Coming Home to Ottercombe Bay: The laugh out loud romantic comedy of the year

Copyright

Published by Avon, an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street,

London, SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2018

Copyright © Bella Osborne 2018

Cover illustration © Kim Leo

Cover design © Head Design 2018

Bella Osborne asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008258153

Ebook Edition © June 2018 ISBN: 9780008258160

Version: 2018-06-04

Dedication

For my mum – thank you.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Bella Osborne

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Daisy’s bum didn’t feel like her own thanks to four hours on an old motorbike. A pretty village sign welcomed her, but Daisy felt a long-buried sadness creep over her like frost across a windowpane. Coming back to Ottercombe Bay was a big mistake. If only I had a choice, she thought.

A good-looking man in an unattractive high-vis jacket interrupted her thoughts as he stepped out in front of Daisy’s motorbike. She hastily swerved and braked, and the ancient vehicle spluttered to a halt.

‘You can’t come this way,’ the young man said, his muscled arms clamped across his luminous chest.

‘Please,’ she said, followed by her best cheesy grin; something familiar about the man’s mop of dark hair had her memory working overtime.

‘No way,’ he said, pulling back his shoulders.

Daisy flicked up her helmet visor with an air of defiance; she wasn’t easily intimidated. ‘Don’t be daft. I need to get to Trow Lane.’ She looked longingly down the main road. She was only three streets away.

‘You’ll have to go around.’ The man was peering at Daisy. ‘Do I know you?’ he asked, a frown appearing briefly on his tanned face.

‘I doubt it. Look, it’s daft to go miles out of my way. I’m only going down there,’ she said, pointing. Daisy was tired after her long journey and didn’t need this jumped-up workman telling her what to do, especially when she could see no reason why the road was cordoned off on a sunny Saturday evening in late June.

She revved the motorbike back to life but high-vis man stepped up to her front tyre, blocking her path. They glared at each other. Daisy revved the engine again and made the motorbike hop an inch forward. He didn’t even flinch. She was vaguely aware of a crowd gathering nearby. Then she heard it – a distant clanging sound. She frowned and the man glared back. The clanging sound drew closer and Daisy recognised it as drums accompanied by what sounded like someone trying to get a tune out of an elephant. She spotted the bunting crisscrossing the road. The penny finally dropped – it was carnival parade night. He was right, there was no way she would be able to ride her bike through town tonight. She slammed down her visor and grumbled an apology before she skidded the motorbike away leaving the smug-looking high-vis man swathed in a fug of black smoke.

Daisy was still cross when she pulled up at Sea Mist Cottage. She stopped the bike, tugged off her helmet and tore the heavy backpack off her aching shoulders. This was not a good start and it was further confirmation that she shouldn’t have come back. She turned and looked at the cottage. It was like being transported back in time – it hadn’t changed a bit. The ancient building still looked like the sad face Daisy had imagined she saw when she was a child, with its heavy overhanging thatch eyebrows and symmetrical windows with half pulled down blinds giving the impression of drooping eyelids. The simple porch jutted out like an afterthought of a nose and its small front door like a forlorn open mouth was just a stride away from the pavement. She remembered that the door used to stick a bit but that was years ago, it had most likely been fixed by now. Daisy watched the silhouette of someone through the frosted glass as they gave the door a shove and stumbled outside.

‘Daisy, love. You made it,’ said Aunt Coral, enveloping Daisy in a tight hug. It had been a long time since anyone had embraced her like that. Daisy had forgotten there was no escape from Aunt Coral’s hugs.

‘Let me look at you.’ Aunt Coral held Daisy at arm’s length. Daisy shook out her mop of caramel-blonde hair, which had been cocooned in the helmet for the last four hours.

Tears welled in Aunt Coral’s eyes. ‘Oh, Daisy, you have grown into a beautiful young woman.’ She bit her lip. ‘And you look so like your mother.’

At the mention of her mother Daisy felt the sorrow settle on her afresh. Even after all these years it still hurt like it had happened yesterday. The sense of loss was exactly the same, as was the empty sensation clutching at her gut. Ottercombe Bay held only sadness and bad memories for Daisy.

Despite this, Daisy forced a smile because she knew this was the required response and Aunt Coral beamed back at her. ‘It’s good to see you. Come in and I’ll get the kettle on,’ she said, ushering Daisy inside. As Daisy reached for the door handle a strangled screech of a bark made her flinch. Further frantic barking accompanied the arrival of a small black dog now pogoing up and down on the other side.

‘Oh, Bugsy Malone shush now,’ said Aunt Coral, bustling past Daisy. She tugged open the door and the small black dog shot out and started to nip at Daisy’s boots, making her jump back. ‘Now, now,’ said her aunt, scooping up the protesting canine who continued to bark at Daisy.

