That said, there’d always been a doubt lurking at the back of her mind that it could be resurrected at any moment. After all, they’d gone quiet before, and then all the tiresome drama had started up again when they’d got wind that Jack Playforth had signed a deal with his publishing house to write his autobiography. They’d taken exception to it, objecting in numerous aggressive tirades, saying that by giving Jack the go ahead to include mention of The Happy Hartes Bookshop in the telling of his story, it would risk exposing the Harte name to scandal.
It was only in recent years that Jack had discovered the identity of his birth mother and, even more intriguingly, that Mr and Mrs H had been involved in his secret ‘adoption’ by a childless couple. Teenager Jean Davenport had fallen pregnant, the father of her unborn child having washed his hands of her. As if that wasn’t bad enough, her parents had threatened to disown her if she kept the baby. Devastated, Jean had confided in Dinah Harte, who, together with her husband, had stepped in and found Jack a loving home with a couple they knew who’d been desperate for a child for years.
The circumstances of Jack’s ‘adoption’ had remained a secret until he’d traced a family connection back to Micklewick Bay. But what nobody knew was that Peter Harte had overheard his parents discussing Jack’s ‘adoption’ one evening when he was still living at home. He’d been outraged, accusing them of taking the law into their own hands and telling them to never breathe a word of it to another living soul; he’d never be able to live with the shame if the details got out.
Knowing that Jack’s impending autobiography would revealthis long-kept secret, he and Dawn had done all they could to get Ed and Florrie to refuse Jack’s request for full disclosure, saying it would cause untold damage to the Harte name. They’d finally had to accept defeat and their anger had eventually fizzled out.
Which is why Dawn’s unexpected arrival had put Florrie on high alert. After all, it was more than a year since they’d last had any drama from his parents; the longest they’d gone since Ed and Florrie had taken the reins of the bookshop. It made her wonder if they were regrouping, checking the lie of the land before one final attempt at getting their hands on the bookshop. That thought sent a spike of alarm shooting through her. She wouldn’t put it past them deliberately resurrecting their campaign again just before the wedding. No doubt thinking their son and Florrie would be too distracted to be aware of what was going on under their noses.
‘My mum did mention something that’s got me… um… well… thinking…’ The cautious note in Ed’s voice didn’t escape Florrie. She turned to face him, her whole body tense.
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah, I can’t remember her exact words’ – Ed scratched his head – ‘but having slept on it, it has made me wonder if she’s come here to test the water about maybe…’ He paused for what felt to Florrie like an age.
‘About maybe…?’ If she could’ve physically dragged the words out of her mild-mannered fiancé, she would.
‘It’s just a thought, and I’m sure I’m on the wrong path, so please try not to get stressed about it…’ It sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Florrie. He gulped audibly and took another pause that seemed to go on even longer than the first.
Argh, Ed! Spit it out!Florrie felt ready to pop at any moment. Didn’t he realise those words were guaranteed to get anyone stressed out? ‘You’ve got me really worried now, Ed.’
‘Sorry.’ He winced. ‘It’s just, with some of the things she’s been saying, it made me wonder if she and my father were toying with the idea of… of moving to Micklewick Bay.’
His words slammed into her, leaving her too stunned to speak, the implications charging around her mind.Ed’s parents, moving here? Please, no!If this were true, then their peaceful, happy existence was over.
Their eyes met, and Florrie saw her fears reflected back in his.
FIVE
‘But I thought your parents hated Micklewick Bay?’ Florrie said when she finally found her voice. Her heart was thudding hard in her chest as shockwaves rippled through her.
‘Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Haven’t ever heard them say a good word about the place.’
After over three decades of living in sunnier climes, and eschewing everything to do with Micklewick Bay and the bookshop, Ed’s parents had surprised those that knew them, giving up their nomadic lifestyle and settling in London. When asked why they hadn’t opted for Micklewick Bay, Florrie had ignored the slight to her beloved hometown and felt an overwhelming sense of relief when Dawn had declared it too much of a ‘behind the times little backwater where nothing of interest ever happens’ and that it was a place that ‘stifled their creativity’ for them to entertain such a ludicrous idea.
