If only! Alison picked up the day’s visitor schedule and scanned down the names, the words blurring on the paper as tears pooled in her eyes. She would not cry. She was stronger than that. Besides, she’d already cried a reservoir that morning so there couldn’t possibly be any water left in her body.
‘He gave me nothing,’ she admitted. ‘Not even a hug.’
‘Do you think he forgot?’ Sarah asked.
Alison shook her head. ‘He’ll mention it tonight. He’s always running late on a morning.’ The thing was, in the early days, it was because he couldn’t resist her, pulling her back to bed or joining her in the shower. Not anymore. What had happened to them? Where had the intimacy gone? Together since they were seventeen, the first six years had been so good. As for the last four… But every couple had rough patches, didn’t they? That’s all this was.
‘I bet he’ll have a surprise planned for when you get home,’ Sarah said. ‘How many years are you celebrating?’
Tears under control, Alison looked up from the paperwork. She took in Sarah’s eager smile and her stomach clenched. Another person who didn’t know. She’d have to tell her. ‘It’s not that kind of anniversary. It’s actually—’
‘I’d like to check out. Room 387.’ A heavily pregnant woman accompanied by two nursery-aged girls stood in front of the reception desk.
‘I won’t be a moment.’ Alison tapped a few keys to retrieve the guest’s bill. ‘Was everything all right with your stay, Mrs Hanson?’
‘It was lovely, thanks.’
‘Ask her,’ said the older child, tugging on her mum’s skirt.
Mrs Hanson frowned at her daughter. ‘Shh!’
‘Ask her!’
‘Shhhhh!’
‘Is there something I can help with?’ Alison asked as she printed the bill.
‘No! It’s nothing. She’s being silly.’
‘I am not,’ cried the child. ‘Ask her.’
‘No.’
Leaning over the desk, Alison smiled at the girl. ‘I’m here to help. You can ask me anything, sweetheart.’
‘Honestly, it’s nothing.’ Mrs Hanson tried to put her hand across her daughter’s mouth, but the girl wriggled from her grasp.
And then it was too late.
The child looked up at Alison, all blonde curls, chubby cheeks, and innocent big blue eyes. ‘Is your baby a boy or a girl?’
Alison’s stomach churned as though on a spin cycle. Smile. Must keep smiling.
‘Olivia!’ her mum cried. She turned to Alison, clearly mortified. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s fine.’ With shaking hands, Alison passed her the bill. ‘If you’d like to—’
A MasterCard was thrust into her hand.
‘You haven’t said,’ Olivia wailed. ‘Mummy’s having a baby too and I want a brother this time. If she has a girl and you have a boy, can you swap?’
Mrs Hanson jabbed her PIN into the card machine then stared at it, snatching the card the second the transaction completed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered again.
Alison plastered a smile on her face and turned to Olivia. ‘I’m not having a baby.’
Olivia’s face scrunched up with confusion. ‘But you have a big tummy like my mummy’s.’
The heat in Alison’s cheeks cranked up another notch and she felt sweat pooling under her arms. ‘Yes, I know, but that’s because I’m… I’m just fat.’
Alison had never seen a pregnant woman, two kids, and a large suitcase move so fast.
Grabbing her blazer, she indicated to Chelsea that she was nipping to the loo. She escaped from behind the reception area and dashed across the palatial lobby, through the empty bar, and into the ladies’.
Moments later, she slumped down onto the seat in the furthest cubicle, her head between her hands, gulping in the bleach-tainted air. It wasn’t the first time it had happened. A teenager had given her his seat on the bus. She’d smiled and thanked him, thinking he was being chivalrous, until he’d said, ‘My sister’s having a baby next month. When’s yours due?’ She hadn’t found the strength to correct him so had mumbled, ‘The month after,’ and prayed the conversation was over.
She took a chocolate bar out of her blazer pocket. Hands shaking and stomach gurgling, she ripped open the wrapper, the intense aroma of cocoa soothing her. Biting off a large chunk, she closed her eyes as the chocolate melted on her tongue, easing the tension in her shoulders. She eagerly took another bite, then another, until she’d devoured the whole bar, barely tasting anything after that first divine mouthful.
