The Pet Shop at Pennycombe Bay Read online

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by Sheila Norton

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Part 1: A Ruff Time

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Part 2: Paws for Thought

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Part 3: A New Leash of Life

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Part 4: Furever Home

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  Jess is looking for a fresh start and facing an uncertain future …

  She takes refuge in the beautiful Devon seaside town of Pennycombe but her confidence is at an all-time low after losing her job. She’s treading on eggshells living with her cousin Ruth, who seems to be permanently angry with her, and although she enjoys her new job at the local pet shop, with boss Jim pondering retirement, it’s soon threatened with closure. But with faithful dog Prudence by her side, Ruth decides it’s time to overcome her shyness and make a life for herself in Pennycombe. After volunteering for Pets at Therapy she soon becomes more involved with the local community and makes new friends, including handsome Tom and his son Jacob. But her hopes of romance are dashed when she sees Tom with a mystery woman …

  Will Jess finally get her happy ending and feel at home in Pennycombe?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Sheila Norton lives near Chelmsford in Essex with her husband, and worked for most of her life as a medical secretary, before retiring early to concentrate on her writing. Sheila is the award-winning writer of numerous women’s fiction novels and over 100 short stories, published in women’s magazines.

  She has three married daughters, six little grandchildren, and over the years has enjoyed the companionship of three cats and two dogs. She derived lots of inspiration for her animal books from remembering the pleasure and fun of sharing life with her own pets.

  When not working on her writing Sheila enjoys spending time with her family and friends, as well as reading, walking, swimming, photography and travel. For more information please see www.sheilanorton.com

  Also by Sheila Norton

  The Pets at Primrose Cottage

  The Vets at Hope Green

  Oliver the Cat Who Saved Christmas

  Charlie the Kitten That Saved a Life

  For Django. And for his humans, Sally and Richard Brown, who kindly shared with me the secret of their conversations with Django, and his imaginary friends!

  PART 1

  A RUFF TIME

  CHAPTER 1

  I first met Nick Abbott on a lovely morning in the middle of May. I’d been standing on the beach, the gentle waves just lapping my toes, gazing out to sea. It was my favourite time of year in Pennycombe Bay, still relatively quiet before the main onslaught of holidaymakers but with the possibility of sunny days and long, light evenings. My cocker spaniel Prudence was splashing madly in the shallow waves, full of the joy of being alive, when suddenly a big shaggy brown dog dived into the sea next to her, completely submerging her for a few seconds before she shook herself and bounded after him.

  ‘Sorry!’ called a voice from behind me. ‘He’s a bit too exuberant!’

  ‘It’s fine.’ I turned, smiling in my usual hesitant way at the tall, blond, good-looking guy approaching me down the beach. ‘Look, they’re friends already.’

  ‘So easy for dogs, isn’t it,’ he commented, laughing. ‘No awkward introductions, no bothering with hearing each other’s life histories. Just jump straight in and start playing.’

  I nodded, struck dumb now with shyness. He was right, I thought sadly. If only I could be as easy and carefree as these dogs and, come to that, as easy and relaxed as this handsome stranger seemed to be. Ignoring my silence, he was already going on to talk about his dog – Buddy – how long he’d had him, how nice the weather had been, and how long he’d lived in Pennycombe Bay.

  ‘Are you local yourself?’ he asked eventually as I was still struggling to think of anything to say in response.

  ‘Yes. I’ve been living here for about four years now.’

  ‘Oh, right. I haven’t seen you down here before,’ he remarked.

  ‘Well, during the winter I usually take Prudence to West Beach.’

  ‘Oh, right. Of course. Dogs aren’t allowed there from May to September, are they?’ he said. ‘I prefer it here anyway, myself.’

  I nodded. West Beach, closer to the centre of town, was where all the holidaymakers went, but this smaller, rockier beach at Stony Cove was prettier, as well as being quieter. The only reason I chose West Beach, outside of the peak season when dogs were allowed there, was that it was a slightly shorter walk from my home, and time was at a premium. I checked my watch now, quickly, and gave a little start of surprise.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Um, it was nice to meet you but I need to get going.’ I shrugged self-consciously. ‘Come on, Prudence.’

  As usual I was trying hard not to let my natural shyness come across as downright rudeness. It was a difficult balancing act. I could already feel myself starting to blush. But he was still smiling, as if he hadn’t even noticed how awkward I was.

  ‘Work?’ he asked, sympathetically. ‘Luckily I’ve got a day off today.’ He grimaced. ‘Back to the grind tomorrow, then I’ll be walking Buddy a lot earlier, as usual.’

  ‘Right.’ I nodded, and managed to give him a smile in return. ‘Well, sorry, but I really must dash, I’m running late.’

  Prudence bounded out of the sea towards me, ears bouncing, tail waving, her eyes bright with excitement. I stepped away from her a little as she shook herself vigorously, sea water flying in all directions, then I fastened her lead. I looked up at the guy, gave him a flustered little wave and turned to go.

  ‘Nice to meet you too,’ he called after me. ‘Hope I didn’t hold you up! I’m Nick, by the way.’

