Love Charade (Lovefest Book 1), page 1
LOVE CHARADE
ALLIE MCDERMID
Copyright © 2022 by Allie McDermid
All rights reserved.
The right of Allie McDermid to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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.
All characters and events in the publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
CONTENTS
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
One Year Later
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ALSO BY ALLIE MCDERMID
Love Charade
Love Detour
Love Magnet
1
Holly Taylor plucked the headphone from her right ear. Mum was phoning for the thousandth time. She’d planned to call when she was nearer Glasgow Central Station, but the train was a good fifty minutes away yet and her mother’s constant calling was getting in the way of the audiobook she wanted to finish.
She let it go to voicemail and, with a huff, stabbed at the pause button, taking a moment to compose herself. This had felt like the right thing to do as she boarded the train at London Euston four long hours ago, but the closer she got to Glasgow the tighter the grip on her stomach became. This was it: she was officially returning home with her tail between her legs.
Holly held the ringing mobile to her ear, suddenly aware she was holding her breath. She let out a wavering sigh, her heartbeat thrumming against her ribs. It’s only Mum.
‘Holly, hi! Are you nearly here?’ Mum said, panic clear in her voice.
‘What’s wrong?’ Holly asked, her heart rate rising for a completely different reason now. The sound of the family’s busy shop was loud on the line, so at least she wasn’t in a hospital or worse.
‘It’s your dad.’
‘What’s wrong?’ she repeated, straightening herself in the train’s seat, on high alert. It had better not be his blood pressure again.
‘That’ll be two ninety-nine. Sorry, it’s my daughter. I know! Have a good day.’
‘Mum,’ Holly scolded, her patience already non-existent.
‘Sorry – customers. It’s your dad. He’s put his back out.’
Holly breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Is he okay?’
‘Oh aye, he’s lying in the basement just now. I told him not to pick up that box of juice, but you know what he’s like.’
‘So why the ten thousand calls?’
‘Well, this place is going like a fair, and we’ve a heck of a lot of home deliveries to get through. I know you wanted to get straight home, but do you think you could call by the shop and help out?’
Holly slumped back in the seat, her muscles relaxing now she knew it wasn’t an emergency. ‘Yeah, sure, no problem.’
‘You’re an angel! Right, I better go. Got a queue out the door.’ Mum punctuated the call with an excited squeal. It was nice to hear her so happy. She’d never been like that when she worked in banking.
Holly repositioned herself, not bothering to put her audiobook back on. Instead, she focused on the countryside whizzing past the window. They were well into Scotland now. The view hadn’t changed much in the last hour, aside from England’s flat fields slowly being replaced with distant tumbling mountains, but a patriotic warmth hugged her bones. It felt like an age since she’d done this journey. It had been an age.
Christmas. Two years ago. The shop had only just opened and her visit was so whistle-stop she’d only managed to walk past it when it was closed. It would be good to see it in all its glory. Her parents had done an amazing job of building the deli up to where it was. They’d recently won Best Customer Service in the Shawlands Business Awards. No mean feat.
She checked her messages, half expecting to see a message from Shona. Nothing. Just Dad urging her to phone, and Mum’s missed calls. Even after four months, her mind was on autopilot. If she ever heard from Shona again it would be too soon.
There wasn’t really anyone to warn of her imminent arrival. When she’d run off to London she’d let friendships fall by the wayside. Was there anyone she knew left in Glasgow? Would they even care she was back?
She shoved her phone in her pocket.
Fuck, Holly. How did you mess this up so badly?
2
Jen Berkley took a break between customers, enjoying a lull as Shawlands shoppers migrated to the local bakeries and cafes for a quick pick-me-up before resuming their shopping in the afternoon. She’d never seen an August like it.
‘What you sitting on?’ Chloe asked, leaning on the end of the counter.
‘Just shy of eight hundred.’
Chloe whistled through her teeth. ‘Woof. Wait, is that good?’
‘Very good,’ Jen replied, unable to hide the smile pulling at her lips. ‘That’s Christmas-level sales for a Tuesday.’
Chloe nodded in appreciation. ‘Nice. Still going to slag off Lovefest, when it’s driven your sales like that?’
Jen rolled her eyes. ‘It’s the name: how can I take it seriously with a name like Lovefest?’
‘Just imagine the suggestions that got scrapped.’ Chloe moved to the nearest shelves, her focus fixed on the copper cocktail shaker she was tumbling between her hands, pretending to inspect it. ‘Had any further thoughts on what you’re doing about that text?’
Jen considered her reply, and chose to ignore the question altogether. ‘I’ve got delivery routes to plan, replen to sort, and cleaning to do. What do you want to help with?’
