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Million love songs, p.1
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       Million Love Songs, p.1

           Carole Matthews
Million Love Songs

  Hello lovely reader!

  Just a note to say thanks for choosing to spend time with me and my book.

  A story often begins with watching and listening to the people around you and I’m lucky enough to be friends with some ladies who are very dedicated fangirls. One of my dear friends is devoted to all things eighties, one is a complete Kylie nut, one loves a bit of George Michael and the other is a long-term follower of Take That. Between them, they gave me some really good ideas for the plot of this story. I’ve had great fun with the research including watching many hours of Take That videos. What’s not to love?

  But really it’s a tale of a woman just trying to find her way in the world with all the trials and tribulations that involves. I hope you’ll love Ruby Brown and her take on things. Put a bit of Take That on the iPod and immerse yourself in Ruby’s world!

  Love Carole xx

  If you want to keep up with what’s happening, new releases, a bit of chat and some fab giveaways, you can find me on Facebook and on Twitter. I try to reply to all of my messages. You can subscribe to my newsletter at I don’t share your information with anyone else and you can subscribe whenever you like. I’m also on Instagram, but haven’t a clue why.

  Instagram Matthews.Carole

  Also by Carole Matthews

  Let’s Meet on Platform 8

  A Whiff of Scandal

  More to Life Than This

  For Better, For Worse

  A Minor Indiscretion

  A Compromising Position

  The Sweetest Taboo

  With or Without You

  You Drive Me Crazy

  Welcome to the Real World

  It’s a Kind of Magic

  All You Need is Love

  The Difference a Day Makes

  That Loving Feeling

  It’s Now or Never

  The Only Way is Up

  Wrapped Up in You

  Summer Daydreams

  With Love at Christmas

  A Cottage by the Sea

  Calling Mrs Christmas

  A Place to Call Home

  The Christmas Party

  The Cake Shop in the Garden

  Paper Hearts and Summer Kisses

  Christmas Cakes and Mistletoe Nights


  The Chocolate Lovers’ Club

  The Chocolate Lovers’ Diet

  The Chocolate Lovers’ Christmas

  The Chocolate Lovers’ Wedding


  Published by Sphere

  ISBN: 978-0-7515-6031-2

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Carole Matthews

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.


  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ


  Also by Carole Matthews

  Title Page


  About the Author



  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  Chapter Ninety

  Chapter Ninety-One

  Chapter Ninety-Two

  Chapter Ninety-Three

  Chapter Ninety-Four

  Chapter Ninety-Five

  Chapter Ninety-Six

  Chapter Ninety-Seven

  Chapter Ninety-Eight

  Chapter Ninety-Nine

  Chapter One Hundred

  Chapter One Hundred and One

  Chapter One Hundred and Two

  Carole Matthews is the Sunday Times bestselling author of thirty novels, including the top ten bestsellers The Cake Shop in the Garden, A Cottage by the Sea, Paper Hearts and Summer Kisses, The Chocolate Lovers’ Christmas and Calling Mrs Christmas. In 2015, Carole was awarded the RNA Outstanding Achievement Award. Her novels dazzle and delight readers all over the world and she is published in more than thirty countries.

  For all the latest news from Carole, visit and sign up to her newsletter. You can also follow Carole on Twitter (@carolematthews) and Instagram (matthews.carole) or join the thou
sands of readers who have become Carole’s friend on Facebook (carolematthewsbooks).

  To my dear friend, Hayley Butcher.

  Shy person, black tooth, bag lady, mad flamingo fancier, a fan of the filthy crochet, extreme worrier, super crafter, sausage fondler, style guru and all-round nice person.

  Happy Big Birthday. Again!


  Thanks to my lovely Yvette Hughes for expert help and advice on all things relating to Gary Barlow and Take That. For being my designated carer on our outings. For always having your friends’ backs. Your kindness knows no bounds.

  Chapter One

  Hello, I’m Ruby Brown. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. What do you need to know? Let’s see. I’m thirty-two and I live at Princess Sparkle Palace, Great Holm, Costa del Keynes. It’s one of the nicer areas of the city and I live in an enormous four-bed detached home which overlooks a lake.

