Promise Me

by Jill Mansell

Genres: Women's Fiction

Synopsis

'I completely adored it . . . Brimming with warmth, heart and jolly good fun' Cathy Bramley

'An absolute joy from start to finish' Veronica Henry

'Jill knocks it right out of the park with this fabulous story of love and friendship' Milly Johnson

One minute Lou is happily employed, with a perfect flat. The next, her home and job have gone. Suddenly she has to start over.

The last thing Lou wants is to move to a tiny Cotswolds village. She certainly doesn't intend to work for curmudgeonly eighty-year-old Edgar Allsopp. But Edgar is about to make her the kind of promise nobody could ignore. In return, she secretly vows to help him fall in love with life again.

Foxwell is also home to Remy, whose charm and charisma are proving hard to ignore. But Lou hasn't recovered from the last time she fell for a charmer. She needs a distraction - and luckily one's about to turn up.

Secrets never stay hidden for long in Foxwell, nor are promises always kept. And no one could guess what lies ahead...

Release date: January 19, 2023

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 416

Sample

‘How much?’ The old man ahead of Lou at the supermarket checkout was glaring in disbelief at the female cashier.

‘Oh now, you always say that.’ The cashier was evidently accustomed to his crabbiness. ‘And the prices haven’t changed since last week, my love.’

‘They’re too high anyway. Shouldn’t be allowed. And don’t call me love.’ Paying with his credit card, the man took the plastic carrier she’d packed for him and limped over to the sliding doors, giving them a clunk with his walking stick when they opened too slowly for his liking.

‘One day he might actually say thank you and I’ll fall off my chair in shock,’ the cashier observed with a good-natured smile as she rang up Lou’s bottle of Merlot and box of apple doughnuts.

‘I’ll say it for both of us,’ said Lou. ‘Thank you, thank you.’

Outside, it was a bright but blustery August afternoon and the old man was still making his way slowly across the car park. As Lou paused at the exit, wondering whether to break into the doughnuts now, she saw him brush past a dilapidated van with its crumpled bumper hanging off. The next moment, the sharp side of the bumper caught the plastic carrier in his left hand. The man, taken by surprise by the sudden tug backwards, lost his balance and fell to the ground, the bag flinging its contents around him.

Racing over, Lou only had time to say, ‘Are you—’ before the walking stick swung round and clonked her on the head. Clutching her ear, she yelped, ‘Ow.’

‘And there’s plenty more where that came from, I can tell you.’ The old man brandished his stick fiercely. ‘Help, call the police, I’ve been mugged!’

‘What? There wasn’t any mugger.’ Lou gestured around the empty car park.

‘You tried to mug me. HELP.’

Honestly, what was he like? ‘I’m not a mugger. You caught your bag on that broken bumper there. I came over to see if you’re OK.’

‘How can I be OK when I’ve just been attacked?’

‘Nobody attacked you, you lost your balance and fell over. Look, are you hurt? Do you need me to call an ambulance?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I need you to pick up my shopping. Can you at least do that? Look at it all.’ He gestured with irritation at the former contents of his bag, now strewn around them.

‘Fine, let’s get it done.’ There was a gaping hole in the side of the carrier, so Lou stuffed the Merlot and doughnuts into her shoulder bag and used her own. In less than a minute she’d collected up the assorted tins, packets and ready meals for one. ‘Now, how about you? Any pain?’

The old man shook his head. He’d crumpled rather than crashed to the ground.

‘Want me to help you up, then?’

‘No, I’d just like to sit here like a lemon for the next twenty-four hours. Of course I want you to help me up.’

Lou moved behind him, placing her arms under his and lifting him to his feet. ‘There you go.’ She passed him his walking stick. ‘Right, where’s your car?’

He pointed to an old grey Mini and she accompanied him over to it. When she’d put the bag of shopping in the boot, the old man shook his head and said, ‘Oh for God’s sake.’

‘What’s wrong?’