‘What is it?’ said Daisy, recoiling from the snarling bundle that was trying to escape from her aunt’s clutches. Daisy didn’t know much about animals; she didn’t have anything against them and some seemed quite cute, but her nomadic lifestyle meant there had never been an opportunity for pets.

Aunt Coral chuckled. ‘He’s a pug,’ she said, leading the way into the cottage. Bugsy continued his vocal assault. Daisy followed at what she hoped was a safe distance.

‘He doesn’t seem very happy,’ said Daisy over the high-pitched yaps.

‘He’s a bit out of sorts since your Great Uncle Reg died. Devoted to each other they were. I don’t think little Bugsy can work out why he’s not here any more.’ Aunt Coral’s voice went a bit wobbly. She cleared her throat and popped Bugsy out of the back door where he was temporarily distracted by the smells of the garden. ‘Right. Tea?’

‘Yes, please. Milk, one sugar,’ said Daisy with one eye on the paws now trying to carve their way back into the cottage. The kitchen was filled with the smell of freshly baked sponge. Daisy breathed it in greedily and her mood lifted. She dropped her rucksack and sat down at the small kitchen table with its pristine white tablecloth. She looked about her whilst Aunt Coral busied herself with the tea. It was as though time had stood still. The kitchen was just as it had been when she was a child; the only changes she could spot were that the walls had been painted yellow, when they used to be blue, and there appeared to be the addition of a corkboard with a variety of pieces of paper and notes pinned to it. She spotted the last postcard she had sent from France and her good mood quickly faded when she remembered the disaster of her French boyfriend Guillaume.

Daisy looked down at her rucksack. Everything she owned was in it, apart from the motorbike. That was it. All her worldly goods in one package. She pulled back her shoulders and gave herself a mental shake. This was the way she liked it. No ties, nothing to keep her in one place or hold her back. She was as free as a bird and that suited her just fine. Aunt Coral ferried a large tray with a teapot and a pair of fragile-looking cups and saucers to the table and sat down opposite Daisy. She pointed at the rucksack. ‘You’re not planning on staying long, then?’ There was a sadness in her eyes as she poured their tea.

‘No, sorry. I need to leave straight after the funeral.’ Daisy broke eye contact and picked up the delicate teacup. She didn’t know where she was heading next. She had been staying in a hostel in Canterbury, hopping from one job to the next, when Aunt Coral had telephoned. It had seemed like an ideal opportunity to make it a permanent departure from Kent. As to where she was going next, she had no idea, but she wouldn’t be staying in the small Devon town any longer than was absolutely necessary.

‘Well, you can’t leave directly after the funeral, I’m afraid, because there’s the will and—’

A knock at the door was simultaneously accompanied by frantic barking from the garden making Daisy feel she was under attack from two different directions. Aunt Coral calmly got up and headed for the front door. As soon as Daisy heard the high-pitched voice a bell started to ring in the deepest recesses of her mind.

The visitor’s Devonshire accent was strong and her voice got louder and faster as she approached. ‘OhMyGod. I can’t believe it’s actually you. I mean I hoped it was when I saw the bike because I don’t know anyone with a bike like that. Not round here. And it is you, you’re here!’ A young woman with long straight dark hair flung herself at Daisy and hugged her tightly. ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she said, sitting down without taking her eyes off Daisy, which was quite disconcerting.

‘Tamsyn,’ said Daisy, recognising her. ‘It’s lovely to see you. Do you still live next door?’

‘Yeah, with Mum and Dad. They’ll be thrilled to see you too.’

‘Tamsyn has been a wonderful help keeping an eye on Reg while I’ve been at work. Reg has kept every card or letter you have ever sent from all your travels and I think he’s read them all to Tamsyn a few times over. And you know how he always liked to tell stories and you featured in quite a few of those too.’

‘Not the fantasy ones with dwarves. You weren’t in those,’ said Tamsyn, her face deadpan.

Daisy wasn’t sure how to respond, but thankfully Aunt Coral started speaking again. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without Tamsyn these last few months. She’s virtually one of the family now. Aren’t you, Tamsyn?’

‘OhMyGod. Does that make us sisters?’ said Tamsyn, jigging about excitedly in her chair – the same action being mirrored at the back door by the dog.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Daisy with a chuckle. Tamsyn was joking, wasn’t she? Here was a prime example why people should leave home and explore the world, thought Daisy. Staying here had turned Tamsyn into Ottercombe Bay’s answer to Phoebe Buffay from Friends, blurring the line between adorable and certifiable.

