Humbugs and Heartstrings: A gorgeous festive read full of the joys of Christmas!. Catherine Ferguson

Humbugs and Heartstrings: A gorgeous festive read full of the joys of Christmas! - Catherine  Ferguson


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      Humbugs and Heartstrings

      Catherine Ferguson

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      A division of HarperCollinsPublishers www.harpercollins.co.uk

       Copyright

      Published by Avon an imprint of

      HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2014

      Copyright © Catherine Ferguson 2014

      Cover photographs © Lisa Horton

      Cover design ©Lisa Horton

      Catherine Ferguson 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 e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, 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 © October 2014 ISBN: 9780008117269

      Version: 2017-11-14

       For Matthew

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Copyright

       Dedication

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Chapter Twenty-Two

       Chapter Twenty-Three

       Chapter Twenty-Four

       Chapter Twenty-Five

       Chapter Twenty-Six

       Chapter Twenty-Seven

       Chapter Twenty-Eight

       Chapter Twenty-Nine

       Chapter Thirty

       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

       Chapter Forty-One

       Chapter Forty-Two

       Chapter Forty-Three

       Back Ads

       Acknowledgements

       About the Book

       About the Publisher

       Prologue

       It has to be here somewhere.

      I bend closer and yet another van hurtles past in the semi-dark, flinging spray all over me.

      I’m not normally to be found scrabbling about in gutters on wet, murky late afternoons in October, risking a drenching from the vehicles swishing by.

      But today, The Boss gave us a lecture on biros.

      She said we’d probably have to start paying for our pens because she couldn’t be sure we weren’t using them for our own personal stuff. So then, of course, I was digging in my bag on the way out of work, and what should come flying out and roll away into the road, but my precious biro.

      Suddenly I spot it, floating in an oily puddle, and as I’m bending to fish it out, something else catches my eye.

      A crumpled ten pound note is skating along the pavement beside me.

      Fascinated, I give the pen a shake, pop it in my bag and follow the progress of the queen’s head as it zigzags towards the hedge and snags on a lamppost. I glance around, expecting someone to rush up behind me and breathlessly claim it, but there is no one in sight. If it was a purse with money in it, I could take it to the police station. But what do I do with a ten pound note?

       Ten pounds.

      There’s no question how I’d use it.

      Already I am imagining slipping my pass book under the glass and watching the cashier’s efficient, manicured hands processing the note. And afterwards, the pleasure of checking the growing balance in the Tim Fund and knowing I am inching slowly towards our goal.

      A gust of wind frees the note from the lamppost and shuttles it on its merry way. And right at that moment, I am diverted by a flash of colour. A well-rounded woman in a bright orange tracksuit and lime green trainers puffs past on a bike, corkscrews of blonde hair escaping from her hood. Her mode of transport looks creaky, to say the least, and something about her red cheeks and slightly awkward posture


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