A summer of new beginnings…

Katie thought she had the perfect family life by the sea – until her husband left her for another woman, abandoning her and their two children! She knows it’s finally time to move on but she’s unsure where to begin…

Frankie is shocked when gorgeous dog-walker Alex asks her on a date! As a single mum with her own business she struggles to put herself first, but maybe she’s ready to follow her heart?

George is used to raising her son on her own – but now he’s at nursery, her life feels empty. So when she meets Katie and Frankie at the beach, she realises that her talent for rustling up delicious picnics could be the perfect distraction!

But of course, life isn’t always a beach and as secrets begin to surface the three women’s lives are about to be turned upside-down…

A cosy and charming romance set at the English seaside, perfect for fans of Trisha Ashley and Caroline Roberts.

Also by Jennifer Joyce

The Wedding that Changed Everything

The Little Teashop of Broken Hearts

The Little Bed & Breakfast by the Sea

The Wedding Date

The Mince Pie Mix-Up

The Single Mums’ Picnic Club

Jennifer Joyce

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Jennifer Joyce 2018

Jennifer Joyce asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2018 ISBN: 978-0-00-828143-4

JENNIFER JOYCE

is a writer of romantic comedies. She’s been scribbling down bits of stories for as long as she can remember, graduating from a pen to a typewriter and then an electronic typewriter. And she felt like the bee’s knees typing on that. She now writes her books on a laptop (which has a proper delete button and everything). Jennifer lives in Oldham, Greater Manchester, with her husband Chris and their two daughters, Rianne and Isobel, plus their Jack Russell, Luna. When she isn’t writing, Jennifer likes to make things – she’ll use any excuse to get her craft box out! She spends far too much time on Twitter, Pinterest and Instagram.

You can find out more about Jennifer on her blog at jenniferjoycewrites.co.uk, on Twitter at @writer_jenn and on Facebook at facebook.com/jenniferjoycewrites

For three amazing ladies in my life: my mum, June and my daughters, Rianne and Isobel.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Excerpt

Endpages

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Katie

‘What do you mean, you don’t like cheese sandwiches?’ Katie blinked at her daughter, unable to comprehend the information she had just been given. ‘Since when?’

Hadn’t Lizzie polished off the double Gloucester with onion and chive from the cheese board just a few days ago? The double Gloucester with onion and chive that Katie had been looking forward to? She’d deliberately left it until last and the deep disappointment at finding the empty wrapper in the fridge was still there, as was the annoyance, bordering on rage, that her children seemed unable to use the flipping kitchen bin to dispose of empty wrappers. The whole kitchen showed their abuse of the family home, from the puddle of milk seeping towards the edge of the countertop to the dirty breakfast dishes dotted around the room; a bowl plonked on top of the microwave, a plate spilling toast crumbs on the table, a butter-slicked knife smearing grease on the floor. Katie despaired, but she was hardly a domesticated goddess herself right now, as evidenced when she gathered up the dirty plates, bowls and cutlery and yanked opened the dishwasher. It was full. And the contents inside were far from clean.

Lizzie dumped the offending clingfilm-wrapped cheese sandwich down on the kitchen counter, missing the milk puddle by mere millimetres. ‘Can’t I have Nutella instead?’

Ha! If only. Katie had discovered the empty jar in the cupboard during the early hours, when she’d been in dire need of a stress-generated snack, and had almost howled with fury. She suspected her oldest child was the culprit of this particular crime, so she’d enacted her revenge by wolfing down three segments of the boy’s squirrelled-away Chocolate Orange. Elliot hadn’t clocked the theft yet so, having calmed down since her hunger-induced haze of rage, Katie was hoping to replace the pieces before he did.

‘It’s cheese or nothing, I’m afraid.’ After dumping the dirty dishes in the sink, Katie grabbed the sandwich and dropped it back into Lizzie’s open Tupperware box. ‘You’re lucky we had any bread in for sandwiches at all.’

It was January now – the first day back to school after the festive break – but Katie was still submerged in the fog of Christmas, where routine things like grocery shopping flew out of the window and more relaxed eating habits became the norm; five-a-day now related to different versions of chocolate treats, and grazing replaced structured mealtimes. The bunch of blackened bananas lounging in the fruit bowl hadn’t enticed anybody while there was an unhealthy supply of festive indulgences on offer.

‘Mu-um!’

Lizzie’s protests about the cheese sandwich situation were swallowed by the holler of her fifteen-year-old brother from the top of the stairs. Katie winced. Had he discovered his depleted Chocolate Orange already? She’d planned to dash to the supermarket after her morning’s appointment (she desperately needed to stock the kitchen with foodstuff that contained vitamins after two weeks of eating crap anyway) and replace the nabbed segments before Elliot noticed, but it looked like she’d been rumbled. She should have nipped the chocolate-for-breakfast in the bud as soon as Boxing Day was over, but she’d rather enjoyed indulging too, to be honest.

‘Where’s my tie?’

Katie released a giant sigh of relief. She was still safe.

For now.

‘Didn’t you put it away safe in your underwear drawer at the end of term? Like I told you to?’

Lizzie sniggered as she clicked the top of her Tupperware lid into place. ‘Elliot doesn’t even have an underwear drawer anymore, Mum. Most of his clothes are on the floor and any that have made it into drawers are in shoved in at random. When was the last time you saw his room?’

She was in it only a matter of hours ago, actually, creeping around using the torch on her phone to guide her, but she’d been so delirious with hunger, so set on her mission, she hadn’t stopped to survey the state of her teenage son’s bedroom.

She didn’t tell Lizzie this.

Life didn’t used to be like this for Katie. She didn’t used to sneak around the house, hunting sugar fixes in the dead of night because she was stressed and unable to sleep. She hadn’t felt like a harassed madwoman back then, one who always seemed to be on the verge of tears or an empty Nutella jar away from throwing back her head and howling. Eighteen months ago, her life was pretty perfect. She’d enjoyed her job as a bookkeeper at the haulage firm she’d worked at for most of her adult life, she’d had a fantastic husband who was an amazing father to their son and daughter, and they had a gorgeous Georgian property on the seafront of Clifton-on-Sea, a small seaside town in the North West of England. Life was idyllic, with the promenade across the road and the beach beyond, the cliffs just a few minutes’ walk away with their stunning views, the harbour with its restaurants and fresh fish and chips at the other end of town. And the house was everything she’d ever dreamed of when she’d imagined starting married life with Rob; large, airy rooms with high ceilings and original fireplaces, a homely kitchen with a sofa at one end and high-gloss cabinets and worktops at the other, and a master bedroom overlooking the sea. Yes, life had turned out perfectly for Katie. Okay, so her boss – who also happened to be her father-in-law – thought it was appropriate to refer to the female members of staff as ‘birds’, and she’d barely caught sight of Rob since he’d started an introduction to French course at the community centre, but she was happy. She’d thought Rob was happy too, until she learned it wasn’t just French he’d been introduced to at the community centre, but the stunning, stretchmark-free and legs-up-to-here tutor. French, it transpired, really was the language of love, and Katie had been dropped like a hot pomme de terre.

Bastards, the pair of them.

‘It isn’t there!’ Elliot was back at the top of the stairs, yelling down an update on the tie situation.

Katie dropped the milk-soaked kitchen roll into the bin after making sure she’d mopped up every last drop and headed out into the hallway to peer up the stairs. ‘It must be in your room somewhere. Have a good look.’

Elliot sighed, long and hard. ‘I have looked. It isn’t there.’

‘It must be. Look again. Properly. But please hurry. We have to leave in…’ Katie craned her neck to look at the kitchen clock. With a yelp, she dashed back into the kitchen to rifle through the basket of clean washing that had yet to be sorted into piles, locating a ruffled blouse that she could get away with wearing without having to iron it. Katie – and the kids – had to be out of the house in less than five minutes and she wasn’t even dressed yet. Wasn’t parenting supposed to get easier once the kids gained a bit of independence? She couldn’t remember feeling this frazzled when Elliot and Lizzie were babies, but then she’d had youth on her side back then. And a husband to share the load. Rob and his infidelity were the gift that kept on giving.

‘Mu-um!’ Elliot was back at the top of the stairs before Katie had even stepped foot out of the kitchen with the blouse in hand. ‘It isn’t up here.’

‘It must be.’ Unless Elliot’s tie had grown legs and scuttled away (many objects in the May household had a tendency to sprout limbs and hide themselves away, mostly remote controls, the pens Katie kept in her handbag, and every single teaspoon they owned).

‘I’ve looked everywhere. It isn’t in my room.’

‘Where else would it be?’ Katie didn’t hang around for an answer. She needed to throw herself into some smart-ish clothes and get the hell out of the house before they were all late. She was in the middle of wrestling on a pair of black trousers (they’d fit before Christmas, she was sure. She really needed to cut out the sweet stuff) when Lizzie poked her head around her bedroom door, dangling a bottle-green tie with the school’s crest embroidered on the front between her fingers.

‘Where did you find it?’ Lizzie and Elliot attended the same school and wore the same uniform, but Katie knew the tie belonged to her son as it was still knotted for ease (or laziness, to be more accurate).

‘On top of the fridge.’

Katie opened her mouth to question why Elliot’s tie would be on top of the fridge, but it was a useless enquiry. She wasn’t sure why half the things happened in this house any more.

‘Great. Thanks. Can you give it to Elliot and get your stuff ready? We need to leave. Now.’ Katie yanked the trousers over her hips, ignoring the sound of ripping threads, and prayed she’d be able to zip them up.

By some miracle, Katie managed to coax the zip to fasten on her trousers and throw on her blouse while only overrunning by a couple of minutes. Lizzie was already waiting in the car as she ran from the house, yanking a hairbrush through her shoulder-length hair, with Elliot – now wearing his tie and with a slice of toast clamped between his teeth – throwing himself into the front passenger seat as Katie started the engine.

‘I’d rather get the train.’ Elliot tugged at the triangle of toast and chomped on it as though the bread had offended him somehow.

‘You can get the train home later, and I won’t be offering chauffer service every day. It’s only because I need to go into town anyway.’ Katie wound down her window despite the freezing temperature outside. She’d grown up in the small seaside town, but she never took her surroundings for granted, and the smell of the salty air still filled her with joy. She’d fallen in love with the house that would become her family home because of its large kitchen, its en suite master bedroom and the beautiful period fireplace in the living room, but mostly she’d fallen for its seafront location. She would never grow tired of throwing open the curtains in the morning to be greeted by the golden sand and the rippling sea beyond. It was a breathtaking sight, even on a gloomy January morning.

‘Why are you going into town so early anyway?’ Lizzie asked from the back seat. ‘Have you got another interview? Or are you signing on? Are we skint?’

‘We’re not skint. We’re fine.’ Coping, at any rate. Rob was still covering his half of the mortgage and providing for his kids (he hadn’t abandoned them completely, no matter what Katie thought of him) and they’d had a bit of extra income from their holiday let over the festive period. Katie had stuck it out at her father-in-law’s haulage firm for a couple of months after Rob left her, but eventually she’d felt she had no choice but to leave as she felt herself turning into a paranoid wreck. Who’d known about the affair? Her father-in-law, probably, but what about Lesley in payroll? Or Nancy down on reception? She’d handed in her notice, sure she’d be able to find a new job quickly with her qualifications and experience.

She was still job-hunting, more than a year later.

‘I have an appointment, that’s all.’ Katie didn’t mention the appointment was with her solicitor as she didn’t want Lizzie worrying about divorce proceedings. ‘Jack! Hello!’ She waved out of the window as her neighbour staggered out of his house with a child pulling on his hand as he tried to manoeuvre a buggy onto the path with the other. An older child was already flinging open the gate, even as his father instructed him not to. Katie flashed him a look of solidarity.

‘How’s the boiler getting on?’ Jack had stooped over to chat through the car’s open window, but he straightened almost immediately as his eldest child took the opportunity to bolt. ‘Leo! Wait there! Don’t go round the corner!’ Jack stooped again once his son slowed down. Leo came to a complete standstill to examine what Katie suspected was a splatter of seagull poo on the pavement. ‘Sorry. First day back to school chaos.’

Katie grimaced. ‘Been there myself. Surprised we made it out of the house at all.’ She met Jack’s eye and they shared a wry smile. ‘Anyway, yes, the boiler is fantastic, thanks to you.’

Katie had been in a bit of a flap when the boiler had decided to take a break from its duties a few days ago, but Jack had stepped in, repairing the aging beast and insisting on only charging for parts (neighbours’ rates, apparently).

‘You’re a life saver.’

Jack laughed and shook his head. ‘I don’t know about that.’

‘We’re all very grateful, anyway.’ She looked at her kids. They didn’t seem particularly grateful; Elliot and Lizzie were fiddling with their phones (nutrition wasn’t the only thing that had slipped over the school holidays. The pair had become superglued to their technology since the end of the autumn term), oblivious to the conversation taking part. ‘We’d better get going. Don’t want to be late and I think Leo’s about to…’ Jack turned as Katie’s gaze paused down the street, where Leo was crouched, finger poised to prod at the splatter of seagull droppings.

‘Leo! No!’ Jack, still clinging onto his daughter’s hand and the buggy, tore off down the street as Katie pulled away from the kerb. If the traffic was kind this morning, they wouldn’t be too late.

