Summer Strawberries at Swallowtail Bay

About the Author

KATIE GINGER lives by the sea in the south-east of England, and apart from holidays to very hot places where you can sit by a pool and drink cocktails as big as your head, she wouldn’t really want to be anywhere else. Summer Strawberries at Swallowtail Bay is her fifth novel. She is also the author of Spring Tides at Swallowtail Bay, Snowflakes at Mistletoe Cottage and the Seafront series – The Little Theatre on the Seafront, shortlisted for the Katie Fforde Debut Novel of the Year award, and Summer Season on the Seafront.

When she’s not writing, Katie spends her time drinking gin, or with her husband, trying to keep alive her two children: Ellie, who believes everything in life should be performed like a musical number from a West End show; and Sam, who is basically a monkey with a boy’s face. And there’s also their adorable King Charles spaniel, Wotsit (yes, he is named after the crisps!)

For more about Katie, you can visit her website: www.keginger.com, find her on Facebook: www.facebook.com/KatieGAuthor, or follow her on Twitter: @KatieGAuthor.

Everyone LOVES Summer Strawberries at Swallowtail Bay!

‘So beautifully written. It made me want to move house right now and set up by the sea!’

Tilly Tenant

‘Simply delicious – summer escapes don’t come any more tasty!’

Jane Linfoot

‘Seaside, strawberries and a sexy hero – what’s not to love?’

Mandy Baggot

‘A hilarious romantic comedy that left me with a big smile on my face and longing for the seaside’

Holly Martin

‘A delightful and delicious read for hopeful romantics everywhere’

Sandy Barker

‘Sheer delightful escapist fun’

NetGalley reviewer

‘I wish I could give this book more than five stars, this is definitely my favourite of Katie’s books to date’

NetGalley reviewer

‘Hetty is a dynamo! I enjoyed having a heroine who knew her goals, set them, and goes after them. She doesn’t let barriers stand in her way’

NetGalley reviewer

‘An absolute pleasure to read, I loved delving into these pages and was smiling as I reached the end.’

NetGalley reviewer

Also by Katie Ginger

The Little Theatre on the Seafront

Summer Season on the Seafront

Snowflakes at Mistletoe Cottage

Spring Tides at Swallowtail Bay

Winter Wishes at Swallowtail Bay

Summer Strawberries at Swallowtail Bay

KATIE GINGER

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Katie Ginger

Katie Ginger asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for 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, 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.

E-book Edition © June 2020 ISBN: 9780008380557

Version: 2020-06-12

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Everyone LOVES Summer Strawberries at Swallowtail Bay!

Also by Katie Ginger

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Author Letter

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

To the best (and craziest) sisters-in-law

I could ever have hoped for,

Carla and BB!

Chapter 1

A small child charged passed Hetty, wielding fake green fists and shouting at his twin brother that he was going to smash him good just as soon as he got his hands on him. The twin brother replied by turning around and pretending to shoot him with something imaginary coming from the palms of his hands. Hetty smiled at them both, happy they were enjoying their birthday party.

Approximately two minutes before, the garden had been wonderfully silent and still, the quiet punctuated by an occasional buzzing of a bee as it flew from flower to flower, or the chirrup of a bird hiding in the mature trees. You could even hear the gentle murmur of the sea just a few streets away and the air carried a slight salty sting if you inhaled deeply enough. Now though, the children’s party was well and truly underway and Hetty stood back to enjoy the fruits of her labour.

‘Oh, Hetty,’ the birthday boys’ mother said. ‘You’ve done such a fantastic job. I can’t believe you managed to do all this in just a week. It’s amazing.’

‘Well, that’s what I’m here for,’ Hetty replied, with a grin. Mrs Silverman had come to her last Saturday in a complete panic because she’d left it too late to organise her twin boys’ birthday party and had no idea where to even start. As a local event planner with a multitude of contacts, and seeing as Mrs Silverman lived down the road, Hetty had been only too happy to step in. After a couple of hours, she’d had everything sorted and in place for a superhero birthday party.

Hetty brushed a hand through her short blonde hair and shoved her hands into the pockets of her favourite dungarees. ‘The boys seem happy,’ she said, as Hector, wearing the green fists, began pummelling his brother who he’d pinned to the ground and was now sat on.

‘They’re absolute terrors,’ Mrs Silverman said fondly. ‘Hector, Lucas, come here and say thank you to Hetty for your party.’

The boys ran over.

‘Is that what you want to be when you grow up?’ Hetty asked, pointing to their Hulk and Spiderman costumes. ‘Superheroes?’

Hector shook his head. ‘I want to be an arse-ologist—’

‘Archaeologist, dear,’ Mrs Silverman cut in quickly. ‘Like his father.’

‘What about you, Lucas?’ Hetty asked the other twin, enjoying this conversation immensely.

