by Kim Nash
Amazing Grace
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
A Letter From Kim
Acknowledgments
Copyright
Amazing Grace
Kim Nash
This book was inspired by my very own amazing mum, Christine Nash. THE BEST MUM EVER!
And if I’m half the mum you were, then I’m doing something right.
I miss you every single day of my life and wish you were here to share all my moments with me.
If your mum is still here on earth, love her, cherish her and make the most of every minute. The one thing you can never get back is time, and I would trade anything to have just five minutes with Mum once more.
Reunited now with Dad, I hope you are both watching down over us, Mum and Dad, and that I have made you proud.
Chapter One
Grace was woken from her slumber by the rattle of the letterbox and the thud of post hitting the doormat, followed by a grizzling, subdued woof. When she realised this was an Archie-free day, she sighed and then remembered that she’d offered to work today, just for something to occupy her. She looked at the clock: 7.30 a.m. Much as she’d love to roll over and have a few more minutes, she’d better get a shimmy on. Grabbing her fleecy dressing gown from the hook on the back of her bedroom door, she trundled downstairs, still a bit bleary-eyed, to make her first coffee of the day. There at the bottom of the stairs, lying on the front doormat with a pile of post on his head, was Becks, her most handsome and faithful furry friend. Every single morning without fail, he greeted her with the biggest wiggle of his bum and a face that scrunched up in a lopsided doggy smile. What a perfect start to the day.
She sat on the bottom stair and he climbed onto her lap. Ecstatic with his early-morning fussing session, he couldn’t get any closer if he tried. As a labradoodle (or a ‘mongrel’ as her dad would say) he was quite a big dog and way too big for sitting on laps, but he was also the second love of her life, so she let him. After minutes of him trying to suffocate her with affection, Grace shooed him off and grabbed the pile of post, flinging it on the breakfast bar on her way through to the kitchen.
While the kettle boiled, she stretched and rolled her neck to relieve her aches and pains. Crikey, if she felt like this at thirty-seven, how would fifty feel? And then seventy... Didn’t bear thinking about.
Putting the milk back in the fridge, she sat on one of the bar stools and noticed that a gold envelope peeked out from the normal brown ones that she always tried to ignore.
‘Oooh Becks, what have we here?’ she asked him, wondering who she used to talk to before she had a dog. ‘Fancy-schmancy.’ Whatever was in the envelope felt stiff, like a card. She ripped it open carefully and then her heart hit the floor when she read the words imprinted on it.
Grace Carnegie and Guest
are cordially invited to the Lord Mayor’s Chambers to celebrate
The Stafford and District Business Awards Ceremony
At 7 p.m. on May 8th 2018
Dress Code: Black Tie
So many things ran through Grace’s mind as she re-read the invitation. What would she wear? Who would she take? Who would be there? Would she know anyone? Who else would be on her table? What did ‘Black Tie’ even mean? Did she even want to go?
This was her worst nightmare. She hated public events and she stressed so much about what to wear, she usually made herself ill. She hated making small talk with people she didn’t know, feeling awkward and totally out of her comfort zone. Normally, she avoided occasions like this at all costs.
She was also feeling more sensitive than usual at the moment, after a very traumatic incident on the school playground the day before.
Grace loved the fact that her job allowed her to pick up her son Archie from school two days a week and usually really enjoyed seeing him come out of school. Yesterday, however, just as the kids were lining up with the teacher, a lady who was around sixty wandered over to Grace and said, ‘Isn’t it fabulous that we’re able to pick our grandchildren up from school? Don’t you just love this part of being a granny? I wonder if our grandchildren are in the same class? Which one is yours?’
Grace was well aware that on that particular day she hadn’t had time to put her face on, and that yes, she wasn’t the youngest mum in the world, but she was way too embarrassed to tell this lady that Archie was her son, not her grandson, so she nervously smiled, mumbled, grabbed Archie’s hand as quickly as she could and walked away holding her head high, even though she felt totally gut-punched.
Now she was looking forward to next term, when she wouldn’t have to do the school run any more. Archie was ten, and in the last year of primary school, when they encouraged the kids to walk to and from school on their own, getting them ready for high school. At least then, she wouldn’t have to face that woman again.
It had played on her mind all evening and when her friend Monica happened to call her that night, she burst into tears and confided that she already felt like a fat old frump without someone thinking she was a good few years older than she actually was. Monica was really supportive, and said she had an idea to make her feel better. Grace had no clue what she had in mind, but they had arranged to get together in a fortnight, the next time that Archie was at his dad’s.
And now, as if it wasn’t bad enough that she had been mistaken for Archie’s granny, Grace had been invited to this formal event. She knew she’d be expected to go, as she’d been told this week that she’d been nominated for an award for her cutting-edge work at the family run estate agency that she worked at, and she’d been dreading the invitation arriving but now, on top of her usual nerves, she was worried that tons of other people would obviously think she was way older than she was.
