Wedding Bells at the Signal Box Cafe

by Annette Hannah

Genres: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

'Brimming with friendship and romance, this lovely book will charm your heart' Milly Johnson Fall in love with this heartwarming and emotional romcom, perfect for fans of Rebecca Raisin and Victoria Walters! Here comes the bride... Lucy Woods has always dreamed of running her very own wedding venue. After moving her eight-year-old son to the countryside she's surprised to find the perfect location and her best friend, Abbie, eager to help make that dream a reality! Too bad Abbie's older brother Dominic isn't keen on Lucy or their big idea! As a divorce lawyer Dominic doesn't believe in love at first sight or wedding vows, he's seen them broken more times than he can count. But when Lucy arrives back in town, his hardened heart begins to crack. Making her dream come true is a huge undertaking, but Lucy knows that The Signal Box Café is her chance to finally make something of her life. If only the irritating (and oh-so-gorgeous) Dom didn't make her imagine wearing a white dress and walking down the aisle... Can Lucy and Dominic find a way to each other this summer or will the wedding bells chime for another couple?

Release date: July 6, 2020

Publisher: Orion Dash

Print pages: 261

Sample

Perfectly timed cherry blossom petals fell softly from the branches overhead like pale pink snowflakes. Delicately dancing on a light breeze, they performed their swansong, flitting and swirling before settling like nature’s confetti in the bride and groom’s hair.

The air was filled with a chorus of songbirds, chirping cheerily, each species with their own individual tune. It was joyful, the sound of happiness and calm.

The photographer danced around the couple, her camera clicking and whirring as it captured every beautiful detail.

‘And now can we please have one of the groom kissing the bride?’ she requested, squinting as her perfectionist’s eye scrutinised the images on the screen at the back of the camera. The bride blushed profusely; her cheeks as flushed as the wild pink roses entwined in her golden curls. But the groom, whose handsome face looked serious throughout the photos, perked up. His steely grey eyes opened wider as he gazed at the bride’s beautiful pink glossed lips.

‘This is the last one,’ he said before sliding his hand up into her hair at the side of her neck and pressing his lips against hers. His thumb gently stroked her perfectly contoured cheek. After a second or two the bride melted into his kiss and the photographer captured the money shot. The kiss that continued long after she had finished clicking was perfect. The cheeky pageboy sticking his tongue out and the big shaggy dog biting the groom’s trouser leg and growling with all his might as if to say, ‘Get off my mummy,’ added an extra charm to some of the shots.

When the pageboy noticed what they were doing he couldn’t contain his disgust and uttered a loud ‘Ew.’ The groom abruptly stopped kissing the bride and faced the photographer.

‘That’s it, sis, we’re quits now. No more favours and definitely no more fake wedding shoots.’ And loosening his tie whilst licking his lips, he stalked off to his open-topped convertible, which was parked just yards away, but not before handing the bride a folded piece of paper that he retrieved from inside his jacket pocket.

‘Here’s the cleaning bill for my car – thankfully the stains did come out, but it was touch and go.’

The bride was still reeling from the kiss, her fingers pressed against her lips, which felt swollen still from his touch. She looked at her fingertips, at the spots of rose lip gloss. She had noticed as he walked away that his lips also shone with evidence of what had just taken place between them. She didn’t particularly like this man, but that kiss had turned her insides upside down. She breathed in deeply; she could still smell his aftershave on her, a tantalising mix of citrus and cedar wood. Her heart wasn’t just racing; it felt like it was taking part in a full-on sports day and was currently doing hurdles. She had never been kissed like that before, but boy did that man make her mad.

Two months earlier

After a four-hour drive that should only have taken two, Lucy’s whole body sighed with relief when she saw the sign for the quaint little market town. The beeping of the level crossing combined with the red flashing lights and barriers brought memories flooding back. Having spent many happy summers with Nana and Grandad as a child she was eager for her son Jackson to experience the joys of Bramblewood for himself.

The hailstorm wasn’t quite the welcome she’d hoped for. Her ancient red Mini, already groaning with the weight of their entire collection of belongings and a large shaggy dog of indeterminate breed, was now being pelted by a barrage of frozen rain. Jackson stared open-mouthed at the downpour. Lucy closed her eyes and took a calming breath. She hoped this wasn’t a bad sign as, having given up her flat and her job and enrolled Jackson into the local school, she had a lot riding on this move.

