JENNY OLIVER is a bestselling author of contemporary fiction. She has been an elf in the Disney Store, a personal trainer, journalist, editor and, by far the best, a writer. Twice nominated for the RNA Best Contemporary Novel Award, Jenny’s books explore the ups and downs of relationships and an unwavering belief in happily ever after. In her spare time, she can be found cajoling her family out to car boot sales, trying to reign in her competitiveness on the netball court and subtly eavesdropping on strangers’ conversations as inspiration for her next book.

Follow her on Twitter @JenOliverBooks, Instagram @JenOliverBooks, and Facebook @JennyOliverBooks.

Also by Jenny Oliver:

The House We Called Home

The Summerhouse by the Sea

The Sunshine and Biscotti Club

The Vintage Summer Wedding

The Little Christmas Kitchen

The Parisian Christmas Bake Off

The Summer We Ran Away

Jenny Oliver

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Jenny Oliver 2020

Jenny Oliver 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.

Ebook Edition © June 2020 ISBN: 9780008297558

Version 2020-05-28

Note to Readers

This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:

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 Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008297541

For Kate and Becky, thank you.

Contents

Cover

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

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

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

It was the start of the bank holiday weekend and the air was abuzz with Lexi and Hamish Warrington’s summer party. Music was already drifting over the street to announce the lavish annual event.

The weather was steaming. Clouds had been holding in the heat like a pressure cooker for days. Everyone with their own theory on when it might break, whispering about who was using their hose even though there was a ban. On Thursday’s bin night all the blue recycling crates up the street were full of Dyson fan boxes and paddling pool packaging.

Across the road at number nine Cedar Lane, Julia Fletcher was busy icing fifty-five vanilla cupcakes, baked at Lexi Warrington’s behest, before the party started. There was white frosting and white sugar stars everywhere to fit with this year’s white-hot theme. Last year it had been unicorns. Lexi had dyed her hair like a rainbow and worn a tail which Julia, who had moved in last autumn, only knew because she’d found the picture on Instagram.

The party was all anyone had been talking about for months. Lexi had sent a save the date to the Cedar Lane WhatsApp group in mid-January when there was still frost on the pavements: Guys, so sick of this weather!! Only thing keeping me sane is SUMMER PARTY–yay!! Lxxx Everyone marking it in the diary months in advance so the date wouldn’t be double-booked.

Now the party was due to start in half an hour and Julia was nowhere near ready. There was icing everywhere. The crappy oven had burnt half the cakes and under-baked the other half. There was a wasp buzzing furiously against the window. Inside the house it was like an oven. The red-brick Victorian houses on Lexi’s side of the street kept naturally cool, whereas the pebble-dashed post-war terraced houses on Julia’s side were built with walls as thin as bible pages so they heated up like furnaces in the summer and turned to ice in winter.

Julia’s husband, Charlie, strolled casually into the kitchen. ‘God, I love a bank holiday,’ he sighed, the relief of the extra day off lifting his whole being as if at all other times he wore the job he hated heavy on his shoulders. He’d been for a cycle already that morning and changed out of his sweaty cycling kit into an old pair of turquoise shorts and a green T-shirt. ‘Does Lexi know you’ve gone to this much effort?’ he asked, watching Julia frantically trying to finish the cakes.

Julia looked up, pushing her hair out her eyes with the back of her hand, she was not in the mood for chat. The mid-morning almost tropical heat was making the frosting curdle. ‘Try this,’ she said, handing him one of the cupcakes that had caught in the oven. ‘Can you tell it’s burnt?’

Charlie examined the little cake, then popped it into his mouth whole. ‘Nice,’ he said, voice muffled with cake, nodding with approval.

Julia wasn’t so sure and took a bite of one herself. It definitely tasted burnt, but there wasn’t time to do anything about it now. If she covered them with enough silver balls and sugared white stars, hopefully no one would notice.

Charlie might very well be shaking his head at Julia’s clear distress re the cakes, but the thing about Lexi Warrington was that she made you want to impress her. She was Queen Bee of the road with the perfect house and the perfect children – little blonde twin girls. Everyone loved Lexi. She had a buoyancy. A story to tell for every situation, an emoji reply for every one of the hundred Instagram comments she receives, an effortlessly understated outfit for every barbecue or Cedar Lane WhatsApp group drinks.

Since moving in, Lexi had taken Julia under her wing – inviting her round for a coffee and to do yoga in the living room, including her in the cocktail nights with the girls – and because of that, Julia didn’t mind doing things for her, like making the cakes or, as was Lexi’s current bugbear, helping campaign against the new Sainsbury’s planned for development at the end of the street: Julia, you’re in marketing aren’t you? Could you knock up a good template letter of complaint for the whole street to use? Thanks, sweetie! L xxx

Julia wasn’t stupid, she knew that in some ways Lexi was using her – she made you feel special so you’d do things for her – but it didn’t matter. That was the thing about Lexi, there was something magnetic about her, something powerful. She made you want to do things for her.

Charlie had gone over to the window to let the wasp out and was now standing by the kitchen table that was stacked high with paint charts, decorating catalogues and tile samples, leafing through the mess to find something. ‘Do we need all this stuff?’ he asked, gesturing to the decorating paraphernalia.

Julia shook her head. ‘I have no idea. Probably not.’ Renovations on their property had somewhat stalled recently with the depletion of their bank balance.

Charlie said, ‘Do you know where my seed catalogue is?’ nosing his way through the stack.

Julia looked over at him in disbelief. How could Charlie be thinking about seeds when they were about to head out to the party of the year? She checked the time on the oven clock. ‘Oh God, it starts soon. Shit, I haven’t even got changed. You’ve got to get changed.’

‘I am changed,’ Charlie said without looking up. ‘I think my tomatoes might have blight,’ he mused, nudging paint charts out of the way with his finger to find the seed catalogue, ‘but I’m pretty sure I ordered Mountain Magic which are blight-resistant.’

Julia paused her icing, wondering if she could somehow subtly ask him to please not talk solely about his vegetable patch while they were at the party, but she knew if she did that then she’d offend him because it was his current pride and joy and they’d have a row. But really, no one wanted to talk about tomatoes. Especially no one at Lexi and Hamish’s.

She iced the last cupcake. ‘Charlie, you can’t go wearing that,’ she said, gesturing to his turquoise and green colour combination. ‘It’s a white-hot theme. You need to wear white. Haven’t you got a white shirt?’

‘I hate white shirts. I look stupid in white,’ he said, ‘like I’m going to school.’

‘You don’t,’ Julia replied. He did. But she didn’t want him to stand out in his green T-shirt. She wanted them to blend seamlessly in. Julia had been immersed in Lexi’s all-consuming outfit planning for weeks and as a result had found herself panic scrolling for outfits during work meetings, shopping in her lunch break and scouring Pinterest for good hair ideas, all especially for today.

She looked over at Charlie, trying to ignore the mess on the table and the cracked bare plaster wall behind him. ‘You must have a white T-shirt, surely? Don’t you have a polo shirt?’

‘It’s really old.’ Charlie came over to the kitchen counter, picking an apple from the fruit bowl and taking a bite. ‘This is fine,’ he said, pulling at his T-shirt. ‘Honestly, I just want to relax this weekend.’

Julia sprinkled tiny white sugar stars all over the cakes. ‘Please, Charlie, please go and put the polo shirt on. For me.’

Charlie sighed. ‘OK, fine, whatever.’ Munching on his apple, he skulked out of the room.

‘And you need your swimming trunks!’ Julia called after him. ‘They’ve hired a hot tub.’

From the hallway Charlie shouted back, ‘There is absolutely no way I am taking my top off at this party.’

Julia went back to her cakes, pincering silver balls into the centre of each one. It was hypocritical of her to roll her eyes at Charlie because he was just reflecting back her own insecurities. She wasn’t thrilled at the idea of being in just her swimming costume at the party either, but she didn’t want to be that couple. Hamish and Lexi wouldn’t have any qualms about stripping off; they’d probably get naked given half the chance.

Julia’s phone beeped on the kitchen counter. It was a WhatsApp from her work friend Meryl. She reached over with icing-covered hands to read it.

Meryl: Had any more Hot Hamish fantasies?

Oh God. Julia leant over the counter to see that Charlie was definitely no longer around, her heart racing.

On Thursday night, Julia had gone for after-work drinks to celebrate Meryl’s new job in Hong Kong. A bit pissed on countless glasses of Pinot Grigio Blush in the boiling sunshine, and sad that Meryl was off on a new adventure, Julia had admitted to the fact that, over the last few weeks, she’d been having erotic dreams about Lexi’s husband, Hamish Warrington. Julia had never had erotic dreams before. Even the fact she used the word erotic suggested to her that this was not her normal territory. As she’d told Meryl, dimly aware of her uninhibited insobriety, ‘I’m not an erotic sex-dream person. I have quiet, nice sex. I can’t even believe I’ve said the word sex so many times in this conversation, I’ve never talked about sex this much in my life.’

Meryl, who talked about sex a lot, had guffawed. Congratulated her even for this unexpected candidness. Then insisted on seeing Hamish’s Instagram page which was all pictures of him with his top off; six-foot-two, washboard-stomached, dirty-blond hair, on holiday in the Maldives or sweating through a HIIT workout. Meryl had highly approved and the sex-dream conversation had segued into Meryl disappearing down a Hamish Warrington Instagram wormhole.

Later that night Meryl had WhatsApped Julia with a drunken diagnosis:

I think the problem is that you’re trapped in normality. On paper you have everything but maybe you’re feeling constrained by convention. Your bored brain is seeking excitement, Mx P.S. Never let me drink Blush again

Julia had pondered the notion. When she and Charlie had bought the house on Cedar Lane last year it had all seemed very exciting. Charlie’s granny had died and left him enough money, along with their savings, to make up the deposit. They had attained what had been deemed unattainable, a rung on the housing ladder. Even her parents had been impressed. Julia had splodged each wall with Farrow & Ball tester pots and made a Pinterest board for every room. She had dreams of pale grey Scandinavian kitchen cupboards, high stools and a snazzy hot water tap.

But now, after spending out on a new boiler, a new bathroom because the shower leaked, having the Asbestolux all over the top floor removed, and experiencing the nauseous horror of being told they needed a new roof that they couldn’t afford and paying to patch it up instead, they were at a cash flow standstill. They were having to hold out on further renovations till they could afford them. The Farrow & Ball paint had been immediately downgraded to Homebase own-brand, but even that was sidelined when it was revealed the bedroom wall needed replastering. It meant they were living in depressingly wallpaper-stripped rooms with orange swirly carpet throughout and a half-torn down kitchen with bare plaster walls. They had sucked every last pound of their savings and interest-free credit. Their joint income was now spreadsheeted and accounted for for the next three years, including adjustments for possible interest rate rises and a freeze on bonuses, so that with every eight to ten months came the possibility of decorating a room, bar any further disasters. Charlie had weighted the spreadsheet to include a baby next year but, looking at the figures, possibly the year after would be better financially.

Even thinking about it made Julia feel claustrophobic.

She thought about how when Meryl had announced she was going to Hong Kong for a year’s secondment – essentially to escape from a vile, harrowing break-up – Julia had actually felt a stab of envy at the excitement of it, even the relationship turbulence and anguish that went with it.

It had made her conclude that Meryl’s drunken WhatsApp diagnosis was probably correct.