  Well, I actually have a self-contained apartment over someone’s garage. Someone who is a lot richer than I am. OK, even that’s over-egging it. I essentially live in a rented granny annexe that you can’t swing a cat in. It’s not sparkly. It’s not a palace. It’s a granny annexe. But it’s my granny annexe, mine alone. And the lake is real. I try to convince myself that what my home lacks in size it makes up for by having a great view. Every morning I wake to the sound of quacking ducks. That has to count for something, no?

  My birthday is 6 June. So I’m a Gemini. That makes me sociable, communicative and ready for fun. Frankly, a fat lot of good that’s done me. It doesn’t say ‘gullible’ anywhere on the list of Gemini Traits, but I am. Really, I am.

  I’m actually trying really hard to be my most sociable, communicative and ready-for-fun self at the moment, as I’m recently divorced from my husband and am starting out on a New and Exciting Life as a footloose and fancy-free single woman once more. At least, that’s the plan. Though I have to confess that I’m currently feeling a little daunted by the whole thing. Simon and I had been together for five years and you kind of get out of the habit of being by yourself, don’t you? I feel as if I’ve lost one of my limbs. One that I’ll be able to manage without in time, obvs, but it’s still bloody tough getting used to it.

  When Simon and I parted – more acrimoniously than was probably needed – I walked away from my job, my home, my friends, my everything. Madness, I know. But I was heartbroken – still am – and felt cut loose. I needed a fresh start where no one knew me, where my pain didn’t say hello before I did.

  If you met me, you’d think that I was the most staid and responsible person on the planet. I’m not known for my irrational behaviour or my impulsiveness. I’m good old reliable Ruby. Look how far that got me! So I decided that I was going to become a new and different version of me. One that was open to adventure, spontaneity and fun. So I set about shaking it all up a bit.

  My old job in finance at the council was the first major thing to go. I was comfortable in that job. It paid well and I’d accrued a ridiculous amount of holiday entitlement and an enviable, gold-plated pension pot. Though, in truth, I hated every minute I spent there. I hated the work, I hated my colleagues, I hated the beige carpet, I hated the group huddle we had every morning for fifteen minutes to discuss how we could ‘as a team’ improve our working practices. The whole thing made me want to claw my own eyeballs out. No one – except me – thought that stopping the stupid group huddles would be the best way forward. I did it because it was a ‘good’ job with virtually zero chance of being made redundant. And because I was a little bit frightened of change. That’s no reason to stay anywhere, is it?

  As part of the New Year, New Me vibe I felt the world of local government finance would be better without my contribution. My boss would probably tell you that he felt much the same. There are better ways, I think, to spend your nine-to-five. I wanted to get out into the world, meet new people. New people who didn’t think that a suit from Asda was the height of fashion. I’m still young – relatively speaking – but I feel ancient and dull. I want to get out there and mix it up a bit before I am actually too decrepit to enjoy it. In the words of Freddie Mercury, I want to break free!

  So I’ve entered the heady world of hospitality instead. I know you’re thinking Event Organiser or Wedding Planner, something exciting like that. What I’ve actually done is become a waitress at a posh gastropub on the outskirts of Milton Keynes. Which seems to mean nothing more than having a lot of pancetta and butternut squash on the menu and writing said menu on a chalkboard. The pay is terrible, the holidays even worse. Yet, strangely enough, I love it. I enjoy meeting new people every day. The customers are fun, mostly, and the team I work with is great. I know what you’re thinking. So ask me again if I still like it in a year’s time. However, this really is only a stopgap job until my confidence in myself is restored and I decide what I’m doing with my new and exciting life.

  What else can I tell you? I love music, films and anything containing copious calories. I love Kylie Minogue, though I am probably twice her height and size. Unfortunately, the only thing I share with Kylie is that I have the same penchant as her for picking The Wrong Guy.

  In my younger days, I did my share of dating truly dreadful men. Though, much like Kylie, I never actually managed to spot how dreadful they were until after the event. I even went as far as marrying one of them – the aforementioned Simon. More fool me. Though he wasn’t horrible when I married him.

  He was lovely. We laughed a lot. He bought me roses. Only from the local One Stop Shop, but that’s more than a lot of men do. We were good together. I thought he was the love of my life. It was such a shock when it all went horribly wrong.

