Wedding Dates on Foxglove Street (Foxglove Street #10)

Chapter 1

1

Carole Heywood glided the paint roller across the last patch on the kitchen wall and stood back to look at her progress. The old dark blue paint that had made the kitchen feel so gloomy and cold was entirely gone, and the walls were now covered in a soft white shade that made the space feel not only much lighter but much bigger, too.

A smile crept to her lips as she scanned the kitchen, taking in the transformation. It was perfect and had turned out just as she’d hoped.

The soft white walls also made the old wooden kitchen cabinets look much better, too. The cabinets were worn and creaky, the doors uneven and scratched from years of use, and the simulated marble countertop in a palette of sand and beige had seen better days.

Filled with character , was how the estate agent had described the kitchen when he’d first shown her around the small, terraced house on Foxglove Street, and Carole had smiled at the young man’s attempt to find something positive to say about the dreary space.

If she’d had the budget for it, replacing the ancient kitchen would’ve been the smart move. But Carole didn’t have that kind of money to spare, not when there were other more pressing issues to be dealt with around the house. The kitchen was functional, even if it was dated and worn, but the thorough scrub she’d given the cabinetry, both inside and out, on day one of moving into the new property had spruced things up a bit.

Now, the fresh coat of soft white paint had injected warmth and luminosity into the kitchen. Carole was glad to see the back of the dark blue walls that had been there before. Painting the kitchen made it feel like she was properly claiming the space as her own, and that was important to her.

The house she’d shared with her ex-partner, Greg, had never felt like a place where she could express her own interior design preferences. In the three years they’d been a couple, it had always felt like Greg’s house, not their house. They’d discussed buying a place together when things first got serious between them, but Greg had convinced her it made sense to save on the expense of buying and selling and for her simply to move in with him.

Which was what she’d done. They’d enjoyed happy times together in his smart ground-floor flat in a Victorian conversion in west London. But Greg ‘liked things the way he liked them’, and that included a palette of dark greys on every wall in every room of the small property. Carole’s suggestions that they ought to redecorate and opt for lighter colours in at least some of the rooms were firmly rebuffed.

By the time their relationship came to an end, Carole felt as stifled by Greg as she did by the steely grey walls that surrounded her in the house that had never felt like a home. Now that she owned her own property, she was determined to make it feel like her house and her space, decorated according to her preferences.

Admiring the newly painted kitchen walls, Carole felt a punch of achievement. The kitchen wasn’t about to feature in some glossy home interiors magazine anytime soon, but the simple act of painting the walls in the soft shade of white made her feel like she was making progress in her new home.

Carole was rinsing the paint roller at the kitchen sink when her phone rang. Glancing at the screen, she saw it was her sister, Jane, calling. Flicking paint and water from her fingers, she dried her hands and accepted the call.

“How are things going at the new house?” Jane asked after they’d exchanged hellos.

“It’s all going quite well, actually,” Carole said. “I just finished painting the kitchen walls.”

“Good for you. You’ve really hit the ground running, considering you only moved in properly a few days ago. Are you happy with how the painting has turned out?”

“Very happy. I settled on a simple white paint in the end, and it’s a relief to get rid of the dark blue that was there before. The kitchen already looks much more welcoming.”

“I can’t wait to come over and see the place properly once you’re a bit more settled. And the girls are excited, too. They’ve made you a card and drawn a picture of your new house on the front of it.”

Carole’s heart squeezed at the thought of her little nieces, Nancy and Lily, making a card for her.

“I can’t wait to see them,” Carole said. “And you, too, Jane. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

When Carole decided to break things off with Greg and move out of his house, she’d thought long and hard about where she wanted to go next. She’d grown up near Winchester, where her sister still lived, and her parents had downsized to a property in Hamblehurst a few years earlier, drawn there by the glowing recommendations the little town received from Carole’s grandmother, who’d lived there since retiring. When Carole had learned through a friend of her grandmother’s that there was a small house for sale on Foxglove Street, she’d jumped at the chance to look.

The idea of living in a small town after many hectic years in London had appealed to her, and the house on Foxglove Street had especially appealed, despite the updating and redecorating it required. She liked the idea of a clean break following the end of her relationship with Greg.

Being closer to her parents and grandmother, and her sister and her sister’s family, was just what she needed in her life right now.

“Listen, I’m actually calling for a reason,” Jane said. “I know how mad things have been for you these past weeks, what with you moving down from London and everything, which is why I thought I ought to remind you that cousin Zara’s wedding is next weekend.”

“Oh, I’d completely forgotten!” Carole said, more than a little stunned at the realisation.

The past two months had gone by so quickly, between finding a new place to live and navigating the house purchase process and then moving everything into her new home. The upheaval and busyness had caused her to lose track of time—and lose track, too, of important family events looming on the horizon.

“I haven’t even bought a gift yet for Zara and her new husband,” Carole said. “And I don’t know what I’ll wear, either.”

