Jessica Redland
Jessica had never considered writing as a career until a former manager kept telling her that her business reports read more like stories and she should write a book. She loved writing but had no plot ideas. Then something happened to her that prompted the premise for her debut novel, Searching for Steven. She put fingers to keyboard and soon realised she had a trilogy and a novella!
She lives on the stunning North Yorkshire Coast — the inspiration for the settings in her books — with her husband, daughter, cat, Sprocker Spaniel puppy, and an ever-growing collection of collectible teddy bears. Although if the puppy has her way, the collection will be reduced to a pile of stuffing and chewed limbs!
Jessica tries to balance her time — often unsuccessfully — between being an HR tutor and writing. She’s been a Brown Owl since 2010 although she says that 24 excitable girls can sometimes be a shock to the system after a day of peace and quiet working from home.
‘Dreaming About Daran’ is the third part of the Whitsborough Bay Trilogy, although it can also be read as a standalone book instead of as part of the series. ‘Searching for Steven’ (part one) and ‘Getting Over Gary’ (part three) are also out now. A standalone novella, ‘Raving about Rhys’ is available exclusively on Kindle.
Visit her website: www.jessicaredland.com
Where do you go when it’s your
own past you’re running from?
Jessica Redland
Published in Great Britain in 2016 by:
LITTLE BEAR BOOKS
Scarborough
North Yorkshire
www.littlebearbooks.uk
email: [email protected]
Copyright © 2017 Jessica Redland
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Mark Heslington
email: [email protected]
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
Some friends come and go. Others stick around.
To Susan who’s been in it for the long-haul xx
Chapter 1
(Saturday 7th September)
‘What the hell is that in the fruit bowl?’ I cautiously leaned forward on Ben’s sofa to get a closer look, hoping it wasn’t an enormous spider about to scuttle over me.
‘Apples, pears, kiwis and bananas,’ Ben said. ‘Don’t tell me that you’ve reached the grand old age of 33 and you still can’t identify your basic fruits.’
I raised my eyebrows at him. ‘Ha ha. You’re hilarious. You should be on stage, so you should.’ I reached my hand out.
‘Argh!’ yelled Ben.
I snatched back my hand, screaming.
‘Sorry. Couldn’t resist,’ he said, slumping back onto the sofa in hysterics.
‘You eejit!’ I whacked him with a cushion. ‘You scared the life out of me! Is this what it’s going to be like living with you? Because, if it is, I can check into a hotel for the next few months instead. Are you ready to say goodbye to that new kitchen?’
I work for a company called Prime PR, managing public relations campaigns for large corporates. I’d been promoted to Head of PR for the Midlands and North of England so needed to relocate from London to Leeds. Ben – or Saint Ben, as I called him – was the brother of my best friend, Sarah, and he lived in Leeds. He’d become my meal buddy for the past few years every time I’d been to Leeds on business. Meeting up with a friend for some good craic was far more appealing than dining in a hotel restaurant surrounded by suits, staring into space, eating meals for one. On my last trip, I’d moaned about the prospect of living in a hotel for a month or two while I found somewhere to rent and, being the saint he was, Ben immediately offered me his spare room. Grand idea. So I negotiated a deal where work paid me an allowance rather than putting me up in a hotel. It was cheaper for Prime and I could give Ben the allowance as rent to refit his prehistoric kitchen. Win-win. Of course, he refused to accept payment, but I wore him down eventually.
Ben put his hands up in surrender as I lifted the cushion to whack him again. ‘Sorry. But you’d have done the same if it had been the other way round. You know you would.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Definitely.’
I smiled. He was right. ‘So, what is it, then?’
Ben reached into the fruit bowl, then held out the black object in the palm of his hand.
‘It’s a chess piece,’ I said.
‘What sort?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t play chess. Boring game for boring people.’
‘That’s very judgemental, Clare. I’m sure lots of interesting people play chess.’
‘Name one.’
Ben laughed. ‘Okay, you’ve got me. But it’s not the interesting bit I’m struggling with. I just don’t know anyone who plays chess.’
‘I take it you don’t play?’
‘No.’
‘Then, why’s there a chess piece in your fruit bowl?’
‘Interesting story. I came home from work last Tuesday and, quite randomly, it was on the front doorstep.’
‘With a note?’
‘No note. Just the king on his own.’
‘Very random. But do you know what’s even more random? Why the hell it’s in your fruit bowl instead of the bin.’
‘It seemed like a good place for it.’
‘But you don’t know where it’s been! It could have been peed on by a dog. Or worse!’
Ben looked at the king thoughtfully. ‘Good point. Just as well it was between the bananas and kiwis, then, wasn’t it? They’ve got skins.’ He leaned forward and put it back.
‘Ben! Put it in the bin!’
‘No.’
‘Ben!’
I reached forward, but he grabbed me and started tickling me. I squealed and leapt to my feet. I hate being tickled. I darted past him and into his kitchen. Thankfully, I was saved by the arrival of our Indian takeaway.
‘Get your hands washed before you touch that food,’ I ordered Ben.