Producing a pair of spectacles and a single lens from his coat pocket, he held them up so she could see the broken frame. ‘I must have landed on them when I fell.’ He looked at Lou as if it were all her fault. ‘How am I going to get home if I can’t see where I’m going?’

He obviously couldn’t walk any distance. ‘Taxi?’

‘No. Can you drive?’

‘I can, but I don’t have a car at the moment.’

‘That’s not a problem, is it? I do.’ He held out the keys. ‘You can take me home.’

He was saying it as if it were the only option. ‘Where’s home?’

‘Top of the hill. Not too far.’ Then, when she still hesitated, he added irritably, ‘It’s insured for any driver.’

‘And how would I get back?’

‘You’ve got legs, haven’t you?’

Lou heaved a sigh. This was getting silly now; she’d got herself into a situation with a truculent pensioner who was a stranger to manners. And much as she wanted to say no to his demand, her conscience wasn’t letting her. She knew why, too; it was those ready meals for one. He was grumpy because he was old, in his mid eighties at a guess. He was on a tight budget and presumably his wife had died. He was lonely and miserable, unable to walk without the aid of a stick and probably in constant pain from rheumatism or arthritis. She’d noticed the individual meals when he’d lined them up on the conveyor belt in the supermarket, but they’d looked even more heartbreaking strewn around him on the tarmac out here in the car park.

Plus, she’d always been a soft touch. Of course she couldn’t walk away. Taking the keys from him, she said, ‘Come on then, let’s get you home.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘And no speeding, either.’

He directed her out of the town and up a steep, winding lane overhung with trees and dappled with sunlight.

‘Keep going,’ he instructed. ‘Mind the bend. Now slow down, it’s up here on the left.’

Lou had been expecting a tiny cottage, maybe a bit dilapidated to match the dented grey Mini with its dusty tyres and scratched paintwork.

‘Where now?’ She paused on the gravelled driveway.

‘You turn the engine off. We’re here.’

‘But where’s your home?’

Irritated, he said, ‘Are you blind? It’s right there in front of you.’

He was gesturing at the majestic Georgian property constructed from custard-coloured Cotswold stone and overlooking the small town like a Roman emperor surveying his subjects. It was solid and square, with symmetrical rows of six-paned sash windows on three levels, a silver-grey slate roof, wisteria climbing up the walls and impressive stone pillars flanking the front door. Was it one of those grand country residences that had been carved up into many smaller apartments? Or could it be a retirement home? Either way, Lou was impressed. Switching off the ignition, she ran round to open the passenger door and helped him out before collecting his shopping from the boot. ‘Here you are.’

He didn’t take it. ‘Bring it inside, will you?’

Oh well, it wasn’t as if she was in a hurry to be anywhere else for a while. She waited as he unlocked a door at the side of the property, then followed him along a couple of corridors until they reached the kitchen.

It wasn’t a retirement home then. Nor, from the look of the place, had it been divided into separate apartments.

‘Will you put the food away for me?’ He located a tube of Superglue in a drawer, then sat down at the scrubbed oak table to fix his broken spectacles.

Lou took a packet of two small frozen fishcakes out of the bag. ‘Where’s your freezer?’

‘Through there, in the utility room.’

She grinned. ‘So ten minutes ago you thought I was a mugger, yet now you’re happy for me to poke around your house.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s the utility room. I don’t keep sacks of diamonds in there.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘And I didn’t say I was happy either. It’s just a job that needs doing. And my leg hurts.’

The kitchen had a dusty, uncared-for feel about it, as did the utility room. Returning to get on with the unpacking, Lou said, ‘Do you live here on your own?’

He nodded, opened a biscuit tin that was on the table and heaved a sigh upon seeing it was empty.

‘But you have someone to help out?’

‘No.’

Poor man, he sounded so weary, so resigned to being unhappy and alone. ‘Did you lose your wife? I’m so sorry.’

