The Tanglewood Bookshop (Tanglewood Village #4)

Chapter 1

Kazz Fernsby stifled a groan as the train lurched, and she put her hand to her mouth, praying she wouldn’t be sick. Despite the dreary drizzly day, the train was warm – too warm – which didn’t help with the nausea or the headache. She felt clammy, her palms were damp and her back was soggy, the long-sleeved T-shirt she was wearing underneath her fleece sticking to her skin.

Swallowing hard and trying not to throw up, she unwound her scarf, dropping it onto the seat next to her, and unzipped her coat. She would have taken it off, but she simply didn’t have the energy to struggle back into it when the train arrived at her stop. What a state to be in on a Tuesday morning, she lamented. Days off were far too precious to waste feeling ill, especially when it was her own fault she was feeling like this.

A couple of years ago, she would have self-medicated the hangover with a fried breakfast and buckets of strong tea. But the thought of bacon, eggs and fried bread made her heave, and she swallowed again, her stomach roiling uncomfortably. Gingerly, she rested her head on the back of the seat and closed her eyes, only to quickly open them again when the nausea increased.

Why she had felt the need to knock back so many sambucas last night was a mystery. But she had worked all weekend and today was her day off, so she’d made the most of last night. The problem was, she had forgotten she’d promised to help her mum sort through the house this morning, and she only remembered when Mum had rung (three times, because Kazz had slept through the first two calls) to check she was on her way.

Feeling decidedly unwell, Kazz had rolled clumsily out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen, only to be glared at by Freya, the most uptight of her three flatmates. Apparently – and Kazz didn’t know how true this was, because last night was rather fuzzy around the edges – Kazz had rocked in at one twenty-three a.m. And the reason Freya knew it had been one twenty-three was because Kazz had woken her and Mona up. Dorian, bless him, would sleep through a volcanic eruption, so at least there was one person who wasn’t cross with her.

After apologising profusely and promising to cook dinner for everyone this evening, Kazz hoped she had done enough to appease her angry flatmates.

The train rattled over the tracks, jostling her, and she burped, pulling a disgusted face at the taste of second-hand flowery aniseed. The first thing she would do when she got to Mum’s house would be to make a cup of tea. She would also try to force down a piece of toast while she was at it, in the vain hope she would feel better with something in her stomach.

The idiotic thing was, Kazz didn’t usually drink much. Her idea of letting her hair down was a couple of single malts. But Rossiter – one of the front-of-house staff at the restaurant where she worked – also had today off, so when he’d suggested going to a bingo session last night, Kazz had thought it a great idea. She had never played bingo before, believing it to be the domain of old ladies with purple hair, but she had been seduced by talk of two-for-one cocktails and big prize money.

She hadn’t won anything (who knew bingo could be so viciously competitive?), but she had enjoyed several drinks. This morning, she bitterly regretted enjoying quite so many, and vowed never to touch sambuca again. Or nachos with cheese, because she distinctly remembered eating a sharing plate all by herself.

Kazz stared listlessly out of the window, watching the familiar East London landmarks roll by. She had lost count of the number of times she had made this journey over the years. The house had originally belonged to her grandparents – although belonged was a bit misleading because they’d rented it. However, they had lived there for as long as she could remember, and when Nana died and Grandad flatly refused to move into somewhere smaller and more manageable, Kazz’s mum had eventually been forced to give up the lease on the little flat she’d lived in above the convenience store that sold mainly Russian food, and move in with him when he became too ill and frail to look after himself. Her mum had kept the place on after he’d passed away from cancer. That had been over a year ago, and Mum hadn’t got around to sorting out the house until now.

Kazz idly wondered what had prompted her mother to do it today, and wished she had decided on next week, or the week after, but she supposed it was long overdue and she only had herself to blame if she wasn’t firing on all cylinders this morning. Never mind not drinking sambuca again – Kazz vowed never to touch another drop of alcohol for the rest of her life.

