Nothing New for Sophie Drew: a heart-warming romantic comedy, Katey Lovell [booksvooks .txt] 📗

The previous year half the Newcastle United team had turned up. Dad had been green with envy when I’d shown him the pictures I’d had taken with them.

“I wasn’t really looking. I spent most of the night talking to a guy.”

All eyes were on me, expectant. Even Noah, slightly less dribbly since his two front teeth had pierced their way through his bright red gums, was staring at me.

“You didn’t tell me you had a new boyfriend,” Mum chastised, but I knew she was excited from the way her attention was fixed on me. “So come on then, tell us all about him. Who is he, where did you meet?”

“I wouldn’t call him my boyfriend, I’ve only met him a few times. His name’s Max and he’s the manager of the Hospice charity shop in town. I met him when I was shopping a couple of months ago.”

“Why were you slumming it in a charity shop?” Nick asked with a laugh. “Not exactly your usual scene.”

“All sorts of people use charity shops, actually,” I said haughtily, remembering Max telling me about the diverse cross-section of customers that came through the shop. “I saw something in the window that caught my attention and ended up going in. Anyway, Max was serving and he invited me to his local for a drink. We didn’t exchange numbers though so last night was the first time I’d seen him since then.”

“This is very exciting,” Mum said, her cheeks flushed. “You know we’ve all been worried about you since you and Darius split up.”

“I’m capable of looking after myself,” I said defensively, despite all evidence to the contrary.

“We know that, but it’s nice to know you’re opening up to new opportunities. You’ve had long enough to grieve that relationship, and now it’s time to put all that behind you and move forward.”

“I never liked Darius.” Nick’s comment shocked me. In all the time we were together he’d never once given the impression of disliking my ex. Nick must have read my look and known what I was thinking, because he said, “He didn’t appreciate you. You’re bright, you’re pretty, you’re funny. I know you’re my sister, but you’re a catch. He should have realised what he had and not taken you for granted.”

It was probably the nicest thing Nick had ever said to me.

“Do you remember the way he was at our wedding?” Chantel shook her head. “He was flirting with my sister, right in front of you. I was appalled he could behave that way with you right there.”

Of course I remembered it, I’d felt about two inches tall as he reeled off line after cheesy line of compliments to Chantel’s younger sister, Clare. I’d laughed it off, pretending it didn’t matter, but he’d hurt me.

“That was when I saw his true colours.” Mum started noisily stacking the empty crockery. “I knew he was a jack the lad, but he took it too far that day.”

“You never mentioned anything,” I said, feeling defensive. It was as though they were belittling all me and Darius had shared.

“We tried, Soph, lots of times.” Nick smiled sadly.

“Try not to rush into anything with this Max, eh?” Dad said. “Find out if he’s good enough for you before you go falling head over heels.”

“Yes, Dad,” I replied obediently.

“Enjoy yourself, but be cautious. There’s no rush.” Mum smiled, her eyes resting on what was left of the trifle. “Now, who’s having the last of this? There’s not much left, so we may as well finish it off.”

“Sophie can have it,” Nick said. It was a kind gesture, especially given that mainly custard, cream and sprinkles (in other words, all the best bits) remained.

“No, honestly, I’m fit to bursting. Let Chantel have it, she’s eating for three, after all.”

Chantel beamed, eagerly telling me about her impending twenty-week scan appointment the following week, and Mum scooped the remains of dessert into my sister-in-law’s bowl. I was excited – for her, for Nick, for all of us as she shared her joy. For once I didn’t feel like the outsider. I felt part of something. Part of the family.

Chapter 15

Ever had a bad idea? Sitting on the floor in my bedroom, every item of clothing I owned surrounding me, I realised I’d had an exceptionally bad idea. In theory the Marie Kondo method had sounded great, and I was in the “if I have a clean house, I’ll have a clean mind” mindset, but faced with the reality of the task at hand I was full of regret. I’d started the sorting process after returning home from Mum and Dad’s. It had been another beautiful evening, but darkness had taken over, the sunlight replaced by the glare of the bulb in my standard lamp.

Surrounding me were ten pairs of near-identical jeans, an assortment of floral dresses and a ridiculous amount of bikinis. It was obscene. A holiday to somewhere hot where I could laze on the beach was the extent of my bikini-wearing, but from looking at my wardrobe you’d never have guessed. There were enough to keep James Bond’s fancy-pieces in swimwear for the next ten films in the franchise.

Methodically, I started sorting through each of the piles. The process was satisfying, even if I did feel stupid saying “thank you” to my clothes and it took three times as long as I’d anticipated. It was pleasing to know the items making their way back into my wardrobe were the ones that made me feel like my best self. Favourite staples that have served me well.

The clothes I no longer wanted were sorted into a “sell” pile and a “charity shop” pile. Shamefully, numerous items, some of them designer, still had the tags attached. Seeing the prices printed in stark black and white on the labels made me baulk, their combined total reaching well into four figures. Although it was unlikely they’d fetch full retail price on the online auction sites, I was