Portia MacIntosh - Summer Secrets at the Apple Blossom Deli

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

Acknowledgements

Excerpt

Endpages

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Well, that’s what the dog-eared copy of The Guide to New Beginnings currently poking out of my handbag on the front seat has been trying to convince me.

The last month has been a bit of a blur. It feels like just yesterday I was sitting at my desk, mindlessly yet happily going through the motions when one of my bosses perched on the corner of my desk, offered me a new job in a different location and, before I knew what I was doing, I said yes. A more exciting role in the company and a pay increase appealed, of course, but more than anything it was the chance take my 8-year-old son out of life in inner-city London and raise him in a cute little coastal village up north. I’ve been worrying about a few things recently and getting out of the city seemed like the best solution – the only solution, really.

I was born and raised in Croydon, only moving closer to central London as I got older. My son Frankie has never known anything other than life in central London, living in a small flat, catching the tube to school every day. This isn’t the life I want for him though. I want him to grow up in a small town, in a close community. Somewhere with scenery and fields with real grass, away from the pollution and commuting to school on busy trains, overflowing with unfriendly people.

I love my city and I’m proud of my roots, but after living here for all of my thirty-one years on this planet so far, now just feels like the right time to leave and try somewhere new.

I’ve always liked the idea of a fresh start. When I was much younger I would look forward to New Year’s Eve because to me, starting a new year felt like starting a new chapter of my life. I used to start each year with a brand-new notebook, a diary of my thoughts. It’s been a long time since I did that though, what with taking on more and more work as the years have ticked away – and being a single mum doesn’t exactly allow for much free time. That’s all going to change now though.

As well as the self-help book I’ve been reading to help me prepare, I also have a new Moleskine notebook ready for me to document my journey in just like I used to. I might not have my usual backdrop of fireworks and ‘Auld Lang Syne’ to thrust me into my new beginning, but as the journey up north progresses, the concrete jungle we’re so used to has slowly but surely transitioned to fields of green and wide open space, and it is exactly the breath of fresh air I’ve been gasping for.

I’m too busy taking in the scenery to remember to change gear at a junction so the car stalls, giving us a jolt strong enough to wake Frankie up.

‘Mum,’ he whines sleepily.

I glance at him in my rear-view mirror and watch him rub his tired eyes.

‘Sorry, kiddo,’ I say. ‘Your mum isn’t used to driving a manual.’

Frankie doesn’t need me to tell him that; this isn’t the first time I’ve messed up with the gears today. Well, living in the city centre, I’ve never needed a car, so I haven’t driven one in years. The only car I have driven occasionally – my mum’s – is an automatic. Still, it was so nice of my bosses to give me a company branded VW Beetle to drive up here in and use as a run-around, even if it is an offensive shade of lime green. They’ve also rented us a cottage that looked positively picturesque in the photos they showed me. It feels weird, moving here without having visited, but everything happened so quickly. I’m sure there was time to do things properly, to come and scope the place out and make sure it was everything I hoped it would be, but I just really wanted to get out of town so that Frankie could start the new school year with everyone else – well, that’s what I told them, at least.

‘Are we there yet?’ Frankie asks for the first time. I’m proud of him, for being so well behaved. Most kids would go bananas during a long car journey but my boy has only started to grow impatient in the last thirty minutes.

‘We are,’ I tell him excitedly, although I can’t help but notice that he doesn’t seem as pumped as I am. ‘You excited?’

‘I guess,’ he replies. ‘It’s gonna be weird.’

‘It’s gonna be amazing ,’ I remind him. ‘I know you’ll miss your school and your friends, but you’re going to make new friends, you’re going to go to a much better school. We’re going to live in a big house and there will be fields where you can play, and we can walk to the beach – every day, if you’d like.’

‘There’s no McDonald’s,’ he tells me in a smart tone, as though he’s sure I already knew that. In truth, I did already know that there wasn’t going to be a McDonald’s nearby, and that we were going to have to travel thirty miles to get my son a fix of his favourite chicken nuggets. Apparently, no matter how hard I try, I just can’t make them as ‘good’ as McDonald’s can.

‘There is a McDonald’s just a short drive away,’ I tell him. It might not be the same as London, where there’s a Maccies on every corner, but it’s going to be fine. ‘You’re going to have everything you had in London, plus more.’

‘Sam said he’s been before to visit his nan and granddad, and he said it was boring,’ Frankie informs me.

‘Where?’ I ask curiously, although I’m pretty sure his fourth favourite friend from school isn’t the right person to be taking this kind of advice from.

‘The north,’ he replies.

I can’t help but laugh.

‘The north is pretty big, kiddo. And maybe it was boring because he was visiting his grandparents’ house – grandparents are boring.’

‘Viv isn’t boring,’ Frankie insists.

‘No, she certainly isn’t,’ I reply.

My mum, Vivien, isn’t at all grandma-ish – she won’t even let Frankie call her Gran, she says she looks too young, and, in her defence, she does. She’s always been conscious of showing her age, insisting I call her Viv instead of Mum. She puts her all into being a cool grandparent and, to be fair, she’s great at it. She was a cool mum too, much to my embarrassment. It’s going to be weird, not being just a short train ride away from her.

After driving through nothing but green fields and dry stone walls for a while, Marram Bay is suddenly visible in the distance.

There are two ways we can go; one of them seems the right way, but the satnav insists we go the other, so I stick to what the map tells me and head for the town centre.

‘We’re here, kiddo,’ I announce.

‘It looks boring,’ Frankie says with a sigh.

At the start of the trip he seemed excited. In fact, I think we spent the first hour of the journey singing along to the radio.

To try and distract my son, I flick the radio back on.

‘…and I’m sure you’ll all be pleased to hear that Rufus the Labrador is safely back at home now. And that completes today’s breaking news,’ a voice on the radio says. I make eye contact with Frankie in my rear-view mirror. He looks just as confused as I do.