The traffic was horrendous, but luckily Katie managed to drop Elliot and Lizzie off at the school gates just as the bell rang to signal the start of the day. She watched as they legged it towards the building before setting off again. With Clifton-on-Sea being a small town, the older kids had to commute to the secondary school in the next town over, where Katie had enlisted the help of a solicitor in the divorce proceedings. There was a solicitors’ office in Clifton-on-Sea, but Katie – and Rob – had gone to school with one of the solicitors, and the other one had a sister who cut Katie’s hair (when she actually got round to booking an appointment at the hairdressers), meaning the May family’s business could end up as prime gossip at Shelby’s Hair Design if she’d opted to use them. Instead, Katie had gone for a more neutral solicitor, one who didn’t know about the time Katie had been caught smoking behind the gym at school or that her natural hair colour was mousey and starting to turn grey.

‘So sorry I’m late.’ Katie burst into the reception area of the solicitor’s office, panting from the dash over from the car park on the outskirts of town. She swiped the hair that was sticking to her forehead away. ‘I’m here to see Helen Robinson. I have an appointment. Katie May?’ She posed her name as a question – which felt apt as lately she wasn’t quite sure who she was anymore.

‘Take a seat, Ms May.’ Katie flinched at the use of the term ‘Ms’, but she plonked herself down on one of the cheery blue tub chairs by the window and picked up one of the magazines stacked on the small, round table in front of her. She used the opportunity to get her breath back, taking in deep breaths fragranced by the vase of creamy roses and lavender freesias sitting on the reception desk. She’d only dashed over from the car park, but she was practically wheezing with the effort. Christmas had really taken its toll on Katie’s fitness. Perhaps she should join the gym as part of a belated New Year’s resolution? She’d already vowed to get out more and meet new people after being stuck in the house for a year but regaining some sort of fitness would benefit her wellbeing too.

‘Helen’s ready for you now.’ The receptionist was already striding towards one of the doors at the back of the reception area as Katie threw the magazine back onto the pile, and she held it open with a perfectly manicured hand so Katie could pass through to Helen’s office. Katie couldn’t remember the last time she’d filed her own nails, never mind paid someone to do the job for her.

‘It’s lovely to see you again, Katie.’ The solicitor was smiling as Katie sat down opposite her, but her smile dimmed as she opened the file on the desk in front of her. ‘But it isn’t good news, I’m afraid.’

Chapter Two

George

George’s stomach was in knots as she led her five-year-old son through the school gates. It was too loud, too busy, as children whizzed by and kicked footballs across the vast playground, their voices mingling to form one thunderous hum. Thomas seemed so small – too small – and she clutched onto his gloved hand that bit tighter. It was cold and dreary that morning, still dark despite the morning edging closer to nine o’ clock, with a sky full of grey clouds threatening to spill fat, icy raindrops, and it matched George’s mood perfectly.

‘Are you looking forward to your first day at school?’ She kept her voice bright, pushing down her anxiety so she didn’t pass it onto her son. She was sure he’d be apprehensive enough without her own emotions bogging him down further. ‘You’ll get to make lots of new friends, and your teachers are lovely, aren’t they?’

They’d had the opportunity to visit the school before Christmas, to see the classroom and meet the teachers, so it wouldn’t be quite so unsettling when Thomas started at Southcliff Primary at the beginning of the new term. That was the theory – George wasn’t convinced it had panned out in practice. She was a nervous wreck, so she could only imagine how daunted poor Thomas was feeling.

‘What are you looking forward to most?’ George bent down to hear Thomas’s answer over the drone of the playground noise, sure his voice was going to be little more than a whisper, his words strangled by fear and distress at this new, terrifying experience. But Thomas was beaming up at George, a set of tiny, white teeth on display as he threw his free hand high up in the air.

‘I want to paint! And play! And look at all the books!’ He sucked in a breath as he caught sight of the wooden play equipment in the far corner of the playground. ‘Mummy?’ Thomas was tugging on her hand and looking up at her with the big brown eyes he’d inherited from her. George was glad he’d mostly taken after her and not the father he didn’t even know. ‘Can I go and play?’ Thomas pointed across the playground, to the small wooden climbing frame surrounded by wood chippings.

‘Yes, sweetheart, of course.’ George forced her hand to release its grip on his little hand, but she pulled him into a hug before he could leave her, her fingers finding the comfort of his familiar curls. ‘But just for a few minutes, okay? You have to line up when the whistle blows, remember?’

Thomas nodded, but he was already tearing off, leaving her standing on her own. She glanced around the playground and suddenly felt ancient. Most of the mums were at least a decade younger than her, some even two. Clad in skinny jeans and spiky-heeled boots, they made George feel old and frumpy in her worn leggings and supermarket-brand canvas pumps. Still, she’d be heading straight off to work once Thomas’s class was inside the school, and fancy clothes didn’t really suit a cleaning job.

George looked across at the climbing frame as she made her way further into the playground, and her heart melted a little bit when she saw Thomas giggling with one of the other boys. See, he was making friends already. He would be fine.

If only the same could be said of George, who was rooting around in her handbag for a clean-ish tissue to dab at her eyes. Thomas was taking to school like a duck to water, but his mother was very much in need of a lifejacket to keep her afloat. She wanted nothing more than to scoop up her little boy and scurry to the safety of their home together.

‘Everything okay?’

Startled, George almost jabbed herself in the eye with the tissue. She gave a quick dab to mop up the stray tears and presented the owner of the concerned voice with a beaming smile. ‘Yes, of course. Everything’s fine.’ She held up the tissue and rolled her eyes before she dropped it back into her handbag. ‘Hay fever’s playing up, that’s all.’

‘Hay fever?’ If George had been able to look at the bloke now walking alongside her, she would have seen a slight frown appearing very briefly as he took in the miserable winter morning.

‘Yep.’ George nodded as she stared down at the concrete floor, watching as her pumps trailed over the painted-on hopscotch grid. ‘Winter hay fever. Not all that common, but still as debilitating as its summer cousin.’

She cringed as the words tumbled from her mouth, willing her lips to seal themselves shut.

‘Unlucky.’

He was humouring her. Letting her get away with her phony excuse. But at least he wasn’t openly mocking her. Not yet, anyway.

‘Don’t I know you?’

George hoped not. It was one thing making an idiot out of yourself in front of a stranger, but she didn’t want to have to relive this experience again.

‘No, I don’t think so.’ She smiled politely at him and slowed her pace, hoping he’d accept her answer and move on. But he slowed his pace too, stooping so he could take a proper look at George as she returned her gaze to the concrete.

‘I do know you!’ He gave a soft, triumphant laugh. ‘It’s… um…’ He screwed up his face as he tried to conjure her name. ‘Jill? No.’ He shook his head and tapped his fingers on the handles of the buggy he was pushing. ‘Jane? Janine?’ He shook his head again and sighed. ‘Can you help a guy out here?’

George wasn’t sure she should. She wasn’t in the habit of giving out her details to random blokes. Or any blokes at all, come to think of it.

‘Got it!’ He stopped suddenly, his eyes lit up as he pointed at her. ‘It’s George, right?’

George turned and looked at him properly, taking in his height, his stocky build, his slightly too long brown hair and the beginnings of a beard lightly sprinkled with grey. There was something vaguely familiar about the eyes and the way they sparkled as he smiled down at her.

‘Sorry.’ He shook his head, the smile dimming. ‘You must think I’m some sort of mad stalker.’ He held up a hand. ‘I’m not, I promise. We – Leo, Ellie and I – used to go to the parent and toddler group at the community centre.’ He pointed first to the girl standing beside the buggy and then ahead at his son, who was charging towards a stray football with a roar. ‘It was about… three years ago?’

George bobbed her head up and down slowly. She and Thomas had attended the weekly Little Bees and Butterflies group up until a couple of weeks ago.

‘It was a fun group, and it certainly helped Leo burn off some energy.’ Ahead, Leo drew back his leg before pelting the football into the railings with another roar. ‘I wanted to take the little one…’ He turned the buggy slightly, where another small girl sat, padded out with a thick coat, woolly hat and matching mittens. ‘But I’ve had to take on as much work as I can lately so I haven’t managed to get there.’ He pushed the buggy forward and started to stroll towards his son. ‘I remember you brought in some cakes one time.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Sticky toffee, I think it was.’

George nodded. ‘It was Thomas’ birthday so I baked some little buns for the group.’

‘They were delicious.’ He laughed. ‘Must have been if I remembered all these years later.’

George felt a warm glow inside despite the chill in the air. She’d always loved to bake, though she rarely had the opportunity to receive feedback from anyone other than Thomas, who was always very enthusiastic about cake, whether it was homemade or shop-bought.

‘I haven’t seen you at the school before. Has Thomas just transferred?’

The warm glow cooled. Although Thomas was five now and had been eligible to attend school full-time for over a year, she’d kept him at home with her for as long as she possibly could. Thomas was probably going to be her only child, and she wanted to cherish every single moment with him that she could, but she did sometimes worry that she’d made the wrong decision in delaying his formal education. She looked around the playground now, at the small clusters of children, the friendship groups formed back in reception – back in nursery, even – and Thomas was the outsider. Had she been selfish in keeping him to herself for so long?

‘No. It’s his first day at school.’ George raised her chin slightly, ready to do battle about her choices if she had to. ‘He’s starting in Miss Baxter’s class today.’

‘Leo’s in Miss Baxter’s class too.’ He pointed across the playground to his son. ‘I’ll tell him to look out for Thomas, make sure he’s settling in.’

The shriek of a whistle pierced the air, ending the conversation before George could thank him, and George leapt into action, tearing across the playground to make sure she squeezed her son tight before he left her for the day.

Where was that tissue?

Thomas was already in the line before she reached him, turning to chat to the boy behind him. He didn’t seem to mind the separation, which was a good thing, obviously. Even if it did break George’s heart just a little bit more.

‘Thomas, sweetie.’ She crouched down and pulled her gorgeous boy into her arms, inhaling his smell of shampoo, Paw Patrol bubble bath and fabric softener. ‘You be a good boy, okay? And have fun. I’ll pick you up later and you can tell me all about your day. We’ll have cake, yes? And hot chocolate with marshmallows. We can go to the park. Or the beach hut. Whichever you’d like.’

There was a hand on her shoulder. It was the man with the buggy, whose name she hadn’t thought to ask. ‘He’ll be fine. Honestly.’

She managed a wobbly sort of smile before she crouched again to press a kiss to Thomas’ curls, blinking back tears as she stepped away. She waved manically as the class filed inside, stretching up on her tiptoes, watching those familiar curls disappear as her precious boy was swallowed by the school.

‘It does get easier, I promise.’ Her new companion raised a hand in farewell before he turned the buggy and headed back through the gates. George hung around for a few minutes in case she could snatch one final glimpse of Thomas, but it was no use. With a heavy heart and watery eyes, she shuffled out of the playground and made her way to work.

Chapter Three

Frankie

It still amazed Frankie that her children, who had shared a womb for nine months and were born just eleven minutes apart, could be so different. Finn was currently clinging onto her thigh, tears and snot merging on his top lip as he threw back his head and wailed, mouth surely wider than was physically possible, while his twin sister waltzed into the nursery, clumsy fingers trying their hardest to unzip her winter coat. Her hat and mittens had been discarded on the floor in her eagerness to play with the other children in the toddler room.

‘Good morning, Finn!’ The early years assistant flashed Frankie a sympathetic smile before she leaned down to pick up Skye’s abandoned garments. She secured them onto Skye’s labelled hook and turned to Finn with a toothy smile, her held a hand out to the still-wailing little boy. ‘Shall we go and play? Poppy’s already here. She’s been asking about you!’

Frankie expected Finn to unpeel himself and take Keeley’s hand. She was his favourite member of staff at the nursery, with Poppy being his play/craft partner of choice, but still Finn clung on, the wail reaching a higher pitch as he squeezed his eyes tight. It wasn’t uncommon for her son to kick up a bit of a fuss when it came to being left at nursery in the mornings, but it wasn’t usually this prolonged.

‘It’ll be the Christmas break. The holidays can sometimes set them back as they get used to being with Mum and Dad all day.’ Keeley crouched down to Finn’s level and injected more cheer to her ever-bright voice. She didn’t spot Frankie’s flinch at the ‘and Dad’ addition. ‘Shall we go and do some painting? You can paint Mummy a beautiful picture to take home later!’

Finn wasn’t convinced, but Frankie really had to get going. She was already behind on her work schedule due to the nursery closing for Christmas, so she couldn’t afford to stand around, no matter how much the guilt jabbed as she peeled Finn’s little fingers from her thigh.

‘Good boy!’ Keeley scooped Finn up before he could grab hold of Frankie again, avoiding his flailing arms as he frantically reached for his mum. ‘Give Mummy a big kiss and then we can go and have some fun!’

Keeley was very good at shutting out the screams emitting from the toddler, but the forlorn sound broke Frankie’s heart. She wanted nothing more than to succumb to her young son’s needs, to take him in her arms and soothe away his tears with cuddles and kisses.

‘He’ll be absolutely fine in a couple of minutes, I promise.’ Keeley was already backing away towards the toddler room, as though sensing Frankie was about to crumble. Finn started to thrash his little legs, but she held on tight. ‘He’ll be running around with Poppy in no time. Happens all the time.’