‘I want to be an arsonist too.’

Hetty bit back the laugh that was forcing its way out. ‘Sounds fabulous. I hope you enjoy your party.’

The boys ran away as more of their friends arrived, shepherded in by Mr Silverman who already looked in desperate need of a drink.

The huge back garden had been decorated with brightly coloured bunting, balloons were hung everywhere and several garden tables had been laid together and covered in a red chequered cloth to hold the party food. Naively, Mrs Silverman had requested celery sticks and rice cakes, but Hetty applauded the effort nonetheless. You never knew, she might get lucky and some child would eat one by mistake.

The strong midday sun beat down into the garden, warming them all and casting shadows as it dappled through the leafy branches of the trees. It had been one of the best summers on record, so when Mrs Silverman turned up on Hetty’s doorstep, distraught and virtually hyperventilating, it had seemed the easiest solution to hold the party in their back garden. Hetty’s own back garden was much smaller as she lived in one of the smaller fisherman’s cottages, rather than the larger houses that made up the conservation area of Swallowtail Bay. It was only just big enough for a little table and the two chairs she and Macie, her assistant, often sat at when they were planning.

From across the table, a slightly muffled voice said, ‘These sausage rolls are lush.’ Hetty looked up to see Macie stuffing two into her mouth at once.

‘Try and leave some for the kids, won’t you? But don’t worry, I’ve already snaffled us a little treat tray. And Mrs Silverman’s promised us a piece of cake too. I know how you love birthday cake.’

‘Kids’ birthday cake is the best,’ Macie replied. ‘It’s pretty much one hundred per cent sugar with a bit of buttercream added for good measure. And jam. I love jam.’ Her long, cinnamon-coloured hair hung down in a plait, and the freckles on her nose disappeared as it crinkled from her mischievous grin.

A little girl came and tugged on Macie’s arm. She’d been crying and Hetty was suddenly on high alert. Macie knelt down to ensure she was eye-level with the girl. ‘Hey, poppet, what’s wrong?’

The little one mumbled something but neither of them caught it, and Macie asked her again as the girl’s mum came over.

‘Don’t worry, she’s not upset with the party. She’s got the hump with me.’

‘Oh no, why’s that?’ asked Hetty.

‘I got her costume wrong. She wanted to come as a parrot, but I thought she said carrot, so that’s what I ordered online and by the time it came it was too late to send it back.’ The little girl, complete with bright orange carrot costume and a little green hat with sticky out bits, wiped her eyes and stared sullenly at her mother.

‘I think you look smashing,’ said Hetty. ‘Here, why don’t you come and have one of my extra special sweets?’ The little girl immediately brightened, even though the sweet Hetty gave her was the same as all the ones on the table. The girl’s mum mouthed a thank-you as, cheered, the little girl ran off to join her friends.

So far, things were going well for a kids’ party. There was always some disaster or other. The key was how you handled it. As an event organiser, Hetty was incredibly experienced, having run every sort of event you could imagine. Yet, for a while now, she had hoped to extend the reach of her business beyond the borders of her sweet hometown of Swallowtail Bay. With its pebbly beach and boutique shops it was a wonderful place to live – peaceful, beautiful – but she desperately wanted to attract clientele from the wider area and the bigger towns nearby. Pulling her mind back to the task at hand, she checked her watch. ‘Ten minutes and the entertainment will be here.’

‘I can’t believe you managed to get them at such short notice,’ Macie said. ‘They’re normally booked up months in advance.’

‘They owed me a favour.’

‘Miss,’ a little girl dressed as a Disney princess said, ‘Tommy was just sick behind a bush.’

Hetty smiled, knowing this would happen at some point. ‘Whereabouts, darling? Can you show me?’ As the girl led her by the hand to a disgruntled hydrangea, Hetty called over her shoulder to Macie. ‘Can you bring the cat litter please, Macie?’ Though sawdust was traditional in these circumstances, after years of hosting kids’ parties, Hetty had found that cat litter was much better at dealing with these sorts of incidents. Moving some branches out of the way, she was slightly surprised to find a pirate hidden behind it, weeing. ‘Do you think you could do that in the toilet, please, sweetheart? I don’t think hydrangeas respond very well to that sort of watering.’

As soon as she’d sorted that, the entertainment arrived. The boys had requested Superman and Batman attend their birthday party and fight to the death. While she couldn’t promise that exactly, she had managed to get two trained karate masters who ran a sideline in dressing-up as superheroes and play-fighting at kid’s parties. They had another booking straight after but had squeezed in Hector and Lucas as a special favour to Hetty.

‘They’ve got bulges in all the right places,’ Macie commented. To which Hetty gave an I’m-too-grown-up-to-comment eye-roll but let her grin show that she hadn’t missed that observation either.

