From The Heart Read online

  From the Heart

  Sheila O’Flanagan

  Copyright © 2003, 2007, 2010, 2012 Sheila O’Flanagan

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

  First published in this Ebook edition by Headline Publishing Group in 2012

  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.

  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

  eISBN 978 0 7553 9730 3

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Also by Sheila O’Flanagan

  About the Book

  Introduction

  Hot Date

  A Peaceful Christmas

  Anniversary

  Phone a Friend

  Isobel’s Reunion

  Better Together (preview)

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Ask Sheila

  About the Author

  Sheila O’Flanagan is the author of many bestselling novels, including All For You, Stand By Me, The Perfect Man, Someone Special, Bad Behaviour, Yours, Faithfully, How Will I Know? and Anyone But Him, as well as the short story collections Destinations, Connections, and A Season to Remember.

  Sheila has always loved telling stories, and after working in banking and finance for a number of years, she decided it was time to fulfil a dream and give writing her own book a go. So she sat down, stuck ‘Chapter One’ at the top of a page, and got started. Sheila is now the author of more than fifteen bestselling titles. She lives in Dublin with her partner.

  You can follow Sheila on Twitter @sheilaoflanagan

  By Sheila O’Flanagan and available from Headline Review

  Suddenly Single

  Far From Over

  My Favourite Goodbye

  He’s Got To Go

  Isobel’s Wedding

  Caroline’s Sister

  Too Good To Be True

  Dreaming Of A Stranger

  Destinations

  Anyone But Him

  How Will I Know?

  Connections

  Yours, Faithfully

  Bad Behaviour

  Someone Special

  The Perfect Man

  Stand By Me

  A Season To Remember

  All For You

  Better Together

  About the Book

  Download for free today and enjoy a wonderful collection of previously published stories by Sheila O’Flanagan including a short sequel to Isobel’s Wedding, together with a preview of her new novel, Better Together, and a special author Q & A.

  From the Heart reveals the unexpected tales that lie beneath the surface of every-day lives, through a memorable cast of characters all in search of their own happy endings. A hot date gets off to a disastrous start; a young couple long for peace and quiet as they prepare for their first Christmas as parents; two eavesdropping passengers realise they share more in common than they had thought; a couple celebrate their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, wondering if it’s all a sham; and Isobel from Isobel’s Wedding encounters an unexpected reunion in a luxurious Caribbean getaway.

  A touching and heart-warming selection of stories taken from Sheila O’Flanagan’s bestselling collections Destinations, Connections and A Season to Remember, available together exclusively in this digital-only edition.

  Thank you for downloading this limited-edition short story collection by Sheila O’Flanagan. If you’re already a fan of Sheila’s novels, we hope you’ll agree that these stories are full of the unforgettable characters, warmth and humour that make her writing so irresistible. And if you’re a first-time reader, you’re in for a treat!

  The stories have been specially selected from Sheila O’Flanagan’s previous bestselling collections: Destinations, Connections and A Season to Remember. There is also the chance to read an exclusive preview of Sheila’s new novel, Better Together, before it is published on 5th July 2012.

  If you would like to find out more about Sheila O’Flanagan, have a look at the special author Q & A at the end of this collection. Alternatively, visit www.sheilaoflanagan.com.

  You can follow Sheila on Facebook and on Twitter @sheilaoflanagan

  Happy reading!

  HOT DATE

  OK, I was quivering with excitement. I really was. Whenever I picked up a piece of paper I could see that my hands were actually shaking. It’s kind of pathetic to get into a state like that about a bloke but, well, this was Richard Clavin. The smouldering, sexy, makes-Colin-Firth-look-like-Danny-DeVito Richard Clavin. And he was my date.

  There wasn’t a woman in Whizz-Bang Solutions who didn’t think that Richard Clavin was sex on legs. He was tall (naturally) had dark-raven hair (expertly cut) deep blue eyes (which were whirlpools of emotion) and a jawline that any James Bond actor would’ve killed for. Oh, and he was excruciatingly intelligent, on the fast-track for promotion and had a wicked sense of humour. So, you see, anyone would want to go out with Richard Clavin. It wasn’t as though this was an ordinary date. I was – to put it a little over the top – the chosen one!

  And I’m never the chosen one. Never. My track record with men makes Bridget Jones look like J-Lo. I’m hopeless. I pick the wrong one every time and I end up with my heart broken feeling as though ‘dumped again’ is emblazoned across my forehead in silver lettering as a warning to other stupid girls who think there’s such a person as Mr Right. I usually pick the fuckwits, you see. The kind of blokes that shouldn’t be let out without an emotional health warning tattooed on their anatomy. I never seem to get it right and I don’t know why. Sometimes I think I must have been Cleopatra in a previous life and I’m still being punished for it. Sometimes I think that I was born hopeless. And then sometimes a bloke comes along and I forget everything that’s gone before so I fall hard and fast for them and then remember the hopeless stuff a few weeks later when I’m on my own in the apartment playing ‘Without You’ at full volume while knocking back a few litres of Smirnoff Ice.