Frankie gave a slight nod of her head, but she made no attempt to leave. Every instinct was telling her to grab hold of her son and reassure him. What must be going around his little head? Did he feel abandoned? Rejected? She could take him home. Fit her work around his needs, even though this had been virtually impossible over the Christmas holidays. She’d been so exhausted after running around after two two-year-olds that she hadn’t been able to work in the evenings as planned. She’d attempted to, fighting against the urge to flop down on the sofa with the tub of Quality Street and a glass of wine, but her brain was too frazzled to do much more than check her emails. This was the very reason the twins went to nursery in the first place.

‘Seriously, Frankie.’ Keeley smiled serenely at her, as though she wasn’t struggling to keep hold of a very wriggly toddler. ‘He’ll be fine. You can always give us a ring to check later.’

Frankie nodded again, and this time she took a step back. A teeny step, but a step all the same. She did need to crack on with her work, especially with a deadline looming. She’d phone the nursery when she got home – it was only a ten-minute walk away – and if he was still upset, she’d rush back and collect him.

‘Bye, Finn. I’ll see you soon.’ She pushed a smile onto her face and somehow managed not to break down in tears herself. She craned her neck to catch a glimpse of Skye as Keeley pushed open the door to the toddler room, but her daughter had marched off to play without a backwards glance. From one extreme to the other. ‘Love you.’ She raised her hand in a quick wave before she turned and hurried away from the nursery and the heartbreaking sounds of her son’s sobbing.

Nobody warned you about this bit. They told you all the gory details of labour and birth. The horror stories of night feeds and teething and the terrible twos (doubled, when you had twins). But they didn’t prepare you for the gut-wrenching moments when you had to leave them in the care of somebody else. They didn’t prime you for the guilt of being anything other than the child’s mother.

Finn was perfectly fine when Frankie phoned the nursery six-and-a-half minutes later. She’d run all the way home, taking a short-cut through the park, and hadn’t even bothered to ditch her coat before she dialled Parkside Day Nursery, panting and slightly sweating despite the bleak, early January chill.

‘Are you sure he’s okay?’ Frankie had been told that Finn was now happily splatting paint with bestie Poppy, but Frankie couldn’t seem to quell the nagging doubt that she was doing Something Wrong, a feeling that had plagued her for the past year. She could never quite shake off the feeling that she was failing her children, that she wasn’t good enough despite her best efforts. She’d moved to Clifton-on-Sea for a fresh start, but the feelings of inadequacy had moved with her. Most notably, and the concern Frankie could easily identify, was the worry about her poor babies’ lack of a two-parent family. Perhaps this was the reason Finn was so clingy now? Did he feel abandoned? Rejected?

‘He is absolutely fine.’ Keeley’s voice was upbeat, but then it always was so it offered little consolation. The lack of screaming in the background, however, was definitely a comfort. ‘He cried for, like, another minute. Two, max. And now he’s having a brilliant time with Poppy.’

‘Good.’ Frankie swallowed the urge to ask if the paint Finn was using was toxic-free and nudged the front door – which she hadn’t paused long enough to close – with her foot and unzipped her coat as she moved through to the kitchen. The breakfast dishes were still piled in the sink – another Something Wrong. ‘You’ll phone me if he needs me, won’t you? Because I work from home. I can be there in ten minutes. Less.’

‘Of course, but there’ll be no need. Finn was just thrown off kilter because of the Christmas break.’

‘Yes, I’m sure that’s all it is.’ Frankie didn’t necessarily agree, but she didn’t like to come across as a neurotic mum, even if she felt like one a lot of the time. She’d been horrified the first time Skye had marched out of the nursery, her wrist held in the air as she showed off her crafting skills. She’d created a bracelet by threading a mishmash of buttons and large wooden beads onto a length of elasticated cord. Where the nursery saw the opportunity to experiment and unleash the children’s creativity while practicing those all-important motor skills, Frankie had spotted a choking hazard the embellishments could have caused.

She’d managed to push down the fear and panic, but it had been there, and continued to present itself on a daily basis.

‘I’ll see you this afternoon then. About three?’ Frankie didn’t usually pick the twins up until at least five, but she needed to ease herself back into their routine. And to be honest, three o’ clock – almost six hours away – seemed like a stretch.

‘We’ll see you then. Have a good day!’

Frankie was about to ask after Finn one last time, just to really put her mind at ease, but the phone line was dead. She stared at her phone for a moment, contemplating ringing back – just for a super-quick call – but she came to her senses and shoved the phone into the pocket of her jeans before whipping off her coat and flicking the kettle on. She washed the dishes while she waited for the kettle to boil. There wasn’t actually a lot, just a couple of bowls and spoons, two plastic beakers, and a small plate – she really needed to stop beating herself up. She took her cup of tea into the office. Her office was actually a desk and a set of shelves squeezed into an alcove in the corner of the dining room, but it served its purpose and gave Frankie the space she needed to work as a freelance brand designer. Before the twins, she’d worked in a swanky office in the centre of Manchester, but she couldn’t face the long hours and the commute once her maternity leave was over, so she’d decided to set up on her own. It had been a risky decision, but one that was paying off, especially since the move away from her home town. She had a healthier balance between her work and home life, and it gave her more of a sense of ease being so close to her children. Of course, on days like these, it took a great effort to switch from mum mode to professional, but she managed to push aside her worries over Finn and concentrate on her latest task of designing a new website for her client. It was almost half past one before she came up for air, her shoulders and lower back aching, cup of tea cold. She winced as she stood, one hand massaging her back while the other reached for the cup. Her work had been largely neglected while the nursery had been closed over Christmas and the New Year, and she’d forgotten quite how stiff her body became as she hunched over her desk. She normally counteracted this with yoga and regular runs along the beach, but she pushed the thought away as she headed across to the kitchen. She’d placed her young children in nursery so she could work, so the thought of wasting that time on such frivolous acts when her son had been so miserable at being left that morning made her stomach knot with guilt.

No. She’d simply have to put up with the discomfort for now. Perhaps she’d do a bit of yoga once the twins were in bed tonight. Or a long, hot bath might do it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed herself anything more than a quick shower; there was always something more important to be getting on with than lazing in the bath.

She flicked the kettle on and poured the forgotten tea down the sink before opening the fridge in search of something to eat for lunch. There wasn’t much inside, apart from a few wrapped segments of a Chocolate Orange, the Chomp from Skye’s selection box, and half a bag of limp-looking Brussel sprouts. There was butter, but she groaned when she remembered she’d used the last of the bread for her toast that morning. And the cupboards were in a worse state than the fridge. She’d used up everything over the festive period (including a slightly out-of-date tin of Spam) as she couldn’t be bothered going to the effort of getting herself and the twins washed, dressed and bundled up in winter coats. They’d spent the past week surviving on non-perishables and she hadn’t faced the shops to stock up yet.

‘Bugger.’ Frankie closed the cupboard and sighed. It looked like she was going to have to venture out after all. And if she was heading out anyway, what was the harm in killing two birds with one stone and going for a little run as well? The fresh air would do her good and help to keep the creative cogs turning.

She raced up the stairs before she could allow the guilt of indulging in a bit of self-care to set in, changing into a pair of leggings, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and the hoodie her brother had bought her for Christmas. After shoving her trainers on her feet and making sure she had her purse, keys and phone (just in case Finn needed her), she was ready to set out. She started off at a gentle pace as she jogged down to the seafront, easing herself back into the exercise after a week or two of excess eating, and she immediately felt her shoulders loosen. It was hard work after holing herself up for the past couple of weeks, and there was a definite danger of rain as the grey clouds darkened, but it was so freeing being out in the open, the sounds of the waves growing closer with each step. She was soon on the promenade, the wind whipping at her hot cheeks, her mouth stretched into a smile despite her exertions. She loved this feeling. She wished she could bottle it up for those times she felt trapped in the house with two mischievous toddlers rampaging around the rooms. Not that she would ever admit this out loud. Motherhood was precious. A gift. She knew she was incredibly lucky to have two happy, healthy children. That she was there to witness them growing up. Not everybody had that luxury.

Oh, but sometimes she missed the old Frankie. The fun Frankie who could drink her brother and his mates under the table at the pub. The Frankie who would meet her friends in town for endless afternoons of coffee, cake and gossip. The Frankie who could go to the toilet without being followed and quizzed about what she was doing. She loved her children so much, but she couldn’t help mourning the loss of the woman she was before, if only from the privacy of her own thoughts, and only briefly before she felt like a complete monster.

She picked up her pace, enjoying the scream of pain from her thighs as it overtook all thoughts and emotions. The old Frankie was gone, never to return, and there was no point dwelling on it.

Chapter Four

Katie

Helen Robinson clasped her hands together and lay them down on the file on the desk in front of her as she observed Katie, her lips pressed tightly together, her eyebrows pulled down low. She emitted a barely-audible sigh as Katie gave a firm shake of her head.

‘No.’

‘I’m sorry, Katie. I really am.’ Helen offered a half-smile. ‘But at least we know what we’re dealing with now.’

‘No.’ Katie shook her head again and shifted forward in her seat, slapping the palms of her hands down on the desk. Helen didn’t even flinch at the sudden sound. ‘He’s not getting it.’

The half-smile was back on the solicitor’s face. ‘Why don’t we get you a nice cup of tea?’

Because a cup of tea – nice or otherwise – wasn’t going to help the situation? Because Katie would very much like something with a bit more oomph than a mug of PG Tips, even if it was half past nine in the morning? Because she was so angry her hands were starting to tremble, and she suspected she’d end up with more of the tea down her front than in her mouth?

Katie said none of this. She simply sat back in her seat, shoving her hands under her thighs to mask her agitation while the solicitor rang through to the receptionist to organise refreshments. She fixed her eyes on the wall behind Helen’s chair, her eyes seeing but not reading the framed certificates above her solicitor’s head. She swallowed against the huge lump in her throat, willing herself not to cry.

‘I know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear.’ Helen had done the sympathetic bit, but she was back in business mode now, her back straight, tone firm. She waited until Katie caught her eye – however briefly – before she continued. ‘But I’m afraid your husband has a right – by law – to request half of the marital assets. Including the property on Carter Lane.’

Katie’s eyes widened, the burning anger she felt rising to the surface evaporating any notion of tears. ‘That property is my childhood home! It belonged to my parents. My mum left that property to me. Why should they get half of it?’ Katie leaned forward, her palms back on the desk. ‘Rob left me for another woman. Abandoned me with two children. And he didn’t even like my mum. Said she was overbearing. Stuck her nose in. Thought she always knew best.’ Katie was gasping for breath by now, but she powered on, the heels of her hands digging into the edge of the desk. ‘Why should they profit from my mum’s death? Why should they get to live happily ever after?’

It wasn’t fair. Katie hadn’t asked for any of this; the heartache, the upheaval, the having to explain to her children that their father was starting a new life with another woman. It felt like she was losing everything and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

‘I know it doesn’t seem fair.’ Helen’s tone was gentle again, and she passed a box of tissues across the desk as Katie swiped at her eyes with the back of a quivering hand. ‘But I’m afraid your assets will be split. Of course, it isn’t up to me. The courts will decide how those assets will be split if you and your husband can’t come to an arrangement between you, but you should be prepared for any outcome.’

Katie tugged a tissue out of the box and mopped up her tears. ‘I don’t want to lose my parents’ house. Mum and Dad worked so hard for it. And I can’t afford to buy Rob’s share.’ Rob’s share. The words made her stomach turn. ‘I’m unemployed, with two kids to feed and clothe. It’s okay for him. They have two incomes.’

Helen nodded. ‘And the courts will take both your circumstances into consideration.’ She smiled her thanks as the receptionist arrived with a tray of tea and individually-wrapped biscuits, waiting until she’d placed the tray on the desk and left again before continuing. ‘There is an alternative, if you’re really set against selling the Carter Lane property.’

Katie wished she’d stop calling it that. It was so impersonal. But she didn’t say so, simply raised her eyebrows in question as she tore open the packet of an oat crumble biscuit. It wasn’t that long since she’d eaten her breakfast, but stress made her crave sugary, comforting food. And she’d been boiling over with stress lately, hence the too-tight trousers.

‘Another option is to sell the family home…’

‘No.’ Katie shook her head vigorously. ‘No way.’

Helen raised a hand. ‘Hear me out, before you dismiss the idea.’

‘No.’ Katie’s tone was firm. Absolute. She loved that house and could still remember the day she and Rob had viewed it, could still feel that frisson of certainty as she stepped over the threshold into the bright hallway, already picturing their coats hanging from the line of hooks by the front door, and she could clearly see the framed photos of the family they had yet to start lining the walls. She knew this was the home where she and her new husband would bring their children up and live happily ever after.

The happily ever after bit hadn’t panned out, but still…

‘It’s my children’s home. I won’t sell it.’

Helen gave a shrug of defeat. ‘That’s fair enough, but the option is there. You should really consider mediation, to help you and Rob to divide your assets before the divorce is finalised. Now.’ She glanced down at the file on her desk. ‘Have you filled out the acknowledgement of service yet?’

