Claudia Carroll - All She Ever Wished For

‘An original, funny and poignant story … A very modern fairytale, full of Claudia’s trademark wit and humour’

Sheila O’Flanagan

‘Full of warmth, humour and emotion, this is a wonderfully written, unconventional love story that charms from the very first page. I adored it and didn’t want it to end. Read it – I guarantee you’ll love it’

Melissa Hill

‘It bubbles and sparkles like pink champagne. A hugely entertaining read’

Patricia Scanlan

‘An emotional roller-coaster ride … keeps the reader wondering until the very end’

Irish Independent

‘Claudia Carroll has done it again, with a heroine you just want fate to smile on’

Heat

‘I was holding my breath … the story really touched my heart’

‘ Fun, breezy, and kept me guessing and oohing and aaahhhing until the end!’

‘Truly captivating’

‘Will lift your spirits’

‘If you love page-turning women’s fiction with depththen this book is for you!’

‘I so enjoyed this unusual storyof friendships and love’

‘Very fresh and brilliantly plotted’

‘A total page-turner with companionship, fear, laughter,and a whole bunch of other emotions that will take you on a journey like no other’

‘Officially one of my favourite books of the year!’

‘Some sobs, but lots of laughterand joy’

Published by Avon an imprint of

HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street,

London, SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2016

This ebook edition 2016

Copyright © Claudia Carroll 2016

Cover design © Nikki Dupin 2016

Claudia Carroll 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: 9780008140724

Ebook Edition © July 2015 ISBN: 9780008140748

Version: 2016-03-17

This book is warmly dedicated to a very special lady, who will be much missed.

For Eleanor Dryden, with love.

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise for the Novels of Claudia Carroll

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Bernard

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Bernard

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Kate

Tess

Tess

Kate

Epilogue

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

Valentine’s Day, Dublin

Two years ago

In this day and age, is there anything that says ‘I love you’ more than a Chubb padlock fastened tight onto a bridge? And like a growing number of landmarks around the world, the Ha’penny Bridge is only coming down in them. You’ll often catch couples sneakily fastening locks to the metal grills on either side of the bridge’s arch, pledging undying love (weather permitting), then tossing the key down into the River Liffey beneath.

Every red-letter date in the calendar without fail, you can be guaranteed the Ha’penny Bridge will groan under the weight of all these tiny little love locks, with particular spikes around Valentine’s Day and New Year. After all, it’s a romantic and slightly different way to show your commitment to that someone special, isn’t it? Plus it sure as hell beats a bunch of overpriced red roses from Tesco.

But every so often you’ll see a forlorn single revisiting a lock, maybe touching it wistfully, then sadly walking away. And you’ll find yourself wondering what their story could possibly be.

Like tonight, for instance.

A woman was standing tall and proud beside one such lock and from behind you’d think absolutely nothing at all was the matter with her. She had choppy, blonde, bang-on-trend hair and stood ramrod straight with her head held high as she stared out over the Liffey swirling beneath.

It was only when you caught her profile sideways on, you could see how upset she was. This woman looked all out of place here; there was something way too regal and composed about the way she stood all alone on the bridge, while backpackers in puffa jackets and exhausted tourists barged past her on their way to and from the pubs and restaurants of Temple Bar.

No way was a lady this classy and elegant on her way to some booze-up or hen night in Temple Bar, that was for certain. She was older, late thirties at a guess, slim and elegant in red-soled Louboutin high heels and huddling a blonde fur coat around her shoulders, to ward off the icy February rain and chill. Real fur too, you could tell at a glance. She had no umbrella either, but didn’t seem to care that she was slowly getting drenched. Instead she just stood right beside the lovelocks, staring out over the river and clinging onto the coat; silent, unchecked tears running down her coldly angular face.

But if this lady thought she was passing by anonymously and completely unnoticed, she was wrong. At that exact moment, a much younger woman taking a short cut across the bridge spotted her, and even though she was running late for a movie screening, suddenly found herself stopping dead in her tracks.

Because she’d recognised the lady standing proudly beside all the lovelocks. As would anyone who’d bothered to look closely enough. This was Kate King, the Kate King. There was hardly anyone in the country who wouldn’t have known who she was, barring if they’d lived inside a cave for the last fifteen years.