Cover Copy
Everyone's talking about Mia Page. Again.
Mia Page has been the subject of gossip in Aberarian for half her life, ever since her father ran off with his secretary–and the contents of the local museum safe–when she was fourteen.
Still, Mia loves her hometown, loves working at the A to Z shop, eating seafood with her best friend Charlie at his restaurant, catching the classic midnight movie at the crumbling Coliseum cinema. And if she ever wonders if things might be even better if Charlie were more than just a friend, well, it's only an idle thought in a lonely moment. After all, friendship always trumps romance, doesn't it? And she's never been one to rock the boat.
But everything she loves is suddenly under threat from Charlie's ex-girlfriend, Becky, and her plans to turn Mia's beloved Coliseum into a casino, transforming the sleepy seaside town forever. As Mia tries to pull the people of Aberarian together to save the town they adore, her father reappears, and people start asking what he wants to take from them this time...
WARNING: Some sexual scenes. Also contains seafood.
Teaser
“Quite the day,” Mia said.
Charlie slumped down in the chair beside her. “I’m sorry.”
“For dating a crazy woman?” Mia picked up the plumpest prawn on the plate. She deserved it.
“I didn’t know she was coming back,” he said.
“Or else you would have warned me to run for the hills.” Mia bit off the tail of her prawn dipped in garlic mayonnaise, chewed and swallowed. “Fair enough.”
“I just...” Charlie shook his head and reached for his glass. “I can’t believe she’s here.”
Which, Mia reflected, could be taken one of two ways. One, he was horrified at her arrival and even more disgusted by the way she’d spoken to his best friend, and was looking for ways to run her out of town. Two, he was just amazed at the second chance he’d been given at love.
Call her a coward, but Mia wasn’t sure she wanted to know which.
An A to Z of Love
By Sophie Pembroke
An A to Z of Love
9781616503789
Copyright © 2012, Sophie Pembroke
Edited by Dianne B.
Book design by Lyrical Press, Inc.
Cover Art by Renee Rocco
First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: July 2012
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PUBLISHER'S NOTE:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated
Dedication
For Mum and Dad.
Acknowledgements
At its heart, An A to Z of Love is about community, and I had a great community helping me with this book.
Firstly and always, my husband and daughter, Simon and Holly, who put up with macaroni and cheese for dinner far more often than should be acceptable, took smugglers boat tours and trips to Welsh coastal towns with me, and even let me decamp to York for a weekend while I slogged through edits. Thanks guys. I owe you a Sunday roast, and a holiday somewhere other than Wales for once.
The book is dedicated to my parents, not just for the standard parental duties, but because so many of the things they taught me found their way into the story. Their love of family, and the importance of home. Fantastic childhood holidays on the Llyn Peninsula. Mum’s love of the seaside, and the way she always heads straight to the water to paddle. The enjoyment Dad finds in creating a meal for enthusiastic and appreciative company. While I was writing this book he even got me to like scallops. And to swallow a raw oyster, although that might be an experience better forgotten…
I also owe a huge debt of thanks to my editor, Dianne, for this book and for my previous novel, Room for Love. An A to Z of Love in particular wouldn’t have been half the story it is without her input, her ideas and her enthusiasm. Thank you for helping me share the stories I want to tell.
Chapter 1
People could say what they liked about Welsh seaside towns, but in Mia Page’s opinion, there weren’t many better ways to start a June day than walking barefoot on the beach.
Shoes in hand, she wriggled her toes against the dry sand and stared out over the glistening waves, cheerfully ignoring the line of dead jellyfish left behind by the retreating tide. Even at eight thirty in the morning, the salt air was already filling with the familiar seaside scents of frying chips and a hint of sugary rock.
Mia turned slowly around, surveying her domain. The caves, just up the coast, where A to Z Jones’s smuggler gang were said to have hidden, back in the day. The lighthouse on the cliff above, and beside it the tumbledown lighthouse keeper’s cottage she’d dreamt of owning as a child. The Esplanade, with its dated hotels and faded guesthouses, spanning the length of the beach.
Her boss, attacking the postman on the Esplanade.
Mia gave her toes one last wriggle, put her shoes on and dashed up the stone steps from the beach to the town above. Ahead of her, Ditsy Levine, seventy-six and still spectacular, dressed in a shocking pink and green floral tea dress, had Jacques’ arm twisted up behind his back and was trying to prise a selection of envelopes from his hand. Jacques was not giving in easily.
“Ditsy, what on earth are you doing?” Mia grabbed the much older woman around the waist, more to steady her than stop her, since Ditsy looked about to topple over.
“Getting our post,” Ditsy said through gritted teeth, succeeding at last in peeling one of Jacques’ fingers out of the way.
Jacques, who’d arrived in Aberarian from France two months before Mia was born, twenty-eight years ago, and still complained about the weather, was not the world’s most efficient postman. But he did have a system. He started his deliveries on the outer streets of the small seaside town and spiraled his way in to the center until he reached the post office again. Ditsy’s A to Z shop, being next door to the post office-cum-newsagents on the main street, was his last stop. Quite often, the workday had effectively ended by the time he handed Mia her mail.
