Meet Me at Pebble Beach

MEET ME AT PEBBLE BEACH

Bella Osborne

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Copyright © Bella Osborne 2020

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Cover illustration © Shutterstock.com

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 ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, 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: 9780008331276

Ebook Edition © May 2020 ISBN: 9780008331283

Version: 2020-02-27

Dedication

For Julie – Everything a sister should be and more.

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

Chapter Forty

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Bella Osborne

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Regan knew it was going to be a bad day when she awoke to find she was using a half-eaten kebab as a pillow.

‘You’re going to be late again,’ said Jarvis, giving her shoulder a poke.

Regan opened a bleary eye and tried to focus it on the alarm clock. ‘I’ve got loads of time.’ She harrumphed and pulled the duvet over her head. The work do the previous night had been dull so she’d drunk more than she intended to.

‘But I thought you were taking Cleo to the airport?’

‘Shiiiiiiit!’ Regan got out of bed so fast she forgot to put her feet down, and instead tumbled to the floor face first. Jarvis guffawed. ‘Ow! That bloody hurt.’ She jumped up and thrust her face up to the mirror. ‘Shit. I’ve got a carpet burn on my nose.’ She gave it a rub and removed a piece of lettuce from her cheek.

‘Remember you’re picking Cleo up from her studio and not the apartment.’

‘I know.’ Regan hadn’t remembered this, but being reminded by Jarvis was a daily irritant. She began picking things up and flinging them in all directions. ‘Shittity shittington …’

‘Regan, please don’t leave the apartment in a state,’ said Jarvis, adjusting his tie. She was doing a passable impression of the Tasmanian Devil as she tried to decide what she needed to do first. ‘I hate coming home to a mess.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Perhaps we need to have another discussion about this later. Hmm?’ A bra sailed past his ear.

‘Pants,’ said Regan, decisively. Pants were always a good starting point. She began pulling underwear from her top drawer. ‘No, actually I need a wee first.’ And she dashed off to the bathroom, taking a clean pair of pants and yesterday’s clothes with her in the hope she could get dressed whilst sitting on the loo to save some time.

‘You really should allow more time,’ said Jarvis, with a tut. Regan gave him a sarcastic smile and shut the bathroom door. Jarvis was lovely, but he could be a pompous arse sometimes. It didn’t help that he was frequently correct.

Right now she needed to accomplish as many things simultaneously as possible. She could brush her teeth sitting down too. The Lean Methodology expert at work would be proud, she thought, as she snatched up her toothbrush.

‘Bye then. We’ll talk later, all right?’ Jarvis called through the bathroom door, his voice overflowing with exasperation.

‘Oh kweee,’ mumbled Regan. It was the best she could do with a mouthful of toothbrush and one leg in her pants.

She heard the front door bang shut and relaxed a little. It was like living with her dad rather than her boyfriend. She surveyed the bathroom floor, strewn with an assortment of her clothes, a couple of towels and the oozing toothpaste tube. She’d just have to make sure she was home before Jarvis. She couldn’t stand another lecture on her slovenly ways, but she didn’t have time to sort it out now.

A few minutes later she was hurtling across Brighton in her battered Fiesta shouting obscenities at anyone in her way, which was essentially everyone. A quick check in the rear-view mirror reminded her that she hadn’t brushed her hair – she resembled a one-colour version of Cruella De Vil.

There was nowhere to park at Cleo’s studio, as usual, so she abandoned the car in the middle of the road and sprinted up to the door. She banged hard until Cleo appeared. ‘Come in. I’ve been calling you,’ said Cleo, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

Regan frisked herself as she stepped inside. ‘Shit. I forgot my mobile. Sorry, Cleo.’

Cleo gave her a forgiving look. ‘It’s fine. I told you an hour earlier than I needed anyway because I knew you’d be late.’

Regan was going to protest, but a quick glance at where her watch should be, followed by a squint at the clock on the studio wall, told her Cleo was absolutely right to have done this. ‘Sneaky – but good call.’

Regan was notorious for being late. She tried not to be, but she had long ago resigned herself to the fact that timekeeping simply wasn’t one of her talents.

‘What have you done to your nose?’ asked Cleo, peering at Regan.

Regan’s hand automatically shot to her face. ‘Carpet burn. Still need to hurry you up because the car is blocking the road.’

Cleo raised an eyebrow. ‘Interesting. Let me just do one last check and we can go.’ Cleo swept away. She was dressed elegantly in clothes that adored being shown off on her willowy frame. Even the way she walked was sophisticated. She was the fashion opposite to Regan, who often looked like her wardrobe had vomited on her.