Now, in the sweltering kitchen, Julia wiped the icing off her hands and typed a message back to Meryl:

Don’t! I’m being plagued by them! I had another Hamish dream last night. We did it in the middle of the day, in the bushes by the children’s playground in the rain! I feel so bad. It’s like my brain is having an affair that my body has to keep quiet. It’s awful.

Lol. Doesn’t sound awful ;-)

Meryl

Julia rolled her eyes at Meryl’s reply. It was awful. Lately, she found herself night after night, lying in bed next to Charlie, feeling like a traitor.

Standing in the kitchen, she was suddenly jolted by a flash of the dream. Hamish all rain-slicked, pressing her tight to him with bulging muscles, eyes all lust and adoration, grinning down at her with his dazzling teeth.

From upstairs Charlie shouted, ‘Have you seen my white polo shirt anywhere?’

Julia’s cheeks immediately flamed with guilt. She fumbled her phone, dropping it onto one of the fairy cakes. ‘Damn.’ She hastily wiped the frosting off. ‘Hang on, Charlie,’ she called, trying to sound normal. ‘I’m just coming up to get changed. I’ll find it for you.’

Chapter Two

Across the road in Lexi’s front garden, the ancient olive tree was festooned with white fairy lights and white concertina lanterns. Faux tealights in white paper bags lined the garden path. And white bunting hung from window to window. They even had a light projector that made snowflakes dance over the front of the house.

The heat blazed down on Julia’s Tupperware full of cakes, the white clouds a laughable barrier to the ferocity of the midday sun. Charlie was frowning at a battered yellow VW camper van parked in the space outside Lexi’s house. On the windscreen was a sign that read: PLEASE DON’T PARK THIS VAN OUTSIDE OUR HOUSE!

‘Did Lexi write that?’ he asked, even though it was obvious she had.

Just the week before, Lexi had WhatsApped the Cedar Lane Group the message:

Sorry to do this, guys, but re parking. I know the space outside MY house is not technically mine but I think we should RESPECT people’s right to park in front of their OWN houses. In my last street we did this as an unwritten rule and it worked REALLY well!! Lexi xxxx

Charlie shook his head. ‘She can’t stick things on people’s vans. She doesn’t own the street.’

Normally Julia would agree, but she knew the effort Lexi had gone to for this party and she could forgive her for wanting it all to be perfect. As Julia’s father would say, woe betide anyone who got in her way.

They walked up the path together, Julia wowed by the effort of the decorations, Charlie still shaking his head, incredulous about the van sticker.

Charlie had changed his top to the polo shirt and only after a massive row had conceded to wear his green shorts that doubled as swimming trunks, but still flatly refused to get in the tub. Julia had her new bikini on under a new white dress with a floaty skirt – both of which she’d bought in H&M but they were exact copies of more expensive ones she couldn’t afford – and a new pair of white Superga plimsolls that she had stumbled upon in TK Maxx and almost wept for joy. She had tried to thread a white ribbon into her hair like she’d seen on Pinterest but she’d run out of time to do it properly and in the time she had it looked a shambles. As a result of being overworked, her hair had gone annoyingly flat.

‘I’ve never seen that dress before,’ said Charlie as they waited for the door to open.

Julia shrugged. ‘Oh I’ve had it for ages,’ aware that they weren’t meant to be spending.

Charlie nodded, still studying her.

‘What?’ Julia asked, conscious that she was being watched.

‘Nothing,’ he said, then after a second’s contemplation added, ‘It’s just not very you.’

Julia rolled her eyes. ‘You’re meant to say I look very nice.’

‘You do look nice. Just not very you.’ Charlie shrugged.

Julia was about to reply when the door was thrown open and suddenly Hamish Warrington was there, arms thrown wide as he called, ‘Julia! Charlie! Come in! Come in!’ And Julia found that she couldn’t speak – all hot suddenly and flustered by the sight of him and the memory of her dreams – as he pulled her into a big warm hug.

Hamish was decked out completely in white linen – shorts and shirt – with white flip-flops. Charlie looked him up and down as he pumped Charlie’s hand in greeting, and said dryly, ‘That’s a brave outfit choice.’

Hamish barked a laugh, bright white teeth chewing on something or nothing as he gave Charlie a hearty pat on the shoulder, ‘Good to have you here, Charlie old boy.’

Julia was still all flustered, pulling awkwardly at her dress, trying to balance the Tupperware of cakes which had the effect of making her feel a bit frumpy and self-conscious in front of Hamish. At the same time, she steadfastly avoided Charlie’s sideways mocking glance as he tried to get her on side with regards to Hamish’s white linen ensemble.

They followed Hamish as he led them through the hallway with its hot pink walls and acid yellow staircase – 954 Instagram likes the day it was painted – and into the kitchen.

As they walked into the room, it was apparent that there had been no scrimping on the decorations. Puffballs of tissue paper hung from the ceiling like giant pompoms, vases of white lilies graced every table and surface, on the floor were big glass urns of coiled fairy lights. Impeccably dressed waiting staff and caterers were busy arranging platters of food and uncorking champagne.

In the centre of all the action was Lexi, in a spaghetti-strapped, figure-hugging, floor-length gown of shimmering white sequins that she’d had shipped over from the States. She was leaning up against the pale turquoise herringbone tiles of her kitchen island, selfieing with Alicia Fox from number twenty-four and Nicky Merryweather from number seventeen, their matching blonde hair intertwining as they all pressed their cheeks together.

Julia had to pause to take a courage-mustering breath. She was really regretting arriving with a giant Tupperware now. They were all so glamorous, so effortlessly cool. They made her feel like the awkward new girl at school, desperate to belong. Nicky Merryweather was nice enough, but Alicia Fox always made Julia uncomfortable. Like there was a joke she’d missed. Whenever she saw Lexi, Julia definitely preferred it when Alicia wasn’t there.

‘Julia, darling! You look gorgeous.’ Lexi sprang forward from the embrace with the other two blondes, her dress catching the light like a glitter ball. ‘Are those my cakes?’

Julia nodded, handing over the cakes, grateful to relinquish the Tupperware. ‘You look amazing,’ she said to Lexi.

‘Ohh,’ said Lexi, waving away the compliment with faux-modesty. ‘Well I never get to dress up nowadays. Two kids will zap away that kind of sparkle!’

Everyone smiled and nodded even though they all knew it was a lie – Lexi had a wardrobe bursting with designer dresses and festival fancy dress, and never failed to wow with her Halloween costumes – but she had the power to make everyone happily complicit.

She lifted the lid off the plastic box of little cakes. ‘These are divine, Julia. You’re a superstar,’ she said, immediately taking a photo of the dainty frosting, showing them to Nicky and Alicia, who both oohed politely, then passed them over to the caterer who was putting together canapés with an air of tautly controlled calm.

Julia watched as the harassed caterer shoved the cakes to one side.

‘Now, drinks!’ Lexi clapped her hands together. ‘There’s a gin bar outside where they are making negronis and the most divine gimlets. They serve them with little red peppercorns – out of this world. Or on the table in the other room there’s champagne and rosé. And for the boys, beer in a barrel by the hot tub.’

Charlie was straight outside.

Nicky said, ‘Oh I’d kill for some bubbles,’ and drifted over to the champagne table in the lounge. Julia hovered in the kitchen by Alicia. Lexi had zoned out for a second, editing the pictures she’d just taken for Instagram. ‘God I shouldn’t be doing this now,’ she said, still deep in her phone.

Leaning against the counter, Alicia was wearing white cut-off denim shorts, two thin gold necklaces, and a white silk vest top, looking perfectly, expensively, dishevelled. The simplicity of it made Julia feel instantly like she’d tried too hard in her flouncy dress and new trainers.

Alicia looked Julia up and down. ‘Nice dress,’ she said.

‘Thanks,’ said Julia, self-consciously straightening out the skirt.

‘Is it new?’ Alicia asked.

Julia shook her head, ‘No I’ve had it for ages,’ she said, trying to match Alicia’s indifference, all blasé and like she hadn’t spent every lunchtime for two weeks shopping for something white-hot. There was a bag of clothes under her desk ready to be returned after the bank holiday.

‘Really?’ said Alicia, mouth tilting up, that same expression that Julia dreaded. ‘I’m sure I saw it in the window of Whistles the other day.’

Julia made a face like she was none the wiser, especially as this was the H&M rip-off of the Whistles version, but she doubted Alicia had ever set foot in an H&M, she was a Notting Hill boutique kind of shopper. ‘Maybe one like it,’ Julia said as casually as she could, cursing herself for lying.

‘Maybe,’ said Alicia with clear disbelief.

Julia could tell her cheeks had flushed.

Pushing languidly off the kitchen island Alicia said, ‘Come on, Lexi, it’s your party, you can’t be on your phone all night.’

‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ said Lexi, hurriedly finishing her post then clicking her phone off. ‘Right, that’s enough of that. No more time-wasting, a hot tub is calling,’ she laughed. ‘Oh Julia you got the trainers!’ she said, noticing Julia’s feet for the first time.

Julia blushed again. ‘Yeah, I wanted to go for the other style, you know, so they weren’t exactly the same as yours but,’ she scrabbled for an excuse not to mention the bargain TK Maxx price, ‘they didn’t have my size.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Lexi grinned, looping her arm through Julia’s and leading her out into the garden. ‘They look fab!’

Alicia sauntered along behind, Julia sensing her hawk-like judgement. They picked up Nicky on her way through who was flirting with a waiter as he topped up her champagne flute.

Outside was magical. Like the Snow Queen’s palace. Strings of white outdoor bulbs crisscrossed the piercing blue sky from the corner of the house to the giant conifers at the far end of the garden. Between the firs, a whitewashed shack had been built to house the gin bar. The waiters outside were all sun-bleached surfer cool. They looked barely old enough to drink and were dressed in sleeveless white T-shirts, boardshorts and white bow-ties, working their magic with Sipsmith gin. Across from that, the hot tub bubbled under a giant white sailcloth stretched between scaffold poles for shade. A suckling pig was being roasted over a firepit by a burly hipster in a leather apron ready for a late lunch. The patio was a dance floor, there was a DJ in wraparound sunglasses, there were white helium balloons, flaming Tiki torches, and giant white floor cushions and shisha pipes next to a spray-painted sign that read, ‘chill-out zone’.

Julia recognised all the faces from the Cedar Lane WhatsApp group. Practically the whole street was there, except for a few undesirables who had never been invited to join the group. And then dotted around were some of Lexi’s friends who Julia didn’t know.

Charlie was standing by himself with his beer. In his white polo shirt he did look like a lost schoolboy.

Lexi, Julia, Nicky and Alicia walked towards him, in the direction of the hot tub, and as they passed, Lexi said, ‘Fancy a dip, Charlie?’

Charlie winced. ‘Nah, I’m OK thanks.’

‘Oh come on,’ Lexi cajoled, grabbing his hand and dragging him a few steps.

Hamish came to join them, yanking his shirt off over his head to reveal the washboard abs that had featured so heavily in Julia’s dreams. ‘Don’t know about you, but I am ready to get wet!’ he laughed.

Lexi giggled.

Julia had to look away. She could feel heat rising up her neck making it go a blotchy red. She was torn between the prestige of being a part of Lexi’s elusive inner-circle and the awkwardness of having to sit rigidly aware next to Hamish, in her swimsuit.

