New Beginnings at The Birdie and Bramble

Book 1: The Birdie & Bramble series

by Alison Craig

Genres: Women's Fiction; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

'Fun, fab, fresh, joyful and awesome.' Netgalley Reviewer

Can going home be a fresh start?

The Birdie & Bramble used to have queues out the door, but when Maddy Campbell makes her way back to St Andrews after her father's sudden death, the restaurant and her future seems bleak. Especially when she discovers that the restaurant isn't worth a thing. Now Maddy needs to save the restaurant before everything her dad built falls apart, even if she is planning to head back to London any day now.

Then she meets Jack, utterly gorgeous and grumpy, which is very inconvenient when a single look from him makes her heart race. But when someone steps in to ruin her plans at The Birdie & Bramble, Maddy has to decide if she's going to stay and fight to save her dad's legacy and forge her very own new beginning, or run away again?

Release date: September 9, 2019

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 288

Sample

Half asleep, hair damp and out of control, I’m speed walking to the tube, like millions of other Londoners, on my way to work. Well when I say Londoner, I’m actually from Scotland but I’ve been down here nearly three years so I like to think I’m getting the hang of it.

For instance, when I get on the tube at Clapham South I go the wrong way. Intentionally. I know it sounds like I’m off my head but the fact is, if I go to the end of the line I can get a seat so when the train heads back into London I’m all set. By the time it stops at Clapham South I’m all tucked in, reading my book and watching as a few brave contortionists snake, twist and push their way into the jammed carriage. To be honest it’s hell, which is why over time I have developed the Top Five Golden Rules for Tube Travel for visiting friends and family.

They are as follows:

Rule 1.

Avoid eye contact. Don’t speak to people. Don’t say good morning. And for God’s sake don’t smile. Or you will be regarded as an alien or end up with a stalker.

Rule 2.

Carry reading material. A Kindle, a copy of Metro, the back of a packet of fags, anything rather than catch the eye of the staring man.

Rule 3.

There is always a staring man. There is one every tube, and at rush hour I suspect, every carriage, and Sod’s Law you will end up opposite or next to him; so eyes down at all times especially if you’ve ignored my advice in Rule 2.

Rule 4.

Download an app to keep you calm. This means if the train stops, for instance under the River Thames on the ancient Northern line it will stop you hyperventilating as you imagine the millions of tons of water pressing down on you, in the dark tunnel you are now trapped in. This will also reduce the possibility that you will grasp the arm of the alarmed woman next to you and burst out crying. So all you have to do is calmly pop in your earbuds, close your eyes and do some deep-breathing exercises.

Rule 5.

Never travel back on the tube if you’ve had a skinful late at night, as the odds are you will fall asleep and end up travelling back and forth on the underground all night or until such time as you wake up at a random stop and/or are murdered.

I learnt all of the above through personal experience, apart from the last one. And just to clarify I have fallen asleep for hours on the tube but I have not been murdered. Obviously.

So I reckon I’ve almost cracked the whole tube thing although as usual despite leaving over an hour for my journey this particular morning I was late. Again.

Arriving to the raised eyebrow of my nemesis and boss Felicity, I gave her a cheery smile, which she ignored, so I speedily made for my desk. Plopping my bag down I spotted a major ladder in my tights, from the ankle right up past my knee.

‘Bollocks,’ I muttered.

‘And bollocks to you too,’ said a grinning Marcus, passing my desk at that exact moment.

I felt my face redden and smiled back. He winked and walked on. Company policy was no relationships within the office.

‘Don’t shit on your own doorstep,’ was how it had been delicately put during induction.

I had no intention of doing any such thing.

Until Marcus. We had been seeing each other for nine and a half months. Well more than seeing to be honest.

The moment we met the equivalent of the Disney Fireworks went off in my nether regions and I could not get enough of him. He appeared to feel the same way and so we ignored company policy, launching headlong into a very physical relationship. Half the fun was the furtive looks, and secret assignations, regularly emerging from the boardroom, staff kitchen, a lift jammed between floors, an empty office, one after the other, flushed. The quest to remain undetected became our raison d’être – it was thrilling. Part of our elaborate dance was that we virtually ignored each other when there was anyone else in the room, which was how I was fairly sure we had avoided detection thus far.

