An Almost Perfect Summer

Chapter 1

You could go off people.

Having pulled into the car park in front of Dubarry’s farm shop two minutes earlier, Nella had noticed the man emerging from his lavishly mud-splashed car and had mentally awarded him nine stars, although maybe it should be eight because the car evidently hadn’t been washed in months.

But since she never gave ten stars, because no one was ever that perfect, eight was still a good score. In his early thirties, at a guess, he was wearing a black suede jacket and well-worn jeans with Timberlands, and as he held open the door to the shop, she saw him flash a smile at the redhead who was just leaving.

It was definitely what counted as a winning smile. No wonder the redhead blushed.

Inside, the shop was busy and smelled of good, garlicky home-cooked food. Nella took in the heaps of colourful fresh produce, the ranks of chiller cabinets containing deli items, golden pies and quiches, fruit juices and a vast selection of wines. It was the kind of place people visited to show off to their friends that they shopped there, and she could see why. Searching around, she spotted what she was after behind a large island stacked with posh crisps, nuts, biscuits and myriad types of cheese.

And when she reached the flower section at the far end of the shop, there he was, standing with his back to her as he surveyed the array of blooms in silver buckets, clearly deciding which ones to buy.

Behind him, Nella saw exactly what she wanted and said, ‘Sorry, excuse me,’ in order to reach past him.

But in the split second before she could do so, he stepped forward and lifted the bunch of sunset-orange roses out of their bucket. The next moment, having registered her voice, he turned and obligingly moved to one side.

‘Oh!’ Nella stared at the now-empty bucket.

He looked surprised. ‘Problem?’

She glanced at the tied bouquet in his grasp. ‘Sorry, I was just trying to reach for them when you . . .’

‘When I beat you to it? Just goes to show, we both have excellent taste.’

‘Looks like we do.’ Nella smiled, admiring the length of his dark lashes and waiting for him to concede the battle like any decent man would do.

When he waited too, with unconcealed amusement, she said, ‘Sorry, but . . .’

‘You keep saying that word,’ he reminded her, ‘but I don’t get the impression you’re actually sorry about anything.’

Wow. Playing hardball.

‘I’m definitely sorry you snatched the last bunch of orange roses,’ said Nella.

‘There are plenty more colours to choose from. Take your pick,’ he offered with a generous sweep of his arm.

She was going to have to explain. ‘The thing is, they’re for my grandpa’s grave. Orange roses were his favourite.’

‘I’m sure. They’re beautiful.’ Her adversary raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing her. ‘And I’m buying them for a very special person’s birthday because they’re her favourite colour too. Otherwise of course I’d have let you have them. So, sorry about that.’

‘Oh dear, now you’re the one who doesn’t mean it.’ This was ridiculous. And to think she’d almost awarded him nine stars. Well, that had been from a distance, and it just went to show that looks weren’t everything.

What a tool .

He tilted his head. ‘What would you have done if you’d come in here and there were no orange roses?’

‘I’d have driven to the next place selling flowers and hoped they’d have some.’

‘Really?’

Nella nodded. ‘Absolutely.’

‘And if they don’t?’

This wasn’t going according to plan at all . ‘I’ll keep trying until I find somewhere that does.’

‘You’re very determined.’ He gave her a calculating look. ‘Do you always keep going until you get what you want?’

Was he implying that she was spoilt and self-centred? ‘It isn’t a case of getting what I want,’ Nella replied. ‘It’s what I know my grandpa would like.’ Plus, it was the truth.

‘And are they really for his grave? Or are you spinning me a line?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t lie about dead relatives.’

‘You have a lot of them?’

‘All of them.’

And now his gaze fixed on her as if he were beaming into her brain, reading her mind. Finally he nodded and said, ‘I’m sorry. And this time I mean it.’ He held out the roses, then broke into the genuine smile she’d witnessed earlier. ‘Here, take them. It’s been fun sparring with you. Say hi to your grandad from me.’

Hooray, victory! And along with it, a soupcon of guilt. Feeling the muscles in her shoulders relax, Nella took the flowers from him. ‘Thank you. That means a lot.’

‘It does?’ Now he sounded playful. ‘Like what?’

Like I won .

‘It means you can be proud of yourself. You’ve done a complete stranger a good turn.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘What will you do now? Drive to the next place that sells flowers?’

With a grin, he turned and plucked a bunch of alstroemerias from one of the other silver buckets. ‘No, it’s fine, she likes yellow ones too.’

He’d been playing a game all along, for his own amusement, and maybe also to teach her a lesson for having taken it completely for granted that she would win the war of the orange roses.

‘Well, thanks again,’ said Nella.

‘Which churchyard?’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you still testing me?’

‘Maybe.’ The silver Christmas lights overhead were flickering on-off, on-off, illuminating his streaky blond hair.

‘St Mary’s church, in Starbourne. Head over there tomorrow and you’ll see these on his grave.’

‘And you live locally?’

Nella shook her head. ‘Just a flying visit. Down from Manchester. Heading back this evening.’

His eyes were blue, so dark they were almost navy, and they were glittering now, possibly registering a tinge of regret that what might have become a significant encounter, one with possibilities, was no longer a viable option. It was like scrolling through Tinder, seeing someone who looked interesting, then discovering they lived hundreds of miles away. You swiped left and carried on scrolling, because why would you bother to swipe right?

All he’d done was spend the last four and a half minutes standing in a farm shop, locking horns with a stroppy stranger.

She guessed he was now mentally swiping her off the screen and out of his life.

‘OK,’ he said with a good-natured smile. ‘Shame.’

Nella paid for the roses, left the shop and climbed back into her car. The village of Starbourne was only three miles further down the road. It felt strange to be heading back after so long away; with her grandfather now gone, there’d been no reason to continue the visits she’d made every couple of months while he’d still been alive.

Curiosity had drawn her back here today, following a friend’s engagement party yesterday in a hotel in nearby Stroud. Waking this morning, with no need to race back to Manchester until tonight, she had decided on the spur of the moment to make the fifteen-mile journey across the county to the village where she’d come to live with Grandpa Vernon following her mother’s death. She’d place his favourite roses on his grave, then take a walk around, say hello to anyone who might remember her and see if the place had changed at all since her last visit.

As she drove along, a song came on the car radio and all the little hairs on the back of her neck rose up, the opening chords bringing back unwanted memories. Ugh, don’t need to hear that . She switched to another station and heaved a sigh of relief as the sound of the Killers filled the car instead, bellowing out ‘Mr Brightside’. Much better. Happy memories this time, of dancing on the beach in Barcelona, the hot Spanish sun beating down on her warm skin . . . unlike here in mid December, with sub-zero temperatures and the roads at the top of the escarpment still slick with ice and frost. Luckily, she was a good driver.

Unluckily, someone else wasn’t. Seconds later, a grey van came roaring up behind her, then swerved wildly to overtake on the upcoming bend just as a motorbike appeared in the other direction, flying towards them.

Nella slammed on her brakes and pulled to the left, the motorbike shot past and the driver of the grey van stuck his foot down, swerving back onto the left-hand side of the road ahead of her, his tyres somehow managing to grip the tarmac as hers went into an unstoppable skid. She just had time to think This is it before a thicket of trees loomed up, the wing of the car slammed into the stone wall and the world abruptly turned black.