  ‘Oh, I’m Jess,’ I mumbled, without looking back. ‘Bye, then!’

  I walked quickly back along the beach towards the steps up to the road, embarrassed and annoyed with myself. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t even manage to have an ordinary conversation with a man without being so shy that I was in danger of coming across as downright rude. And now I’d probably made myself late for work. I looked at my watch again and tried to force myself to relax. It was OK. If Prudence and I walked at a decent pace we could be home from here in about ten minutes – if you could call it home. Then I shook myself. Now I was just being ungrateful! Ungrateful to my cousin, whose house I lived in. Ungrateful for my nice life here in the place I’d loved ever since I was a child, when my dad used to bring me here for days out from our home in Exeter. And, of course, I knew I should have been thankful for the fact that I had a job, even if it wasn’t exactly what I’d imagined myself doing as a career. It was a nice little job, and it was better than being unemployed, I told myself sha
rply. Better than having to sweep the roads or clean toilets for a living. I was lucky, I reminded myself yet again. Snap out of it, girl!

  The fact was that I loved living here in Pennycombe Bay, I loved being able to walk on the beach with Prudence every morning before work and, later in the summer, to swim in the sea during the evenings, when the water was at its warmest and most of the tourists had packed up and left the beach. The quaint, narrow, cobbled little streets that made up the town centre, the quirky shops and cheerful, friendly cafés were all part of the reason I felt so at home in the little town. I was so lucky to be living here, I reminded myself again. So why did I sometimes feel so unsettled? Why couldn’t I shake off this niggling feeling that life had cheated me, that everybody else was more fulfilled and happy than I was?

  ‘Why can’t I be more like you?’ I said out loud to Prudence. ‘Why can’t I just enjoy my nice life, and be grateful for it?’

  Prudence looked up at me, her head on one side as if she’d like to help, if only she could.

  Don’t worry, Mum, she seemed to be saying. At least you’ve got me!

  I laughed at the expression on her little face. As long as I had her, why should I worry about anyone else? A chance encounter with a good-looking stranger on the beach didn’t matter in the least. I’d have forgotten all about it by the next day.

  Home was number five, West View Villas, and was just one street back from the seafront, up a short but quite steep hill that had Prudence and me puffing from the climb. A three-storey pink-painted house, built during the rise in popularity of British seaside resorts in the 1930s, it was at the top end of a terrace of similar houses. They were all painted in different pastel colours, and had been used as B&Bs for decades, but were now mostly owned by well-off young professionals like my cousin, or as second homes by Londoners who brought their families down to stay during the summer. Because of its history as a B&B, the house was a lot bigger than it looked from the outside, with five bedrooms and two bathrooms, a big fitted kitchen that had been knocked through to the dining room, and a separate lounge at the front. It was too big for one person – my cousin – on her own; I had no idea how she’d afforded to buy it. Too big even for the two of us, but needless to say, I wasn’t about to complain. Being on the end of the terrace had also given the house the advantage of space for a garage – a rarity in the tight little streets of this town – with a utility room built onto the back. The garden was small but at least gave Prudence somewhere to run around. And best of all, because we were at the top of a hill, the back bedrooms had balconies looking over the rooftops of the houses in the next street and down to the sea.

  By the time I let myself into the house that morning, my cousin had already left. Ruth was an accountant, working for a practice in Exeter where she’d been all but promised, if she stayed with them, a partnership by the time she was forty. She was counting down the years: four to go. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like to be Ruth: to have to put on a smart suit every day, commute on the train and spend her life in an office, dealing with spreadsheets and figures, profits and losses, assets and liabilities and all the other things she talked about, which I didn’t understand or even want to. Going out for business lunches and meetings with clients; bringing work home to do at weekends. We were so different, it was hard to believe we were closely related. For a start, she was tall, slender and beautiful, with long straight dark hair that gleamed as if it were silk. I was much shorter, making me look a bit dumpy, and although my hair was the same colour, to my endless chagrin I hadn’t inherited the straight, shiny look. Mine was an unruly mop of curls that I’d finally given in and had cut short – it was the only way to manage it. Six years older than me, Ruth had been like a big sister to me when we were children. I’d looked up to her then. Now, it was definitely more a case of her looking down on me.

  I washed Prudence, gave her a rub down with a warm towel, filled her water bowl and watched her settle down in her bed.

  ‘There you go, Pru,’ I said, giving her a quick stroke before I left. ‘Have a nice rest, and I’ll see you later.’

  She wagged her tail at me. OK, Mum. Off you go to work, I’ll be fine!

  ‘Don’t give me that look,’ I warned her, smiling. ‘I know you’re probably plotting to get all your little doggy friends round here as soon as my back’s turned. I suppose you’ll have a party here and finish off all the drink in the cupboard!’

  It was a little joke we shared. Well, I suppose I shared it with myself. That’s what happens when a dog is your closest friend – you not only talk to them, you imagine them replying, and make up imaginary lives for them too. Of course, Prudence knew I’d be coming home at lunchtime, as I did most days, to let her out in the garden. That was another reason to appreciate my nice life, I reminded myself: working locally, only a short walk into town from here. It wouldn’t have been fair to have a dog if I’d worked long hours in the city like Ruth did. Not that Ruth would want a dog, anyway. She just about tolerated Prudence, as long as I kept her clean and quiet, which wasn’t always easy.

