Chapter 4

FOUR

THREE A.M. MONDAY 4TH DECEMBER

Florrie wasn't sure how long the phone had been ringing. It had started off as a distant sound, slipping into her dream, before gradually filtering through to her consciousness. She became aware of Ed moving beside her, heard his voice, thick with sleep, as he answered the call. She stirred, slowly blinking herself awake, her slumber-fuzzy mind trying to make sense of what was happening. That the room was still swathed in darkness did little to help her confusion.

In the next moment, panic shot through her. Her eyes pinged open as adrenalin surged and thoughts crashed into her mind. She was wide awake. Ed was on the phone! In bed, right beside her. Someone had rung! Her insides started twisting, making her feel sick as her thoughts went straight to her mum. Threat of the dreaded lymphoma lurked at the back of her mind like a malicious spectre, a constant reminder of just how ill her mum had been, of how close they'd come to losing her.

Florrie sat bolt upright and flicked on the bedside light, watching Ed's face closely. His expression darkened, sending fear prickling over her body.

‘Who is it?' she asked urgently, her heart thudding hard against her ribs. Calls in the middle of the night only meant one thing: bad news. She sat poised, all her senses on high alert, ready to grab the phone, convinced the call was for her. It was all she could do to stop herself from tearing it out of his hand. Her breathing started coming in short bursts as her pulse whooshed noisily in her ears. She cursed herself for her bedtime habit of always turning her mobile phone off. She should have left it on, then whoever it was – her dad, the hospital – would have been able to reach her straight away rather than troubling Ed.

‘Who is it?' she asked again, swallowing down the lump of anxiety that had lodged itself in her throat. Oh God, please make Mum be okay. Please make Mum be okay. Please make Mum be okay.

Ed pushed himself up and raked his fingers through his hair. ‘My father.' He rolled his eyes and shook his head, the phone pressed against his ear.

‘Oh.' Florrie flopped back on her pillows, relief washing over her. A tiny thought at the back of her mind told her that a call from Ed's father never brought anything good, but she would rather have that than bad news about her mum; that she'd been taken poorly in the night and been rushed to hospital. Florrie drew in a calming breath, feeling her heart rate settle. Nothing could take priority over her concern for her mum – or her dad, for that matter, but he regularly described himself as being "as fit as a lop", and had no health issues. Touch wood. But the relief that there was no need for Florrie to worry about her mum was immeasurable. For tonight, at least.

She closed her eyes and released a shaky sigh, nausea draining away. Would there ever be a time when she didn't have a worry about her mum at the back of her mind? she wondered. A time when she didn't live in fear that the cruel disease had come back to wreak more havoc and heartache? She doubted it, but at least she managed her worries on a daily basis, kept them contained. Well, until they were woken up by phone calls in the middle of the night and her default worry kicked in with a vengeance.

She felt Ed wrap his hand around her fingers, giving them a reassuring squeeze. She glanced across at him. ‘Sorry,' he mouthed the word, mustering up an apologetic smile. He'd evidently guessed what had been going through her mind.

‘S'okay,' she whispered, squeezing his hand back and returning his smile. The final traces of panic slowly released its grip only to be replaced by a feeling of concern for Ed, who was clearly on the receiving end of an ear-bashing from his father. Who would do that at this hour? Peter Harte, that's who, she thought. Florrie considered him a selfish bully who only ever got in touch when he wanted something, which she assumed was the reason behind this phone call. She wondered what time it was in Antigua where Ed's parents currently lived. How typical that Peter wouldn't stop to think of the time difference, that he was calling at an antisocial hour. And even if he had, from what Florrie knew of him, she very much doubted he'd care.

‘So you keep telling me, Dad.' Ed puffed out his cheeks. She could hear his father's disembodied voice ranting away in the background, its familiar jabbing, angry tone. As she pulled the duvet up around her, Florrie's ears pricked up. She could have sworn she'd heard mention of Jean Davenport's name in amongst the torrent of words. She couldn't even begin to imagine what reason Peter Harte would have to drag mild-mannered Jean into one of his grievances. And, much as she didn't like to feel that she was eavesdropping, Florrie couldn't help but listen out in case her friend's name cropped up again.