‘Where are you going next?’ asked Tamsyn, wide-eyed, cupping her tea with both hands. Daisy wished Tamsyn would blink more often – it couldn’t be good for her eyes. Daisy spotted Aunt Coral also looking at her intently; she felt under pressure to say something and oddly the need to impress.

‘Um, I’m not sure. Abroad again probably …’ She didn’t have the money right now but her long-term plan was definitely to travel more extensively. ‘South America,’ she blurted out. It was somewhere she had always wanted to go but living hand to mouth meant it was only ever going to be a pipedream.

Tamsyn’s mouth dropped open. ‘Wow, you are my absolute hero.’ She turned to Aunt Coral who gave a proud nod.

Daisy felt awkward and it showed on her face. She dropped her gaze to her teacup. She began to recall more about Tamsyn as her brain rearranged her archived memories. She remembered the little girl who followed her everywhere, who went beachcombing with her and liked to collect shells but screamed if she found a crab. She remembered sitting on the edge of the pavement watching the carnival procession together. She remembered them as gawky teenagers swigging cider behind the beach huts. She remembered a friend.

‘You not going to the carnival tonight?’ asked Daisy.

Tamsyn grinned. ‘I was on my way out when I spotted the motorbike.’

‘Sorry,’ said Daisy. ‘You shouldn’t miss it for me.’

‘Uh, no way. You’re far better than any crumby old carnival. I was only going to get a look at the men in uniform.’

Daisy recalled the officious bloke in the high-vis top. ‘Really?’

‘Oh, yeah. Police, firefighters, lifeboat crew, they all have floats in the carnival now.’ At the mention of lifeboat crew Aunt Coral and Daisy exchanged looks.

‘It’s a shame my brother couldn’t make it for the funeral,’ said Aunt Coral, her nose twitching slightly. Daisy noted the offhand reference to her father.

‘Dad’s really sorry. He sends his love though,’ said Daisy, who had hoped her father would have made the effort to attend but given he lived in Goa it was never really on the cards. Aunt Coral nodded her understanding.

‘Oh, I remember your dad. He rescued me once when I built this amazing sandcastle with a moat and I was so busy trying to keep the water out I hadn’t noticed the tide creep in and it was all around me and he waded out to save me,’ said Tamsyn, as she machine-gunned the story out.

Daisy smirked. ‘I remember that day. It was only ankle deep; you didn’t need rescuing at all.’ Daisy laughed.

Tamsyn pouted playfully. ‘Huh, I could have been swept away – the current here is very strong.’

Before she realised it, Daisy was deep in conversation as the memories flooded back. And for a change they were pleasant ones she was happy to recall. Time seemed to whizz by and Daisy was vaguely aware Aunt Coral was now walking around wearing pyjamas. She checked her watch, causing Tamsyn to look at the kitchen clock.

‘Crikey it’s late,’ said Tamsyn, making Daisy grin at the old-fashioned turn of phrase. ‘Mum and Dad will be wondering where I am.’ Getting to her feet Tamsyn gave Daisy another huge hug. ‘I am pleased you’re home,’ she added, then turned to Aunt Coral and kissed her cheek. ‘Bye. See you tomorrow.’

‘Yes, thanks Tamsyn.’

‘Tomorrow?’ asked Daisy as the sound of the porch door being vigorously shoved announced Tamsyn’s departure.

‘She comes around most days.’

‘Doesn’t she work?’

‘Oh yes, good little worker is Tamsyn, but it’s all a bit erratic at the beach café. They have school kids working there in the summer, pay them next to nothing and only have poor Tamsyn for the lunchtime rush.’

Daisy pondered this. She’d always thought her lack of being able to land a decent job was because of her frequent moves but it seemed even if she’d stayed locally she’d have been no better off. Her thoughts were invaded by a disgruntled-looking Bugsy rushing into the kitchen. He marched up to Daisy and shook himself. Daisy offered him a finger to sniff and he promptly wiped his nose on it.

‘Ew!’ Daisy recoiled, pulled a tissue out of her pocket and wiped her hand. Bugsy looked quite pleased with himself, he even gave a brief wag of his curly tail before he turned around and presented Daisy with his bum.

‘Right, I’m off to bed,’ said Aunt Coral, picking up the dog. ‘It is lovely to have you back even if it’s only for a few days.’

‘Oh yeah, that reminds me. What were you saying about me not being able to leave after the funeral?’

Aunt Coral’s eyebrows danced. ‘Oh yes. You need to stay for the reading of the will. Great Uncle Reg has left you something substantial – that was what the solicitor said. Night, love, see you in the morning.’ And with a fleeting kiss on the top of Daisy’s head she disappeared upstairs.

