Something Old Something New Read online

  Will you marry me… again?

  When Annie Thomas agrees to give her ex away at his wedding to his boyfriend, she thinks she’ll be fine. With her three children at her side, she can handle anything. Then she finds out her gorgeous first ex-husband Evan Llewellyn is flying in from his glamorous life in New York to attend as well!

  An unexpected pregnancy ended their relationship and as she stumbles through the ups and downs of life as a working single mum – helping everyone else find a happy ending along the way – Annie refuses to believe their old and incredibly hot spark can still exist.

  It’s only when she and Evan are forced to face up to the past together that they’ll discover if they can have their own happily-ever-after too!

  Also by Darcie Boleyn

  Wish Upon a Christmas Cake

  Something Old, Something New

  Darcie Boleyn

  www.CarinaUK.com

  DARCIE BOLEYN

  has a huge heart and is a real softy. She never fails to cry at books and movies, whether the ending is happy or not. She loves to travel and is happiest in the snow with a pair of skies strapped to her feet. Darcie is in possession of an overactive imagination that often keeps her awake at night. She always wanted to be a Jedi but she hasn’t yet found suitable transport to take her to a galaxy far, far away. She also has reservations about how she’d look in a gold bikini, as she rather enjoys red wine, cheese and loves anything with ginger or cherries in it – especially chocolate. She fell in love in New York, got married in the snow, rescues uncoordinated greyhounds and can usually be found reading or typing away on her laptop. Darcie loves to hear from readers, you can follow her on Twitter at: @DarcieBoleyn

  Contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  Book List

  Title Page

  Author Bio

  Acknowledgement

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Excerpt

  Endpages

  Copyright

  Thanks as always to my nine. I love you all so much and I am so proud of you!

  Huge thanks to my editor Charlotte Mursell, for your patience and encouragement, especially when I thought I needed to start all over again!

  To my fellow Carina authors, thanks for answering my many questions during research, writing and editing, and for your support and friendship.

  To the authors, readers and bloggers I interact with daily – you guys are stars!

  Love,

  Darcie xxx

  For LK, with love.

  XXX

  Chapter One

  Dog Poo Divorce

  Coffee. Check.

  Fresh air to clear head after last night’s leftover Christmas Shiraz. Check.

  Dogs in the garden for morning poo. Check.

  So here I am, shivering on the back doorstep early on a Sunday morning. It’s cold but dry for once. Dawn is breaking on the horizon and… wait, okay, I can’t see the horizon because of the six-foot fence and the house behind mine, but the English teacher in me is being poetic.

  The sky is a beautiful shade of red and… okay, it’s not really dawn either. It’s eight-thirty but it does feel really early. On a weekday, I’m used to being up at five-thirty and I begin hurtling through the day until I flop exhausted on the sofa at nine p.m., yet on Saturday and Sunday, rising any time before ten o’clock feels early.

  Perhaps it has something to do with the wine haze this morning. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have finished off the bottle, but then, I don’t drink through the week – well, not every day anyway – and is one glass after a hard day at work actually binge drinking? So I feel entitled to a glass or two at the weekend. I rarely go out anywhere so wine and chocolate tend to be my little treats. The trouble with red wine is that it just sends me off to sleep so quickly. It’s a legal and easy way to get hold of a sedative. Besides, the youngest two are at their father’s this weekend and my eldest, well, she was busy studying.

  Janis turned seventeen last summer and has her A-levels coming up in May and June. She tells me she’s studying and I hope that she’s being honest. It’s so important to me that Janis succeeds, that she doesn’t follow in my errant footsteps and make the same mistakes. I know I’m lucky in that Janis is fairly sensible. She’s always had an old head on her shoulders. I wonder sometimes if it’s because I had her so young, as if nature sought to compensate for my youth and naivety by giving me a wise baby. After all, she got ten A* grades at GCSE. She’s bright and she works hard. She’ll be fine with the jump to A-level, I’m sure. She is, sadly, going through a bit of a phase regarding me and I seem to irritate her more than I used to, but I’m hoping that it’s just hormones and possibly tiredness from all the studying, and that she’ll soon adore me in the way she always used to – before she turned into a serious teenager.

  My attention is dragged to my two British bulldogs Dragon and Fairy Princess. Yes, interesting names for pets dogs but Henry named one and Anabelle the other.

  What on earth is that?

  Dragon has just divested himself of the BIGGEST poop in the world – please excuse my vulgarity, talking about dog faeces, but when you have three children, no subject is taboo – and…

  Oh no, not again! There’s something white and stringy in it.

  Eek!

  Worms.

  Shit!

  Literally.

  I jump up and down on the spot, forgetting my half-full cup of coffee, which spills over my fluffy white dressing gown. I just get squeamish at the thought of parasites, especially with young children around. I’ve seen the warning posters at the doctor’s surgery about dog poo and how young children can get it into their eyes and go blind, or pick up worm eggs that they then digest and…

  I approach the offending pile, which steams mockingly in the cool morning air, for a closer inspection. I don’t want to do this but as the responsible adult of the house I have to. I mean, who else would do it? Who else would mow the grass, sort the recycling and take the rubbish out? I brush away the cloud of loneliness before it can engulf me. I’ve no time for self-pity, especially not today.