The kids adored them and cheered as the battle played out. All was going swimmingly until near the end of their set when Superman threw out a foot rather too enthusiastically and hit Batman square in the privates. Poor Batman quickly lost his superhero status as he crumpled to the ground holding the damaged area and taking deep breaths.

‘Ouch,’ commented Macie. ‘I don’t think his manly bulge is going to be quite so bulgy now.’

Hetty leapt into the fray. ‘Time for some food, everyone! I bet I can beat you to the cupcakes.’

As expected, the kids left Batman and Superman to recuperate and charged at the food table. Watching them eat was like watching monkeys in a zoo. Food was suddenly everywhere, drinks were knocked over as arms went flailing around for sausage rolls, jam sandwiches and chocolate biscuits, but the smiles and the giggles made it all worthwhile.

Once the food was eaten, Hetty signalled to Mrs Silverman to bring out the cake and kept everyone seated and quiet, ready to sing ‘Happy Birthday’. Mr Silverman, who still looked like he needed a shot of whisky, circled with his phone, desperately trying to catch every moment as the candles were blown out.

Content with how everything was going, the remaining hour flew by for Hetty, with only minor hiccups. A toilet roll was discovered and used as a streamer, another had been stuffed down the loo, and overwrought with the whole affair, the birthday boys collapsed into sobs when Mrs Silverman told them they couldn’t have a fourth slice of cake. Overall though, it had been one of the less traumatic children’s parties she’d organised and Hetty was thankful when the children left and the clear-up began.

She and Macie had it down to a fine art by now and were sorted within half an hour. Hetty put the last black sack into the bin as Mrs Silverman came over with an envelope and a bottle of wine. ‘Here,’ she said to Hetty.

‘What’s this?’

‘For you and Macie. You’ve been absolutely brilliant, and I can’t thank you enough. I was going completely mental and you took all the stress off me. I don’t know how you do this for a living. It would kill me.’

Hetty graciously accepted the gifts and after splitting the generous tip with Macie, they were on their way.

‘Well, that went well,’ Macie said, stretching her arms above her head and bashing the roof of Myrtle, Hetty’s Mini.

‘It did, didn’t it.’ Hetty circled her neck, easing her shoulders, but it didn’t alleviate the feeling that lingered more and more with each passing day. A fidgety feeling. A feeling of expectancy and restlessness. ‘I love doing the kids’ parties – and all the other things we do – but I really want to try something different.’

‘Like what?’ Macie asked.

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Hetty searched for the right word but was unable to fix on anything specific. ‘Just something bigger – something more challenging.’

As much as she loved the bay, she felt somewhat limited by the repetitive nature of her job which mainly involved birthday, anniversary or retirement parties, and the odd funeral. ‘I just feel like there’s a lot more we could be doing and we’re not. It’s always the same old, same old. I’d like something meatier to get my teeth into.’

‘Don’t say meatier, you’re making me hungry.’

Hetty glanced over. ‘How can you possibly be hungry? You ate a gazillion sausage rolls and all that cake.’

‘I was chasing around after twenty 7-year-olds, it works up quite an appetite you know.’ Macie grinned. ‘I don’t know about you, but my feet are killing me. If something more challenging means more ache in my feet, I might have to resign.’

‘No, you won’t, you love this job too much.’ But it was true, the soles of Hetty’s feet were throbbing too. ‘Do you want me to drop you home or do you fancy sharing this bottle of wine in my back garden with our feet up?’

‘Will Stanley be there?’ Stanley was the limpy seagull Hetty had adopted and fed regularly from a special little plate. They’d both grown very fond of him as they imagined his deformed foot meant all the other seagulls teased him and wouldn’t let him join their gangs.

‘He will.’

‘In that case, it’s a definite yes. I think I’ve got a spare sausage roll somewhere about my person,’ said Macie with a chuckle, feeling her pockets to locate it. ‘He’ll like that.’

Hetty grinned too. ‘As long as it’s not in your bra. If it is, I might have to stage an intervention.’ Pushing her restless feelings back down, she turned up the air-con. ‘Right, mine it is, then.’

Chapter 2

The monthly meeting of the Swallowtail Bay business forum was about to get underway. Glancing down at her favourite crimson silk shirt, Hetty saw that the stick-on label with her name on it was already peeling off in the dense summer heat and she wondered if it would last through what was bound to be a lengthy, hot meeting.

Hetty smiled politely at the lithe and toned woman in front of her merrily chatting away about the weight-loss benefits of detox teas and waving a pain au chocolat in the air. Considering that Hetty’s figure was curvy – a fact that she was entirely comfortable with now she’d reached her late thirties – and that Hetty herself was brandishing a half-eaten mini croissant, it seemed an odd conversation to be having. But then the local business forum often ended up in odd conversations. Last time, Hetty had talked to a woman who made bath soap with avocado milk and spent the following day wondering how on earth one milked an avocado.