Alicia stepped out of her denim shorts. Nicky wriggled her white bodycon dress over her head.

Julia was next to Charlie. Both of them standing watching. ‘Shall we just get in, Charlie?’ she said, hovering on the cusp of indecision.

‘No,’ Charlie flatly refused. ‘I told you, I have no interest in hot tubs.’

Hamish looked over. ‘Come on, Charlie, old boy, everyone loves a hot tub.’

Charlie shook his head. ‘Not me.’

Alicia had peeled off her top and was climbing into the frothy water, yelping as the bubbles touched her skin. Nicky splashed her. ‘You bitch,’ Alicia laughed.

‘Hamish, honey, can you just unzip my dress,’ Lexi called, holding her hair up from her back to reveal the zip.

‘Come on, Charlie,’ Lexi ordered, tying her hair into a big bun on top of her head, ‘don’t be a spoilsport.’

Charlie made a face. ‘I don’t mind being a spoilsport.’

Julia found herself being drawn to the water, to the fun. ‘Come on,’ she said, inching closer.

‘Why?’ asked Charlie, expression bemused.

Something about Charlie’s refusal was egging Julia on. ‘To get you out of your comfort zone,’ she suggested.

Charlie made a face. ‘I like my comfort zone. It’s comfortable,’ he said. ‘Why would I want to be uncomfortable?’

Julia stared at him for a second, then back at the water where everyone was frolicking with giggling abandon. Getting into the hot tub felt suddenly like a statement against being trapped by convention, it felt like it stuck two fingers up to their spreadsheet and Meryl’s diagnosis of Julia’s bored brain. It felt like living in the moment.

Julia took a step towards the pool, unzipping her dress. And while she hated standing in just swimwear in front of all the lithe Body Pump-toned figures of Lexi, Nicky and Alicia, she was quite proud of her pale-yellow and white striped bikini that was a near identical copy of one she’d seen in Lululemon. Understated but flattering. She’d never even stepped into a Lululemon before she’d heard Lexi and Alicia talking about how it was the only viable place to buy gym leggings.

‘Oh my God, we have the same bikini,’ said Lexi as she let her white sequins pool to the floor to reveal a two-piece in almost the same pale-yellow deckchair stripes as Julia’s. Hers however was clearly the expensive version. ‘Twins!’ Lexi clapped, bounding over to stand next to Julia. It looked much better on pocket-sized Lexi and Julia immediately curled in on herself, loath to be compared.

Alicia leant over the hot tub, resting her chin on her crossed arms, and drawled, ‘Well look at that,’ in a tone that implied Julia had purposely tried to copy Lexi.

Thankfully Lexi didn’t hear because she was too busy vaulting into the frothy tub in a move that made everyone whistle and clap, while Julia climbed in via the steps, head down to avoid meeting Alicia’s watchful eye.

Hamish, who had no interest in swimming costume chat, stood in the centre of the tub and shouted, ‘Charlie, get involved or see that off,’ gesturing to the full pint in Charlie’s hand.

All eyes were on Charlie. He looked like the small ounce of enjoyment he’d summoned up for this party had just been successfully squeezed out of him.

Julia was willing him to agree to Hamish’s challenge, to just get over it and get in the pool.

Hamish started chanting, ‘Down it, down it.’

Alicia, Nicky and Lexi joined in, clapping with glee. Another couple, strangers to Julia and Charlie, who were already lounging in the tub sat up to join. A group of grinning dads who lived up the street chipped in as the chant spread, as Hamish raised his hands high like a conductor and the bow-tied waiters over by the big trees paused to grin and whistle.

Julia sank down into the warm water, wincing in sympathy as Charlie looked momentarily startled by the onslaught. She hated herself for wanting to see him pushed out of his comfort zone. For craving any reaction outside of apathy. Anything to disrupt the status quo.

When she saw him start to raise his glass to see off Hamish’s challenge, she sat up a little straighter. Then almost as quickly he stopped. Julia watched as an expression of pity crossed his face and with a narrow-eyed glance aimed at Julia specifically for being complicit, Charlie turned on the spot and walked away.

There was a collective, disapproving sigh.

‘Spoilsport,’ Lexi catcalled, semi-joking.

Hamish looked completely agog that someone could defy the rules of a challenge. ‘He can’t walk away. That’s cheating. Julia,’ Hamish said, nudging her on the bare arm, ‘sort your husband out.’

The touch of Hamish’s skin on her own made Julia almost flinch in fright. Immediately hyperaware of their contact, images from her dreams flashing before her eyes, his big hands roaming over her rain-soaked clothes, the crush of his mouth hot on hers. His smell. His taste. Julia had to press her fingers momentarily over her eyes to make the memories go away. And then, just to divert Hamish’s attention from her, she shouted, ‘Come on, Charlie, it’s a game. Come back.’ But she knew he wouldn’t come back. He kept going towards the house without so much as a backwards glance.

‘Shame on him,’ muttered Hamish, lolling back so his honey-tanned shoulders were mere inches from Julia’s.

She shrugged as if her husband were a lost cause, while gearing up to apologise to him later in private. Her skin alive at the proximity to Hamish. Her guilty heart thumping.

Chapter Three

In the end, no one stayed in the hot tub for long, there was too much to do and see. The suckling pig was charring over the firepit in the centre of the lawn, the flames licking high up to a sky so blue it was almost white. The DJ was trying to corral people onto the dance floor with some thumping tunes that shook the garden. The surf-dude waiters were showing off their mixology skills with a Tom-Cruise-in-Cocktail inspired routine while a crowd whooped and clapped.

It being her party, Lexi was too flighty to be pinned in one place. When some new guests arrived, she jumped out of the hot tub to greet them with a squeal and stood chatting in just her bikini, freshly poured flute of champagne in hand. The couple Julia hadn’t known got out as well after their polite small talk with her fizzled out quite quickly. Nicky was beckoned to the chill-out zone by her husband to delight in the fact that by chance he’d bumped into an old pal from boarding school.

On the other side of the hot tub, Alicia was on her phone. Julia found herself on the sidelines of a chat between Hamish and a couple of other guys from the street, the fellow dads who’d sidled over with their beers, about a possible men-only cycling trip in the summer. Hamish was stretched out, arms wide, his hand resting just behind Julia’s neck. She was uberaware that if she leant back they would be touching, so she was sitting slightly forward, a touch uncomfortable, as she tried to shuffle imperceptibly along so she was out of reach. Really she wanted to get out of the hot tub, but she hadn’t yet been able to locate a towel. Hamish was busy expounding on the merits of cycle routes around Croatia. As she listened, Julia found herself wishing that Charlie could be part of this inner-circle trip. Part of all the in-jokes and the antics. But she knew that Charlie thought groups of weekend cyclists like Hamish and co. were idiots who just cycled round the park and showed off expensive kit. He liked to cycle solo. So even if he was invited, and somehow they conjured up the money for him to go, he’d probably turn it down anyway.

‘And what are we supposed to do while you’re bombing round Zagreb?’ Alicia asked, glancing up from her phone, one perfect brow raised. Her husband was one of the other dads, a clean-cut city banker who looked like he could still be in the office even in casual clothes, leaning against the edge of the tub.

Hamish looked nonplussed. ‘Go to a spa? Like you always do.’

Alicia grinned. Her husband rolled his eyes.

Julia found herself wanting to be invited to the spa. They made life seem so effortlessly exciting. But she knew Alicia would never include her. If Lexi had still been in the hot tub she would have done. Since it was now just Julia, Hamish and Alicia in the pool, the lack of invitation made her feel even more awkward so she made the excuse of needing another drink and climbed out.

She hunted for a towel but realised there were none. And since there was no chance she was going to stand around in just her swimsuit, the only option was to pull her dress on over her soaking wet costume. Her fingers were shrivelled like prunes. The material went immediately damp and see-through. Hamish and Alicia were still talking about the holiday. Julia felt invisible. She suddenly envied Charlie his forsaking of the whole hot tub malarkey.

The afternoon was getting hotter. Clammy and close. The music had got louder. More and more people had arrived. To get anywhere was a squeeze. There was a queue for the cocktails. The sun poured through the wispy clouds giving everything a hazy edge. Julia looked around for Charlie but saw just a sea of faces, some of them she recognised from the street, she waved a few hellos but the groups were so tightly packed it was hard to get involved in the chats as she squeezed through the gaps.

Finally, in the far corner, sitting on a low children’s picnic table, she saw Charlie. He was animatedly chatting with Lexi’s weird old neighbour who had clearly only been invited to fend off any complaints about the noise.

‘Hey, Julia,’ Charlie said as she approached. ‘You know Harry?’

Julia nodded as the old man in the flat cap sitting by Charlie smiled his gappy grin at her. He looked like he’d dressed up for the occasion in his tweed trousers, old cream shirt and threadbare waistcoat.

‘She always lets me go ahead in the Costcutter,’ said Harry, taking his cap off and nodding his head at Julia.

‘Well it’s just you’re only ever buying a paper,’ Julia replied, itching to get Charlie away, to go and socialise with – she cringed with shame at herself for thinking it – better people on the street.

Charlie took a swig of his almost full pint. ‘Harry says Mountain Magics always get blight.’

Julia frowned. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Tomatoes,’ said Charlie, bemused that she hadn’t remembered.

‘Oh.’

‘Dixie Golden Giants,’ said Harry, waving a shaky wrinkled hand, ‘they’re the best tomatoes on the market. You can pop round whenever you want to see mine.’

Julia smiled politely, but had to back away when Charlie turned his attention once again to Harry and said, ‘And what was it, never beetroots and carrots together?’

Julia left them to it, feigning interest in a limbo competition that was just starting, not that Charlie noticed she’d gone.

The bow-tie wearing waiters were in charge of the limbo pole. Alicia had hopped out of the hot tub to have a go and was currently contorting herself with ease, dressed in just her bikini while sipping a martini, to the heckling cheers of the semi-naked waiters.

Julia’s phone beeped. It was a WhatsApp from Meryl. It was quite a relief to look away from the spectacle to read it.

Meryl: How’s the party?

Julia: There’s semi-naked limbo-ing and Charlie’s talking to an octogenarian about tomatoes!

Meryl: Time to run off with Hot Hamish then ;-)

Julia: I never wanted to RUN off with him!! I just wanted to have SEX with him!!

Meryl: Haha, my mistake!

Julia put her phone away, first laughing, then immediately feeling bad for making out that Charlie was a disappointment. Then she suddenly panicked that she’d sent the WhatsApp reply to the right person and got her phone out to double-check it had been to Meryl. Christ, that could have been embarrassing.

After that, Julia went in search of Lexi who she found in the kitchen dealing with a canapé crisis still wearing just her bikini.

‘Oh Julia, darling, I was just going to come and find you. Could you do me a massive favour?’ Lexi took hold of Julia’s arm and gave it a squeeze. ‘One of Vanya’s waitresses has just sliced her finger open and has had to be taken to the walk-in clinic to get a stitch. We’re down two of the waiting staff. Is there any chance you could just hand a tray or two around? I’d do it myself but I’ve had a complete blonde moment and lost my dress,’ she tittered. ‘God knows where it is. I’m going to pop upstairs to find something else to wear and then I’ll take over.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Julia, ashamed that she was secretly pleased that she was one of the friends Lexi would be comfortable enough to ask for help. ‘Absolutely, no problem.’

