Things can’t get worse for Daisy Jones… can they?
Christmas is meant to be the happiest time of year so why is absolutely everything going wrong for Daisy? Reeling from a bad breakup, moving back in with her parents and hounded by trouble at work she really shouldn’t be surprised when things go from bad to worse… and she ends up in A&E!
Her great-grandmother persuaded her to plant a silver sixpence in the Christmas pud for luck but choking on the coin isn’t the ‘change’ she’d wished for. Yet when dashing Dr Noah Hartley saves the day things finally start to look up. With Christmas Day just around the corner Daisy’s determined to make her own luck…and hopefully bag herself a dishy doc in the process!
A heart-warming christmas romance perfect for fans of Holly Martin, Debbie Johnson and Daisy James
I really enjoyed this story it was warm and funny and had me giggling more than once!
I thought that the story flowed very well, it had excellent characterisation and it was really well written. This was the first book I’d read by this author and I will definitely be looking out for more rom her in future and will also be taking a look at her other books already out as I enjoyed this one so much!
It was a very easy book to read and I loved getting to know the characters as the book progressed and it left me feeling warm and cosy inside and like I’d had a great big hug. I adore the cover for this one too, it is gorgeous and very festive!!
Four stars from me for this one – highly recommended, I really enjoyed it!
Links to Book:
EXTRACT FROM THE BOOK!!
Daisy took one last look around the place she had called home for the past three years, and quietly shut the front door behind her. She kept hold of her keys; she’d not packed everything and she intended to return at some point to pick up the rest of her things, but she wanted to choose a time when she knew Freddie wouldn’t be at home.
At the moment, she never wanted to set eyes on him again.
Car loaded, she drove out of the cul-de-sac and headed towards her mother’s house, feeling totally and utterly dejected. She’d envisioned only ever returning to the family home to sleep on one last occasion – the eve of her wedding. Look at her now, thirty-years-old and running back home to her mother with her tail between her legs.
Not that her mother would be too happy about it, but hopefully she’d not make too much of a fuss, except for giving her the inevitable all-men-are-bastards speech, which Daisy would probably get a double dose of from both her mother and her nan. Though Daisy suspected her nan had been secretly pleased when Daisy had moved out, because it meant she could move right in, which she’d done with all the speed of a greyhound chasing after a mechanical rabbit, and with the same amount of dogged determination.
Three adult women in one house, and all related to each other? It was a recipe for disaster, but she had nowhere else to go. She had some savings, admittedly, but not nearly as much as Freddie thought, and she didn’t want to waste any of it on renting somewhere, not if she wanted to buy a place of her own someday. And she realised just how much she did want that – her own home. Hers. No one else’s.
Throughout their three years of living together, Daisy had always been conscious of the fact the house belonged to Freddie. Not that he had ever rubbed her nose in it, but there were the occasional small remarks, and the odd comment. She didn’t think he knew he was doing it.
Any other daughter would be going back to her mother for tea and sympathy, and hugs, and “there, there, you’ll get over it”. Any other mother would provide lashings of the above, plus kisses on the forehead, and squeezed shoulders, and ruffled hair.
But not Sandra. And not Elsie either.
‘It’s Wednesday,’ her mother said, when Daisy rang the doorbell and walked into a bizarre version of a Christmas grotto. A low-hanging, foil decoration hung in the kitchen doorway, at exactly the right height for slapping her in the face, and the rest of the room was scattered with fairy lights, like Nigella Lawson’s kitchen in her cookery show. Except Nigella had hers strung tastefully on a dresser, not wrapped around the back of the cooker, where it was a fire hazard, or dangling from the cupboards so you couldn’t open the doors properly. Then there was the half-dead poinsettia on the windowsill, and masses of Christmas cards taped to the fridge with hardly a room for a pin between them.
‘I know it’s Wednesday,’ Daisy said.
‘You never visit on Wednesdays. We’re just about to have egg, beans, and chips for tea. There’s not enough for three.’
‘It’s okay, I’m not hungry.’
‘Not hungry? Are you coming down with something?’ Then Sandra’s hand shot to her mouth and she gasped in horror. ‘You’re not pregnant?’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘That’s a relief.’
Yeah, wasn’t it just, considering. Then she bristled, and said, ‘Would it be so bad if I was?’
