Once in a Lifetime Read online

  Contents

  Praise for Chrissie Manby

  Also by Chrissie Manby

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  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

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Acknowledgments

  Praise for Chrissie Manby

  ‘This sassy and addictive read will make you laugh – a lot!’

  Closer

  ‘I’ve been a fan of Manby’s writing for years and thoroughly enjoyed this’

  Daily Mail

  ‘Perfect, unputdownable summer adventures’

  Jenny Colgan

  ‘Manby’s novels are made for holidays’

  Glamour

  ‘Nothing short of brilliant’

  Marie Claire

  ‘Funny and inventive’

  Company

  ‘Destined to keep you up until the small hours’

  Daily Mirror

  ‘What a wonderfully lighthearted and uplifting novel’

  Bloglovin

  ‘Heartwarming … truly funny’

  The Bookbag

  ‘[This novel] was funny and emotional, it was heartwarming, it was so genuine and realistic and it is a MUST READ this autumn. Highly recommended!’

  On My Bookshelf

  Also by Chrissie Manby

  Flatmates

  Second Prize

  Deep Heat

  Lizzie Jordan’s Secret Life

  Running Away From Richard

  Getting Personal

  Seven Sunny Days

  Girl Meets Ape

  Ready Or Not?

  The Matchbreaker

  Marrying for Money

  Spa Wars

  Crazy in Love

  Getting Over Mr Right

  Kate’s Wedding

  What I Did On My Holidays

  Writing for Love (ebook only)

  A Proper Family Holiday

  A Proper Family Christmas

  A Proper Family Adventure

  A Wedding at Christmas

  A Fairy Tale for Christmas

  The Worst Case Scenario Cookery Club

  About the Author

  Chrissie Manby is the author of twenty-four romantic comedy novels and a guide for aspiring writers, Writing for Love. She was nominated for the Melissa Nathan Award for Comedy Romance in 2011 for Getting Over Mr Right. Raised in Gloucester, Chrissie now lives in London.

  You can follow her on Twitter @chrissiemanby or visit her website to find out more: www.chrissiemanby.com

  www.hodder.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Hodder & Stoughton

  An Hachette UK company

  Copyright © Chrissie Manby 2018

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

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9781473682948

  Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.hodder.co.uk

  This one’s for Jane Wright.

  Chapter One

  The kitchen of The Majestic Hotel, Newbay.

  Saturday, 29 June 1996

  ‘Where is he?’ Dani asked.

  ‘He’s out the back having a fag,’ said Julie.

  ‘Great. Keep him out there for a couple more minutes, will you?’

  ‘How am I supposed to do that?’

  ‘I dunno. Try talking to him?’

  Tutting like she’d been asked to do something really difficult, Julie the waitress headed for the kitchen’s back door and the row of enormous metal dustbins that constituted The Majestic Hotel’s staff outdoor ‘rest area’. Meanwhile Dani stayed behind to put the finishing touches to the cake. It was the most ambitious she’d ever tried but it was Nat’s eighteenth birthday and if an eighteenth birthday didn’t merit a truly great cake, then what did?

  Dani carefully lifted the Tupperware cake-box from the larder shelf, where Dave the chef had let her stash it for the duration of service. Now service was over. The last of the evening’s punters, a bunch of noisy friends celebrating a fortieth, had moved from the restaurant into the hotel’s bar, where they were shaking their impossibly aged booties to the strains of the ‘Macarena’.

  ‘Impressive.’ Dave the chef nodded as Dani unveiled her creation.

  ‘Took me three days,’ said Dani, settling the cake on a stand borrowed from the hotel’s tea service. ‘I used twenty-four eggs. Mum was doing her nut.’

  ‘It was worth it,’ said Dave. ‘You’re very good at this, you know. You should think about doing it professionally.’

  Dani grinned. Coming from Dave the chef, that was praise indeed. But there was only one person whose opinion really mattered tonight.

  It may have taken Dani three days to make Nat’s birthday cake but she’d been thinking about the design a whole lot longer. She’d gone with a chocolate base
, of course. That was definitely Nat’s favourite. She didn’t have to worry about getting that right. But after that? She’d spent evening after evening flicking through her mother’s old baking books for inspiration but could find nothing that was quite ‘Nat’ enough.