“If somebody would employ a sensible delivery system,” Ditsy carried on, separating another finger from the letters, “I wouldn’t have to resort to such actions.”
“Fine, fine!” Jacques finally released the post, and the sudden action caused Ditsy to jerk backward, pushing Mia against the railing separating the Esplanade from the rocks leading down to the sandy beach. By the time she collected herself, leaving Ditsy settling her skinny frame onto a nearby bench and sorting through her mail, Jacques was rooting around in his inside pocket and pulling out another envelope. Ditsy made a disgruntled noise from the bench, obviously personally offended he’d kept any mail hidden from her.
“Since we’re ignoring any sense of order today, you might as well have this too.” Jacques shoved the letter into her hands. “It was addressed to your mother’s old house, but I would have brought it over to you.” He sounded hurt at the accusations thrown at him for doing his job in an orderly manner, and for a moment Mia wondered if he was h
anging around for an apology from Ditsy, in which case she suspected everyone’s post would still be waiting to be delivered tomorrow.
Then she glanced down at the envelope. Written across the reverse flap was a return address: G E Page, 15 Cottle Way, Cottlethorpe, East Yorkshire. Well, at least she knew where dear old Dad had got to now. And it had only taken him fourteen years to write. Suddenly it was very clear why Jacques was still hanging around.
Mia pushed the letter into the corner of her handbag. She wasn’t giving Jacques, and by extension everyone on his post round, the satisfaction of knowing what her father had to say to her. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know herself.
“Thank you.” She turned away and grabbed Ditsy’s arm, pulling her up from the bench. “But we’ve got a shop to open.” Ditsy followed, after returning to Jacques all the letters addressed to other people. They left him reordering it according to his spiraling system.
“You really shouldn’t attack people in broad daylight, you know,” Mia said, once Jacques was out of earshot and they were safely headed up Water Street. “It’s not going to make these people like us any more.”
Ditsy bristled. “They like me just fine, thank you very much. They just preferred my sister.”
“They think you’re ornery,” Mia corrected, peeking through the window of StarFish seafood restaurant to see if Charlie was at work yet. He wasn’t.
“I’m seventy-six. It’s my right.” Mia didn’t have an argument for that. As far as she was concerned, Ditsy had earned the right to do whatever the hell she liked. It was just a shame the rest of the town didn’t always agree.
Passing the crumbling Coliseum cinema, with its peeling yellow paintwork and faded movie posters three years out of date, Mia waved to Walt Hamilton, who was opening up for another day of classic movies and stale popcorn. Walt raised a hand to wave back, but lowered it when his wife, Susan, glared first at him then at Mia.
Susan thought Mia was more than ornery. Mia was pretty sure she thought she was a disgrace.
“So, who’s the letter from?” Ditsy went on, sounding like she didn’t care, as they turned onto Main Street and the tarnished brass sign above the A to Z shop came into view.
Mia rolled her eyes. “Don’t pretend Jacques didn’t tell you. I’m sure he’s told every single person on his rounds this morning. And I don’t for a second believe you were actually attacking him to get the phone bill and a Fish Festival flyer.”
“I just can’t believe he was hiding it in his pocket,” Ditsy grumbled, fumbling for her keys. “All that wasted energy. I’m going to need a nap today. You might not get your afternoon off, after all.”
Ditsy’s A to Z shop was an institution in Aberarian. It had been there all of Mia’s life, and before, and any visitor to the town always remembered it long after they’d forgotten the jellyfish and the boat trips. Usually because they’d spent twenty-five minutes searching for mustard before realizing every item in the shop was stored alphabetically on the twenty-six antique wooden shelves, each with a gilt letter resting atop them. It wasn’t practical, or particularly profitable, but it was certainly memorable.
“Speaking of the Fish Festival,” Ditsy said, pushing the door open, “they’re in trouble again.”
Ditsy struggled out of her camel hair jacket, revealing the full glory of the floral fantasia of fabric draped over her skinny body and tied with a pink and yellow beaded necklace for a belt around the waist. ‘The only person who ever cared what I looked like died a decade ago,’ Ditsy always said. ‘Besides, I like flowers.’ The camel hair coat found its way onto the usual peg behind the counter, next to Mia’s apron, and Ditsy dropped onto the stool by the till.
Mia pulled off her jacket to reveal her more sedate tea dress. As uniforms went, she supposed it wasn’t a bad one. Ditsy claimed they gave the shop a retro feel. Mia secretly believed the tea dress choice had more to do with Ditsy’s reluctance to go clothes shopping over the last few decades than any business motivation.
She pulled her attention back to the Fish Festival. “Again?”
Ditsy nodded. “Getting harder to pull it off every year, it seems.”
“Well, they’re really in for it this year, then.” Ditsy raised an eyebrow, and Mia explained, “With Mayor Fielding stepping down and all. It won’t be her problem by the autumn, so why should she care?”
