The Summer Guest Read online

  Copyright © 2014 Emma Hannigan

  The right of Emma Hannigan to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This ebook edition published in 2014 by HEADLINE REVIEW

  An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  Cover image © Carmen Moreno, Photography/Getty Images

  Author photo © Collins PR Photography

  eISBN 978 1 4722 1000 5

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Also by Emma Hannigan

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Emma Hannigan is the author of seven bestselling novels, including Keeping Mum, and a bestelling memoir Talk to the Headscarf which charts her journey through cancer. Emma lives in Bray, Ireland, with her husband and two children.

  For more about Emma, visit her website www.emmahannigan.com, find her on Facebook at Author Emma Hannigan, or follow her on Twitter @MsEmmaHannigan.

  By Emma Hannigan

  Keeping Mum

  The Pink Ladies Club

  Miss Conceived

  Designer Genes

  Driving Home for Christmas

  Perfect Wives

  The Summer Guest

  Talk to the Headscarf

  About the Book

  Lexi and her husband Sam have put their heart and soul into renovating No. 3 Cashel Square. Lexi’s mother thinks it’s high time they had a baby, but Lexi’s thriving art gallery keeps her more than busy. Plus her headstrong niece Amelie seems to have practically moved in.

  And then, just as summer arrives, a mysterious stranger knocks on the door. Kathleen Williams has come from America, longing to see the house in Cashel Square where she was born, over sixty years ago.

  Kathleen’s visit is tinged with sadness but she finds comfort and laughter with Lexie and Amelie. Soon the three women are sharing their hearts, tears and secrets, little knowing their unexpected friendship will touch them all in more ways than they can imagine …

  In loving memory of my uncle, Neil O’Callaghan.

  Also for Jackie, Kate, Juliette and Rebecca.

  Acknowledgements

  All authors know that books appear on shelves after a plethora of work. The shiny new novel doesn’t descend from the sky by magic. No, it’s the fruit of many months of labour by a team of hard working people. I cannot thank Ciara Doorley enough for her wise and gentle guidance. She’s a wonderful editor whose encouragement and championing of me knows no bounds. Thanks also to the rest of the team at Hachette Books Ireland, Breda Purdue, Jim Binchy, Joanna Smyth, Bernard Hoban, Siobhan Tierney and Ruth Shern. My job never feels like a chore, you all make it seem easy.

  Thanks to my new team at Headline UK. You’ve all been so welcoming, friendly and enthusiastic from the moment I stepped into your huge swanky London office. I’m excited and nervous in equal measure about unleashing my work upon new audiences! Special thanks to Sherise Hobbs, it’s an honour and a pleasure to have a second editor working on my books. Huge hugs to Emily Furniss, Jo Liddiard, Christina Demosthenous and Helena Towers.

  Thank you Hazel Orme for doing the copyedit and giving this story its final polish and allowing it to shine!

  My agent Sheila Crowley of Curtis Brown UK, known from this moment forth as Special Agent Sheila, is always by my side and on my side. I am privileged to have your support, thank you, thank you, thank you.

  If you’ve read any of my previous books you’ll know I’ve battled cancer a number of times. I wouldn’t be able to continue the fight if it weren’t for the unbending support of my husband Cian and our children Sacha and Kim. I have reached a point where I embarrass Sacha and Kim constantly. I’m quite proud of that. I’d like to thank them for allowing me to exist and I promise to try and do it in a less mortifying manner going forward. Cian, you’re my rock. I couldn’t do any of this without you. I’m glad we have each other, it’s especially nice to have someone who is still talking to me when teenage hormones are raging.

  Mum and Dad are still there to mind and protect me even though I’m over forty. Thank you both for everything you do. All the good parts of me are from both of you. The bad parts I made up on my own.

  Thanks to my brother Tim his partner Hilary, Steffy, Stan and Camille, Robyn and Jo for being the best family I could wish for. Thanks to the Mc Graths, Synnotts and O’Brics for flying the in-law flags! Thanks Michelle for the relaxing reflexology that keeps me sane.

  My uncle Neil lost his battle with cancer recently. He was brave, stoic and valiant to the end. This book is dedicated to his memory and for his wife Jackie and my amazing cousins Kate, Juliette and Rebecca. I know Neil is looking down on all of you, bursting with pride.

  There are many angels walking among us and they work at Blackrock Clinic and St Vincent’s private hospital in Dublin. The care, expertise and treatments these amazing people have given me have kept me alive. No words can thank you all for what you’ve done and continue to do for me. Three cheers for the radiation therapists at St Vincent’s Private, together with Professor John Armstrong and Dr Sharif. Dr David Fennelly’s halo is still shining brightly along with the nurses and staff of Blackrock Clinic oncology day unit. Thank you seems feeble and inadequate. Suffice to say if I knew the winning lotto numbers I’d tell you all first.

