Happily Never After, page 1
HAPPILY NEVER AFTER
PHOEBE MACLEOD
To Tara.
CONTENTS
Prologue
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
Thank you!
More from Phoebe MacLeod
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Phoebe MacLeod
Boldwood Ever After
About Boldwood Books
PROLOGUE
TWO YEARS AGO
‘So, that went well then,’ I say to Angus with a smile as he carefully negotiates the farm track.
‘What do you mean?’
‘All the research we did about how to choose a puppy. You know, don’t just pick the cutest-looking one, assess their personality by whether they’re curious or fearful.’
‘She didn’t seem fearful to me, and we did do most of the things the books told us. We met the mother and I didn’t spot any of the signs that would have indicated it was a puppy farm.’
‘I’m not convinced she’s all Border Collie,’ I observe.
‘Me neither. I reckon she might be a bit of a Heinz 57, but that can make for a healthier dog. Some of the Kennel Club-approved breeds have all sorts of issues.’
I sigh contentedly. ‘She is very cute though, isn’t she?’
Angus turns to me and grins. ‘You’ve got it just as bad as I have.’
‘What are we going to call her?’
‘I was reading in one of the puppy books that it’s best to go for a short name with hard consonants in it, because dogs find those easier to learn.’
‘Oh, that’s a pity,’ I say with a smile. ‘I was planning on calling her Josephine, or Evangelina.’
He laughs. ‘No, you weren’t.’
‘Hermione? Amethyst?’ I add, joining in with his laughter.
‘Stop it.’
‘What about Tabitha?’
‘Better, but maybe a bit long.’
He’s so transparent, it’s all I can do not to laugh out loud. ‘You’ve already decided on a name, haven’t you?’ I tell him. ‘Come on, spit it out.’
‘Not at all. She’s going to be spending more time with you than me, so I think it’s only fair you name her.’
‘But you have a suggestion.’
He does have the decency to look a little guilty now. ‘I was wondering whether Meg would work. I mean, we can totally choose something else if you hate it, but—’
‘It’s fine,’ I interrupt him. ‘Meg it is.’
A comfortable silence descends as we reach the main road and Angus turns towards home.
‘It’s a big thing, taking on a puppy,’ he observes after a few miles. ‘You know what they say about how getting a pet is merely a precursor to having a baby?’
‘Whoa!’ I cut in with a laugh. ‘One step at a time.’
He pats my thigh reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure Meg will keep us both busy enough. Shall we call into the pet store on the way home and see about getting some bits and pieces for her?’
‘I think that’s an excellent idea.’
I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. Yes, getting a puppy is a big deal, but I think we’re ready for it, and it’s another sign of our commitment to one another that we’re taking on dog parenthood. I may have feigned alarm when Angus started talking about babies, but I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind too. He’d be a great dad, I reckon.
I’m jolted out of my reverie by my phone ringing in my pocket. The caller ID shows that it’s my agent, Tamara.
‘Laura, I’ve got fabulous news,’ she says before I even have a chance to say hello. ‘The publisher called. They’re really excited by the concept for your next book, to the extent that they’re offering a substantial advance.’ She names a sum that makes me inhale sharply.
‘Is everything OK?’ Angus mouths.
I nod. Tamara is still speaking, telling me about contracts and so on, but I’m no longer listening. This is the biggest advance I’ve ever been offered, and a real sign that the publisher has faith in me. As soon as the call ends, I turn to Angus.
‘We need to make another stop on the way home,’ I tell him.
‘Oh, yes?’ His expression is curious.
‘The publisher bought my concept. We need champagne.’
He laughs. ‘I don’t know why this always surprises you. You’re a bestselling author. You’d have to come up with something truly dreadful for them not to buy it. You really need to learn to ditch the impostor syndrome.’
‘I know, but I think it comes with the territory,’ I tell him.
‘Yeah. And now you’ll agonise over whether the book is shit right up until the point that everyone buys it and loves it because you’re actually very good at what you do. And we know that this book is going to be brilliant, because in a couple of weeks Meg will be there to give you inspiration.’
I lean over to kiss him on the cheek. Angus has been my most vocal supporter from the beginning, and I love him to bits for it. I truly don’t know what I’d do without him.
1
PRESENT DAY
‘Claire, that guy over there is totally checking you out. Have you noticed?’
Claire flipped the tab to stop the flow of lager into the pint glass she was filling and followed her friend’s gaze. It was a typically busy night in the Pig and Whistle, so it took her a moment to locate the object of Pauline’s attention.
‘The one sitting to the right of the dartboard?’ she asked, having clocked a pair of dark eyes under full brows.
‘That’s him. He’s barely stopped looking at you all night.’
‘Eeuww, Pauline. He’s way too old.’
‘I don’t know. You’re nineteen. What’s he? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven? Perfect for someone like you. Unlike boys your age, he’s probably got a job, his own car, maybe even a house or flat. He’s not bad looking either, is he? You could do a lot worse, I reckon. Go over and say hello.’
