Synopsis
Suddenly bereaved, Molly White
realises that she has never really known her feisty husband Jake when random
boxes begin to appear through the post, each one containing a tantalising clue
to the secrets of Jake and Molly’s past. Someone who knows them both well, for
reasons of their own, has planned a trail of discovery. The clues seem to be
designed to change Molly’s life completely, leading her around Britain and then
onwards to rural France and deepest Bavaria.
Meanwhile, waiting in the wings is
Tom, a charismatic artist who runs a gallery in the same town. Strong,
independent and wheelchair-bound from the age of fifteen, he leads a solitary
life and has no idea how devastatingly attractive he is to women. When Tom
meets curvy, beautiful and funny Molly, he knows that she is his dream woman,
but she seems way out of his orbit until the boxes start to weave their spell
and the two of them are thrown right out of their comfort zones.
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Excerpt
Tom sat on the beach in the spring sunshine, eating cockles out
of a tub and
gazing rather grimly at the incoming tide. If it came much
closer he’d have to
abandon his painting for the day – it took a good twenty minutes
to pack up and get back to his car on the promenade.
As he licked his fingers and screwed up the seafood carton,
there was a scrunch
of pebbles and a whoosh of air as a small boy thundered past,
whooping at the top
of his voice. He was followed at speed by the most desirable
woman that Tom could ever remember seeing in this small seaside town. It was his Lady
in Red; the one who had been cropping up in his dreams far too often since he’d
first seen her on the beach. Her hair was an explosion of dark curls, and she wore
tight orange jeans with a wildly clashing crimson sweater that came almost to her knees.
Tom took a deep breath to say hello but he was too late.
‘Max... MAX... don’t go near the sea. I mean it!’ she bellowed,
skidding straight
into Tom as she chased the boy across the pebbles. ‘Sorry,
sorry… have I hurt you?
Is your painting wrecked? Oh – wow; it’s good, isn’t it? You can
tell it’s meant to be the pier. I’m really, really sorry…’
Tom picked himself up and put his painting chair the right way
up again. ‘Hey, it’s
okay – you can fall over me any time,’ he said, grinning into
her startlingly green
eyes.
She blinked and looked away, her lovely face matching the colour
of her
sweater. Shielding her eyes with a hand, she scanned the beach
for the boy.
‘Where’s he gone, the little toad? Ah, there he is, he’s making
something out of a
heap of stones – at least he’s not paddling fully dressed like
last time. Oh hell, you
don’t even know me and I’ve already wrecked your work. I’m
Molly. I think I’ve seen you here before, haven’t I? Let me fix your painting.’
She bent down to see if she could repair the damage and Tom held
out a hand
to stop her trying to brush bits of stone off his picture. ‘No,
honestly, it’s fine, I’ll sort it out. I’m Tom, and I’ve seen you, too. You’re easy to remember.’
‘Am I? Why?’
‘Lots of reasons – you often seem to be in a hurry, you always
wear something
red, you’ve got lots of kids, you’re gorgeous…’ Tom stopped in
confusion.
‘Gorgeous? Me? Do you need your eyes testing or something?’
Molly blushed
again and looked at him properly for the first time. ‘I’m sorry,
that was really rude,’ she said. ‘My mum’s always telling me I don’t know how to take a
compliment.’
‘Don’t worry, maybe you just need a bit more practice.’ Tom bent
to carry on
sorting his painting kit out. He couldn’t help noticing how her
eyes rested on his
forearms as he finished tidying up and, clearly aware of his
scrutiny, she reddened
even more.
‘You’re very strong, aren’t you?’ she blurted out.
Tom laughed. ‘I guess I have to be, don’t I? If you’ve seen me
before, you’ll
know why.’
‘I don’t want you to think I’ve been staring at you, Tom. It’s
just that you’re…
um… different to most of the men round here.’
‘Tell me about it.’ Tom slung his bag over one shoulder and
heaved himself out
of his folding chair.
‘Can I help you at all?’ Molly asked, standing on tiptoes to get
a better view of
the shoreline. ‘Oh look, here are the other two Musketeers. They
can carry
something for you, if you like.’
‘I don’t need any help, thanks.’ Tom bit back the familiar
feeling of irritation and
smiled up at a pair of girls, dressed entirely in black, who had
stopped next to him. The taller one had multiple piercings. Both girls were scowling.
‘Mum, what are you like?’ said the pierced one. ‘We saw you
knock the paints all
over the place. You’re so clumsy. Have you seen what Max is
doing now?’
Molly looked again. The small boy had been jumping off his pile
of stones and
had landed awkwardly the last time. He began to wail. ‘Max! I
told you last time not to do that. Hang on, I’m coming,’ Molly shouted.
The girls sighed and rolled their eyes at Tom as they watched
their mum slither
off over the stones to the sandy stretch by the sea, where Max
was now hurling the
biggest rocks he could find into the waves. The pierced girl
turned to the smaller one.
‘Bloody hell, why doesn’t she just leave him alone for a bit?
The only place he
can go is into the sea.’
‘But he’s only little – he can’t swim.’
‘Exactly.’ The older girl smirked as they wandered off down the
beach.
Tom sighed. Another opportunity lost; still no nearer to finding
out more about his dream woman. Oh well, at least he knew her name now. On the
other hand, it didn’t take a genius to work out that she was already taken. The
wedding ring gave it away, even if the children didn’t.
Meet Celia J Anderson
Celia J Anderson spends most of
her spare time writing in as many different genres as possible, including
children’s fiction. In her other life, she’s Assistant Headteacher at a small
Catholic primary school in the Midlands and loves teaching literature (now
comfortingly called English again but still the best subject in the world.)
She tried a variety of random jobs
before discovering that the careers advisor at secondary school was right,
including running crèches, childminding, teaching children to ride bikes
(having omitted to mention she couldn’t do it herself) and a stint in mental
health care. All these were ideal preparation for the classroom and provided
huge amounts of copy for the books that were to come.
Celia enjoys cooking and eating in
equal measures, and thinks life without wine would be a sad thing indeed. She
is married, with two grown up daughters who have defected to the seaside. One
day she plans to scoop up husband and cats and join them there.
Connect with Celia
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