Katie yanked the biscuit from its packet and took a bite, chewing slowly before answering. Helen waited patiently, hands clasped in front of her again.

‘Not yet.’ Katie squirmed in her seat as Helen tilted her head to one side. ‘I’ve been busy. Job hunting. And I have two children to take care of. And it’s been Christmas and everything…’

‘You only have a small amount of time to return it, Katie.’

‘I know.’ Katie rewrapped the remaining biscuit and placed it back onto the tray. ‘I’ll do it later. When I get home.’

Helen didn’t say a word, but the slight raise of her eyebrows displayed her disbelief as loudly as her shouting it through a megaphone would have done.

Katie hadn’t admitted to her solicitor that the acknowledgement of service had been sitting in her handbag, afraid that the formidable woman would insist she sign it there and then and get the divorce ball well and truly rolling. She’d do it later, at home, where she was comfortable. She’d sign it and send it off straight away, before the kids got home from school.

It wasn’t yet lunchtime, so she had plenty of time to stop at the supermarket up by the train station. She needed to replace Elliot’s Chocolate Orange before he realised its size had been depleted and all hell broke loose over the snaffled 3 a.m. feast. She filled her basket with fruit and vegetables, which she knew she’d have to battle to get her kids to eat but it was a new year, a fresh start, and time to stop eating so much junk. They’d thank her in the long run. Maybe. She made a quick dash down the confectionery aisle, thanking the Sweet Treat Gods when she spotted the Chocolate Oranges on the shelf. Hurrah! Grabbing one (and only one, no matter how tempting it was to add more to her basket), she hurried towards the self-checkouts, taking a shortcut down the baby aisle.

Big mistake.

Her pumps squeaked on the tiles as she came to an abrupt stop. She backed away carefully, breath held, eyes wild with panic should the woman ahead turn to her left and spot her sneaking away. She was currently plucking jars of pureed baby food from the shelf, resting two in the palms of her hands as she weighed up which one to add to her trolley.

Just keep reading those labels. Don’t turn around…

Katie took another careful step backwards, wide eyes trained on her nemesis. Anya. The other woman. The woman who had taken her husband, best friend and the father of her children all rolled into one. Rob had been Katie’s first and only love. Childhood sweethearts, the couple had met when Rob had transferred to Katie’s school aged fourteen, and the pair had been inseparable ever since. It was funny to think that they were a year younger than Elliot was now when they’d started their relationship, but Katie had known Rob was The One, even back then. They were just nineteen when they married – which seemed ridiculously young now, but they’d been head over heels and so sure their futures would be entwined forever. Elliot had arrived a couple of years later, followed by little sister Lizzie. Katie had enjoyed her perfect life, with her perfect little family in their perfect house by the sea.

Until eighteen months ago, when Rob dropped his triple bombshell:

He’d been having an affair with his French tutor for the past eight months.

The French tutor was pregnant.

And Rob was leaving Katie to be with her.

The news had knocked Katie for six. She’d felt physically sick, and completely lost her appetite (for the first few months, at least, before it returned with a vengeance), which rendered her exhausted. Getting out of bed in the morning had been a battle, and when she did manage to drag her weary body from the covers, she did nothing but cry and mourn for the life she – and her children – had lost. Because while Rob got to play happy families with his new partner and their daughter, Katie had been left on her own, with two kids and no job. And now Rob wanted a divorce, so he could marry the woman who helped to destroy their marriage, plus half of the house she’d inherited from her mum in the process. It had been kick in the teeth after kick in the teeth from Rob over the past eighteen months, and Katie couldn’t take any more. She couldn’t face that woman or the child, with the puff of blonde curls that reminded Katie so much of Lizzie as a baby it felt like she was being sliced through the chest. Katie had been desperate for a third child, a baby brother or sister for Elliot and Lizzie to complete their family, but Rob had coaxed her away from the idea; they had two beautiful, healthy children – why would they crave more? And yet here he was, with that third child, a baby sister for Elliot and Lizzie, but it was with another woman.

Katie was almost at the end of the aisle again. She could slip away and get on with her day, replacing Elliot’s Chocolate Orange, checking the multitude of job sites she checked every single day, cooking the nutritious vegetables that were sitting in her basket…

‘Oi!’ An angry voice growled as she backed into something solid. ‘Watch where you’re bloody going!’

She hopped away from the bear-like man as he glared down at her, apologising as earnestly as she could while whispering. Lip curled, he shook his head and ambled away, but not before he’d called her a few unsavoury names.

‘Katie? Are you alright?’

She closed her eyes, hoping the woman would magically disappear, as she had so many times since she’d found out about the affair, but nope, she was still there when Katie opened them, except now she was making her way along the aisle, brow furrowed with concern. Which only made the situation worse. Couldn’t she be a complete bitch, so that Katie could be doubly justified in hating her?

‘There was really no need for that.’ Anya turned to glare at the man as he grabbed a pack of newborn nappies from the shelf. Perhaps it was sleep deprivation that had caused his grumpy overreaction, but whatever. Katie didn’t care and she certainly didn’t want concern or sympathy from this woman.

She turned as Anya started to manoeuvre the trolley to the side so it wouldn’t run into Katie, her mouth opening to… what? Offer more solidarity against the irritable bloke? Or to laugh in Katie’s face? Look what I have, Katie: the third child you pretended you were no longer desperate for! Katie didn’t hang around to find out which option her husband’s girlfriend would plump for, and instead she ran, aiming for the exit, not caring that she looked like a mad woman. Or a shoplifter.

She dropped the basket as she neared the automatic doors, hearing rather than seeing the contents spilling onto the floor. She didn’t pause to see the mess she’d created or the looks of bewilderment on the faces of her fellow shoppers. Instead, she pelted across the car park, dodging traffic and trolleys until she was safely in her car. Her hands shook as she inserted her key into the ignition, her breathing dizzyingly rapid. She took a few deep, slow breaths before she set off, putting as much distance as she could between herself and Rob’s new family.

Chapter Five

George

George’s home wasn’t quite as grand as some of the homes she cleaned as part of her job with Kiri’s Clean Queens, Clifton-on-Sea’s premier cleaning company, but she’d made the poky two-bedroomed flat in the middle of the 1950s house conversion as cheery and cosy as she could, hanging bright curtains at the windows and displaying Thomas’ artwork in frames in the living room and kitchen. Patterned scatter cushions rejuvenated the slightly saggy sofa, and she’d invested in a cheerful rug to add warmth against the cheap laminate flooring. It was small but homely, and perfect for George and Thomas. They didn’t need the extra bathrooms or fancy appliances she cleaned in the huge, Georgian properties running alongside the park or seafront, and although the communal garden to the back of the property was half the size of a postage stamp, Wickentree Park was just around the corner. With its playground, playing fields, and the little wooded area to explore, it had everything Thomas could ever need in an outdoor space.

George headed straight to the kitchen when she arrived home from her afternoon shift, knocking up a quick all-in-one sponge mix and popping it into the oven before she changed out of her bleach-scented work clothes and into something a bit more flattering. She still wasn’t as young or trendy as some of the other mums she’d spotted in the school playground, but she’d feel less conspicuous picking Thomas up now she wasn’t clad in her scruffs.

With the cake out of the oven and cooled, George headed down to the beach, closing her eyes briefly to savour the sound of the crashing waves before she descended the steps down to the sand. While the sounds of the seaside would be drowned out with music blaring from the pier during the summer months, George could truly appreciate the landscape during these quieter moments. It was why she was never deterred from walking down to the beach, no matter how cold and grey it was.

The beach was completely empty at this time, without even a dogwalker in sight. There were no colourful beach towels laid out, creating a patchwork of colour on the sand, or families unpacking picnics and buckets and spades, or feasting on delicious ice creams and refreshing ice lollies. Even the seagulls, with their excited cries, failed to hover overhead in the hope of finding food.

George reached into her handbag for her keys as she walked under the shade of the pier, her hand clutching the set as she emerged from the other side. The beach huts lay ahead, their painted exteriors a splash of cheer against the gloomy January afternoon, like tubs of exotic flavours of ice cream displayed in a row. George’s hut, sandwiched between a sunshiny yellow and a vivacious red hut, was painted a cheery mint green. She’d inherited the beach hut from her grandmother, who would bring George down to the beach hut for picnics every Saturday afternoon, rain or shine.

She looked up as she felt a tap of rain on her cheek. The sky had turned an ominous shade, the clouds dark and menacing. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, the heavens opened and it was pouring with rain, the drops plump and icy as they worked together to drench her hair and coat, already starting to turn the sand to sludge. With cold, fumbling fingers, she somehow managed to unlock the hut and burst into the shelter with relief. Pushing her damp hair aside, she was about to nudge the door shut when she caught movement ahead. It seemed she wasn’t alone on the beach after all as a figure attempted to shield themselves from the rain with an already soggy cardigan, stranded between the beach huts and the shelter of the pier.

‘Quick!’ George poked her head out into the driving rain and beckoned her over. ‘Get in before you freeze to death!’

George held the door open as the woman ran as quickly as she could over the sodden sand, her feet slipping every third or fourth step.

‘Come in, come in.’ George ushered the woman inside the hut. The space was small, but it had been painted white to make it appear bright and airy, and there was a small window at the back, framed by a pair of lemon curtains embroidered with tiny pink hearts. A seat running along the length of the left-hand side of the hut was covered in matching fabric, and there was a bank of cupboards underneath the window with sets of shelves either side. Opposite the long bench was a fold-down table, currently propped up by a pair of wooden legs.

‘Thank you.’ The woman collapsed onto the bench and reached up to touch her hair. It was damp, but not too bad. ‘I only popped down to the beach to clear my head. I didn’t expect this.’ She pointed at the rain dashing at the little window.

‘It’s quite a downpour.’ George peered out of the hut, her arms wrapped across her body in an attempt to keep warm. ‘I wanted to bring my son to the beach after school, but I don’t think we’ll make it in this.’ She hadn’t thought it was possible, but it was raining even harder now. ‘It was supposed to be a special day, but I suppose we’ll still have cake.’ She smiled brightly, but the warmth didn’t quite reach her eyes.

‘Is it his birthday?’

George shook her head. ‘His first day at school.’ She sighed as she lifted her tote bag onto the fold-down table and removed the cake tin. ‘I’m finding it quite hard, if I’m honest. Letting go. Letting him grow up. Do you ever wish you could pause time? Or rewind it, just a little bit?’

The woman gave a humourless laugh. ‘God, yes.’ She covered her face with her hands and rubbed at her eyes. ‘I’d go back a couple of hours. Before I made an absolute fool of myself.’

‘What happened?’ George didn’t want to pry, but maybe she could help.

The woman slid her hands down so only her mouth was covered by her fingers. She shook her head over and over until she finally dropped her hands completely, resting them on her lap. ‘I just did a runner from the supermarket.’ She held up a finger. ‘Not with any goods, I should add. Things haven’t got so desperate I need to shoplift. Yet.’ She attempted another humourless laugh, but it quickly morphed into a groan.

‘Why did you run, if you don’t mind me asking?’ George lowered herself on the other end of the bench, not wanting to invade the woman’s personal space even as she poked her nose into her personal business.

‘I saw my husband’s girlfriend – ex-husband, I suppose, though it isn’t official.’

‘Ah.’ George nodded with understanding. She’d never been married, but she’d been in long-term relationships that had ended before she’d been ready to let go.

‘Oh, God.’ The hands were back on the woman’s face, covering her reddened cheeks. ‘I can still hear the clash of basket on tile. And the looks of the people around me as I tore past! Coming through! Madwoman on the loose!’ She rubbed at her eyes again and groaned. ‘Well, I won’t be shopping there for the next millennia. I’ll have to drive out of town or use one of the overpriced convenience stores instead.’

‘There’s always online shopping.’ George was attempting to add a bit of humour into the conversation, and luckily the woman managed a small laugh.

‘At least I have options.’ She groaned again and stamped a foot down on the floor. ‘Why did I have to react like that? It isn’t as though I haven’t seen Anya before – though I try to avoid contact with the woman, obviously. I ducked into the funeral director’s when I spotted Rob and Anya strolling with their new baby through town during the summer. I didn’t realise it was the funeral director’s until I’d catapulted myself inside as I’d just panicked and opened the nearest door. I had to pretend to be browsing for a coffin until it was safe to leave.’ She sighed. ‘I really have to stop embarrassing myself like this, but I just couldn’t face her.’

‘It’s tough, especially in the beginning.’ George pushed herself up from the bench and returned to the table, where she pulled a flask of hot chocolate from the tote bag.

‘I thought I knew who I was, where my life was heading. Now I have no idea. I feel like this was all done to me, and I have no control of my life anymore.’ She cringed as George pressed a plastic mug into her hands. ‘People must think I’m mad. You must think I’m mad. I’m not even sure why I’m telling you all this. Sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It sounds like you’re having a rough time.’ George indicated the mug. ‘Now, drink that. It’ll warm you up a bit.’

‘Thank you…’ The woman paused, the hot chocolate held aloft. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name and I’m boring you to tears with my life woes.’

‘It’s George.’ She patted the woman on the knee. ‘And you’re not boring me to tears. We all have tough times. It’s good to get it out rather than bottling it all in.’