Regan stopped slouching. ‘Why did you want picking up from here and not your place?’ Cleo was an artist with a swish flat in Hove but this was her studio in Brighton, where she worked.

‘I stayed at The Downs Hotel last night. There was an exhibition at the racecourse, but I didn’t expect you to remember all that so the studio seemed easiest.’ Regan pursed her lips, but she wasn’t offended. Cleo was right; she wouldn’t even have remembered to come to the studio if Jarvis hadn’t said. ‘And anyway I’ve let out my flat. Daddy suggested it as I’m away for two months. It made financial sense.’

‘Of course,’ said Regan. Nothing made financial sense to her. Finance meant numbers, and she wasn’t good with numbers. Which explained the credit card juggling act she had to do at the end of each month. Although, thanks to Jarvis and his austerity measures, this was now more under control.

Regan scanned the small studio. It was filled with canvases: some blank, some finished and a couple somewhere in between. There was a high-arched window, which filled the space with light. It seemed to fall like a spotlight on Cleo’s latest work. Regan peered at the large brown mass in the picture, tilting her head at an uncomfortable angle. ‘I don’t know what you find so fascinating about—’

‘We’ve no time for any of that,’ said Cleo, pulling her Louis Vuitton case as if she too were on wheels and she shooed Regan backwards out of the studio. Cleo’s art baffled Regan; she wasn’t an arty sort. The two of them had met when Cleo had taken a part-time job as a waitress to impress her rich father with her work ethic. Regan had been working there with no other ambition than not to get fired before payday. They were an unlikely pairing, but curiosity on both sides had brought them together – that and a mutual love of coffee and tequila shots.

After she’d set an alarm and checked the door, Cleo poured herself gracefully into Regan’s car. ‘Got everything?’ asked Regan.

‘Because I’m the one who forgets things,’ said Cleo, playfully arching a perfect eyebrow. ‘Here,’ she said, handing Regan her keys. ‘Alarm code fourteen fifty-two. The year Leonardo da Vinci was born.’

‘Why do I need to know that?’ Regan was instantly uncomfortable with the responsibility.

‘Because there’s an issue with the boiler and the landlord is sending a workman over …’ Cleo was speaking slowly as if Regan was remedial.

‘And you need me to be here tomorrow to let him in. I hadn’t forgotten,’ she lied. She tried to repeat the number silently in her head so she’d remember it. She wished she hadn’t forgotten her phone – putting a reminder on there would have been useful.

‘I’ll send you a text,’ said Cleo, pulling out her mobile. She gave her friend an indulgent smile.

Regan noticed Cleo twang the hair bobble on her wrist. She kept it there to help with stressful situations. ‘You okay?’

‘Not looking forward to the flight … or being away for so long.’

Regan set off; she was now far more relaxed knowing she had a little time to spare and she also stood half a chance of not being late into work. ‘Remind me again where you’re off to this time?’

‘Dubai, Hong Kong, Japan and Taiwan,’ said Cleo, without a hint of any enthusiasm.

‘Wowsers.’ Regan had always wanted to travel. The furthest she’d strayed in recent years was the Isle of Wight – Jarvis’s favourite holiday destination. She couldn’t complain, because he usually paid the lion’s share due to her cash flow issues. ‘You’ll have the best time. Post loads on social media so I can live vicariously.’ She didn’t really need to ask because Cleo lived her life on whatever social media platforms were the hottest. Her timeline was filled with photographs of beautiful people in amazing places, and she had a gazillion followers on Instagram. Whereas, Regan had eighty-four, and an alarming number of those claimed to be single males very high up in the American armed services, which everyone knew was code for fraudster.

Cleo raised a perfect eyebrow. ‘It is work. It’s not a holiday.’

‘Still,’ said Regan, braking hard for a bus that pulled out at the same time as it indicated. ‘It’ll be five-star hotels, cocktails, à la carte dining and comfy beds all the way.’ She gave a small sigh. She wouldn’t have to think very hard before trading places with Cleo.

‘How’s your job?’

‘Still duller than a black-and-white party political broadcast. But like Jarvis says, it’s secure and it pays the bills.’ There must be more to life than that, thought Regan.

‘You should try staring at a blank canvas for hours. That’s dull too.’

‘I guess.’ Regan knew Cleo was just trying to make her feel better. As an artist, Cleo’s life was two extremes: she spent a large part of her time alone in the studio painting, but then she also travelled the world to attend exclusive exhibitions of her work, as well as being invited to all the trendy star-studded parties because she was very much part of the art scene glitterati. Regan loved hearing all about Cleo’s glamorous life, even if it made hers look crappier by comparison.

They pulled into the airport shuttle drop off zone and Regan hopped out to get Cleo’s case from the boot. ‘Have an amazing time …’ said Regan, and she could see Cleo was about to interrupt her, ‘… at work. But remember to have fun too. Love you.’