It wasn’t easy. One reason being the aforementioned nemesis and pain in the arse Felicity.

Felicity and I had started at Go Radio on the same day as Graduate Marketing trainees three years ago and being fellow newbies, I naively thought we’d be allies. But it was clear from day one she was ruthlessly ambitious, as I watched her ingratiating herself with the powers that be in a laughably obvious fashion, giggling and carrying on like a helium-filled pony. Amused I watched from a distance then was astounded when about a year ago she stomped over to my desk on her vertiginous wedges and announced she was being promoted to Marketing Executive so would now be my boss. She said it with humour but the way she licked her lips I just knew she was going to relish her new-found power. And she did, bossing me around, undermining my contributions at marketing meetings and just yesterday when I tried to talk to her she actually held her hand up in front of my face indicating I should shut up until she was ready to hear what I had to say. I was spitting feathers.

The one thing that made working in the same office bearable was Marcus. She had no idea we were involved and she bloody loved him. As he was an advertising salesman she had no direct dealings with him but she would jump at the chance to talk to him and whenever he was on our floor, her eyes followed him like a vulture. He was well aware of the power he held over her and of what a bitch she was to me, so we would exchange knowing glances, just before he flashed his superstar grin in her direction, which always elicited an almost Tourette’s-like whinny of appreciation. This morning was no exception.

‘God, Marcus is looking particularly hot this morning,’ she mooned, letting her guard down momentarily as he disappeared out of sight.

‘Is he? I didn’t notice,’ I said stifling a grin, head down and fiddling about in my bottom drawer and retrieving the spare pair of tights I kept for such emergencies.

So the morning began very much like any other really.

Loads of emails needing attention, regular coffee machine trips to catch up on the latest chat and a brief interlude in the stationery cupboard with Marcus, which came to a very abrupt end as Felicity marched in unannounced. Without missing a beat, Marcus deliberately knocked over a box of pens causing enough of a distraction for me to leave as he crouched down to gather them all up. Felicity dropped to her knees willingly to help.

Holding back a snort of laughter, I wandered back to my desk, feeling more than a little hot under the collar when I felt my mobile phone, on silent, buzzing in my pocket.

Personal mobiles were frowned upon during hours of business but everyone pretty much ignored that policy too.

Glancing down at the screen I recognised the prefix as St Andrews, my home town in Scotland. Although I didn’t recognise the actual number, I decided to pick up.

‘Maddy?’ said a familiar voice.

‘Yes?’

‘Hello, dear. It’s Uncle Ted.’

My gut plunged. My dad’s oldest and dearest friend never phoned me. Ever.

‘I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news, dear. It’s your dad.’

Silence.

‘Maddy?’

I didn’t need to hear the actual words – gut instinct and worst fears took over – but hear the words I did.

‘There is no easy way to say this, darling. I’m so sorry to have to tell you – he died this morning.’

With those words, my world shifted on its axis.

As I was unable to speak, Uncle Ted picked up the slack. ‘We were playing golf, and he just keeled over on the eighteenth green. It was instant. It was as if someone flicked a switch.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Out he went, just like that. He sank his putt to win the hole and he just dropped there and then. He knew nothing about it.’

‘Oh God what a shock… Are you all right? When did it happen?’

‘Just after ten this morning.’

I looked at the clock; it was just before twelve.

‘Who was with him?’

‘The usual Monday foursome: me, Fraser and Stevie.’

His brother-in-law and his best friends in the world, friends since the day they started school together some sixty-five years earlier.

‘Are they OK?’

‘Well, obviously everyone’s very upset as you can imagine but never mind us, it’s you we’re worried about.’

Numb. Speechless. In shock. Poor Ted didn’t know what else to say. Hours seemed to pass. Finally he broke the silence. ‘OK, darling. You need time to take this all in, so I’ll leave you to collect your thoughts. Phone me back when you can.’

Felicity, give her credit, instantly understood something was very wrong and chose not to admonish me for using my personal mobile. Instead she watched me silently.

Marcus wandered past and though he looked concerned was apparently unwilling to acknowledge me in public, so with a quizzical look he ambled past.