The woman shrugged. ‘I guess.’ She took a sip of the warm drink. ‘I’m Katie, by the way.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, Katie.’ George patted her knee again before she headed for the table. ‘Now, can I interest you in a slice of cake?’

Katie smiled, genuinely and brightly. ‘I never, ever say no to cake.’

‘That was the best Victoria sponge I’ve ever tasted.’ Katie licked the jam and cake crumbs from her fingers while George batted away the compliment with a wave of her hand.

‘I don’t know about that. It was just something I whipped up.’ Despite her protestations, George felt her chest swell with pride. While she scrubbed other people’s homes and places of work for a living, baking was George’s true passion. She had catering qualifications, specialising in patisserie and confectionery, as well as files stuffed with recipes handed down from her grandmother.

‘It’s true.’ Katie shrugged and was about to say more when her attention was caught by something happening outside the hut. Or rather, something not happening. ‘Hey, it’s stopped raining. When did that happen? Just how long have I been rabbiting on for?’ The sand was still wet, but the grey clouds had dispersed, revealing the suggestion of blue sky. ‘I should go home and lick my wounds before the kids get home from school. I was hoping to have a bit of a tidy up before…’ Katie’s next words were snatched away as a voice bellowed outside. A huge, shaggy dog appeared in the doorway of the hut, panting as it took in the inhabitants, and then it was inside, its claws clattering on the wooden floor. It sniffed at George and Katie in turn before it barked once and tore off out of the hut again.

‘I’m so sorry.’ A man was jogging towards the beach hut, a red lead dangling from his fingers, as George stuck her head out of the doorway. ‘He’s a bloody menace. Jake!’

And then the man was gone, speeding up as he spotted the dog leap into the sea.

‘Well, that was bizarre.’ George chuckled. ‘But at least it didn’t try to scoff the cake.’ With the day turning brighter, perhaps she’d get to bring Thomas down to the beach hut after all.

‘I really should get going.’ Katie pushed herself up from the bench. ‘I’ve got a hot date with the dishwasher and vacuum cleaner. Unfortunately, it’s the only date I’ll have for a long time.’

George patted her on the shoulder gently. ‘Everything will work out in the end.’

Katie nodded, but the grimace wasn’t so encouraging. ‘Thanks for the cake and the hot chocolate. And for listening. You were right – it does help to get it all off your chest, even if only a little bit.’

‘It was nice to meet you, Katie.’

‘You too, George.’ Katie stepped out of the beach hut but shuffled back when she heard the distant bark of the dog again. She peered out, checking the coast was clear before she ventured out.

‘Jake! Slow down, you absolute nutter!’

Katie took another step away from the door as the dog bounded by. The owner was sprinting after the dog, but he was powerless to stop the beast from leaping up at an unsuspecting jogger, sending her – and the paper bag she was carrying – flying and landing with a thud on the damp sand.

Chapter Six

Frankie

It felt fantastic to be out, gulping the fresh sea air after over a week cooped up in the house with the twins. The muscles in her thighs were crying out for her to stop as she charged up the cliffs, but she couldn’t stop now. She hadn’t realised quite how much she’d missed the freedom to just go wherever her body took her until now, how much she enjoyed pushing her body to its limit. She’d been a bit of a gym junkie in her early twenties, though that was mostly down to the fact she fancied one of the personal trainers. She’d spent hours on the treadmills and cross trainers back then in the hope of glimpsing Bradley and his toned-to-perfection body. She never would have plucked up the courage to speak to him had it not been for the malfunctioning treadmill that sent her flying when it suddenly cut off without warning when she was sprinting (she always upped her speed when she spotted Bradley in order to impress him). He’d rushed over to help her, and although she’d been embarrassed after going arse over tit, she did end up with his phone number (as well as a grazed chin). Before the twins, they’d led an active lifestyle, running half-marathons, abseiling, whitewater rafting, even bungee jumping from the Colorado River in Costa Rica. They’d taken risks Frankie wouldn’t even dream of taking now.

She felt herself slowing as she made the ascent and she half-ran, half-ambled her way up to the top of the cliff, her chest heaving as she looked out across the sea, a safe distance from the edge. The view was amazing from up here. You could see all the way to the opposite end of the beach, with the pier jutting out into the sea, the Ferris wheel still now the kids were back in school. She turned, taking in the view of the town. The hotel, pub and shops along the seafront, the pretty Georgian houses, the rooftops of the mishmash of properties beyond. Frankie could stand there taking it all in forever, but she had to buy her lunch and get back to work before the weather nudged from the threat of rain to a downpour.

Her trip down the cliff was much quicker than her trek up had been, but she slowed down once she reached the pavement at the bottom, clutching her side as she sucked air into her lungs as though it was her first introduction to oxygen. She jogged slowly along the seafront, heading towards the pier, where she knew there was a sandwich shop nearby that, according to her brother, was to die for. She found the shop and ordered a hot Cumberland sausage and egg roll (as recommended by Isaac) but it had started to rain while she was inside. She sheltered under the awning of the neighbouring shop until the rain had abated and she started her jog back home, taking a small detour via the beach. The sand was wet, and the wind was a bit wild down there, but she was hooked on the feeling of freedom now she’d had a taste. She felt like her old self again. The Frankie she knew before, the Frankie who thought nothing of throwing herself from bridges with nothing but an elasticated cord preventing death.

‘Whoa!’ Too late, she spotted the furry missile heading straight for her. She didn’t have a chance to dodge out of the way, so one minute Frankie was jogging – albeit slowly along the wet sand – and the next she was on the ground, her knee throbbing with the impact while her assailant nudged its way into the paper bag it had knocked out of her hand.

‘Oh, shit!’

‘Oh, dear.’

‘Are you okay?’

She heard a chorus of voices as she heaved herself up into a sitting position, hissing as pain shot through her left knee.

‘I am so sorry. The mad bastard is out of control.’ A hand appeared, which she took, swearing under her breath as she was helped to her feet. The dog, she noticed, was tucking into her sausage and egg roll. Unforgivable!

‘Can you walk?’ her helper asked. (Could he be classed as a helper when it was his dog that had caused her to splat on the sand in such an ungainly fashion?)

‘I think so.’ She took a tentative step but collapsed against the stupid dog’s owner as pain sliced through her knee. Jeez, that hurt. She hoped the bloody sandwich was worth it!

‘Come and sit down in my beach hut. It’s just over here.’ Another set of arms was holding her up, and she somehow managed to hobble – painfully, through gritted teeth – to the nearby hut. She dropped onto the cushioned bench, grateful to take the weight off her knee.

‘Jake, you are the worst dog ever!’ the dog walker shouted over his shoulder as he hovered outside the hut, but the dog, now rolling on his back on the sand having wolfed down the entire sandwich, clearly didn’t give a hoot. The owner turned back to Frankie, eyebrows pulled down with concern. ‘I really am sorry. He’s not even mine. I’m only looking after him while my sister’s on holiday. I can’t wait until she’s back. He is completely out of control.’ He yelled the last bit over his shoulder, but the dog was sniffing his own arse now and wasn’t listening.

‘It’s fine.’ Frankie pressed her foot gently to the ground to test her knee. ‘Ow!’

‘That knee isn’t fine.’ The woman who’d helped her pulled out a mobile and started tapping at its screen. ‘I’m going to phone the doctor.’

‘No, it’s fine, honestly.’ Frankie grasped the phone before she could make the call. ‘I don’t want to be any trouble.’

The woman smiled and patted Frankie’s shoulder. ‘It’s no trouble. You need it looking at.’

‘It’ll be okay in a minute or two.’ Frankie flexed the joint to demonstrate, holding back a wince.

The woman’s brow furrow. ‘Are you sure?’

Frankie nodded. ‘Absolutely.’ She thought about flexing again but decided against it. ‘You don’t mind if I rest it though? Just for a few minutes?’ Until the throbbing subsided.

‘Of course not. Take all the time you need. In fact.’ The woman reached for a floral-patterned tin and eased the lid off. ‘Why don’t you have a slice of cake while you wait? There’s plenty.’

Frankie’s stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten lunch yet – unlike the daft dog who was trying to nudge his way into the hut now he’d sniffed something tasty in the air.

‘It’s really good.’ The other woman currently squeezed into the hut eyed the tin. ‘Best Victoria sponge I’ve ever had, hands down.’

‘Well then.’ Frankie shrugged. ‘How can I refuse?’

The cake really was good, with just the right amount of buttercream to jam ratio. The women introduced themselves to Frankie while she ate; George, the owner of the beach hut and Victoria sponge baker extraordinaire, and Katie, the Victoria sponge enthusiast. The dog, she could see between the gap in the doorway, was bounding away towards the sea having realised he wasn’t getting a crumb, but the owner hadn’t noticed. He’d dropped onto the bench beside Frankie and was now shaking his head.

‘I really am sorry about the dog. He somehow yanked himself free of his lead and… Oh, God. Where’s he got to now?’

Frankie couldn’t help giggling as he sprang up, turning this way and that in the small space. ‘He’s over there.’ She pointed out of the door, down towards the shallows, where Jake was attempting to burrow down to Australia.

‘Oh, God.’ With a groan, he sprinted off, calling over his shoulder that he’d be back in a minute.

The dog was restrained on his lead by the time Frankie started to tuck into another slice of cake (George had insisted, and Frankie hadn’t put up much of a fight), though Jake wasn’t at all happy about it, as evidenced by his constant yapping and tugging. His temporary caregiver – Alexander Greyson, as he introduced himself once the dog was under control (sort of) – had insisted on sticking around, to make sure she wasn’t maimed for life.

‘I don’t think there’s anything to be concerned about,’ George said as Frankie took her first tentative step. ‘It isn’t swollen, and you say the pain is easing off?’

Frankie nodded and flexed the joint a couple of times to demonstrate. She felt bad for wasting everyone’s time, but she didn’t regret the cake.

‘Make sure you rest it as much as possible.’ George had adopted a matronly tone, almost finger-wagging as she doled out her advice. ‘And if the pain does persist – or gets worse – then pop in to see your GP.’

Frankie nodded. ‘I will. I promise.’ She took another step and although she was a bit wobbly, the pain was definitely more bearable now.

‘Can I help you home?’ Alexander offered, but George held up a hand.

‘There’s no need. I’ll make sure she gets home safe and sound. I’m not sure how you’d manage with that liability.’ She pointed down at the dog, who was gnawing on his lead.

‘Good point.’ Alexander gave a tug on the lead, dislodging the dog from his ropey snack. ‘I really am sorry.’

Frankie shrugged. ‘It’s okay. No real harm done.’ She took two more cautious steps; it really wasn’t too bad. A bit uncomfortable, but the sharpness had worn off.

‘I’ll get going then. Before this one causes any more damage.’ He started to back away, towing the dog with him. He gave a wave before turning and upping his pace.

‘Come on you.’ George pressed gently on Frankie’s shoulders, so she sank back down onto the bench. ‘Finish your cake. Then, when you feel up to it, we’ll get you home, slowly but surely.’ She popped her head out of the hut, where Alexander and Jake were disappearing from view. ‘That dog is a menace, but his master is pretty cute.’

Frankie covered her mouth as laughter burst from her lips. ‘I suppose he is.’ If you were into tall, dashingly handsome men with sparkling blue eyes and mischievous grins.

George sighed. ‘If I were ten years younger…’

Frankie winked at her. ‘Age is just a number.’

‘That’s true. Do you think I should go after him?’ George laughed before shaking her head. ‘No, I think our dog-walker would be more interested in a pretty, young thing like you.’

‘Nah.’ Frankie wrinkled her nose. ‘Not interested. Men are strictly off the menu.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Katie said. ‘They’re more trouble than they’re worth sometimes.’ She gave a half-smile. ‘If I sound bitter, it’s because I am. My husband cheated on me, left me for another woman, and yet I feel guilty that our family is splintered.’

‘Try having a baby on your own, without a father in the picture at all,’ George said. ‘I’ve had loads of judgemental comments from people who should learn to mind their own business.’

Katie settled herself on the bench. ‘I think parenting is hard, whatever the situation.’

‘It’s doubly hard when you have twins,’ Frankie said. She nodded as Katie widened her eyes at her. ‘Two-year-old twins. They’re like mini tornadoes. I can’t remember the last time my house wasn’t a mess.’

‘My whole life is a mess.’ Katie sighed. ‘My husband is divorcing me, so he can marry the woman he cheated on me with and knocked up.’

Frankie’s mouth dropped open. ‘You’re kidding!’

Katie shook her head and gave a wry smile. ‘Afraid not.’

‘You’re better off without him,’ George said. ‘Why would you want to be shackled to a man who doesn’t even respect you, or your marriage, or your family?’

Katie gave a slow nod. ‘I know you’re right, but…’ She shrugged. ‘It’s scary. I’ve never been on my own before. We were only kids when we got together. It’s always been me and Rob, working together, you know?’

George nodded and gave Katie’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘I get it, honestly I do. I was terrified at the prospect of raising a baby by myself, but I also knew it was something I wanted so badly I couldn’t not do it. I can’t say it’s been plain-sailing, but parenting never is.’

‘We’re all sort of in the same boat, aren’t we?’ Frankie looked from George to Katie. ‘Single mums. It’s kind of nice to know I’m not alone with my struggles. I don’t really have any mum friends – I only moved here a year ago and I’ve been so caught up with work, I haven’t had the chance to socialise.’

