Third Time Lucky

By Lesley Pearse

new girlfriend he wanted to move in with. He reprimanded Charley for saying she felt she was being abandoned.

“Nothing sadder than grownup children hanging onto their mother’s apron strings,” he said as if he’d never brought home bags of washing from uni for their mother to do. “Mum and Dad deserve a happy new life by the sea while they’re still young enough to make new friends. Besides, you’ll meet someone and get married before long. So go out and have some fun until that happens.”

Charley approved of Torquay now, and she’d had plenty of fun in London since moving into a shared flat. Plenty of boyfriends too, and twice she’d believed she was in love. But both times it fizzled out. Maybe the third time would be lucky!

Charley was just finishing her cornet as she crossed the busy road by the Marina, of tourists, was actually after him.

She had often played at flying rugby tackles in the garden with her brother, and although it was some years since she last tried it, and never before on hard concrete, she launched herself at the man and brought him face down on the pavement in one swift movement.

Straddling across the man’s backside, while holding down his flailing arms and ignoring that he was swearing at her, she yelled at the astonished people going past her, “Get the police! He’s stolen that lady’s handbag!”

It was laughable how dumb people could be, stopping to stare as if the scantily dressed woman who had pinned down a man on the pavement was doing it for fun.

The owner of the bag caught up with Charley, bringing her basket, shouting indignantly to the crowd that this lout on the ground had stolen her bag. Finally, a man got out his phone and rang the police.

Charley pulled out the bag from beneath the thief, clipping his ear as he struggled to get free, giving her a mouthful of abuse. “You are going nowhere except the police station,” she said. “And keep up that abuse and I’ll clout you again.”

“I never saw anything so brave,” the lady in the pink dress said as Charley handed her the bag. “Thank you so much, my dear.”

The police arrived within minutes. While one of them helped Charley up, the other cuffed the thief, hauled him to his feet and pushed him into the back of the car. The lady victim was telling the police and anyone else who stopped to listen how brave and speedy Charley had been.

“So what’s your name, then? Wonder Woman?” one of the officers asked.

Charley hadn’t realised, until her knees started to sting like mad, that she’d grazed them during her tackle. But as she looked up at the officer her stomach gave a little flip. His eyes were a deeper blue than his uniform shirt, and his wide smile showed dazzlingly white teeth and a cute dimple in his chin.

“Charlotte Brigham,” she said, forgetting all about her knees. “Better known as Charley.”

group of flash idiots were being rather objectionable,” he said. “I managed to get them out without any further disruption and the manager said that if I was booking a meal anytime, to tell them who I was, and they’d give me a window seat. So I did, and here we are.”

The view of the sun going down on the sea was beautiful, the food delicious and Dan was the absolute best company.

His brown hair was streaked blond by the sun, his skin smooth and tanned, and she liked that he wore a white shirt, smart navy trousers and proper shoes. So many men she’d dated recently turned up in some ghastly Hawaiian shirt, cargo pants and trainers. She’d also smelled a lovely but classily subtle aftershave while she was in his car.

He seemed to bring out the best in her, asking questions about her job, and her friends that she shared her flat with. She even found herself being amusing – well, she assumed so as he laughed at many things she said. She even admitted that she loved Karaoke, watching rugby, and did prison visiting, things she rarely spoke of to anyone.

He had bought a small flat in Torquay, he played rugby and coached a group of fourteen-year-olds, and preferred reading to watching TV. His parents lived in Reading, and he had two brothers. But it was the kindness in him that she liked so much, a generosity of spirit, and strength. Real men, the kind you felt could build you a house on a desert island, were rare in advertising. Dan clearly was a real one.

They walked along the Esplanade to the pier after dinner. The breeze soft and warm on their faces, and the moon making a silver pathway on the dark sea.

Dan kissed her then, cupping her face tenderly in his hands.

All at once Charley felt she was slipping into something magical.

Third time lucky.

Liar by Lesley Pearse (Michael Joseph, HB, £20). An aspiring reporter stumbles across a big scoop but soon she realises that she might be the only one who can find answers and stop more murders. Can she find out who the liar is before it’s too late? Full of twists, this compelling tale is another winner from Lesley.

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