‘Shall we begin?’ asked Bob, the chairman of the forum, a man in his fifties with grey hair that fluffed out over his temples.

The woman in front of her paused mid-sentence at the words ‘ginkgo biloba’ – which for some reason made Hetty laugh – and excitedly went to sit down.

Hetty tactically chose a seat that would remain in the shade as it was already getting stuffy and the windows were cast wide open to let in as much air as possible. The tiniest of breezes fluttered the blue blinds sending dust motes into the air. Hetty watched them float lazily in the sun’s rays, landing unseen on people’s shoulders.

The forum was attended by many of the businesses in Swallowtail Bay and Hetty enjoyed the monthly get-together, finding out about upcoming events and promotion opportunities.

‘Right,’ said Bob, ‘you’ve all had time to network, now down to business.’

Despite the forum not having yielded any tangible results so far, Hetty believed it was time well spent. Running her own business, Simply Fantastic Events, had taught her you have to seek out new opportunities rather than just wait for them to land in your lap. People had to know who you were – especially as an event organiser. Waiting for opportunities to magically appear meant missed mortgage payments, worry lines and stress. All of which Hetty had enough of already.

‘Now,’ said Bob, ‘you all know that a new bakery has opened in town.’ He checked his notes. ‘Fairy Cakes, down the other end of the high street. The new owner’s assured me she’ll be here next time, so that’s another member of the forum. Good news all round, I’d say.’

Another baker’s? Hetty wondered if they’d prove a rival to The Bake House. But Hetty refused to let her thoughts linger on that subject.

‘Our first order of business for today is the strawberry festival—’

‘What strawberry festival?’ asked Stella, a new resident of Swallowtail Bay and owner of Old Herbert’s Shop. She’d moved in earlier in the year and had worked hard to turn around the fortunes of the strange old shop that had sold such a random assortment of goods no one was quite sure what to call it.

‘Oh, it used to be brilliant,’ said Lexi, who worked at Raina’s Café and was here to represent her. Lexi always wore vintage clothes and had attended today’s meeting in an amazing spaghetti-strapped Fifties-style dress that flared out at the waist. Hetty couldn’t wear anything with spaghetti straps. She usually had to wear a bra with straps as wide as scaffolding planks. ‘Swallowtail Bay used to be the strawberry-growing capital of Britain and we’d have a festival every year to celebrate. Stalls lined every single street up and down the high street and sold every type of strawberry thing you can think of. There were jams, scones, wines, soaps – anything and everything. Do you remember it, Hetty?’ Her bright green eyes – with a slick of thick black liner – turned to Hetty full of excitement.

‘I do. It really used to be something.’ Underneath the soft sleeves of her shirt, the hairs on Hetty’s arms stood on end.

Gwen, owner of Snip-It, the hairdresser’s, scoffed. ‘It used to be a festival many moons ago, but now it’s nothing more than a church jumble sale.’

‘There aren’t many venues available anymore,’ answered Mary, who alongside Gwen was part of the festival committee. No one really knew why Gwen was so depressed about the whole thing. They just assumed it was part of her normal approach to life, or maybe she resented doing any work for it when no one turned out. ‘And no one wants to take part. As everyone has lost interest it’s shrunk, and we’ve had to find smaller venues that don’t charge. We’re very lucky to use St John’s Church Hall. And we all still do our best.’

Reluctantly, Hetty had to admit that miserable Gwen’s statement was true. The strawberry festival had, at one time, when she was little, been a huge event. There’d been the stalls that Lexi mentioned, plus games, puppet shows, street entertainers – so much to grab your attention, no matter what your taste. It had been the highlight of the summer holidays when bunting lined the streets and everyone came together. When Hetty thought back to the bank holiday weekends spent there, all she could remember was laughter and a strange buzz in the air. The reminiscence brought a smile to her face. But these days the strawberry festival was held in a small church hall and comprised a few tables set out with a handful of homemade cakes, bric-a-brac and a tombola. Not a strawberry in sight. And outside, in the church car park, second-hand clothes would be piled up on wobbly tables. It really was such a shame it had died. It had been a great Swallowtail Bay tradition.

‘We used to have awards for the best strawberry product,’ Mary continued. ‘A strawberry trail to find a big stuffed strawberry toy, and a strawberry-eating competition. Oh, it was so lovely.’

‘Yes, well …’ Bob tried to bring them to order but the two older ladies were off.

‘People used to come from everywhere,’ Gwen agreed. ‘All the neighbouring towns turned out.’ Hetty cocked her head, listening with interest. ‘Now it’s an embarrassment to the word festival.’ Poor Mary blushed at Gwen’s harsh words, but she carried on regardless. ‘We used to have to squeeze the stalls in wherever we could – it was so popular. Now we’re lucky if we make twenty pounds from donations.’