Katie snorted. ‘I’ve forgotten what socialising is. All my friends and workmates were Rob’s friends and workmates too, and I’ve been too paranoid about whether they knew about the affair to keep up with any of them.’

‘That sucks.’ Frankie flashed her a sympathetic look. ‘I know what it’s like to lose friends en masse. When Bradley – the twins’ dad – died, people started to avoid me. It wasn’t a malicious thing – I just think they were struggling with what to say to me or afraid they’d say the wrong thing.’

‘Your husband died?’ George’s eyebrows pulled down and her hand lay gently on Frankie’s arm. ‘That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.’

‘We weren’t married.’ Frankie laughed without humour. ‘Just one of the many things we never got round to. But yes, it was terrible. I miss him.’

‘Of course you do.’ Katie offered a small smile. ‘But he’d be proud of you. You’re so strong.’

Frankie shook her head, but Katie’s words meant a lot. ‘Not strong enough to withhold an ambush from that shaggy beast, clearly.’

‘I don’t think any of us could have withstood that beast, especially whilst holding a tantalising hot sandwich.’ George looked at her watch, her eyes widening at the time before she leapt to her feet. ‘I’m really sorry, but I have to get going soon. I need to pick my son up from school.’

Frankie stood too, wincing as her not-quite-restored knee jarred. ‘I really have to get going too. I’m supposed to be working.’ She’d fall even further behind if she didn’t get a shift on.

‘I’ll give you a lift,’ Katie said. ‘My car isn’t far away and I need to find a shop selling Chocolate Oranges anyway. Do you think you could make it up to the promenade?’

With Katie and George’s help and taking it slowly, Frankie made it to the top of the stone steps leading up to the promenade.

‘We should do this again,’ George said as Frankie rested against the iron railing running along the seafront. ‘Not the injury, obviously. But we should get together for a natter, when we’ve got a bit more time. Why don’t we meet again tomorrow?’

‘It would have to be at lunchtime.’ Frankie’s stomach growled, despite the double helping of cake. ‘I’m snowed under with work after the Christmas break.’

‘Sounds perfect.’ George clapped her hands together. ‘We can meet at the beach hut, in case it rains again.’

She sounded so excited at the prospect that Frankie couldn’t help smiling. ‘Okay. I’ll be here.’

Katie nodded before she started to move towards the kerb, car keys in hand while the other hand was held aloft, silently instructing Frankie to remain where she was for the moment. ‘Me too. Sounds fun.’ She turned to wink at George. ‘Especially if you bring more cake.’

George clapped her hands together again, her eyes wide and shining. ‘I can do better than that – why don’t I bring a picnic since we’re meeting at lunchtime?’

Katie waved her ‘wait there for a moment, Frankie’ hand vigorously. ‘No, no, I was kidding about the cake. I wouldn’t really put you to that much trouble.’

‘It’s no trouble at all.’ Frankie could tell by the firm nod of George’s head that they would be treated to a picnic the next day whether they agreed to the plan or not. ‘I’ll see you back here tomorrow. Bring your appetites!’

Chapter Seven

Katie

Katie managed to find a replacement Chocolate Orange at a mini market around the corner from Frankie’s house (and it was reduced to half price – hurrah!), switch it with Elliot’s depleted one, and remove the evidence that there had ever been another Chocolate Orange in the house at all (and was now feeling sickly. Not good) with time to spare. She found herself sitting on the sofa in the kitchen, the acknowledgement of service in hand, not sure whether it was the overindulgence or the prospect of signing away her marriage that was making her feel queasy.

She still couldn’t quite believe it had come to this. All those years wasted. All those happy memories obliterated by that one ugly word. Divorce. She’d failed – as a wife and a mother – but Rob had failed too. Failed more, because whatever cracks had appeared in their marriage – to him, at least – he’d chosen to have an affair rather than addressing them. If Rob had been unhappy, which he must have been even if he hadn’t shown it at the time, then he could have talked to Katie. He could have tried harder. But he hadn’t. He’d been unfaithful. He’d set off on a different path in life without her, without even letting her know he was about to veer off course. He’d disregarded their marriage, disregarded her. George was right! Why would she want to remain shackled to this man who looked like the husband she knew and loved but had stopped acting like him a long time ago? She didn’t know what life without a husband would be like – and the concept alone terrified her – but surely it was better than this no-man’s-land of being married in name only? This love limbo, where she couldn’t go back but couldn’t seem to move on either.

Leaping to her feet (as much as one can leap when you’re stuffed to the gills with chocolate), Katie scoured the room for a pen. She would sign this acknowledgement of service. She’d send it off, set the ball rolling from her end, and one day in the near-future she would become the new Katie she was fated to be. She didn’t know who this Katie was; what was her favourite restaurant (Rob didn’t like seafood or anything remotely spicy, and was averse to trying new things, so they’d always stuck to the local pizza parlour), what were her hobbies (she had more time to fill now the kids were spending large chunks away from her, however much she wanted to cling onto them), what was her name? Would she remain Katie May, or return to her maiden name, which she hadn’t used since her late teens and would separate her from her children?

It was all so confusing, but change was inevitable. Rob wasn’t going to come back, and life would never be the same even if he did. She could never trust him, would never feel enough for him. And Anya – through their daughter – would always be a grey cloud looming over them. No, there was no going back. Katie knew that now deep down, and it was time to move forward, one tiny step at a time, starting with one little signature on this piece of paper.

It sounded so easy in her head, such a simple act, yet her breathing was shallow, and the paper quivered slightly in her hand. Had it been this difficult for Rob? She hoped so, because the idea that he’d started proceedings to end their marriage without even the briefest of hesitation was heart breaking.

Deep breaths. Katie took three of them. She didn’t feel any more determined to do this thing, but she reached into her handbag for a pen, quickly, before she changed her mind. She put the paper down when her fingers failed to connect with any kind of writing implement, dragging the handbag closer so she could peer inside at the contents. Purse. Mobile, which had switched itself off due to low battery. She plugged it into the charger before continuing her search, which wasn’t a delaying tactic but a necessity. Lipstick (ha! When was the last time she’d bothered with make-up?). A scrunched-up tissue. Two receipts (dated before Christmas) and the ticket from the pay and display meter she’d used that morning.

No pen. She usually had at least three in her bag. She checked again. Pushed her fingers deep into the corners and ran them along the lining at the bottom. Nothing. She moved through to the living room, rifling through drawers, checking under the junk accumulated on the coffee table and even risked a rummage down the back of the sofa, where she located several sweet wrappers, eight pence, and a pink paper hat from the Christmas crackers, but not one single pen.

She was about to move back to the kitchen, but her plan was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was a bit too early for the kids (who had a key each but often left them lying around the house), but she shoved the acknowledgement of service under a Boots’ Christmas Gift Guide anyway (she really must shove that in the recycling bin), just in case, and plonked the novel she’d been trying to read since the school summer holidays but was still languishing on Chapter Seven on top for good measure.

‘Oh, you’re in.’ Jack looked taken aback when she opened the door, his eyebrows lifting as he turned back towards the door. He’d already started to walk towards the gate, but he came back now. ‘I was about to give up.’ Bending, he pulled a small brown box from the basket under the buggy and held it towards Katie. ‘This came while you were out.’

Frowning, Katie took the parcel. She vaguely recalled picking something up from the mat when she’d arrived home, but she’d been so preoccupied with her Chocolate Orange subterfuge, she’d simply dumped it on the little table in the hall. Glancing back, she saw the ‘sorry you were out’ card.

‘Are you okay?’ Jack asked when she turned back to the parcel. ‘You look a bit… windswept.’

Katie reached up to touch her hair, which was loose around her shoulders. Her fingers tangled in the rat’s nest the windy beach and rain had produced. Could this day get any more embarrassing?

‘I went for a walk. On the beach.’ And spilled my secrets and fears to a couple of strangers.

It had felt strangely cathartic.

‘Thanks for this.’ She turned the parcel over, her stomach seeming to scrunch in on itself when she spotted the label. Mrs Katie May. How much longer would she be able to call herself that? Would it change as soon as she signed the papers hiding under the Boots Christmas Gift Guide? ‘Would you like to come in for a coffee?’ This was not a delaying tactic; this was being polite to a kind neighbour. She opened the door wider, but Jack scrunched up his nose and thrust a thumb over his shoulder.

‘I was just on my way to pick up Leo and Ellie. Just knocked on the off chance I’d catch you. Sorry.’

‘No worries.’ She looked down at her watch, surprised by the time. Where had the afternoon gone? ‘You’d better hurry.’

Jack gave a wry smile. ‘I’ve spent my life hurrying since having kids.’ He raised a hand in farewell before turning the buggy around and heading for the gate. Katie waited until he’d disappeared from view before she returned to the kitchen with the parcel. She’d take care of that and then get right onto signing the papers.

The parcel was nothing to get excited about and contained nothing but a cheap-looking keyring from one of the job search sites she’d signed up for and far too much packing material. Still, she attached it to her set of keys, which wasn’t a delaying tactic – it was where keyrings belonged, after all. But once the keyring was in its rightful place and she’d squashed the box and packing materials into the overflowing recycling bin, there wasn’t anything left to do but sign the acknowledgement of service. She could do this. She would do this.

Finally locating a pen from the junk drawer, she picked up the slip of paper that would start the change of not only her marital status but her life. Deep breaths. Three of them, long and calming.

Right. Let’s do this thing.

Her phone ringing jolted Katie, but she couldn’t help feeling relieved by the legitimate delay. She threw the pen and paper down on the sofa and leapt at her phone, crouching so she could answer while it was still plugged into the charger. She frowned when she spotted her husband’s name on the screen. Had he sensed she was about to sign the papers? Had he changed his mind? Was he about to beg her not to return it? To shred it. To burn it.

‘Hello?’ She cringed at the wobble in her voice.

‘Katie? Is everything okay?’

She cleared her throat and gave a pretty unconvincing laugh. ‘Everything’s fine. Why do you ask?’

‘I’ve been trying to phone you for the past hour.’

He had? Interesting. Rob rarely phoned her, unless it was to arrange access with the kids, but they’d established a routine that suited them both as much as possible by now.

‘My phone ran out of battery while I was out. Is everything okay?’

A million scenarios crossed her mind, the most pressing being the possibility that Rob had finally come to his senses. He’d realised what an absolutely selfish arse he’d been and wanted the opportunity to grovel on his knees for her forgiveness.

She wouldn’t grant him anything close to absolution, obviously.

Not straight away.

‘Anya phoned me. Told me you’d run out of the supermarket this afternoon.’ Katie flinched at the mention of The Other Woman. ‘She was worried she’d upset you.’

Katie wanted to hoot.

Worried she’d upset her? Anya had turned her world upside down, given it a vigorous shake until everything fell down into oblivion and tossed it aside. Of course she’d upset Katie. When had her husband morphed into this moron who made such understatements and expected to be taken seriously? Probably around the time he’d slept with another woman.

‘Anya said you looked distressed.’

Katie laughed, but it sounded more like a snarl. ‘Well, isn’t Anya observant?’

Rob sighed. ‘Come on, Katie. There’s no need to be like this. Anya was just trying to be nice. Looking out for you. She was worried when you ran out of the shop without paying.’

‘I left my shopping behind. I didn’t steal anything if that’s what she told you.’ Like that made her actions normal.

There was another sigh from the other end. ‘There’s no need to be like this, Katie. I’m just looking out for you.’

‘Is that so?’ There was another snarly laugh. ‘Well, I’d have been much better off if you hadn’t had an affair.’

‘Katie…’ Rob sighed again.

‘What? Am I making you uncomfortable? Guilty? Or do you really not care about what you did to us?’

‘Of course I feel incredibly guilty about the way I behaved, but I can’t go back in time and change the way I went about it all. It was wrong of me to have an affair, I know, and I shouldn’t have left it until Anya was pregnant to tell you.’

Katie sucked in her breath. ‘You’d have left me, wouldn’t you? You’d have left me anyway? For her.’

‘I love Anya.’ Rob’s voice was small, contrite. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t change the way I feel.’

Katie ended the call without another word. How was she supposed to react to that without bursting into noisy, snotty tears? He’d have left her anyway, even if he hadn’t impregnated his bit on the side. He’d have left Katie and married her instead.

Well, screw them. They could get married and live happily ever after, but Katie wouldn’t make it easy for them. Why should she enable them to skip off into the sunset?

Placing the phone down on the side, she returned to the acknowledgement of service, picked it up and folded it into a neat square before sliding it between the sofa cushions to be forgotten about for a little bit longer.

Chapter Eight

George

George was singing along to Barry Manilow’s ‘Copacabana’ while spraying the tiles of her client’s en suite bathroom’s shower cubicle, squirting the cleaning solution in time to the beat. The secret, she’d found over the past few years, was to find some enjoyment to the job you were doing. This hadn’t been difficult back when she was utilising her baking talents in her jobs but cleaning toilets and scrubbing floors wasn’t quite so pleasant. Music, it seemed, was the answer. George had created a massive playlist of fun, upbeat songs to clean to, songs she loved to sing along to, songs that motivated her during the grubbiest of tasks.

