Love Like the Dickens: A Heartswell Harbour Romance Read online

  Love Like the Dickens

  A Heartswell Harbour Roman

  Mavis Williams

  Copyright © 2019 Mavis Williams

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 978-1-9992825-0-9

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental.

  Other Novels in the

  Heartswell Harbour series

  Legally in Love

  Love on the Rocks

  Love, Interrupted

  Love by Design

  Mavis Williams on Amazon

  Subscribe to

  Mavis Williams: Blissfully Writing Studio

  for more books, inspiration and

  occasional random silliness.

  Agnes’ Bucket List

  With love, Savannah

  #1 Eat all the cookie dough

  #2 Make up with (or make out with!) Sexy Nick

  #3: Perform in a production of Dickens’

  “A Christmas Carol”

  #4 Kiss a total stranger

  #5 Sleep in a bookshop overnight

  #6 Train to run 5k

  #7 Say YES to random opportunities

  #8 Name your firstborn after me

  #9 Take a trip without knowing the destination

  #10…

  One

  Agnes had never been this nervous in her entire life. Nervous to the point of shaking. Nervous to the point of gasping. One hand gripped the jade pendant around her neck and the other tightly clenched the hem of her jacket. Her jaw was so tense her neck ached.

  She re-read the poster taped to the theatre doors.

  “AUDITIONS! The HAWC proudly announces a casting call for the December performance of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Saturday, 6 – 8pm. Come tread the boards!”

  The cold November breeze gusted around her legs, tugging her backward as if to protect her from her own folly.

  Correction.

  Her sister’s folly.

  Savannah is the performer. Savannah is the outgoing, enthusiastic thrill-seeker.

  Correction.

  Was.

  Savannah wrote the stupid bucket list! I didn’t! Why do I have to do this crazy thing that I would never in a million years choose as a must-do before I die?

  The word ‘die’ echoed in Agnes’ mind as the wind’s cold fingers wrapped her in a grim embrace. Savannah should be the one standing in front of this old theatre. Savannah wouldn’t have a panic attack from simply reading the word “audition”. She would be full of excitement about being on stage, participating in life to the fullest. That had always been Savannah’s way. Drink deep from the cup of life.

  So why had her cup been drained so quickly?

  Agnes squared her shoulders. She had promised, on Savannah’s death bed, to fulfill the items on the list. Having a role in this play was on the list.

  And so—onward.

  She took a halting step toward the theatre doors. She couldn’t control whether or not she was actually cast in a role. Surely it was the attempt that counted. There was no way they would choose her. She had zero acting skills. Zero stage presence. Zero desire to have anything to do with this ridiculous effort. All she had to do was get on the stage and stumble through the audition; then she would be released from another item on the Bucket List.

  #3: Perform in a production of Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol”.

  She regretted renting the cosy Airbnb apartment above the Book Nook, a quaint little bookshop in downtown Heartswell Harbour. She had impulsively booked it for two months, to accommodate the time she would need to stay in Heartswell prior to the December performance. She hadn’t even met the owners yet, but surely she could get out of it?

  “I can cancel it,” she muttered, feeling better already.

  “Awfully cold out, isn’t it?”

  She jumped, startled out of her trance by a small bustling woman who was so completely wrapped in a colorful scarf that only her eyes showed above the brilliant fabric.

  “Are you here for the auditions?” The woman tugged the scarf off her face to speak when Agnes didn’t respond. She had spiky short hair and a key in her hand.

  “I’m afraid so.” Agnes wrapped her arms around herself and hunched her shoulders. Savannah had always nagged her when she slouched. At this moment, she wanted to slouch right through the sidewalk. Anything rather than walk into the theatre.

  “Nervous? Don’t be. We’re pretty chill.”

  “I don’t know why I’m here, really,” she muttered. She knew why. She just didn’t talk about it with anyone. “I think this is probably a really bad idea.”

  The perky woman unlocked the door and held it open.

  “I’m Paisley,” she said as Agnes remained frozen on the sidewalk. “I’m the stage manager. Mrs. Crawley is the director and she’s the only one who can be a bit prickly, but we mostly choose to ignore her. And you’ll love Belinda, everyone does. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

  She smiled with such disarming openness that Agnes felt it would be impossible to disagree with her. She swallowed.

  Go big or stay home.

  She walked shakily through the open door.

  ∞∞∞

  He had to stop saying yes to Paisley’s attempts at matchmaking. Oscar stared at the woman sitting across from him, hoping his face conveyed interest instead of mind-numbing boredom.

  “Of course, there was simply no way I was going to let him get away with it.” The woman—Shelly? Sheila?—had regaled him with details about her divorce for over an hour as he pushed the food around on his plate. “I got the best lawyer I could find, and I pinned his cheating ass to the wall, let me tell you.”

  Oscar was afraid she was indeed going to tell him, so he motioned for the bill before she could launch into any more dire details.

  “Would you care for dessert?” the waiter asked.

  “Ooh, cheesecake is my—”

  “No.” Oscar interrupted as his date gazed eagerly at the nearby dessert trolley. “We’re good, thanks.”