Lucy hadn’t hesitated when her parents suggested she stay at her grandad’s house whilst he recuperated in a nursing home. The timing had been perfect as she and Jackson needed a fresh start, and if it hadn’t been here it would have been somewhere else. At least this way they could see her grandad and Jackson could get to know him better.

Whilst sheltering in the car Lucy checked her phone messages; there was just one from an unknown number. She popped her earphones in and pressed play. Listening to it she yelped involuntarily, and clasped her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my gosh!’ she muttered through her fingers.

‘What is it, Mummy?’ Jackson wrestled one of his dinosaurs out of Baxter’s mouth.

Lucy smiled. ‘That was a lady called Joy and she has asked me to plan her wedding in just a month. She’s my first official client for my new business – and what an exciting challenge that will be.’ She looked at the background picture of her home screen: she in graduation cap and gown, cuddling a smiling Jackson.

Studying online for her Event Management Degree whilst working full time in the hotel and bringing up her son had been no mean feat. But now she had both experience and qualifications, she was bubbling with excitement to start her dream business. A shiver of apprehension ran down her spine to bring her back down to earth. It wouldn’t all be plain sailing. She no longer had a regular source of income and with only a month’s worth of savings in the bank, she needed to start earning straight away. Thankfully, her grandad insisted on her staying there rent-free, which would make things a lot easier.

As soon as the hail stopped, Lucy got out of the car and stretched her legs. The familiar structure that once housed the signal box towered in front of Grandad’s house and the railway track. She helped Jackson out and showed him the neglected building, paint flaking off the rotten wooden fascia boards, windows all boarded up.

‘See up there.’ She directed Jackson’s gaze to the top floor of the building. He blinked as a huge raindrop bypassed his glasses and splashed into his eye. ‘That’s where Grandad used to work – he was the signal box controller. So, if a train was coming, he would be responsible for dropping the barriers and raising them again.’

‘Wow’ said Jackson as he looked up to the building and pushed his little round glasses further up his nose. ‘Great-Grandad must be strong to lift those. Is he a superhero?’

Lucy laughed at the vision his eight-year-old imagination had created; she could just see her grandad with a mask and flowing cape. ‘Well he’ll always be a superhero to me, but he didn’t actually lift them with his bare hands – he would get a signal and then use the controls to do it. When I was little and came here to visit, my grandad would often let me help him to lift and lower the barriers. I had such happy times here.’

‘Will Great-Grandad let me do that?’ he asked, cuddling Baxter as the dog had an exploratory sniff around his new environment.

‘I’m afraid not – sorry, Jacks, it’s all automated now so it’s done by computer.’

‘Where is Great-Grandad now?’

‘He’s had to go into a nursing home for a little while as he was poorly, so he just needs looking after until he’s better. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? We’re going to look after his house and visit him lots.’

‘Which one is his house?’ He turned to the row of tiny cottages.

‘Do you see the one with the sign that says Railway Cottage?’

‘Yes.’ He punched the air. ‘I was hoping it was that one. When I grow up, I’m going to live in a house called Astronaut’s Cottage and it’s going to have a sign just like that one and a picture of the moon next to it.’ His blue eyes sparkled behind his glasses.

Lucy laughed. ‘I’m sure you will, and I bet it’ll be in outer space too, won’t it?’

He nodded and she ruffled his soft blond hair.

The rain thrashed down hard again in thick stripes rather than drops, the angry sky so dark it gave the impression of being much later in the day than it was.

‘Oh, quick, let’s get inside before we get drenched.’

She searched for the keys in her bag and pulled Jackson by the hand. He in turn pulled Baxter by the lead.

Steadying Jackson as his trainers failed to grip the slippery slate stepping-stones that led to Railway Cottage, Lucy was quite taken aback at how small the place appeared compared to how she remembered it. Her nana would stand at this door to greet her cheerfully every time she came to visit. The delicious aroma of cakes baking would wrap around her and pull her into the warmth and comfort of Nana’s house. Then all too soon she would wave her off tearfully when it was time to say goodbye at the end of the holidays.

The shiny black front door creaked open to welcome them into a small hallway with a staircase, underneath which was a tiny cupboard.