‘Oh you’re a lifesaver!’ Lexi sighed. ‘Here, this tray of smoked salmon blinis needs to go out before the fish starts to stink in the heat.’

Julia put her phone down on the counter and took the tray.

Lexi looked a touch less flustered. ‘Right. Now to find something to wear.’

Julia held the silver platter. ‘Are you sure your dress isn’t over by the hot tub?’

‘Well I thought it was,’ said Lexi, ‘but I just WhatsApped Alicia to have a look and she said it’s not there. I think someone might have picked it up for me, I don’t know.’ She shook her head, and grinned. ‘Only I’d be able to lose my dress at a party.’

Julia laughed. A couple of people trouped through the kitchen, one of them, a chiselled guy with a beanie hat, aviators and a white vest top on, plucked a salmon blini from the tray with a vague nod of thanks to Julia as he chewed it whole. ‘Kitchen’s looking good, Lexi,’ he said, mouth full, as he carried on out the front door where a break-away party had started round the olive tree.

‘Thanks hun!’ Lexi called.

Julia recognised the guy from an Instagram story of Lexi’s at Christmas. She’d taken a screenshot of it and studied it intently, amazed that someone could have such a good-looking, picture-perfect Christmas. He was Lexi’s cousin, she’d deduced. They’d all posed wearing matching Christmas jumpers and pulled it off with ironic cool.

As he was walking out, however, someone else was sauntering in with no regard for his status, brushing him to one side without a care. The guy stood back against the wall, confused by the dismissal. ‘Hey,’ he said, clearly annoyed.

Lexi looked up. As did Julia.

Walking into the party was Julia’s next-door neighbour, Amber Beddington. All cool with her pitch-black hair, maroon lacy bra showing through her snakeskin silk vest, skin-tight leather leggings and buckled boots, complete disregard for the heatwave. She always looked like she’d just rolled out of bed, smelling of cigarettes and heavy Chanel. Her kohl-rimmed eyes were all-knowing and her skin was lined like she’d seen what the world had to offer and sampled the majority of it.

Lexi visibly acquiesced in her presence. ‘Amber, hi. You made it. I didn’t think you were going to come.’

Amber strolled casually towards them, eyeing the decorations, expressionless.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ Lexi gushed. ‘We’ve got killer negronis.’

Amber huffed a laugh. ‘No, you’re OK.’ She paused when she got to them, reaching into her back pocket to get something out. ‘I just came to return this,’ and she handed Lexi the note that had been sellotaped to the battered VW van out the front. ‘I presume it’s yours?’

Lexi took a step back, ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was your van. If I had I wouldn’t have written anything.’

Amber shrugged. ‘It’s not my van. I’m borrowing it.’

The fact Lexi was apologising more for whose van it was than the fact she’d left a note in the first place wasn’t lost on Amber, her expression openly mocking.

As Lexi’s pettiness seemed to grow in the silence, the note crumpled in her hand, Lexi got more flustered, retying her hair, shaking out her bracelets, trying to compose herself as best she could standing in just her bikini. ‘Seriously, Amber, I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have done anything. God, what a psycho!’ she berated herself. ‘Please, have a drink, let me make up for it.’

Amber shook her head, ‘No thanks.’ Then she gave the kitchen one last glance, did a little laugh that seemed to undercut all the effort that had gone into the party in one fell swoop, said, ‘Enjoy,’ then turned and disappeared outside.

‘Oh God.’ Lexi put her head in her hand. ‘How embarrassing. Amber of all people.’ She looked at Julia. ‘You know she’s a buyer for Emerald House? The private members’ club?’

Julia did know that.

‘I’ve been hoping she’ll get me in one day. Now it’ll never happen. Shit, why did I have to write that bloody note?’ Lexi tipped her head back at the ceiling. ‘Damn.’ There was a pause. Julia didn’t know what to say. Then taking a deep breath, holding it for five and exhaling, like something she’d learnt on a relaxation podcast, Lexi clapped her hands together and said, ‘OK, it’s OK. Right, where was I? What are we doing? Oh yes, you’re doing canapés. I’m finding something to wear.’ With that, she nipped off up the acid yellow staircase.

The caterer was ushering one of the young waitresses outside with her silver platter of miniature roast beef and Yorkshire puddings, then she turned to Julia and said, ‘You need to get going with that salmon!’

Julia turned to follow when she saw her phone ping on the kitchen island. She glanced at the screen, it was a message from Alicia: Found dress, hun.

Immediately Julia realised it wasn’t her phone. That Lexi had picked up hers instead and this was Lexi’s. She grabbed it and called out, ‘Lexi, I’ve got your phone. Alicia’s found your dress.’ But there was no answer. She put the tray of canapés down on the kitchen counter and went out into the hall. She was just about to call again when another message popped up, Yeah Julia will do it for you, she’d kiss your ass if you asked her to

Julia paused.

The sound of laughter and the smell of cigarette smoke flooded in through the front door where the mini olive tree party was in full swing. She could hear Lexi upstairs, opening and shutting wardrobe doors. But mostly Julia could hear the sound of her heart thumping in her chest.

She knew Lexi’s PIN code was a simple default 1243 – ‘Two kids and a blonde brain… I can’t remember anything more difficult than that!’ Julia had laughed that hers was exactly the same and with brown hair and no kids she had no excuse for the simplicity. A conversation about how they had always been able to remember the most convoluted phone numbers as kids had ensued and they’d blamed mobile phones for the demise of their memories while simultaneously scrolling through Instagram.

Now Julia’s fingers hovered over the keypad of Lexi’s phone. Did she even want to read any more? Of course she did. How could she not? Upstairs Lexi was singing along to the song the DJ was playing. There was the clatter of the caterers behind her. Julia was aware she was meant to be handing out canapés.

She turned to shield herself from any onlookers out the front and pressed the PIN code numbers.

It appeared that Lexi, Alicia and Nicky had a spin-off WhatsApp group called CEDAR LANE BLONDES.

Already Julia felt a stab that it didn’t include her. She just had a bog-standard message thread with Lexi. The only Cedar Lane WhatsApp group Julia was on was the main one that campaigned against the new Sainsbury’s and reminded them when bin day was going to be late.

Her eyes scanned the messages. Looking fast. Aware that Lexi was upstairs, that she was prying, that anyone could see her, but feeling a desperate, craving sickness to read:

Lexi: That dress Julia is wearing is DEFINITELY in Whistles. I saw it, too!

Alicia: Why lie? So weird. And was she ACTUALLY wearing the same shoes as you?

Lexi: *Sigh* Yeah. She does it all the time, totally copied the swimsuit, too.

Alicia: I knew it! Well what is it they say, imitation is sincerest form of flattery…

Lexi: Yeah but really f*cking annoying. Haha.

Nicky: The dress isn’t Whistles. I saw an H&M label when she took it off.

Lexi: I never shop in H&M. The material is so cheap.

Nicky: Ditto. And what about that at the hot tub…

Lexi: Poor Charlie!

Alicia:

Lexi: Shit!!!!! One of the bloody waitresses has cut her finger off. I NEED A WAITRESS.

Alicia: Actually cut her finger off?

Lexi: No. It was like a tiny sliver, TOTAL drama queen. Do you think it would be bad to ask Julia to waitress? BTW is my dress by the hot tub?

Julia was horrified. She felt sick. It was like seeing all her worst insecurities there in black and white. She didn’t know what to do. Some guests barged past her on their way out the front. She looked up disoriented.

‘The salmon needs to go, NOW!’ Vanya, the caterer, called.

As if on autopilot, Julia went back into the kitchen. Closing WhatsApp, she turned Lexi’s phone off and put it back where it came from, then she picked up the tray of salmon blinis that were waiting on the table.

She tried Lexi’s trick of taking a deep breath and counting to five but it did nothing. She tucked her hair behind her ears, the tips still damp from the hot tub, and then she headed out with the tray of canapés, pushing through the crowd of people in the open plan living room, past the giant photo of Lexi and Hamish dancing at their wedding, past the custom neon wall light – a scrawl that read Live, Love, Lexi on the exposed brick wall – out into the oppressive heat of the garden.

In the far corner Alicia and Hamish were still in the hot tub, there was a big group in there now, all with champagne, bottles being tipped up and then chucked onto the grass. The music was really loud. The sky was a smothering duvet of cloud.

But as Julia stepped onto the patio, something happened to the atmosphere. The music was still thumping, there was still a hum of chatter, but it was coupled with the incessant beeping of multiple phone messages. And as people got their phones from their pockets their reactions seemed to mirror each other. Mouths opened, lips were bitten, eyes widened, and almost one after the other, like a Mexican wave, they paused, looked up and around and stared when they clocked Julia standing with her silver tray of smoked salmon.

Over by the hot tub, she saw Alicia gasp then almost splutter into a smirk of delight. What was going on?

The sweet new mum, Hazel, from number twenty-two had gone pink and wouldn’t look Julia in the eye. Nicky’s husband was in the chill-out zone snorting a laugh as he scrolled through his messages. The group of dads were silently, secretly cracking up.

Julia felt her heart rate rise.

She felt for her own phone but remembered she didn’t have it. Lexi had it.

And then she remembered. She remembered the WhatsApps with Meryl. She remembered that Lexi knew her PIN code as she knew Lexi’s.

Shit.

From the hot tub she heard Hamish go, ‘What the hell?’ Then bark a shocked laugh.

Julia stood frozen for a second. The party stilled. The children’s picnic table where Charlie had been sitting with Old Harry was empty. People who weren’t from Cedar Lane were looking around to see what had happened.

And then suddenly Lexi was there. Strutting through the bi-folds wearing a white beach kaftan, some day-glow tassel necklaces and a crown of white silk flowers. She stopped when she got to Julia, standing in front of her, arms crossed. Her expensively dyed hair was hanging tousled over aloof narrowed eyes.

The music dimmed.

Julia swallowed. Feeling the collective gaze of the party on her. People trying to look like they weren’t staring but staring all the same.

Lexi held out Julia’s phone.

Julia was still holding the huge bloody platter of smoked salmon canapés. She had nowhere to put it down so had to dig one edge of it into her front so she could hold it with one hand in order to take the casually proffered phone from Lexi.

Lexi shook out her hair, fluffing it up with her hands like she didn’t have a care in the world. Then she said, ‘I think you’d better leave, don’t you?’

And Julia nodded. Feeling dazed and battered.

Lexi arched one perfect brow in pity, then turned to the DJ and shouted, ‘Come on, people, let’s get this party started!’ Then whooped, arms raised as she shimmied through the crowd to the DJ’s suddenly thumping Ibiza tunes.

Meanwhile, Julia was striding out of the house, shamefaced, eyes downcast, smoked salmon shoved onto the coffee table in the living room, stalking fast through the kitchen, past the acid yellow staircase, out the front door, past the separate olive tree party, past Amber’s VW van blocking the front of the house, her trembling fingers unlocking her phone, clicking on the six new messages to the Cedar Lane WhatsApp group, knowing without having to read them what she was going to find. Screenshot after screenshot of her conversation with Meryl. The words: ‘Your bored brain is seeking excitement’ and ‘I just wanted to have SEX with him!!’ dancing in front of her eyes. Having obviously retrieved her own phone from the kitchen, Lexi had then written: Wow. Seems Julia has been lusting after MY husband. That’s friendship for you! Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase neighbourhood watch!!!