Like an automaton I blurted it out: ‘My father’s dead,’ and burst into tears, after which Felicity took over. She demanded someone make me a cup of hot sweet tea, ordered a contract taxi to take me back to my flat, told the driver to wait whilst I collected my belongings and then to drop me off at King’s Cross Station. I hugged her tightly, feeling her stiffen under my grip, and thanked her profusely as she bundled me into the cab.

The journey North was something I usually relished but not today. I texted Ted to let him know what train I was on and then, avoiding the eye of the woman opposite me who looked like she wanted to chat, laid my head against the window. I watched inner city London slide past until the light changed as the train snaked up the east coast revealing the North Sea and green open countryside. I was on my way home to Scotland. My heart had never felt so heavy.

My last conversation with Dad had been Saturday 7.30 p.m. The only person who ever used the landline was Dad, so when it rang I answered it with a breezy ‘Hi, Dad!’

‘Hello, darling!’ his voice boomed warmly down the line. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Great thanks.’

‘Lovely, I was just…’ BZZZZZZZ. The front door intercom cut through our conversation.

‘Oh, Dad, sorry – that’s the buzzer. It’s Marcus in an Uber. He wasn’t due for another ten minutes. I’m sorr—’

BZZZZZZ. I cringed with irritation. He was so impatient. ‘Och don’t you worry – off you go,’ Dad said.

‘I’ll give you a shout tomorrow night…’

‘OK, darlin’, now off you go and enjoy yourself!’

‘Thanks, Dad. Lots of love,’ I’d chirped and without hearing his response replaced the receiver, rushing off without another thought.

Of course Saturday night with Marcus had gone into the wee small hours, which ruined Sunday morning, and by the time we crawled out of bed, brunch with friends was on the cards. Still feeling delicate after that we sloped off to the cinema and by the time I got back to the flat it was far too late to phone Dad and, being honest, it hadn’t even crossed my mind.

Hot tears welled; my chest tightened.

At any point on Sunday night I could have picked up the phone and called Dad. But I didn’t. Having had such a heavy weekend once I got back from the cinema I had run a bath and lain there, eating four slices of toasted cheese. After that I felt so gross I took root on the sofa to watch a couple of episodes of Game of Thrones and, prodding my podgy boozy tummy and feeling remorse for my lack of self-control, the last thing I wanted to do was talk to anyone. If that was all, I could have lived with it but, my heart beat quickened, as I lay there beached on the couch staring at the screen the landline rang.

I knew it was Dad – the only one who uses my landline. I knew it was him and yet there I lay like a slob, looking at the phone ringing and thinking, ‘Bugger it I’ll phone him tomorrow. I’m too tired.’ Slightly irritated as the ringing obscured the dialogue I pressed pause on the TV and harrumphed and lay there listening as it clicked onto answer and his gruff warm tones radiated round the room, ‘Hi Maddy, it’s just Dad. No message, just phoning to say hello. Hello!’ He chuckled as he replaced the receiver.

Phoning to say hello, and goodbye as it turned out.

My gut twisted. I was finding it hard to breathe.

Christ, when was the last time I had spoken to him properly? The horror of not being able to actually pinpoint that moment was too much to cope with. Had I really taken him for granted that much?

We saw each other at Christmas. Well when I say see, I arrived on Christmas Eve about 6 p.m., jumped in the shower and was off to the pub with Sarah and some of my old school friends at speed. An annual tradition that despite being twenty-nine was still adhered to. Dad knew that only too well. Every year I did it. So he knew I wouldn’t get back in until after closing time, and would be so hung-over on Christmas Day I could barely speak as he cooked the whole Christmas lunch for the two of us. No pre-packed bung it in the oven stuff here. No no no. A free-range turkey, bread sauce, home-grown Brussels, mini butcher’s chipolatas wrapped in smoked local bacon and his gravy, a thing of beauty having been reduced and cooked over many days.

Hours of preparation and all eaten in a matter of moments as we sat companionably opposite one another with skew-whiff paper hats on our heads. When Dad made a move to clear up afterwards I predictably said, ‘Don’t, Dad, I’ll sort it all out later,’ but as soon as I sat on the couch I fell into a Brussels-sprout-hangover-fuelled sleep.