When her phone trilled, she thought it might be her mum, making sure she was actually on her way this time. Or it could be the restaurant, because Freddie French (or Frederique, as he preferred to be called) was renowned for summoning his staff into work on their days off. Something she objected to frequently and vociferously, much to Freddie’s annoyance, even though she invariably went in to help him out.

Thankfully, it wasn’t her boss, and she managed to dredge up a smile when she saw that she had a message from Stevie, even though it was a photo of a cake.

Today’s special , the message said. Toasted marshmallow and ginger cake.

Kazz grimaced; Stevie was one of the best pastry chefs she knew, but Kazz wasn’t in the right frame of mind to appreciate it. Stevie had been Kazz’s best friend since they were in infants’ school. The pair of them were opposites in looks – Kazz short and dark-haired; Stevie tall with ginger hair, although she insisted it was chestnut – and in personalities, Stevie being flightier and a bit of an airhead.

Another message from Stevie followed. Watcha doing today? Working?

Kazz’s thumbs flew over the screen. Helping Mum clear out Grandad’s house. She added a sad face emoji.

Gotta be better than work tho?

Would rather be in bed. Heavy night. She added the green-faced emoji to that one.

Ha ha. I thought you were supposed to be the sensible one!

Yeah, Kazz used to think that too, until Stevie’s Aunt Peggy had left Stevie enough money to open a little tea shop in a village on the English–Welsh border – which was a far cry from London, where they had both lived and worked. Stevie’s inheritance hadn’t stretched to buying a space in the city, so she had been forced to look further afield.

Kazz had been there at the start, from being at Stevie’s side during Peggy’s funeral (Kazz had had a soft spot for Stevie’s aunt and had wanted to pay her respects just as much supporting her friend) to attending the auction where Stevie had bought the property. Kazz had even helped to set up the tea shop, trawling around boot sales for china and other bits and bobs with which to fill it. Kazz distinctly recalled how envious she had been at the time – not about moving to Wales, but about being able to afford a business of her own. She would love to be able to do that, but as things stood at the moment, she couldn’t afford to open a burger van on an industrial estate, let alone a cute tea shop in a chocolate-box village. And neither was she likely to be left any money in a will. Her grandad, bless him, hadn’t had a bean to his name when he’d died, and her mum wasn’t exactly rolling in money. Stevie was one lucky, lucky cow!

To top it all off, Stevie had settled down with a gorgeous man, whom she would be marrying next year, and now it was Kazz who was getting blotto on a Monday evening, when that had been the sort of thing that Stevie used to get up to.

Another message pinged onto her screen. Why out on a Monday? Party?

Bingo

Bingo?!!!!

Kazz was about to respond when her phone rang. Stevie had got bored with messaging.

‘Here’s me imagining you going to loads of parties and clubs, and you’re going to bingo ?’ was her friend’s opening salvo.

Kazz sighed. ‘What can I say? I’m living my best life.’

‘Who did you go with? A guy ?’ There was a whole world of innuendo in the word.

‘Rossiter.’

‘Ooh, are you and he…?’

‘We’re just friends. Why are you phoning me on a Tuesday morning? Are you bored?’

‘I’m waiting for some dough to rise. And I wondered what you’d got up to at the weekend.’

‘Work, mostly.’ She sighed again.

‘OK, my lovely, what’s wrong?’ Stevie demanded. ‘It’s not like you to sound so down – even if you do have a hangover. Is it Freddie?’

‘It’s always Freddie.’ Her boss treated his staff like second-class citizens, and when it came to foul language, even Gordon Ramsay would be shocked at what came out of Freddie’s mouth. Kazz tended to stand up to him (which cheesed Freddie off no end), but the others were too scared.

Stevie said, ‘You need to start looking for another job.’

‘I know, but I’ve got a big case of out of the frying pan and into the fire heebie-jeebies. Anyway, I don’t want to do anything drastic right now because Mona is moving out. If we can’t find anyone to take over her room, my rent will be going up by a third.’

