Epilogue
The following summer
“Do you remember when I said to you that I wish you were having a baby at the same time as me so we could meet up for lunch
and other stuff and I told you to go and find someone and get up the duff?”
“I do.” Sabrina laughed and nudged the woman at her side affectionately as they strolled. “You can’t say that I didn’t listen.
Oh, it’s so good to see you again.”
It was good to see her too. Sheridan and baby Alexander. And her soon-to-be-born second son, giving her more sciatica fun.
“I need to sit,” said Sheridan. “Quick, let’s nab that bench.” They sat down on it and Sheridan applied the brake to the pram.
Alexander was fast asleep, knocked out by the warm sea air.
“You look happy, Sabrina Bonetti,” said Sheridan, giving her friend the once-over. “I wondered if I’d get used to your new
name, but it was easy. And you look happier than Polly Potter ever did. Although if you had married Chris, your name would
have been Polly Barrett, which would have been comedy gold.” Sabrina hooted with laughter. A lucky escape then, in more ways
than one.
“I am happy,” she said. She’d had fun arranging her own wedding, picking her own dress—ivory and fitted—and they’d had a pizza and pasta reception in the restaurant.
Flick had been her bridesmaid—in sage, not beige—and George had been Teddy’s best man.
Sheridan and Dmitri had been there, and Will had come up from Bournemouth for it.
He was living his best life down there and was forever grateful she’d helped him find the confidence to take the leap of faith.
“This is bliss. I might have to come here a bit more often,” said Sheridan, tilting her head back and letting the sun warm
her face.
“You’re welcome anytime.”
Sabrina looked across the road at Teddy’s and the tables on the pavement full of people eating, drinking. Inside the restaurant
the hatch had been widened so that diners could see the internal workings of the kitchen and the big, handsome chef putting
his all into every dish he made and the Greek pizza chef flinging circles of dough into the air like a seasoned circus performer.
Occasionally they’d bicker loudly that each was in the other’s way and George would tell the chef that it wasn’t his idea
to have his pizza oven moved and he preferred it in the back where he didn’t have to see his stupid Italian face so much.
And so often the reviews on Tripadvisor would read that this double act should be on a stage.
The “Ready Teddy Go” takeaway service had been a huge success. They’d had to take on more staff to cope with demand: one from
Rome and two from Athens. All three of them suitably loud.
George and Marielle had been a solid item since he’d escorted her to the theater to see My Big Fat Greek Wedding , with a meal afterward—Greek, of course. He said that he wanted to take her somewhere decent to eat for once.
Flick was home for the summer after her first year at university. She knew as soon as she landed there that she was in the
right place and she was always on the phone to her new sister-in-law talking over her assignments and asking advice. Relations
with her mum were improved. Cilla would always be a pain in the arse, but she was at least trying not to be one all of the
time.
The shop that was once going to be a Ciaoissimo was now a popular antiques center.
Ciaoissimo was no more. Its ship had sunk into its own murky waters and taken its crew with it, but its story kept the newspapers fueled for months.
The winds of change had blown through the council, and by all accounts, it was a far better place to work these days with councilors being voted in in the local elections who cared very much about their constituents.
“So do you fancy doing a bit of virtual admin work for us then?” asked Sabrina.
“Abso-flaming-lutely,” replied Sheridan, opening up one eye. “I need something adult to do. I’m at the stage where I want
to hunt down Peppa Pig with a sawn-off shotgun.”
“It’ll be great to have you on board.” Sabrina grinned. “Only if we can have some sort of online version of confectionery
tennis, though.”
“Deal.”
Working with Phil and Dave again was like being back in the old days with Alan Eagleton. They’d called themselves Yorkshire
Eagles in Alan’s honor, they told her. No one better to be with them in spirit.
Sabrina sometimes did some creative writing. She’d joined a class in the next town: the Slattercove Nibs. She didn’t need
to finish her novel, though, because Sabrina Bonetti couldn’t write a happier ending for Sabrina Anderson than she was already
living. Her own story now included a house she and Teddy were about to complete on, with thick stone walls, a creaky staircase,
and a cottage garden overflowing with roses of all colors. And a kitten that Teddy had given her for her birthday, naughty
and ginger and partial to a lump of cheddar. They’d called him Cheese.
Sabrina felt a quiver inside her. Baby Bonetti was growing a little more every day. She was the size of a pomodoro at the moment. Teddy had put a poster up in the restaurant so they could chart the progress in Italian fruits.
She followed her friend’s lead, leaned back against the bench, and let the sun take her face between its hands, like Teddy Bonetti often did before he kissed her and told her that she was all of his best dreams come true.
She wasn’t sure it was legal to be this content, but she was milking it for all it was worth.
She was a living lesson to anyone who was lost that they could be found, that changes could be messy and scary but ultimately magnificent.
And that there was a right place for everyone, where they could live their happiest-ever-afters—and this, here with these wonderful people, was hers.