Page 1 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay (Sturcombe Bay Romances #3)

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“I never want to see you again as long as I live!”

“Jess, please, listen to me.” Glenn hurried down the stairs behind her as she hefted two large bin bags full of clothes out to her car. “I can explain.”

“Explain?” She turned to confront him, fury churning inside her. “Like it was a mistake? You weren’t really messaging those women?”

“Well, I . . .”

“And not only messaging.” Her voice was a snarl. “Dick pics! Dick pics!”

Glenn glanced nervously up and down the street. “Oh, go on,” he protested. “Why not shout it out so all the neighbours can hear?”

“Good.” She tossed the bags into the back of the car on top of the boxes of books, shoes and general jumble that were all her worldly possessions.

“They should hear. They should know what a dirty, sleazy, low-life scumbag is living in their street.” She slammed the boot shut and marched round to the driver’s door.

“Where are you going?” Glenn pleaded.

“Anywhere away from here. As far away as I can get.”

“Jess, we’re getting married next month.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen now, is it? What part of ‘I never want to see you again’ is so difficult to understand? You can tell everyone it’s off. Goodbye and good riddance.”

“That car belongs to the business . . .”

“So sue me for it!”

Her hand was shaking as she pressed the ignition button, the wheels spinning as she put her foot down, pulled away from the kerb and headed for the main road.

Before she reached it she forced herself to slow down and breathe steadily.

She had no intention of giving Glenn the satisfaction of making her have an accident.

Where was she going to go? To her dad? He was happily settled with his new young wife, only a few years older than she was herself, with a toddler in the house and another on the way.

Or to her mum, still bitter more than four years after the divorce, and more than ready to indulge in a diatribe against the whole species of men. Which would be like eating too much chocolate — fine for a while, and then you’d just want to throw up.

So, Julia then — her twin sister. Everyone said it was impossible to tell them apart, but their personalities were complete opposites.

Calm, easy-going Julia, never known to lose her temper.

Jess had temper enough for both of them, as she’d be the first to acknowledge.

A temper that went with her fiery red hair — a living cliché!

Her phone rang, and she ignored it. All calls would go to voicemail anyway, so if they wanted the motorbike shop they would get the office number to ring instead. And if it was Glenn, he could go to hell.

She checked the petrol gauge. She’d need to stop and fill up the tank before she hit the motorway, and she needed to ring Julia and check that it would be okay to land on her.

She knew it would be — they’d always been there for each other, from the time they’d shared a crib. But it would be the considerate thing to do, especially as Julia would probably have sensed, with that crazy twin telepathy they shared, that there was something wrong, and worry.

After making a quick stop on the way out of town to fill up with petrol and buy a large slab of chocolate, she pulled into a layby and took her phone out of her bag.

Julia picked up the phone after just one ring. “Jess? What’s up?”

“You knew.”

“Of course I knew. Tell me.”

“It’s a long story.” The tears had started — fierce, angry, hurt tears that she’d refused to shed in front of Glenn. Now it felt as if they were never going to stop. “Can I come down to yours for a few days?”

“Of course you can.” No hesitation, no questions. “You know that.”

“I’ll tell you the whole thing when I get there.”

“Okay, honey-bun.” Julia’s voice was gentle, calming. “Drive safely.”

“See you in a couple of hours.”

Which, apart from a bit of a hold up at roadworks outside Taunton, was a pretty good estimate.

The view as she drove down through the Devon countryside was stunning — gently rolling hills of lush green grass where cows grazed contentedly, ignoring her as she passed, ploughed fields dotted with huge bales of golden hay like giant sausage rolls, and trees just beginning to drop the first leaves of autumn.

And as she approached Sturcombe she caught glimpses of the sea, a vivid shining blue beneath a high blue sky dotted with a few wisps of white cloud.

But it was all wasted on her. All she could think of was getting to Julia’s. She ignored the first turn-off for the village and took the second, down past the shops and the quaint old church, and turned right onto the lane behind the Memorial Gardens.

The lane led past the white frontage of the old Carleton Hotel. A little further on was a low stone wall surrounding a paved front yard, with a wooden table and chairs and a few half-barrel tubs filled with flowers.

To one side was the house — a rambling, quirky, ivy-clad L-shaped cottage built of the local grey stone.

You could see that it had once been three cottages, but they had been knocked together many years ago.