He winked at me. ‘I love it when you’re bossy.’
I dug out some plates and we busied ourselves dishing up the food.
‘Would you mind if we watch a film while we eat?’ Ben asked.
‘It’s your house. Will you have a film in mind?’
‘The Count of Monte Cristo’s on and I’ve never seen it. My mate Pete said it’s really good.’
‘Is that the one with Jim Caviezel in it?’
‘I think so. And Guy Pearce.’
‘Ooh, two hotties. Grand. Count me in!’
‘Your friend Pete was right,’ I said, when the closing credits started rolling. ‘Cracking film. What did you think?’
‘I agree. The king thing was a spooky coincidence, don’t you think?’
In the film, best friends Edmond and Fernand exchange a chess-piece king when one of them overcomes a challenge to symbolise who is ‘king of the moment’.
I nodded towards the king nestled i
n his fruit bowl. ‘Did you plant it there knowing it was in the film?’
Ben shook his head. ‘Honestly, I’ve never seen the film or read the book. I didn’t know about the chess piece. I genuinely found that bad boy sitting on my doorstep, just like I told you.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Have you ever known me to lie?’
He made a good point. He was one of the most honest people I knew, although, unlike me, he was tactful with his honesty. Generous to a fault, ridiculously considerate of others and gifted in spades with patience, Ben definitely deserved his nickname of ‘Saint Ben’. By contrast, I could be pretty blunt and to the point, not particularly patient and quite selfish. I was lucky he only called me ‘Irish’ because I probably deserved something a little less affectionate.
‘Tell you what we can do.’ He grinned at me, wrinkled his nose in a clear act of mischief, then reached for the king in the fruit bowl. He picked up a chilli pepper discarded from his curry in his other hand and said, ‘If you eat the whole chilli, you win the king.’
So I did. Tears streamed down my face, my nose ran like a tap and my head felt as if it were about to explode. But that king was going to be mine.
‘Oh my God! I can’t believe you just did that.’ Ben handed me a box of tissues. ‘Serious respect to you, Irish.’
I gasped for breath and rasped, ‘Wait till I tell your sister what you made me do.’
He laughed. ‘You’re king of the moment, Irish. He’s all yours.’
And so it began.
Chapter 2
(Saturday 21st December)
‘I now declare you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.’
Sarah radiated happiness as Nick gently kissed her, then they turned to face the congregation. I put my fingers in my mouth and released a piercing whistle that echoed around the church. The vicar’s eyes widened and he looked as if he were about to protest at my crassness in a place of worship. Bollocks to that. I whistled again, then started a round of applause, which everyone joined in with. I stared back at the vicar, challenging him to stop me, but he surprised me by smiling and joining in instead.
Sarah and Nick signed the register and posed for some photos. As it was only four days till Christmas and a bit on the nippy side, Sarah had arranged to have photos taken inside the church with the bridal party and immediate family members, before heading to their reception for group photos.
‘Nice whistling,’ Ben whispered to me, as we shuffled out of the pew to join the rest of the wedding party. He was an usher and I was a bridesmaid alongside Sarah’s bestie since primary school, Elise, and Nick’s sister, Callie. ‘I thought the vicar was going to tell you off, though.’
‘So did I. But he didn’t scare me.’
‘I don’t imagine anyone or anything scares you, Irish.’
I laughed, but my stomach did a somersault. There were two people who still scared me. I wasn’t going to let them ruin my day, though. Time for a change of subject.
‘I’m liking the morning suit on you,’ I said, taking in the navy three-piece Ben was wearing. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit.’
‘That’s probably because I don’t own one. Don’t need one for work.’
‘It’s just as well Lemony isn’t here. She’d probably get ideas of dragging you up the aisle herself, after seeing you dressed like this.’
‘It’s Lebony, and you know it.’
‘It’s not even a name.’
‘I’ve told you this before. She was conceived whilst her parents were working in Lebanon. They named her after it. Sort of. Yeah, okay, my girlfriend has a rubbish name, but that’s not her fault, is it?’
‘So, what’s her excuse for missing your sister’s wedding?’
Ben didn’t get to answer the question, as the photographer shuffled us towards opposite sides of the line-up.
Sherrington Hall – an ivy-covered Georgian manor house perched on a clifftop about 12 miles south of Sarah’s North Yorkshire coastal hometown of Whitsborough Bay – was pretty impressive as a venue. Sarah, a florist, had certainly pulled out all the stops to decorate it beautifully and achieve a balance between Christmas and nuptials. I’d been to loads of weddings in my time but never one so close to Christmas. Despite not being a fan of the festive period, I had to concede that the ambience created by swathes of ivy, bunches of mistletoe and church candles everywhere was pretty special. Champagne-coloured roses and teal flowers (no idea what type; not my specialist subject) matched the colours of our dresses and the men’s waistcoats.
As Sarah and Nick cut the cake and giggled together after the meal, I smiled and had what Sarah would describe as a ‘warm and fuzzy moment’. They were a good match. I liked Nick a lot, which was a good thing because I couldn’t bear that eejit Jason, whom she’d lived with in London before finally seeing the light, ditching him and moving back home to Whitsborough Bay. Despite my cynicism about relationships and marriage, it warmed my heart to see Sarah and Nick looking so happy together.