  Nat wouldn’t want sugar flowers or a golf course complete with bunkers fashioned from royal icing. He was eighteen. He was an indie music fan who delighted in discovering ever more obscure bands. He liked reading science fiction and spouting off on political ideologies he didn’t really know much about. He would be off to Bristol University to study philosophy in September. When he wasn’t wearing his Majestic Hotel waiter’s uniform, he wore tattered T-shirts (one with a picture of Che Guevara on it was his favourite). His nickname among The Majestic’s staff was Frank, as in Frankenstein’s monster, on account of his impressive height and square jaw.

  Nat didn’t mind being called Frank. At least, that’s what Dani hoped, since in the end she’d themed his cake around his nickname. Two layers of chocolate sponge, sandwiched together with a rich raspberry-flavoured ganache, were covered with a sheet of green fondant icing. Dani had made a tattered black skirt for the cake from crepe paper, to look like the monster’s hair. Two enormous gob-stoppers formed the monster’s bulging eyes. The green icing was decorated here and there with black icing ‘scars’ that oozed blood made from raspberry jam. Now Dani placed eighteen black candles around the edges and the cake was complete. Just as Julie ran back into the kitchen.

  ‘He’s finished his cigarette!’ Julie yelled as though sounding a fire alarm.

  Dave the chef handed Dani his own cigarette lighter – his precious Zippo from Las Vegas – with which to light the candles.

  ‘Everybody ready?’ asked Dani.

  Julie quickly gathered the kitchen and waiting staff around the huge stainless-steel table in the middle of the room. Dave turned off the main lights.

  Nat walked in, wiping his feet on the mat as he always did. He was a well brought-up boy.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, finding the kitchen in darkness.

  ‘Ta-daa!’ The last of the candles was lit.

  ‘Happy birthday!’ the Majestic crew shouted.

  Dani led the singing.

  Nat paused on the kitchen mat as though frozen. He looked at his watch. Two minutes past midnight. It really was his birthday at last.

  The light from the eighteen candles made Dani look more beautiful than ever. And if he needed proof that she liked him, here it was. She really liked him. She had made him a cake. Never mind that the decoration was a mickey-take on a nickname he hated. She had made him a cake because she cared. Dani Parker cared for him. It was all Nat could do not to burst into tears.

  ‘Happy Birthday to yooooouuuuuu!’

  The song rose to its traditional crescendo. Dave the chef harmonised the baritone.

  ‘Make a wish,’ someone shouted as Nat blew out the candles.

  Nat didn’t need to wonder what to wish for. He knew exactly what he wanted right then. And someone somewhere must have been listening, because seconds later Dani Parker leaned over the unconventionally wonderful cake she’d made for his big day and gave him a kiss.

  ‘Happy birthday,’ she whispered as her soft lips touched his cheek.

  For once, it really was.

  Chapter Two

  Dani’s kitchen, 15 Schooner Crescent, Newbay.

  Saturday, 19 May 2018

  ‘Mum!’ Dani shouted. ‘Have you seen my Wilton 48 basket weave?’

  ‘Your what, love?’

  ‘My Wilton 48 … Oh, never mind. I’ll find it.’

  Dani continued to rifle through the kitchen drawers for just the right icing nozzle. Her mother Jane appeared in the kitchen doorway and watched her throwing discarded cake-decoration tools onto the counter top.

  ‘That looks really beautiful,’ Jane said, nodding at the cake on the table. ‘Flossie’s going to love it.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Dani, finding the Wilton 48 at last. She held it up triumphantly. ‘This is the one.’

  ‘I can’t believe she’s nearly sixteen,’ Jane continued. ‘Makes me feel quite old.’

  ‘How do you think it makes me feel?’ said Dani. ‘Seems like I only just left school and in two years my daughter will be old enough to vote.’

  ‘Heaven help us when she does,’ said Jane.

  ‘What time is it?’ Dani asked.

  ‘Ten to eleven.’ Jane read from the delicate watch she’d had since she was first married, some forty-odd years before.

  ‘Aaaagh,’ said Dani. She was running out of time to finish the cake. It was hard finding a moment when Flossie and her awful new boyfriend Jed weren’t in the house. Specifically, when they weren’t in the kitchen, going through the fridge, the bread-bin, the freezer and the cabinets like they hadn’t eaten in months. Jed was six feet five and had hollow legs.

  That morning, however, Flossie was at her best friend Xanthe’s house (she’d stayed overnight so they could revise for French GCSE together) and Dani had foregone a lie-in to get to work on her daughter’s sixteenth birthday surprise. Now she had to go to her day job.

  ‘I’ll finish it later.’

  Dani covered the cake – a lemon sponge, Flossie’s favourite – with its cloche and carefully placed it back in the pantry, which was adorned with a homemade ‘Keep Out’ sign. Dani was already dressed for work in the T-shirt and trousers she would swap for kitchen kit when she got there. She kissed her mother on the cheek and headed for the door.

