The Queen of Wishful Thinking

by Milly Johnson

  The troupe of six silently and sleekly walked down Stephen’s back garden, strode over the low fence and traversed the farmer’s field. It was a moonless, pitch-black night but guided by their downward angled torches and holding on to each other they quickly reached the darkened street where they had parked Stan’s van. They all piled in the back of it, except Valerie who climbed into the front passenger seat. She stripped off the black balaclava and shook out her steel-grey long hair.

  ‘I think we can safely assume that Bonnie won’t be getting any more trouble from that awful man,’ she said.

  Stickalampinit pulled the cotton wool out of his cheeks but strangely his voice remained the same. ‘He ain’t gonna give no one no shit never.’

  ‘I’ll fly the drone a few times up to his window when I know he’s in,’ said Long John, lifting up his son’s remote control helicopter with a battery-operated LED light ducttaped on the front. ‘Just to make sure he knows the hydra wasn’t making idle threats.’

  They laughed and the joyful sound bounced around the van. They felt that, wherever he was now, Brian Sherman would be chuckling with them, touched that his past kindnesses to them all hadn’t been forgotten.

  Chapter 82

  Long John was taking an age to polish an Asprey silver pill box, Stickalampinit was arranging his latest creation in his unit – a stuffed scraggy ancient fox with a lightbulb sticking out between its ears – and he and Mart Deco were giggling like schoolboys about something that had happened last night, or so Lew picked up in a snatch of conversation. Starstruck was telling the story of how he met Frank Sinatra to Butterfly Barry who was pleased as punch with the Painted Lady stained glass panel he’d just bought. The old couple with the guide dog were back in yet again looking through Vintage Valerie’s clothes. They were all jigsaw pieces that made up a wonderful picture of familiarity. But it was not complete because there was a piece missing, in the shape of The Rainbow Lady, and the sense of loss hadn’t faded at all with the days that passed.

  He missed her bringing the sunshine in with her when she opened the door each morning, he missed her bright colours, her smile, her lovely hazel eyes. He just missed being with her, in her orbit. And he had no idea what to do about it because he wasn’t even sure she thought about him in the same way he thought about her . . . but he wanted to find out. Even when he had been walking around Daffodil House with her, she was the one he pictured drawing the curtains in the evenings, planting flowers into tubs in the garden, sitting at the table with and eating Chinese food out of cartons.

  The door opened and in walked a group of four old ladies.

  ‘This is the place I was telling you about,’ one of them was saying.

  ‘Oooh, I love places like this,’ said another.

  ‘We’ll have a poke around and then go for tea next door. They do a lovely cake.’

  Two of the old ladies made a beeline for Uncle Funky’s toys and teddies, the other two came up to Lew at the counter. One of them knocked on it to attract his attention.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. It took him a couple of seconds to register who she was.

  ‘Mrs Twist. How lovely to see you again.’

  Pauline Twist patted her hair at the back, flattered that she’d been remembered.

  ‘I came in to say thank you for that cheque you sent. It was very nice of you, very unexpected, very decent. I can’t imagine anyone else would do it.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure,’ smiled Lew. ‘Though I can’t take all the credit as it was Bonnie’s idea as well. The lady who took it to you.’

  ‘Where is she?’ asked the other lady, who Lew guessed was her sister. They were very alike in their facial features.

  ‘She’s having a . . . little bit of time off,’ said Lew, rolling the same line out yet again.

  ‘I’m not surprised, are you, Kitty?’ said Pauline, turning to her sister.

  ‘Is she all right?’ asked Katherine Ellison.

  ‘You were so happy for her, weren’t you, Kitty?’ Pauline Twist leaned forwards to Lew and thumbed back at her sister. ‘She spoke up for her, you know.’

  ‘Pauline,’ Katherine cautioned her sister with a tug on the arm.

  Lew had no idea what she was talking about, but he wanted to find out. He jumped on the moment and bluffed.

