by Sarah Morgan
“We may not be in the bedroom—” he kissed his way along her jaw “—but how would you feel about a kitchen counter? I’m reliably informed that it’s soapstone, which probably makes it a vastly superior option to the bed anyway if not quite as comfortable.”
She was so desperate for him she might even have gone along with his suggestion, but fortunately part of her was still functioning and she heard the thunder of footsteps on the stairs.
“Kitchen sex will have to wait.” She pulled away and straightened her clothes a few seconds before Molly charged into the room.
Her cheeks were flushed with excitement. “I’ve checked, and there is enough room for four horses at least.”
“Four?” Izzy sauntered into the room after her and rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to have even one horse, I am definitely going to college.”
Molly grabbed Flora’s hands and danced with her round the kitchen, twirling and spinning.
In a snatched moment between breathless laughter Flora met Jack’s gaze and shared a smile of satisfaction.
Molly was dancing again. Not just with her arms, legs and the rest of her body but with her whole heart.
And then Izzy joined them, grabbing Flora so that the three of them danced together.
At some point Jack was pulled into it, and Molly complained as he trod on her toes but then forgave him when he swung her high into the air. When he finally put her down, Molly slid across the kitchen floor, treating it like a skating rink. “What’s for dinner?”
“Ham,” Jack said, and ducked as Molly flung her soft toy at his head. “I thought we could all go out for pizza. There’s a place a short walk from here.”
That suggestion gained everyone’s approval and while the girls hunted down their shoes, Flora stepped back, breathless and dizzy from dancing, and put one hand on the kitchen counter—her kitchen counter—to steady herself.
But she didn’t have time to linger on the joys of finally having her own home because Molly and Izzy were arguing about what dog they should have, even though no one had officially agreed that they were having one.
Flora smiled, slid on her shoes and got ready to referee.
Molly got to her first. “I want a Labrador like Chase.”
“We should get a rescue dog.” Izzy grabbed a sweatshirt and opened the front door.
“Our neighbors have a dog,” Jack said. “Also a daughter, same age as you, Izzy. You two should get together.”
Izzy paused, hand on the door. “Maybe.”
“I know you’ve mostly lost touch with your old friends and I think it would be good if you—”
“Dad.” Izzy was firm. “I said I’ll think about it.”
“I don’t want you to be lonely. Annie is off to college, too, and I thought the two of you could—”
“Jack!” Flora intervened. “Enough.” She knew how much he worried about Izzy, but she also knew that Izzy had to be allowed to find her own way. There would be new friends, she was sure of it, but Izzy had to build her own life now. Their role was to support, not dictate.
“It’s okay, Dad.” Izzy smoothed her hair. “I’m not going to be lonely. And you and Flora are going to come visit.”
He pulled the door shut behind them and Flora stared at the house, a strange feeling in her chest.
She’d never had her own front door before.
Her own home.
Her own family.
Jack and the girls had filled all the empty spaces in her heart.
“I want a Labrador!” Molly raised her voice because no one was listening. “Can we have one, please?”
“I want a spaniel.” Izzy walked, talked and messaged at the same time.
Jack joined in. “How about a Great Dane?”
All three women turned to stare at him. Izzy was the first to speak.
“You want a Great Dane?”
“No.” Jack pocketed the keys. “But I thought if fighting about dog breeds was going to be tonight’s entertainment, I’d like to join in. And we can’t just get a dog without figuring out if we can give it a good home. We have to think it through. For example, who is going to walk it when Izzy is at college and you’re in school, Molly?”
“Flora will.” Molly dumped the responsibility on Flora without a second’s hesitation.
“What if Flora doesn’t want to?”
“We all have to do things we don’t want to do,” Molly said. “I have to tidy my room. And clear the table. It’s part of being a family.”
“You’re expecting her to pick up your dog’s poo.”
“It’s not my dog, it’s the family dog.”
Never had Flora thought that being taken for granted could feel so good. As they argued their way down the drive she hung back, giving herself time to enjoy the moment.
The gardens reminded her a little of Lake Lodge, and she remembered that she’d promised Clare some new photos. They emailed almost every day and used video chat every week or so. Flora was already looking forward to spending those few precious summer weeks in Lake Lodge the following year.
Jack, Izzy and Molly were still arguing about dogs, none of them prepared to back down or compromise.
They’d have plenty of times like this, Flora thought as she watched the interplay between the three of them. Plenty of laughter, probably plenty of fights, too. But that was family life. You could speak up, say what you thought, and still know you were loved and accepted. It was something most people took for granted, but she didn’t. She wasn’t sure she ever would.
Jack turned to see where she was, pausing to give her time to catch up and she smiled, warmed by the fact that he’d noticed her absence.
She hurried across to him, eager for their new life to begin.
If you loved Family for Beginners, then don’t miss out on more fantastic feel-good reads by Sarah Morgan!
