The Difference a Day Makes

 
 
 

 
The Difference a Day Makes

 

 
CAROLE MATTHEWS

 
 
headline

 
Copyright © 2009 Carole Matthews (Ink) Ltd.

 

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

 

 
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

 

 
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2009

 

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

 

 
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

 

 
978 0 7553 4581 6 (B-format)
978 0 7553 4582 3 (A-format)

eISBN : 978 0 7553 7245 4

 

 
This Ebook produced by Jouve Digitalisation des Informations

 

 
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH

 

 
www.headline.co.uk

Table of Contents

 

 

Carole Matthews is an internationally bestselling author whose unique sense of humour has won her legions of fans and critical acclaim. As well as appearing on the
New York Times
and
Sunday Times
bestseller lists, several of her novels have also been sold to Hollywood. Carole has presented on television and is a regular radio guest. When she is not writing her novels or emailing her fans from her home in Milton Keynes, she enjoys eating chocolate and travelling to far-flung places.

 

For more information and the chance to win some fabulous prizes visit
www.carolematthews.co.uk
. Or chat with Carole on
www.myspace.com/CaroleMatthews
or add her as a friend on Facebook.

 

‘Matthews is one of the few writers who can rival Marian Keyes’ gift for telling heart-warming tales with buckets of charm and laughs’
Daily Record

 

‘We always let out a squeal of excitement when a new Carole Matthews novel hits the shelves and, luckily for us, this one doesn’t disappoint’
Heat

 

‘Lots of fun’
Closer

 

‘A heartwarming tale’
Daily Express

 

‘Funny, pacy and heart-warming’
U
magazine

 

‘This novel has all the warmth and wit we expect from Carole Matthews. Perfect’
Bella

 

‘Will have you giggling from the start . . . hilarious’
OK!
magazine

To Bernie Keith and Riley - for all your help and
friendship along the way

 

 

Thanks to David and Jayne for all things veterinary and countrified and, most importantly, the hair-raising stories about the real-life Hamish. I could have listened to tales about him all day - in fact, I think I did. Once in a lifetime a pet comes along like that - and thank goodness, otherwise no one would have any pants left. He has made such an impression on me and I’ve never even met him.There is a photo of the original and incomparable doggy on my website for anyone who doubts the existence of such a whirling dervish of a hound.

 

It might also be pertinent to mention Sue Golden and Andy Bull here who introduced me to David and Jayne in the first place. Thanks so much for that. See how complicated writing a book can be! It’s all down to chance, concidence and, mainly, drunken conversations.

 

Another chance conversation on a tour bus in South Africa brought Carol The Vet into my life and much-appreciated additional material.Also to Louise Davidson for allowing me to spend time on her smallholding and for not making me do anything that involved the non-feeding end of the animals - phew!

 

 

 

O
ut of the corner of my eye, I see William’s face crease in pain. I look up from my Harlan Coben novel which has, up until now, been keeping me gripped. ‘Will? What’s wrong?’

‘Funny pain,’ my husband says tightly as he rubs at his chest.

‘Indigestion,’ is my diagnosis. ‘Your toast was burned this morning. And you ate it in three mouthfuls. That’ll always do it.’

I sip my take-away latte that I grabbed at the entrance to the station. This morning, the time to eat breakfast eluded me. The rush-hour Tube is packed, as usual. Damp bodies crush together, everyone steaming gently due to the heavy rain out on the street. It’s a filthy day out there even though summer is just around the corner and, for once, I’m glad to be squashed on the Underground, pressed up against my husband. I move closer to him and we sway with the movement of the train which is rattling along apace. I’m struggling to hold my book high enough or steady enough to read it, so I abandon it and juggle my coffee into my other hand in an attempt to take another sip.

William rubs at his shoulder and down his arm, muttering to himself as he does so. Beads of sweat form on his forehead and his face has gone pale.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Hot,’ he gasps. ‘Very hot.’ His fingers fumble with his tie, loosening it, and he lets out a wobbly breath.

‘We’ve only one more stop,’ I say. He could probably do with sitting down for a minute, but no one is likely to give up their seat for him. My husband looks clammy and is sweating profusely. ‘You’ll feel better when you’re out in the fresh air.’

I brush his thick, dark hair from his forehead and blow a cool breath on it through pursed lips. Must nag him to get a haircut this weekend - it’s long overdue. We’ve both been so manic that it’s simply slipped off the grid. ‘Have you got a busy morning?’

William nods. Silly question, really.We’re always busy. Last night we were both out late at cocktail parties. It was gone midnight when we fell into bed, too tired for anything more strenuous than a cursory peck on the cheek. I don’t think that Will’s been home before eleven o’clock all week and we’re fast approaching the age where you can only do that so many times in a row without it having a detrimental effect. It would have been lovely to have had a lie-in this morning, but it wasn’t to be.

My husband and I work together at the British Television Company. I’m Amy Ashurst, the Executive Producer of a popular sports quiz programme - imaginatively named
Sports Quiz
- that’s been running for years. I have a formidable reputation that I don’t think I deserve. I’m a pussy cat really, I just have high standards. I adore my work and the buzz around such a successful programme and would probably do it for free if they didn’t pay me handsomely for it.

William is Head of Comedy Development and works with a lot of the up-and-coming comedians to provide showcase programmes for them. He’s the life and soul of the party and is responsible for giving breaks to some of the biggest names in entertainment on the small screen today. He doesn’t like to brag, but you’d know them all.

There are advantages and disadvantages of working together - although we hardly see each other during the day unless we manage to snatch a rare lunch together in the staff canteen. The difficulty is in the evenings when neither of us can switch off our BTC heads and all we talk about is work. But, as I said, we both love our jobs, so that’s no great hardship.

‘Try to grab a cup of tea and take five before you launch into the day.’ I squeeze his arm. William’s never ill. He’s a complete fitness freak and runs every day, hail, rain or shine. Not like me who has to be coaxed to the gym once a year. My husband has the constitution of an ox and will declare it to anyone prepared to listen.

‘Yes.’ His face has an odd waxen look.

‘Do you want a sip of this?’ I offer my latte, but he shakes his head.

It’s about time we had a holiday, I think. We’ve both been so stretched, with one thing and another, that we haven’t had a proper break for ages. Perhaps Will has been working too hard. Maybe I’ll have a look at my diary when I get into the office, see if we can squeeze something in.