‘What? I don’t have a wife. Never been married.’ He regarded her with fresh suspicion. ‘How can you not know that?’

Lou gave him a look. ‘Maybe I haven’t read your autobiography.’

Realisation dawned. ‘Are you not from around here?’

‘No. I live in Selly Oak.’

‘Sellywhat?’

‘It’s in Birmingham.’ She put the last few items away in the fridge, which was crammed with out-of-date food.

‘You can put the kettle on now. Tea bags are in the blue tin. So what are you doing in Foxwell, then?’ His tone was accusing.

‘Visiting a friend. We were at school together in Cheltenham.’ He was making conversation because he was lonely, she realised, though of course he’d rather die than admit it.

‘What’s her name?’

‘It’s a he. Sammy Keeler.’

‘Keeler? One of the brothers, you mean? Which one’s Sammy – the scruffy one with red hair? Always playing that damn guitar of his?’

As a succinct description, it was spot on. ‘That’s him.’

‘Not your boyfriend, is he?’

‘No.’

‘What’s the other one called?’

‘Remy.’

‘That’s it. Two sugars. And don’t take the tea bag out until it’s done its job.’

Lou’s phone rang as she was stirring his mug of tea.

‘Hey,’ said Sammy, ‘are you there yet? I’m sorry, there’s a problem with the train at Didcot and I’m not going to be home for another hour at least.’

‘No worries, I’m fine. I’m in someone’s kitchen,’ Lou said cheerfully. ‘We met in the supermarket car park, then he broke his glasses so I had to drive him home.’

‘Who is it?’ Having grown up in Foxwell, Sammy knew everyone.

‘I don’t know. He lives in a big house at the top of the hill. It’s Sammy,’ Lou explained to the man sitting at the table. ‘He’s asking who you are.’

‘Allsopp.’

OK, bit of a funny name, but that wasn’t his fault. Going back to Sammy, Lou said, ‘His name’s Allsopp.’

‘Do you mean Edgar Allsopp?’ Sammy started to laugh. ‘Whoa! Are you telling me you’re at Walton House?’

Walton, yes, that had been the name carved into one of the stone pillars guarding the entrance to the driveway. If she’d been on her own, she might have joked, ‘Are you telling me he’s a mad axe murderer?’ But since Edgar was sitting less than six feet away, she said, ‘That’s right! I’ve just made him a mug of tea.’

‘Good luck. He’s a miserable bugger.’

She flashed Edgar a bright smile. ‘I agree!’

‘But if anyone can handle him, I guess it’s you. Look, I’ll call again in a bit, OK? I should definitely be home by six.’

When she’d put her phone away, Lou fished the tea bag out of her own mug and carried it over to the bin. As she reached it, her foot skidded and she almost went flying into the wall.

‘Clumsy,’ said Edgar.

‘There’s something on the floor. It’s like an ice rink.’ Crouching, she tested the surface with her hand. ‘Did you spill oil on it?’

‘No.’ He bristled. ‘It was butter.’

‘Well, you can’t leave a floor in this state. It needs cleaning up.’

Edgar looked horrified. ‘What, with my knees?’

Shaking her head, Lou located an ancient scrubbing brush in the cupboard under the sink and filled the washing-up bowl with hot soapy water. As she scrubbed away at the black and white tiled floor, she said, ‘You should get someone to come in and do this for you.’

‘I did have someone. She left, same as all the rest of them.’ He pointed at an area beneath a chair. ‘You missed a bit.’

She sat back on her heels and looked at him. ‘Any idea at all why they might not have wanted to stay?’

For a split second, Edgar looked as if he might be on the verge of breaking into a smile. It didn’t happen. He said, ‘Too lazy, too afraid of an honest day’s work,’ and took a gulp of tea.

‘Strong enough?’

‘How would I know? I didn’t ask them to lift the fridge over their heads.’

It was Lou’s turn to smile. ‘I meant the tea.’

‘Oh. It’s OK, I suppose. Could do with a bit less milk.’

