squealing noises, and Laura instinctively put her hand on her belly, beaming. ‘Oh my God, yes,’ she said. ‘How terrifying and brilliant. We’ll probably both be crying, knowing my luck.’
‘You won’t be,’ Jo said kindly.
‘You’d better not be,’ Eve put in warningly, which made them laugh again.
‘Do you know, I’ve thought a lot about what happened when we were at Jean-Paul’s for my lunch back in May,’ India said suddenly. ‘The crash and everything, that crazy slow-motion scene, how dramatic and scary and horrible it all was.’ The others fell silent, their faces sobering. ‘And do you remember, the head waiter came over to us and gave us brandy and he was like: You’re the lucky ones, or something.’
‘That’s right,’ Laura said. ‘Which was a bit naff, I remember thinking – like, I actually felt guilty for being “lucky” when those other people . . . weren’t.’
‘Yes, and it was almost like a curse because, having been told we were lucky, I then seemed to have one piece of bad luck after another,’ Eve put in. ‘I totally went spinning off afterwards. I didn’t feel normal again for ages.’
‘Oh God, me too,’ India said. ‘I definitely lost the plot.’
‘It was the shock,’ Jo agreed. ‘It affected all of us. How could it not?’
‘Exactly,’ India said. ‘But looking on the bright side, I feel as if things have turned round for all of us again now. I do feel lucky. I’ve got you guys and Dan, and I’m starting to feel as if I might know what I want to do with my life at long last.’
‘And I’m having a baby, when I thought I never would, and Jo’s madly loved up with Mr Wonderful,’ Laura added. ‘We’re just owning that bright side these days, basically.’
‘And I must be the luckiest one of all, because I cheated Death,’ Eve said, rolling her eyes, ‘or at least, that’s what it feels like. Plus I’ve got the best friends ever.’
India found herself sniffling just a tiny bit, to hear Eve being so uncharacteristically soppy. Today was going to be notched up as a happy memory, she knew it already, with each of them in a good place, equilibrium restored. And hadn’t she just been thinking it was important to celebrate the best moments in life, when you didn’t know what might be coming next? ‘I think that deserves a toast,’ she declared, filling their glasses, ‘and definitely another bottle, too. To us – all four of us – and our good friendship, good health and good fortune. To being lucky ones!’
‘To being lucky ones,’ they chorused, clinking their glasses together across the table.
Their food arrived in the next moment and then the four of them were digging hungrily into bowls of steaming pasta and enormous pizzas and salad. The conversation turned to Eve’s plans for a massive Up-Yours-Cancer dinner party, and how Rick was taking Jo off to Paris the following weekend as a birthday treat, and how excited Laura was for the baby, and then India was on her feet, with an impression of Dan doing a salsa move, apparently called ‘Chica Brutal’, which had them all in stitches.
A random strang
er walking by just then and glancing through the window might have observed them there, faces flushed, all talking at once, and made a snap judgement, as we all do – that the four women looked happy, that they clearly enjoyed life. The passer-by might even have smiled a bit at India’s unflattering impression of her husband sticking his bum out and gyrating, although it would have been understandable if they didn’t immediately identify this as the Chica Brutal move.
And then, if this same stranger happened to walk a few streets further along, they might have gone on to glimpse Grace Taylor, too: lip-glossed and hair curled, waiting nervously on the corner for a first date with a boy from school, a boy about whom she’d gigglingly confide, ‘He’s so lush, Mum’ to Eve a fortnight later; a boy she’d go on to date for two whole years, in fact right until she made the startling discovery that actually, do you know what, she preferred girls after all.
Meanwhile, out towards Rochdale, Robin Fielding was parking outside a terraced house and plucking up the courage to see his long-estranged daughter, Chloe, for the first time in twelve years. Apparently she was six months pregnant and he was going to be a grandad before he was even forty years old, which had come as something of a shock. Still, he thought, turning off the engine and grabbing the bunch of white carnations he’d tucked in the passenger footwell, maybe he’d turn out to be a better grandad than he’d been a father so far. Second chances, and all that. And people could change, couldn’t they?
Across the city, Lewis Mulligan and his girlfriend Katie were walking into the animal shelter, Lewis having decided to take the plunge and adopt Huxley, the rescue dog, as his official ‘man’s best friend’. Later that day, out on a long rambling hike together, Lewis would reach for Katie’s hand and suggest, rather shyly, that maybe they could look at renting some new wee house together, make a real go of things, what did she think? And then they would both start laughing, because Huxley would choose that very moment to come bounding back up to them, tail wagging, eyes bright, as if he wanted to hear Katie’s answer too, and then Katie would turn, smiling, to Lewis and say yes. Yes!