Grabbing her phone, Grace searched ‘black tie’.
‘Shit the bed, Becks! I have to wear a cocktail dress! What even is a cocktail dress?’ Her anxiety levels rose even higher.
Grace was a practical soul at heart, a list-maker, so she did what she did best to get rid of stress. She grabbed an empty notepad from her stationery stash and started making a list of pros and cons of going to this event.
PROS
It would be good for business.
I might win.
CONS
I need to lose three stone – FAST!
I don’t have a guest to take.
I’ve never owned a cocktail dress in my life.
I’d have to find a cocktail dress.
Where do you buy a cocktail dress?
Do they sell cocktail dresses in Asda?
I won’t know anyone there.
I might have to sit next to a stranger and eat dinner.
I’d have to make small talk.
If I did win an award, which I won’t, what if I fell over when I had to go up to collect it?
What if I threw up with nerves?
I’d have to have my hair coloured, get rid of those grey roots.
Oh crap! I’d have to shave my legs!
So the cons outweighed the pros. It was obvious what she had to do. She’d just have to find an excuse not to go.
* * *
When she went into work that morning, the awards event was the talk of the office. The three young girls who worked there were discussing what they were going to wear and having spray tans and booking in nails appointments with the local beautician. Grace’s worst nightmare was their big dream.
‘How exciting!’ said Melanie, who was the office manager as well as the boss’s wife. ‘Our Grace, nominated for “Business Superstar” and the agency nominated for “Estate Agency of the Year”. We are so proud of you all.’
Grace smiled but underneath she was already dreading the event and trying to think of every excuse she could to get out of it. She went over to the desk she used when she was in the office and picked up a pile of particulars that needed putting into some semblance of order, starting to pair photographs with their relevant descriptions. Before Grace had started at the agency, houses had been detailed in the usual way, paper copies being given out to prospective buyers. Grace had had the idea of filming the rooms, and sharing the videos on the agency’s Facebook page, which was also new, so that people got a real feel for the house they were looking at. It had been quite revolutionary for this small family firm and had increased business by 200 per cent.
Nicki, Jo and Julie, all twenty-something, single girls, fawned over her.
‘Oh, Grace,’ said Nicki. ‘We were just saying before you came in that you’ve inspired us all to think of new innovative ways to do things to make us better than our competition. And if you can do it at your age, then we absolutely can.’
Grace laughed at the backhanded compliment, and she and Melanie grinned at each other.
‘Seriously, Grace,’ said Melanie, ‘we are so delighted. Since you joined us, it’s like a breath of fresh air has wafted through the business. We were very stuck in a rut, too busy to even think about changing things. We really did hit the jackpot when you applied for this job.’
It was amazing, really, that Grace had been so desperate to get this job, so that she could fit work around Archie, and that they were so pleased to get her. It had been a super match, and it had worked wonders. However, her bosses telling her she’d done a good job was enough for her. She didn’t need to go through all the stress of the awards ceremony for affirmation. They could buy her a bottle of gin and a thank-you card and she’d be made up.
She had a busy few weeks ahead of her. Perhaps if she didn’t think about the awards ceremony, it might go away. Or she’d come up with the best excuse ever for why she couldn’t go. It wasn’t like she was going to win, anyway…
Chapter Two
‘BIN!’
‘But I feel comfortable in black. And it hides everything!’ Grace whined as Monica put yet another black top on the pile.
‘How many black tops can one person have, for goodness’ sake?’ Monica muttered. ‘You’ll feel comfortable in colours too by the time I’ve finished with you, lady! No longer will you hide behind baggy, colourless, miserable clothes! It’s no wonder you feel like crap sometimes. You have to face facts, Grace. You are curvy, so you are going to show off your curves, not hide them away. Blooming heck, I wish my boobs were as big as yours! Loads of people I know would be so jealous of your cleavage. With my help, you, my darling, are going to flourish and bloom and feel fabulous in everything you wear!’ Monica stood behind Grace, bringing her arms around her front and giving her boobs a grope. ‘And be proud of these mammas!’
‘Get your hands off me, you bloody perv!’ Grace couldn’t help laughing at her friend, even though she was quite devastated that most of her favourite clothes were being packed into bin liners. She was concocting a plan for how she could retrieve them later when Monica walked around and stood in front of her, hands on her hips, apparently reading her mind.
‘And you needn’t think you are getting these back either, madam. I’m taking them straight to the charity shop! Although I’m not sure even they’d take some of this stuff, it’s so bloody awful!’
‘God you’re tough!’ Grace growled at her. ‘Brutal!’
‘And that’s why you love me so much,’ Monica grinned. She flung another black bag down the stairs towards the front door and blew her a kiss. ‘And that is a very special bag that we’re taking somewhere else.’