To Julia separately she’d written, Hands off, bitch.

Chapter Four

The house was furnace hot. Julia slumped against the brown wallpaper in the hall, kicking off her stupid Superga Lexi-inspired trainers. The orange flowery carpet was scratchy under her bare feet.

She closed her eyes. This was a nightmare.

To think about it made her stomach clench. The look on Lexi’s face. Alicia’s. Hamish’s. It was all so humiliating. Not to mention the string of WhatsApps she’d read on Lexi’s phone.

She pulled her hair off her face and tied it up with an elastic band on the sideboard, yanking out the stupid white ribbon. Then she walked into the kitchen. The still air enveloping her like candy floss.

Charlie was sitting at the table.

‘Oh God, you gave me a shock!’ Julia said, hand on her heart, recovering her breath.

Charlie glanced up. ‘Me too,’ he said, flipping his phone over where all the messages were clear to see.

The room was boiling. Suffocating. Julia went over to the tap and poured herself a glass of water. ‘Charlie, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It was just stupid messages. They weren’t meant for the whole street.’ She looked at him with an expression that pleaded for camaraderie. For him to cringe at her humiliation rather than focus on the content of the WhatsApps.

But Charlie didn’t smile. His face was blank.

A big hairy bluebottle zigzagged around the kitchen.

Julia didn’t know what to say. She sipped her water.

Charlie was turning his phone over and over on its edges. Then he let it drop flat to the table. ‘So you want to have sex with Hamish Warrington down the playground alley?’

Julia rolled her eyes. ‘No I don’t. It was a dream!’

The fridge hummed in the background. The bluebottle thwacked against the window, the claustrophobic heat pulsed through the room.

Charlie scoffed. Then he shook his head, brown hair flopping over his forehead. He exhaled, deflated. ‘It’s so humiliating. Jesus.’

Julia came round to stand on his side of the counter. ‘I didn’t mean it, Charlie. The dream was just a metaphor.’

‘Oh right, yeah, for what?’ he asked, tipping his chair back from the table, leaning against the cracked plasterwork. ‘Your bored brain looking for excitement?’ he quoted Meryl. ‘Great metaphor, that makes it SO much better.’

Julia looked at the floor. At the dirt ingrained into the old linoleum.

Charlie scraped his hair back from his face, holding it there. They were both glistening with sweat. The bluebottle buzzed a circuit round the room.

Charlie flipped his chair upright so it landed on the floor with a whack. ‘I don’t know what to say. I’m working in a job I hate. I have no money. I knew the house stuff was stressful. But I at least thought we were OK.’

‘We are OK,’ Julia said but it came out like her mouth was stuck with treacle. It wasn’t OK. She didn’t know what she wanted, but she wanted different to this: the seed catalogue that Charlie had finally unearthed from the clutter and was now going through with annoyed flicks, the bleakness of their house, the spreadsheet. She hated herself for wanting an extension like everyone else’s on the street, a jam-packed Instagram feed like Lexi’s, a job offer in Hong Kong. Anything. A taste of something new. Anything that would counter her low-level dissatisfaction with the normality of life.

Standing in the sweltering kitchen, she found herself almost begging, ‘Can you just put that seed catalogue away, Charlie, please!’

Charlie paused his flicking and frowned. He stared at her, incredulous that she had the audacity to be having a go at him right now. He slammed the catalogue shut and stood up. ‘I’m so sorry I’m not good enough for you,’ he said, pushing back his chair, then opening the back door added, ‘I need some air,’ and disappeared out into the garden where his tomatoes and man cave shed were waiting.

Julia stood where she was, feeling dreadful. She looked at her phone again, forced herself to face the WhatsApps. Across the street the party was still in full swing, music and BBQ smells infusing the hot air. How could Julia look anyone in the road in the eye ever again? Unsurprisingly the Cedar Lane group had no new messages. Disabling in its silence. There was nothing, not even a shocked face emoji from one of the other residents.

The fat bluebottle hit the bare overhead lightbulb and stunned itself, falling to the countertop.

Julia couldn’t stay in the house, the walls closing in on her, the thump of the party music shaking the floor, Charlie outside in his man cave. Grabbing her phone, keys and bag she pulled her trainers back on and jogged outside, out the front door into the oppressive, sweltering heat.

Chapter Five

Amber Beddington had a love-hate relationship with the Cedar Lane WhatsApp group. The endless emojis grated and the ‘Thanks hun’ replies drove her barmy but it amused her to watch them all getting their knickers in a twist about the new Sainsbury’s. Amber was quite looking forward to a Sainsbury’s. She was particularly keen on their boil-in-the-bag mussels. Four minutes on the hob and you could just as well be in the South of France.

She was usually a silent observer of the thread but as she packed her suitcase in the unrelenting heat of her bedroom, her phone pinging with the screenshots charting Julia Fletcher’s fantasies about that idiot Hamish Warrington posted by his more idiotic wife, Amber experienced a desperate itch to comment. To say something, anything that might bring Lexi down in return. Because Amber had a soft spot for Julia. She was clever. Amber always admired people who were cleverer than her. Or more talented – she had a huge girl crush on her Pilates teacher, Emma. She liked people who took the time to learn, took consideration with facts and figures, but also had time for others. Julia was like Amber’s son, Billy. They had similar neat little brains that worried about interest rates, if there was milk in the fridge, if the car was taxed. Like a tidy patio garden with pots of begonias and an awning. Whereas Amber’s was more like the ones they panned back from on Homes Under the Hammer, a confusing horror of brambles and bindweed.

Amber zipped up her suitcase and giving her bedroom one last glance – the tangle of sheets, she should really make the bed – to check she hadn’t forgotten anything – ooh, underwear, she grabbed a handful from the antique dresser, and Nicorette patches, no she had them in her bag – she left the room, itching to go back for her emergency pack of fags but forcing herself to carry on out the door.

The afternoon sun was too hot. Amber squinted. The dreadful music from Lexi’s party immediately got her back up, especially after the sticker she’d left on Amber’s windscreen. She crossed the street to the VW camper van which she’d had to borrow from a friend because her van was currently having its third new clutch in Ray’s Garage up the road. A kid in one of the windows stuck his tongue out at Amber as she walked past, she stuck her tongue out back, the little kid giggled. Behind him Peppa Pig was playing on a massive wall-mounted TV. All Amber saw down this road was Peppa Pig on giant TVs, or on a Saturday, the cricket. Every house on this side of the road was the same, all the Victorian terraces done up with plantation shutters and various shades of Farrow & Ball paint. On the walls were giant canvases of their children or themselves, making Amber wonder when art had become so narcissistic. Mind you, Picasso and Rembrandt were always painting themselves. Amber had never taken a selfie in her life; the idea was abhorrent. She didn’t need a million likes to tell her she was beautiful. She caught sight of herself in the VW window and did a mock pout, grinning, she knew damn well how good-looking she was.

Throwing her bag in the back of the van she lamented the limited space. This was meant to be a buying trip and a camper van wasn’t ideal for the job. Although it did have a kettle which was always a bonus.

Locking the van, Amber walked up to the high street to get some supplies for the journey, grimacing at the ridiculous oversized olive tree in Lexi’s front garden that had been craned into position to much hoo-ha, and all the posers currently vaping around it.

What everyone in Cedar Lane referred to as a high street was actually a small strip of shops at the end of the road with a dry cleaners’, chippy, double-glazing company and a Costcutter. Round the corner was a dreadful wedding dress shop and a veterinary practice. Amber pushed the door of the Costcutter and the little bell rang. Usually her son, Billy, was with her and this was his favourite part of the trip, chucking packets of mint Clubs and Mini Cheddars into the basket. Alone, she strolled round the fluorescent-lit aisles, not quite sure what to buy, grabbing a pint of full-fat milk and some slices of cheese.

Out the window she saw Julia Fletcher hurry past. Wearing the white dress she’d had on at the party, eyes downcast to the pavement.

For a second Amber wondered if she should go out and check whether she was OK, but then realised if she were in Julia’s shoes she couldn’t imagine anything worse than a busybody neighbour offering comfort.

She went back to perusing the aisles. Subconsciously picking all of Billy’s favourites – Pickled Onion Monster Munch, full-fat Coke, Mr Kipling French Fancies. But her mind kept drifting back to Julia, wondering if she was alright.

Amber had first met Julia when they had moved in at the end of last summer. Julia’s dad had leant over the garden fence, and advised Amber, who had been reclining in her deckchair at the time, that the monkey puzzle in her garden needed chopping down because the roots would damage her foundations soon. Julia had been rolling her eyes, trying to shush him, to not get involved. Amber had got up, wandered over to the fence, bottle of beer in one hand, cigarette between her fingers. She’d turned her head so she could see what Julia’s dad saw and replied with a blasé drawl, ‘I’d rather the house fell down than the tree.’ Julia’s dad had been momentarily flummoxed, like his brain was rearranging to account for such logic. Then he’d laughed, deep and loud, and stretched his hand over the fence to introduce himself. After the initial confrontation they’d got on strangely well. He couldn’t fathom her, especially after she’d revealed good knowledge of share prices, which she suspected he quite enjoyed. Almost as an afterthought he had introduced Julia. And the moment had fast-forwarded Amber and Julia’s friendship. Julia’s clear embarrassment at her dad’s involvement regards the monkey puzzle had made Amber laugh. Every time she saw her after that she made some comment about the tree. Then Julia had joined the Monday-night Pilates class at the Scout hut behind the high street where Amber was a regular and they often walked home together. On the walks Amber told her how her son Billy wanted to be a chef but Amber was a terrible cook and no help at all. It transpired that Julia had aced her way through Le Cordon Bleu cookery school – she’d been sent immediately to Paris one summer by her parents when she’d shown aptitude and delight in baking. So every Wednesday, Julia had gone round to teach Billy how to hold a knife properly, temper chocolate, spin sugar, truss a chicken, julienne, reduce and even, to Amber’s arm-length fascination, how to kill a crab. And so, via the bonding power of their inability to do the double-leg stretch in Pilates and Amber’s wine-sipping inquisitiveness in what Billy and Julia were concocting in her kitchen, they had formed the kind of acquaintanceship that came not so much from shared interest and opinion but from being comfortable in each other’s presence.

Amber decided that once she’d paid she’d just go and see if she could see Julia and check if she was OK.

When she got to the checkout she said, ‘Gary, don’t let me buy any cigarettes.’

‘Why? You given up?’ asked the large white-haired man behind the counter.

‘Yes. Well I’m trying. The reason’s so pathetic though,’ she laughed.

Gary started adding up her purchases. ‘Oh yeah?’ he asked, tapping numbers into his till.

‘You remember my ex – Ned? Billy’s dad? Yeah. Well he’s got this annoying new girlfriend—’

‘Marcia?’ Gary said without looking up.

And Amber realised she must have slagged off Marcia in here before. She could imagine she had. Marcia was so annoying. Marcia worked at Google. ‘Well between her and Billy they’ve got Ned from twenty-a-day to vaping. He’s so smug. But I’m not a vaper. I’m iron will and about a million Nicorette patches. And maybe twenty Marlboro Reds, Gary, just in case.’

Gary shook his head and laughed. ‘You said no, Amber.’