  I hold my breath as I lean forwards.

  Yes, there is indeed a long white stringy thing wound into the mocha swirl. But part of it is sticking out of the top and waving in the breeze. And… is that writing?

  I glance around the garden, looking for a tool, something to probe the smelly pile with. Dragon watches me, his big pink tongue hanging out of his wide mouth as he dons his happy face. I hope he doesn’t think that this is a game. His stubby tail wiggles with excitement. I shoot him a warning glance. He raises his eyebrows in the way that only bulldogs can, then hurries off to sniff Fairy Princess’s behind.

  So…

  An abandoned lollipop stick on the step of the moss-covered plastic playhouse attracts my attention. That will be my weapon of choice.

  I crouch next to the brown swirl
of stinky matter, well aware that I will have to clean this up before the kids come out here, and assess how best to extract the worm. Or whatever it is masquerading as a worm. But worms don’t have writing on them, do they? So it’s not worms. I sigh with relief.

  But then, if it’s not worms, what has my dog eaten?

  I roll up my sleeves.

  Here we go.

  I wiggle the stick into Dragon’s waste and lift out the white material. Yes; it’s definitely paper, and if I’m not mistaken, it’s… ‘Dragon!’

  He glances up from his rather intimate grooming of Fairy Princess and eyes the lollipop stick in my right hand. He knows. He knows damn well what he’s done.

  He’s been eating my post again.

  ****

  ‘That’s just disgusting!’

  I glance from the dirty lollipop stick to the horrified face of seventeen-year-old Janis. There’s no look as scornful as that of a teenage girl; they just have this way of combining venom with distaste in a way that can make even a grown man tremble. I’ve seen it firsthand, believe me. Take Mr Watford-Browning who used to be employed at the school where I work. That man – once the dynamic and enthusiastic Head of Art – turned to drink because of a group of girls who terrorised him during their time at high school. It’s not funny, not at all, but I see those girls around now and they’re all grown-up with children of their own; you wouldn’t think that they were once so mean. They tormented him on a daily basis until he locked himself in his cupboard. It culminated in him being prised out of there by the caretaker and a burly PE teacher during a fire drill. They couldn’t find him at first, then one of the girls confessed and the deputy head sent the two men in to find him. It was dreadfully sad to see the quivering wreck he’d become. I heard recently that he now has his own gallery in Camden and that he’s very successful. It gives me hope, that life can continue after teaching and that people can achieve their dreams, even if the road is a rocky one at times.

  ‘Mother!’ Janis snarls and I stiffen. I do wish that she wouldn’t call me Mother. It’s like being called by your full name, surname and all, in gym class. You know you’re not going to get off lightly and the humiliation is made worse by the fact that your jiggly pubescent thighs are encased in totally unflattering navy gym shorts. Painful. Degrading. Best left in the past.

  ‘Um… morning Janis. Nice to see you up so early.’

  ‘What do you mean early?’

  ‘Well… it’s not even nine yet.’

  Janis glances from me to the kitchen clock then back again.

  ‘That clock has stopped. Don’t you remember you were going to buy a new battery for it? It’s gone eleven.’

  My heart speeds up and I feel last night’s Shiraz recycle in my veins. Oh no! Henry has a football match this morning and I promised I’d be there. I must have slept for longer than I realised. Sometimes my responsibilities overwhelm me and I live in fear of being found inadequate at the only thing I’ve ever really been good at: being a mum.

  I peer at the poopy thread of letter hanging off the lollipop stick, then back at Janis.

  Everything freezes for a fraction of a second. In that moment, I could change what is about to happen but I do not move. Why don’t I move? The fates are against me as time begins again, and Dragon and Fairy Princess bound over to the doorway, eager to beat each other to greet my daughter. In that stubborn bulldog way, they pay no heed to the fact that I’m in their path. Dragon knocks my legs from under me and I am hurled backwards, landing with a thump on my back.

  I lie still, surprised and winded, staring into the sky, vaguely registering that slate-grey clouds are gathering like ominous puffs of smoke.

  Can’t put the washing out today.

  ‘Mum?’ Janis appears at my side, leaning over me to look at my face. Her perfectly arched brows are knitted together above her beautiful green eyes. ‘Mum… are you okay?’

  I blink at her, suddenly tearful at her change of tone. Mother has been replaced with Mum. She does still love me.

  ‘Mum, sit up.’

  I do as she tells me, shaking my head to clear the fuzzy feeling. I can almost hear the cartoon birds twittering as they flutter around me. From the kitchen doorway, Dragon and Fairy Princess hang their heads guiltily, tongues dripping glutinous dog saliva over the wooden floor.

  ‘Oh Mum.’

