Just for the Holidays: Your perfect summer read!. Sue Moorcroft

Twenty-Nine

      

       Chapter Thirty

      

       Acknowledgements

      

       The Lengths a Novelist Will Go to …

      

       Love Sue Moorcroft? Then Read on for a Sneak Peak of Her New Book, The Little Village Christmas

      

       Want to Join Team Sue Moorcroft? Then Read on…

      

       About the Author

      

       About the Publisher

       Prologue

       Michele : Re holiday … Alister wants to come! Says he’s never visited that region of France, it was planned before the break-up, he paid, there’s room, and what’s he supposed to do for most of August with the kids away? The gîte has good wifi so he can do his pre-term admin, blah blah. The children will hate me if I say no. Would you mind? Pleeeeeease don’t mind! x

       Leah : Happy to step aside. Only said I’d come because you’d be alone with the kids. Maybe you and Alister will make up? *hopeful face*

x

       Michele :

We absolutely WON’T make up and I NEED you there to defuse the TENSION. Pleeeeeease? xxxxxx

      Leah Beaumont read the final message with a sinking heart. A few weeks ago, in a shock move – shocking even to husband Alister, apparently – Leah’s sister Michele had ended her marriage. Since then, Leah’s role had been to provide emotional support for Michele and the kids, Jordan and Natasha. Even Alister had turned up at Leah’s place for a long open-heart discourse on the hideousness of having to leave – ‘being kicked out of’ – the family home.

      In the end-of-relationship wasteland, the family’s trip to Alsace had slipped down the ‘needs attention’ list until Michele received a cheerful e-mail beginning Soon we’ll be welcoming your family to our fantastic gîte, Mrs Milton. Here are a few things you’ll want to know! and instantly phoned Leah. ‘Will you come in Alister’s place? You know I can’t drive on the wrong side! And you don’t mind doing outdoorsy stuff with the children.’ Michele’s voice had been squeaky with tears and it would have taken a harder heart than Leah’s to refuse, though it would mean a dreary drive to France in Michele’s lumbering seven-seater known as ‘The Pig’ because Michele had had it sprayed pink. On purpose.

      Leah’s phone beeped again.

       Michele : Really absolutely definitely PLEASE don’t back out! Can you come round? xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

      Leah sighed.

      Ten minutes later she was sitting in her sister’s kitchen. Michele’s curly bob corkscrewed randomly above one eye and the top button of her jeans was undone. ‘You’re not going to back out. Are you?’

      Though Leah understood that ‘Yes’ would not be the correct answer, she wriggled feebly on the hook. ‘But now Alister’s going –’

      ‘If you don’t come, I’ll shoot myself,’ Michele promised, eyes swimming with tears. ‘But if you’re there to make the holiday bearable, maybe Alister’s presence might actually help the children. If we’re friendly and civilised they’ll know that whether we’re together or apart our love for them is the same.’

      Though Leah didn’t see children as quite that easy to reboot, she knew better than to theorise when Michele scored fifteen years’ parenting and twenty years’ teaching to Leah’s nil. She propped her elbows on the oak table. ‘There may be enough rooms but it would mean taking two vehicles.’

      ‘Alister can drive The Pig, as it’s bigger than his hatchback, and I’ll be your passenger.’

      A road trip in Leah’s middle-aged Porsche Cayman was definitely more of an incentive than being obliged to drive The Pig. ‘But putting me in the middle of your marital distress –’

      ‘It’s just for the holidays and you’re on gardening leave! You’ve landed a great new job and you’re being paid to stay away from the old one. It’s a free holiday!’

      Leah’s neck prickled at the familiar sensation of a sisterly squabble brewing. ‘I did already have plans for my gardening leave – redecorating my lounge, a trip to see Mum and Dad and a track day with Scott.’ They hadn’t been firm plans, but they’d been plans.

      ‘Scott’s not even a boyfriend!’

      ‘What difference does that make? He’s my friend.’

      Michele sucked in a long, wavering breath, eyes huge and tragic. ‘But – I’m pregnant again.’ And she burst into noisy tears.

      Leah’s jaw dropped. ‘Pregnant? Michele –!’

      ‘I know, I know!’ Michele’s shoulders heaved. ‘It’s come at exactly the wro-wrong time. But tha-at’s why I nee-ee-eed you. Everythi-ing’s such a mess.’

      ‘If your life gets much messier, soap operas will be stealing your storylines,’ Leah agreed, though not without compassion. ‘Does Alister know about the baby?’

      ‘Of course! The poor man thinks I’ve undergone a personality transplant. I’ve still got to find a way to tell Jordan and Natasha! And what about Baby Three? What kind of family life is she or he going to be born into?’

      Leah slid a comforting arm along Michele’s shoulders. ‘Is the baby Alister’s?’

      Michele flung herself upright, tears on hold as her best indignant teacher’s voice cracked out. ‘Leah! If even you think the worst of me, I might really shoot myself!’

      ‘Sorry.’ Leah backtracked hastily as her sister’s face crumpled into a still more tragic mask. She did love Michele, no matter how much they jokingly referred to themselves as ‘Chalk’ and ‘Cheese’, Michele being eight years older, the very married and motherly Mrs Milton; Leah the resolutely single and child-free Ms Beaumont. Michele having a sensible job in teaching; Leah having what Michele termed ‘a silly job’ in chocolate products – though it paid better than Michele’s sensible one. Despite having the bossy and manipulative tendencies that she seemed to feel the right of an elder sister, Michele had also stuck up for Leah a million times and provided whatever was needed in the way of bolthole, wise counsel or shoulder to cry on.

      ‘All right, I’ll come,’ Leah capitulated, ‘if I get the garden annexe, as agreed. I’m not used to family life and I need my space.’

      ‘It would be better if Alister was out there.’ Michele grabbed a fistful of kitchen roll to trumpet noisily into. Then, catching Leah’s eye, ‘Oh, OK, if that’s what it takes. Thank you.’

      Leah ignored the whiff of reproach. Her claiming La Petite Annexe would