Amber made a face. ‘Oh! That’s so unfair.’ She paid for her stuff, waved the offer of a carrier bag and piled everything up against her snakeskin print vest.

Outside the Costcutter, Amber was about to look for Julia when her phone rang.

‘Hello,’ she said, fumbling to answer the phone with all the food she was carrying, the shattered screen making it nigh-on impossible to ever see who was calling.

‘Amber, it’s Henri,’ his voice boomed out.

Amber stood up a bit straighter. Henri Lupé owned the private members’ club, Emerald House, which was the main source of Amber’s income. An old, white-suit-wearing eccentric, they’d worked together for years, Amber supplying the vintage furniture for his hotel chain.

‘Just checking you’re all on target.’

‘Oh yeah, absolutely, you know me, Henri.’ She glanced at her watch, made awkward by all the junk food she was carrying, and then made a face to herself, aware she was now cutting things fine. Julia would have to look after herself, Amber figured, walking a bit quicker in the direction of the camper van. ‘I’m actually on my way to France now. I’ll get you all the best stuff,’ she laughed, it sounded a little fake.

Henri paused for a second. ‘I’m so sorry about what’s happened, darling. You’re not annoyed, are you? It’s just Olga, darling, she likes to think she’s in control now, but—’

‘Well, with all due respect, Henri,’ Amber said, trying not to sound bitter, as she climbed into the van, ‘she does seem to be in control now.’

Olga Lupé was Henri’s niece and the new Emerald House Creative Director. Tipped to take over from Henri when he retired, tall, willowy and white-blonde, she had taken a dislike to Amber on sight. They were of different eras. Amber worked on instinct and Henri trusted her to deliver. She’d rock up with a van full of furnishings – some of which had been requested, some of which hadn’t – and never failed to transform a room. She had won awards. Olga, on the other hand, liked planning, Pinterest and mood boards. She liked goals and teamwork and annoyingly wide-hemmed trousers that swooshed along the floor as she walked. She hated being caught off guard and, in Amber’s opinion, had kiboshed two of the bedrooms Amber had worked on for the new flagship hotel in Russell Square purely to show Amber who was boss. It hadn’t gone down well. Amber hated being told what to do.

Henri laughed, a rich, horsey guffaw. ‘I knew you were annoyed.’

‘Wouldn’t you be? Henri, she literally banned two of my rooms and half of the furnishings for the bar.’

‘Olga just has her own way of doing things, Amber, darling. She only wants the best.’ Henri paused again. ‘I don’t want my two best girls arguing. You and Olga, you need to be friends.’

There was a fat chance of that happening, Amber thought. But she exhaled slowly through her nose and said, ‘Yes, Henri.’

She could hear him do a little clap. ‘Good girl.’

Amber bristled.

‘Now, don’t let me down, no?’

‘No, Henri.’

Henri laughed, ‘No Henri, Yes Henri. I love it. Have a divine time in France, Amber darling, we’ll look forward to seeing the treasures you unearth next week, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Au revoir, ma petite.’

Amber ended the call. Quietly fuming inside.

She put the key in the ignition and as she looked up saw that the little witches’ coven of Lexi Warrington, Alicia What-ever-her-surname-was, and the other blonde one, were stumbling down the street, arm-in-arm, in their white-hot garb.

Amber narrowed her eyes, watching them as they headed towards the high street, giggling. She turned the key in the VW and the engine rumbled to life. This van would not be a treat to drive.

Amber reversed and accidentally nudged Hamish Warrington’s Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriolet. ‘Oops,’ she laughed to herself.

Then pulling out of the space, she drove up the road and saw the three blonde women totter out of the Costcutter unwrapping a packet of Marlboro Menthol, sneaking off round the corner to have a crafty mid-party fag. Amber was annoyingly jealous.

The van rolled on up the road, she watched them as they wobbled, drunkenly trying to light the cigarettes, all caramel-tanned and pinch-faced like the mean girls at school. Amber was half tempted to turn the wheel sharp and wipe them out in one go but they weren’t worth going to prison for. It was an enjoyable fantasy though.

Speaking of fantasies. As Amber rounded the corner, there on a lone bench outside the dreadful wedding dress shop – that was so incongruous on the high street, Amber was certain it was a money-laundering business – sat a rather forlorn, dazed-looking Julia Fletcher. Her hair fell limply half over her face, tangled with a ribbon that looked like it had once been part of a plait. Her eyes were red, her hands flopped in her lap, and her dress was still damp in patches on her boobs where the stripes of her bikini showed through. She looked a mess.

The three mean girls were just coming up to the bend.

‘Oh shit,’ Amber muttered to herself.

Lexi was opening a bag of strawberry laces. Amber saw the moment she clocked Julia. She saw her pause mid hair flick, her eyes narrow, a pause, a tug on Alicia’s arm. Alicia’s eyes zoned in in an instant, locking onto their target like a missile. Lexi tied up her hair and handed Alicia the packet of sweets, seemingly getting ready for a scene. Alicia took a long drag on her fag while the other blonde sucked on a strawberry lace. They stalked forward together, all pouty and catwalk curves. At that point, Julia glanced up and saw them, she looked momentarily startled, frozen to the spot, helpless.

Alicia flicked her cigarette just shy of the bench. ‘Well, look who it is.’

Julia flinched. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, straightened her shoulders, tried but failed to get herself together in time for their attack.

‘I’d like a word with you!’ Lexi drunkenly sneered, getting closer to where Julia sat, such a vulnerable, easy target.

‘Do something! Don’t just sit there, Julia,’ Amber muttered in the van.

A car behind flashed her for going so slowly. She waved him past.

‘Living out your fantasy, Julia?’ Alicia drawled, glancing towards the wedding dress shop.

Lexi did a mean little smirk, and in a tone of mock bemusement added, ‘What I can’t believe is why she would think my husband would ever want someone like her?’ Asking as if Julia wasn’t there.

The other blonde scoffed. ‘Especially not in one of those dresses!’ She waved her strawberry lace in the direction of the froufrou wedding shop.

Lexi grinned, hitting her stride, really starting to enjoy herself, she opened her mouth to say more.

‘Oh for goodness sake,’ Amber sighed, winding down the ancient window to shout, ‘Julia, get in, for goodness’ sake, just get in, now!’

And Julia, seeming to respond on instinct to the order, suddenly stood up and hurried head down as fast as she could into the van, slamming the door hard behind her. Amber roared the old VW up the road, loud and throaty, leaving a cloud of exhaust and Lexi, Alicia and the other one watching them go, stunned into bleary, drunken silence.

Chapter Six

‘Oh God!’ Julia sat in the passenger seat of the old yellow van, hands covering her face, her skin sticking to the fake leather in the heat. ‘That was awful. It was like being at school.’

Amber was driving. ‘Yes,’ she said, matter-of-fact.

Julia tipped her head back with a sigh. With the van’s sub-standard aircon, there was no escaping the heat.

Amber indicated to pull out onto the main road. ‘Do you want me to take you home?’

Julia thought of Charlie, angry in his man shed. ‘No.’

Amber nodded, waiting for a gap in the traffic, ‘So where do you want to go?’

‘I don’t know.’ Julia shook her head. ‘Did you read the WhatsApp?’

Amber glanced her way, pity in her kohl-rimmed eyes. ‘Yes.’

Julia covered her face again, the endless replaying images of everyone at the party, Charlie at the kitchen table and now Lexi stalking towards her by the playground. She felt her life crumbling.

‘You can come with me to France, if you want,’ Amber said, reaching over to get a packet of French Fancies from the seat next to Julia. All blasé as if it were that easy. ‘Traipse round an antique fair at five in the morning.’ Amber seemed to brighten as she thought it through further. ‘I could do with the company actually, I’m having a bloody nightmare with work.’

‘But you work for Emerald House,’ said Julia, unable to believe anything could be bad at Emerald House, where she’d heard everyone lounged at breakfast still in their dressing gowns and swam with famous people in the rooftop pool. Charlie would never be persuaded to eat breakfast in his dressing gown.

‘Yes,’ Amber agreed, musing over whether to eat a pink or yellow French Fancy, only half an eye on the traffic. ‘And they’ve just axed six months of my work in one fell swoop and now I have less than a week to fix it.’ She made her cake selection and turned to Julia, ‘Come with me, it’ll be fun. I’m only going overnight. The fair’s in the morning. And I really hate driving on my own. Billy usually comes with me but he’s in bloody Germany, isn’t he? You’d be doing me a favour.’ She was nodding, eyes wide. ‘You should definitely come,’ she said. The offer was so Amber, unthought-through, casual and off-the-cuff. She lived her life minute by minute as opposed to Julia who planned meticulously ahead. Amber went on, ‘It’ll get you away from that lot for a bit,’ she gesticulated behind them to where Lexi and co. had been, ‘And at the very least you can nose around a few French cake shops, you like that kind of thing, don’t you?’

Julia watched Amber, all messy hair and dark snakeskin clothes, half a yellow French Fancy in her mouth, now gesticulating at the traffic jam in front of them and beeping her horn in annoyance. There was no way Julia was going to France with her. For one, seeing how she drove, she’d be dead before she got to Calais. And secondly, what would they talk about? While they were friends enough to stroll back from Monday Pilates and share a freshly baked raspberry mille-feuille, she definitely wasn’t someone Julia would go on holiday with. She didn’t know her that well. And Julia had a suspicion, admittedly stoked by her parents, that there was something slightly suspect going on with Amber’s buying and selling because they didn’t think anyone could make a proper living recycling old junk. To avoid answering, Julia changed the subject instead. ‘How is Billy getting on?’ Post A-levels, Billy had just left to go interrailing round Europe with his girlfriend Pandora.

‘I have no idea. He sent me a message to say he’d arrived and then another of a really long German sausage,’ said Amber, finishing off her cake.

Julia looked at the stack of playground food that was making her tired, emotionally overwrought body go slightly weak with craving. Stoking the desire to go with Amber to France if this was what they were going to be snacking on.

‘So what do you think?’ Amber asked, turning round to face Julia as the traffic inched forward. ‘Do you want to come with me? You really would be doing me a favour. I get so bored driving on my own.’ Then when she saw the expression on Julia’s face she said, ‘Nah, you’re not keen? That’s OK.’

Julia pretended to contemplate it further. Then said, ‘I don’t think I can, Amber. I’ll just go to a Travelodge or something,’ Julia said.

Amber shrugged, ‘OK.’

Julia watched the shops on the high street disappear as they pulled out onto the big McDonald’s roundabout. Her office was just around the corner. She thought of the bags of clothes under her desk, the spare make-up bag she had in her drawer and the flip-flops she could put on instead of these bloody Supergas. ‘Amber,’ she asked. ‘Any chance you could just pull in over there so I could get some stuff from my office? I’ll only take a minute.’

Amber looked at her watch. Then she checked the traffic on Google Maps. ‘Yeah OK, the traffic gets better after the roundabout, I’ve got five minutes.’ She turned down the side road and parked in the loading bay outside Julia’s office.

Just as Julia was hopping out of the van both their phones beeped in unison.

Amber’s was in the cup-holder. Julia got hers out of her bag.

Cedar Road Group

Hamish Warrington: ‘I would like to make it clear that I have never taken part in any extra-marital activities with Julia Fletcher. I love my wife very much and my family is the most important thing in my life. Hamish.’