When I awoke he was sound asleep, Norton recliner fully extended, snoring his head off, crass Xmas TV blaring, which I switched off, leaving him be, kissing him on the forehead and padding off to bed. In the morning when I got up he’d done all the clearing up. He always did.

The tradition then was a huge pot of tea and some yellow peril, as he called it – French toast to anyone else. But Dad had called it yellow peril since his Scout days, so I did too. After consuming slabs of sopping eggy bread, fried in generous doads of butter, drizzled with maple syrup, it was time for a head-clearing walk along the beach. Both wrapped up against the biting wind with scarves, hats, and long insulated coats we battled the elements and laughed loudly as Dad’s wee dog Frank ran in and out of waves, chasing gulls. With rosy cheeks and cleared heads we came home, put the kettle on and took root on the couch to watch Boxing Day TV.

With a twist in my gut I realised I couldn’t even recall what we spoke about. Nothing important. Nothing meaningful. Nothing that would leave him with the impression that I loved the very bones of him. The huge spade-like hands, twinkly blue eyes, his big undulating hooter – the family hooter, which he told me as a child I would likely grow into when I was about twenty-five. Twenty-nine now and it hadn’t come to pass, and despite knowing this was one of his silly stories, I still gave my face a good look in the mirror of a morning to see if it had started growing. His huge bendy thumb that he said made him one of the best guitar players in St Andrews and his shock of red hair, which he preferred to describe as spun gold. His thick head of hair had remained red as his friends over time became bald and sparsely thatched. He told them gleefully this was revenge for having been the brunt of every ginger joke on the planet since he was born. His way of telling a story: halfway through he would start laughing himself and be quite hysterical by the time he got to the punchline, which was irrelevant by then as everyone else was laughing uncontrollably too.

No, none of that. Nothing groundbreaking. Meaningful. Heartfelt. Just a meal. A snooze, a hangover, a walk, a laugh. Not the most auspicious way to say goodbye to your beloved father. But how could I have known? How could he have known? How could anyone ever know?

My first regret. And it was a biggie.

I’d planned to go up at Easter but then a chance came up to go on a last-minute skiing holiday with Marcus and when I phoned to suss him out, to see if he would be pissed off if I changed my plans, he said, ‘Maddy, don’t be daft. Go for God’s sake go! And if you don’t, I will!’ As I knew he would.

Dad taught me to ski in the mountains of Scotland when I was just five years of age, instilling in me not just a love of the mountains but a lifelong passion for the sport. We would take off early on a Saturday or Sunday morning for the two-hour drive to the slopes, with a packed lunch that would be eaten before we got halfway there. Neither of us able to resist the home-made Scotch eggs Dad rolled in foil warm from the oven before we left. Once parked, we would rug up in multiple layers of ski gear in the back of the car before spending the whole day on the slopes. From the tentative sliding on the nursery slopes to his undisguised pride as I skied for the school. He loved it as much as I did, and I knew when I told him about the last-minute opportunity that when he said ‘go for it’ he meant it, so off I went without a care in the world. A feeling, for the life of me, I cannot remember now.

I bought and wrote him a postcard and didn’t get it together to buy a stamp so that was dog-eared and stained in the bottom of my handbag when I flew home a week later. Then I was straight back to work and, well, life just took over. The months came and went and here we were just a few weeks later and…tears welled up.

Not now. Now was neither the time nor the place.

My gut twisted as I screwed my eyes shut, trying to retain control.

Five and a half hours later I arrived in Leuchars and right on cue there was Auntie Faye, deep concern etched on her face, scanning the faces of the emerging passengers streaming past her. Her eyes lit up when she saw me and just as quickly turned into limpid pools, filled with tears.

‘Och, Maddy, I am so so sorry,’ she whispered into my hair as she engulfed me. Now it felt real. Now the stone that had lain in the pit of my stomach since hearing the news rolled up nearly choking me. Dropping my bag I surrendered to the comfort and warmth of this lovely woman who had been more of a mother to me than anyone. With my legs like water, Faye ushered me gently to the car and, grinding the gears in her ancient rusty Volvo, drove us back to the farm just a few minutes’ drive away where Uncle Ted stood anxiously in the doorway looking out for us.

