Sue Moorcroft - Just for the Holidays - Your perfect summer read!

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

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London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2017

Copyright © Sue Moorcroft 2017

Cover Design © Head Design 2017

Cover Illustration © Carrie May 2017

Sue Moorcroft 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: 9780008175559

Ebook Edition © May 2017 ISBN: 9780008175566

Version: 2018-05-03

As Just for the Holidays features Leah the Cool Auntie it seems fitting that I dedicate this book to my nieces and nephews

Véronique, Lucy, Ashley, Dan and Ryan

who bring fun and laughter with them whenever we meet.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

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

Acknowledgements

The Lengths a Novelist Will Go to …

Love Sue Moorcroft? Then Read on for a Sneak Peak of Her New Book, The Little Village Christmas

Want to Join Team Sue Moorcroft? Then Read on…

About the Author

About the Publisher

Michele : Re holiday … Alister wants to come! Says he’s never visited that region of France, it was planned before the break-up, he paid, there’s room, and what’s he supposed to do for most of August with the kids away? The gîte has good wifi so he can do his pre-term admin, blah blah. The children will hate me if I say no. Would you mind? Pleeeeeease don’t mind! x

Leah : Happy to step aside. Only said I’d come because you’d be alone with the kids. Maybe you and Alister will make up? *hopeful face* x

Michele : We absolutely WON’T make up and I NEED you there to defuse the TENSION. Pleeeeeease? xxxxxx

Leah Beaumont read the final message with a sinking heart. A few weeks ago, in a shock move – shocking even to husband Alister, apparently – Leah’s sister Michele had ended her marriage. Since then, Leah’s role had been to provide emotional support for Michele and the kids, Jordan and Natasha. Even Alister had turned up at Leah’s place for a long open-heart discourse on the hideousness of having to leave – ‘being kicked out of’ – the family home.

In the end-of-relationship wasteland, the family’s trip to Alsace had slipped down the ‘needs attention’ list until Michele received a cheerful e-mail beginning Soon we’ll be welcoming your family to our fantastic gîte, Mrs Milton. Here are a few things you’ll want to know! and instantly phoned Leah. ‘Will you come in Alister’s place? You know I can’t drive on the wrong side! And you don’t mind doing outdoorsy stuff with the children.’ Michele’s voice had been squeaky with tears and it would have taken a harder heart than Leah’s to refuse, though it would mean a dreary drive to France in Michele’s lumbering seven-seater known as ‘The Pig’ because Michele had had it sprayed pink. On purpose.

Leah’s phone beeped again.

Michele : Really absolutely definitely PLEASE don’t back out! Can you come round? xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Leah sighed.

Ten minutes later she was sitting in her sister’s kitchen. Michele’s curly bob corkscrewed randomly above one eye and the top button of her jeans was undone. ‘You’re not going to back out. Are you?’

Though Leah understood that ‘Yes’ would not be the correct answer, she wriggled feebly on the hook. ‘But now Alister’s going –’

‘If you don’t come, I’ll shoot myself,’ Michele promised, eyes swimming with tears. ‘But if you’re there to make the holiday bearable, maybe Alister’s presence might actually help the children. If we’re friendly and civilised they’ll know that whether we’re together or apart our love for them is the same.’

Though Leah didn’t see children as quite that easy to reboot, she knew better than to theorise when Michele scored fifteen years’ parenting and twenty years’ teaching to Leah’s nil. She propped her elbows on the oak table. ‘There may be enough rooms but it would mean taking two vehicles.’

‘Alister can drive The Pig, as it’s bigger than his hatchback, and I’ll be your passenger.’

A road trip in Leah’s middle-aged Porsche Cayman was definitely more of an incentive than being obliged to drive The Pig. ‘But putting me in the middle of your marital distress –’

‘It’s just for the holidays and you’re on gardening leave! You’ve landed a great new job and you’re being paid to stay away from the old one. It’s a free holiday!’

Leah’s neck prickled at the familiar sensation of a sisterly squabble brewing. ‘I did already have plans for my gardening leave – redecorating my lounge, a trip to see Mum and Dad and a track day with Scott.’ They hadn’t been firm plans, but they’d been plans.

‘Scott’s not even a boyfriend!’

‘What difference does that make? He’s my friend.’

Michele sucked in a long, wavering breath, eyes huge and tragic. ‘But – I’m pregnant again.’ And she burst into noisy tears.