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Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Chapter One
  5. Chapter Two
  6. Chapter Three
  7. Chapter Four
  8. Chapter Five
  9. Chapter Six
  10. Chapter Seven
  11. Chapter Eight
  12. Chapter Nine
  13. Chapter Ten
  14. Chapter Eleven
  15. Chapter Twelve
  16. Chapter Thirteen
  17. Chapter Fourteen
  18. Chapter Fifteen
  19. Chapter Sixteen
  20. Chapter Seventeen
  21. Chapter Eighteen
  22. Chapter Nineteen
  23. Chapter Twenty
  24. Chapter Twenty-One
  25. Chapter Twenty-Two
  26. Chapter Twenty-Three
  27. Chapter Twenty-Four
  28. Chapter Twenty-Five
  29. Chapter Twenty-Six
  30. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  31. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  32. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  33. Chapter Thirty
  34. Chapter Thirty-One
  35. Chapter Thirty-Two
  36. Acknowledgments
  37. Read on for an extract from the brand new book from Lucy Diamond
  38. Prologue
  39. Chapter One
  40. Q&A with Lucy Diamond
  41. On a Beautiful Day
  42. The House of New Beginnings
  43. Praise
  44. About the Author
  45. By the Same Author
  46. Copyright

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Alison stood at the kitchen worktop and poured herself a gin and tonic. Ice cubes, a juicy slice of lime, a swizzle stick to mix it all together. She sipped the concoction thoughtfully, then added more gin. Nothing worse than a G&T without a bit of poke – that was her motto. Well, it wasn’t, but maybe it should be.

Wandering out into the garden with her drink, she sat down on her old wooden Lutyens bench and wiggled her bare toes. It was a warm June evening, and the blooms on the peonies were gorgeously ripe and full. The sweet peas were romping up the bamboo wigwam, white and lilac and crimson, with their delicate notes of scent just reaching her. Further down the garden, the alliums stood to attention like a row of soldiers, their rounded starry heads a rich purple against the stone wall, while her luscious pink roses spilled over with fragrance. Alison took a long swig of gin, breathed in the beautiful surroundings and exhaled. Okay, then. Was she ready for this? Was she bold enough to dare?

That morning she’d been cutting the hair of Mo Marshall, who was seventy-five, wise and permanently cheerful, and Alison had found herself confessing how she’d been feeling a bit blue recently.

‘Ah, Widow’s Itch, that’s what you’ve got,’ Mo had said with a dirty cackle. She was having her hair washed at the time, and Alison, rinsing off the suds behind her, was glad that her client couldn’t see the startled look on her face. ‘You want to get back in the dating world, my girl. Have yourself a bit of fun.’

Widow’s Itch? It sounded like some revolting sexually transmitted disease, but according to Mo, every bereaved woman experienced it at some point or another. ‘Don’t fight it, feel it,’ she advised, wagging a finger as Alison rubbed in the conditioner. ‘If you hear what I’m saying.’

Alison wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what Mo was saying, but she was a firm believer in Business Rule Number One: the customer is always right. And so she did her best to make interested-sounding noises while Mo detailed the pros and cons of various matchmaking sites she’d sampled, and went on to provide her with a full list of tips and anecdotes when it came to modern-day dating. This is not for me, Alison assured herself, snipping and styling and blow-drying. I’m just nodding and being polite here, that’s all. But then Mo had ended her little spiel by taking Alison’s hand and saying earnestly, ‘We all just want some companionship, at the end of the day, don’t we? And a bit of a laugh and a cuddle to sweeten the evenings.’