‘Darling,’ he said, opening the car door and helping me out. ‘Come here.’ He embraced me strongly. ‘Now, come on in, I think we could all do with a drink.’

Uncle Ted’s measures were well known to knock you into next week, which on this occasion was perfect.

I was shown through to the posh lounge, a sign of how remarkable a day this was. The ‘entertaining lounge’. The ‘always ready to receive visitors’ room. Lovely but formal, and immaculately kept. I had never actually been a guest in here, my role whilst growing up generally being to pass round crisps and nuts to any friends they were entertaining before rushing off to the TV lounge to watch rubbish, drink lemonade and eat crisps. I sat upright and managed to retain a façade of maturity and control as Faye fussed about producing bowls of nuts and crisps in an attempt to absorb the eye-poppingly strong gin I now held.

‘Now,’ said Ted as he settled into his chair and picked bits of imaginary fluff off his trouser leg, ‘I don’t want you to worry about a thing. We will take care of all the arrangements, Maddy.’ His eyes met mine. ‘You get to our age and sadly we know the drill.’ I looked back at him as he glanced at Faye who nodded sagely. He continued, ‘Some time ago Joe asked me to take care of his affairs. You know what he was like. A place for everything and everything in its place. Obviously with your mum not being around and you being the only child…’

I swallowed, unable to think of anything to say. Faye reached for her gin as he continued, ‘So…basically…you are the only beneficiary of the will.’

‘Ted! It’s a bit soon for all of this isn’t it?’ Faye admonished, putting her gin down with a clunk, registering the look on my face.

‘Oh sorry, dear,’ Ted said suitably cowed and turning back to her, and then to me. ‘I just wanted you to know you’re going to be…OK.’

None of this had even crossed my mind. I didn’t want anything. Any things. I didn’t want anyone, just Dad. I wanted to bury my face into the shoulder of his scratchy holey jumper with the vaguely doggy smell, as it stretched over his seven-pack as he affectionately called his tummy, as he sat at the kitchen table tying fishing flies and listening to Gardeners’ Question Time. And to kiss his whiskery cheek.

‘Oh right…’

By ‘OK’ of course he meant the restaurant.

‘The restaurant,’ confirmed Ted interrupting my reverie, ‘and Frank of cours.’

Frank the dog. I had completely forgotten about him.

What on earth would I do with him in London? Dad’s little hairy wingman as he called him. It was all completely overwhelming. I had no idea what to do or say. I drained my glass rather too quickly and put it down with a wobbly hand. I was completely worn out.

Now it was Faye’s turn. ‘Maddy, you must stay here for as long as you like. It’s been a terrible day, a terrible shock. You need time to come to terms with what’s happened…to adjust…so make yourself at home here. For as long as you like.’

I knew she meant every word, which on this day of feeling so lost and alone and with no idea what to do or say, helped.

‘Thanks, Auntie Faye – that’s so kind of you, but you know I really feel I need to get on with things. I need to keep moving and get home – no matter how hard it is.’

The truth was I was on the brink of losing it at any second and if I didn’t keep going I would have little choice but to give in to the overwhelming urge to take to my bed and never emerge. One step at a time. I had to keep going. I heard Dad’s voice in my head. ‘The show must go on.’

‘OK, darling, of course. One of us will drive you over tomorrow, whenever you’re ready. But for now it’s been a long day and if you don’t mind me saying – you look absolutely puggled.’

Tears sprang into my eyes as I nodded and hauled myself out of the chair. I silently hugged each of them before thanking them in a strangulated voice. After trudging upstairs to bed, I crawled under the covers, fully clothed, and cried myself to sleep.

The worst day of my life was over.

By 5 a.m. I was up drinking tea. Faye appeared about 7 a.m. in the old quilted M&S dressing gown I remembered from when I used to stay with them as a child. Finding me fully clothed and staring out over the fields to St Andrews she instinctively knew I wanted to get going. No point in postponing the inevitable. ‘Let me have a quick cup of tea, write a note for Ted and I’ll drive you home,’ she said patting my shoulder, not waiting for an answer.

Home.