When she’d finished scrubbing the floor, she said, ‘Look, why don’t you write out an advert and let me put it in the newsagent’s window for you? I can do it when I leave here. Get yourself someone who can come and tidy the house up once or twice a week, how does that sound?’

He sighed as loudly as if she’d asked him to run a marathon. ‘I’d need them here more often than that.’

‘Fine, then say it!’

She found a pen on the dresser along with a battered tear-off pad. When she placed them in front of him, Edgar said, ‘You can write it. Six mornings a week, general cleaning, cooking and helping out.’ He paused, then added generously, ‘They can have Sundays off.’

Lou wrote everything down as he dictated his phone number. When it came to the hourly rate, she said, ‘Employers generally pay a bit more than that,’ and with a sigh of annoyance, he upped it.

‘I’ll take this to the newsagent’s and copy it out onto one of the postcards so it’ll slot into the message board in the window.’ She dropped the folded sheet of paper into her bag. ‘What’s the name of the woman who runs the shop?’

‘How would I know?’

‘How long have you lived here?’

‘I was born here. Moved to London, then came back thirty years ago, after my parents died.’

‘In that case, maybe you should find out her name. She’s lovely, really friendly. We had a great chat while she was watering her hanging baskets outside the shop.’

‘Hmph. Wait a minute.’ He held out the pen as Lou hoisted her bag over her shoulder. ‘Write down your number before you go.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I might want to call you. How long are you down here for anyway?’

‘Just the weekend. Heading home on Sunday.’ Scribbling the number on the notepad, Lou was briefly tempted to get it a bit wrong. But no, she couldn’t bring herself to do that; it wasn’t the kind of person she was.

‘Do you have a job?’ said Edgar.

‘I do. I work as a carer. And I love it,’ she added, because people sometimes liked to question her choice of career and she didn’t need to get into that right now.

‘Got kids?’

‘No.’

‘Husband?’

‘Not any more.’

‘Left you, did he?’

‘Kind of. He died.’

At this point, anyone else would have exclaimed, ‘Oh my goodness, how terrible. I’m so sorry.’

Not Edgar, though.

‘When did that happen then?’

‘A year ago.’ Just over eleven months. Near enough.

‘And how did he die?’

‘Covered in trifle.’ Lou winced; she hadn’t meant to utter those words aloud. They’d spilled out in response to the mental image her brain had conjured up.

After a second’s startled silence, Edgar gave a bark of laughter. It sounded rusty, as if he wasn’t used to doing it, which didn’t exactly come as a surprise. He put down his mug, sloshing tea over the rim onto the table. ‘What does that mean?’

It was wrong of her to have said it. She shook her head and moved towards the door. ‘Nothing. No need to get up, I’ll see myself out.’ Not that he’d shown any sign of rising from his chair. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll put the ad in the newsagent’s window.’

‘Bye.’ Edgar had already lost interest and was dragging a copy of last Sunday’s Telegraph across the table towards him.

Lou left the house and pulled the heavy door shut behind her. Of course he hadn’t said thanks. Just as well her choice of career meant she was used to dealing with all kinds of people. Even cranky, ill-mannered old men like Edgar.

The woman behind the counter said chattily, ‘Of course you can! For two weeks to begin with? Who’s it for?’

Lou braced herself. ‘His name’s Edgar Allsopp.’

‘Oh my word. Still on the hunt then, is he? Thought he’d given up. Sorry.’ The woman flashed a bright smile. ‘Relative of yours, is he?’

‘Not at all. I just met him this afternoon, drove him home in his car after he had a fall. He’s . . . quite a character,’ said Lou.

‘That’s one way of putting it. Another way would be to say he’s a complete nightmare.’

‘Sounds like he’s had a few home helps in his time.’

‘Ha, more than a few. They don’t last long, mind. My cousin worked up there for a week and he was impossible. She walked out after he complained about her singing as she was hanging out the washing in the garden.’