Jean Davenport had been a trusted and loyal friend of Ed's grandparents, and now regularly helped out at the bookshop. She was inoffensive and kind-hearted, and Florrie felt a stab of alarm that she should feature in one of Peter Harte's verbal attacks.

A few moments later, Ed barged headlong into his father's diatribe. ‘Look, Dad, I'll call you later when I'm more awake; it's just gone three in the morning here which is hardly the best time to have this kind of conversation.' His jaw tightened as his father continued regardless.

‘I don't understa—' Ed threw up his free hand as more angry gabbling quashed his words.

Florrie threw him a sympathetic smile.

‘I am listening, Dad, but all I'm hearing is you yelling at me without actually telling me anything I can make sense of.' He rolled his eyes in exasperation. ‘I don't know what's so urgent, surely this can wait until mor—' Ed held the phone out in front of him, frowning at the screen. ‘Ugh! Infuriating man! Accused me of not listening then hung up.' Ed fell back onto his pillows and dragged his hand down his face.

‘Is everything okay?' As soon as she'd asked, Florrie realised it was a stupid question. Clearly, if someone feels the need to call you in the middle of the night, everything wasn't okay. ‘I mean, are you okay?' She didn't like to say she'd heard his dad shouting.

He turned to her, an air of defeat about him. ‘It would seem my parents have a bee in their bonnet,' he said flatly. ‘Again.'

Florrie's heart sank. ‘You mean about the bookshop?' She thought – hoped – they'd moved on from that, accepted the way things were, albeit begrudgingly. Indeed, they'd hadn't heard a peep out of them regarding it over this last year. She dreaded to think why they should think to resurrect their grievances now.

Ed turned to her and sighed wearily. ‘'Fraid so. Said he and my mother knew it would lead to trouble, us having the bookshop.'

‘Trouble? What kind of trouble? What does that even mean?' she asked, scrunching up her nose.

‘That's the thing, I haven't a clue.' He scratched his head in puzzlement. ‘None of his ranting made any sense, he kept saying Grandad had been irresponsible, had created a can of worms. And he mentioned something about… well… it was hard to make sense of what he was saying to be honest.' The lengthy pause and his troubled expression set a feeling of unease squirming in her stomach. She wondered if it was linked to his father mentioning Jean Davenport. Much as she was tempted to ask, she thought better of it. Something told her Ed would have brought it up if he'd wanted her to know. Why he wouldn't want to share it was a mystery, but it was the middle of the night, she told herself, things would make more sense in the morning. And besides, it wouldn't be the first time he'd kept his worries to himself. Hopefully, he'd share them when he was ready.

‘Unfortunately, my father doesn't know how to have a conversation with me without getting full of hell,' Ed continued. ‘It's as if it's the only way he knows how to communicate – with me, at least. I daresay my mother's been winding him up like she usually does.' He glanced over at Florrie, a look of regret on his face. ‘I'm sorry this has all blown up again.'

‘Hey, you've got nothing to be sorry about,' she said. The concern etched on Ed's face tugged at her heart, overriding her own worries. She shuffled across and snuggled into him, resting her head on his chest and wrapping her arm around him. ‘I'm sure everything'll be all right. If it's about us handing over the bookshop, we just need to stick together and stand firm. Hopefully, they'll get the message.'

‘I'm not so sure it'll be as easy as that.' He absently smoothed his fingers over Florrie's arm, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. ‘He sounded pretty het-up just then. And something tells me there's more to it than them wanting the bookshop.'

Florrie swallowed, the feeling that Ed was holding back on her growing, and the reason behind it taking on a deeper sense of gravity. ‘I know what you said about your dad not knowing how to talk to you, but do you think it might be an idea to hear what he has to say? Maybe you could call him back when he's had a chance to simmer down, at a time that's good for both of you, in private?' She peered up at him, hoping her words would offer some reassurance.