  I walked quickly into town, enjoying the breeze on my face, the blue sky and sunshine. As usual, I stopped off at the newsagent’s, which was the shop next door to ours, where Mr Patel had my paper ready and waiting for me.

  ‘Anything else for you today, Jess?’ he asked, smiling at me.

  ‘No thanks, Mr P.’ I fumbled in my purse for the right change. ‘Have a good day.’

  ‘You too, love.’

  It was pretty much the same quick, uncomplicated conversation we had every morning, and it suited me perfectly, not having to worry about what to say or how to say it. Mr Patel was a nice guy who knew all his customers by name, and he stocked a few convenience items like tea, coffee and biscuits alongside his newspaper business. So I was often sent next door to his shop for supplies during my working day too.

  ‘Here you are, then, Jess,’ said my boss, Jim Meacham, looking up with a smile when the door chimes alerted him to my arrival in the pet shop.

  He said the same thing every day – as if I’d turned up unexpectedly an hour late, or as if he’d been wondering whether I was coming in at all. In fact, I was there on the dot of eight forty-five every morning, giving us fifteen minutes to have coffee and a chat before I turned the Closed sign on the door round to Open. Every day I performed the same small ritual, watched by Jim with an expression of genuine anticipation, hands on the counter, poised ready for his first customer. Actually, we both knew it could be hours before anyone came in to buy anything. Sometimes we’d have a rush – two or three sales within the first hour of opening. Other days, we’d close for an hour for lunch without having served a single customer.

  Jim was getting on a bit now, but he’d owned Paws4Thought for over thirty years, and worked there as an assistant to his father before that – ever since he was a young boy. Back then, it had been a traditional pet shop called simply Pennycombe Bay Pets and Supplies, selling kittens and puppies as well as smaller animals like mice, hamsters and gerbils. I remembered being brought as a child to the shop on rainy seaside day trips, to coo over the cute kittens and fluffy bunnies, while we sheltered from the weather and my dad chatted to Jim about the latest scandal in the town. They were old friends; Dad knew everyone around here in those days. He was born and grew up in Pennycombe Bay, only moving to Exeter when he married my mum, so he always enjoyed bringing me back here for our days out together.

  Of course, pet shops didn’t tend to sell puppies or kittens any more, and Jim had changed the shop’s name about ten years earlier to reflect the changing times. He apparently asked the local school to hold a competition for the kids to come up with a quirky new name, and no doubt it was actually the parents who put forward their suggestions. Paws4Thought was the result. We now stocked pet food – every brand under the sun – and flea powders and shampoos, toys and beds, leads and collars for dogs, scratching posts and litter trays for cats, cages for mice and birds, books on pet care �
�� you get the picture. Everything but the animals, who would have made the job halfway interesting and fun.

  But again, I knew I should appreciate what I had. It was a nice job, after all, and Jim was lovely. I was pretty sure he didn’t even really need me, but he’d stepped in when he heard I needed a break, probably out of loyalty to my dad. And I worked as hard as I could to make his life easier and repay him for his kindness. I stacked the shelves, did the stock ordering, balanced the books, did the banking – letting him sit in his chair behind the counter chatting to his regular customers. Sometimes I felt that we were as much a meeting place of pet owners as a shop, but that was Pennycombe Bay for you. Longstanding friendships going back for generations; old-fashioned slot machines on the pier and boat trips from the harbour; traditional fish and chips, and cream teas. The British seaside at its best. Some of my friends back in Exeter wouldn’t have come near the place. They thought it was dull. I wasn’t sure what it said about me that I loved it so much.

  ‘Two sugars and a digestive biscuit as usual, Jim?’ I called out now, as I finished making our morning coffees in the little kitchen at the back of the shop.

  ‘Lovely, Jess.’ He came to take the steaming mug out of my hands, and as we both went back through to the shop to start another day, the stranger on the beach slipped to the back of my mind.

  CHAPTER 2

  We closed the shop at five-thirty and I was home before six. As usual I took Prudence out for another good romp along the beach, and came back through Penny Woods. Ruth was home when I arrived back, and before we’d even exchanged a word she’d come out to the utility room to watch me washing Prudence, and was frowning and tutting at the sand and mud Prudence had accumulated on our walk.

  ‘I’ll get her completely clean before I bring her into the house,’ I said, as if it wasn’t what I did every single day. I’d gone around to the back door, as always, and filled the sink in the utility room. Prudence was used to the routine. She was small enough to be lifted into the sink and washed down, before she got her reward of a warm towel. But still Ruth had to stand there, shaking her head as if we were making a mess of the place. I wouldn’t have minded so much if it wasn’t usually me who did all the housework. There was an unspoken agreement that it was only right and fitting that I did, as I was the family charity case who had been graciously taken in, in return for a very low rent. I couldn’t really dispute this, though. If Ruth hadn’t made me her offer, I’d never have been able to live in such a lovely house.