‘And you,’ said Cleo, kissing her cheek and giving her a tight hug that went on a fraction longer than usual.

Regan held her at arm’s length. ‘You okay?’ She could sense there was something not quite right.

Cleo’s face was deadpan for a moment and then a smile appeared. ‘Of course. It’s just that two months is quite a long time. I’m really going to miss you.’

‘No, you won’t,’ said Regan, passing her the case handle. ‘You’ll be far too busy with work cocktails and work parties and other wonderful worky type things.’ Cleo looked skywards. ‘FaceTime me tomorrow.’

‘Of course. And please remember the boiler man. Saturday. Ten o’clock,’ called Cleo over her slender shoulder and she sashayed into departures.

Regan watched her go. She wished she were going too. She needed a break, and some sunshine would be lovely. There was nothing she’d miss for two months – with the possible exception of her dad – but he was all loved-up these days, so she rarely saw him anyway.

Beep, beep, BEEP!

The blast of a horn brought her back from her daydream. She gave a sickly-sweet smile to the large shuttle bus trying to get in behind her, whilst in her mind she was sticking her tongue out at him.

She had time to stop for petrol on her way into work, which was unheard of, so she treated herself to a Mars bar. The person in front of her in the queue asked for a lottery ticket. Regan couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought a lottery ticket. Jarvis had decreed that she needed to cut out all extraneous spending in order to repay her credit cards; her lottery and online bingo habits were the first to go. Jarvis called the Lotto a ‘fool’s tax’ because only stupid people played something with odds of forty-five million to one.

‘Which pump?’ asked the man behind the counter.

Regan had to check. ‘Two, please, and this,’ she said, passing him the Mars bar. Jarvis wouldn’t be impressed with her having chocolate for breakfast either. He was cutting down their sugar intake. ‘And a Lotto lucky dip for Saturday night, please,’ she said, feeling a tiny bit rebellious.

‘Good luck, love,’ said the man on the till.

‘Thanks,’ said Regan, putting the ticket in her purse.

It was a short drive into town. Regan waved as she entered her usual coffee shop, the Hug In A Mug, and Penny behind the counter did a double take. Regan braced herself for the sarcastic comments about her being earlier than usual. ‘You been evicted?’ asked Penny, chuckling whilst she made Regan’s usual order. ‘Wet the bed then?’

‘Had to take a friend to the airport,’ Regan said, with a giant yawn. ‘Actually can I have an extra shot in mine today, please?’

‘Sure thing,’ said Penny. She put it through the till and Regan paid with the joint account card. She liked contactless payments on the joint account because it wasn’t like real money. The only price she had to pay was Jarvis tutting over the statements.

There was a bang on the window of the coffee shop, followed by the cringe-making sound of nails on glass moving slowly down the pane. Penny and Regan winced and turned quickly to look. A large dog was standing on its back legs with its giant front paws on the window. It was the height of an average human.

‘Christ, what is that?’ asked Penny. They both watched, mesmerised by its large fangs and open slathering jaw.

‘Ah, that is Kevin’s new friend. I met him yesterday. Some bloke tied him up and left him, according to Kevin.’

‘Poor thing,’ said Penny, and they watched it lick the glass with its huge pink tongue. ‘What sort of dog is it?’

‘I think it’s a werewolf,’ said Regan. It certainly looked the right size. She grabbed some sugar sachets, slung them on the cardboard tray and headed for the door, calling ‘Bye!’ as she left.

Outside, the giant mutt was waiting for Regan, but thankfully, so was Kevin. Kevin was homeless. Regan had walked past him every day since she’d started her job at BHB Healthcare and he always told her carpe diem, which was Latin for ‘seize the day’ – she’d looked it up. He never asked for money, which had been what had triggered her to start getting him a coffee each morning, and the smile she got from Kevin when she handed it over kept her going for hours.

‘Hey Kevin. You might want to keep your dog off the glass. Don’t want him getting into any trouble.’ She gave Kevin his coffee and he beamed at her. The dog sniffed her groin and retreated. She couldn’t blame him – she hoped her lack of a shower didn’t have the same effect on her work colleagues. She made a mental note to spray herself liberally with perfume when she got there.

‘Thank you. Carpe diem,’ said Kevin, cupping his coffee reverently. Regan tried not to stare at the scars lacing their way across Kevin’s hands.

‘I will.’ She turned to walk away and then spun around. ‘Oh, has your dog got a name yet?’

‘I’ve called him Elvis,’ said Kevin proudly.

‘Because he’s in the ghetto?’ asked Regan.

