It Could Be You Part 4 Read online

  MEET ME AT PEBBLE BEACH

  Part Four

  Seas the Day

  Bella Osborne

  Copyright

  Published by AVON

  A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

  Copyright © Bella Osborne 2020

  Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

  Cover illustration © Shutterstock.com

  Bella Osborne 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 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 ebook 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.

  Ebook Edition © May 2020 ISBN: 9780008331269

  Version: 2020-02-27

  Dedication

  For Julie – Everything a sister should be and more.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Keep Reading …

  About the Author

  Also by Bella Osborne

  About the Publisher

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Regan couldn’t imagine how Bernice was feeling. To find out your brother was dead was one shock, but to find out he had been living rough just a few metres away was something else. Regan was wrung out – she thought she’d cried all her tears for Kevin, but apparently she hadn’t. In the last hour, she and Bernice had set each other off a few times. After the police had taken some details and left, Malcolm had got them some drinks and Bernice had called her uncle, who was coming to pick her up so she had some company for the weekend. The women sat silently drinking their coffees whilst they waited for him to arrive.

  Elvis was keeping them company and had fallen asleep stretched out across Bernice’s feet – something Regan was sure she would have fiercely objected to an hour ago, but everything had changed, and Bernice was now viewing the hairy creature in a very different light.

  ‘I thought my brother was living a happy life in New Zealand,’ said Bernice. ‘That’s what my parents had told me. Always trying to protect me. When I found no details after they died I tried to track him down but drew a blank. I figured we’d just lost touch.’

  ‘Did the police say how they traced who Kevin really was?’ asked Regan. The last time she’d spoken to the police they hadn’t been hopeful of tracking down Kevin’s family, so something must have changed.

  ‘He had a tattoo on his calf. Something else I didn’t know about. Apparently it was of his Royal Navy trade badge and it had his service number on it.’ Bernice looked up from her coffee. ‘He was a weapons engineer. They said he was scarred. Burns, apparently. Did you ever notice anything?’

  Regan nodded; she wasn’t sure what else to do. ‘His hands and his torso.’ She could picture the red, twisted skin. She had wondered how Kevin had been hurt.

  ‘He was in the Falklands conflict. I knew that, but what my parents hadn’t told me was that he was on HMS Sheffield when it was hit by a missile. Dale was lucky to get off alive.’

  ‘How awful.’ Regan didn’t know much about the Falklands war. She wasn’t born when it happened, but she vaguely remembered something about it at school when it had been the anniversary of the conflict.

  ‘The Navy are sending me a letter to explain everything, but it seems he was badly burned and after treatment it was clear he was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.’

  ‘That explains a lot. Sometimes he was fine, but after those kids attacked him …’ Bernice looked alarmed. ‘They just roughed him up a bit, nothing serious,’ – telling her the details now wasn’t going to help her – ‘it kind of sent him off somewhere. He wasn’t the same afterwards. I guess it was the PTSD.’

  ‘It’s like we’ve known two different people.’ Bernice wiped away silent tears. ‘I remember my big brother so vividly. Strong and funny. He was twelve years older than me and he was my hero. But I’ve not seen him since I was eight, and I’m forty-five now.’

  ‘That’s a very long time.’ Regan hoped that didn’t sound like she was implying Bernice was old.

  ‘What was he like? The Dale … Kevin … you knew?’ Bernice asked.

  Regan smiled. ‘He was a truly lovely person. He used to cheer me up. There he was, a guy living on the streets, and yet he looked out for me more than once. Every morning he used to tell me carpe diem – seize the day. I used to buy him a coffee and …’

  Bernice sobbed openly. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It was nothing really.’ She pulled up the blind and looked out of the office window to give Bernice a moment to compose herself. Regan could see Malcolm directing an older gentleman towards them. ‘I think your uncle’s here.’

  ‘Regan, I’d like to talk some more about my brother. Another time maybe?’

  ‘Sure, I’d like that too. Whenever you’re ready.’

  ‘And I’m sorry if we didn’t see eye to eye over … things.’ She gave Elvis a pat. He stretched and let out a fart.

  Regan waved both the comment and hopefully the smell away and stood up. ‘Forget it. We’re on the same page now.’ She hoped that with a family member to give them a poke, the police might actually make some progress on finding Kevin’s killer.

  She’d never get used to him being called Dale. He’d always be Kevin to her. Regan’s dad was such a big football fan she’d grown up hearing all the old players’ names. Kevin was such an obvious nickname with a surname like Keegan. She almost chuckled. If only they’d known his surname, he and his sister might have been reunited; but then it struck Regan that perhaps he knew who Bernice was all along and that was why he was there. Maybe it was why he stayed by the market, and somehow he couldn’t bring himself to explain who he was. Sadly, they would never know.

  It brought a lump to her throat, and she was grateful for Bernice’s uncle coming in and taking over. Poor Bernice – she broke down again, and Regan left her crying in her uncle’s arms. Strolling back to her stall, Regan thought of the times Bernice had complained about the homeless people hanging around the market and her comments about the floral tributes on the crossing where he’d been killed – they must have been haunting her now.

