The Summer House of Happiness: A delightfully feel-good romantic comedy perfect for holiday!. Daisy James

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СКАЧАТЬ emotions invaded her body. Her first reaction was shock at the chaos that met her eyes. Everywhere she looked there were discarded cardboard boxes, brown-paper packages for the garage, used milk cartons, old newspapers. There was even a motorbike carburettor on the table, next to a plate of leftover crusts – which her father never ate – not to mention the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

      It took her a few moments to locate the kettle and, as she filled it, her back to her father to conceal her shock, she noticed a pile of paperwork on the draining board. She inhaled a couple of steadying breaths, trying to formulate the right words to ask her father what was going on. Her mother, like Gabbie herself, had loved orderliness and her attitude to cleanliness had bordered on the obsessive at times, not to mention the fact that she insisted on the necessity, even in a car-maintenance business, of having a pleasant aroma at all times.

      What stopped Gabbie from blurting out her alarm at the state of the room was that, when she turned back round to face her father, she noticed an unexpected tinge of grey in his skin and decided to shelve her concerns until later. She watched as he slumped down heavily into a chair at the scarred pine table and heave a long, tired sigh, shoving the breakfast detritus away so he could prop his elbow on the table and rest his chin in the palm of his hand.

      ‘Dad, I can’t find the coffee. Don’t you usually keep it in this cupboard?’

      ‘Probably ran out. There’s a box of teabags over there in that carrier bag, I think.’

      Gabbie located the bag and the tea, failed to find the teapot and so put two chipped mugs down on the table, dislodging an old pizza box that had been balanced on top of a parcel waiting to go to the post office.

      ‘Dad? Are you okay?’

      ‘Never better, sweetheart. Oh, I’m a little tired, and perhaps it’s a bit more difficult to get under the engines these days, but now I have Max I can start to concentrate on some of the other things I may have let… well, let slide.’

      Her father shot a quick glance around the kitchen, once so pristine and tidy but now looking as though a paper bomb had exploded.

      ‘So, anyway, enough about me. To what do I owe the pleasure of an impromptu visit from my globe-trotting daughter? Don’t get me wrong, it’s great to have you home…’ Jeff reached across to squeeze her hand. ‘…But I wasn’t expecting to see you until I flew out to France in October.’

      ‘I just wanted…’

      On the plane, Gabbie had rehearsed what she was going to say to her father when he asked this question. She knew he would be upset about her quitting what he thought was her dream job without having a plan in place for what she was going to do next. She’d intended to tell him the truth because she had no idea how long she would be staying in Oakley, how long it would take her to work out where she was going, or to find a new position. However, seeing the extent to which his grip on housekeeping and administration had deteriorated, and the way he was grasping his mug as though it held the elixir of life, she suddenly didn’t want to burden him with her problems.

      ‘…I was due a couple of weeks off from House of Gasnier and wanted to spend the time with you.’

      ‘Ah, that’s music to an old man’s ears!’

      Oh, God! Gabbie felt tears prickling at her lashes. Why was he saying that? Sixty wasn’t that old! Something was definitely going on and she was relieved that fate had seen fit to step in and send her home.

      ‘Dad, is everything okay? What are you not telling me?’

      Suddenly an explosion of pain erupted in her chest, shooting its arrows of fire down her veins like red-hot pokers. Of course – his pale complexion, his weight gain, his tiredness… no, no, no, please God, no, she couldn’t bear it. Surely life couldn’t be that cruel?

      ‘Dad?’ she whispered.

      ‘Oh, no, darling, sorry, no, it’s nothing like that!’ Jeff grabbed Gabbie’s hand between his rough, calloused palms and forced a smile onto his lips. ‘It’s just a few problems with the business that need a bit of attention, that’s all. We’ve got loads of work on, but the bank has started hassling me about turnover and whatnot. Nothing for you to worry about. Now, how about I take your suitcase upstairs and you can get settled in before I treat you to dinner at The Pear Tree?’

      ‘Dad, I can help you with the business stuff, you know that.’

      ‘No, I won’t hear of it. You work really hard in that laboratory of yours and this is your holiday. Why don’t you link up with Clara while you’re here? I know she’ll be excited about seeing you. How long is it since you two had a real girly get-together?’

      Gabbie was so relieved her father hadn’t divulged some dreadful, life-limiting illness that she felt lightheaded. A flash of pleasure erupted, mingled with a tiny grain of guilt, when she thought of her best friend, Clara, whom she hadn’t seen for four long months. She hoped Clara would forgive her for her lack of texts and emails over the last few weeks when things had been manic at House of Gasnier. She couldn’t wait to see her, to hear about what was happening in her life, and to confide in someone about what was going on in hers and ask for her always-sensible advice.

      She allowed herself a brief smile as she kissed her father’s bristly cheek on her way upstairs to freshen up. He might be one of the best mechanics in the whole county of Devon, but dealing with the garage’s accounts and finances had never been her father’s forte and he had happily left all the admin to her mother, who had handled both with ease and precision. So, if there was one thing she could do while she was home, it was sort out the paperwork – and maybe persuade him to ditch the extra pounds he had added to his frame, which, she suspected, were probably the cause of his tiredness.

      There was no way she could contemplate losing him too.

Chapter Four

      When Gabbie woke the next day, the birds were still busy chirping the overture of their morning chorus. Shafts of ivory light streaked through a gap in the pretty rosebud curtains to dance on the sheepskin rug at the side of her bed. She remembered the day she and her mum had chosen the material and then made the curtains using the ancient black-and-gold Singer sewing machine that had belonged to her grandmother. She smiled at her recollections of that day of creativity, at the hems that had always been lopsided, at the way the whole room screamed childhood memories, every one filled to bursting with her mother’s laughter.

      She swung her feet to the floor, her toes luxuriating in the woolly rug. She picked up the silver-framed photograph on her bedside table and ran her fingertips over her mother’s features, so like her own. People often remarked on their similarities – but not so much since Sofia had passed away. That, of course, was down to Gabbie’s decision to move not just to a different town, or even the next county, but to another country entirely, where no one knew her history so couldn’t comment on the fact that she had inherited her mother’s Italian genes in the colour of her hair and eyes, or the determined tilt of her chin, or her penchant for tidiness and order. She was simply Gabriella Andrews, would-be perfume princess, lover of seafood and the occasional bellini.

      At the time, it had been a relief to escape the sympathetic glances, the offers of casseroles and cheese quiches, the heartfelt words of condolence from friends and neighbours who were themselves grieving. But Jasmine’s observations had been spot-on; her move to the South of France, a mere three months after her mother had passed away, had meant she hadn’t taken the time to process her sorrow because, as she sat СКАЧАТЬ