  Looking around to make sure he wasn’t in danger of being overheard, he whispered, ‘It’s all right, I know all about it.’ He felt his heart rate quicken with tension. ‘Bonnie’s told me everything. That’s why she’s off work.’

  The ladies bought the lie. ‘Stephen came to see me again,’ said Katherine. ‘He should let Alma lie in peace. He doesn’t care half as much about her as he pretends to. He’s using his poor dead mother to try and control his wife. And I told him as much and not to come back. I’m just glad it’s all over. Bonnie must be so relieved.’

  Now Lew was totally confused. He didn’t understand what Stephen’s late mother had to do with anything.

  He heard the front doorbell jangle and saw, out of the corner of his eye, Valerie walk in. She waved to attract his attention and he gestured that he’d be with her soon. But he wasn’t about to break off this conversation for anyone.

  ‘Look, I have no right to ask this,’ said Lew, ‘but I think the world of Bonnie and I know Stephen has been trying to cause trouble for her. Will you tell me the whole story so I can help?’

  ‘I thought you knew.’ Katherine Ellison’s spine stiffened.

  ‘I lied,’ said Lew. ‘I’m sorry. But I’m worried about her. Really worried. Please.’

  ‘I’m afraid it isn’t my place . . .’ Katherine Ellison edged backwards.

  ‘Please. I’ve been so concerned. Help me to help her.’

  Katherine looked at her sister for guidance.

  ‘The only other person who can tell me what’s going on is Stephen,’ Lew tried.

  That worked. ‘You’d better tell him, Kitty,’ said Pauline. ‘At least he’ll get it straight from you.’

  Katherine Ellison gave a long sigh of resignation. ‘Do you have somewhere we can talk in private?’ she said to Lew.

  Chapter 83

  Bonnie could hear the man talking from around the corner, as she walked back home with her bag of shopping from the supermarket on the High Street.

  ‘I know you’re in there. I’m staying here until you speak to me. Enough of this nonsense. Bonnie Sherman, come out unless you want me camping on your doorstep and upsetting the neighbours.’

  She peeped around the corner to see Lew speaking into her letter box. He’d been there some time from the way his hair was plastered flat with the rain.

  ‘I’m not joking,’ he said.

  ‘Lew.’

  He straightened up and turned to see Bonnie there standing in her Bonita Banana yellow mac and under it, her dress with the coloured splashes on it. The one she had worn when they went to see Daffodil House. He wanted her to see it again. He wanted her to help him pick the carpets and the wallpaper and the plants for the garden: rainbow colours and daffodils, millions of them.

  ‘Oh, you weren’t in after all. I saw the car and presumed—’

  ‘I’ve just been to the Co-op. It’s only round the corner. For coffee and milk and stuff,’ she said, not knowing why she was going into detail. The sight of him was doing all sorts of weird things to her. She felt hot but she was shivering. She felt anchored to the ground, but light enough to blow away. She felt as if someone had just injected a giant syringe full of joy into her heart, but it was racing with fear too. Her whole body had no idea how to behave.

  ‘I’ve been here for ages.’ His voice was a croak. It was so good to see her, but she looked so thin and crushable. He wanted to clear the space between them and wrap his arms around her but he was scared she would break.

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘So, you have coffee and milk.’ He pointed to the bag of shopping.

  ‘Yes, I have coffee and milk.’

  They both wondered at the same time wh
y they were talking like a Janet and John book.

  ‘Can I come in?’ asked Lew.

  She nodded shyly and unlocked the door and Lew walked into the sweet little lounge that smelt of beeswax polish and summer flowers. He took the bag of shopping from her, put it down on the carpet and then hadn’t a clue what to do. The air between them seemed to vibrate from the emotion crowding the room: disbelief, uncertainty, tenderness but above all hope.

  ‘Bonnie, I . . .’

  Nothing could have held her back: she threw herself at him and he pulled her so close his body began to mould itself to hers.

  ‘I have missed you so much,’ he said. ‘We have all missed you.’

