A Summer to Remember
Sam lives by the mantra that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. After the tragic loss of her husband, Sam built a new life around friends, her cat Coco and a career she loves. Fending off frequent set-ups and well-meaning advice to ‘move on’, Sam is resolutely happy being single. But when Sam gets seconded to her firm’s Boston office for the summer, it is more than her career that is in for a shake-up. A spur of the moment decision to visit the idyllic beaches of Cape Cod could end up changing her life forever. One thing is for sure, Sam won’t finish the summer the same woman who started it… For fans of Holly Martin, Debbie Johnson and Lindsey Kelk, this is the unmissable beach read for 2019! What readers are saying about A Summer to Remember: ‘Heartwarming and hopeful – a slightly irreverent, sometimes laugh-out-loud look at life after loss. Just perfect’ Rachel Burton ‘Uplifting, funny, romantic and charming … The perfect summer read’ ‘Kept me hooked till the last page … Recommended!’ ‘Heartwarming with a lovely romantic storyline and fantastic characters’ ‘Cosy romance that I read in one sitting’ ‘Could not put it down … A nice summer read’
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Victoria Cooke grew up in the city of Manchester before crossing the Pennines in pursuit of her career in education. She now lives in Huddersfield with her husband and two young daughters. When she’s not at home writing by the fire with a cup of coffee in hand, she loves working out in the gym and travelling. Victoria has always had a passion for reading and writing, undertaking several writers’ courses before completing her first novel in 2016.
‘An unputdownable read’
Rachel Burton
‘A true love story’
Amazon Reviewer
‘I couldn’t put it down’
Jessica Bell
‘Delightful contemporary romance’
Amazon Reviewer
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It Started with a Note
A Summer to Remember
VICTORIA COOKE
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © Victoria Cooke 2019
Victoria Cooke asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © July 2019 ISBN: 9780008310264
Version: 2019-06-13
Table of Contents
For my nanna, Lillian.
For your sense of humour, strength and determination.
xxx
2010
The black and white chequered floor whizzes past. Like a psychedelic trip, it isn’t real. I know that I’m running. I can’t feel my limbs moving, just the vague sensation of the air resistance caused by the motion. I’m on autopilot, and the only thing tying me to the reality of where I am, is the pungent smell of disinfectant that’s been with me at every turn.
I stop abruptly, almost colliding with a person dressed head-to-toe in baggy green scrubs. My heart pounds in my chest. I look down at my hand, the knuckles white, still clutching my phone from when I got the call. It can only have been twenty minutes ago. It’s hard to tell because it feels like a lifetime has passed. The surgeon seems to understand that I can’t speak; his features are barely displaced, neutral, but there’s something lurking in his earthy eyes. Sympathy? ‘Mrs Butterfield?’ he asks. I nod, my mouth like Velcro, my brain too disengaged to speak.
‘Mrs Butterfield, I’m sorry. We did everything we could.’
Did?
You can’t have.
The blood pumping in my ears is deafening. Barbed wire is wrenched from the pit of my stomach, right up through my oesophagus. I’ve never felt pain like it. My legs give way, unable to bear the weight of the surgeon’s words and my knees crash to the floor.
I’m vaguely aware of a low, drawn-out wail. It’s me. The surgeon crouches down and looks me directly in the eyes. The warmth of his chestnut-brown gaze anchors me, and I’m able to gather tendrils of composure. I take a breath.
‘Mrs Butterfield, is there anyone we can call for you?’
I shake my head. I only have one person, and now he’s dead.
2018
‘Eurgh.’ I slam the pearlescent invite down by the kettle. ‘Plus one,’ I say in a mocking tone. Coco cocks her head to the side like she’s trying to understand me, and I cup her fluffy face.
‘I know, I don’t get it either.’ My cat’s emerald eyes are still intent on me so, glad of an audience, I carry on.
‘Why Bridget has to assume I need someone by my side is beyond me. As if I’m not capable of going to a wedding without a plus one. It’s not nineteen blooming twenty. I don’t need a chaperone. Perhaps I’ll take you, Coco. That’ll teach her.’ I tickle her under her chin and she stretches out lazily. I’m only half joking.
As I pour my first coffee of the day, my phone rings. ‘Someone’s ears are burning,’ I say on answering.
