by Sandy Taylor
‘You’ll need it to get onto the Pier,’ she said, grinning.
I crossed over the road, put the coin in the slot and squeezed through the turnstile. The pier was packed. It was the end of the summer holidays, and it seemed as if everyone had come to the coast to make the most of the fine weather. I squeezed my way through the crowds, past families, little children in sunhats, men with sunburned shoulders and women who were hanging on to their arms and laughing.
‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘Excuse me.’ And then I saw him. He was about halfway along the pier, leaning over the railings and gazing out across the sea. He was wearing a black jacket, like the one he used to wear, and his hair was still that beautiful red-gold colour that I’d always adored. Even from here I could see that he looked older, a bit heavier, but it was still Ralph. When I saw him I still felt exactly the same as I always had; it was no different now to how it had been when we were teenagers. I wanted to run to him. I wanted to make mad passionate love to him right there in the middle of the Palace Pier with the whole of Brighton looking on. I wanted to hold him in my arms and never let him go, but I didn’t, because I didn’t have to. I knew that at last we had all the time in the world.
Epilogue
It’s autumn now, and the leaves on the trees are turning from green to gold, and the days are pulling themselves in, preparing for winter. It’s too early yet to think about Christmas, but I’ve got a feeling inside me similar to the one I used to feel when Christmas was approaching. I feel excited. I feel like I can hardly wait for the next moment of my life to come. I feel happy. At last I know what it’s like to really be alive.
I’ve always liked autumn. It’s always been one of my favourite times of year.
‘Are you warm enough?’ he asks and I smile and say: ‘Yes,’ and I am, even though the air is so cold that I can see my breath, and the river down below is silvered, as if it might be about to turn to ice.
We are standing close together, our bodies touching all the way down from our shoulders to our feet, and that feels right; it feels how it should be.
We are so high up. We gaze out over the city. The sun is low in the sky, and it’s sending out a gorgeous light that colours all the west-facing windows on all the buildings, and all the cars and all the trees and all the boulevards, the same shade of red.
‘So this was your dream?’
I hesitate a moment. Should I tell him that coming to Paris and standing on top of the Eiffel Tower with the man I loved was never my dream, it was Mary’s? She gave me her dream, passed it on to me, and I looked after it for her, carried it with me, held it safe all this time, just as I’ve held onto my memories of her; my love for her.
I can feel Ralph looking at me. I know he’s wondering why I’m so quiet, and the truth is that I’m quiet not just because of Mary but because I want to remember every single detail of this day, from the moment Ralph and I woke up in bed and made love in that sleepy, delicious way that only happens when two people are completely at ease with one another. I want to remember the breakfast of steaming, sweet hot chocolate served in glass cups at the outside table overlooking the Seine, and the croissants we ate, warm and buttery and so different to the buns we have in England. I want to remember the walk along the Left Bank, looking at all the books in the stalls and the booksellers smoking and looking terribly French and glamorous and the posters and artwork tied to the park railings. I want to remember Ralph saying: ‘Let’s go into the park,’ and how we walked for a while, following the path, and how lovely it was with the autumn trees and the colours of the sky reflecting in the lake. I want to remember the bench on which we sat, underneath the trees, fallen leaves, red and gold and brown, jewelling the grass around us and how Ralph took a box from his pocket and passed it to me and how I opened the box and inside was a ring. It was a simple ring – a gold band with a single small diamond.
‘Peggy chose it,’ he told me. ‘She said you’d like it.’
‘She’s a very perceptive girl,’ I said. Like her mother, I thought.
‘It’s up to you,’ Ralph said, ‘which finger you wear it on. I didn’t want to presume, but…’
‘Are you asking me to marry you?’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’
And after that we kissed. We kissed rather a lot, and the breeze picked up the leaves, and they drifted about us like confetti, and in the distance music was playing, and Paris was going about its business being the City of Lights, the most romantic city in the world.
I want to remember how we bought a postcard with a picture of the Eiffel Tower and wrote ‘We’re going to be married’ and posted it to Peggy, who was staying with my mum and dad, so that she’d know we were thinking of her, even though we would probably be back before the card.
I want to remember how we drank a brandy in a bar to warm us up and how the bar was bright and full of mirrors and brass and glass and things that sparkled and gleamed and how I caught sight of my face in the mirror and how my nose and cheeks were as red as the scarf around my neck but how I realised I had never looked more beautiful.
And after that I want to remember how we made our way to the Eiffel Tower and paid the woman in the kiosk for tickets to travel up in the rickety little lift and how closely we stood together as it rattled upwards, the city growing smaller and smaller beneath us. I want to remember how my heart was beating as we made our way out onto the viewing platform, into a sky that was wide and gorgeous with the glowing sunset and the city so breathtakingly lovely beneath and how I was so happy that Ralph and I were sharing this view – that it was something we would always have that was ours and ours alone.
I never want to forget a single second of this perfect day with the only man I have every truly loved.
So I don’t say anything.
