Good Enough

PH Morris

Description

Melissa is an average twenty-something with a relatively normal life - maybe even a little boring...After a tough childhood, Melissa prefers a quiet life and there's nothing wrong with that - but when her boyfriend dumps her out of the blue, her humdrum existence crashes to an end overnight. Suddenly, Melissa has to make a fresh start, so with the help of her closest friends, sets out on a mission to reinvent herself and revitalise her life. Everything is going well until, during a hen-do in Edinburgh (and a rather embarrassing wardrobe malfunction she meets a rather rugged and very handsome man. With her love life seemingly back on track, Melissa is looking forward to a happier future.However, life is never that straightforward - and Melissa's past is never too far behind her.

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 22 août 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781838598884
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Good Enough
PH Morris
Copyright © 2019 PH Morris

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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ISBN 9781838598884

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To Elaine, the most amazing lady.
Contents
Acknowledgement

Prologue
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
Acknowledgement
I would like to thank all my friends who told me I could do this and read the first ever draft, encouraging me. My long suffering husband for always being there. For my parents who said there is no such word as can’t, knock the T off and make it can.
Prologue
I would say that I am a good person, at heart. I try hard to make good decisions, but it hasn’t always been that way. I work arduously every day to not be filled with self-doubt and loathing.

I am not one to wallow in self-pity because I am too ambivalent. It is a tricky balance. So, I try not to be too emotionally available, and I choke down the worst of how I view myself. I know I am broken, chipped like an old mug, but I am okay; I hope other people think I am okay too.
Chapter 1
Right, mental checklist. Bag packed – check. Directions to the hotel – check. Make-up and favourite toiletries, straighteners, toothbrush and sexy underwear– check, check and double check.
I had been looking forward to our weekend away for such a long time. Mark had been working long hours on some big IT project, and he took a great deal of persuading to come away for the weekend. I didn’t even expect him to have a single day off work, so I planned the getaway around the bank holiday so that we would have Friday night through to Monday together.
My girlie friends had invited me to a break with them the same weekend, but I had to decline; after all, this was what Mark and I needed. He had been busy with work for so long, working late nights, seeming to be either constantly tired, grumpy or both.
I had decided to take Friday off work so that I could get ready. I had treated myself to a trip to the hairdressers, and my normally annoying and slightly frizzy, dark blonde hair hung in lovely curls around my shoulders, and both my toenails and fingernails had a beautiful French polish. I wiggled my toes in appreciation of their prettiness and then glanced at the clock. A little flutter of butterflies flitted through my stomach – god, what was up with me?
Mark and I had been together for three years, and we had met through mutual friends at a party. We had seen each other a few times and, at first, I wasn’t swept off my feet; I felt he was too old for me, being eleven years older. But he was charming and funny, and we clicked and, to be honest, the age difference isn’t an issue any longer. I remember I didn’t deliberately tell my mum and dad how old he was, but when they met him, they were polite and kind. However, within a few days, while at work, I received a phone call from Mum.
“Hi, darling,” she said.
“Oh, hi, Mum. How’s Dad?”
I don’t know why I always ask this and, given that I had only seen them two days earlier, it seemed a bit of a redundant question. But it’s my stock question, usually closely followed by ‘what have you been up to?’ I roll my eyes at my colleague Louise. She whispers, “Mum?” and I nod and smile weakly.