Chloe shot her a look. Her best friend understood better than to push it, but Jen knew that inside she was dying to dissect options in minute detail. After all, she’d hotfooted it to the shop when Jen told her who’d been in touch. Annoyance gripped her stomach once more, but Jen bit it down. It wasn’t Chloe’s fault. She just didn’t want to talk about it.
It wasn’t the text in itself that was bad. Okay: it was enough to make her want to kick the wall, but it wasn’t just that. It was an accumulation of bad things that had stacked up over time, like a terrible game of Jenga, threatening to fall at any moment. Right now her tower was teetering, but if she didn’t talk about the text she could keep it together. Just.
Chloe pursed her lips, weighing up her answer. ‘Replen. You shout and I’ll grab.’
Jen winked, keeping her bad mood under wraps. ‘That’s the spirit. A box of pina colada, Sex on the Beach, screwdrivers, and porn star martinis, please.’
Chloe disappeared into the storeroom, not before saluting her bestie. ‘Yes, boss.’
Jen surveyed the shop, her stomach and face dropping, safe to let the facade fall now Chloe was out of sight. The store looked good. It wasn’t big by any means, but it was big enough. Large enough for an ample counter, two industrial fridges – one of which was currently broken – a glass-doored freezer, and a wall of shelves. She’d kept the decor minimal and Scandi-inspired, much like her home. Light wood, sleek lines, white walls, and a little hint of industrial ruggedness with the pipework holding up her shelving. In fact, it wasn’t just like her home: it was an extension of it. She’d built it from the ground up. It was her baby.
She’d always had a love of cocktails, bars, and pubs, spanning most of her career, so when the opportunity arose to open her own shop selling pre-made cocktail pouches and every imaginable sundry for making your own perfect cocktails at home, she had leapt at the chance.
It hadn’t been easy, but soon she was making all the cocktails on-site, creating her own marvellous concoctions to support the better-known recipes, and selling them all over the south of Glasgow.
And now? Well. She’d be lucky if she was still here next quarter.
The spring of agitation twisted once more. Jen tensed her jaw. Don’t think about all that today. Look at all the money you’ve made! But how could she not? The shop wasn’t just her livelihood: it was her entire life.
And who sends
a text like that out of the blue?
Chloe dumped the boxes onto the edge of the wooden counter with a thud. ‘Sorry – heavy.’
‘Just in the fridge please, Clo.’
‘I can’t believe how fast these are selling. You all out of Peachy Keens?’
‘Yep, will need to make more. Fancy helping?’
‘Depends. Does that include sampling?’
‘If needs be.’ Jen replied with a smile.
‘Well, count me in!’
The bell above the door jingled, alerting them to a customer.
‘Hi, how are—’ Jen said, before cutting herself off. ‘Hey Annie, it’s yourself. How’s it going?’
‘You’re a lesbian, yeah? Fancy a date?’ Annie said, depositing a hefty folder onto the counter.
The question took Jen by surprise. Not because she wasn’t out, but because people usually said hello before propositioning her. ‘I, er.’ Her cheeks burned red.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ Annie said as if waving something away. ‘I’ll go back to the start. How are you? Sales good? It’s hoaching outside.’
‘Been busy, yeah,’ Jen said, her mind still occupied with the previous enquiry.
‘It looks like Lovefest is going to be a roaring success, and it’s only day two. I can’t believe it.’ Annie was head of the Shawlands Business Initiative Group, the association that organised Lovefest, and had as much riding on the festival’s success as Jen did in the month’s sales. What Annie lacked in height she made up with fire and determination: if anyone could pull it off, Annie could.
‘Good feedback, then? Lots of smooching and canoodling?’ Chloe asked with a smirk.
‘Lots of feedback, yes; not so sure about the smooching. So, listen . . .’
‘Yes,’ Jen said, trepidation clear in her voice. She was niney-nine per cent sure Annie had a husband. And two kids, come to think of it.
‘Lesbian, yes?’
‘Yep.’
‘Single?’
‘You betcha,’ Chloe chipped in, only to get daggers from Jen.
‘Just what I wanted to hear,’ Annie replied, with a wry smile as she tucked a loose strand from her black bob behind her ear. ‘And finally, you free tonight?’
Chloe straightened herself with a wriggle, excitement clear. They were chalk and cheese. Chloe would happily comply with anything, without even a sniff of specifics, purely for the experience. Jen, on the other hand, needed time and space to calculate. Even then, the answer was usually no. There was little better than a glass of wine and her own company.
Before Jen could protest, Chloe answered: ‘She’s free. What’s the plan?’