Kevin looked baffled. ‘No,’ he replied, ‘because he’s a hound dog.’

‘Genius!’ said Regan, and it kept her laughing most of the way to work.

Chapter Two

Regan waltzed into the office with a whole twenty minutes to spare. She worked in a small team, which dealt with late invoices. The only break from the unrelenting tedium of doing the same thing every day was her mate Alex. He had a sense of humour, which made him infinitely more likeable than anyone else in the office.

‘Blimey, did they put the clocks back?’ asked Alex, pulling his coffee from the cardboard tray Regan offered him, then picking up the sugar sachets and a stirrer.

‘Your stand-up routine needs work,’ said Regan, taking her seat and switching on her computer. ‘I need to leave early tonight.’

‘What, because of the extra eighteen minutes you’ve put in this morning?’

‘No, because I left in a hurry and basically trashed the place.’ She needed to make it back to the flat, or ‘apartment’, as Jarvis liked to call it, to have a quick tidy-up before Jarvis got in.

‘Jarvis won’t like that.’ Alex tutted in an uncannily Jarvis-like manner.

‘Precisely why I need to get home before him.’

‘Why so early if you were in a rush?’ Alex was screwing up his face.

‘I dropped my friend Cleo at the airport.’

‘Artist. Posh sort?’

‘Yep, that’s the one. She’s jetting off for two months to Dubai, Japan and some other awesome places.’ Regan flopped back in her seat. ‘I wish I was going with her. She has the best life.’ She turned her head towards Alex. ‘Would you like to travel?’

‘I do travel.’ He looked affronted. ‘I go to Skegness every year.’

‘Hmm. Not quite the same.’

Alex gave a twitch. ‘Japan may have the edge on Skeggy.’ They both sighed together.

‘Ooh,’ said Regan, pulling her purse from her bag. ‘Look what I got.’ She held up the lottery ticket and gave it a wave. ‘It’s a rollover on Saturday. Ten million quid. Think what you could do with that.’

They both paused for a moment, lost in thought, until their boss, Nigel, tapped on his glass office door and they both quickly got back to work.

Regan liked Alex. There was no romantic pull on her part, but she knew he was quite fond of her thanks to some slurred words after too much tequila at the Christmas party. In any case, he made the day go quicker: they kept the tedium at bay by winding each other up on a regular basis. Nothing major; just the usual office pranks like hiding each other’s mouse, changing chair adjustments and unplugging equipment. It was quite childish, but it made work marginally more entertaining.

Most of the day was uneventful. In the afternoon, Regan found herself dozing off in a very dull meeting about discounting and promotions. Alex gave her a nudge and she turned what she feared was a snore into a cough. A few heads spun in her direction.

‘Terrible hay fever,’ she muttered, pulling a tissue from her pocket. Alex shook his head at her.

She could see he was furiously scribbling things down on his pad; she eyed him with suspicion. Alex was like her in a lot of ways; neither of them usually put in any particular effort at work, although Alex still fancied himself for a promotion. Regan couldn’t really see the point. She’d get paid very little extra at the end of the month, but have a load more responsibility. No, she was all right just doing what she needed to and no more. She understood why sales people worked harder for a bonus, or people who ran their own company, but it totally foxed her why an ordinary employee would do any more than the minimum required.

She leaned over and tapped a finger on Alex’s pad. He tilted it for her to see. The title at the top jumped out at her: ‘Lottery Rollover – What I’d do if I won’.

‘You don’t even have a ticket,’ she whispered.

He shrugged. ‘I’ve got loads of time to get one.’

She pulled the notepad from his grasp and had a read. It was fairly standard stuff. She handed it back and began jotting down her own. Regan chewed the end of her pen and made some crossings out as her imagination soared.

 Live in a big huge awesome home

  Help Dad out

  Get a pedigree puppy

 Save the tiger whale some important animal

  Run my own successful company

  Bask on a deserted island and drink cocktails served to me by bare-chested waiters

  Go out and enjoy myself

She had another scan of Alex’s list. He’d put down ‘Hook up with celebrity females’. Regan snorted and Alex turned his pad away. She studied her own list. Where did Jarvis feature? After how he’d annoyed her that morning, did he feature in her lottery fantasy life? She added an extra item to the list. It was only a laugh after all.

  Get new hot boyfriend who doesn’t nag or wear button-up pyjamas

‘Regan?’ asked Nigel, their manager, who was standing at the front, his expression one of knotted puzzlement. Alex gave Regan a nudge and knocked her pen from her hand, making her jolt upright.

‘Er, yes. Sorry. I was concentrating on my notes,’ she said, reaching down and scrabbling on the floor for her wayward pen. Alex kicked it and it disappeared. She glared at him.