  “So.” Sheila finally paused and looked at him from under her long lashes. Her makeup was severe, as if she wanted to crack-fill her few wrinkles. “You’re divorced too. What’s your story?”

  He blinked at her.

  “Your daughter was so kind to put the two of us together, wasn’t she?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “She told me you were ready to start dating. It’s been what? Two years since your divorce?”

  “Five,” he muttered. He should have a serious conversation with Paisley about crossing the line into his personal life. As if having a serious conversation with Paisley was even an option. “I’ll see you to your car.”

  She remained in her seat as he stood and held out his hand. She glanced around at the other diners, then grabbed her purse and stood up abruptly.

  “So that’s how it is, eh?”

  He’d heard that tone before. Disappointment verging on contempt. It was a tone that had dogged his marriage for the last few years when he and Deirdre had pretended to make it work. Sheila breezed past him toward the exit.

  Dammit, Paisley.

  Sheila paused in the parking lot, turning to look at him in the streetlights that cast a pale glow on her skin. She looked her age out here, and it warmed him to her, despite the debacle of their date. She wasn’t a bad person. She was just lonely, bitter and sad.

  Just like him.

  “I’m afraid my daughter exaggerates my willingness to seek a partner.” He struggled to find the words. “I find
myself ambivalent about the whole process.”

  “You find yourself, what?” She glared at him.

  “Uninterested, uncertain.” He felt more confident as vocabulary entered the conversation. “Dubious.”

  “Great.” She pulled out her cell phone. “You’re a jerk. Just like all the rest.”

  “I’m really not a jerk,” he said. “I run a bookstore.”

  “That doesn’t make you less of a jerk. I just poured my heart out to you, and you couldn’t even have the decency to order dessert? What does a bookstore have to do with anything?”

  He paused. “I read a lot,” he offered. “I read more than I talk.”

  “Well, maybe you should read some self-help books.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “How about: ‘How to Treat Women, for Dummies’?”

  “My ex-wife would probably agree with you.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  She spoke into the phone, calling a cab.

  “I can drive you home, Sheila. My car is right over there.”

  She lowered the phone, her mouth a thin line that almost disappeared in the misty glow of the streetlights.

  “My name,” she said slowly, dropping the words like stones at his feet, “... is Sharon.”

  He looked at her. He looked at his shoes.

  “I am a jerk,” he said. “And an insufferable bore, if my ex-wife is to be believed. I apologize Sharon.”

  He was so much taller than her she had to tip her head back to look up at him. Oscar’s height had been another thing his ex had complained about, although he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do about it. She also hadn’t liked how thin he was, or the fact that his nose had a crook at the end. He’d grown a beard in the years since the divorce, and she probably would have disapproved of that also.

  “How tall are you, anyway?” Sharon stepped back, looking him up and down dismissively. Now that dessert was out of the question, she was willing to judge him more harshly.

  “Six five.” He shrugged. “And a half.”

  A cab pulled into the parking lot and Sharon stuffed her phone in her bag. Oscar walked her to the vehicle and opened the door for her.

  “Thank you, Sharon. It was a lovely evening.” He didn’t know why he said it. It was just expected. It was what one would say, wasn’t it?

  “Get stuffed,” Sharon said, slamming the door.

  Oscar watched the cab drive away.

  He folded his long frame into his car and pulled out his phone. He texted his youngest daughter, knowing she would be curious about how the date had gone.

  Fail.

  One word would suffice.

  He waited. His phone rang. Paisley was so immediate in everything she did, he knew she wouldn’t wait til morning to talk to him. He put her on speaker and pulled out of the parking lot, smiling at the sound of her voice.

  “What did you do, Dad? You messed it up, didn’t you?”

  “Hello darling, when am I going to see you?” It infuriated her when he deflected her questions.

  “Dad. Sharon is a nice lady. She’s smart, and she’s the same age as you, and you have a lot in common.”

  “She didn’t know what ‘ambivalent’ meant.”

  She sighed. “The old vocabulary test again, eh, Dad? Did you run her through a spelling bee too? You have to stop being so picky.”

  “I have no intention of picking anyone, so it’s a moot point. Paisley. There’s a saying about old dogs, you know? No more dates. I refuse.”

  “Daaaad. You need to find someone to have fun with!”

  “I’m reading James Joyce currently. Ulysses. Find me a woman who would enjoy Ulysses and I promise you, I’ll marry her in a heartbeat.”

  “You don’t have to get married, you just need a partner! Have fun, have sex, you know— you’re not that old Dad. You can still have a little romance in your life.”

  He took a deep breath. “We’ve talked about this, Paise. I am 47 years old. I am happily single. I shall remain happily single. No more dates.”

  She grumbled something unintelligible and he smiled again. Paisley Lake was a force unto herself.

  “How is your sister?” Changing the subject was the best way to sidetrack Paisley.

  “Overbearing, as always,” Paisley said. He could tell she rolled her eyes. “Apparently, she’s had another row with Butthead and she thinks this time—it’s over.”