  And Bonnie Sherman, ‘as in the tank’, let herself savour the sensation of being pressed against him, feeling his heart say hello to hers through their skin. She had wished for this moment so many times, pictured how it would be to have Lew Harley’s mouth move in her hair, the touch of his hands, the strength of his arms around her but she had never thought it would happen. He was a wish too far, a star too high, yet here she was breathing him in, hearing him say her name as a lover would.

  ‘I know all about Stephen’s mother and what you did for her. Katherine Ellison came to see me. And so did Valerie. Oh, Bonnie, you should have told me, I would have been there for you. How could you ever think I wouldn’t understand?’

  He could feel her tears through his shirt as he held her in the circle of his embrace.

  ‘It hasn’t been the same without you, Bon,’ said Lew. ‘Come back to the Pot of Gold. Come back to us: Stickalampinit, Mart and Valerie, Long John, Clock Robin . . . come back to me. They love you, I love you. Bonita Banana Sherman, I bloody love you.’

  She lifted her head and when she looked up at his handsome, beloved face and into his indigo-blue eyes, she knew this was the sort of love she’d only dreamed of . . . and wished for. A feeling only bettered, seconds later, by Lew Harley’s gorgeous lips cautiously, softly, fabulously meeting with hers and sending the brightest colours in the universe flooding forever into that infamous grey Sherman rainbow.

  Epilogue

  It is summer and in the park a man is pushing a pram in the sunshine. He and the woman linking his arm are only taking a short walk because the second baby due in two months is a whopper. The red fluff of puppy chasing the ball will have to make do with that, but he’ll survive. Both children will be in the same year at school because the parents didn’t want to waste much time.

  There is still a lot of work to do in Daffodil House, which has reverted back to its old name. But the lounge is bright and the sun streams in through the huge windows during the day and the kitchen, despite its size, still manages to remain cosy and a place where people want to linger. One Friday every month, the couple who own the house sit at the table in there and eat Chinese food from the cartons and they never lose sight of simple pleasures such as that.

  The house is filled with beautiful old furniture, except for the nursery which has some new pieces in it and rainbows painted all over the walls. There is a mobile hanging over the cot with bananas dangling from it.

  The man wants to tell the world that when life offers you a second chance, you take it and hold it and run with it and you cherish it. And that pots of gold really do exist at the end of rainbows, because he’s found his.

  The woman wants to tell everyone that if you wish for something, then picture yourself doing it, then you go for it with all your heart, you really can make your dreams come true, just as she has. Because Bonita Banana Harley is her mother’s daughter. She is the Queen of Wishful Thinking.

  The greater your storm,

  The brighter your rainbow.

  Acknowledgements

  It’s always a delight to thank people who have helped me whilst writing a book. With this one, I had to work again with two wonderful gentlemen who have to be top of my list for credit.

  Firstly my ex-solicitor, and now super-savvy business consultant, David Gordon at dcgbusinessplus.co.uk. I’m so glad that the course of events in the ‘noughties’ brought me into contact with such a great bloke. It was a pleasure to be his client then and no hardship to liaise with him to make sure I have all my legal ‘I’s dotted and my ‘T’s crossed now. And it’s slightly cheaper to talk to him as a friend. Is the competent, brilliant, razor-sharp David Charles based on him? Of blooming course he is!

  Equal top billing is my ‘go-to’ policeman who at heart is still the dear, daft kid who shared my passion for Steeleye Span many moons ago; I remain a superfan. Superintendent Pat Casserly is a fount of knowledge, a blessing for a writer and is never too busy to shut an old pal in a cell. For research purposes only, you understand. West Yorkshire Police have been incredibly helpful to me on many occasions – thank you all. Pat, I adhere to our deal on payment for information supplied and if ever one of my books is made into a film, I will do my utmost to fulfil my promise to you.

  Thank you to my agent Lizzy Kremer, who always makes her writers feel as if they are her only client. Lizzy, you are the BEST. I hope you never get sick of people telling you that.

