Make Do and Mend a Broken Heart

by Katey Lovell

Genres: Marriage & Divorce; Humor & Satire; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

When you know how, you can make anything from scratch, including a new life after love... When Leanne and Richard bought a dilapidated old seaside cottage to renovate together as their forever home, their future was full of hope and promise. But heartbreak was just around the corner: fast forward a few months and Richard is gone. With his death, Leanne finds herself stony broke, faced with an uninhabitable home and lacking even the basic skills to do it up herself. With the help of the friendly woman who runs the library and the reluctant assistance of the man who works in the local hardware shop, the cottage is lovingly restored. But broken hearts aren't so easy to fix... are they? Here's what readers are saying about Make Do and Mend a Broken Heart : 'An absolutely perfect contemporary fiction book' 'Emotional, uplifting and immensely enjoyable, Make Do and Mend a Broken Heart is a wonderful story about hope, fresh starts, moving on and healing that will touch your heart and soul' 'a superb story that will leave you feeling warm and fuzzy after reading... this book made me laugh and cry and I wish I could read it all over again and get to meet these amazing characters afresh' 'I am normally a hardened SF reader but all of Katey's books have me devouring them from cover to cover! Make Do is no different... Buy this book. Read this book. Tell your friends to do the same' 'This author is up there with the likes of Milly Johnson' 'A perfect break away from real life. It's a hug in a book' 'A beautiful, heartwarming story, perfectly told... for when you just need to escape for a while. Perfect!' 'A heartwarming uplit read... fantastic, engrossing, uplifting'

Release date: January 9, 2020

Publisher: Quercus Publishing

Print pages: 260

Sample

‘This is it, isn’t it?’ My voice was little more than a whisper. ‘This is the one.’

I turned to face my husband, looking for signs he felt the same way I did about this cottage. His beaming smile told me everything I needed to know.

‘I think so.’ He ran his hand along the dark-wood mantelpiece that framed the brass-trimmed gas fire. Plumes of dust jumped into the air, as though they were surprised to be disturbed. ‘It needs a lot of love, but we did say we wanted a project. This place would keep us busy for a while.’

He wasn’t wrong. The cottage was, as the estate agent had told us, full of potential and ripe for development. In other words, it was a mess.

One swift glance around the living room of Sea Glass Cottage had been enough to tell me what an enormous undertaking this would be – purely on a cosmetic level it needed a complete overhaul to pull it into the twenty-first century. The wallpaper, with its bold floral print in shades of mustard and orange, was barely clinging to the wall, and covered in speckles of ugly black spores, indicating the presence of damp. The dated carpet wouldn’t have been out of place in a pub, the red and black whorls reminding me of the Magic Eye books I’d obsessed over as a child. It made me feel giddy, as though I was walking through molten lava. The sensible part of me knew the floor wasn’t moving beneath me, but it was an elaborate optical illusion, and one I didn’t like. That carpet would have to go if this was to be our home.

But the decor was nothing compared to the structural work required. There, halfway up the dividing wall between the kitchen and the living room, was a gaping hole of at least four feet high and six feet wide. It was the focal point of the room.

The estate agent must have noticed me staring because he said, ‘As you can see, there have been previous efforts to renovate the house. After the owner died her family had hoped to knock through and create an open-plan living space downstairs.’

‘They didn’t get very far, did they?’ Richard chuckled, as he reached out and took my hand in his. He squeezed, his fingertips still chalky with dusty residue, and I hoped he wouldn’t be put off by the amount of work the place needed.

‘I don’t understand why anyone would want to knock through. This is already a decent-sized room.’

‘Small by modern standards, though, plus open-plan living is very popular with young professionals like yourselves,’ the agent said, with a knowing nod. ‘And with families, of course. Mum and Dad can prepare dinner at the same time as keeping an eye on the children. They probably thought it would widen the appeal.’

‘Maybe it would have, if they’d finished it,’ Richard muttered drily in my ear.

‘I don’t have a problem with smaller rooms,’ I said defiantly, already feeling somewhat protective of the little cottage. ‘They’re cosier. Not to mention quicker to clean.’

Richard laughed. ‘Now we’re getting to the bottom of it. Although I don’t know why you’re talking about cleaning. That’s my domain. I don’t think you’d know where to find the bleach and scourers.’

‘Excuse me! I clean the en-suite.’ Maybe not to my mum-in-law’s high standards, but still, I know one end of a toilet duck from the other.

