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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2016
Copyright © Phillipa Ashley 2016
Phillipa Ashley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of 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 authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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E-book Edition © May 2016 ISBN: 9780008191856
Version 2018-05-10
âGood morning, good people of Kernow! This is your favourite local DJ, Greg Stennack, coming to you live and kicking from The Breakfast Show on Radio St Trenyan. So wakey wakey all you lazy folk still snoring under your duvets! The sunâs shining, the surfâs up and itâs a fabulous start to the Easter weekend. Whether youâre a local or a visitor to our bee-yoo-tiful corner of West Cornwall, remember to stay tuned to the countyâs brightest and best independent radio station for the coolest sounds, the hottest news and the tastiest commercials from our station sponsors: Hayleighâs Pasty Shack. Now, letâs kick off the show with âHappyâ by Pharrell. Take it away, Phaââ
After emerging from a nightmare in which a giant pasty was attacking me, I find the âoffâ button on the radio alarm and cut Greg off in his prime. Itâs actually a shame to cut off Pharrell too, but I need to get up, have a shower and get ready for work. I can already hear my boss, Sheila, singing along to the radio in the kitchen of the cafe, two floors below my attic room, even though itâs only six a.m.
Did I say six? With a groan, I pull the duvet over my head again but a wet nose nudges its way under the bottom edge and a warm tongue licks my big toe. Itâs not only Greg who wants me to wakey wakey.
âOK, boy. I hadnât forgotten about you,â I mumble through the cover.
My dog, Mitch, clearly doesnât believe me and I let out an âoofâ as four paws land on the middle of my stomach.
I throw off the duvet to find a hairy muzzle in my face and a waft of early-morning doggy breath in my nostrils.
âEww, Mitch. What did you eat last night? OK. OK. I am getting up!â
After gently pushing Mitch off me, I drag myself out of bed, and cross to the skylight in the roof of the attic. Standing on tiptoes, I tug back the blue gingham curtain, push the skylight open a crack and peep outside. My eyes blink at the dazzling brightness. Although itâs still early, the sky above the little seaside village of St Trenyan is already postcard blue and I can almost taste the salt on the air. A tractor chugs up and down the beach opposite the cafe where I started work a few weeks ago, raking the sand ready for the deckchairs to be laid out.
The masts of boats bob up and down in the harbour at the far side of the beach. A few people are already up, jogging along the flat sand or flinging balls into the sea for their dogs. As the breeze carries the rattle of the tractor and snatches of distant barks through the window, Mitch yips excitedly. I take a deep gulp of the air and close the window. Itâs Easter: the turn of the tide, a fresh day and the start of a new summer.
I wonder what this one will bring.