  ‘What… what’s wrong, Janis?’

  I peer around me, wondering if I’ve actually hurt myself but the shock has prevented me from feeling the pain.

  I move cautiously, wiggling fingers and toes but nothing seems to be broken. Nothing hurts.

  ‘Mum you fell into the dog poo.’ Janis backs away from me, wrinkling her cute little nose and folding her arms over her chest.

  The lollipop stick lies next to me, sticking up in the grass, and the paper waves free like some kind of soiled flag, held in place by one sticky end. I can just about make out two words that have survived a trip through Dragon’s digestive system.

  Two words that will change my life forever.

  Two words I once thought… hoped… I’d never read again.

  Decree absolute.

  Chapter Two

  Bed Hop

  My first thought on waking is that my divorce has been finalised.

  It is over. Finished. My second marriage crumbled to dust.

  Irreparable. Gone. Forever.

  However many times you say it, in whatever way, it means the same thing.

  I failed. Twice.

  Of course, this wasn’t entirely my fault and the main reason we’re getting divorced now is because Dex intends to marry again, but growing up I never thought I’d be divorced once – let alone twice. In fact, I had no intention of getting married at all but life often holds a few surprises. I had such big dreams of travelling the world and being an acclaimed photographer, of attending swanky parties and winning awards for my work featured in National Geographic or the Sunday Times supplement. But none of it happened that way.

  I think then of the invitation that’s sitting downstairs in my kitchen, an innocuous looking cream envelope with my name written on it in spidery calligraphy. I tucked it between a council tax bill and a reminder from the vet about the dogs’ boosters. Even though the invitation is out of sight, I know it’s there, a pregnant rectangle of card, an invitation to a wedding yes, but also to accept that yet again, my life is about to change. The wedding will be a clear sign that we’re all moving on, that we’re all being very mature and accepting about things, and that I’ve given Dex and Trevor my blessing. It will also, I suspect, bring Evan back to England and this thought makes my stomach flip.

  I sigh. I should get up and begin the first Monday back at work after Christmas but I’m reluctant. It’s dark and cold. The heating should have come on but the timer must be playing up again. Unless I forgot to reset it. It means I’ll probably have to call a plumber out and it will cost the earth and I can hardly afford that right after Christmas. All these little things mount up and can become big things if I let them. But I won’t let them. I’m the responsible adult here and I have to stay strong for the kids. Have to get up, get them up, get myself ready, get them ready, go out and be presentable then earn a wage so that I can keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. I have to set my children a good example. I have to provide them with security and stability. I have to be their centre, their role model, their guide.

  Gah…

  Sometimes… just sometimes, it all seems too hard. Especially on a chilly January morning right after Christmas. The worst time of the year.

  To be alone.

  I pull the duvet over my face and breathe in the sweet, comforting – yet scientifically fabricated – essence of jasmine and honeysuckle. It helps a little bit.

  My thoughts drift, as they sometimes do – in spite of my repeated vows not to indulge myself because this behaviour really is ridiculous and helps no one – to that first Christmas with Evan when life seemed so full of excite
ment and potential. Meeting at university in our shared major class of communication studies, we’d quickly become inseparable. Growing up, I’d sworn that I’d never fall in love, never get married or have children, vowed that I would be self-reliant and never allow a man to hurt me. However, one kiss from Evan and I was hooked. As hard as I tried to remain rational about him, it was impossible. With his bright blue-green eyes and long, curly black hair, he was like a singer from a rockband. But unlike an unreachable celebrity, he was real, right there for me to love. And he loved me too.

  I shouldn’t do this; but sometimes it’s nice to think about the good times. Before I was even divorced once, before I knew how painful love can be. But I did love him and life seemed so full of hope when we first got together. We were both going to be successful at our chosen careers – Evan wanted to be a music journalist and work for Kerrang or NME, while I wanted to be the next David Bailey. We planned on travelling the world and meeting all sorts of people. In my head, it was a dream I could enjoy because it meant that I’d get to keep my independence and earn a good wage whilst being in love. We knew we’d be separated on occasions, but that was all right too, as we’d be saving for our future and building a life together. In my bohemian undergraduate haze, I never thought much beyond the initial days of our life together after graduation. I didn’t fine-tune the marriage or family details because I just didn’t want to face those scary hurdles, not even in a daydream. But life has a way of making you face your fears even when you try very hard not to.

  Just before Christmas, in the final year of my studies, I applied to do a Masters of the Fine Arts in Photography following graduation. Then things took an unexpected turn. I had to admit that I was feeling unwell, but for a while I tried to blame the pressure of my studies and my part-time job. I was exhausted and felt quite faint a lot of the time, even after a good night’s sleep. Things smelt funny, my breasts grew tender and coffee made me heave. I was, of course, pregnant. We were being careful and using condoms but nothing is 100% and we got caught out. I was terrified because it seemed to mean the end of our hopes and dreams. Evan was shocked when I told him but he swore that he’d support me, stay with me and care for the baby.