  “Doesn’t sound good.” Nora was always a dramatist, but her ongoing battles with her husband had escalated as her pregnancy progressed. Bringing a newborn into an unhappy home wasn’t going to be easy. “And his name is Paul, remember? Is she with you?”

  “No, she’s at the house. He left this time, probably to the Century Club again. I keep telling her to give him the boot, but she won’t listen.”

  “Marriage isn’t something you just walk out on, honey.” He turned the car into his driveway. “Especially when there’s a baby on the way.”

  “How about especially because there’s a baby on the way? Nora will be fine by herself. She practically raised me and look what a good job she did with that!”

  Paisley laughed and Oscar tried not to feel the hurt rise up in his chest. They had both failed the girls when they were little. He had been a distant and reserved father, and Deirdre made it clear that having children had compromised her youth. He’d been trying to make up for it ever since the divorce. He hoped Nora would do better.

  “I’m at the theatre, Dad. Since your date failed, why don’t you come by? We can talk about the set?”

  He looked up at the dark windows of his house as brittle November leaves gusted past. He had promised to help the girls with the Christmas production, even though Ulysses was beckoning on his coffee table.

  “You can read later, Dad.” He hated it when she read his mind.

  “Alright. But I won’t stay long.”

  He backed out of the driveway, feeling like Scrooge in the face of his youngest daughter’s unfailing enthusiasm.

  “Bah, humbug,” he muttered under his breath.

  Two

  The theatre was cold but welcoming. Rows of seats sloped gracefully toward the stage and soft lighting illuminated ornate carvings on the woodwork. It smelled like popcorn and burlap. Agnes loved it the minute she walked in. She would like nothing more than to curl up in one of the ancient theater seats and read ‘Phantom of the Opera’ for the entire evening. Instead, a portly gentleman thrust a script into her hand and told her to turn to scene five and please fill out this form and indicate theatre experience and a list of plays she had performed in.

  She stared blankly at the paper.

  She hadn’t even been in a school play. Nothing.

  She sat stiffly on the far right of the stage, trying to blend into the shadows as more people arrived. Everyone seemed to know each other, and there was laughter and hugging and a mood of excitement that she wished she could join. Instead, she buried her face in the script, hoping no one would approach her. Savannah had always chided her about her shyness.

  She dug into her purse and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She fought the sting of tears as she opened it and smoothed it on her lap. Savannah’s words, written in her careless handwriting. Reading the Bucket List always helped ground Agnes with a sense of purpose. It renewed her commitment to her promise and strengthened her resolve.

  #1 Eat all the cookie dough

  Done. Several times. She hoped Savannah had meant it in some kind of metaphorical way, because #1 was playing havoc with her thighs.

  She skipped over #2, cringing.

  #3 Perform in a production of Dicken’s A Christmas Carol.

  #4 Kiss a total stranger

  #5 Sleep in a bookshop overnight

  She didn’t get past number five as a grey-haired woman in a purple twin-set ascended the stairs to the stage. Agnes hastily folded the list and put it back in her purse.

  “Hello everyone.” The assembled crowd responded, and Agnes caught the name Belinda in
their greetings. “As the Producer of our little play, I want to welcome you—”

  “Welcome thespians!” A second woman mounted the stage, standing directly in front of Belinda and raising her arms to the polite applause of the crowd. This must be Mrs. Crawley, the director.

  Agnes concentrated on breathing. It would be rude to run screaming from the front row.

  “Irenia.” Belinda tugged on Mrs. Crawley’s purple sleeve. “You know it is the Producer’s role to organize—”

  “Belinda, be a dear and go find Oscar to ask him about…”

  The two women took a few moments to argue on the stage. Mrs. Crawley obviously won as Belinda retreated to the seats in the front row. Agnes had the sense that Mrs. Crawley was used to winning.

  Mrs. Crawley launched into a monologue. Agnes drifted on waves of terror.

  “... and therefore, we must act with passion! This is an historical script, with cultural relevance that embraces the ages. It deserves passion, it deserves enthusiasm, it deserves your complete and total dedication to the creative process…”

  Agnes glanced around. Several people had their heads together, whispering, while others were studying their scripts, or looking at their phones. She had a sense that they had heard this speech before.

  Mrs. Crawley, still at center stage, orchestrated the crowd with wide sweeps of her arms. She arranged everyone into small groups, encouraging them to read through the lines briefly before the auditions began.

  Agnes stood uncertainly in the shadows. She snagged Belinda by the sleeve as she hustled past. Belinda looked to be over sixty, but she moved at hummingbird speed. She almost dragged Agnes off her feet before stopping with a quick smile.

  “I’m sorry, excuse me,” Agnes said. “I assumed that there wouldn’t be… you know… that all these people wouldn’t be watching… um… I thought auditions were, you know, private?”

  “You’ll be just fine, dear. So nice to see a new face at an audition!” Belinda spoke with such certainty that Agnes had a fleeting feeling of confidence rise in her chest. “Everyone here is as nervous as you are. Just have fun.”