If you're tempted to read more, it will be available to pre-order on Amazon for Kindle from 25 November for release on 2 December. It will also be out in paperback at Lulu.com from the beginning of December.
THE BLURB
Abandoned and fostered as a
babe-in-arms,
I've spent my life yearning to
belong.
Pregnant at 16 by the boy I loved, I
thought I'd found my happy place.
How wrong I was.
Becoming a grandmother at 34, I
believed my daughter and granddaughter
were all I needed - along with the
cats I cherish in my café.
Wrong again!
Suddenly people from my past are
crawling out of the woodwork
and hot men are coming along like
buses.
Grab a coffee and a cake at
'CATNAPS & FLAPJACKS'
and snuggle up with one of my
fur-babies
as my story unfolds.
* * * * *
Chapter One
‘So, after ogling
his cute little buns for approximately two hours, five minutes and nineteen
seconds - not that I was counting or
anything - he finally came over and
spoke to me.’
Ross was putting
the finishing touches to our last batch of cupcakes and filling me in on his
night at a newly opened gay bar he’d been so excited about visiting.
‘And …?’ I asked
as I wiped down the surfaces and checked that we were on schedule for opening
time.
‘Oh Ellie. I could have cried! In fact, little tears of pain did spring to my eyes! You could have stripped paint with his breath.’ He
paused and wiped his hands on his frilly pinny, emblazoned with the sequinned
words ‘Diva on Duty!’ As he shook his head with a huff, he
continued, ‘You know what it reminded me of?
Remember that time Rupert had his gammy tooth and it cost you a fortune
at the vet? It was exactly the same rancid stench.’
Oh yes, I remembered
it well and the smell, combined with the memory of the bill, almost brought
tears to my eyes too.
‘Not your dream
man, after all then?’ I stated obviously as I removed my dirty apron and
replaced it with a clean one. ‘Still …
plenty more fish in the sea, eh?’
‘In the sea? Pfft! I
reckon he had a whole shoal of dead ones hiding under his tongue! Uggh.
I could vom just thinking about it.’
Poor Ross had
been looking for ‘lurve’ for as long as I’d known him. Not the type for endless one night stands,
his dream was to settle down with Mr Reliable.
He hankered for cosy nights in front of the TV, weekends in the country
and the ideal of living with and being cherished by his soul mate.
‘I give up Ellie! I’m going to die a lonely old man surrounded
by cats and stinking of pee and flea spray.’
‘Ross! Will you stop
it? You’re thirty years of age - you’re not going to die lonely. And anyway, I wouldn’t let you.’
Smiling bravely,
Ross sighed and said, ‘Well as lovely as that is, Elles, I think we need to remind ourselves that you don’t have
the necessary qualifying equipment so you kind of fall at the first
hurdle. And anyway, you’ll no doubt be
married to the sensible Stefan by then - I don’t think he’d take too kindly to
me muscling in on the act, do you?’
Opening my mouth
to reply, I quickly closed it again as I realised it wasn’t the time to tell Ross about Stefan’s proposal the previous
night or my lacklustre reaction and the confused feelings which seemed to have set
up camp in my head, leaving me tossing and turning into the early hours.
No. I needed to come to terms with the whole idea
before I discussed it with anyone - in particular my prickly and stubborn
daughter, Poppy.
That was not a conversation I was looking forward
to.
*****
‘Well as long as
you don’t expect me to call him Dad,
it’s up to you what you do.’
Poppy was in her
usual ‘shut-down mode’ as she handed cubes of cheese and cucumber to her good-natured
three year old, who was happily flicking through a sticker book whilst chewing
and humming.
‘Ria! Will you please just eat and stop messing about,’ my daughter reprimanded unnecessarily
- and I found myself, not for the first time, wishing that she’d just lighten
up a little.
Stroking my granddaughter’s
head and winking at her, I soothed, ‘You’re a good girl, aren’t you Sweetheart? Eat up for MumsMum,’ I encouraged, using her
pet name for me.
I was rewarded
with the smile that never failed to melt my heart - a smile I couldn’t imagine
life without.
And yet becoming
a granny at the tender age of thirty-four had come as quite a shock - but what
right did I have to judge? Poppy had
simply followed in my foolish footsteps and fallen pregnant before she’d even
hung up her school uniform. Yes, we’d
both ‘got caught’ - as my
headmistress had so delightfully put it - at the age of sixteen as a result of
our first foray into the complicated world of sex.
That was where
the similarities ended though. My ‘happy
accident’ had actually been premeditated.
I'd been in love, believed I was being loved in return and I'd planned
to create a little being who would feel cherished and wanted - one who would
become the centre of my universe.
Yes, I knew how Poppy had come to be and I also
knew how close we’d been, how happy and carefree she’d been until the day she
fell pregnant.
That was the day I
lost her, when she pushed me away and refused to let me - or anyone else - in. Almost four years later, I was none the wiser
about the father or the circumstances behind how it happened. It was a story she still wasn’t prepared to
tell.
*****
I’d lost count of
the foster carers I’d stayed with by the time I was thirteen. They’d begun to morph into faceless, nameless
blobs who offered me a bed, put a roof over my head and food in my stomach. They did their jobs well and I couldn’t fault
them but, although they cared, they didn’t love.
