Page 6 of The Secret Holiday Kiss

Jason waved and spun on his heel, and Daisy kept going, ignoring the delicious smells wafting out of the bakery, because she’d already had two thick slices of fresh bread with butter and apricot jam. She couldn’t have a pastry as well.

Perpendicular Street was Mistingham’s main high street, with a small but varied collection of shops that enticed holidaying families and couples, as well as the locals. Even at the top by the bakery, she could hear the upbeat tunes from the arcade near the seafront, and she noticed that, where there had once been a traditional sweet shop, Sophie’s Stationery Emporium was a beacon of bright colours, the notebooks in the window immediately enticing. She was tempted to go in, but she had seen Sophie at breakfast that morning, and didn’t want to distract her.

She passed the shop, waving when her sister-in-law raised a hand, but carried on, purposefully not looking at the abandoned bookshop, the windows too dust-covered to reveal what had once been a cluttered, happy space, overflowing with books on tightly packed shelves. Her thoughts skirted over those old, complicated feelings, because she had loved the books but hated that the shop, and its customers, held all her dad’s attention. Instead she homed in on Hartley Country Apparel, the village’s smart clothes shop.

Enjoying the tinkle of the bell over the door, Daisy stepped into the warm, comforting interior. It was full of beautiful fabrics, one of her favourite things.

‘Hello!’ called a voice from beyond the rails of waxed and tweed jackets, puffer coats in biscuit and sage, shelves with neatly folded sweaters and waistcoats. The earthy, natural tones spoke to Daisy, instantly soothing her. ‘Just ask if there’s something specific you want,’ called the voice, ‘or browse for as long as you like!’

‘Thanks Fiona.’ Daisy fingered a cashmere jumper in tomato red, drawn to it even though she never wore such bold colours. It was so soft.

A moment later, Fiona was standing in front of her, her ash-blonde hair perfectly styled, wearing a grey and pink Fair Isle jumper and dark trousers. ‘Daisy Anderly.’ She sounded shocked. ‘I thought Harry’s wedding would have given you enough Mistingham exposure to last you a lifetime.’

‘Hello,’ Daisy said, a little warily. Fiona was about fifteen years older than her, and she remembered her as a glamorous woman who was happy to immerse herself in village life with her husband Ermin, no desire to go to London or Manchester or Edinburgh, no ambition beyond taking over the clothes shop from her ageing uncle.

‘Is there another important Anderly event that’s been kept from me?’

Daisy laughed, because this was how it was in Mistingham. If there was something going on, then residents felt they had a right to know about it. She imagined taking a megaphone and striding down every corridor in her – now waterlogged – apartment block in London, announcing that she was off for her smear test and would be bringing a man she’d met in the pub back for ‘coffee’. She could just picture the horrified looks of her neighbours, whereas here, if she said those things in the pub, she would get commiserations about the smear test and at least five different opinions about her choice of man/activity/relationship status/sex life.

‘There’s no important Anderly event,’ she told Fiona. ‘There are some issues with my new flat, so while they’re being resolved, Harry and Sophie are letting me stay.’ Fiona’s piercing gaze didn’t drop, so she added, ‘I have a client in Norwich, so timing wise, it’s ideal.’

‘Norwich is a long drive.’

‘Not as long as London to Norwich. And it’s good, being back.’

Fiona’s brows shot up to the ceiling. ‘Is it? I thought Mistingham wasn’t enough for you. And the reason I thought that is because, when you lived here, you were happy to tell everyone, at every possible opportunity, that you were counting down the days until you could leave.’

Daisy squared her shoulders. It had been a bit more complicated than that, but she didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot. ‘Circumstances change,’ she said simply. ‘Life doesn’t always accept your plans. It has a habit of throwing spanners in the works, and right now I’m dealing with a spanner.’

‘Of course.’ Fiona’s expression softened. ‘Apologies. It’s a surprise, that’s all.’

‘I love surprising people,’ Daisy said. ‘Admittedly, mostly with my work.’

‘Your interior design business?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You can run it all from here?’

‘It’s mostly wound down for Christmas, but this Norwich client is counting on me to give his new café a glow-up. It’s something I can get my teeth into.’

‘And you need a new jumper to help you?’ Fiona’s smile turned mischievous.

‘Fiona, I always need a new jumper. I love this one, but the tomato …’

‘It’s called Bloody Mary.’

‘The shade? The designer has called their red jumper Bloody Mary? We’re too late for Halloween.’

‘Designers never fail to surprise me.’

‘Do you have it in a less … bloody colour?’

‘I have a couple of blue tones in the stockroom. They only arrived yesterday. Let me go and have a look.’

‘I’m not buying a blue jumper if it’s called Hypothermia Chic,’ she called, and heard Fiona’s laughter from the other side of the shop. ‘I also need some Mistingham-appropriate boots.’ She wandered over to the footwear section, a smile on her face.

Daisy strode out of Hartley Country Apparel carrying a sturdy cardboard bag with cord handles, her new, grey-blue jumper in a shade called Icicle, and a pair of forest green walking boots inside. The act of purchasing something nice – as well as something practical – had resettled her a little after the upheaval of the last few days. And perhaps that was shallow, but it was a big thing, coming here: committing to spending time in Mistingham.