  Despite the delay, Regan managed to get to the studio before Cleo and have a bit of a tidy-up. She found her lottery list and checked it over. She’d been able to tick off a surprising amount, including pedigree puppy now that she had Elvis – he appeared to be a pureblood wolfhound and, whilst he technically wasn’t a puppy, he still thought he was, so that counted. The market stall was doing okay, so she ticked off ‘Run my own successful company’ too.

  She looked at the tick next to the last item. She tore off the corner to remove the tick next to the hot boyfriend line. She’d ticked it off prematurely, but hopefully there might be another one sometime in the future. Regan folded up the list and stored it carefully in a box. That list had got her back on her feet – she owed it a lot.

  She was wondering if there was anything she could do about the canvas Elvis had trashed when Cleo arrived.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Regan. ‘Look, I’m making a tit of myself,’ she said, holding it up and poking her head through the hole for comic effect.

  Cleo chuckled. ‘Nutter. It may even be worth more now. That’s what happened when they shredded the Banksy painting.’

  Regan removed her head and had a look at the gaping hole. ‘I doubt it.’

  There was a knock on the door making them both pull puzzled faces. Regan hoped it wasn’t the landlord. That would be just her luck; to be moving out, yet still get into trouble. Cleo went to answer it.

  ‘Hello, Brian,’ she said, warmly. ‘Is everything all right?’

  Regan recognised the grey-haired man in dark blue overalls as the man who had spoken to her when Cleo was away. ‘Hello, Brian,’ she called with a wave, and he waved back.

  ‘Ah. You are back then,’ he said, to Cleo.

  ‘Last night. What can I do for you?’

  ‘It’s nothing really.’ He scratched his head. ‘There was a bloke here a couple of Fridays ago. I thought he was going to kick the door in.’ Cleo twisted to look at Regan and she shrugged in response. She couldn’t have been there when it had happened. Brian continued. ‘I told him I’d call the police if he didn’t sod
off.’

  ‘Did he say who he was looking for?’ asked Regan, joining Cleo at the door.

  ‘He was after Cleo. I think he was drunk. He was ranting a lot, so it didn’t make a lot of sense. He had shiny shoes and a highfalutin voice.’

  ‘Oscar,’ said Cleo and Regan together.

  ‘Sorry you had to witness that, Brian. Oscar is … was … my agent. We’ve parted company.’

  ‘As long as you’re okay. He seemed like a nasty bastard. Drove out of here at high speed and bounced off the pavement.’ Brian was shaking his head.

  ‘I’m fine. He shouldn’t be bothering me again.’

  Brian gave her a thumbs-up and went back to his own unit.

  ‘I’m glad I missed Oscar’s visit,’ said Regan, stacking up some jam jars.

  Cleo shut the door. ‘Oscar’s all mouth and designer trousers. But I’m glad you weren’t here. You know you don’t have to move out. If you’ve been here nearly seven weeks without anyone raising the alarm, I don’t see why you can’t stay on a bit longer.’

  ‘Thanks, but I don’t need to. Something has turned up. Like I said it would.’ Cleo looked surprised. ‘Charlie needs a babysitter for three weeks so I’m moving in with him.’

  ‘You’re moving in together? Isn’t that a bit quick? You’ve just met him.’

  Regan shook her head. ‘It’s so very not like that at all. It’s actually the opposite of that. He can’t cope with a relationship that already has an end date stamped on it.’ Regan wasn’t sure how else to explain it. ‘I’m there in case he’s taken ill. I would be flattered that he’s asked me, but it was me or his mum, so …’

  ‘I see. I guess spending some time together will give you some nice memories to look back on.’ Cleo gave a little wince. ‘Sorry, was that the wrong thing to say when he’s still here?’

  Regan smiled – it wasn’t just her that felt like she was constantly putting her foot in things. ‘You’re right. I’ll make sure we do that. I’ll take some photos.’

  The sound of someone pawing at the toilet seat drew her attention. ‘Elvis!’ He seemed to think it was a drinks dispenser. ‘We’d better make a move.’

  ‘Okay. Before you go …’ Cleo flicked the hairband on her wrist. ‘Penny … I’m guessing you know her quite well from working with her?’

  ‘Penny’s lovely. She’s loyal, hardworking and caring, but it’s all underneath a bit of a crust. Don’t let her fool you into thinking she’s tough, though, because she’s really a pussycat underneath.’ Elvis barked and scanned the room diligently.

  Cleo gave the hairband another twang. ‘Does she have a boyfriend at all?’ She seemed tentative.

  ‘Ah. No, there was a husband once but … not any more.’ She pondered whether to say anything else, but decided against it. She grabbed hold of Elvis before he destroyed anything else and steered him out of the studio and towards the car.

  ‘Hi, honey, I’m home!’ called Regan through Charlie’s letterbox. The door soon opened and he looked a bit grumpy when Regan merrily thrust two boxes of cherries into his arms. ‘There’s more stuff and the dog in the car.’