“Listen, just give Zara and Phil a gift card,” Jane advised. “They’ve lived together for years already and probably don’t need anything new for their house. I’m just giving them a gift card, if that helps sway your decision.”

“It does. Thanks, Jane. Problem solved. Now I just need to sort out a new outfit to wear.”

“Surely you don’t need to buy anything new. What about that lovely dress you had on last year for Mum and Dad’s anniversary bash?”

“Won’t it look a bit cheap if I wear the same outfit I’ve already worn to another family event?”

“Don’t be daft. No one will notice, and even if they do, it doesn’t matter. Save yourself a headache and give that pretty blue dress another wear. It looks gorgeous on you.”

“Hmm. I suppose it would save me having to find something new online or dash to the shops.”

Carole didn’t need much convincing. With everything going on right now, she didn’t have time to search for a new dressy occasion outfit. She’d bought the blue dress specially for her parent’s anniversary party last year and hadn’t worn it since. It seemed a shame to leave it hanging in the wardrobe—or folded up inside a packing box, to be precise—while she looked for something brand new.

And Jane was right. The dress did suit her, with its floaty skirt and elegant neckline and lush blue colour. She’d be mad not to wear it again.

“Thanks, Jane. I’ll take your advice.”

“I do give the best advice, so you’re absolutely right to take it,” Jane said with a laugh. “However, there’s something else I need to alert you about as far as Zara’s wedding is concerned.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Mum wants to set you up with a plus-one for the wedding.”

“Oh, no!” Carole moaned. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I never joke where Mum’s scheming is concerned. She’s worried you’ll feel awkward going to the wedding by yourself, now that you and Greg aren’t together anymore, and she wants to ‘help’ set you up with a date.”

Carole could hear her sister’s air quotes down the phone line. “Why would I feel awkward going to a wedding by myself? Plenty of people go to weddings by themselves.”

“I know, but Mum said she doesn’t want you to feel sad, seeing a big happy romantic wedding taking place just a few weeks after you and Greg broke up.”

“But I was the one who ended the relationship. I’m not sad. I’m relieved!”

“I know that. But Mum can be a bit old-fashioned about this sort of thing. You know how she is. She means well enough and just wants you to have a nice day at the wedding.”

“If there’s food and wine and dancing, then I’ll definitely have a nice day whether I have a plus-one with me or not.”

“It’s not me you have to convince, Carole. It’s Mum. I just wanted to give you a warning that she’s lining up someone she hopes you’ll take to the wedding as your guest.”

Carole sighed. “Who is this random person she thinks she can pair me off with?”

“I have no idea. She was still rooting around for an unattached male when she mentioned all this to me. I think she’s been quizzing her friends about the marital status of their various sons and nephews.”

“Oh, God, that’s completely humiliating,” Carole cringed.

“So, now that you know what she’s up to, it won’t come as a complete shock when she announces that she’s found someone to be your wedding date.”

Carole let out another sigh. Her mother was incorrigible.

The doorbell rang. Still clutching the phone to her ear, Carole walked from the kitchen to the front door and peeked through the spyhole. Since she’d moved in, several neighbours had dropped by to introduce themselves and welcome her to Foxglove Street, and she expected to see yet another unknown but friendly face on her doorstep, wanting to say hello.

Earlier that evening, she’d had a visit from a nice older lady who lived further down the street, Olive Nimmo, who was a friend of her grandmother’s and who had chatted for a while over tea while Carole took a quick break from her kitchen redecorating work. She’d enjoyed the visit very much, especially as she got to meet the sweet little dog Olive was looking after, Elsa, which in turn led her to chatting to the neighbour over the fence, Grace, who Carole hadn’t met yet since moving in.

But while all this socialising was very welcome, given Carole’s enthusiasm for settling into Hamblehurst and making herself feel properly at home, it was later in the evening now and her arms were sore from all the painting work, and she was really looking forward to relaxing in the bath after another busy day spent wrangling her new house into order.

Meeting yet more neighbours wasn’t quite what she had in mind right now.

However, when Carole peered through the spyhole in the door, it wasn’t another new neighbour she saw there.

It was her parents.

Her mother, Nina, had a determined look in her eye as she pressed the bell a second time. Her father, Frederick, wore the expression of a man who was there under duress.

“Mum and Dad have just turned up at my door!” Carole hissed down the phone to Jane. “Mum has that ‘don’t mess with me, young lady!’ look on her face!”

“Oh no. Well, it sounds like I delivered my warning about her wedding guest plus-one shenanigans in the nick of time,” Jane said.

“Maybe I’ll just pretend I’m not in,” Carole whispered.

“Carole!” Nina called out from the other side of the door. “Are you there? I can hear you talking!”

“Busted,” Jane said. “Good luck.”

The line went dead. Carole peered through the spyhole again. At thirty-five years old, it was ludicrous that she should be terrified of her mother—or more accurately, terrified of her mother’s scheming antics—but there it was.

Carole stifled a sigh and pasted on a smile as she opened the door to greet her parents.