Staring at the empty wrapper, Alison shook her head. How many times had she done that? Sat in the same cubicle, surrounded by opulence, secretly scoffing chocolate? She glanced down at her uniform, stretched across her body. Dave was so right. No wonder.
When Alison emerged from her hideout, her heart raced when she spotted she wasn’t alone. ‘Sarah! I didn’t hear you come in.’
Sarah rose from the deep-rose chaise longue. ‘I wanted to check you were okay.’
‘Me? Why wouldn’t I be?’ she responded innocently. ‘Too much tea this morning.’ She moved to the sink and squeezed luxury lavender soap onto her hands, cursing that she hadn’t flushed the toilet.
‘But you haven’t been to the loo, have you? You’ve been eating chocolate.’
Alison stopped mid-rinse. ‘How…?’
‘Because it’s exactly what I’d have done. Exactly what I did do. Frequently.’
‘Yeah, right. Because you’re so enormous.’
‘I used to be,’ Sarah declared proudly.
Alison turned back to the marble sink and finished rinsing her hands while trying to find the right words. She didn’t want to offend Sarah but the last time somebody had said, ‘I used to be fat’ to her, it turned out that they’d gained half a stone and ‘ballooned’ from a size eight to a ten. Hardly the ‘obese’ category into which Alison fell on those hideous height-weight charts. She turned off the taps and wiped her hands on a sumptuous cream guest towel.
‘I lost five stone,’ Sarah said.
No! Alison spun around to face Sarah. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘How?’ She tossed the towel into the laundry basket.
‘I dumped my useless boyfriend. I was a comfort eater so I needed to get rid of what was causing me discomfort. With Jason gone, I didn’t need to turn to chocolate, cake or kebabs so the weight came off. And I go running on the beach. Never thought I’d get into that.’ She smiled gently. ‘Are you a comfort eater?’
Alison shrugged. ‘I think I’m just an eater. Full stop.’
‘Do you want to lose weight?’
Alison shrugged again. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘If you’re happy, then don’t change a thing. Personally, I think you’re amazing exactly as you are.’ Sarah paused and cocked her head to one side. ‘But people who are happy don’t usually hide in the toilets, troughing chocolate. Remember, I’ve been there, done that. I know it doesn’t help.’
‘It’s fine. I’m fine. I just…’ Alison voice cracked and she shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. Who was she kidding? ‘I hate the way I look, Sarah. I hate the way I feel. I hate the way other people make me feel, like that little girl just now. Yet I can’t seem to stop eating. What’s wrong with me?’ Tears tumbled down her flushed cheeks.
Sarah held her arms out and Alison gratefully accepted the hug. She was used to Dave’s grumpiness and could usually laugh off incidents like the one at reception. Just not today. She clung onto Sarah as sobs wracked her body.
‘Thank you,’ she said when she’d calmed down.
Sarah nodded. ‘Anytime. If and when you’re ready, I’d love to help you.’
Alison wiped at her smudged mascara. ‘Thanks, but I think I’m a lost cause.’
‘No, you’re not. I believe in you. You just have to believe in yourself. You can do this, Ali.’
Someone believed in her? For that brief moment, Alison felt inspired. ‘Ok
ay. You’re on.’ She removed another chocolate bar from her blazer pocket and handed it to Sarah. ‘Amnesty time.’ She could do this. She really could.
‘Chelsea told me what anniversary it is,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m so sorry. I remember it happening. You must have been quite young.’
‘Twelve.’
‘I’m here for you if ever you want to talk about it.’
‘Thank you. It means a lot.’ Especially since Dave clearly didn’t care.
*
Back home that evening, Alison found Dave sprawled on the sofa in front of the TV, shouting at the football and guzzling lager. The house smelled of the lasagne she’d prepared the night before. Had he actually taken the initiative and put it in the oven? Wow! Wonders would never cease.
‘I’m home,’ she said, when he didn’t look up. ‘Did you have a good day?’
