Katy Colins - How to Say Goodbye

KATY COLINSlearned there is always a second chance in life.

Jilted before her wedding, she sold all she owned, filled a backpack and booked a one-way ticket to the other side of the world.

Her solo travels inspired her to pen ‘The Lonely Hearts Travel Club’ series and saw her dubbed the ‘Backpacking Bridget Jones’ by the global media. And, in a stunning twist of fate, Katy found her happy-ever-after by marrying the journalist who shared her story with the world.

She now lives in the middle of England with her husband, John, and two young children.

You can find out more about Katy, her writing and her travels at www.katycolins.comor @notwedordeadon social media platforms.

Also by Katy Colins

Chasing the Sun

The Lonely Heart Travel Club series:

Destination: Thailand

Destination: India

Destination: Chile

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019

Copyright © Katy Colins 2019

Katy Colins 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.

Ebook Edition © June 2019 ISBN: 9780008202231

Dad, I think you’d like this one.

‘That it will never come again is

what makes life so sweet’

- EMILY DICKINSON

Contents

Cover

About the Author

Also by Katy Colins

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue

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

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Acknowledgements

About the Publisher

Prologue

I straightened my chiffon scarf so the small forget-me-nots lay flat against my crisp, white shirt. A quick tug of my sleeves, brushing off imaginary fluff, a pat of my hair, tied back in a neat ponytail, and I was as ready as I would ever be. My rubber-soled shoes allowed me to silently do the last check of the small room. Every seat was presentable – the flowers arranged just so – and the windows and mirrors were spotless. Not a fingerprint or smudge in sight. The lights were set to the correct level, the gaudy air freshener that had been here when I’d arrived was where it belonged – in the bin – the synthetic lily of the valley scent no longer catching at the back of your throat. I smiled at the calming space. It looked perfect.

It had been another late night, preparing for today and the other services I had this week. I could hear my boss Frank’s voice warning me that I was going to end up burnt out if I wasn’t careful. I’d already had niggles with my neck and shoulders that he was convinced were stress-related, despite my insistences that I was fine. I’d catch up on sleep this weekend, I promised myself.

The sound of car tyres pulled me away from giving one of the red ribbons I’d looped though the end of the pews a final flourish. The family hadn’t specified a colour scheme but, as Mr Oakes had been a lifelong Liverpool FC fan, I thought they’d appreciate the gesture.

I straightened up and nodded to Leon, who was giving the sound system a once-over. He was my favourite of the team. He understood what I was trying to achieve without too much questioning, usually a slight raising of his bushy grey eyebrows or pressing his thin lips together would be all he’d say about some of my more ‘out there’ ideas. I ran a finger over the lectern. Clean as a whistle.

‘Leon, before I forget, did you get my message about next Wednesday? The Rivers family want to change their dove release from before to after the memorial slot.’

Leon nodded. ‘Don’t you worry. When would I ever let you down?’

‘Thank you.’ I was about to mention something else when a soft tinkle of an alarm began playing.

‘That’s our two-minute warning,’ I said, fishing my phone from my pocket, switching it to silent and double-checking the time.

Earlier I’d received a call that the cars had left precisely on time. I’d asked the drivers to take a slight detour that I hoped would bring some comfort to the family, if it went to plan. I had already checked the online route map for any last-minute traffic jams, diversions or roadworks, and had breathed a sigh of relief – everything looked clear.

I’d also made sure to check the weather app in case we needed to provide more umbrellas – Spring had been all over the place. I’d learnt quickly that small things like bottles of water in the cars and even sunscreen could make a huge difference. People didn’t remember to take things like that with them on days like these.

‘Seriously, Grace.’ Leon nodded at my phone, unable to hide a smile. ‘An alarm?’

‘You get on with your job and I’ll get on with mine,’ I replied politely.

‘I forgot, organisation is liberation ,’ he parroted. I think it was meant to mimic me. A flourish of blush spread across his cheeks at the look I gave him.

I let it go and cleared my throat.

‘It’s time.’

He composed himself, gave a solemn nod, then pressed play. The room was suddenly filled with the sound of Gerry and the Pacemakers’ ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’. It played at just the right volume from the hidden speakers that had recently been installed at my suggestion, the sound optimised so that the acoustics were the same for all the guests.

‘Show time,’ Leon whispered and pulled open the doors.

We took our positions. We were mere background players from then on. There to observe, supervise and, above all, ensure everything went to plan. The family slowly walked in, steely determination etched on their pale faces.

A light oak-veneered coffin was carried over the threshold. Heads bowed, feet shuffled, the odd gasp of breath was just audible over packets of tissues rustling. As the service got underway, I scanned my eyes around the congregation. Mr Oakes had clearly been a popular man. I’d gone to the liberty of printing off extra orders of service just in case the numbers given by his family were off slightly, and I appeared to be proven right. Nearly every seat was taken.