‘Oh, look, Jackson, here’s your bedroom.’ Lucy smiled. ‘You can be just like Harry Potter.’ He giggled and opened a wooden door that led to the living/dining room, which ran the short length of the cottage. At the far end of the room a door led to a small kitchen. Old-fashioned units painted cream stood firmly on terracotta-tiled flooring. The top half of the back door consisted of a thick mottled glass window. She stood on tiptoe to reach the heavy bolt at the top of the door which opened onto a tiny garden with a wooden swing in it.

‘Jackson, look out here. I loved playing on this. It’s a bit ancient now but my grandad made it for my dad when he was younger.’ He ran straight out and threw himself on to the soaking-wet seat.

‘Look, Mummy, I’m going to swing right up as high as the bar.’ He shouted as the familiar squeak of the swing echoed round the garden and reminded Lucy of happy days. They had lived in a tiny shoebox of a flat in Brumstoke, so having a garden of their own would be a huge novelty.

‘No, Jackson, come in, it’s soaking out there.’

‘Okay, just two more swings.’ She could hear the squeaking getting faster as the rusty swing remembered its purpose with gusto after such a long time of inactivity and flew Jackson higher into the air.

‘No, come in now and be careful,’ she shouted, her heart leaping into her mouth as he jumped off the swing from quite a height. She remembered doing the same thing; she must have given Nana and Grandad quite a few scares over the years.

Her eyes scanned the garden to see what else was out there; a wrought-iron café table with two chairs looked cosy, although at the moment they had water pouring off them, which sloshed noisily onto the patio. She would look forward to sitting out there when the weather changed for the better.

Grandad had pre-arranged for the central heating to come on for her, so stepping into the warmth of the cosy cottage was as welcoming as a hug. She felt a real sense of belonging, like she had come home.

First things first, Lucy put the kettle on, then unpacked Baxter’s box of tricks. She poured water and food into his bowls and opened the back door again to let him out. He’d been eyeing up one of Grandad’s pot plants in the living room and that would not be a good start.

She left most of the luggage in the car until tomorrow and brought in what they would need for one night. Jackson hauled his bag up the stairs, eager to get unpacking.

Lucy had Grandad’s room with the double bed, large double wardrobe and Nana’s highly polished mahogany dressing table, with her vintage perfume atomisers arranged as they always were. Lucy had loved playing with those as a child. She picked up an elegant black one with feathers around the bulb and squeezed it. The kiss of cool spray tickled behind her ears and she remembered giggling when her nana sprayed it for her. The fresh soapy smell of gardenia had not dulled over the years and Lucy closed her eyes; her skin tingled as she felt swathed in her nana’s love.

Jackson had the spare room, which contained a foldaway single bed, bedside cabinet, wardrobe and a table with a train set on it. A small window overlooked the backyard. Lucy turned the light on for him and he dropped to his knees at the little table, playing happily with the trains and tiny figures. She delighted in watching as he entered his own little world and she marvelled at his vivid imagination.

After fiddling with the cooker for a few minutes she grilled some cheese and onion toasted sandwiches. Grandad had told her to help herself to anything in the cupboards, so she opened a Victoria sponge cake and cut some slices for them.

She carried everything in on a tray and rested it on the extended side of the drop-leaf walnut table. She remembered helping her nana to polish this table when she was younger. Her beaming face would reflect in the shine when she’d finished. Nana always said it took lots of elbow grease to get a shine like that.

‘Jackson, dinner’s ready.’ She shouted up the stairs. Baxter howled as he always did when she raised her voice. She swore this dog thought he was human and tried to repeat what she was saying.

The sound of eight-year-old boy thundering down the stairs preceded the living room door bursting open, and Jackson joined his mum at the table. He tucked into his food as though he hadn’t eaten for a month. He was eager to get back to his train set, but that didn’t stop him from having two slices of cake.

Lucy cleared away and washed up by hand. She then went upstairs to the small bathroom, which featured old-fashioned avocado-coloured units, and she ran a bubbly bath for Jackson. He was reluctant to come away from the trains, but with the promise of an extra hour’s play before bed, he was soon gleaming clean in his pyjamas, his wet blond hair brushed over to the side.

Curled up on the couch back in the cosy living room she could now relax. She poured herself a glass of red and listened to the hail pinging against the window. She leant her head back on the sofa cushion and breathed out a sigh of contentment.