To be fair, most
of them weren’t given the chance to even start
to love me, as the authorities seemed to think that it was perfectly acceptable
to move me from pillar to post at the drop of a hat. By the time I’d reached ten, I was an old
hand - after all, I’d been offloaded since I was a few months old - and so I
developed the knack of living out of a suitcase - what was the point of
unpacking only to move on again?
There were always
reasons for my upheaval - some that I could understand and others that made no
sense to a young, vulnerable girl in desperate need of stability and a family
to call her own - but I learnt to spot the signs. My social worker Pat would arrive with her
briefcase and folders, there would be muffled chat in another room and then
she'd join me for ‘The Pat Chat’.
Over the years I’d
heard it all - foster mum was going into hospital, foster dad had changed his
mind, foster mum was pregnant, foster parents had decided to adopt a baby and
wanted to devote all of their time to their new child. It seemed that nobody wanted me ‘for keeps’
and that hurt.
But at thirteen,
everything changed - at least that’s what I’d thought at the time.
Arriving at 21 Flaxton Avenue
on that bitterly cold December afternoon had felt different - I had no idea how but it just had. Despite the sprinkling of snow on the
pavements and the black ice on the roads, I’d felt warm and cosy for the first
time in my life and I liked it.
Eric and Eileen
had welcomed me with open arms and I’d stood in awe, gaping at their gaudily
dressed Christmas tree, which was surrounded by enticing looking parcels and
boxes.
‘Father Christmas
came early this year, my love,’ Eileen told me with an easy grin. ‘Lots of goodies under there for you - and
not too long to wait now!’
She’d then taken
my hand in hers, ordered Eric to get the hot chocolate ready and told me she’d
show me to my room and help me to unpack.
For once, I didn’t
question the logic in taking all of my things from their cases and placing them
in beautifully scented, lined drawers as I looked at the comfy duvet on my
pretty bed.
I was
staying. I was home.
*****
In their mid-sixties,
my new foster parents had devoted their lives to caring for children. Their flock-papered walls proudly displayed
photographs of all the lives that had come into theirs - some for short stays,
the majority until they were old enough to leave and care for themselves. Most of them were still in contact with Eric
and Eileen - one big happy family.
To name just a
few, there was Adrian who lived just around the corner with his wife and son,
Maggie who had moved to Ireland
but often came back for visits and Lillian who popped in every day on her way
home from work.
Sometimes I could
be found engrossed by their little ‘Rogues Gallery’ as Eileen affectionately
referred to it, and Eric would come in and tell me stories about them that made
me laugh. I loved to hear about each
child and the funny or naughty things they’d got up to and Eric was a great
raconteur - although Eileen would often chuckle and give him a telling off
with, ‘Oh Eric! That’s not how it happened at all. You do exaggerate
so.’
In short, I’d
never been happier and the icing on the cake was when I started at Newton High
School and met Lauren.
It had been a
happy coincidence that we both started attending the school in the January term
- two lost souls, nervous and terrified, we’d taken comfort in one another and
instantly hit it off.
By the end of
that first term we were inseparable.
Weekends, holidays and after school would see us at one another’s houses
- chatting, studying, practicing our make up skills, confiding our secret
crushes or listening to music.
But the thing
that really sealed the deal on our friendship was our mutual passion for
cats. As much as I grew to love Eric and
Eileen and felt comfortable taking Lauren home, the time I spent at her house
was treasured because there were always cuddles of the furry variety.
Major Tom - the
fat tabby - and Madonna - the slinky tortoiseshell - gave their love unconditionally
and I soon became besotted. When we
found out that Madonna was expecting kittens I could think of nothing
else. I had to have one.
Of course, after
two years of living with Eric and Eileen I knew that they were pushovers. If something made me happy and it was within
their power to make it happen, then they would allow it.
When I got the
call from Lauren at just gone three o’clock one morning, Eric dragged himself
from his bed and drove me bleary-eyed, in his tartan pyjamas, to see the tiny
mewing scraps just after Madonna had delivered them.
I knew the minute
I set eyes on Pebble that he was the cat for me and Eric nodded in agreement,
dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve like the big softie I’d grown to love.
‘He’s a fine
cat,’ he declared with a nod. ‘Yes. He’ll have a happy home with us.’
I couldn’t
possibly have known that within a year, Pebble would be back living with Lauren
and that I would, once again, be without love.
*****
Eric and Eileen
were killed instantly in the motorway accident that was to change my life
forever. Two days after my sixteenth
birthday, when I was riding on the crest of a wave and had well and truly
shaken off my insecurities, they’d set off to visit Eileen’s elderly aunt and
never returned.
The authorities
swung into action again and, being considered a ‘difficult age’, I was allowed
to stay with Lauren and her parents for a while before I was moved on to
interim care.
And so I went back
to living out of a suitcase - no one really
wanted a sixteen year old and I just had to accept that while dealing with
the grieving process at the same time.
Having Eric, Eileen and Pebble in my life I’d learnt how to love and be
loved, and suddenly nothing made sense any more.
Maybe I didn’t
deserve that privilege. After all, my
birth parents had abandoned me hadn’t they?
I began to believe that it was all my fault that I'd be alone and
unloved forever.
Then I met
Robert.
* * * * *
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