‘You clean it because you’re the only one who uses it,’ he reminded me gently. ‘Anyway, I don’t mind. It’s quite relaxing after a day at the office to come home, snap on a pair of rubber gloves and start scrubbing.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘You’re weird, you know that?’

‘But you love me,’ he stated, squeezing my hand once more.

‘I do.’

Our eyes connected, the butterflies in my stomach going into overdrive as his face broke out into another smile. He was always smiling, my husband. The life and soul of every party, forever making jokey comments that would raise people’s mood. How lucky we were to have found each other on the first Friday of freshers’ week; how fortunate that I didn’t let the fact he was dressed in a hot dog suit, complete with a cheap red felt stripe of tomato ketchup down his middle, put me off.

Leanne and Richard. Richard and Leanne. Together sixteen years, married for nine. A lifetime to go, or so I thought.

We’ve put an offer in! Wish us luck!!!

Within thirty seconds of sending the message my phone was ringing. The theme to my favourite TV show blared out across the pub, much to the amusement of the locals.

‘I can’t believe you’ve put an offer in! You’re really going to leave me,’ my best friend Tess wailed. I could almost hear her pushing out her bottom lip like a toddler having a tantrum.

‘Come on, we’ve been threatening it for years,’ I replied.

‘I didn’t think you’d ever go through with it. People talk about leaving the city all the time, dreaming of getting out into the countryside, but they never actually leave. They say they will but they never act on it.’

‘Well, me and Richard are acting on it,’ I said, before taking a sip of my gin and tonic. Sharp enough to make me wince, just how I like it. ‘Fingers crossed Sea Glass Cottage in Rockgate Bay will be ours, all ours, before we know it.’

‘We’re going to live the dream, Tess,’ Richard called out, his dark hair falling in front of his eyes as he leant over to get closer to my phone. ‘This is everything Leanne’s ever wanted.’

And he was right. Ever since I was a little girl I’d longed to move to the seaside; to live in a picture-postcard detached cottage with a white picket fence and mature gardens bursting with life no matter what the season.

Sea Glass Cottage wasn’t that yet, but it could be. It had been love at first sight for both me and Richard, the fact it was falling down around our ears not putting us off in the slightest. The place had an aura that immediately felt like home, which was why we hadn’t even made it back to London to discuss our options. Instead we’d decamped to what we hoped would be our new local, The Driftwood Tavern, and promptly phoned the agents to offer the full asking price for fear that we’d lose out altogether if we tried to barter.

‘I’ll call you as soon as we hear,’ I promised, aware that the estate agent could be trying to get through at that very minute. ‘Just think, if it is accepted, then you and Jody can come and stay any time you like. Free holidays.’ Richard pulled a face, and I swatted my hand against his arm. He made no secret of the fact he wasn’t a fan of my best friend’s husband. ‘Love you, Tess.’

‘Love you too, Lea.’

After ending the call and putting my phone down on the table – face up, so I could immediately see the caller ID for anyone who rang – I gave Richard ‘the look’.

‘What?’ His eyes widened until he was the image of innocence.

‘You know what. Why were you pulling that face?’

‘Come on, do you even need to ask? Jody. He’s a waste of space. The amount of time he spends mucking around on his Xbox . . . He’s a fully grown man with responsibilities, not a teenager.’

Although I wanted to stand up for my best friend’s husband, it was not easy to. Richard was right. Tess might be Jody’s wife, but that man only had one great love – his precious games consoles.

‘Not everyone can be as lucky as we are,’ I opted for eventually, taking in my husband’s handsome features. People joke about the passion fading over time, but it hadn’t for us. Not only did it feel as though our life together was just getting started, but Rich got more and more handsome with every passing year. The little crinkles around his eyes that should be aging, the speckles of grey hair appearing around the curve of his ears – they only made him more attractive to me. Plus, he worshipped the very ground I walked on, and as much as the feminist in me hated it, that validation mattered. Everyone wants to feel loved, don’t they? Richard showered me with affection and wanted to make the life I craved a reality. I was lucky. It was a shame Tess hadn’t also found a man who made her his top priority.

‘That’s true. She deserves better. I wish everyone had what we have.’

As he leant over and kissed the top of my head, I nuzzled up to him, drinking in the fresh, crisp scent of his Tom Ford Neroli Portofino aftershave.

‘Do you think we’ll fit in here in Rockgate Bay? I mean, do you think we’ll make friends?’