On the wobbly chess table next to her she found a little note from Grandad with useful addresses and telephone numbers on it, including the address of Sycamore Lodge, the nursing home he was in. He was normally very independent, but his recent diabetes diagnosis, combined with a broken arm he’d sustained in a fall, had knocked his confidence. She smiled at the thought of seeing him tomorrow. Being back at Railway Cottage and all the memories it held reminded her how much she missed him.

Her eyes settled on the framed photo of her nana and grandad, which stood proudly on the mantelpiece. They looked so happy together. A love like theirs was something she dreamt of having one day.

The Bramblewood Echo, the local paper, had been lying on the floor in the hall when she arrived. Out of interest she flicked through it and saw an article about Sycamore Lodge.

Firefighters were called to Sycamore Lodge to free a Bramblewood pensioner from a tree. Mr Joseph Elderwood, 83, was trying to impress his lady friend by retrieving her scarf, which had blown into the famous sycamore tree that the nursing home was named after. Upon reaching twenty feet, his fear of heights kicked in and he remained paralysed up there until the fire brigade were able to get him down safely. When asked if it was something he would do again for love he replied, “No I bloody wouldn’t – no sooner was I up there than bloody Eric Pilkington waltzed off with her.”

Both Mr Pilkington and the lady in question, who wishes to remain anonymous, declined to comment.

The article was accompanied by a photograph of the old man’s face peeking out of the tree, looking really rather miserable and cold. Lucy chuckled; poor Mr Elderwood. She’d have to ask her grandad about that tomorrow.

Heavy eyelids were losing the fight to stay open, so she took her wine upstairs to drink in the bath. Baxter was snoring loudly, no doubt relieved to be in his bed at last. She turned out the light and locked up the front door. As she ran her bath, she checked on Jackson and found him asleep with his head on the table, still clutching the train he’d been playing with. She gathered him up in her arms and noticed the train track had left an imprint on his cheek. She planted a kiss on his apple-shampooed head and laid him comfortably in his bed, covering him up with his astronaut quilt, which he soon snuggled into. She folded his glasses and put them on the small bedside cabinet and plugged his nightlight in.

Her heart burst with love for this little boy. He was her everything and she was determined that no one was ever going to change that or burst their little bubble, ever. They didn’t need anybody else.

The next morning Lucy woke bright and early thanks to the rumble of the trains being so close to the house. From her childhood memories she knew it was simply a case of getting used to them and after a few days she would hardly hear them. Feeling well rested she looked out of the window at the old signal box building. Her mind flashed back to when she was younger. She and Nana would look out of this window and Grandad would wave from his workplace. One time she came for the whole summer and even at the end of the six weeks she still didn’t want to go home. How she’d loved those carefree days.

By the time Jackson woke up she had unpacked the rest of their things and had taken Baxter for a quick walk to do his business.

After breakfast they headed out and walked along the river to the nursing home. The gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked along the towpath. Jackson’s face lit up as he fed his leftover toast crusts to Canada geese almost as tall as he was. Tentatively at first, wary of their tongues wriggling like little worms in their beaks, he quickly learned to throw the bread away from him, causing them to squabble noisily with each other and leave him alone. He wiped the crumbs on his trousers and skipped along in front of his mum.

Further along the river they reached a boat called Serendipity, a pretty café boat covered with multi-coloured flowers in vibrant painted pots. The smell emanating from the boat led Jackson to it like it was the pied piper. The rain had stopped but the sky was still overcast.

‘Oh, Mum, can we go in there? I’m starving.’ Lucy didn’t bother reminding him he’d only just had breakfast as the smell of warm scones drew her in. She bought some lunch for later and they were soon on their way to visit Grandad.

Sycamore Lodge was an imposing building that had been a mansion house in its day. The outer walls were painted lemon and surrounded by spacious communal areas with benches and flowerbeds bursting with colour. Wooden tables and chairs overlooked the river. A wooden fence surrounded the gardens and the gate required a code for access. Grandad had given her the code in the notes he had left her. She reeled the numbers off to Jackson and held him up so he could reach the keypad. He said the numbers out loud as he carefully pressed each one.

The inside was grandiose and apart from a strong disinfectant smell it could have been a luxurious hotel. A care assistant in a white overall took them to Grandad’s room. From the doorway Lucy saw him sitting in an overstuffed wing-backed chair reading a newspaper with his glasses perched on the end of his nose. He looked up and removed his glasses, putting them down on the table before he tried to get up. He looked slightly frailer, slightly greyer, and his once piercing blue eyes were a little more faded, but that didn’t stop them twinkling with delight on seeing who his visitors were. The joy spread across his face and shone out of him as brightly as the sun after a particularly dark cloud has passed it by. He beamed a welcoming smile.