The bathrooms were sparkling by the time she’d sung and jiggled her way through dozens of joyful songs, and although she was exhausted after scrubbing the four bathrooms in the large property, she couldn’t help smiling as she packed up her cleaning gear.

‘You’re looking far too jolly for somebody who has spent the morning in a pair of marigolds.’ Cecily, the sixty-something ex-supermodel who lived in the gorgeous Georgian house, hopped up onto a stool at the high-gloss breakfast bar while George stored the mop and bucket away. ‘What’s your secret?’ Cecily wrinkled her nose. ‘You’re not one of those weirdos who actually enjoy cleaning, are you?’

George wished she was. It would have made her job much easier. ‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Well, something has put a smile on your face.’ Cecily wrapped her hands around the mug of coffee in front of her and winked at George. ‘And it’s something more than Barry Manilow.’

Grabbing her caddy of cleaning products, George called out a hasty goodbye before she practically threw herself out of the house. The cold air helped to control her burning cheeks as she scurried away. She was horrified at the knowledge Cecily had heard her warbling along to her playlist, but the truth was, she did have a spring in her step that morning as she would be meeting Frankie and Katie at the beach hut for their picnic lunch. George adored picnics; her granny used to make the best picnics when George was little and she’d inherited the knack of putting together delicious packages of food (even if the only judges of her talents were herself and Thomas of late). George loved creating dishes and treats in the kitchen, and the kitchen in her flat was surprisingly roomy considering how poky the other rooms were. She’d started the picnic preparations early that morning, rising before Thomas as she wanted it to be perfect. She’d already made honey and mustard seafood kebabs, spicy mustard chicken wings, and a potato salad with a lemon and herb dressing, which were all chilling in the fridge, and she’d defrosted a batch of homemade sausage rolls leftover from Christmas. She’d also baked her favourite lemon drizzle cupcakes, which had been cooling on the side while she worked and would now be ready to be topped with her lemon syrup and zest mixture. Once the cakes were completed, she’d make some simple sandwiches and prepare a salad.

She may have gone slightly overboard for an afternoon meet up, but it wasn’t often she was given the opportunity to spread her foodie wings.

George didn’t have a picnic basket like the one she remembered her grandmother using to transport their picnics down to the beach hut on Saturday afternoons, so she loaded the food into a large tote, remembering to add paper plates, plastic cups and packs of wet wipes and serviettes. She’d been chilling a bottle of sparkling apple- and blackberry-flavoured water in the fridge, and she wedged it down the side of the tubs of food in the bag now before rolling up the throw from the back of the sofa to use as a picnic blanket. It was still chilly out, but at least it hadn’t rained for a few days, so she hoped the sand would be relatively dry.

George emitted a small yelp when she realised she was running late. Tucking the throw under her arm and slinging the tote bag over her shoulder (and listing to one side under its weight), she hurried out of the flat and down to the row of beach huts, raising her hand in greeting when she spotted the others already waiting outside her mint green hut.

‘Sorry I’m late.’ George was out of breath. She placed the tote bag and blanket down on the sand before thumping a hand down on her waist, sucking in air and puffing it back out again. Little clouds formed on the exhales, but George wasn’t cold after scurrying down to the beach so quickly.

‘Wow, is all that our picnic?’ Frankie peered at the overstuffed bag. ‘I was expecting a sandwich and a can of coke.’

George, still panting, grinned. ‘The Pappas family are famous for their picnics.’ She gave a wheezy laugh. ‘At least among my granny and I. Granny Pappas’ picnics were legendary as far as I’m concerned.’ She grabbed the throw and tote now she was starting to get her breath back. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’

‘I am.’ Katie pressed a hand to her stomach. ‘I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had the chance to sit down all morning. Breakfast wasn’t even an option.’

George gave a tsk. ‘You know what they say – breakfast is the most important meal of the day.’

Katie nodded as she helped to shake out the throw. It billowed for a moment before landing gracefully onto the sand. ‘I know, but I had an interview this morning, and obviously I couldn’t find a smart enough top that was clean. I don’t know how I used to manage going into the office full-time. My brain’s turned to mush.’

‘How did the interview go?’ Frankie asked, and Katie scrunched up her nose.

‘I know I should remain positive, but…’

Frankie rubbed her arm. ‘I bet it went better than you thought it did. When do you find out?’

‘They said they had a few more candidates to see, and that they’d let me know within a few days. I’m really not confident though.’

‘Well, come and sit down.’ George knelt down on the blanket and patted the space beside her to encourage Katie to do the same. ‘You’re to do nothing but eat, drink and relax for the next hour, okay? No worrying or fretting. What will be will be.’

‘You don’t need to tell me twice.’ Katie plonked herself down on the picnic blanket and helped George to pluck the containers of food from the tote bag.

‘There’s enough here to feed an army,’ Frankie said after container after container was removed from the bag and placed on the blanket.

‘Luckily, I’m as hungry as an entire army.’ Katie placed the final container on the blanket while George pulled out the bottle of sparkling flavoured water.

‘Dig in!’ George indicated the array of tubs before she started to pour the drinks. She could feel herself glowing from within as food was tasted and murmurs of appreciation filled their little space.

‘This is amazing.’ Katie held up a skewer, stripped of all but the final honey and mustard prawn. ‘Do you cook for a living?’

George shook her head, her cheeks warming at the compliment. ‘I’m a cleaner. But I did used to be in charge of the kitchen of a teashop, years and years ago. And I’d been to catering college before that.’

‘What made you give it up?’ Katie pulled the prawn off the skewer and popped it into her mouth, closing her eyes to savour the flavours.

‘It was only supposed to be temporary. I loved my job but when my granny got ill and needed help in her haberdashery shop, I had to step in.’ George shrugged. ‘I knew nothing about haberdashery, but my granny’s shop meant the world to her. She left it to me when she died, but she never wanted me to run it myself. I was supposed to sell up and follow my own dreams. Which I did, just not the dream my granny was thinking of at the time.’

Frankie helped herself to the potato salad, forking a generous helping onto her plate. ‘What was your dream?’

George opened the zip of her coat slightly. They may have been enjoying a picnic on the beach, but a coat was still necessary. ‘I wanted to run my own catering business. I loved my job at the teashop, but I wanted something that was mine, that I could really put my heart and soul into.’ She smiled and gave a little sigh. ‘But then I suppose I achieved all of that anyway.’

Katie popped a couple of the chicken wings onto her plate and started to attack one immediately. ‘What did you do instead?’

George could feel the corners of her mouth tugging into a full-on beam and she didn’t fight it. ‘I had Thomas.’ She placed a plastic cup of sparkling water in front of Katie before filling another for Frankie. ‘I always meant to start up my own business after I’d sold the shop, but other things kept getting in the way, like buying my first house and planning a wedding. I was with my fiancé for nine years, and we’d always planned on having children – when the time was right. Except the time was never right for him. I reached the age of thirty, then thirty-five, and he still kept saying one day… Until one day, a few months before the wedding, he dropped the bombshell that he’d changed his mind. He liked the way his life was. Liked the freedom.’ She sighed. ‘He didn’t want children after all. It came between us in the end – there’s no compromise in that situation – and we split up. We sold our house and went our separate ways. I couldn’t waste any more time finding the perfect man again – and, if I’m honest, I couldn’t face looking – so I finally used my granny’s money to fund three rounds of IVF.’

‘Wow.’ Frankie accepted the cup of sparkling water from George. ‘That was a brave decision.’

There was that glow again, warming George up from the inside.

‘So it really is just the two of you,’ Katie said. ‘That must be tough.’

George poured herself a drink. ‘None of us have it easy.’ She looked from Katie, who was finding her feet as a single mum after all these years to Frankie, who had somehow pulled herself together after the death of her partner to raise twins all by herself.

Katie nodded. ‘I guess we have that in common.’

‘It’s good that we can learn from each other,’ George said, but Katie sniggered.

‘I wouldn’t hold your breath on learning anything from me. I’m barely treading water here.’

‘I’m sure that isn’t true,’ Frankie said. ‘You’ve got further in this parenting thing than the two of us combined.’

George raised her hand. ‘I actually have a question for you, Katie.’ She dropped her gaze to the blanket and fiddled with the fringed edging. ‘Does it get easier dropping them off at school? Because it’s killing me at the moment. I want to cling onto Thomas and run all the way home with him.’

Frankie bobbed her head up and down. ‘I’m the same with Finn. Skye’s fine – she’s Miss Independent and walks away without a backwards glance, but my poor boy… It breaks my heart having to leave him at nursery.’

‘Oh, don’t worry.’ Katie took a sip of her drink to mask a smile. ‘It gets easier, believe me.’

‘Really?’ George’s eyes were wide, pleading.

‘Believe me. Give it time and you’ll be counting down the hours until you drop them off again. And don’t get me started on the school holidays…’

George wasn’t sure whether to take comfort from needing a time out from her son or not, but surely it was better than the anguish she felt every morning as Thomas disappeared into the school.

‘I’ve got one for you, George.’ Katie shifted into a more comfortable position. ‘You’ve been single for a while, right?’ George nodded while mentally preparing herself to impart wisdom onto her new friend. ‘Do you ever stop missing the sex?’

Chapter Nine

Frankie

The three women learned a lot about each other as they chatted over the picnic. Katie was thirty-eight (so close to forty – how the hell did that happen and why didn’t anyone warn her that it crept up so quickly?), an unemployed (but not unemployable, George insisted when Katie suggested so) bookkeeper, and she’d lived in Clifton-on-Sea since her parents moved into their house close to the harbour when she was seven.

‘I rent the house out as a holiday let at the moment,’ Katie told her new friends. ‘But it looks like I’m going to have to sell it and give half the proceeds to Rob.’

Frankie gasped. ‘Can he make you do that?’

Katie nodded. ‘Apparently so, unless I can buy him out, which I can’t.’

‘That really sucks.’ Frankie frowned. ‘I’m so sorry.’

George was the oldest of the trio at forty-three. She’d been single for the past seven years and was happy enough with the status quo. Her time for romance had passed (nonsense, the others had insisted, but George had simply shrugged and taken a bite out of a lemon drizzle cupcake. And yes, she’d broken the news to Katie, you did stop missing the sex, though George still sometimes craved the closeness of a partner). George had been born in Clifton-on-Sea (in the front bedroom of the flat above her paternal grandmother’s haberdashery shop near the station, to be exact. She’d taken fifty-two hours and the use of forceps to be born and George’s father had said he hadn’t been able to look at a pair salad tongs in the same way since. George was ninety-nine percent sure he was kidding).

Frankie, the youngest of the women at thirty-three, was a freelance brand designer. She loved her work, even if she was struggling to keep up with her projects after a sluggish couple of weeks modelling blobs of playdough, finger-painting and watching CBeebies with the twins. Frankie had moved to Clifton-on-Sea a year ago for a fresh start, away from the painful memories of Bradley’s death.

‘Bradley killed himself.’ It was still so hard to say the words out loud, but she wanted to get it out there, in the beginning, so she didn’t feel like she was keeping a shameful secret from her new friends. ‘The twins were just a few weeks old. I had no idea he was feeling suicidal or depressed. He was tired a lot of the time, but we were both being kept awake during the night with the twins, and he started snapping at tiny little things, but we were both stressed.’

‘Who wouldn’t be in your situation?’ George lay a comforting hand on Frankie’s arm.

‘It all got too much in the end, being back home. Living in the house we’d shared, being surrounded by our things. Seeing the place where it happened.’ Frankie cleared her throat. ‘So I decided to have a little break. My younger brother had just moved here for work and I ended up falling in love with the town.’

She looked out to sea, where grey clouds were brewing, but it didn’t spoil the view. Clifton-on-Sea was the perfect place to raise her children, with the beach within walking distance of their home, and although she sometimes felt guilty about moving away from her childhood town and leaving her mum behind, she and the twins needed this quaint little town to heal.

‘I’ve tried to get Mum to move here, so she’ll be closer to me, Isaac and the twins, but she’s too stubborn for her own good.’

‘Is Isaac your brother?’ Katie asked, and Frankie nodded while she munched on her cupcake. She was no longer hungry, but nibbling the soft sponge gave her something else to concentrate on, something to keep the tears at bay.

‘He’s my stepbrother, actually, but we never use the step word usually, and he has an amazing relationship with Mum. The twins adore him. He’s the closest thing they’ll ever have to a father figure.’

George gave her a knee a pat. ‘I can totally empathise. But you never know what the future will bring. Maybe one day…’

Frankie almost choked on her cupcake, and she shook her head emphatically until she could speak. ‘Nah. I’m content with being single. I have no plans to start dating again. Although…’

‘Yes?’ Katie’s ears pricked up, and she leaned in towards Frankie.

‘I sort of ran into that guy from yesterday on the way here. You know the one with the dog?’

George pursed her lips. ‘How could we forget?’

‘Anyway, I ran into him – not literally. There were no injuries this time – and he remembered me. Asked how my knee was.’ Her hand rubbed at the knee, even though it hadn’t caused any problems once she’d rested it. There was a bit of bruising, but nothing major.

‘Then what happened?’ George asked.

Katie’s eyes gleamed. ‘Did he ask you out?’

Frankie shook her head. ‘No, nothing like that. In fact, he had to run off because the dog slipped his lead again and was heading for a little old man with a walking stick.’ She placed the palms of her hands on her cheeks. ‘But he’s sort of cute, isn’t he?’