Julia’s eyes widened in horror as she read. ‘Oh my God!’

Amber scoffed. ‘He’s a prat.’

Julia felt sick.

Amber grinned at her. ‘See! Come with me. Fuck ’em.’

Julia shook her head, leaning against the open van door to calm her heart rate. ‘I couldn’t.’

‘You’ll regret it,’ Amber said.

Julia looked at the WhatsApp again. She thought of Charlie reading it. Momentarily, she was tempted to say yes.

Amber could sense her wavering.

‘I don’t know.’ Julia stood with her hand on her forehead. The temperature was soaring. Sweat was beading on her temple. ‘What about Charlie?’

Amber shrugged. ‘Maybe the break would do you good.’

‘No. No, I couldn’t go to France. I don’t have the money.’

‘It won’t cost you anything apart from whatever food you eat,’ Amber replied.

Julia paused then glanced up at her office. ‘I have to be at work on Tuesday.’

‘I’m only going for the weekend,’ Amber said.

‘No.’ She shook her head. It was a crazy idea and she had to sort things out with her husband. Then she looked back at Amber, now cracking open a Coke wedged between her thighs, eyes sparkling like nothing was as hard as Julia made it out to be. ‘Oh I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this. How would I come with you? Don’t I need a ticket?’

‘You just add your name to the booking, it’s easy.’ Amber rolled her eyes like all these technicalities were very boring. ‘I even have a spare passport.’

Julia looked up, confused. ‘Why do you have two passports?’

Amber shrugged and flicked open the glove compartment, ‘One’s a spare,’ she said, reaching in to get the extra passport out and hand it to Julia.

Julia frowned. ‘You can’t have a spare passport.’ She opened it up to the photo page and read the name on the duplicate. ‘This says it’s for Christine Miller. Who’s Christine Miller, Amber?’

‘No one,’ Amber replied, all nonchalant. ‘I think she’s made up. I don’t know. It’s just for when I go to some countries, it’s easier than going in under my own name. That’s all. From stuff a long time ago. Nothing really bad per se, but you know, stuff you do when you’re young.’

It was clear that Julia had no idea. That made Amber laugh. ‘Seriously, don’t look so worried. It’s no big deal. My friend at the embassy got me that one. The woman apparently is infamous for looking like everyone. Like the Mona Lisa.’

‘The Mona Lisa doesn’t look like everyone,’ said Julia, still concerned. ‘She looks at everyone.’

Amber waved a hand. ‘Oh well, you know what I mean,’ she said, checking the traffic again on Google Maps.

Julia didn’t know what she meant. Just touching the passport worried her – it would now have her fingerprints on it.

Amber looked across at her. ‘Julia, it’s fine. It’s nothing. It’s just a passport. I’m not a drug smuggler or anything.’

Julia couldn’t hide her uncertainty. Amber really laughed. ‘Oh my God, you think I’m a drug smuggler.’

‘I don’t!’ Julia replied, trying to laugh the accusation off, but it sounded like a lie.

‘Julia,’ Amber said, trying to be serious, ‘I am not a drug smuggler.’ Then she grinned, unable to keep a straight face. ‘Sorry, I’m not really laughing. I laugh when I’m put on the spot.’ Amber was really chuckling. ‘Now, please, put the passport away and go and get your stuff from your office. I’ll add your name to the booking, just in case. You can decide on the way. I need to get moving.’

Julia was more than happy to put the passport back into the glove compartment and get out of the van. It was all too surreal. She walked in a bit of a daze up the path to the big glass doors of her office. Darren, the weekend security guard, was sitting at the front desk laughing at something on YouTube. He waved her through without looking up from the screen.

The office was eerily empty. Julia headed straight to her desk, conscious of holding Amber up. She grabbed the Primark bag of white-hot clothes meant for return and a pack of reduced men’s vests that she’d bought for Charlie to wear in the winter because he got chilly at the office. She also stuffed in the flip-flops she wore if she ever had a shower at work after a lunchtime run and her spare make-up bag from her top drawer.

In the drawer was also her own passport, left there after a work trip to Munich last month. Her hand hovered over it as she thought about Amber and the trip to France.

There was no way she was going with her. Especially not after the fake passport revelation.

But then what would she do otherwise? Spend the night in a horrid hotel then go home and grovel to Charlie while hiding inside all weekend for fear of bumping into Lexi and Hamish? And she and Charlie would have to have a talk. Or maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they would just gloss over it. She would apologise again, tell him she’d lost her mind momentarily, make him his favourite curry for dinner and relent and let them paint the bedroom the colour Charlie preferred. And by the time it came to talking, a tentative version of normality would have resumed that neither would want to break.

Nothing would change.

Julia picked up the passport. Flicking through to her serial killer photograph. No. It was ridiculous, she wasn’t going, she couldn’t just up sticks and go to France with a possible drug smuggler. Saying the drug smuggler bit again in her head made it seem ridiculous. Even if Amber seemed like the type, Julia was pretty certain her son Billy wouldn’t let her do it, and equally, she knew Amber wouldn’t do anything that put Billy at risk. She knew from the time she’d spent teaching him to cook that Amber clearly adored him.

Outside was a loud beeping. Amber was impatient. Julia picked up her plastic bag, and put the passport back in the drawer. Then she spotted the leaving card that had been bought for Meryl to wish her well on her move to Hong Kong, signed by the whole office, that Julia had hidden in her drawer when Meryl came over for a chat by her desk. Julia was meant to have taken it to the drinks on Thursday. She picked it up, wincing at her mistake. The card had been bought by the CEO’s PA, Tasmina, who loved nothing more than a motivational quote. On the front it read, ‘We only regret the chances we didn’t take!’ And inside Tasmina had scrawled, ‘Good luck on your adventure, Meryl! Whoop whoop!’ in whiteboard marker alongside everyone else’s well-wishes. Julia re-read the front cover quote, running her finger over the embossed letters. Then she propped the card up on her keyboard so she wouldn’t forget to post it when she was back in the office on Tuesday. As she did, her eye caught a picture of her and Charlie on their wedding day, pinned up on the grey cubicle wall beside her computer. Not the best shot but the one where their smiles felt real rather than posed for the photographer. She hadn’t looked at it properly for ages, it had just moved from desk to desk with her, becoming part of the furniture, unseen. She stared at it now but still couldn’t really see it, the image of her in her strapless white dress and him in his grey suit so recognisable it was impossible to discern. The only thing she could make out was that she hadn’t smiled like that in ages.

Amber beeped again.

Julia was about to step away when she turned back and got her passport out again, shoving it in her handbag just in case. Because maybe this was exactly the excitement she was craving.

Maybe she did need a break. Maybe it would be fun. Maybe she would regret it if she didn’t go.

She left the office undecided, waving goodbye to Darren, the security guard, who looked up briefly from his phone to say, ‘Enjoy your weekend’.

Julia nodded, wondering if that was possible. ‘You too.’

She ran to the van when Amber honked her horn to hurry her up, and got in, breathless.

Amber rolled her eyes. ‘You took ages!’ she said, while doing a three-point turn at speed as Julia was still doing up her seat belt.

‘Sorry!’ Then, ‘I got my passport.’ She held it up so Amber could see.

‘So you’re coming with me?’

‘Not sure,’ said Julia, still undecided.

‘Well add your details here anyway.’ Amber handed her the phone to add an extra passenger to her Eurotunnel. ‘The traffic’s got worse on the M20, we have to get moving.’ Julia did as she was told, keying in the passport details, buoyed by the possibility of excitement but secretly wondering who she was kidding. Then she put the phone away. Almost immediately it beeped with a text.

‘Check that for me, would you?’ said Amber. She reached into the cup-holder for Amber’s phone. ‘It’s from Eurotunnel: We are experiencing a high volume of traffic. Please plan to check-in on time for your booked departure.’

Amber checked her watch. ‘It’s OK, we’ve got loads of time. I’m dropping you at a Travelodge, yes?’

The traffic had cleared. Amber drove like one of those people that zooms past on the motorway and everyone tuts at the speed.

‘Can you just double-check the time of the train? That text has made me a bit nervous.’

Julia shook her head. ‘I closed the page on your phone.’

Amber rolled her eyes. ‘OK, it’s printed out.’

Julia reached into the footwell for Amber’s battered tan bag. She couldn’t believe how much stuff was in there. It was chock-a-block with crap – there were lipsticks and empty fag packets, a bulging purse, sweet wrappers, receipts, scrunched up tissues, a book, a big bunch of keys and a million different coloured lighters. Julia’s in comparison was small and neat with a pink furry pompom attached to the handle, which Lexi Warrington had given her as a birthday present when she’d been sent two accidentally.

‘Found it?’ Amber asked, speeding up to catch a green traffic light.

‘No.’ Julia shook her head. ‘I can’t find it. I’m not sure it’s here,’ she said, rummaging through various dog-eared papers.

‘It’s definitely there,’ Amber said, swiping the bag onto her lap, half an eye on the road as she flicked through bits of paper.

‘Watch out!’ Julia heard herself squawk, as a car pulled out of a side road miles ahead of them.

Amber barely glanced up, Julia regretted sounding so panicky and uncool.

‘Here!’ Amber thrust a crumpled bit of paper into Julia’s lap. ‘Can you check the time?’

Julia cast her eye over the page. ‘Your train departs at 17.36,’ she read.

‘No it doesn’t.’ Amber shook her head, indicating round a roundabout, the sun glaring as she turned.

Julia looked at the paper again. ‘It does.’

Amber reached over and snatched it from her. Her eyes scoured for the departure time while also keeping an eye out for cars. ‘Shit!’ she said when she saw the time. ‘How did I manage to mess that up?’

Julia didn’t reply but feared her body language gave the impression that she thought it was quite obvious how Amber had messed up the booking.

‘Shit.’ Amber shook her head. ‘Shit, shit, shit. Do you know how much time we have?’ she said. ‘We have minus time.’

Julia thought about travelling with Charlie, who always built in an extra hour for possible emergencies. ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

‘We just have to go a bit faster. And hope there’s no traffic. Don’t look so worried,’ Amber laughed. ‘It’s totally doable, even if the satnav doesn’t think so. You just might have to get your Travelodge in Folkestone.’ Amber grinned. ‘It’s a challenge. Fun. In a funny kind of way.’ And she started to weave the van through the traffic like an ambulance, honking at anyone who got in her way. ‘You could get a bus through there!’ she shouted at the car in front that was edging through a gap in the traffic. Then they were out on the motorway and Amber’s driving came into its own, zigzagging between lanes to maintain her speed. Julia found herself gripping onto the seat.

Amber said, ‘Can I have another French Fancy? A pink one, I didn’t really like the yellow.’

Julia was reluctant to take her eyes off the road. ‘Isn’t it illegal to undertake in England?’ she asked, trying to sound nonchalant as she opened the packet of Mr Kipling cakes. She didn’t even know they still made French Fancies.

‘Yes.’ Amber gave her a sidelong glance. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve been driving since I was fourteen, Julia.’

Julia nodded. She could just imagine it. She handed Amber a pink cake and took a yellow one for herself. Julia had failed her driving test first time round, causing quite a stain on her family’s first-time pass rate. Her dad and brother never let her forget it. On family journeys she was never allowed to drive, as if one failure meant she’d never passed at all.