  Thank you to my publishers Simon and Schuster and the team: God, Suzanne, S-J, Laura, Emma, Dawn, Dom, Joe, Jess, Rich, Sally and Sian. Apologies to anyone I’ve missed! And my gorgeous ex-editor Clare Hey, whom I shall miss terribly, but I know that I am in the safest hands with the fabulous Jo Dickinson.

  Thank you to my amazing copyeditor Sally Partington whom I love working with, one of my favourite parts of the whole process. She makes me look like a real writer who knows where to put a semi-colon.

  Thanks to all my friends at the Barnsley Chronicle. I reiterate, the Daily Trumpet is not based on them. I’d love to tell you which newspaper really inspired it though.

  Special thanks to the Team Milly ladies who are a joy to know and to Mike Bowkett at Gardeners who has backed my horse from the off.

  Thanks also to the Higgs family. Yes, there really was a scrapyard in Barnsley patrolled by a lion – Ben. Ben’s owner, Dennis, really did used to freeze sheep’s heads for him to lick in summer and he did ride with Dennis in the truck. And he liked to lie on the rug and watch the telly. The family have given me some lovely material over the years. Our town is crackers and I love it.

  Huge thanks to my beloved sons Tez and George who keep me topped up with coffee and don’t moan too much when I’m on an edit and the laundry is piled high as Everest. Massive big sloppy-kiss type thanks to my fiancé Pete who is an antiques dealer and has supplied me with loads of details of the antiques world, including all those marvellous nicknames. There really is a Boombox and an Uncle Funky, amongst others. And all my mates because lovely people are the most important things in this world. And Starbars.

  And thank you, dear readers, because without you I wouldn’t have a job. I’d still be doing this for a hobby but I wouldn’t get any of the touching letters and the emails that say that my creations have found their way into your hearts. There are few greater compliments that you can give a writer.

  Milly Johnson is a joke-writer, greetings card copywriter, newspaper columnist, after-dinner speaker, poet, winner of Come Dine With Me, Sunday Times Top Five author and winner of the RNA Romantic Comedy of the Year award both in 2014 and 2016.

  She is half-Barnsley, half-Glaswegian so 1) don’t mess with her and 2) don’t expect her to buy the first round.

  She likes cruising on big ships, owls, browsing in antiques shops, sighing at houses on Rightmove and is obsessed by stationery. She hates marzipan.

  She is proud patron of Yorkshire Cat Rescue (www. yorkshirecatrescue.org), the Well – a complementary therapy centre for cancer patients allied to Barnsley Hospital, and the Barnsley Youth Choir (www.barnsleyyouthchoir.org.uk).

  She lives happily in Barnsley with her fiancé Pete, her teenage lads Tez and George, a spoilt trio of cats and Alan the rabbit. Her mam and dad live in t’next street.

  The Queen of Wishful Thinking is her thirteenth book.

  F
ind out more at www.millyjohnson.co.uk or follow

  Milly on Twitter @millyjohnson

  Also by Milly Johnson

  The Yorkshire Pudding Club

  The Birds & the Bees

  A Spring Affair

  A Summer Fling

  Here Come the Girls

  An Autumn Crush

  White Wedding

  A Winter Flame

  It’s Raining Men

  The Teashop on the Corner

  Afternoon Tea at the Sunflower Café

  Sunshine Over Wildflower Cottage

  eBook only:

  The Wedding Dress

  Here Come the Boys

  Ladies Who Launch

  The Barn on Half Moon Hill

  First published by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd 2017

  A CBS COMPANY

  Copyright © Millytheink Ltd., 2017

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  ® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.

  The right of Milly Johnson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  Library Hardback Royal: 978-1-4711-6379-1

  Trade paperback Royal: 978-1-4711-6175-9

  B format paperback: 978-1-4711-6173-5

  eBook: 978-1-4711-6174-2

  eAudio: 978-1-4711-6243-5

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.