One Summer in Paris
How To Keep A Secret
Acknowledgments
I feel lucky not just to be a writer, but to be working with incredible and talented publishing teams who work hard to put my books into the hands of readers. There are so many people involved that it’s impossible to thank all of them, but I appreciate the dedication that goes into each part of the process, from cover design to sales, marketing and publicity. Thank you to HQN in the US, in particular to Loriana Sacilotto, Dianne Moggy, Margaret Marbury and Susan Swinwood, also to Leo MacDonald, Cory Beatty and the rest of the fantastic team at HarperCollins Canada. In the UK, I’m grateful to the team at HQ Stories for their endless enthusiasm and hard work. I’m so lucky to get to work with you. Particular thanks to Lisa Milton and Manpreet Grewal. It’s easy to write about strong, inspiring women when I’m surrounded by so many role models.
My editor Flo Nicoll is an endless source of encouragement and great ideas. Without her I wouldn’t be able to write a thank you note, let alone a book.
My agent Susan Ginsburg is wise and calming, essential qualities to balance my overactive writerly imagination. I feel lucky and grateful to work with her.
My family displays endless patience when I focus obsessively on a book, offering love, support and food and never once suggesting a different career.
And to my readers, old and new, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Sarah
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Turn the page for a sneak peek from the next irresistible Christmas book from…
SARAH MORGAN
COMING OCTOBER 2020
‘I will honour Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year.’
Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
Gayle
When Gayle Mitchell had agreed to a live interview in her office, she hadn’t expected her life to fall apart in such a spectacular fashion in front of an audience of millions. She was used to giving interviews, and had no reason to think that this one might end in disaster, so she sat relaxed, even a little bored, as the crew set up the room.
As usual the lights were blindin
g, and kicked out enough heat to roast a haunch of beef. Despite the frigid air-conditioning, the fabric of Gayle’s fitted black dress stuck to her thighs.
Beyond the soaring glass walls of her office lay what she truly believed to be the most exciting city on earth. Also one of the most expensive—but these days Gayle didn’t have to worry too much about that.
Once, the place had almost killed her, but that had been a long time ago. That memory contributed to the degree of satisfaction she felt in being up here, on top of the world, gazing down from her domain on the fiftieth floor. Like planting a stiletto on the body of an adversary, it was symbolic of victory. I won. She was far removed from those people scurrying along the freezing, canyon-like streets of Manhattan, struggling to survive in a city that devoured the weak and the vulnerable. From her vantage point in her corner office she could see the Empire State Building, the Rockefeller Center and, in the distance, the broad splash of green that was Central Park.
Gayle shifted in her chair as someone touched up her hair and make-up. The director was talking to the cameraman, discussing angles and light, while seated in the chair across from her the most junior female reporter on the morning show studied her notes with feverish attention.
Rochelle Barnard. She was young. Early twenties? A few years older than Gayle had been when she’d hit the lowest point of her life.
Nothing excited Gayle more than raw potential, and she saw plenty of it in Rochelle. You had to know what you were looking for, of course—and Gayle knew. It was there in the eyes, in the body language, in the attitude. And this woman had something else that Gayle always looked for. Hunger.
Hunger was the biggest motivator of all and no one knew that better than her.
She hadn’t just been hungry—she’d been starving. Also desperate. But usually she managed to forget that part. She was a different woman now, and able to extend a hand to another woman who might need a boost.
‘Ten minutes, Miss Mitchell.’
Gayle watched as the lighting guy adjusted the reflector. In a way, didn’t she do much the same thing? She shone a light on people who would otherwise have remained in the dark. She changed lives, and she was about to change this woman’s life.
‘Put the notes down,’ she said. ‘You don’t need them.’
Rochelle glanced up. ‘These are the questions they want me to ask. They only handed them to me five minutes ago.’
Because they want you to stumble and fall, Gayle thought.
‘Are they the questions you would have chosen to ask?’
The woman rustled through the papers and pulled a face. ‘Honestly? No. But this is what they want covered in the interview.’
Gayle leaned forward. ‘Do you always do what other people tell you?’
Rochelle shook her head. ‘Not always.’
‘Good to know. Because if you did then you wouldn’t be the woman I thought you were when I saw you present that short segment from Central Park last week.’
‘You saw that?’
‘Yes. Your questions were excellent and you refused to let that weasel of a man wriggle out of answering.’
‘That interview was the reason you asked for me today? I’ve been wondering.’
‘You struck me as a young woman with untapped potential.’
‘I’m grateful for the opportunity.’ Rochelle sat straighter. ‘I can’t believe I’m here. Howard usually does all the high-profile interviews.’
Why were people so accepting of adverse circumstances? So slow to realise their own power? But power came with risk, of course, and most people were averse to risk.
‘Things are always the way they are until we change them,’ Gayle said. ‘Be bold. Decide what you want and go after it. If that means upsetting a few people along the way, then do it.’ She closed her eyes as someone stroked a strand of her hair into place and sprayed it. ‘This is your chance to ask me the questions Howard Banks wouldn’t think to ask.’
Which shouldn’t be too hard, she thought, because the man had the imagination and appeal of stale bread.
Howard had interviewed her a decade earlier and he’d been patronising and paternalistic. It gave Gayle pleasure to know that by insisting on being interviewed by this junior reporter she’d annoyed him. With any luck he’d burst a blood vessel in the most valuable part of his anatomy—which, for him, was probably his ego.