Lucy ran over to him, tears springing to her eyes. She felt like a little girl again. She glanced around the room. Having expected a starched hospital environment she was pleasantly surprised to see that it was more like a hotel room, tastefully decorated in muted shades of cream with white cornices, dado rails and a thick beige carpet. Grandad was provided with a wardrobe and a desk, two comfortable armchairs, a bedside table with a lamp, and a bookshelf. It looked remarkably homely.

‘Grandad, how are you?’ she asked as she hugged him, tentatively so as not to knock his arm that was in plaster.

‘I’m all the better for seeing you, my darling, and look at Jackson here – what a fine-looking young man you’ve grown into. Do you remember me?’

Jackson looked up at his great-grandad and, pushing his glasses further up his nose, he nodded.

‘Yes, we all went to the caravan when I was little, and you helped me to build sandcastles.’

‘That’s right, we did, and we caught some crabs, didn’t we?’ Dougie Woods hugged the boy; his pale blue eyes glassy, his emotions running high at seeing the two people he loved more than life itself.

‘We got you a present, Grandad,’ said Jackson, thrusting the paper bags from Serendipity into his hands.

‘Rosie from Serendipity sent them for you when she heard you were ill; she sends her love and wishes you a speedy recovery,’ added Lucy.

‘Mmm, something smells good in here,’ he said opening them and finding a still-warm sausage roll and the freshly baked giant scone with cream and jam. ‘I’m going to enjoy those later. How did she know you were my grandson?’ He placed them on his bedside table.

‘Jackson told her our life story.’ Lucy laughed.

‘No, I didn’t, I just told her that we were staying in Railway Cottage and she said she knew you and that you were her best customer.’ He pulled an empty paper bag out of his pocket and held it up. ‘She gave me a cookie for free and said that we must go back there one day when we’ve got more time. She was really nice – I liked her.’ He threw the paper bag across the room and it landed in the bin.

‘Jackson,’ shouted Lucy. ‘Stop that.’

He grinned his cheeky missing-toothed grin. ‘What? I got it in, didn’t I?’

His grandad chuckled and winked at Lucy. ‘You have to admit it was a good shot.’ He turned to Jackson. ‘Well, when you do see her, can you tell her thank you from me?’

‘Will do.’ Jackson ran to the window. ‘You can see the river from here, Mummy, and there’s Rosie’s boat just a bit further along.

‘I got your note.’ Lucy nodded to her grandad and sneaked him a bag containing two bottles of whisky.

‘Thanks, love, my fellow inmates will be pleased with that.’ He winked at her and hid the bag in his wardrobe. ‘Right so who wants to play a game of three-armed table tennis?’

‘What’s that?’ Jackson screwed his face up in confusion.

Grandad lifted his plastered arm up. ‘Well I’ve only got one and you’ve got two, so that makes three altogether.’ He held out his good arm to his great grandson and Jackson clutched it tightly.

After a general tour of the building and a couple of bouts of ping-pong, with Grandad emerging the champion despite trying his hardest to let Jackson win, they sat in one of the dining rooms for coffee and cakes.

‘It’s not that bad here actually,’ he said. Lucy poured the coffees and Jackson busied himself with a jigsaw puzzle he’d found in the entertainment drawer. ‘I’ve made lots of friends already. There’s quite a few restrictions but I’ve discovered ways around them, a sort of underground movement.’ He tapped the side of his nose.

Lucy laughed. ‘I take it that’s what the you know what was for.’

‘Yes, and believe me, when you have Nurse Ratched watching your every move you’ve always got to be one step ahead.’ He gestured to the manager standing by the door, who could either be smiling or sucking on a particularly bitter lemon, judging by the look on her face. Lucy laughed.

‘Anyhow, Lucy, I just wanted to say thank you. I’m not sure how long I’ll be in here and it’s lovely to see you both but I would never expect you to uproot your life just to look after the house. Your mum and dad were talking about cancelling their cruise and they’ve had that planned for ages so I wouldn’t let them.’

‘Its fine, Grandad, honestly – I’ve been in a bit of a rut to be truthful and this has provided me with an ideal opportunity to start a. . .