  Big hugs and bundles of kisses to my many friends who are always there to help with school runs (especially Trish Mc Govern) to chat, drink coffee and support me. I never take any of you for granted
and know how lucky I am to have each and every one of you in my life.

  To all my author friends Cathy Kelly, Patricia Scanlan, Caroline Grace-Cassidy, Sinead Moriarty, Sarah Webb, Maria Duffy, Sheila O’Flanagan, Zoe Miller, Claire Allan and many more who are constant cheerleaders and supporters of my work, you are a special and lovely group of people. I am so proud to be part of the talent pool that constantly produces incredible stories. When I read your books it fires me up and makes me want to keep going. Thank you all.

  Special thanks to Elaine Crowley, Paul Blake, Jenn Mc Guirk, Nicola Dooley, Lorianne King and all the team at Midday for the endless hours of fun and frolics you add to my days. Big hugs to my fellow lady panellists who make me laugh out loud on a regular basis.

  I have recently become an ambassador for Breast Cancer Ireland. They do incredible work for cancer research. They are aiming to change cancer from a life threatening disease to a chronic illness. I am privileged to be associated with such an awesome organisation. I look forward to lots of fun fundraising ideas! Special thanks to Triona Mc Carthy who introduced me to Aisling Hurley, Proff Arnie Hill and Samantha Mc Gregor at Breast Cancer Ireland.

  Thanks to Norah Casey, an inspiring and irrepressible force of nature who has given me incredible support and recognition.

  Lastly but by no means least-ly (I know that’s not a word but I like the sound of it) – I would like to thank my marvellous and fabulous readers. You cheer me up constantly via Twitter (@MsEmmaHannigan), Facebook (Author Emma Hannigan) and my website (emmahannigan.com). I have a dreadful habit of forgetting that people actually read my stories. When I write I get so caught up in the characters and the world they inhabit that it often slips my mind that other people end up dipping into that universe too. So thank you for buying and reading my books and going to the trouble of sending me gorgeous messages to let me know you’ve enjoyed them.

  I feel so privileged to be an author. It’s my dream job and I cannot thank you all enough for supporting my work. I send you all a bear hug and I hope that The Summer Guest pleases you.

  Love and light,

  Emma

  Chapter 1

  Lexie glanced at her watch, making sure she had enough time for another cup of coffee. The remnants of breakfast festooned the table. She smiled to herself. Her husband, Sam, was such a creature of habit. As regular as clockwork, he stacked his coffee mug on top of his toast plate, with the knife neatly tucked alongside, but it never occurred to him to transport the pile across the kitchen to the dishwasher.

  This was Lexie’s favourite moment of the day. She flicked off the radio, posted a capsule into the Nespresso machine, placed her already used cup under the spout and pressed the brew button. She and Sam liked to hear the news headlines followed by the round-up of that day’s newspapers, and after that, Lexie relished a few minutes of silence. She felt it set her up for the day ahead.

  As she crossed the kitchen to the bay window seat, her leather-soled ballerina pumps made a satisfying sound as they connected with the waxed wooden floorboards. She perched on the long, spongy cushion and gazed out into the oval railed-in park opposite. The late May sunshine flooded the neatly kept communal space. Although each of the houses in Cashel Square had fine-sized gardens, the residents all made use of the wooden benches in the park. They took turns to tend the flowerbeds and keep the place clean. It was too small to appeal to gangs of youths and the absence of swings or play equipment meant it rarely attracted non-resident families.

  Lexie sipped her coffee and closed her eyes to savour it. It was just the right temperature, black and strong with no sugar and a delectable covering of crema.

  ‘I hope you don’t liken your coffee to your taste in men,’ Sam had joked when they first met, flexing a long arm and pulling his fingers through his auburn hair.

  Luckily for both of them, Lexie’s taste in men and coffee differed hugely. Soon after meeting they both realised they’d found their soul-mate. They had a no-fuss registry-office wedding, with her friend Maia as chief bridesmaid, flower girl and best man all rolled into one, followed by a lunch with immediate family as the only additional guests.

  Property prices were beginning to rise, so they decided to take the plunge and look for a house to buy. One Sunday afternoon, out for a walk along the promenade in the seaside Dublin suburb of Caracove, they’d happened upon Cashel Square. It comprised eight detached two-storey-over-basement dwellings set in a horseshoe, with the park in the centre, and they’d guessed it was well out of their league. The door to number three had been open and a sandwich board told them there was open viewing. They were the sole viewers and the estate agent seemed thrilled with their arrival.

  ‘It’s a wonderful property but requires a small amount of imagination,’ he said.

  Lexie and Sam had looked at one another and grinned. They knew that meant the place was in dire need of renovation.

  ‘It certainly needs a lot of loving,’ Lexie said, as they wandered from room to room.