‘Are you out of your mind? I might as well just chuck my knickers at him and tell him I’m desperate. No, if he’s interested, he’s got to make the first move, and I’m still not convinced about his age. My dad would freak.’
‘Your dad needs to realise that you’re an adult now. Time to start dating men instead of boys. There are loads of empty glasses nearby. Why don’t you do a collection run and see if he says anything? Go on. I’ll finish this order for you.’
Claire knew well enough that there was no point in arguing with Pauline when she was like this. With a sigh, she picked up a tray, making her way slowly across the room to the table where the man was sitting. Now that Pauline had pointed him out, she was acutely aware of his eyes on her as she moved.
‘Can I take these empties for you?’ she asked when she finally reached his table.
‘Thanks.’ He looked up at her and smiled. He had a nice smile, she had to admit, and Pauline was right. He was good-looking in a swarthy kind of way.
‘I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before,’ she remarked.
‘I’ve only just moved into the area,’ he explained. ‘I’m Darren, by the way. Darren Enticknap.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Darren. I’m Claire.’
I sigh and lift my eyes from the laptop screen to look out of the window. Normally, I have no trouble slipping into the zone when I’m writing, but the last few paragraphs have taken over two hours. What’s more, the text feels bland and clunky as I cast my eyes over it. Ever since Angus left, writing has felt more like a chore than a pleasure and I can’t deny that it’s showing in the quality of my work.
If real life were anything like one of my books, I’d have seen Angus’s sudden departure coming. However, a month has passed since he decided – quite out of the blue – that he needed to be as far away from me as possible, and I still haven’t fully come to terms with it.
‘You’re not going to cry again. We’re moving on, Laura,’ I tell myself forcefully as I prepare to recite the mantra my best friend Olivia gave me when I was still raw and bewildered in the early days after he walked out. ‘Angus left because, well, I still don’t really know why he left if I’m honest, but it’s definitely more to do with him than me.’
I shift my gaze to the dog basket beside my desk, unsurprised to see Meg’s chocolate eyes staring reproachfully at me. I may be the one who normally walks and feeds her, but she’s always been more Angus’s dog than mine and, if anything, she’s moped even more than me since he left. To be fair, a lot of that has probably just been her picking up on my misery.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ I chide her gently. ‘Us girls have got to stick together at times like this. For all we know, it might be
I try to focus back on my work, but Meg has evidently decided that the fact I’ve spoken to her means something good is going to happen. She stands and shakes herself before resting her head on my thigh and staring at me, wagging her tail hopefully.
‘You’ve already had a walk today,’ I remind her. ‘Plus, the weather outside is filthy.’
The wagging only intensifies. I try hard to ignore her, but she ups the ante by nudging my elbow with her nose.
‘Fine,’ I say exasperatedly. ‘It’s not as if I’m achieving anything useful. Do you want me to see if Auntie Liv is around?’
The mention of one of Meg’s favourite human beings increases the tail wagging to such a frenzied level that her whole bottom is now swinging from side to side with the force of it. It’s impossible not to smile at such simple joy as I dial Olivia’s number.
‘Hi, Laura,’ she says breathlessly when the call connects. ‘What’s up?’
‘I feel like I should be asking you the same question!’ I reply. ‘You sound like you’re in the middle of running a marathon.’
‘I think that would be easier than the truth. Do you remember that yoga channel on YouTube I mentioned last week?’
‘Umm, no.’
‘I definitely told you about it. Anyway, I decided to give it a go. I thought yoga was supposed to be gentle, but I swear this woman is trying to kill me. Anyway, are you all right? How’s the book?’
‘The book’s fine but Meg’s hassling to see you. I’ll tell her you’re busy, don’t worry.’
Liv’s laughter is rich and full. ‘Translation,’ she replies. ‘You’re distracted and struggling to concentrate, so you’re using my favourite dog as an excuse to scrounge a cup of tea and a madeleine off me.’
‘OK, OK. You’ve got me.’
‘Have you seen the weather though? You’ll get soaked.’
‘I’ll come round to the back door so we don’t drip all over your hallway.’
‘Good plan. The garden gate is open so just let yourselves in. I’ll have a towel ready for Meg and I’m putting the kettle on now.’
‘I’ll see you in ten minutes.’
Liv was one of the first people I met when Angus and I moved from his home city of Glasgow to Margate four years ago. She’s one of those people that, on paper, are easy to hate. Born to idiotically wealthy parents, she coasted through various exclusive private schools, barely scraping passes at GCSE before getting herself expelled just before her A levels for ‘bringing the establishment into disrepute’. The way Liv tells it, she was caught in a compromising position with a boy, but her father told a different story after a few glasses of wine one evening. According to him, the incident with the boy was definitely instrumental, but the straw that broke the camel’s back was when she was found wandering through the town, drunk as a lord, one Saturday afternoon. Any attempts to cajole her back to her room where she could sober up out of sight were met with bellowed, albeit beautifully enunciated, streams of such obscenity that the school allegedly felt the need to publish an apology in the local paper.