As she absorbed Ed’s words, something his mother had said about Ed’s father yesterday started gnawing away in Florrie’s mind. The almost dismissive tone in which it had been delivered, combined with the stony look in Dawn’s eyes, was what had stood out and caught her attention. But since Dawn had steamed on in her usual overbearing way, there’d been no time for Florrie to loiteron it. So she’d brushed it aside, tucking it away for later. But now she had the chance to give Dawn’s words some consideration, it only added to her confusion. If she remembered correctly, in answer to Florrie asking if Ed’s father would be joining them, Dawn had snappily replied that he wasn’t, and furthermore, he was going to have to get used to looking after himself whether he liked it or not.
Florrie couldn’t help but feel Dawn was implying the inconceivable. Her breath caught in her throat. Had Dawn left Ed’s father? If so, had she shared this news with Ed? Did Peter even know his wife was there in Micklewick Bay? Florrie glanced over at Ed, wondering if his thoughts had headed down this path, but it was impossible to tell, since so many other things could be attributed to his troubled expression.
Telling herself to calm down, that she was letting her worries get out of control, Florrie tried to steady her breathing.
‘So, did she mention anything about your dad being keen to move here? Or what their plans would be? Or what had brought about such a change of opinion?’ she asked, putting out tentative feelers. Not wanting to alarm Ed unnecessarily if she’d got the wrong end of the stick, she kept her voice steady and her thoughts about his parents’ marriage to herself.
‘Not really, no. All she said was that if the flat above the bookshop hadn’t been converted into a tearoom, then her and my father would’ve had a ready-made home here.’
Realisation hit her in a flash. Dawn had no intention of moving to the town, which was a huge relief. She’d merely used reference to the flat’s conversion, knowing full well it had been Florrie’s dream to have a teashop within the bookshop. It was a thinly veiled dig, but one that she decided to ignore. Florrie refused to get drawn in to petty squabbles.
Ed was right, there was no denying Peter Harte’s heart condition seemed to have taken the wind out of his parents’ sails, which was hardly surprising. But assuming they were still together, it still made her wonder how they could go from having such a stormymarriage, fuelled by endless drama and high octane arguments – not just between themselves, but involving anyone who was unfortunate to get in their path – to this calmer version. Indeed, Florrie was surprised that such a stormy relationship had lasted at all. But they seemed to thrive on confrontation. They’d fought and bickered through almost four decades. It had been a case of them against the world, and that world appeared to have included their son.
Florrie assumed it was because Dawn and Peter were kindred spirits, their similar personalities and values drawing them to one another and keeping them together. Their bond had been stronger than any glue, that was for sure. Florrie’s dad, Charlie, had joked on several occasions that it was because they hadn’t found anyone else who’d put up with their bad behaviour and foul tempers, and Florrie had to concede, he had a point. But though she was relieved that Dawn had dialled down her hot-headed, angry nature over the last year, she couldn’t help feeling wary that it could spring back to life at the click of her fingers. And she could never get her head around how they’d treated Ed. It was made more difficult because she’d come from such a warm and loving home.
Florrie regularly found herself wondering how they’d managed to produce such a mild-mannered, kind-hearted son. Though she’d quickly remind herself that he’d clearly inherited his grandfather’s sunny, easy-going temperament, with a dash of schoolboy humour thrown in; she regularly saw reminders of good-natured Mr H in Ed’s actions, even some of his mannerisms, and it warmed her heart. Thankfully, she hadn’t witnessed the slightest trace of his parents’ angry, confrontational behaviour.
Another thought struck. Did Ed mean that by talking calmly and using ‘a different tack’ Dawn had got what she wanted?Ugh!She sincerely hoped not. His parents had never made a secret of their dislike of Florrie. Nor had they hidden their resentful opinions on Mr and Mrs H’s fondness for her. Their dislike had only intensified when Mr H had bequeathed the bookshop to Florrieand Ed, effectively snubbing his son. It was something the young couple had suffered for since.
‘Right,’ Florrie said, being careful how she responded. ‘So, did she bring up her suggestion about staying with us?’
‘Yep, she did.’ Ed nodded. ‘And I told her we didn’t have room, that the spare bedroom was full of books and wedding stuff – which is true.’