Elise leaned towards me. ‘Are those tears in your eyes, Clare?’ she teased.
I cleared my throat. ‘Tears? You talk bollocks, so you do! As if I’d cry at a wedding. Unless it was in sympathy for the poor buggers for ruining their lives and blowing their savings on what’s effectively a big piss-up.’
‘You can deny it all you want, but I know that’s not how you really feel about marriage.’ She nudged me gently. ‘It’ll be you one day, you know.’
I turned around to face her, confident that any tell-tale tears had retreated. ‘Me? Married? Are you for real? Aside from the fact that I think marriage is a pile of shite, you have to be in a relationship to get married and, as you well know, I don’t do relationships.’
‘That’s because you’ve never met the right person. I reckon your Nick’s out there somewhere and you just have to open your heart up to finding him.’
I stared at her, wondering for a moment if she was just winding me up, but something told me she wholeheartedly believed what she was saying. ‘Do weddings turn you a bit loopy, Elise? Never met the right person? Open my heart and I’ll find him? Seriously?’
Elise smiled. ‘Yes. Seriously. We’re 10 days from New Year and I reckon you should make a New Year’s resolution to actually have a relationship with someone. A meaningful relationship, that is, as opposed to just sex. Let someone in, for once.’
I shook my head as I topped up my glass of wine and took a sip. ‘This sort of bollocks is one of the many reasons why you and I weren’t friends until recently.’
Elise twiddled one of the auburn ringlets dangling from her up-do. ‘Does that mean we’re friends now?’
I’d walked into that one. I had to admit that, despite battling with her for a decade or so, I now really enjoyed Elise’s company. It had taken a huge bust-up while planning Sarah’s hen do, where we’d both said some nasty things – particularly me – to get us to face why we’d never hit it off and, ultimately, get over it and start behaving like adults. We’d probably have plodded along tolerating each other if I hadn’t discovered Elise’s secret and been there to support her as she came to terms with it.
I grinned back at her, a feeling of genuine affection flowing through me. ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But I can easily scrub you off my very short and very exclusive friends list if you keep spouting bollocks like that. Anyway, why aren’t you jaded and cynical like me, after what you’ve been through this year?’
Elise had discovered that her husband of 12 years, Gary, was gay and always had been. He’d managed to kid himself that their friendship was enough to make their marriage work, but his attraction to our friend Stevie’s best mate, Rob, had been too strong, and Elise had walked in on them in the shower. Nightmare. In an effort to get over Gary, she’d started seeing Daniel, a rep from Sarah’s shop. Turned out he was a two-timing git, too. Actually, in Daniel’
s case, he was a three-, four- or even five-timing git. The relationship ended, but Daniel had left Elise with a little more than memories of their time together. With her sister giving birth to twins and Sarah’s wedding approaching, Elise was adamant that she didn’t want to steal anyone’s thunder by announcing her own news.
Personally, I think she was struggling to come to terms with what it meant. She’d been desperate for a baby, but having one as a result of a brief fling with a tosser like Daniel wasn’t quite the way she’d planned it. Consequently, the only people who knew so far were Daniel (who, as predicted, couldn’t care less), his brother, Michael (who had the hots for Elise and hated Daniel so wasn’t exactly thrilled by the news), Stevie and me.
Waiting staff appeared with pots of tea and coffee. Elise entered into a conversation with one of them about which herbal teas they had, thankfully putting paid to any further discussion about marriage. Ben stood up and announced that he’d had enough wine and was going to get a round of beers in. He’d barely left the room before Stevie sat down in his empty seat beside Elise. I’ve no idea what he said, but it set her off giggling. I sat back and watched them chatting animatedly, sipping on my wine while my coffee cooled. If ever there was another perfect match, it was Stevie and Elise, but neither of them was ever going to make a move. Just as well I’d never been one for pussyfooting around things. I decided to corner her in the toilets 10 minutes later and pretty much order her to give him a sign that she saw him as more than friends. Whether she’d have the guts to go for it, only time would tell.
When we returned to the table, the conversation had turned to what everyone was planning for Christmas and New Year. Arse. Worst subject in the world, ever. Sarah’s auntie Kay was telling everyone that she’d be managing Sarah’s shop so would be looking forward to a takeaway and putting her feet up on Christmas Eve. Her new partner, Philip, looked towards me. Oh no! Here goes… ‘What will you do, Clare?’ he asked.
I gritted my teeth. Must try to sound light and friendly. ‘Absolutely nothing.’ He stared at me, frowning, and I realised I wasn’t going to get away without explaining it. I took a deep breath. ‘Christmas is family time. As far as I’m concerned, I have no family. Therefore, I don’t do Christmas and I hate New Year with a passion.’ There. I’d said it! I hoped nobody had noticed the shake in my voice.
Dreaming About Daran (Whitsborough BayTrilogy Book 3) Page 1