‘Ouch.’

‘I wish I could afford to rent a place of my own, but you know how ridiculous prices are in London.’

‘You sound royally fed up. What you need is a holiday.’

‘I can’t afford that, either. Not on the measly salary Freddie pays me. Even by London standards, it’s poor. Every time I ask him for a pay rise, he bursts out laughing.’

‘That’s why you need to get yourself another job – a better-paying one.’

‘I promise I’ll start looking when we find another flatmate.’ Kazz crossed her fingers. The likelihood of her looking for another job was slim; she operated on the premise of better-the-devil-you-know and she had worked hard to scramble up the ladder in Freddie’s kitchen. As sous chef, she was one rung below head chef, but as Freddie himself occupied that role and was also co-owner of the restaurant, she was unlikely to go any higher.

Stevie exclaimed, ‘I’ve got an idea! Why don’t you come to stay with me for a few days? We haven’t seen each other in ages and the break will do you good.’

A little break sounded lovely and Kazz’s spirits lifted; then they promptly sank again as she wondered whether Freddie would be willing to spare her. Although she had holidays still to take, the restaurant was already gearing up for the forthcoming festive season, when it would be all hands on deck. The restaurant was even open on Christmas Day, so there would be no respite then, either. But even if Kazz had been able to visit Stevie over the holidays, she wouldn’t, because she had her mum to think of. On second thoughts, her mother had a boyfriend – a nice bloke called Vince – so would probably spend the day with him, which would free Kazz up for some good old partying. If she had the energy. Or the enthusiasm. Or the funds. All three appeared to be sadly lacking lately. It seemed that bingo was as much as she could manage these days. More, actually…

So maybe a few days in the lovely little Welsh village would be just what she needed. Set in the bottom of a wide green valley, with mountains all around and a river running through it, Tanglewood had a picturesque high street with all kinds of artisan shops, a narrow stone bridge that forded the river, and lots of wonderful walks. It was a friendly place, where everyone knew everyone else, and that was another thing that Kazz was envious of – the caring atmosphere. Stevie had made some good friends, even if one or two of them were rather… quirky .

Tanglewood was the perfect place to recharge her batteries and have some fun with her bestie at the same time. Kazz missed her. They used to be inseparable, but since Stevie had moved to the village, visits had been few and far between.

Noticing that Wanstead Park was the next stop, Kazz hurriedly said, ‘I’ll see what I can do. Got to go,’ and made some loud kissy noises, before ending the call and shoving her phone back in her pocket as she lumbered to her feet.

The cold air on the platform made her shiver, and she huddled deeper into her coat, having gone from overly warm to chilled in a matter of seconds.

To add to her woes, the sky was as cloud-laden and sullen as when she’d set off an hour earlier, and a steady drizzle was falling again. It hadn’t stopped raining for weeks and the city was overcast and miserable-looking. Not even the Christmas decorations that were already festooning many of the shops and businesses could dispel the early November gloom.

Kazz made her way out of the station and onto the street, but before she had managed to pull her hood over her head, she felt a drip plop down the back of her neck.

Cursing, she took an extra-long stride to dodge a puddle, as she hurried along the pavement. Her mum lived off Woodgrange Road, a four-minute walk away, and when Kazz reached the turning into her mother’s street and was about to cross to the other side, a white van cut the corner, going far too fast.

Both off-side tyres splashed into the gutter, sending a wave of dirty rainwater over her legs and feet, and forcing her to leap back.

To add insult to injury, the driver tooted his horn, as though it was her fault. Then he gunned the engine, releasing a cloud of black noxious fumes into her face, which made her cough so hard that she felt sick again and nearly threw up.

Cold, wet and feeling thoroughly done with the day already, Kazz stared miserably at the van, smoke billowing after it down the street, and wished all sorts of nastiness on its rude and inconsiderate driver.

Could this day get any worse?