‘You’re not getting cold feet already, are you? We haven’t even had the offer accepted yet.’ He glanced at my phone, as though by staring at it he could will it into action.

‘No, nothing like that. But London’s where our friends live, where we studied, worked, married . . . it’s where we were formed. People make it out to be a soulless capital city, but it’s not. It’s a community, and I’m going to miss it.’

‘It’s normal to feel wary, it’s a huge change for us both. It’ll be weird for me having to commute into the city twice a week after being able to hop on the tube, but it’s only an hour and a half from Whitstable to central London by train. We can visit our friends whenever we like.’ He twisted a strand of my almost-black hair around his finger. It was instantly soothing. ‘We’ll make new friends too, become part of this community. And we’ll always have each other.’

‘I know, you’re right. Talking to Tess made it all hit home, I guess.’

The screen of my mobile flashed white, my recognisable ringtone drawing more attention from the locals. I didn’t have time to worry what they thought about me, because the name, black against the white background, said ‘Gilbert and Harman’. The estate agents, calling with a decision that could change our future.

Swallowing down the lump that had built up in my throat, I forced out the words. ‘Hello? Leanne Newton-Forbes?’

I listened silently, processing what the woman I’d arranged the viewing with earlier in the week had to say.

Richard gestured with his hands, mouthing, ‘What’s she saying?’ but I shushed him, trying to concentrate on the voice at the end of the line.

My chest felt so tight I was convinced my T-shirt had shrunk. It took all my effort to remember how to breathe, but I managed to squeak a ‘thank you’ as the call ended.

‘Come on, come on, don’t keep me in suspense,’ Richard said, his hands nervously clutching the edge of the table as I slipped my phone into my pocket.

Relief washed over me and I finally allowed myself to relax. ‘They’ve accepted the offer. Sea Glass Cottage is ours.’

‘You’re sure you still want to go through with this?’ My mum’s Irish lilt turns thicker than ever, as it always does when she gets emotional. ‘No one would think any less of you for changing your mind after everything you’ve been through.’

I laugh bitterly down the phone. ‘Everything I’ve been through? Why talk in euphemisms, Mum? Say it like it is. What you mean is “since your husband got killed”.’

There’s an awkward pause and I feel vaguely guilty for being so blunt. Mum wants to help, even though what she’s suggesting is impossible. The lease on the London flat is now up and moving to Rockgate Bay is my only option. There is, after all, a house there that I own. Moving there alone might not have been the original plan, but it’s the reality and although the vendors have been patient and understanding, as has my landlord, I can’t put it off any longer.

I sigh. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just still hard to talk about Richard.’

His name seems strangely alien in my mouth; the hollow emptiness I feel makes my body as shell-like as the house I’m about to move into, as soon as the removal men load up the last of the furniture.

‘Of course it’s hard, Leanne, you’re grieving. The poor man’s only been gone three months.’

It feels like so much longer. My life is now divided into two parts – Before Richard Died and After Richard Died. I don’t know how I’ll cope without him by my side, my constant in a scary world. Moving to a small town, miles away from my friends and with my family living in Kerry . . . Daunting doesn’t cover it, but downright bloody terrifying comes close.

‘I’m going to have to go, Mum. The removal men are hurrying me along,’ I lie, lowering my weary body onto the bottom step of the stairwell. ‘I’ll let you know when I get to the house.’

‘I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but things will work out in the end, Leanne. I’ll be praying for you.’

My mum’s non-wavering faith brings a half-smile to my lips. Although I was brought up Catholic, other than high days and holidays I’ve not been to church in years, and recent events aren’t likely to draw me back into the fold.

‘Thanks, Mum.’

Clicking the button to end the call, I allow my head to fall forwards and for the tears that had threatened to drop to stream freely down my apple-like cheeks. I don’t know how I’ll survive, but there are no other options available to me. I’m moving to Rockgate Bay, for better or for worse, and I have to accept that I’m doing it alone. Richard’s gone, and he’s not coming back.

I gulp down the bitterly cold air to try and regain my composure before dragging the backs of my hands over my eyes and cheeks to wipe away the tears, and when I look up I find myself face to face with Tess and our big boss Suzanne.

‘What . . . what . . . ?’ I stumble, wondering why my former workmates are standing on the doorstep to my soon-to-be former home. ‘What are you two doing here?’ I manage finally, as I stand up and Tess thrusts a large cardboard box at me. It’s heavy in my arms as I take it from her, so heavy that I immediately lower it to the floor.