  I didn’t know what the Richard Clavin experience would be like but I hoped it wouldn’t be too short-lived because I was getting fed up of ‘Without You’.

  He’d walked into the design department of our website company that morning and had looked around for a moment as though searching for the right person. And then those blue eyes had lighted on me as he smiled and said, ‘Sadie, I’ve been given a free meal tonight. Would you like to join me?’

  I looked at him, my mouth opening and closing wordlessly, and he smiled again.

  ‘Dan McCormack’s new restaurant in Blackrock,’ he told me. ‘Remember we did their system? He said to drop in tonight if I could. I know you did a lot of work on the site. I wondered if you’d like to join me.’

  Would I what! I clenched my fists together so that he couldn’t see I’d already started to tremble and I nodded vigorously.

  ‘Great,’ he said as though he was totally unaware of my excitement. ‘How about we meet in the pub near the train station? You know, the new trendy one?’


  I cleared my throat. ‘No, because I’m from the other side of town,’ I said. ‘But I’m sure I’ll find it.’

  ‘I can’t remember the name.’ He frowned. ‘Topsie, Mopsie, Dropsie . . . something on those lines anyway.’

  ‘No problem,’ I assured him.

  ‘About seven-thirty?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘Great.’ He beamed. (I forgot to mention that he had two rows of perfect white teeth.) ‘See you then, Sadie.’

  He strode out of the room and I almost dissolved at my desk.

  ‘Oh, Sadie!’ Anne-Marie Tarrant looked at me, her brown eyes full of envy. ‘You lucky, lucky cow!’

  ‘I know.’ I could hardly keep the triumph out of my voice. ‘He obviously realises my potential.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Noreen Smith looked at me with hostility. ‘Your potential to be dragged into bed.’

  ‘Tut, tut.’ I gave her my best Cheshire Cat grin. ‘Sounds like you’re jealous.’

  ‘No,’ snapped Noreen. ‘I just don’t understand what all of you see in him. Self-opinionated shithead if you ask me.’

  ‘Fortunately I didn’t,’ I cooed sweetly at her. ‘Oh, and Noreen, don’t bother telling me that he’s all good looks and no brains ’cos we know that’s not true.’

  ‘All good looks and the emotional maturity of a complete fuckwit,’ said Noreen nastily and stabbed at her keyboard.

  I didn’t like the fuckwit analogy. It reminded me too much of what could go wrong.

  They were all jealous. I would’ve been jealous too if he’d come in and chosen Myra, for example. Or Helen. Or Susan. Or any of the others. But he hadn’t. He’d chosen me.

  I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’m getting into a state about someone who’ll prove to be the emotional juvenile that Noreen thinks and who’ll break my heart by making some crass comment about the size of my thighs or something. You’re wrong. Richard Clavin isn’t like that. He’s kind. The day I dropped half-a-dozen crammed folders onto the floor beside the drinking fountain he stopped and helped me pick them up, commiserating with me and never once looking down the top of my (somewhat inappropriately) low-cut blouse. He’d said that it could happen to anyone and not to worry and wouldn’t you think in a company like ours we’d have got rid of all that paperwork by now? He was nice to me. And he’s emotionally mature.

  Clearly, for such an important date, everything had to be perfect. It would’ve been better if I’d had a couple of days’ notice because then I’d have had time to prepare myself properly. As it was I’d have to shave my legs when I got home that evening because I couldn’t let him see them in their hairy glory – I was due to get them waxed in two days’ time but that was no good now. Also, I knew that I couldn’t do my favourite face-mask because that was a thing that needed a couple of days – otherwise I’d have spots on my face due to its ‘remove all impurities’ qualities. Finally (and a bit more worryingly) I didn’t have time to get my hair cut but I rang the hairdresser and booked myself in for a wash and blow dry at half-five. After which I intended to go home, pop on my unflattering but useful shower cap to protect my newly styled mane from the steam, and sit in a scented bath surrounded by candles. The candles would calm my nerves and get my karma right for the night. (I’m not really into all that karma stuff but it can’t do any harm, can it?)

  I spent the rest of the morning pleasurably thinking about what I was going to wear – my new suede skirt with the cowboy fringe, perhaps. But I dismissed that because it was too jokey and light-hearted and I felt that dinner with Richard Clavin should be a more sophisticated affair. Even if it was preceded by drinks at Mopsies or Topsies or whatever it was called. My little black dress was, of course, totally sophisticated and a great standby for nights out when I wanted to look charming and elegant instead of sort of scatty like I usually did, but it was two seasons old and just a little tired. Buying something new would’ve been an option if our offices hadn’t been located in the retail wasteland of Amiens Street and lunchtime restricted to a sandwich delivered to the desk because we were supposed to be working hard on Project X. (We always called the busy things Project X and sometimes they even had a hint of glamour, but this was a site for an electrical distributor and totally boring.)

  I gazed into space. Perhaps my biscuit-coloured trousers and my moss-green Lycra top? Too businesslike. My Edina Ronay knitted dress? Maybe . . . but if it was warm in the bar (and it was sure to be warm in the bar) then my face would go red and would clash unbecomingly with the pink wool. I was still mentally mixing and matching when Jessica Ferris, our managing director, walked into the room.