  ‘It has massive potential,’ the estate agent said, injecting as much positivity into his voice as he could.

  ‘Yes, massive potential for us to pour an endless bag of cash into it,’ Sam scoffed.

  ‘Can we have a quiet word in private?’ Lexie asked, as they finished their tour.

  ‘Be my guests,’ the estate agent said, yawning.

  Lexie took Sam’s hand and led him back into the kitchen. ‘Sam, I can see us living here,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve totally fallen in love with it.’

  ‘It could be amazing, but it’s not what we’re looking for, is it?’ Sam said, as he rubbed a hand across the peeling plaster on the main wall.

  ‘I love it,’ she repeated. A giggle escaped her as she noticed the colour draining from her husband-of-three-weeks’ face.

  ‘I don’t like that dancing in your eyes, Lexie,’ he said, with a slow smile.

  ‘Let’s make an offer,’ she begged. ‘One well below the asking price and verging on insulting and see where we go.’

  ‘We’re only starting out, hon,’ he reasoned. ‘This is a massive undertaking. It’d be years before it’s back to its former glory. And even longer before we’d manage to pay back everything it’ll siphon from our bank accounts. Old places like this are bottomless pits when it comes to money.’

  ‘Perfect!’ she said. ‘We have all the time in the world. We’re at the beginning of our journey. Let’s do it together. You, me and number three Cashel Square!’

  Lexie knew Sam found it hard to say no to her. Especially when she talked incessantly about the house. Several weeks passed after the initial viewing. Instead of giving up on the idea, Lexie was verging on obsessive.

  ‘You’re annoying me and I don’t even live with you,’ Maia said. ‘Poor Sam now knows he married a lunatic. I reckon you should rein it in a bit. He’ll go running for the hills if you don’t stop with the crazy house talk.’ Maia was a divorce lawyer and, although she had a very happy marriage with steadfast, calm Josh, she had a habit of seeing the worst in every union.

  ‘I’ve seen it a million times – couples torn apart when one or other of them becomes fanatical about something. I told you about the pair who’d been married twenty-four years when it all went belly-up,’ she warned.

  ‘You said he was a sex addict and she was a raving alco. That’s hardly comparable to wanting to build a home with the man I love,’ Lexie said. She had a feeling deep down that Sam was just as keen as she, but he was attempting to be the voice of reason. She chipped away for the next few days until he uttered the words she’d been dying to hear.

  ‘All right! We’ll put in a measly offer. Will that stop your nagging?’ he asked good-naturedly.

  To their astonishment, the offer was accepted.

  ‘It’s an executors’ sale and the family have instructed us to move quickly,’ the estate agent explained.

  Family and friends were marvellous, donating furniture and turning up in droves to the many painting parties the couple hel
d. ‘We’ll provide the materials and pay you in beer and pizza,’ Lexie promised.

  By the end of that first summer of 1998, Lexie and Sam had a kitchen-living room, bathroom and bedroom in liveable order. The replastering wouldn’t have won any DIY awards, but it was good enough to keep the damp out and the heat in.

  ‘It looks like an enormous monster arrived in and vomited Ready Brek all over the place,’ Maia teased. ‘And as for tramping about on mangy old floorboards, nah. I’m happy in my apartment.’ She shuddered.

  ‘That, my dear,’ Lexie said, linking her arm, ‘is where you and I differ. I would go clinically insane in that dog-box you call home. Give me vaguely lumpy plasterwork done by caring but not the most professional of friends and vast open spaces any day.’

  Penelope, Lexie’s mother, was probably more in Maia’s camp when it came to the house. She didn’t do mess or dust or, God forbid, mismatched furnishings. ‘You can do the rest as you go along, I suppose,’ she said uncertainly, as she perched on the edge of a rather saggy sofa, clutching her handbag.

  ‘Mum, you don’t have to hold your bag like a life-raft. You’re not going to drown on old goose-down cushions. Sam and I are delighted to have this place and we’re not in a hurry to have it looking like something from that glossy interiors magazine, The White Book.’

  ‘So I’ve noticed,’ she said. ‘Still,’ she brightened, ‘as the children start to come along, so too will the decorating.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath, Mum,’ Lexie said. ‘Children aren’t even a topic for discussion between Sam and me right now.’

  ‘Well, that’s a bit of a silly thing to say, don’t you think? All married couples turn their attention to having a family at some point. Anyway, we don’t need to worry about it this second,’ Penelope assured them. ‘Needless to say your father and I are longing to be grandparents, but your brother just scratched that itch for us with the birth of gorgeous baby Amélie! I’m just saying, that’s all.’

  For the most part, Lexie and Sam kept to themselves. The neighbours in the remaining seven houses were friendly but never intrusive. They’d exchange pleasantries in passing and bid one another good day at the park. Ernie and Mary in number two fed Tiddles, the cat, if Lexie and Sam were on holiday.