  But all of life is a lesson. So now I’m done with relationships. I’ve given up on men, the lot of them. I’m concentrating on being Single and Fabulous. Though, at times, it feels like a steep learning curve. I’m opening myself to new opportunities. I’m going to be like that bloke who said yes to everything for a year. I’m going to see where life takes me.

  I need to get a bit of a wiggle on with it, too. I feel as if time is running out for me to fulfil my dreams. And I have dreams, you know. I’d like my own home one day, a car that starts without me having to swear at it, more money coming into my bank account than goes out of it, a job that suits my skill set – whatever that might prove to be. They’re not big dreams in the scheme of things, I admit. They’re probably quite small. But they’re my dreams.

  Though, one day, I do hope to own a unicorn.

  Chapter Two

  Actually, back in reality, I’m thirty-eight and feeling so disillusioned that I’m not even sure that I believe in unicorns any more.

  Chapter Three

  So. What are the first things you do when you find yourself unceremoniously divorced? I tell you what you do. Change your job. We’ve already covered that. Then you drastically change your hairstyle, lose some weight and take up some reckless and possibly life-threatening pursuit.

  Ergo, my long brown hair is now a sharp-cut blonde bob. I might as well see if it’s true that blondes have more fun. If I’m honest, I think they just take more selfies. They also spend a lot more time dyeing their hair. On the weight front, I’ve dropped a stone simply due to the inability to eat while crying. I’m thinking of marketing it as the Next Big Thing diet plan. Weight Loss the Weeping Way! Believe me, the pounds drop off. Life-threatening pursuit? I’ve signed up for scuba-diving lessons. I know.

  I’m not sure that the opportunity for scuba-diving is that widespread in Milton Keynes, but I tried Zumba and found my musical coordination abilities are seriously lacking. When everyone else was whooping and grapevining to the right, I was shimmying to the left all by myself. Plus they were all wearing tight, multi-coloured Lycra clothing that jingled when they moved. That’s never going to be a good look. To add insult to injury, the instructor was nineteen, size six and shouted a lot. When is that ever going to do anything for your self-esteem? Plus, doing Zumba isn’t exactly a lif
e challenge, is it? Whereas scuba-diving might well be – given, especially, that I’m frightened of water. Particularly going under it.

  At this point, I’m thinking that rally driving might have been a better idea. Thought I do already have many points on my licence as another part of my End of Relationship Rehabilitation was to buy a sports car. Don’t get carried away and imagine a Porsche. This is an ancient and well-loved Mazda something or another that has more rust in evidence than polished chrome and smells vaguely of mould. The boot has a bag of those silica crystals in it to extract moisture – put there by the previous owner, I hasten to add. The moisture issue hasn’t just been since I took possession. It’s the sort of car that middle-aged, recently divorced women with no money drive. But it’s my Mazda, rather like my granny annexe. Even though there are dents on every body panel, it shows that it’s seen life and I love it just the same.

  I should fill you in a bit more on my marriage, then you’ll understand where I’m at and why. I’d been with Simon for five years. A year of dating, a year of living together in a rented house in downtown Leighton Buzzard before we wed. So we hardly rushed into it. I met him in real life, at a work conference – unusual in these days of Tinder and e-dating, I think you’ll agree. He was in local government too. Traffic Management. It’s more interesting than it sounds. Well, not that much.

  We met at a Social Responsibility weekend at a posh hotel. After all the boring presentations about initiatives to assess and take responsibility for the company’s effects on environmental and social well-being, he bought me a drink in the bar afterwards. Three drinks, actually. Then we got a bit socially irresponsible together back in my room which was quite nice. My heart went pitter-patter and everything. All the things it’s supposed to do when it clocks true love. After that, we started seeing each other regularly and I fell in love. I thought he did too.

  When we got married, it wasn’t a big do. We had a quickie register office ceremony with a few friends and family. Our wedding breakfast was a finger buffet at my parents’ house afterwards. Maybe that should have told me something. Simon wanted no fuss, the smallest wedding possible. Turns out he may have even preferred it if I hadn’t been there.

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