Pulling up outside 125 North Street, my eyes filled with tears. Dad’s world. The restaurant, The Birdie & Bramble, was the place Dad could be found night and day, unless he was on the golf course. He lived above the shop, as he called it, in the flat upstairs and had done since before I was born. This was his place.

His home. His life. His golf clubs stacked in the shed out the back, his brother-in-law Fraser’s butcher’s shop right across the road. The flat was where he would lay down his weary head but he liked to be amongst the bustle and nonsense that revolved around the restaurant and the golf club.

We pulled up outside the restaurant just after 7.30 a.m. The Birdie & Bramble. The faded exterior bringing a myriad of emotions to the fore. I looked at the frontage as the car ground to a halt. ‘Thanks, Faye. Do you mind? I think I want to do this on my own,’ I warbled.

‘Of course, dear. If you’re sure?’ she said, turning and giving me a huge hug. ‘Right then…’ Her voice faltered. ‘I’ll phone you later to see how you’re getting on…’ she hesitated ‘…if you’re sure?’

I nodded, choked. ‘I am. Thanks. You’ve been brilliant…and I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ I said into her shoulder, hugging her back tightly.

We broke apart, both struggling to retain control. ‘OK, darling, let’s talk later,’ she said with fake breeziness as I pinged off my seatbelt, howked my bag through the gap between the seats and got out of the car.

As she drove away I saw Faye’s shoulders going. We were both in bits. Taking a deep breath I straightened myself up and squared up to the front of the restaurant.

The keys to Dad’s flat were burning hole in my pocket, which would have to wait. There is no way I could face that. It was too soon. Step by step. The Birdie & Bramble first. A glance at my phone confirmed it was too early to get the keys from the lawyer so I had no option but to face Uncle Fraser, Dad’s brother-in-law. He was up at the crack every morning to open up his butcher’s shop directly across the road, where we had always kept a set of spare keys. I knew as soon as I saw Uncle Fraser this nightmare would be even more real. I had no choice. It had to be done. I took a deep breath.

The old bell jangled as I opened the door. And there he was, Uncle Fraser in his blue and white butcher’s apron, ruddy-faced, in the same position I had seen him a thousand times. Looking up from the job in hand his face fell instantly from the robust pudgy-cheeked butcher’s grin he kept for his customers to one of great concern. He rushed round from his side of the counter. After wiping his hands on his apron he encompassed me in his great oxters, squeezing hard.

‘Och, Maddy. I canna believe it. We’re all just…devastated. It’s just bloody awful… I’m so sorry…really… Your dad…well…’ He coughed, struggling to retain control. ‘He was a great man…’ His voice rose an octave. ‘Like the brother I never had…’

Unable to speak I nodded into his shoulder. Eyes overflowing, I clung on to him. He signalled one of the juniors and clearing his throat managed to say, ‘Go and get the spare keys for The Birdie & Bramble, Jono.’ Wordlessly the boy scuttled off. Uncle Fraser held me at arm’s length, gripping my shoulders and looking directly at me.

‘Now, Maddy, do you want me to come over the road with you?’

‘Doh,’ I snottered.

He squeezed my shoulder harder, then released me and fished about in his pocket. He produced a scrunched-up hanky, which I took gratefully. ‘OK.’ He nodded. ‘But if you change your mind, or you want anything at all…we…well we are family and we are all in it together.’ He gestured with his arm round the shop, reddening. ‘I didn’t know whether to open or not – I didn’t know what to do but I couldn’t just sit at home and think about…you know… I have to keep busy… It’s not that I didn’t love the very bones of the man,’ he said as the boy stepped back into the room and handed him a battered white envelope, which he passed to me. I glanced down and saw Joe’s keys written in my father’s hand on the front. The boulder lurched up my gut.

‘I understand, Uncle Fraser, really. Really. Thanks,’ I managed to blurt out. ‘I just…I don’t…’

‘Shoosht, dear…’ He embraced me once more, and after coughing added in a cheerier tone, ‘Now would you like a cup of coffee or a bacon roll before…?’ He left the words unsaid.

I shook my head. ‘No thanks…em…’

‘Look, Maddy, there is no right or wrong way of doing this,’ he said, sou. . .