‘You have no idea how unappealing that idea is. All that man does is rant.'

‘I get that, but do you think it might appease him a little if you call him back, at a more reasonable time, hear him out? At least that way, you might get an idea of what's bugging him now, whether or not it's us having the bookshop.' She hoped she wasn't overstepping the mark; she knew how tetchy Ed could be about contacting his parents.

He blew out a noisy breath. ‘I really don't want to waste any more time dwelling on them and their latest drama. And whatever has got him rankled—' He pinched his lips together, slicing his words off. ‘Anyway, it's late and all I want to do right now is cuddle up with you and try to get back to sleep.' With that, he turned his phone off and slid it in the drawer of his bedside cabinet, closing it firmly.

Taking his cue, Florrie reached across and flicked the light off with a snap. But much as she savoured the feel of his arms closing around her, it didn't stop her mind from going into overdrive. She'd always suspected his parents' grievances over Mr H's will and the bookshop would resurface. It made her wonder at the timing of their latest objection, not to mention where Jean fitted in with it all.

As the night wore on, it was apparent from the heavy sighs emanating from Ed that the call had pushed sleep out of his reach, just as it had for her. The implications of his father's call tormented their thoughts, creating an air of unease in the bedroom. It was deeply unsettling for both of them.

Florrie's stomach clenched for the umpteenth time since she'd heard Peter Harte's harsh voice barking out of Ed's phone.

Though Mr Cuthbert from Cuthbert, Asquith & Co Solicitors had done all he could to reassure Ed and Florrie that Mr H's will was absolutely watertight, she still struggled to shake the feeling of guilt that being bequeathed something so generous as a half share in a business had created, even if that business hadn't been doing so well at the time – Mr H, consumed by his grief at losing his beloved wife, had lost interest in the bookshop and the profits had plummeted accordingly.

But now, a year-and-a-half later, Florrie and Ed had breathed new life into the bookshop and were reaping its rewards. Between them, they'd brought the business up to date, giving its social media pages an overhaul, having a website designed for them where customers could subscribe to a newsletter, tempted by various special offers and early tip-offs of the author readings and book signings that had become a regular feature. There was also a loyalty card which had proved very popular with the Happy Hartes' customers. And though these improvements had been implemented, there was one thing the couple had been determined wouldn't change, and that was the family values and old-fashioned service the well-loved shop was renowned for. In fact, it made them all the more determined to reinforce these qualities, hence the loyalty card.

It gladdened Florrie's heart to see that Ed finally had his fear of books under control, which was an added bonus. It was something that had come about in no small way thanks to her patience and support, putting the knowledge she'd gained from her time offering home-tutoring in English, something she'd done up until a few years ago. One of her students had been dyslexic and Florrie still had a selection of the resources she'd used in their lessons. As well as the tinted overlays (for both laptop screen and paper), Ed had been amazed when Florrie had told him about a laptop with specially colour-coded keys to help people who had dyslexia. He'd snapped one up, as well as a reading and scanning digital pen. His relief at just how much these things helped him had made Florrie's heart squeeze.

When he'd first arrived in Micklewick Bay Ed had been at a crossroads in his life and was ready for a change of direction. The timing couldn't have been better and his new role as joint owner of The Happy Hartes Bookshop had been just what he'd needed – even if he hadn't realised it at first. And now he was revelling in creating his much talked about window displays as well as taking photographs and designing images for the bookshop's social media pages, which had grown enormously since the summer thanks to his artistic flair.

It would be unbearable if Ed's parents were resurrecting their grievances once more – if indeed that was what the phone call was about. Florrie could picture them both, sitting on their perches like a pair of greedy vultures, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in and snatch the bookshop out of their hands.

But something was gnawing at the back of Florrie's mind, telling her that there was more to the call than Ed was letting on.