Whichever it was, she never sat her exams, deciding instead to gain ‘life experience’ through travel, to her parents’ horror. At thirty-two, she may only be three years older than me, but she’s certainly crammed an awful lot more experience into her life than most people our age could manage. In the time I’ve known her, she’s told me various stories of terrible jobs she did to keep herself afloat during that time, including one in a Thai brothel where she assures me – not entirely convincingly – that she wasn’t servicing clients, just making sure the rooms were kept well equipped with condoms, lube and the other accoutrements of the sex trade. The one that captured her imagination, though, was a job in a pâtisserie on the outskirts of Paris. She discovered a talent and passion for pastry that she retains to this day, and her long-suffering parents were so relieved when she came home and told them what she wanted to do that they had no hesitation about handing over her substantial trust fund so she could set up the coffee shop and pâtisserie that she still runs. Which is how I met her; I applied for a job when we first moved south and spent a happy year working there before my writing career finally took off.
‘Fucking hell, look at the state of you,’ she drawls affectionately as Meg and I let ourselves in through the back door and I start to remove my dripping raincoat. ‘Did the rain do all of that or did you take a wrong turn through the car wash on your way over? Oh, Meg, no!’
It’s too late. Meg may be delighted to see her, but getting the excess water out of her coat onto the floor, up the walls and into the fabric of Liv’s clothes is obviously a higher priority than greeting one of her favourite people.
‘Come here, you idiotic animal, and let me dry you properly,’ Liv says as she wraps an excitedly wriggling Meg in a towel. ‘Look at the mess you’ve made of Auntie Liv’s special yoga leggings. I only bought them this morning.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say as she releases my dog, who promptly rushes over to the corner of the kitchen where she knows Liv keeps the treats. ‘I should have wiped her down outside.’
‘Don’t worry about it. To be honest, I’m really not sure Spandex is a good look on me.’ She rises to her feet and gives me a twirl. ‘What do you think?’
‘They certainly hug your figure.’
‘Very diplomatic. They don’t leave anything to the imagination, do they? You could probably count my pubes through them if you looked carefully enough. Trevor would have loved them, dirty bastard.’
‘And how is Trevor?’
‘No idea. We parted ways a couple of days ago, around five minutes after he mistakenly decided that having access to my knickers gave him the right to mansplain my business to me.’
‘Oops.’
‘Yeah. I don’t think he’ll be making that mistake again. Criticise me all you like – Lord knows I’m not perfect – but come for Maison Olivia and I’ll take your head off.’
‘Noted. Not that I’d have dared anyway.’
‘I still miss you in the shop. I know you’re a super-duper novelist these days, but are you sure you can’t fit in a few hours per week behind the counter? We did have some laughs, didn’t we?’
This is a familiar refrain from her, and one that I normally shut down swiftly. Before Angus left, I’d have told her that I absolutely loved the freedom that being a full-time writer gives me. However, I have to confess that I am struggling with being on my own all the time, and the idea of the odd shift at Maison Olivia is becoming more appealing. There’s just one problem.
‘What would I do with Meg?’ I ask as Liv hands her a chew from the tin.
‘She might be a selling point, like the cat in that bookshop you spend so many hours in. As long as she stays in the customer area and out of the kitchen, I don’t see a problem.’
‘Yeah. Good luck explaining the no-go zones to her,’ I remark wryly as Meg jumps up, placing her front paws on the kitchen counter and giving Liv the full puppy-dog eye treatment in the evident hope of securing a second treat. ‘Plus, I’d only need to turn my back for a minute and she’d be gone.’
‘You wouldn’t run off, would you, darling,’ Liv coos as she hands Meg another chew.
‘You’d have to set up a treat dispenser to keep her occupied, and then she’d be so fat she wouldn’t be able to wander off.’ I lean over to push Meg’s feet off the counter, to her evident disappointment. ‘That’s enough, Meg,’ I tell her firmly. ‘Stop hassling.’
‘Darjeeling OK?’ Liv asks as she diverts her attention from the dog to the teapot. She’s fastidious about the process of making tea, warming the pot before adding loose leaves and hot water. In the shop, every pot of tea is accompanied by a sand timer so customers know precisely how long to infuse each blend for. She roundly condemns teabags as ‘common’ and, to my amusement, she actively recoiled on the one occasion Angus offered her a mug of a well-known supermarket brand.
‘I stole these from the shop,’ she says with a smile as she opens a container to reveal beautifully golden madeleines, placing them on a china plate.
‘I’m not sure you can steal from yourself,’ I observe as I take one and bite into it. ‘Mm. This is seriously good, Liv.’