  ‘Do not let Flossie go anywhere near that cupboard!’ was Dani’s final instruction. ‘Or Jed. Especially not Jed. We need something left to eat at the party.’

  Jane gave her a mock salute.

  ‘Nobody is getting near that cake!’

  Minutes later, Dani was on her bicycle, heading towards the sea front. There weren’t many consolations to never having quite managed to leave her hometown but living so close to the sea was one of them. Dani never tired of that moment when she was whizzing down the long hill towards the promenade with the tang of sea salt in the air. Going back up the hill after she’d finished her shift was another story but she’d learned to savour those precious minutes when she could stop pedalling and coast towards the waves.

  At the bottom of the hill, Dani took a sharp right turn along the promenade and there was her place of work, looming like an enormous six-layer wedding cake. The Majestic Hotel.

  Unchanging, enduring, eternal. The huge white stucco building was one of the little seaside town’s most famous landmarks. It was as important a part of the landscape as the Victorian pier. During the nineteen twenties and thirties, it had played host to many scandalous parties. The Duchess of Windsor was said to have stayed there when she was still Wallis Simpson (a photograph in the hotel lobby purported to be the evidence, though Dani secretly thought the person dressed as Cleopatra for a fancy-dress party was just as likely to have been a man).

  If only the walls of The Majestic could talk. They’d certainly know some stories. How many thousands of people had celebrated life’s big moments there? How many engagements, weddings, birthday parties, even wakes, had taken place in the restaurant? For many years, ‘they’re having their do at The Majestic’ was synonymous with ‘posh’ to anyone who knew Newbay.

  One of Dani’s own earliest memories was of being taken to the hotel’s winter garden to share afternoon tea with her mother, father and grandparents. It seemed impossibly glamorous to be in that room, sitting on a gilt-covered dining chair, eating sandwiches with the crusts cut off. And as for the cakes! Oh, those cakes.

  Dani could still remember the three-tiered stand the waiter had placed right in front of her. Three gold-rimmed white porcelain plates were slotted into an ornate gold frame. Sandwiches on the bottom. Scones with homemade jam and clotted cream in the middle. Cakes on the very top. Dani’s mother and grandmother both claimed they’d eaten more than enough after the scones so Dani had the cake plate they were suppo
sed to share all to herself.

  There were six cakes on that plate. There was something about their miniature nature that made them extra-special. And each one was different. In the order in which Dani tasted them that long-ago day, they were: a chocolate éclair, a strawberry millefeuille, a lemon meringue tart, a Paris Brest, a slice of chocolate torte and a dome of wobbling raspberry mousse on a perfectly crisp shortbread biscuit. Heaven only knew how the three women would have divided the cakes up if Gran and Mum hadn’t conceded.

  When she arrived in the kitchen this May morning, nearly thirty-five years after that long-ago tea, the early shift was already hard at work on lunch. Dani nodded her ‘hello’s and headed for her workstation. From a wide-eyed child stuffing her face with miniature cakes, she was now the hotel’s chief pastry chef. And she was always busy. The hotel had experienced a downturn in the noughties – as had many places on the English Riviera – but lately it was on the up again, thanks to a refurbishment of the fabulous ‘winter garden’ dining room. You had to book months in advance to get afternoon tea at a weekend.

  ‘Morning, Dani,’ said head chef Dave as Dani walked past. ‘Rough night?’ He always said that.

  ‘Cheers, Dave.’

  Dave the chef was the only member of staff who’d been in the kitchen as long as she had.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Dani turned her attention to Joe, her assistant.

  Joe stepped aside to show Dani a tray of perfectly piped meringues.

  ‘Good work,’ she said.

  Joe beamed. He was excited by patisserie in a way that Dani had never been. It wasn’t quite natural. Mind you, more than two decades after her first summer on the Majestic team, Dani wasn’t quite so enthusiastic about anything any more.

  She hadn’t meant to still be here. She’d only ever intended to work at the hotel during weekends and holidays until she finished university. Then, with her degree in hand – French and Communications Studies – she should have been off to conquer the world.

  But life’s what happens when you make other plans, right?

  She’d salvaged a pretty decent life from the wreckage of her teenage dreams, so now she felt that perhaps she was always supposed to stay in Newbay. She had a lovely family, a comfortable home, steady work, good friends and an outlet for her creativity. She was supposed to be at The Majestic. She was supposed to be right where she was.