A Seaside Affair: A heartwarming, gripping read from the Top Ten bestseller. Fern Britton

no mention of marriage, or children. All they shared was a rented flat at the top of a converted Edwardian house in Willesden and two dachshunds. Lucky girl.

      Ryan broke into her thoughts. ‘Jess, carry my holdall would you? I’ll get the cases.’

      Together they hauled themselves and their luggage up the four flights of stairs.

      Panting, Ryan put his key in the front door and pushed it open. Jess heard the sound of mail swishing over the stripped floorboards of the small hall.

      ‘Here we are then: home sweet home!’ declared Ryan. ‘Put the kettle on, love. I’m dying for a whizz.’

      While he disappeared into the loo she shoved the holdall and the suitcases further into the hall in order to close the door, then bent down to scoop up the pile of post. She carried it into the kitchen and dumped it on the table, then set about making the tea.

      Ryan returned just as she realised there was no milk.

      ‘I’ll nip out and get some.’ He grinned at her and gave her a hug. ‘Happy?’

      ‘Yeah.’ She allowed herself to fold into his arms. ‘You?’

      ‘What a silly question! Of course I am. Lovely girlfriend, lovely holiday and six months’ filming ahead of me. What’s not to be happy about?’ He rummaged in his trouser pockets, looking for cash. ‘Got any change, darling? I’ve got nothing but Thai baht on me.’

      ‘In my purse.’

      Alone in the kitchen she poured the boiling water on to the teabags, then covered the teapot with an old cosy she’d embroidered for her GCSE sewing exam.

      Over the next fifteen minutes she emptied the cases, sorted the washing and loaded up the machine. Then she sat down at the kitchen table and began going through the post, sorting it into two piles: one for Ryan, one for her. Bills, catalogues, a postcard from an old school friend, junk mail and a cheque for £27.44 from her agent for a repeat of a television programme in which she’d made a brief appearance. She’d need that to help with the exorbitant kennel bill when she collected the girls in the morning.

      She heard Ryan’s key in the lock. ‘Tea’s brewed,’ she called.

      He came into the kitchen puffing. ‘Either those stairs are getting longer or I’m getting older.’ He put a carrier bag on the table, its damp edges resting on her £27.44 cheque, smudging the ink. Silently she lifted the bag and slipped the cheque out of the way.

      He poured them both some tea and sat down. Jess sipped her tea in silence. His larger-than-life presence was irritating her for no reason. Maybe she should go to the doctor. She was definitely not feeling herself.

      ‘I got a few essentials: cooked chicken, salad, fruit … That way you won’t have to cook on your first night home.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      ‘I think I’ll have a shower and then a nap. Want to join me?’

      ‘Would you run me a bath?’

      ‘Sure.’

      The familiarity of their bed and the feel of their own bed linen combined with the light-headedness of jet lag allowed them to sleep the deepest of sleeps.

      It was dark outside when Jess woke. They’d slept all afternoon. Ryan was lying on his side, his hand resting under his cheek. His mouth was pursed like a baby’s. She left him and went to the living room to turn on her computer.

      A message from her agent was waiting for her.

      From: Alana Chowdhury

      Subject: Availability

      Darling Jess,

      Tried phoning but you must have it turned off.

      Give me a bell soonest.

      Alana

      Jess reached for her phone and checked the battery. Dead. She found the charger, finally, at the bottom of her handbag and plugged it in.

      ‘Alana Chowdhury.’

      ‘Alana, it’s me – Jess.’

      ‘Jess darling, where’ve you been? I couldn’t raise you.’

      ‘I’ve been on holiday. In Thailand. With Ryan. Remember?’

      ‘You must tell me if you’re going away.’

      ‘I did.’ Jess knew that she was only one name on a long list of actors represented by Alana, but now she felt as if she’d gone from minor to minuscule.

      Alana carried on: ‘I’ve been approached to put some clients forward for a new comedy drama for the BBC. I threw your name in as a last-minute thought.’