Louise is one of my good work colleagues, and we have worked together for about five years. Although she’s not one of my oldest friends we are on the same wavelength and we giggle and snort about the most juvenile things. I feel it is particularly important to have an equally immature work colleague when you are both striving to portray the professional female manager role. I filled her in this morning in our usual ‘How was your weekend’ chat, so she knows that I am expecting this phone call and I bet her a coffee that Mum would ring after eleven. Louise points at the clock, and I realise that I owe her a soya cappuccino at lunch as it’s barely ten-thirty. She smiles smugly as I turn my attention to the likely grilling, I am about to endure. Louise only drinks soya, normal milk makes her a bit crazy, well, crazier. So, she must tolerate soya milk, which incidentally is more expensive for me, so she wins.
My mum’s calm voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“Soooo, Mark seems nice.” My mum stretches out the words.
“Yes, I think so,” I respond lightly.
“Listen, darling, Dad and I were talking and we just, well… well, we just wondered, and please tell me to butt out if I am talking out of turn.”
“Oh, get on with it, woman!” Dad yells from the background. I can’t help but smile as I imagine him in the background hovering.
“Sssshhh, I am getting to that!” she yells back.
“What is it, Mum?” I tease, knowing full well what is on her mind.
“Well, Mark seems lovely… but, well we just are a little… erm, a little concerned. That’s it, concerned, that he’s a little more mature than we expected. That’s all.” She hurries the latter part of the sentence, relief that she has got the words out there clearly audible in her voice.
“Well yes, that’s right, Mum, he is a little more…erm, what’s the word… mature, yes, he’s a little more mature than me,” I confirm.
I risk a glance at Louise, who is manically grinning at me. I must fight back a giggle.
“Mum, what’s the problem? Dad’s a few years older than you.”
“Cheeky,” my dad offers, his voice much clearer now, and I know then that he’s picked up the other line and is listening in rather than getting the story second-hand from Mum.
“And you know I never go for the conventional man,” I continue.
“Yes, I know, love, you do like variety, but we just worry, that’s all,” she acquiesces.
“Variety,” my dad almost chokes on the word. “Do you remember that born-again Christian guy you dated? And then there’s the one who thought he was flash Harry, and then there was that—”
“Listen, Mum,” I interrupt, before Dad can character assassin all my previous dates, “I like him, he’s good to me, he’s got a good job, and we have a laugh – and Dad, he’s not religious or flashy or anything else you were going to say.”
“Okay, love,” my mum sighs, “as long as he looks after you and treats you properly then I guess that’s good enough for us.”
I know why they worry so much, they have always been concerned, but before I can go there, I gently shake myself and make a bid for the exit.
“Listen, I’ve got to go, Mum, Dad, I have a meeting starting in two minutes, and I don’t want to be late.” Knowing that tardiness is a pet hate of my Dad’s he takes the bait instantly.
“Yes, of course, darling, you must go. Go. Yes, you don’t want to be late,” he hurriedly offers by way of goodbye.
“Speak soon,” I respond. “Love you.”
“Love you,” they both offer in unison, and I wait before I put the phone down. I know my mum always forgets to hang up properly, and so I listen in for a few moments to hear the first few comments of their continued conversation, which revolves around which of them was right not to worry.
I sigh deeply and look up at Louise, who holds up her empty coffee cup as an invitation to make me a well-needed brew…
I pull myself from my reverie and glance at the clock again. It’s almost twelve, and I had a mini timetable outlined in my head. If he finishes work at twelve-thirty, factor in at least thirty minutes of distractions and hopefully he will leave by one and be through the front door by two at the latest. Quick change and shower and off by three, probably miss the Friday traffic, and we will be in the South Lakes for four-thirty.
I promise myself not to be too fussy, and I am determined not to harass him or ring him before one-thirty as he has started to get very sullen if I ask him what time he’s due in and I don’t want a fight before we go – that would just spoil my happy mood. So, I have a quick once around the kitchen, tidying up the already perfectly tidy space, and double check that I haven’t left any milk in the fridge. Apart from the half bottle for a brew, just in case he wants one when he gets in, it’s all good. I’m not really a fussy person, people tell me I’m not high maintenance, but I don’t know what to do with myself as I wait impatiently, and I am certainly not going to start organising the spice cupboard to fill the time. That’s just desperate. I didn’t even sleep last night with thinking about today; it almost feels like a nagging doubt, lurking in the back of my mind, but there really isn’t anything to worry about, and I put the feelings down to exciteme