“You’re far too cynical, my dear.” Ditsy reached over and patted her hand. “Now, time to get to work.”
They settled into their usual routine–Ditsy made the first cups of tea while Mia checked the till, set up the float from the safe in the back room, and straightened up the stock. When they were ready, she flipped the Closed sign over to Open, and they both sat down to wait for an influx of customers at nine o’clock.
Three hours, four customers–two tins of baked beans, a packet of chocolate hobnobs, and 500 grams of plain flour–and eight cups of tea later, Ditsy asked, “Now, what are you going to do with your free afternoon?”
“I can stay, if you like,” Mia offered. Ditsy did look tired after her morning’s exertions.
“Not at all. Not a word of it,” Ditsy said. “It’s your afternoon off. And it might be your last chance before the summer rush starts. So, tell me, what have you got planned?”
The summer rush, Mia feared, grew less rushlike by the year. Last summer had been more of an amble. She sighed. “Nothing much. Although I did have some ideas about a large bar of chocolate and an Agatha Christie.”
Ditsy looked scandalized. “An attractive young thing like yourself, with no plans for an afternoon off? Nobody whisking you off for a romantic walk on the beach? Or champagne cocktails at the Grand? What will become of you?”
“I’m meeting Charlie for a tasting and the cinema tonight, if that’s any better,” Mia tried.
“Charlie doesn’t count.” Ditsy’s expression turned suspicious. “Unless there’s something you haven’t been telling me. You haven’t finally persuaded that handsome young man to break his vow of celibacy?”
The excitement in Ditsy’s eyes at the prospect was profoundly disturbing. “He’s a chef, not a priest, Ditsy. And it’s not a vow, as such. It’s understandable he’s reluctant to get into another relationship after Becky.” She gave Ditsy a meaningful look, and the older woman looked suitably sheepish as she remembered exactly whose niece it was who had brought Charlie to town to start a new life then left him there alone with a restaurant, a fallen-down cottage and a broken heart. Not to mention the ways she’d made Mia’s life hell when they were teenagers.
“Besides, Charlie and I are just friends.” Mia quashed down the small part of her that sometimes–very occasionally, mind–wondered what would happen if that wasn’t the case.
“Which is my point!” Ditsy said, raising a finger in triumph. “When are you going to find someone who isn’t just a friend?”
“In Aberarian? Probably never.” Mia sighed. She loved her hometown and had fought hard to stay there despite the decline in business, the gossips and the jellyfish. But it wasn’t exactly bursting at the seams with eligible bachelors. Which was another thing. She didn’t want Charlie–or anyone else for that matter–to fall into a relationship with her through lack of alternative options. She was worth a little more than that, thank you.
Ditsy looked sympathetic. “Well, who knows? Maybe the summer crowd will have some lookers this year.”
“All married with small children on a family holiday at the seaside. Just what I’m searching for.” She wasn’t even really searching. Life was pretty good just how it was. She had her flat above the shop, her friends...and a letter from her father in her bag. Mia’s mood took a downward slump.
Rolling her eyes, Ditsy shuffled into the back room and Mia heard the click of the kettle switch again. “Well with that kind of attitude there’s no hope for you. Just let me make another cup of tea to keep me going and I’ll let you run free to do your laundry or whatever.”
Mia let herself smile, since
Ditsy couldn’t see her. “Own up, Ditsy, you just want to live vicariously through me.”
“Of course!” Ditsy stuck her head through the doorway. “I thought that much was obvious. It’s ten years since my Henry died. I’ve got to get my kicks somewhere, you know.”
“Ditsy, I really don’t want to know about your...” Mia trailed off as she realized Ditsy was paying her no attention whatsoever. The grin on the older woman’s face had spread even wider, and she pointed a sharp, bony finger toward the window.
“Now,” Ditsy said, her eyes bright. “What about him, then?”
It would have been less embarrassing, Mia thought, if the–admittedly very attractive–man on the other side of the glass hadn’t chosen that exact moment to look up and smile at them. Unfortunately, Mia’s world didn’t seem to believe in less embarrassing.
She groaned, sinking down onto her stool, bowing to the inevitable. The guy pushed open the door, ringing the antiquated shop bell above it. Mia tried for a polite customer service smile, but Ditsy had everything under control anyway.
“Good afternoon,” Ditsy said, her own smile manically bright. “And how can I help you this fine day, Mr...”
“Anthony Fisher. Call me Tony,” he said, unfazed by Ditsy’s really rather frightening grin. Mia was almost impressed. “And I’m looking for a guidebook to the town, if you have such a thing.”
“We most certainly do,” Ditsy said. Mia started to get up to collect the Aberarian guide from the G shelf, and the corresponding map from shelf M, but Ditsy flung out an arm to keep her in her seat. “But actually, you’re in luck. For one day only, I can offer you something much better.” Mia tried to break free, but the old woman’s arm was strong.
“Really?” Tony leaned his forearm on the counter and raised an eyebrow at Ditsy. “Lunch with you?”
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