Chapters (51)
- Cover
- Praise for A Season for Second Chances
- Also by Jenny Bayliss
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Discussion Guide
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
“Is there any way, at all, that we can rearrange things so that I don’t have to go up to the castle? Like any way at all. I am open to all possibilities.”
Thomas looked at her for a long moment. There was something in his face, something he was trying hard to fight back. Maybe he’s biting his tongue because it’s Christmas, the season of goodwill to all men and sisters? she thought hopefully.
“None,” said Thomas blankly, and left the room.
Nory puffed out the breath she’d been holding. “Fine!” she shouted after him. What could she do? This was a family business, and she was family.
She grabbed her stuff and headed for the bathroom, bumping into Ameerah on the landing, who was also holding a towel and wash bag—no second-bathroom luxury in this homestead.
“Shit the bed, you look like I feel!” said Ameerah. “Do you think your dad’s cocktails have gotten more potent over the years?”
“I just don’t think we handle hangovers in our thirties as well as we did in our twenties.”
“I don’t even remember having hangovers in my twenties,” said Ameerah. A sheen of sweat glistened on her top lip and forehead.
“Do you fancy doing some deliveries to the castle with me this morning?”
“I would, but Dev’s coming down. We’re meeting in the Mead and Medlar.” She raised her towel to her mouth and swallowed hard. “For lunch,” she finished weakly.
“Fair enough. Since I’ve got to be on my way before you, do you mind if I go in the bathroom first?”
“Not at all. Do you mind if I just vomit in there before you go in?”
“Not at all.”
Her parents were already out when Nory came downstairs feeling very much like she’d done twenty minutes in a tumble dryer on the super-dry cycle. Mugwort was sat in a cushioned cat bed next to the range, repeatedly licking his nose, an empty food bowl beside him. He gave her a smug look. A large frying pan with a lid sat on the hot plate, and Nory felt instantly better when she discovered it was full of sausages. In the pan behind it was bacon. Her mum’s homemade baked beans blipped gently in a saucepan, and in the oven there was tray of potato rostis. Nory smiled. “Thanks, Mama,” she said out loud. This was the perfect hangover cure.