‘Thank the stars,’ Annie said with a sigh of relief. ‘It’s the event tonight, in Cal’s.’
‘Ohh, sounds intriguing.’
‘It’s going to be great. Just a few minor snags, which it looks like I’m well on my way to ironing out. Right. Eight o’clock, don’t be late.’
‘Wait, wait, wait,’ Jen said, throwing her hands up to halt further activity. ‘I’m not agreeing to anything. What’s this all about?’
Annie grinned. ‘Thought that was a bit easy. We’re officially kicking off Lovefest with a matchmaking event in Cal’s, and from ticket sales, I could see we were a little short on women seeking women. Of course, we might get a few walk-ins, but I don’t want to risk it. So far there are only three other ladies signed up. Not exactly the impression we were going for.’
‘Matchmaking event?’ Jen repeated with a gulp.
‘Yes, but really, you’re just there to plump numbers. You don’t need to do a thing.’
‘I dunno.’
‘Oh, come on, Jen! It’ll be fun,’ Chloe said, leaning around the counter to squeeze her arm. ‘What about me? Can I help make up numbers too?’
Jen scoffed. ‘You? You can’t pretend to be gay!’
‘How so? I can act gay.’
‘It’s not about acting. Whatever “acting gay” is.’ Jen’s cheeks blushed red again: she hated debating sexuality. ‘It’s because as soon as you sniff out a hot single guy you’re like a dog with a bone.’
‘You don’t think I can pretend for one night?’ Chloe feigned offence.
‘Not on your nelly.’
Annie picked up her folder, hugging it to her chest. ‘Look, if both of you come, fantastic. But I need at least one. Free drinks? Would that do it? Please, Jen.’
Chloe was doe-eyed. ‘Jen, it’ll be fun. Come on, free booze! We’ll have a laugh. Just what you need after today. I’m not going without you.’
Jen considered it, the unpaid bills and estimate from the fridge repair guy catching her eye. ‘I have too much to do. Too many drinks to make.’
‘I can help. We’ve got a few hours yet. Pleeease.’
Silence hung in the air: all eyes were on Jen. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of their stares. There was no point: Chloe wouldn’t let this go, not with a night of free alcohol on offer. ‘One drink. I’ll show face, make up the numbers. That’s it.’
Annie’s features exploded into a grin while Chloe jumped on the spot with an excited little clap.
‘You two are angels. Just one more to find now, even numbers and all that. Don’t suppose you know of any more eligible ladies in the area?’ Annie said, already turning on her heel to leave.
‘If she did, do you think Jen would still be single?’ Chloe said with a guffaw as she ducked the pen Jen had launched her way.
3
Nerves gripped Holly’s stomach the closer she got to Shawlands. She was going home; there was no need to feel like this. And yet, there it was. A heavy, worsening feeling that refused to go away. Part of it was guilt, but most of it was embarrassment.
Yet, she couldn’t help but smile as the taxi drove beside Queen’s Park. Glasgow was affectionately referred to as the Dear Green Place, the literal translation of its name from Gaelic, and with places like Queen’s Park it was easy to see why. It was huge and marked the centre of four major Southside suburbs: Strathbungo, Govanhill, Shawlands, and Battlefield.
Holly’s childhood home was a hop, skip, and jump from Shawlands, in the neighbouring area of Langside. She’d often find herself in Queen’s Park with one of her parents. Whether it was checking on the ducks, grabbing an ice cream near the boating pond, or spotting the squirrels, there were lots of happy memories within its gates.
She craned her neck, certain she’d seen a giant duck floating in the pond. Her eyes must have been deceiving her. Or the locals were adding steroids to the bread.
Plenty of time to explore tomorrow. A walk would be nice; she could reacquaint herself with the area. She could already see so much had changed as the taxi came to a standstill at the traffic lights.
The Shawlands she remembered was long gone. Not that it was a bad thing. The area had a trendy feel to it now, but not in the posh student-y way the actual West End did. More like a casual glow-up. The main shopping street that ran the length of the suburb was once lined with charity shops, bookies, and empty units; not exactly a shopping destination. Now it was home to bookshops, boutiques, and enticing brunch spots. Barely an empty shop in sight. No wonder Mum and Dad’s deli was doing well. This was a haven for their ideal customer. You didn’t need the West when this was right on your doorstep. It was no surprise flat prices were through the roof. Not quite London prices, but she’d got a shock when investigating her options before moving home. She gulped at the thought of sleeping in her childhood bed tonight. Nothing quite screamed failure more than accepting you’d wake surrounded by popstar posters, sheets that smelled like the airing cupboard, and the nightlight you’d had since you were wee.