‘What the hell’s in here? Rocks?’ I joke, shaking out my hands whilst thinking I should join a gym when I get to Rockgate Bay. Tess carried the package with ease, but then she’s a gym devotee. Her stomach is washboard-flat, her arms shapely and strong. In comparison my muscles are weaker than weak.

‘Not rocks,’ Suzanne replies seriously, ‘but some staples you’ll need at the other end. Tea, coffee, biscuits, that sort of thing. The shops there aren’t open twenty-four seven and we knew you wouldn’t have thought of buying them in.’

‘And they’re not just Rich Tea,’ Tess adds. ‘I got those chocolate wheels you like from M&S. Life’s too short for shit biscuits.’

I smile gratefully at my friends’ kindness. ‘What am I going to do without you two?’

‘You’ll grow,’ Suzanne says, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder, ‘and you can’t escape us. Just because you’re not at Tyler-Waite Events anymore doesn’t mean you’re not part of our work family. Once you’re in, you’re in for life.’

Yet more tears prickle against my eyes at my work-mum’s words, and I wonder if I’ll ever reach the point where I’ll be able to rein in my emotions. Just when I think I’ve cried as much as I possibly can the floodgates open again, proving me wrong.

‘I’m going to miss you both so much. It won’t be the same without you two bickering over who’s going to make the coffees.’

‘You’ll be too busy renovating the house to miss us,’ Tess says. ‘I’ll be expecting regular before-and-after updates, though, especially of the guest bedroom. I’ve already told Jody our holiday this year is a week in Rockgate Bay with my best mate.’

‘It’s plenty big enough for you to come.’ I swallow down the hint of panic building in my chest at the thought of how much work awaits me when I reach the Kent coast. It might be big enough, but it’s a long way off being ready for guests. ‘Once it’s fit for visitors, I’ll be expecting you to be regulars.’

‘You just try keeping us away,’ Tess says, drawing me into an enormous bear hug. Her dark curly hair engulfs me, the coconut scent of her shampoo a comfort. ‘I’m going to get a season ticket on the trains just so I can visit you,’ she adds, as the skin-headed removal men come past, the black bin bags I stuffed full of my clothes when I gave up on packing properly slung over their shoulders as though they’re Santa on Christmas Eve.

‘That’s the last of it, love,’ says the taller of the two men. ‘Do you want to go and lock up and then we can get going. If we leave now, we should beat the worst of the rush-hour traffic.’

My chest spasms, the finality of his words hitting me like a sledgehammer. This is it. This is the end.

No, I think to myself, determined to be as brave as I can possibly be. This isn’t the end; this is a new beginning.

‘Give me two minutes.’

‘Do you want me to come up with you?’ Tess asks tentatively.

I shake my head. As tempting as it is to have my friend to lean on, I have to do this on my own.

Climbing the twenty-four steps up to the first-floor landing for what I know is the last time fills me with all kinds of emotions. So many times I’ve complained about the lack of lift, grumbling when I’ve struggled with bags full of shopping or when I’ve come home drunk and literally crawled up them, discovering red wounds on my knees the following morning where the hard-wearing carpet had grazed my skin. I didn’t always complain, though. On our wedding day Richard insisted that the threshold started at the main entrance and carried me all the way from the street to the bedroom in a fireman’s lift, my meringue of a wedding dress not hindering him one jot.

The door to the flat is ajar and I’m surprised by how much larger the space appears without all our stuff in it. Although most of the furniture belongs to our landlord so is staying put, it looks totally different without our things. The place looks grubbier now it’s emptier too, particularly in the middle of the beige carpet where the rug we bought on our Turkish honeymoon has been taken up, leaving behind a rectangle a few shades lighter than the carpet around it. I cast my eye around the living room, not even bothering to poke my head into any of the other rooms. I’m not going to find what I’m looking for here.

Whatever this place is, without Richard it’s no longer home. I turn around and close the door – on London, the flat and the past.

‘And that’s everything,’ says Dave, the smilier of the two removal men, brushing his hands together. ‘Not that you had all that much to bring.’

‘Starting afresh,’ I mumble.

‘Bet you could make a decent profit on this place, once you’ve done it up,’ he says, as though he’s Phil Spencer, not just a man with a van. ‘Although it’ll cost a fair bit to get it up to scratch, I reckon,’ he adds.

Fear gnaws at me from the inside, because although I’m trying to come across as upbeat and positive, now I’m back at Sea Glass Cottage it’s obvious how much time, money and effort it’ll take to make the place habitable, let alone ‘dream-home’ standard.

