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Back A Place to Call Home Save as PDF
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. Epilogue
  58. Author’s Note
  59. Acknowledgments
  60. More from Fay Keenan
  61. About the Author
  62. About Boldwood Books

Putting those thoughts to one side abruptly as the bell above her shop door tinkled, she glanced up from the book she’d been flipping through on deep meditation techniques. She’d been trying to develop her practice lately, with a view to branching out and holding more regular sessions in the outdoors. She always felt so much more in touch with the elements when she meditated outside, but she’d only ever really held sessions in the shop. Perhaps outside was the next step. Placing the book down, she smiled at a small group of people, obviously tourists, who were glancing around the shop in trepidation. Realising that often people just came in to gawp, she smiled again, and left them to it. Sales of anything other than novelty crystals were rare in this instance.

Once they’d bought a couple of trinkets, and she’d filled them in on where the best places to get a coffee and a snack were (namely Jack Winter’s coffee shop a few doors further along), Holly decided to take the bull by the horns. Flipping the sign on the shop’s door to ‘Closed’ for a few minutes, she padded up the stairs to her bedroom, where she’d stashed the blue suitcase under her bed and released the mottled catches and lifted the lid on it again. Finding the old manila envelope that contained the photographs, she shook them out onto the bed and picked up the one of Charlie that had triggered her memory. Her heart thumped as she saw his smiling, open face, framed by those thick, black glasses. He looked so young, so different, and yet there he was, Charlie Thorpe, the glimmer of the man he was to become hidden in those deep brown eyes. She’d made the connection; why hadn’t he? Was she really that unmemorable? No, that wasn’t fair on Charlie. So why was she letting it hold her back? Why hadn’t she just kissed him in the garden and moved on, whichever direction it would have gone?

She shook her head in exasperation. This was getting her nowhere. Then she had an idea. She could just tell him, of course. Smile, laugh, drop it into conversation the next time they happened to meet. The air would be clear, and things would move on naturally. But where was the fun in that? No, this deserved a little more fanfare. He’d caught her off guard in the shop when they’d first met; now it was her turn to do the same to him. After all, she reasoned, a politician had to be able to think on his feet; let’s see what happens when she springs the reveal on him.

Now grinning, she grabbed her phone and texted him. The instructions were simple; turn up to the flat on Friday night and bring a bottle. The rest was up to her.

17