Lou grinned. ‘Good luck to the next one then.’

‘It’s a pound a week to keep an ad in the window.’

She found two pounds in her purse and paid. As she did so, her phone burst into life, playing the opening chords of a song that told her it was a text from Sammy.

‘Now why do I recognise that tune? Sorry, just me being nosy! It’s familiar, but I can’t place it.’

The text said: Moving again, should be home by 5.30.

‘It’s one of my friend’s songs. Sammy Keeler?’

‘Oh, of course it is. I heard him playing it outside the pub a few weeks ago. Such a lovely lad. Never gives up, does he? Just keeps plugging away, working his little socks off. Ah, it’s a shame.’

‘He’s playing a gig at the Bear tonight,’ Lou said. ‘That’s why I came down from Birmingham, to give him some support and cheer him on.’

‘Ah, bless your heart, what a good friend you are.’ As the woman slotted the postcard-sized advert into the row of polythene pockets in the window, she added sympathetically, ‘Don’t go expecting a big crowd, mind. You might be the only one.’

The wind had now dropped and the air was warm, which made sitting on one of the wooden benches beside the river no hardship at all. Having bought herself a takeaway coffee and a sausage roll from the café, Lou watched a family of quacking ducks chase after the pastry flakes she scattered on the grass, until between them the sausage roll was no more.

The shards of sunlight dancing on the surface of the water were dazzling, and she took out her dark glasses. It was nice to use them for their designated purpose, rather than for shielding her eyes from the curious gaze of others.

After Brett had died, memories of him had dominated pretty much her every waking thought. Now, almost a year on, it happened less often, but they were still there, like the reeds trailing from the riverbanks, undulating like hula skirts just below the surface of the water. Taking a sip of coffee, she found it happening again now, various significant scenes jump-cutting from one to the next, covering the two-year duration of their relationship.

It had all started so well – OK, of course it had, otherwise she would never have agreed to a second date, would she? And think of all the anguish that could have been avoided if that hadn’t happened.

But the night she and Brett had first met had been so brilliant and had felt so right. It had seemed like a sign, a premonition of the future. Which just went to show how wrong you could be. Truly, you never could tell.

She’d been out with a group of friends from the nursing home where she was working at the time. After drinks in town, they’d all moved on to a nightclub. Not long after their arrival, on her way back from the loo, a tall, broad-shouldered man had approached her with a beaming smile and exclaimed, ‘Lou! Hello, you’re looking stunning tonight!’

He had nice eyes and an open, trustworthy face, and was clearly delighted to have bumped into her. Lou racked her brains, came up with nothing and admitted she couldn’t place him.

‘Oh dear, that’s my ego battered.’ But he was laughing, hadn’t taken offence. ‘Brett Miles. And it’s great to see you again, even if you don’t remember me.’

‘I’m really sorry. I work at the Elms in Edgbaston, if that’s where I know you from. Maybe you saw me there while you were visiting a relative.’

‘No, that’s not it. Look, I was just on my way to the bar. Can I get you a drink? Then I’ll give you some clues. Honestly, though, I can’t believe you’ve forgotten.’

Her friends were busy giving it their all on the dance floor. Intrigued, Lou accepted his offer of a drink, then spent the next twenty minutes sitting at a table with him, trying to work out when they’d previously met. Because just look at him, and he was so nice, how could she not remember someone like him?

Finally it was time to come clean. Brett admitted he had never seen her before tonight. Instead, he’d noticed her the moment she came into the club and had overheard one of her companions calling her name as they’d queued at the bar.

‘Sorry.’ He looked rueful. ‘I’m no good at chatting up girls. I was desperate to speak to you but didn’t trust myself not to mess it up. And you only get one chance to make a first impression, right? If I’d asked you to dance, you’d probably have said no. It’s not easy trying to keep someone’s attention when they’re out with their friends. I thought if I pretended to know you, at least it’d give me a few minutes before you lost interest and walked off.’ His shrug was self-deprecating. ‘There, confession time over. I did it because I just had this feeling about you, that if I didn’t give it a try, I’d never see you again, and then I’d regret it for the rest of my life.’ He paused. ‘And that was my best shot. Sorry again. If you’ve had enough of me, I’ll understand. Feel free to go back to your friends.’