‘Sort of?’ George tutted. ‘The man’s bloody gorgeous. You need to get hold of his number.’

Frankie shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t know how to anymore. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the dating game.’

‘Me too.’ Katie grabbed a second lemon drizzle cupcake and tore the wrapper from the sponge. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to face it again.’

‘I’m sure you will, when you’re ready.’ George reached across to give Katie’s knee a pat too. ‘You’ve been through a lot. You’re bound to feel jaded by it all.’

‘Jaded is an understatement,’ Katie grumbled. ‘Scarred for life would be more accurate.’ Her phone started to vibrate from within her handbag, and she groaned when she saw the name on the display. She shot an apologetic look at her new friends as she shuffled away from the blanket to answer the call.

‘I’d better get going soon,’ Frankie said as the phone call behind her started to heat up. ‘I’ve got a deadline coming up, so I need to get back to work.’

‘I need to leave soon too.’ George started to clip the lids back down on the food containers. ‘I’m cleaning for a new client this afternoon and I need to drop the picnic bits and bobs back at home and grab my kit. I’m a bit nervous, actually.’ She pressed a hand to her stomach. ‘I was personally recommended by one of my other clients, so I don’t want to let her down.’

‘You’ll be great.’ Frankie rested a hand on George’s arm. ‘If you clean half as well as you cook, you won’t have anything to worry about at all.’

George beamed at her. ‘Thank you. That’s so kind of you to say that.’

Frankie shrugged. ‘It’s true. This is – hands down – the best picnic I’ve ever been to.’

George laughed and gave a wave of her hand. ‘Stop it now, you’re making me blush.’

‘Sorry, but it really is.’ Frankie shrugged again before she helped George to pack up. Only the blanket was remaining by the time Katie returned with a heavy sigh.

‘Everything okay?’ George asked as she lifted two corners of the blanket and gave it a rigorous shake to rid it of sand.

Katie rolled her eyes. ‘Just the ex.’ She grabbed the opposite corners of the blanket and helped George to fold it. ‘As if I don’t know I have to file the acknowledgement of service. I’m not an imbecile.’

George rolled the blanket and tucked it under her arm. ‘But you haven’t done it yet?’

Katie shook her head. ‘I was going to, but…’ She sighed. ‘It sounds really childish saying it out loud, but it’s the one bit of power I have in all this, and I can’t seem to relinquish it. Signing that form, agreeing to this thing, it makes me feel sick.’

‘It must be so difficult.’ George draped an arm around Katie’s shoulders. ‘You were together a long time.’

‘It sounds like he treated you like dirt to me,’ Frankie said. ‘And now he’s pressuring you?’

Katie fiddled with the wedding band she still wore. ‘I have been dragging my feet with this…’

Frankie folded her arms across her chest. ‘So what? It’s nothing less than he deserves. Why should it all be on his terms?’

Katie nodded, but she didn’t look convinced and continued to slide her thumb back and forth across the back of her wedding ring.

‘You must do what’s best for you.’ George gave her shoulder a brief squeeze. ‘You never know, you may feel empowered by signing it. You’re letting him go and forging ahead on a new and brighter future.’

Katie shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets. ‘It doesn’t feel like it.’

George patted her arm lightly. ‘It will, one day. You’ll see.’ She picked up the tote bag and hooked it onto her shoulder. ‘I should be going, but it’s been lovely meeting up with you ladies this afternoon.’

‘It has.’ Frankie hadn’t realised how isolated she’d felt since choosing to go freelance and working from home. ‘We should do this again.’

‘I’ll bring the picnic next time.’ Katie pulled a face. ‘Since I put away most of it.’

George tsked. ‘You did not. We all had our fair share. Besides, there was plenty to go around. I can’t help going overboard with food.’

Katie laughed. ‘Feel free to go overboard again. You’ll get no complaints from me.’

Frankie held up her hands. ‘I wouldn’t dream of grumbling.’ She zipped her coat up fully so it reached her chin. ‘Should we swap numbers, so we can arrange times and places?’

‘Good idea.’ George reached into her pocket for her phone, and Frankie and Katie did the same, each saving the contact information for the other two.

George lifted a hand in farewell as they parted ways on the promenade. ‘See you next time. I’m looking forward to it already!’

Frankie was too.

Chapter Ten

Katie

Perhaps George was right, and she’d feel empowered by signing the acknowledgement of service. She’d be taking back power, signing that form because she wanted a clean slate. She didn’t have to view the divorce as the end of the life she’d built with Rob over the past twenty-four years; she really should look at it as a new start for her.

She was feeling so motivated – so inspired – by the time she emerged at the top of the steps leading up to the promenade that she could almost feel the pen in her hand as she envisioned signing the form. And she probably would have done it, would have gone straight out and posted the damn thing, if she hadn’t stumbled upon Jack, his hair sticking up in little peaks where he’d been running his fingers through it, pacing up and down in front of his van.

‘I’ll be there as soon as I can, Mrs Hornchurch. Have you managed to find the stopcock? And you’ve turned it off? Excellent. Like I said, I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ Jack ended the call and threw back his head, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

‘Everything okay?’ Katie could have kicked herself. Of course everything wasn’t okay. This was not the pose of a man whose life was currently hunky dory. ‘Anything I can do to help?’

Jack opened his eyes and pressed the palms of his hands together. ‘Is there any chance you have secret plumbing skills?’

Katie barked out a laugh. ‘As if. But you do, so what’s the problem?’

‘The pipes behind Mrs Hornchurch’s kitchen units, apparently.’ Jack opened the van’s door and unclasped his daughter from her car seat. ‘Her kitchen’s flooded, and it seems to be coming from behind her crockery cupboard. She’s phoned five plumbers so far, but nobody’s free until at least seven this evening. She sounds like a sweet old lady, and I don’t want to say no, but I have Vevie this afternoon. The childminder isn’t well and Anita – my ex-wife – can’t get out of work. I didn’t have any bookings this afternoon, so it didn’t really matter until Mrs Hornchurch called in a flap.’ He lifted his daughter from the van and rested her on his hip. ‘I’ve tried my mum and sister, but neither can get away…’ His phone started to ring from his jeans pocket, and he closed his eyes briefly after seeing the caller details. ‘It’s Mrs Hornchurch again.’

Katie lifted her hand up as his thumb hovered over the answer button. ‘Wait! I’ll do it!’

Jack frowned at Katie. ‘You’ll find what’s causing Mrs Hornchurch’s leak and repair it?’

Katie tutted and took the child from his arms. ‘No, you great dumpling. I’ll look after Vevie while you go and do all that plumber stuff.’

Jack’s thumb was still hovering over the answer button. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course. We’ll have fun, won’t we, sweetie?’ Katie stuck her tongue out at the little girl and she giggled as though it was the funniest thing ever. ‘See?’

Jack’s gaze flicked briefly to the screen of his phone. ‘I could be gone a while.’

Katie shrugged. ‘That’s fine.’

‘And Leo and Ellie…’

‘I think I can just about remember the way to the school.’ She pointed at the still-ringing phone. ‘Just make sure you give the school a quick call to let them know it’ll be me picking them up.’

‘Will do. You’re a star.’ Jack grinned at her before he accepted the call. ‘Mrs Hornchurch? Good news…’

‘I am a star,’ Katie whispered to the little girl, and she giggled again. This was the easiest gig Katie had ever had. If only Elliot and Lizzie were still so easily amused. ‘Shall we go inside? It’s a bit nippy out here, isn’t it?’

Jack popped into the house once he’d delivered the good news to Mrs Hornchurch, so he could drop off the buggy, the nappy changing bag, and a lidded beaker, and to say goodbye to his daughter and thank Katie – repeatedly.

Katie and her temporary charge spent the afternoon colouring (or rather, Katie coloured while trying to prevent the toddler from snacking on the crayons), playing music with impromptu instruments Katie found around the house (a couple of saucepans and a wooden spoon and plastic ladle for beaters), and finishing off with a bit of CBeebies. Soon it was time to get bundled up in hats and coats and head to school, and it was only as they passed the post box halfway there that she remembered the acknowledgement of service, which was still to be signed.

It seemed like a million years ago that she’d walked through the school gates of Southcliff Primary, but the school hadn’t changed much over the past couple of years, apart from a new wooden play area in the early years’ section of the playground and a brightly painted mural at the entrance. Katie made her way to the doors where the reception children would file out, joining the group waiting for their charges. The teacher stepped out of the door, keeping it open with his shoulder as he called out the names of the children whose parent or caregiver were waiting to collect them. Katie held back, waiting until he’d stopped calling out names until she stepped forward.

‘Excuse me? I’m here to pick up Ellie Benson. I’m her next-door neighbour. Her dad was called out on an emergency. A plumbing emergency. Not medical.’ Katie pressed her lips together. She was babbling and had to stop before she rattled off her entire life story.

‘Ellie Benson?’ The teacher looked behind him, back into the classroom. ‘Could you wait there for a second?’

‘Sure,’ Katie said, but he’d already ducked back inside, the door clicking shut behind him. The wind had started to pick up and it was starting to drizzle with rain, so she stooped to make sure her new little friend’s blanket was still tucked in and her hat was pulled down over her ears.

‘Sorry about the wait.’ The door had opened again, and the teacher was back. Unfortunately, he didn’t have Ellie with him. ‘I just had to check we’d been given permission to let Ellie go home with someone not on our list.’ He pulled a face. ‘And I’m afraid we haven’t.’

‘Jack hasn’t called? But I reminded him!’

The teacher pulled the face again. ‘I’ve asked the office to call Ellie’s dad, just to confirm. Would you like to come inside while you wait?’ He looked out at the sky, which had turned an ominous shade of grey. The drizzle was on the verge of upgrading to a downpour.

‘Thank you.’ The teacher held the door open while she pushed the buggy into the classroom.

‘No problem. Sorry about this, but we have to be sure…’

‘It’s okay. I understand.’ Katie would throttle Jack later though.

‘Take a seat.’ The teacher indicated one of the tiny plastic chairs. Was he having a laugh? But, not wanting to appear awkward, she eased herself onto the miniature seat. There were only three children left in the classroom, who were waiting on the carpet area. One of them was Ellie, who waved when she spotted Katie.

See? Katie wanted to say. She does know me. I’m not some nutter who’s come to snatch her and her brother.

Oh, God. Leo!

‘Excuse me, Mr…’ Katie cringed. She had no idea who this teacher was as he hadn’t been on the staff when Lizzie and Elliot were at Southcliff Primary. He probably hadn’t sat his GCSEs by then, Katie mused. He only looked to be in his early twenties. Mid-twenties at a push.

‘Thompson.’ He smiled, and the finest lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. Perhaps he wasn’t as young as he appeared at first glance. ‘Mr Thompson.’

‘I’m supposed to be picking Ellie’s brother up too. Leo. He’s in Year One.’

‘Leo’s in Miss Baxter’s class,’ Ellie said. She was still sitting on the carpet, but she was up on her knees now.

‘That’s fine. We’ll let Miss Baxter know the situation. It won’t be a problem.’

‘Mr Thompson?’ Ellie had her hand up in the air, stretching it up as far as she could, her fingers waggling. ‘Katie lives next door to me.’

See? Not a nutter.

‘Mr Thompson?’ Ellie waved her hand frantically before he could respond to her previous statement. ‘Can Vevie come and sit on the carpet with me, Jenson and Rose?’

‘Not just now, Ellie.’ Mr Thompson headed towards the door leading out into the corridor as it opened. He had a murmured conversation with the woman before he turned to Katie with a bright smile. ‘Good news: we’ve managed to get hold of Ellie’s dad, and he’s confirmed that he asked you to pick up Ellie and Leo. He meant to call, but it slipped his mind.’ He shrugged, while Katie smiled tightly. Her hands would slip around Jack’s throat later… ‘So, Miss Baxter is going to bring Leo here in a moment to save you going over to her classroom at the other end of the playground. Hopefully that rain has stopped by now…’ He peered out of the window and pulled a face. It was still pouring down. ‘Have you got everything ready, Ellie? You’ll need to put your hood up.’

Leo soon arrived in the reception class, so after Katie had ensured all the children were bundled up, they made a dash for it. She managed to keep the little ones entertained until Jack arrived an hour later, apologising profusely for the blunder.

‘I felt like a criminal as I sat on that tiny chair.’ Katie jutted her chin in the air with indignation, but her fingers were no longer itching to circle around her neighbour’s neck. ‘I’m sure that teacher thought I was a child-snatcher.’

‘I’m sure he didn’t but let me make it up to you.’ Jack handed Leo his coat. ‘Let me take you for a drink? To say thank you for watching the kids, and for my screw up.’

‘You don’t have to do that.’ Katie crouched to help Ellie zip up her coat. ‘I’m just returning the favour after the boiler repair. You saved me a fortune and prevented us turning into human ice pops.’

‘I insist. When are you free?’

Katie slipped Ellie’s hat on. They were only going next door, but it was still pouring with rain.

‘The kids are staying with their dad on Friday night…’

‘Great.’ Jack clapped his hands together. ‘My lot will be with their mum, so that’s perfect. I’ll pick you up at seven?’

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