‘If I don’t give them what they’re expecting I could lose my job.’
Gayle opened one eye. ‘Not if you give them something better than they’re expecting. They’re not going to fire you if the ratings go up. What’s on their list? Let me guess… My work-life balance, and how I handle being a woman in a man’s world?’
Boring, boring.
The woman laughed. ‘You’re obviously a pro at this.’
‘Think of the people watching. Ask the questions they’d ask if they were in the room with me. If you were a woman eager to make a change in your life, what would you want to hear? If you were struggling to get ahead in the work place—’ which you are ‘—constantly blocked by those around you, what would you want to know?’
Rochelle picked up the papers from her lap and folded them in a deliberate gesture. ‘I’d want to know your secrets—how you handle it all. How you handled it at the beginning, before you had everything you have now. You started with nothing. Put yourself through college while working three jobs. And you’ve become one of the most successful women in business. You’ve transformed companies and individuals. I’d want to know whether any of your experiences might be of use to me. Whether you could transform me. I’d want to come away feeling so inspired I’d call the show and thank them.’
‘And you think they’d fire you for that?’
The woman sat up a little straighter. ‘No, I don’t.’ She slapped the papers down on the desk. ‘What is wrong with me? I’ve read all your books several times, and here I was about to ask the questions I’d been handed. One of my favourite sections in your last book was that bit about other people’s expectations being like reins, holding you back. You were our role model in college.’ She pressed her palm to her chest. Swallowed. ‘Meeting you is the best Christmas gift.’
‘Christmas?’
‘It’s only a few weeks away. I love the holidays, don’t you?’
No, Gayle didn’t love the holidays. She didn’t like the way everything closed down. She didn’t like the crowds on the streets or the tacky decorations. She didn’t like the uncomfortable memories that stuck to her like bits of parcel tape.
‘Aren’t you a little old to be excited about Christmas?’ she asked.
‘Never!’ Rochelle laughed. ‘I love a big family gathering. Massive tree. Gifts in front of the fire. You know the type of thing…’
Gayle turned her attention to the make-up artist, who was brandishing lipstick. ‘Not that horrible brown. Red.’
‘But—’
‘Red. And not an insipid washed-out red. I want a look at me red. I have the perfect one in my purse.’
There was much scrambling and an appropriate lipstick was produced.
Gayle sat still while the make-up artist finished her work. ‘This is your opportunity, Rochelle. Take it and ride it all the way home. If you make an impression on the public, your bosses won’t be able to hold you back.’
There.
Done.
Gayle had the power to give her a boost and she’d used it. She liked to give people the kind of chance she’d never been given. The rest was up to them.
‘Five minutes, Ms Mitchell.’ The director scanned her shelves. ‘When we’ve finished the interview we might take a few stills for promotional purposes.’
‘Whatever you need.’ If her story inspired people, then she was happy. She wanted women to understand their own strength and power.
Rochelle leaned forward. ‘In case I don’t have a chance to thank you properly after, I just want to say how grateful I am for your support. Do you have any idea how inspiring it is t
o know that you live the life you talk about in your books? You’re the real deal. You’re right at the top of your game, but still you take the time to reach out and give others a helping hand.’
Her eyes glistened and Gayle felt a flash of alarm.
The helping hand didn’t come with tissues. Emotion had no place in designing a life. It clouded decision-making and influenced those around you. Gayle’s staff knew better than to bring emotion to a conversation.
Give me facts, give me solutions—don’t give me sobbing.
Rochelle didn’t know that. ‘At college we had a mantra: what would GM do?’ She blushed slightly. ‘I hope you don’t mind that we called you that.’
Some said that GM stood for Great Mind, others Guru of Management. A few thought it stood for Genetically Modified, but no one on Gayle’s staff had the courage to tell her that.
Rochelle’s admiration continued to flow across the desk. ‘You’re afraid of nothing and no one. You’ve been an inspiration to so many of us. The way you’ve shaped your career, your life. You never apologise for the choices you make.’
Why should she apologise? Who would she apologise to?
‘Use this opportunity, Rochelle. Seize the moment. Did my assistant give you a copy of my next book?’
‘Yes. A signed copy.’ Rochelle appeared to have reined in her inner fangirl. ‘And I think it’s so cool that you have a male assistant.’
‘I employ the best person for the job. In this case it’s Cole.’
Out of the corner of her eye she checked the desks of her top executives. She and Bill Keen were the only members of the company to have their own offices. The others worked in the bright open space that stretched the width of the building. Occasionally Gayle would survey her domain from the protection of her glass-fronted oasis and think, I built this myself, with nothing more than guts and a grim determination to survive.
The shiny globe of Simon Belton’s bald head was just visible above the top of his cubicle. He’d been there when she’d arrived, which had instantly improved her mood. He was a hard worker, if a little lacking in truly innovative ideas. Next to him sat Marion Lake. Gayle had hired her the year before, as head of marketing, but she was starting to think the appointment might have been a mistake. Just that morning Gayle had seen her jacket slung casually over the back of her chair, its presence indicating that Marion was somewhere in the building.