Charmed by the reason behind his fib, Lou said, ‘What if I haven’t had enough of you?’

His smile widened. ‘Really? Well, that would make my day. Actually, it wouldn’t, it’d make my week, my month . . . maybe even my year.’

‘Steady on,’ said Lou, and her stomach flipped as it crossed her mind that this could be the start of something significant.

‘I know.’ He was grinning now. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before. Getting a bit carried away. Do you . . . No, forget it, nothing.’

There it was again, the swirl of mounting anticipation. ‘What were you going to say?’

‘Do you think you might feel the same way?’

It was like being in a movie, with the rest of the nightclub fading into the distance and the camera moving in for a close-up of just the two of them while the cinema audience, entranced, held their breath.

Her own breathing shallow and her heart feeling as if it might burst, Lou heard herself say, ‘I think I might.’

And that was when they’d shared their first kiss.

‘So you managed to escape, then.’ The voice behind her made Lou jump. And there was Sammy, as sweet and scruffy as ever, giving her a hug then throwing himself down onto the wooden bench next to her. ‘Thought you might have been tied up and chucked in the cellar.’

‘By Edgar?’ she protested. ‘He didn’t even try. He doesn’t do weird stuff like that, does he?’

‘Just teasing. He’s five hundred years old. Anyway, you’re looking good.’ He planted a kiss on her cheek.

‘Thanks.’

‘Now you have to tell me I’m looking good too.’

‘You’re looking exactly the same as you always look.’ Lou regarded him with genuine affection; sartorial elegance was never going to be Sammy’s thing. His rust-red hair was collar length and fluffily dishevelled, his freckles stood out against his pale skin and he was wearing comfortable old jeans and trainers with a blue and grey striped shirt and a black waistcoat that was missing two silver buttons. In all honesty, she’d seen more smartly dressed scarecrows, but Sammy’s outfits were a part of his personality, and to dress him up like a Ken doll would be all kinds of wrong. People loved him for who he was, not what he wore. And no one who met him could fail to be won over by his friendly manner, kind eyes and impish grin.

Well, apart from Edgar Allsopp, obviously.

‘I still remember the first time I came here,’ Lou said as Sammy unlocked the front door and stood aside to let her into Riverside Cottage. ‘It still has that same gorgeous smell of stone and firewood and beeswax. And your mum was so brilliant.’

‘She still is. And a lot more suntanned these days. I told her you were coming over, by the way. She sends her love.’

Lou’s own mum had died when she was twelve. A year after that, not long after she and her dad had moved up from Exeter to Cheltenham, Sammy Keeler from her class at her new school had invited her along to his thirteenth birthday party and her dad had driven her over here to Foxwell. The party, held in the back garden of Riverside Cottage, had been raucous and chaotic, with a treasure hunt, karaoke and a tree-climbing contest. Lou had been at the stage of grieving where having a good time inevitably filled her with guilt, because what if people thought it meant she hadn’t loved her mum as much as she should have?

But without even having met her before, Sammy’s mother had sensed the turmoil she was going through. Thin and blonde, wearing a tie-dyed orange top, a pair of yellow shorts and loads of jangling bangles, she’d approached Lou while a couple of the other boys from her class were racing to climb the cedar tree and said easily, ‘You know, your mum would be so happy to see you having fun and enjoying yourself.’ She’d then given Lou’s shoulder a quick reassuring squeeze before offering her a burger and moving on.

Lou remembered that day so clearly. It had felt like being given permission to be happy again, and the sense of relief had been incredible, because Sammy’s mother was right. Her own mum had loved her to the moon and back; of course she wouldn’t want her to be miserable for the rest of her life.