  ‘All hands to the pumps,’ she barked. ‘Anyone who’s working on DomElectric get the finger out now. The head honcho and his sidekick are coming in to see us at five-thirty. I want to have something up and running for him.’ She looked at me. ‘You’re working on it, Sadie, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ I said. ‘And Robert, of course.’

  ‘OK you guys, get to it.’

  I looked at my watch. I could get something up and running by Jessica’s deadline but it would be hard. Also, I was due to be in the hairdresser at five-thirty.

  ‘You won’t need both of us at half five,’ I remarked as casually as I could.

  ‘Of course I bloody will,’ snapped Jessica.

  ‘But my hair appointment—’

  ‘Sadie, cancel your appointment,’ said Jessica.

  ‘It’s just that—’

  ‘Sadie, these people are paying us good money and you will be there. So will Robert. Enough said.’

  I groaned. Still, I thought, I only lived a ten-minute sprint away from the office. I could hang around for the presentation, get home and wash my hair myself. It wouldn’t be the same as having it done for me but something usually goes wrong on a big date and missing my hair appointment wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

  Of course it wasn’t. Worse was to come, as Robert and I really struggled with the DomElectric, trying to get the links running as smoothly as we wanted. But we managed, just about, to get everything up and running by half five. Which was when Jessica walked in to say that they’d be a bit late but they’d be here by six. Six was cutting things a bit fine but it still wasn’t a disaster. Even if I didn’t get home till half-past I could have a really quick shower and do my speedy-getting-ready job. And it was a reasonably short hop from Connolly Station to Blackrock. But, I thought bleakly, as I moved the mouse over the image of a washer-dryer and wondered why on earth the description wasn’t coming up like it was supposed to, this wasn’t the preparation I’d wanted for my big night out.

  They arrived at a quarter past six. I ran through the basics of the site with them while they asked the stupid sort of questions that people with no knowledge of technology whatsoever ask. And then they moved the mouse over the images themselves and the descriptions came up like they were supposed to, except when they clicked on the bright-green vacuum cleaner and the whole site crashed.

  ‘No problem,’ said Robert. ‘That’s just a glitch. I can sort that for you.’

  His fingers flew over the keyboard while I looked surreptitiously at my watch. I would have to go really soon. It occurred to me that it would have been smart to have rung Richard Clavin’s extension earlier and told him that I might be a bit late. But even if I’d thought of it I probably wouldn’t have done it because he might have read it as (a) I’d changed my mind or (b) I was too busy to come out, and he might have asked Helen or Susan or – heaven forbid – even Noreen instead. So I hadn’t rung him and maybe he was now at home thinking about me while I was still here struggling with images of vacuum cleaners.

  ‘There,’ said Robert in relief as the site finally came back. ‘As I said, a minor glitch.’

  ‘It looks good,’ said one of the electric company honchos.

  ‘I like it too,’ said the other.

  ‘Good work, guys,’ said Jessica.

  ‘I’m sorry to rush,’ I s
aid as apologetically as I could. ‘But I have an appointment this evening and I really need to . . .’ I allowed my voice to trail off as though there was nothing in my life more interesting than being with them but that this other appointment was interrupting us and, unfortunately, I had to deal with it.

  All the same, Jessica looked irritated. ‘If you must, Sadie,’ she said.

  ‘I must.’ I grabbed my bag and legged it out of the building. The apartment I was sharing with my friend Ashling was on the quays. I ran down the street and was breathless by the time I’d punched the entry code into the keypad.

  Ashling had already gone out. She had a steady boyfriend, the not-too-unattractive John, and she spent more time at his place than ours. In fact I sometimes wondered whether or not I would be needing a new flat-mate soon. A mental image of sharing my apartment with the gorgeous Richard Clavin drifted into my head.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ I told myself as I peeled myself out of my working clothes. ‘No time for this.’

  I jumped under the shower. It was freezing. Obviously Ashling had used up all the hot water. I swore as I hopped around under the icy spray and tried to rinse the suds from my hair. I hugged one side of the shower as I also tried to shave my goosebump-covered legs. I’d have words with the bitch later. Using all the hot water was simply selfish.

  It was a quick shower. I got out and wrapped myself in a towel, still shivering. I grabbed my body cream, shook it and squeezed the bottle. A huge glob of white cream shot out and landed on my wet hair. I washed it in cold water again.

  Do you want the whole litany of disasters? Do you want to hear about how my hair just wouldn’t, absolutely wouldn’t, dry properly? Do you want to hear about my mascara smudging and leaving a dirty black blob on my made-up face? Do you want to hear about how I decided that my denim skirt and white linen shirt would look good (even though not sophisticated) but how I managed to get make-up on the collar of the shirt anyway so that, at seven o’clock, I was still rummaging in my wardrobe looking for something to wear. I settled on my lilac dress, which actually is quite sophisticated but is a bit clingier than I’d like given the lack of success of my last diet in shifting poundage from my stomach area.