Her mother gave her a look, the one she always used when she thought the other person was being particularly stupid. Then she spotted what Daisy had left in the hall. ‘What’s with the cases?’ she demanded, eyeing them suspiciously.
Daisy had packed two, and wasn’t really sure what she’d shoved in them. For all she knew, she might have brought her bikini and flip flop collection with her; very useful in December. She’d flung random stuff in, not thinking about what she was doing, just desperate to get out of that house and away from Freddie.
In a tiny voice, Daisy whispered, ‘Can I stay with you for a bit?’
She was greeted with silence. Sandra froze, the oven door half open as she bent to check on the progress of the chips. Her nan paused, butter knife in the air, and both women turned to stare at her, as if in slow motion, their eyes wide and their mouths open.
Was it really so surprising? Relationships broke down every day.
‘I knew it wouldn’t last,’ Sandra declared eventually, turning her attention back to the chips, which were nicely cooking in the oven. The smell of them made Daisy feel slightly nauseous.
‘Did you?’ Daisy said. ‘I didn’t.’
‘I told you all men were bastards,’ her mother declared.
Elsie nodded her agreement, then narrowed her eyes, as a thought occurred to her. ‘You can’t have your room back,’ her nan said, defensively. ‘It’s mine, now.’
Daisy sank wearily onto a kitchen chair. ‘I’ll sleep in the box room,’ she said. ‘If that’s okay?’ she added, to her mother.
‘It’ll have to be, won’t it?’ was the reply. ‘And what do you mean “for a bit”? How long is a bit?’
Daisy shrugged, and her mother let out a long huffy sigh, and exchanged glances with her nan. No sympathy from either of them. At least Daisy hadn’t expected any, so she wasn’t disappointed.
Elsie offered her a slice of bread and butter, and Daisy took it, stuffing it unthinkingly into her mouth, and chewing without tasting, hoping it would relieve the sick feeling.
‘I’ll make us a nice cup of tea after we’ve eaten,’ her nan said. ‘That’ll make everything better.’
No, it won’t, Daisy wanted to say, but her nan’s faith in the power of a “nice cup of tea” was unshakeable, so she let it go.
‘Go on then, what did he do?’ Sandra asked.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Daisy said. She wasn’t in an emotional place where discussing Freddie’s sexuality was an option. How was she going to break the news that her boyfriend of four years, the man who she’d shared a house with for three of them, was sleeping with another man. It wasn’t a conversation she was looking forward to. Apart from the pity, Daisy suspected people would look at her with speculation, wondering what was so wrong with her that it had driven her boyfriend into a man’s arms. ‘Let’s just say, we like different things,’ she said.
‘Rubbish! Liking different things is hardly a reason to come running back home to your mother, is it?’ Sandra said.
‘I thought you didn’t expect it to last,’ Daisy pointed out. ‘What’s with the relationship advice?’
‘If it was something more serious, like he beat you, or he ran off with another woman, that would be a valid reason, not just “liking different things”. We all like different things, especially men. Who likes watching sport for hours on end? Men, that’s who. Who spends hours in the pub after work? Men. You won’t catch many women doing that.’
Okay, now her mother was referring to Daisy’s long-absconded father. Trust Sandra to bring everything back to her. Freddie did watch sport, but only now and again, and he never went to the pub after work. He took clients out to dinner instead.
Or did he? All those times when he said he’d be late, Daisy now suspected was nothing to do with work at all. All those times when she’d heard male voices and laughter on the other end of the phone, and all those times when he’d said he was playing golf with his mates, Daisy now realised it probably hadn’t been golf he’d been playing, though it might well have involved balls of a different kind.
What a cliché. She was the girlfriend sitting obliviously at home, whilst her man was out screwing around. And to think she’d been reassured by all those men she could hear in the background. Freddie had even put one or two of those so-called “mates” on the phone to speak to her.
She’d never felt so stupid.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lilac Mills writes feel-good romantic women’s fiction, and is the author of Love in the City by the Sea, A Very Lucky Christmas, Summer on the Turquoise Coast, and Sunshine at Cherry Tree Farm.
Lilac spends all her time writing, or reading, or thinking about writing or reading, often to the detriment of her day job, her family, and the housework!
Home for Lilac is Worcester, England.