  ‘I want to talk about house rules,’ Charlie called after her whilst she ferried stuff back and forth.

  ‘Sure thing. Whatever you say,’ she said, following him inside with Elvis at her heels. Elvis started snuffling around like a highly trained sniffer dog. She wasn’t sure about his ability to detect drugs, but he could track down a sausage roll from a mile away.

  ‘No getting on the furniture,’ he said. ‘No sleeping on beds—’

  ‘Hey, I am housetrained, you know,’ she said, with a grin.

  ‘I mean Elvis, as you well know. He’s not allowed in the kitchen at all and if you can stop him shedding hair everywhere that’d be great.’

  Regan gave him an amused look. ‘Other than making him wear a onesie, which would be highly entertaining, I can’t think how you might achieve the last one.’

  ‘I’m not trying to be awkward, I just don’t want the place covered in dog hair because then it will smell of, well, dog,’ said Charlie.

  ‘I understand. He’s pretty good. Aren’t you, boy?’ Elvis trotted over to stand in front of Charlie. He gave himself a good scratch with his back leg and a flurry of fur puffed into the air. And with a dramatic full-body shake, he distributed another pile onto the living room carpet.

  ‘Okay, maybe we’ll have to live with the fur thing,’ said Charlie good-naturedly, opening a cupboard and pulling out a vacuum cleaner.

  ‘Sorry.’

  Elvis eyed the vacuum suspiciously until Charlie turned it on; then he went bonkers, barking at full volume and trying to bite it every time Charlie pushed it forwards. Once the pile of hair was sucked up, Charlie switched it off, but there was a delay where Elvis continued to bark at it. Charlie went to put the vacuum away, which was handy – because that was the moment Elvis chose to lift his back legs up in the air in front of him and drag his bum along the carpet. Thankfully Regan was able to grab his collar and usher him into the hallway, but she couldn’t hide her giggles – it was without doubt one of the funniest things she’d ever seen.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ asked Charlie, shutting the cupboard door, still oblivious to Elvis’s bum wiping antics.

  ‘Nothing.’ Regan tried to look innocent.

  ‘And I wanted to check you were still okay with our agreement.’ He broke eye contact.

  Regan waved her hands at him. ‘Look, I think I’ve shown I can keep my hands off you. Your virtue is safe with me, Charlie McGee.’

  ‘Sorry. I just thought it was better to be clear than to have any …’

  ‘Awkward advances? No, you’re safe. I’ve decided I’m into hairy males now.’ She tipped her head at Elvis. ‘So unless you’re planning on turning into Hagrid, you’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’ll make sure I shave every day.’

  ‘No need to go that far.’ She liked his stubbly look.

  He pushed his hands into his pockets and hunched up his shoulders. ‘Do you want to see your room?’

  Elvis was still meticulously inspecting the hallway so she figured he’d be occupied for a few minutes at least. ‘I’d love to.’

  Upstairs was compact and matched downstairs with its white walls and grey carpets. ‘Here you go,’ said Charlie, opening a door to reveal a nice-sized bedroom with a double bed, wardrobe and tub chair. ‘Beanstalk has cleared a shelf in the wardrobe and asked that you don’t wear his underwear.’

  ‘Great.’ She flopped onto the bed and lay down. ‘Ahhhh.’ The involuntary sound came out with more of a sexual tinge than she’d intended; but it was so comfy.

  ‘Right. Well … my room is next door. And there’s a lock—’

  ‘Bloody hell, Charlie. You make me sound like some sort of sexual predator. I promise I won’t jump you.’ She snuggled into the thick duvet; it was bliss. ‘Anyway, you’ll never entice me off this bed.’

  ‘I was going to say there’s a lock been put on the bathroom door, and I’ve even scraped the mould off the tiles especially for you.’

  She opened one eye. ‘Bloody hell, I am honoured. Now who’s sounding seductive?’

  He fixed her with a long-suffering look. ‘Any questions?’

  ‘Yes.’ She propped herself up on her elbows and she could have sworn he inched behind the door for safety. ‘What’s for tea?’

  ‘Me and Beanstalk usually have a takeaway on a Sunday night.’

  ‘Brilliant.’

  As it turned out it wasn’t entirely brilliant, because they left the pizza on the side while they fought over who was paying and then over who was tipping, which gave Elvis enough time to figure out there was food in the odd, flat-shaped box. He hadn’t worked out how to open it, so he had simply eaten half the pizza box as well.

  ‘Elvis!’ shouted Regan, dragging him out to the small back garden and giving Charlie her best apologetic face on the way.

  Charlie was laughing. ‘He’s a four-legged dustbin. I’ll order another pizza. Same again?’ he asked.

  ‘Please.’ Elvis was busy smacking his lips whilst trying to seize the other half of the pizza box. ‘Apparently it was delicious.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Their first evening living together had been very civilised: pizza, a couple of beers and the Grand Prix on the telly. Elvis had eventually stopped rolling around the carpet and spent the evening asleep by the door like a giant furry draught excluder.