Just Bea by Deborah Klee #Extract

Today I have an extract for you from Deborah Klee's novel, Just Bea, which was published by Sherman House on 1st February.  First, here's a little about the book.

Sometimes you have to stop trying to be like everyone else and just be yourself

Bea Stevens and Ryan O Marley are in danger of falling through the cracks of their own lives; the only difference between them is that Bea doesn’t know it yet.

When her world is shaken like a snow-globe, Bea has to do what she does best; adapt. Homeless man Ryan is the key to unlocking the mystery of her friend Declan’s disappearance but can she and Ryan trust one another enough to work together?

As the pieces of her life settle in new and unexpected places, like the first fall of snow, Bea must make a choice: does she try to salvage who she was or embrace who she might become?

Just Bea takes the reader on a heart-warming journey from the glamour of a West End store to the harsh reality of life on the streets and reminds us all that home really is where the heart is.

 

 Extract

Bea is feeling miserable as she was passed over at work for a promotion that she thought was hers. The floor manager explained that it was because Bea lacked people skills. The successful candidate, Jemima, had a similar sales record to Bea but Jemima knew details such as customers’ birthdays. Bea wonders whether she has a missing piece as she finds it hard to connect with people.

 

The previous night Bea invited a homeless man, Ryan, to take shelter from the snow in her flat. Before leaving, he offers to repair the catch on her kitchen window. Bea doesn’t have a tool box and so Ryan pops out to find what he needs to do the job.

 

The room grew darker as snow formed a feathery cuff around the window, just like the sumptuous trim on the sleeves of the Jovani robes. Feathers, silk, and satin. She loved the touch of fine lingerie. Loved the tranquillity of their department: a hint of perfume, soft barely audible music, and the gentle glide of staff. Like the surface of a still pond. Shoppers were unaware of the scientific calculations that went into sales. The sharp eyes and wit of sales assistants ready to help them spend. Record sales this Christmas and yet the department had never once seemed rushed. Always an oasis of peace. She ought to be dressed and ready for work, not sitting there watching the oval of light in the window get smaller and smaller.

                ‘Thanks, mate,’ Ryan called to somebody as he pushed open the front door.

                Bea jumped up, feeling guilty that she had not moved since he left. ‘Who were you talking to?’

                ‘Mike from flat F.’

                Bea frowned. ‘You know him?’ She didn’t know any of her neighbours. Couldn’t even recall their faces. There was a baby somewhere in the building because she had heard it cry, but there again, it could have been visiting.

                Ryan dumped a screwdriver and a can of oil on the table. ‘This shouldn’t take long.’

                Bea inspected the oil. ‘This is only half full.’

                ‘Yeah, Molly found it in her storeroom, bless her.’

                ‘Who’s Molly?’ Yuck, she had oil on her fingers. It would ruin her jumper. Bea got up and washed her hands at the sink.

                ‘How can you have lived here – what? Two or three years and not know Molly?’

                Bea suppressed a sadness that threatened to engulf her. Did she have a missing part? Something everyone else had but her? She didn’t even know what it looked like – just that she was missing something. Something that Evans thought was essential to being a head of department and she didn’t know how or where to find this mysterious thing. This knowing everything about strangers – like their bloody birthdays! Ryan was staring at her again.

                ‘How do you know how long I’ve lived here?’ It came out like an accusation.

                Ryan sat down and nodded at the other chair. When Bea had joined him, he said, ‘For sure I didn’t know. I knew you had lived here for eighteen months or so. Just guessed.’

                They sat in silence watching the snow until the oval of light was the size of a saucer. ‘I’d better fix this window, you’ll be wanting to get to work.’

                Bea sighed heavily. ‘I don’t want to go to Hartleys.’

                ‘So, that’s where you work in your fancy clothes.’

                ‘You mean you didn’t just know that by looking at me?’ He thought she was teasing, but Bea wasn’t. ‘You didn’t tell me how you knew Molly. Or Mike for that matter.’

                Ryan stood up and wiped his hands on his trousers. ‘Molly is the cleaner for this block. She has a cubby hole on the ground floor, although she calls it a storeroom.’

                ‘Okay. And Mike?’

                ‘Mike came by when I was talking to Tom about West Ham.’ He caught Bea’s expression. ‘Oh, Tom lent me his screwdriver.’

                She really ought to be getting changed for work; it had gone eleven. But she had to know more. ‘But why would Tom and Molly help you if you don’t know them?’

                ‘May I?’ Ryan pulled a chair to the window. Bea nodded and he stood on it. ‘Tom was wearing a Hammers hat and we got talking about the match. That’s when Mike came by. Tom lent the screwdriver but didn’t have any oil. Could you pass me a cloth or something to shift this snow?’

                Bea found a pack of cloths under the sink.

                ‘So…thanks.’ He opened the window to a blast of freezing air. ‘Mike suggested I ask Molly if she had some oil. Her grandson, Toby, sometimes leaves his bike in her storeroom.’

                Bea shook her head in disbelief. He even knew the name of the cleaner’s grandson.

                ‘Do you know the date of his birthday?’

                Ryan groaned. ‘It doesn’t hurt to take an interest in people, Bea.’ Snow fell with a thud and the room became light. ‘I might need a hairdryer to unfreeze this lock. Now, I know you’ll have one of those.’

                He offered an open palm and Bea handed him the screwdriver.

                ‘Molly has arthritis in her knee. I suggested she try using knee supports. My da had a similar problem and they worked a treat for him. I don’t think we’ll need your hairdryer.’

                ‘It’s eleven twenty. I’m going to be late.’

                ‘I’ll be away in just a few minutes. There. It’s fixed. Make sure you close the window in future, especially in this weather.’

 

About the Author

 Deborah has worked as an occupational therapist, a health service manager, a freelance journalist, and management consultant in health and social care.

Her protagonists are often people who exist on the edges of society. Despite the very real, but dark, subject matter her stories are uplifting, combining pathos with humour. They are about self-discovery and the power of friendships and community.

Just Bea is her second novel. Her debut The Borrowed Boy was published last year.

Deborah lives on the Essex coast. When she is not writing she combines her love of baking with trying to burn off the extra calories.

You can follow Deborak here:  Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter 

Book links:  Amazon UK  |  Amazon US

Thanks to Deborah Klee, and Rachel of Rachel's Random Resources for the extract and a place on the tour.  

Check out the rest of the tour