Over in Didsbury, Bill Kerwin was opening the door to his handsome son, Andrew, who’d decided he was tired of London and wanted to move back up north to be nearer his beloved parents. Miriam would cry with happiness, relieved that life could still offer up good surprises to her after all, while Bill would be so overcome with emotion that he’d have to blow his nose at least three times. And in a year or so, Andrew would be at work in his new veterinary surgery when a woman called Polly would come in for an appointment with her poorly cat. Andrew and Polly would both be surprised to experience a little frisson as their eyes met, and he would think, That is a very attractive woman.
Elsewhere, Helen Nicholls was patting her hair in front of her hall mirror, before grabbing her purse to go to the shops, little knowing that she was about to clatter her trolley into a man in Tesco, and that they’d laugh and get chatting and he would turn out to be the absolute love of her life. For real, this time. And she’d never have to say the words ‘Bloody men’ again, for as long as she lived. Well. Perhaps very occasionally, when he forgot to put the bins out, but she’d say it affectionately and forgive him straight afterwards, because that was what you did, when it was the absolute love of your life, right?
Further away still – miles away, in fact, in a semi-detached house in Nottingham – a woman was opening a letter and clapping her hand to her mouth in joy because she’d been offered her dream job, working as a senior consultant in Wythenshawe Hospital, Manchester. And in years to come she would be sitting down in a small, hushed room at her clinic, opposite Eve and Neil Taylor, and she would clear her throat and say . . .
But these are all other stories, of course – and there are many different endings to a story. Besides which, our random stranger, walking past the San Carlo restaurant on this particular lunchtime in September, wouldn’t have been aware of any of those other possibilities. They’d simply have glanced through the window, seen Jo, Eve, Laura and India together and thought: Those women look happy.
And they were.
Afterword
Whenever I start a new book, one of the most enjoyable decisions I get to make is where the action will take place. The backdrop can be every bit as important as the characters in terms of establishing a tone, and I always love spending time in the area, so as to find the locations for scenes and soak up the atmosphere.
For a novel that is so much about friendship, Manchester felt like the perfect choice of setting, as it is one of the friendliest cities I’ve ever been to. I stayed for a few days in early 2017, pounding the streets and looking at everything through my characters’ eyes – where would they live? Work? Drink cocktails? – and everyone I spoke to was unfailingly helpful and full of suggestions. (Thank you, if you were one of those people!) It had been some years since I’d visited, and I found myself appreciating anew the handsome old buildings, the bustling streets, the rich sense of history and of course that excellent Manc humour. I did end up fictionalizing some places within the novel, but I hope the city is still recognizable to those in the know.
Since I finished the first draft of this book, Manchester has suffered heartbreak and horror in the form of a despicable act of terror. Like many others, I was sickened when I saw the news, and can only imagine the shock and pain that the victims and their families have suffered. But what a tribute to the city’s spirit and character, that there were so many resulting acts of kindness and compassion, and that people came together in solidarity, refusing to be cowed.
Thanks for having me, Manchester. You’re fabulous. I can’t wait to come back.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to the wonderful team at Pan Macmillan – Caroline, Anna, Sarah, Katie, Jez, Stuart, Alex, Kate, Charlotte, Jess and all the fabulous sales reps. It’s a great pleasure to work with such a creative, dynamic and frankly lovely bunch of people.
Thanks to Lizzy Kremer, my agent, for support, advice, laughs and some fantastically posh cakes. Thanks also to her hard-working colleagues at David Higham.
Thanks to Caroline Styles who patiently answered all my medical questions. Any mistakes are definitely mine.
Thanks to my family for the cups of tea, encouragement and love, and for reminding me that there are often more important things in life than chapter-wrangling.
Finally, thanks to my readers, who have been so funny, friendly, supportive and kind over the years. I really appreciate all your nice messages and comments. Hope you enjoyed this book!
Find out more
about Lucy and her books at
www.lucydiamond.co.uk
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On a Beautiful Day
Lucy Diamond lives in Bath with her husband and their three children. When she isn’t slaving away on a new book (ahem) you can find her on Twitter @LDiamondAuthor or Facebook at facebook.com/LucyDiamondAuthor.
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BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Novels
Any Way You Want Me
Over You
Hens Reunited
Sweet Temptation
The Beach Café
Summer with My Sister
Me and Mr Jones
One Night in Italy
Th
e Year of Taking Chances
Summer at Shell Cottage
The Secrets of Happiness
The House of New Beginnings
Novellas
A Baby at the Beach Café
Ebook novellas
Christmas at the Beach Café
Christmas Gifts at the Beach Café
First published 2018 by Macmillan
This electronic edition published 2018 by Macmillan
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-5098-5107-2
Copyright © Lucy Diamond 2018
The right of Lucy Diamond to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Cover illustration by Kate Forrester
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