‘No plans to sell it,’ I reply, even though there’s a big part of me that’d love to put the house straight back on the market so I could run back to London where I’d be surrounded by my friends and familiar places. ‘This is my forever home.’

A tennis-ball-sized lump lodges in my throat as I realise what I’ve said. The forever home is what Rich and I called the house as we waited for the solicitors to wrap up the paperwork. We knew the cottage was a project, but it was one we were willing to take on together because the end result would be worth the effort. We’d have the house of our dreams, somewhere we planned to have children and where we could grow old together.

Never in a million years did I think I’d be here, near the white-faced cliffs, without him by my side, the sea crashing wildly against the sandy beach mirroring the anxious thudding of my heart.

But here I am, in Rockgate Bay. It’s time to be strong.

As the removal men drive away, I step into the cottage, assessing exactly what needs doing. I’m mentally prioritising jobs. The light in the hallway won’t switch on for starters, and although I hope it’ll be a case of changing the bulb and everything being fine and dandy, the fact the switch is dangling dangerously from the wall doesn’t fill me with confidence. The downstairs loo won’t flush, and the wooden bannisters are rotting away. It makes me nervous. What if the same can be said for the window frames?

The hole in the interior wall between the kitchen and the living room hasn’t magically disappeared either. The structural survey we had on the house assured us the wall isn’t load-bearing, but that doesn’t stop the pessimist in me worrying the rickety old place might fall down around me in my sleep.

And that’s just the downstairs, ignoring the cosmetic improvements that are needed: painting the place top to bottom, a new kitchen, new carpets throughout . . .

There’s a lot to tackle. What seemed like an adventure from afar looks like a lot of hard graft now I’m here.

Thank goodness for the dining room, a small space at the back of the house that the elderly previous occupant used as a bedroom. Its off-white walls and chocolate-brown carpet are hardly the stuff of show homes, but they’re perfectly fine. Richard and I planned to use the room as our base camp as, one by one, we made each of the rooms homely and welcoming. Now the thought of sleeping on a camp bed for goodness knows how long seems less romantic and more borderline insane, but I’m still going to bed down in the nicest room in the house. I don’t have a real bed anyway – my options are the airbed or a rock-hard futon Suzanne donated to us when she upgraded her guest room and bought a sofa bed.

I let out a long, noisy yawn, glad that I took up the removal men’s offer of pumping up the airbed. Tiredness seeps through my bones. I wouldn’t have the energy to try and make my way upstairs if I needed to. Thankfully I don’t, especially as, with no working light in the hallway and my torch buried somewhere at the bottom of one of the many boxes, it’d mean navigating a strange (and possibly unsafe) staircase in the dark.

Instead, I peel back the brown packing tape from the box Tess gave me, and smile as I pull out what she’s deemed ‘necessities’. Alongside the biscuits and the teabags (although there’s no kettle, which renders them pretty useless), there’s a ready-mixed can of gin and tonic, and a toiletry bag filled with toothpaste, a toothbrush, soap, wet wipes, a can of body spray and fifty hair bobbles. Then, at the bottom of the box, is a blanket in a shade of deep petrol blue. It’s soft and warm, the same texture as a teddy bear’s fur. I wrap it around my weary shoulders, trying to fool myself into believing it’s Tess herself folding me into one of her trademark hugs.

Then, without so much as removing my clothes or even bothering to turn off the light, I lie down on the airbed and, breathing in the stale air of my new home, fall promptly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

I wake the next morning with a crick in my neck, confused by my unfamiliar surroundings. My heart sinks as I come to. There’s no one here to help me – not Richard, not Mum, not Tess . . . It’s almost enough to make me bury myself back under the blanket and hide away, but I know that even if I do that today, I’ll have to face the world tomorrow. I can’t close myself off forever.

Pushing myself upright, I massage my joints, hoping to relieve the aches and pains. Getting my emotions in check will take longer, but a rub helps my physical discomfort. My body feels as though it’s a hundred years old, not thirty-four.

Unpacking is the last thing I’m in the mood for but it has to be done. I need a kettle, for one. I’m never going to be able to function without my shot of morning coffee.

‘Come on, Leanne,’ I mutter to myself. ‘Time to get moving.’

I don’t know what time it is, but the winter sun flooding through the window tells me I must have lain in.

Ignoring how much work needs to be done elsewhere, I se. . .