Chapter Two

Daisy was woken by something scratching at her door. She was coming round, whilst wondering where she was, when the bedroom door sprung open and something burst in. Daisy leapt in fright but quickly realised it was only Bugsy. At virtually the same time the dog seemed to spot who was in the bed. He snorted his disgust and strutted out of the room. It seemed Bugsy’s wake-up calls would be a disadvantage of having a bedroom on the ground floor.

It was Monday morning, the day of the funeral. She had tried to talk to Aunt Coral about the will yesterday but she didn’t know anything more than she’d already shared except to say Daisy’s father, Ray, hadn’t been left anything because Reg had helped him out financially in the past and Ray had agreed he’d already had his fair share of any inheritance. This in itself had been a revelation to Daisy, but looking back her father had rarely had a stable job while she’d been growing up so the money they had lived on must have come from somewhere. Reg had always been generous to a fault, one of the many things she’d loved and admired about him.

She wondered what Great Uncle Reg had left her in his will. She thought back to the last time she’d seen him, it had been almost three years ago, shortly after she dropped out of university for the second time and she felt a twinge of guilt. He had seemed full of life despite his advancing years. She recalled his mane of grey hair and wayward beard that always seemed at odds with his otherwise smart appearance, which invariably included a cravat. He’d said something to her then about securing her future but she hadn’t paid much attention – she now wished she had, the suspense was killing her.

A light tap on the door pulled her from her thoughts. ‘Good morning. I’m glad you’re awake. Tamsyn will be here shortly and we’ve got a truckful of sandwiches to make for the wake,’ said Aunt Coral. ‘Or “pallbearers party” as Reg liked to call it,’ she added with a chuckle before she disappeared into the kitchen.

The truckful of sandwiches was no joke, because shortly after Daisy was up to her elbows in a buttery production line whilst Tamsyn did her best to update her on who she may know at the funeral.

‘You remember Max, don’t you?’ she asked.

Daisy jutted out her lip and slapped a piece of ham on the buttered bread Aunt Coral had just handed her. ‘Not sure.’ But even as she said it a picture of a cider-fuelled teenage snogging fest loomed ugly in her mind. Whilst she had left Ottercombe Bay at seven years old she had returned each year for a two-week holiday, giving her a snapshot of the life she’d been pulled away from.

‘You doooo,’ said Tamsyn. ‘Max Davey, he never tucked his shirt in.’

‘Sounds like every boy at primary school to me.’

‘Jason Fenton, remember him?’

Daisy paused with a slice of ham held aloft. ‘Skinny kid, played with trains at break time?’

‘Yes. That’s him. He’s a policeman now,’ said Tamsyn, with a firm bob of her head.

‘Wow, well done Jason. Why would Jason and this Max be coming to my great uncle’s funeral?’

Tamsyn opened her mouth but Aunt Coral was already on the case. ‘They’re both lifeboat crew and your great uncle supported the lifeboat his whole life. He was Lifeboat Operations Manager for many years,’ said Aunt Coral proudly. ‘Max and Jason both used to meet him for a coffee once in a while to hear his stories.’ She paused briefly mid-spread with her buttered knife aloft. ‘There’s lots of people in this town who are going to miss him.’

Daisy patted her arm, Aunt Coral gave her a wan smile and returned to spreading.

Daisy shed a few tears during the service but overall the funeral was surprisingly cheerful, which reflected Reg’s personality. A few people told their favourite stories of Reg – one of them involving a donkey and a top hat, which had them all belly laughing – so as everyone filed out of church most of them were smiling, which was exactly what Reg would have wanted.

Daisy studied the floral tributes and wondered who all these people were who knew her great uncle but who she’d never heard of, especially some calling themselves Bunny and Toots.

‘Hi … again,’ said a deep voice behind her. Daisy turned to see a ruggedly handsome young man. ‘I’m sorry Reg died, he was a sound bloke. You okay, Daisy?’

‘Hi …’ She paused where his name should go as a cavalcade of memories bombarded her.

He twitched his head. ‘Don’t remember me? For one thing, I stopped you riding your bike through the carnival procession on Saturday. Prevented a potential massacre, I reckon,’ he said, his local accent soft and barely noticeable.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Daisy feeling more than a little embarrassed at her behaviour that night. ‘Sorry about that.’ He didn’t look half as aggressive now, with his hair groomed and wearing a smart shirt and tie although he kept running his finger around his collar giving the impression he wasn’t very comfortable in the outfit. ‘You’re Max. You were the boy who always had his shirt untucked at school.’ She was keen to avoid reminding him about their teenage antics.