She hadn’t planned on entering the tree-climbing contest, but ten minutes later, when Sammy had yelled across the garden, ‘OK, who’s next?’ Lou had found herself calling out, ‘Me!’

And with a highlighter pen tucked into the back pocket of her jeans so she could mark the highest point reached, she’d clambered up like a monkey, beaten everyone else’s best efforts and been rewarded with both a surprised cheer from the rest of the party and a reassuring wink from Teresa Keeler that had made her glow inside.

Now, Riverside Cottage was home to Sammy and Remy. Three years ago, much to her own surprise, Teresa had joined Tinder and fallen head over heels in love with a financial advisor called Maurice. Much to Maurice’s surprise, within a matter of months he’d found himself casting off his tailored grey suits, resigning from his job in Slough and catching a flight with Teresa to Albufeira, where they now lived and worked ridiculously happily together running a beach bar on Praia de Vilamoura as if they’d been doing it all their lives.

‘You don’t have to sleep down here,’ said Sammy when he saw Lou trying out the new sofa for length. ‘Remy’s away all week, so you can have his bed.’ Proudly he added, ‘I’ve even changed the sheets.’

‘Did he say it was OK?’

‘It’ll be fine. He’s on a plane right now, on his way to Texas to see a multimillionaire about a shopping mall.’

‘He really won’t mind?’ Intimidated was the wrong word, but Lou had always been slightly in awe of Sammy’s brother. Two years older, Remy was also several inches taller and significantly more attractive to look at. When they’d been at school, it had been generally acknowledged that Remy was the one with the stars aligned in his favour; with his striking good looks, spectacular sports skills and the ease with which he passed exams, he was regarded as the brother with all the talents. Sammy, by contrast, was unacademic, not great at sports, somewhat accident-prone and cheerfully unconcerned about his own less than prepossessing appearance. But if the differences between them might have inspired resentment among some brothers, it had genuinely never been an issue for the Keeler boys. Remy was now a successful architect, while Sammy worked part-time as a delivery driver to pay the bills because all he really wanted to do was make music. Nevertheless, their love and support for each other remained unwavering and unconditional.

‘He wants you to have his bed,’ said Sammy. ‘He was the one who offered it. Now, d’you want to give me a hand here? I’m going to make a lasagne.’

They chatted away as they worked together in the kitchen. Sammy was an enthusiastic cook rather than a skilled one, so it was always wise to keep an eye on what ingredients he might be impulsively adding to his creations along the way. The last time he’d made her dinner, there’d been an unexpected hit of aniseed in the coq au vin.

‘So how did it go in London today?’ said Lou as he energetically whisked the lumps out of a béchamel sauce.

‘Three hours visiting pubs that aren’t interested in having me play gigs for them. Two hours busking and getting told I’m a ginger twat by lads who think they’re the first people to ever call me that. And the train ticket cost more than I earned, but what’s new?’ He shrugged, unperturbed. ‘Hey, you never know, one day the right person could come along and be blown away by my music. If you don’t get yourself out there, you’ll never know.’

‘Speculate to accumulate.’ Lou tore open a packet of lasagne sheets.

‘Exactly.’

‘They could turn up this evening while you’re playing in the Bear.’

‘I know.’ He was rummaging through the shelf of spice jars. ‘It’s just a shame it hasn’t happened during one of the other seven hundred and forty times I’ve played there.’

‘Well, I think you’re brilliant.’

‘And I think you’re right.’ He held up one of the jars. ‘How about some of this in the white sauce? It could be the best discovery in the world.’

Lou shook her head, because it was fenugreek. ‘It wouldn’t be. It’d be gross.’

‘Spoilsport. It’s a good job I’m used to rejection.’ The next moment, clearly struck by an idea, Sammy went on, ‘Speaking of rejection, would you be my girlfriend tonight?’

There’d never been any kind of romantic c