The roof-line was a jumble of square chimneys and dormers, every window a different size and a different level.

As she turned in through the gate the front door flew open and Julia raced out, dragging open the car door before Jess had even got her seatbelt off. The hug from her twin was what started the tears pouring down her cheeks again, soaking the shoulder of Julia’s sweater.

“Oh, honey. No, don’t say a word. Come on inside and sit down, have a cup of coffee, then you can tell me everything. No one else is home right now, so we can be quite private.”

Jess hiccupped and scrubbed her hand across her eyes. She let Julia link her arm into hers to draw her inside.

She had always liked the Ellis’s family home. Julia’s husband, Luke, was a vet, and so were both his parents and his brother. They had horses, dogs, a cat and a couple of rabbits which belonged to Julia’s seven-year-old son Ben and Robyn, her five-year-old niece.

“Go on through into the sitting room,” Julia urged. “I’ll put the coffee on.”

The sitting room was comfortable and unpretentious, with rough white-painted walls and dark oak beams across the low ceiling.

The big stone fireplace was empty apart from a few withered flowers, and the long sofas facing it were piled with mismatched cushions.

An ancient wooden cabin trunk served as a coffee table, but the large television was uncompromisingly modern.

One of the sofas was occupied by an elderly springer spaniel who showed no sign of being willing to move, so Jess sat on the other.

Julia brought in two mugs of coffee and a plate of chocolate brownies.

She set them down on the cabin trunk, and sat down next to the spaniel, who lifted her head to grumble mildly then went back to sleep.

“Now, tell me what’s happened.”

Jess huffed out a heavy breath, trying to ease the tension in her jaw. “Okay. Well, you remember last year I found out he was using one of those online sites to hook up with women? And he swore he’d never do it again?”

“But he did?”

Jess nodded. “He’d been acting a bit weird with his phone for the past few weeks, maybe longer, but that’s when I really noticed it. At first I thought maybe it was something about the wedding, some kind of secret surprise he was planning.”

She took a sip of her coffee, holding it carefully because her hands were shaking so much.

“Then this morning he’d answered a call when he first woke up, and when he went into the bathroom he forgot to turn the phone off. When it pinged . . . I was still half asleep, and I picked it up without thinking.”

“And there was a message from a woman on the same site?”

“There were more than a dozen, from several different women. And that’s not the worst of it.” She took a pause, struggling to force the words past the constriction in her throat. “I checked the messages he’d sent. And there were dick pics.”

“What?”

“Uh-huh.”

Julia’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “That’s . . . that’s . . .”

“Quite. So, the wedding’s off.” Oh dammit, she was crying again. “It’s all off.”

“Oh, love.” Julia moved quickly to wrap her arms around her sister. “That’s awful.”

Jess cuffed away the tears. “Not as awful as being married to that despicable low-life gutter rat.”

“Too right.” Julia’s voice was uncharacteristically fierce. “I’m going to have to kill him.”

Jess managed a weak laugh. “Oh, I don’t think we need to go that far. Castration ought to be enough.”

“With a blunt knife.”

“That’s gone a bit rusty.”

“And been dipped in salt.”

They were both laughing so much that Bramble the spaniel lifted her head, regarding them with what could only be interpreted as disdain, then lay down again with a huff and continued to ignore them. Which made them laugh more.

“Oh . . .” Julia groaned, holding her side. “I’ve got a stitch.”

Jess brushed the tears from her eyes with her hand. “I knew coming down here was the right thing to do. I feel so much better.”

They both leaned back, catching their breath. The laughter hadn’t solved everything, but it had helped.

The sound of footsteps at the back door quickly sobered them.

Jess sat up sharply, slanting her sister a look of alarm.

She hadn’t wanted to meet any of the family just yet, didn’t want to have to answer any awkward questions.

Julia patted her hand, gave her a reassuring smile, and strolled out to the hall.

“Hi, Graham. How’s everything?”

“Oh, fine, my luvver. Old Bert Mildon has finally paid his bill from last March. All in used fivers, I’m afraid, but the bank won’t mind how grubby they are.”

“Lovely.” Jess could hear the sardonic humour in her sister’s voice. “Is that sheep muck or pig muck on them?”

“Probably pig. Whose is that car in the yard?”

“My sister’s. She’s come down to stay for a few days, if that’s okay.”