I simply take hold of Ralph’s hand and we stand together at the top of the Eiffel Tower, gazing out over Paris, watching the smoke curl up from a thousand fires in a thousand apartments and counting chimneys.
Letter from Sandy
Thank you for choosing to read my second book, Counting Chimneys.
For those of you who have read The Girls from See Saw Lane, I hope that you enjoy revisiting all those characters and travelling beside Dottie on her journey into the 1970s.
I would be very grateful if you could take the time to leave a short review, these are so helpful to a new writer and it has been a joy to read the wonderful reviews that you have already posted. Thank you for your support and for buying my book.
If you’d like to keep up-to-date with the latest news on my new releases, just sign up here:
Sandy Taylor email sign-up
I do hope that you enjoyed my story.
Sandy x
The Girls from See Saw Lane
(Brighton Girls Trilogy Book 1)
Out now…
‘I loved this novel so much, even though it’s probably the most heart-breaking story I’ve read all year...it will totally absorb you and capture your heart.’ That Thing She Reads
Brighton 1963. Mary Pickles and I walked along the street with our arms linked, looking in shop windows. We were best friends and together we were invincible.
Dottie and Mary forged a friendship over a bag of penny sweets when they were eight years old. They’ve shared everything together since then – the highs and lows of school, family dramas, hopes and dreams and now, at seventeen, they’re both shop girls, working at Woolworths.
As they go out in the world in pursuit of love and happiness, the simplicity of their childhood dissolves as life becomes more complicated. The heady excitement of first love will consume them both, but the pain of unintentional betrayal will test their friendship in ways neither of them could ever imagine…
A charming, heartbreaking and ultimately uplifting novel which brings a bygone era vividly to life. Fans of Nadine Dorries, Mary Gibson and Pam Weaver will love The Girls from See Saw Lane.
Buy here!
‘I absolutely loved this book and couldn�
�t put it down. It has all the ingredients for a perfect read: fantastic, loveable and very real characters, an emotional and compelling storyline, and a brilliant setting in time and place.’ Louise Douglas
‘Sandy Taylor has proven herself to be a very talented and gifted storyteller with an immense insight into family, friendship, love, and forgiveness…This is one of the most endearing, yet heart-breaking, novels that I have encountered in quite some time and will certainly not soon forget…Witty and humorous dialogue written with such ease truly brought this story to life and swept me away between the pages. Filled with unexpected twists and turns, you'll want to keep the box of tissues nearby!’ Kimberly’s Bookshelf
‘I have just started to read this one and am hooked! I love the vivid details of the time period and the closeness of the best friends.’ Weekend Reading
‘I would recommend it to anyone who loves stories about female friendships, books set in the past...and for anyone who wants an emotionally stirring read!’ My Bookish Ramblings
‘A beautiful tale of friendship, love, betrayal and forgiveness and one that will stay with me for a long time to come...The Girls From See Saw Lane is a truly beautiful story that will touch your heart. Mary and Dottie will certainly live on in my head and my heart.’ By The Letter Book Reviews
‘I find it very hard to believe that this is Sandy's first book. This book is so well written...The relationship between the girls is very heartwarming, but also extremely heartbreaking, there will be times when you will need tissues at hand.’ The Reading Head
‘I recommend this book to all who want to take a wonderful trip back to the 60’s. I would give it more than 5 stars if there were more to give.’ Library Thing
‘When you read this book, be prepared to laugh and to cry (it gets really sad) … The Girls from See Saw Lane is a good book to settle in and read on a rainy afternoon.’ The Avid Reader
‘Wow this book had me laughing out loud one minute and bursting into tears the next..A massive page turner.’ Nat's Reading Cloud
‘I absolutely adored it...so wonderful and so captivating.’ The Book Cafe
‘Will make you smile, laugh, reminisce and perhaps even cry a little...an absorbing and charming read.’ Portobello Book Blog
Also by Sandy Taylor
The Girls from See Saw Lane (Brighton Girls Trilogy Book 1)
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my amazing family: Kate, Bo, Iain, Kerry, Millie, Archie and Emma for all the joy you give. You mean the world to me.
For my brothers and sisters, nephews and nieces for always supporting my writing.
To Louise Douglas for your constant help and encouragement. To Louie and Wend with love always. To all my amazing friends. To Jade Craddock for giving me a headache with your edits but making this a better book.
To the wonderful team at Bookouture. Oliver Rhodes, my amazing publicist Kim Nash and my lovely editor Claire Bord, thank you all.
To my readers, thank you so much for buying my book, I hope that you enjoyed it.
And to my agent and friend Kate Hordern for always being there for me and calming me down when I have those little worries. You are wonderful.
I am so glad that I picked the phone up that day. Thank you.
Published by Bookouture
An imprint of StoryFire Ltd.
23 Sussex Road, Ickenham, UB10 8PN
United Kingdom
www.bookouture.com
Copyright © Sandy Taylor 2016
Sandy Taylor has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
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.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, 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 resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-78681-017-5