Dave punched his fist in the air. ‘Thank you, ref! Told you that was offside.’
She coughed loudly.
‘Did you get my lager?’ he asked, eyes still glued to the TV.
‘No. Was I supposed to?’
‘I texted you. Told you to get a case on your way home.’
‘I didn’t get a text.’
He sat upright, jaw clenched. ‘Jesus, Ali! You’re winding me up, right?’
She shook her head. ‘Why didn’t you go on your way home?’
‘Because you always do the shopping. This is my last one.’ He took a final glug from his can then crushed it and dropped it onto the threadbare carpet. ‘I can’t watch the footy without a drink.’
She hesitated in the doorway. Stay? Go? Either way, she’d ruined his evening and he’d be in a foul mood for days. In all honesty, she couldn’t bear to be near him right now. The old Dave would have held her while she sobbed and reassured her that he was her family and he’d never leave her. But the old Dave had barely been around for the last four years.
‘I’ll go now if you like,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful.
He’d already turned back to the TV. ‘Damn right you will,’ he snapped. ‘You can take the van,’ he added in a gentler tone, as though he was doing her a huge favour. ‘And you might want to get something for your tea while you’re there.’
‘What about the lasagne?’
‘I’ve eaten it.’
Alison’s eyes widened. ‘All of it? That was four portions.’
‘Shoot! No! You pussy. You kick like a girl.’
Her throat tightened. Had he forgotten or was it simply that he didn’t care anymore? She wasn’t sure which was worse.
Thirty minutes later, Alison sat in Dave’s van in a deserted corner of the supermarket car park and prised open the flap on a five-pack of custard doughnuts. Saliva filled her mouth as she breathed in the sweet vanilla scent.
She paused as she pictured Sarah’s eager expression when she’d reassured Alison that she wasn’t a lost cause. Closing the bag, she took a deep breath. She could do it. Starting now, she was taking control back. Then she pictured that familiar look of contempt on Dave’s face that morning and that tiny flicker of self-belief fizzled out. Sorry, Sarah. Maybe another day.
‘To family,’ she whispered, taking a doughnut out of the packet. ‘I miss you all so much.’
Six minutes later, Alison licked her sticky fingers and stared into the paper bag. All that remained was a small dollop of custard and a sprinkling of sugar.
No wonder.
* * *
We hope you enjoyed this exclusive extract. The Secret to Happiness is available to buy now by clicking on the image below:
About the Author
Jessica Redland is the author of nine novels which are all set around the fictional location of Whitsborough Bay. Inspired by her hometown of Scarborough she writes uplifting women’s fiction which has garnered many devoted fans.
* * *
Visit Jessica’s website: https://www.jessicaredland.com/
* * *
Follow Jessica on social media:
Also by Jessica Redland
Standalone Novels
The Secret To Happiness
Christmas at the Chocolate Pot Café
* * *
Welcome To Whitsborough Bay Series
Making Wishes at Bay View
New Beginnings at Seaside Blooms
Finding Hope at Lighthouse Cove
Coming Home to Seashell Cottage
About Boldwood Books
Boldwood Books is a fiction publishing company seeking out the best stories from around the world.
* * *
Find out more at www.boldwoodbooks.com
* * *
Sign up to the Book and Tonic newsletter for news, offers and competitions from Boldwood Books!
* * *
We’d love to hear from you, follow us on social media:
First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Boldwood Books Ltd.
* * *
Copyright © Jessica Redland, 2020
Cover Design by Charlotte Abrams-Simpson
Cover Photography: Shutterstock
* * *
The moral right of Jessica Redland to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologise for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
* * *
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
* * *
Paperback ISBN 978-1-83889-122-0
Ebook ISBN 978-1-83889-123-7
Kindle ISBN 978-1-83889-124-4
Audio CD ISBN 978-1-83889-232-6
MP3 CD ISBN 978-1-83889-817-5
Digital audio download ISBN 978-1-83889-121-3
* * *
Boldwood Books Ltd
23 Bowerdean Street
London SW6 3TN
www.boldwoodbooks.com
Coming Home to Seashell Cottage Page 34