* * *
It was Saturday, a beautiful, crisp spring morning and Archie, the love of Grace’s life, was at his dad’s for the weekend. Since she and Mark had split up over a year ago, she usually moped around the house on the weekends that Archie wasn’t there, just trying to fill time. If truth be told, she missed them both dreadfully. She missed being part of a family, but Mark had changed so drastically since becoming a head teacher, it was almost as if the power had gone to his head.
The excitement of organising and finally moving into their forever house gave her something else to think about and t he other main thing that had brightened up her days and dragged her out of the house every morning was the second love of her life, Becks, named after her hero, David Beckham. They had rescued Becks from a dog’s home in Birmingham. Although she now wondered who had rescued whom.
Getting a dog was her idea to cheer up Archie, as he was struggling a little bit since the split, and she hoped that it would help him to heal, but in truth it was her that the dog had healed more. He was her shadow. Although she wondered whether between Becks and Archie, she’d ever go to the loo in peace again.
She loved it when she, Archie and Becks were all curled up on the sofa, Becks resting his head on her or Archie’s lap. And now that Archie was getting to an age when he didn’t really want to hold his mum’s hand any more, and snuggles were becoming few and far between – a development that Grace found, frankly, quite devastating – her cuddles with Becks were the most physical contact she had, these days. He really was the most adorable dog and she hadn’t realised when he came into their lives just how quickly she would love him. She wouldn’t be without him now. It also meant that she didn’t have to keep talking to herself, which was a really bad habit that she’d fallen into.
So she wasn’t really alone any more, even when Archie was at his dad’s, and today the effervescent Monica had turned up on her doorstep wearing a raincoat and pink stilettos, looking like a flasher. She also had a glint in her eye, which could only mean that she was up to no good. While Grace put the kettle on to make them both a cuppa, Monica whipped off her coat and flaunted a cerise pink t-shirt which, in diamanté letters right across the front, read ‘Changing Grace’. Grace sighed inwardly, she was obviously going to be Monica’s latest project.
‘Don’t worry, darling, I’ve got one for you too,’ she said, grinning, as she flung a plastic bag at Grace. She also appeared to be brandishing a roll of bin bags, which made Grace raise an eyebrow. The kettle boiled and as Grace turned to make them both a drink, Monica disappeared up to Grace’s bedroom quicker than greased lightning and by the time Grace had taken the drinks upstairs, Monica had pulled everything from the wardrobe rails onto the bed.
Three hours and seven bin liners later, Grace’s wardrobe was looking rather sparse. There was one pair of black trousers, a pair of skinny denim jeans that had been bought in a moment of madness and never been worn and a couple of tops that had been given to her by her sister before she emigrated.
Forced by Monica to clear out her underwear drawer, she had been shocked to find seventy-seven pairs of manky old pants and five ghastly old bras that didn’t even fit her – all now consigned to the bin bags.
‘You seriously need some new undies! What colour do you fancy and what size do you need?’
Grace just looked at her in stunned silence. ‘Well, obviously one black and one nude or neutral. What else would I need?’
‘Are you kidding me?’ Monica stood and stared at her with her hands on her hips.
‘What’s so wrong about that? You wear black with your dark stuff and the nude one with everything else. Surely that’s what everyone else has?’ Grace shrugged.
‘For God’s sake – you so need help!’ Monica told her sternly, but with a smile on her face. ‘Come on then, grab your handbag. We’re going undie shopping once we’ve dropped these bags off at the charity shop.’
Grace had forgotten what a force of nature Monica could be. They’d been best friends at school but at the age of sixteen, in their final year of high school, Monica’s parents had moved miles away. Even though they’d tried to stay in touch, their lives had taken them in different directions. Grace had enrolled on an intensive interior design course at college and Monica embarked on an exciting new adventure as an 18–30s rep in various places in Europe, and they’d sadly lost touch over the years. So it was such a delight when one day Grace was scrolling through Facebook and a friend request popped up from Monica. They re-connected, first online and then they moved to phoning one another; the years slipped away as they very quickly fell back into their easy friendship and became firm friends once more.
Monica had settled in Greece where she lived for ten years with her husband Alessandro until he was killed in a motorbike accident, when she returned to England to be with her parents so they could take care of her at that traumatic time in her life. Sadly Grace didn’t know that this had happened, and now felt some guilt that she hadn’t made more of an effort to stay in touch over the years and be by her friend’s side.
She admired Monica for starting a new life, knowing that Alessandro wouldn’t have wanted her to grieve forever. Little Ollington was an affluent village and Monica saw an opportunity, deciding to follow her natural path, retraining to be an image consultant, personal stylist and shopper. Which is why she had apparently taken it upon herself to make Grace her latest client. After a hair-raising drive in Bertha, Monica’s flame-red VW Beetle, they arrived outside the closest thing to a department store in the Staffordshire sticks. Little Ollington was a fabulous place to live if you fancied a cream tea or an afternoon’s romp in the countryside, but the nearest shopping centre was miles away and visiting major stores meant a forty-five minute train journey into Birmingham.