She looked out of the window, taking a bite of the little cake. They were cruising past patchwork fields and petrol stations. Amber was bombing along at a crazy speed. Julia thought how, since the house move and the spreadsheet, she and Charlie never drove above sixty-seven miles per hour. He set the cruise control after calculating the optimum speed for efficient petrol consumption to save money.

They sped past a Travelodge and then another. There would be no stopping, Julia realised, the synthetic sweetness of the French Fancy infusing her senses. And she was beginning to realise she was secretly quite pleased.

Chapter Seven

The sun was burning through the windscreen glass. They zoomed past fields of cows, the litter-strewn hard shoulder and giant adverts for a McDonald’s and BP garage up ahead. Internally Amber was still sniggering re Julia’s drug dealer fears and feeling a bit sick from too many French Fancies. She wanted a cigarette. The satnav was not hopeful about their chances of making the Eurotunnel, which would be a disaster.

Glancing across, she was quite pleased Julia was in the van with her. There was nothing worse than driving alone. And it made up for her son, Billy, not being there, sitting bare feet up on the dash, sometimes with his guitar that he strummed terribly but Amber didn’t care because he let her sing terribly.

Julia was looking at the pile of food and drink on the passenger seat. ‘Could I have some of your water, please?’ she asked, tentatively polite.

‘Of course,’ Amber replied. ‘You don’t have to ask. Have anything you like.’

Julia picked up the bottle of Evian.

In the cup-holder, Amber’s phone rang.

Traffic was pouring onto the motorway from a joining slip road making her have to slalom through the available gaps in the traffic in order to maintain her current speed. Next to her, Julia was busy unscrewing the top off the bottle of water, so Amber reached forward and pressed answer, putting it on speakerphone.

‘Hello,’ she said, squinting against the sun streaming in overhead.

‘Hi, Mum, it’s Billy,’ her son’s soft deep voice filling the van.

‘Hey, Billy, how are you? Is everything alright? How’s Germany?’ Amber asked, immediately alert as to the fact he was ringing. Billy never rang. He WhatsApped her messages or presumed she’d see his Instagram. He most likely wanted money.

‘Yeah fine,’ he said.

Amber glanced at Julia. ‘Guess who’s in—’

‘Mum,’ Billy cut her off. ‘There’s something I have to ask you,’ he said, very seriously.

Amber frowned. Ideally she’d pull over at this point and take it off speakerphone but they had just under ten minutes to get to Folkestone. ‘Can I call you back in about half an hour, Billy?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘No, Mum, I just have to ask you a question.’

‘What is it?’ Amber asked.

‘I want to know,’ he said, quiet and serious, ‘is my dad my dad?’

Amber realised suddenly that she had been en garde for this question his entire life. Except for right now. Because it took her so much by surprise she almost crashed into an overtaking Hovis van and beside her Julia had to brace herself against the glove compartment.

‘Shit,’ she said, braking hard and flashing the van to get out of the way.

‘What?’ Billy asked, concerned. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Nothing,’ Amber said, the Hovis driver swearing at her as he pulled back into his lane. ‘I’m just driving.’ She didn’t know what to say to Billy. Her usually quite crafty, good-in-a-crisis mind was blank, frozen to just the sight of the cars up ahead, the central reservation and the endless motorway. She had a million answers prepared for if this subject ever arose but she couldn’t think of one that would roll naturally off her tongue. And now she had been silent for too long.

‘Well…’ Billy asked, voice a bit tinny on speakerphone. ‘Is he?’

Amber felt her cheeks get hot. She could feel Julia listening. If her son had been there, in front of her, she’d be able to handle it. She’d have a quick-fire reaction. She could touch him at least. But he wasn’t in front of her. He was miles away in a different country. In the end she stammered out the first thing that came into her head, ‘Why do you ask that? Of course he’s your dad.’ But the strange hitch in her voice was enough of a giveaway.

It was silent on the other end of the line.

Next to her, Julia shifted in her seat.

‘I know you’re lying,’ said Billy, all sad, quiet voice.

Amber wiped the sweat off her forehead. She checked the speedometer. She checked the time. She glanced at Julia, who was head down, awkwardly toying with the pleats in her skirt. ‘I’m not lying, Billy,’ Amber said, feeling like she was sitting on an overstuffed suitcase, trying to close the clasps while everything inside made a bid for escape. This was completely the worst time for this to be happening.

‘Mum,’ Billy sighed, his disappointment in her evident, ‘it was Dad who told me he’s not my real dad.’

‘Oh fucking Ned!’

‘Mum!’ Billy shouted over the speaker.

In the passenger seat, Julia looked like she was hoping the floor might open and suck her out onto the hot tarmac.

This was all going from bad to worse, spiralling out of her control. Amber gritted her teeth. She had a sudden memory flash of the farewell lunch they’d had for Billy at Ned and bloody stupid Marcia’s. The world’s best stepmother to her son, all calm and collected with her I-work-at-Google-so-I’m-really-rational take on everything. The moment Amber’s ex-husband Ned married Marcia, Amber knew it was all going to take a turn for the worse.

For the whole time Amber had known Ned he had adored her. He was three years older than her and, growing up, had lived in Amber’s block of flats on the floor above. He’d wait for her in the car park so they could walk to school together even when she’d tell him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want to walk to school with him. He’d give her his past Maths and English papers to copy and invite her to McDonald’s for dinner but she’d always refuse. On Valentine’s day, every year without fail, he bought her a Forever Friends teddy and a padded card. Amber had thought him a nice enough person but not someone she’d ever in a million years go on a date with. He had been her friendly nuisance – someone to talk to if there was no one else about, someone whose house she could eat Marmite on toast at and watch Neighbours if her parents weren’t home. He was just average, nice but nothing special Ned from upstairs. But then suddenly he became her saviour when one day Amber appeared on his doorstep pregnant, alone and broke. By then Ned had a good job, his own flat and, still starry-eyed in love with her, he took Amber in, no questions asked, promising to raise her son as his own. For six years, Ned finally achieved the dream of catching Amber Beddington in his net. They split when Amber had become more financially solvent, Billy was happy in school, and their relationship had reached a level of platonicness that Amber felt it unfair to keep Ned tied to her, however much he was happy to be there.

And then for the following ten years, Ned had been happily single-ish in his ground-floor garden flat with a room for Billy, his neat stack of five work shirts washed and ironed by the dry cleaner up the road, his little white dog Alfonso, his PlayStation, his Mumford & Sons albums, and a constant supply of good Rioja that Amber would drink when she stayed for a drink after dropping Billy off.

Amber had Ned exactly where she wanted him. Life was good. Then suddenly, in waltzes bloody Marcia who had him dressing in Hugo Boss and eating coconut-infused lobster foam in Michelin starred restaurants. Marcia loved a man with long hair so suddenly Ned stopped getting haircuts and grew a man bun. ‘Forty-year-olds can’t have man buns,’ Amber had scoffed.

Ned had done an infuriating smile and replied, ‘Marcia says you purposely try to chip away at my self-confidence.’

Amber rolled her eyes. ‘I do not,’ she said, getting out her fags, offering one to Ned. ‘I’m doing you a favour. People will be laughing at you.’

‘See, there you go again.’ Ned waved the cigarette away and got out his vape. ‘I’ve given up. Marcia wants me around to see old age,’ he’d said all sanctimonious.

And Amber had heard Marcia getting into Billy’s head, too. Infecting him. ‘You should study business and economics, Bill, and then after that maybe take a cookery course,’ Marcia had said at Billy’s bon voyage lunch.

Marcia had also taken the opportunity to drop the news that she and Ned were expecting a baby. A baby! Ned was too old to do all that again, surely? But Amber had smiled her disbelieving congratulations all the same. Marcia had carried on with her lecture to Billy. ‘I just think these days, the best tools are those that will put you at the forefront in the larger corporate environment. You’ll always be able to use a business degree, Bill. Don’t you agree, Amber?’

‘No,’ Amber replied. ‘He’s good at cooking.’ She had wanted to add: he’s not going into the corporate environment, he wants to be a chef, you stupid woman, and don’t call him Bill. But she hadn’t, she’d sloped off for a cigarette in the garden to escape. Billy, who would usually have come out to chat with her, had got distracted by Marcia yapping on about Google’s graduate programme while Amber stood outside and watched Ned come to stand behind her, his arms round her waist, hands protective of her tiny bump.

The scene had felt too good to be true.

When she’d gone back inside, aware of the pervading smell of cigarettes by the scrunched up look on Marcia’s face, Billy was saying, ‘Wow, could I come?’

Ned had shared a quick glance with Marcia and said, ‘Of course.’

Marcia had tipped her head to the side and cooed, ‘Oh Bill, that would be so fabulous.’

‘Come where?’ Amber said.

‘Vancouver Island,’ Billy replied.

Marcia stepped forward. ‘It’s where I’m from. We’re moving back. It’s a really nice place for the baby to grow up.’

‘Nice.’ Amber nodded, secretly thinking that when she got home she’d remind Billy that everyone knew Canada was the most boring place on earth. ‘Don’t forget, you’re going to university in September, Billy,’ she reminded him.

‘Yeah, but I could go in the holidays or maybe I could defer?’

‘Whoa,’ Marcia laughed, ‘I think let us have the baby first, Bill.’

Billy nodded, immediately reining himself in.

Amber shot her a look. ‘Let the kid dream,’ she said. ‘He’s just getting excited.’

‘No it’s fine,’ said Billy, forcing a smile. ‘Maybe next year or something.’

Marcia gave a simpering smile.

Amber fumed.

After lunch Billy took Ned’s dog, Alfonso, for a walk so he could phone his girlfriend, Pandora, and talk about whatever they needed to talk about that wouldn’t be covered in the next month on the train across Europe.

‘What are you going to do about Alfonso when you go to Vancouver Island?’ Amber asked, watching the little dog circling its lead round Billy’s ankles out the window.

Marcia, who was arranging expensive-looking truffles on a plate, said, ‘There’s a couple across the way who said they’d take him, they love dogs.’

Amber almost spit out her coffee. ‘Ned, you’re giving away Alfonso! You can’t – you’ve had him for years.’

Ned was about to say something when Marcia cut in, ‘We love him, but I don’t want a dog in the house when I have the baby.’

Amber made a face. ‘What do you think’s going to happen?’ she asked, tone mocking.

Ned shot her a warning look.

Marcia ignored the question and settled herself down across the table from Amber, placing the plate of sugar-dusted truffles between them. Then she beckoned for Ned to sit next to her.

Amber hated truffles.

Once Ned was seated, Marcia gave him a nudge on the elbow. ‘OK,’ he said in a slightly harassed whisper.

Amber put her cup of coffee down. ‘What’s going on?’

Ned cleared his throat. He looked mildly terrified. ‘Marcia would like—’

Marcia nudged him again on the elbow.

Ned corrected himself. ‘We would like,’ he paused, cleared his throat again, ‘to tell Billy the truth.’

‘About what?’ said Amber, wondering if she still hated truffles as much as she thought she did because she was still really hungry, Marcia’s lunch portions were decidedly small.

‘About his parentage,’ said Marcia.

Amber’s head shot up. ‘Excuse me?’

Marcia raised her brows. ‘I think you know.’ Then in quite a slow hushed voice said, ‘About Ned not being his real father.’

Amber stared wide-eyed at Ned. ‘I can’t believe you told her.’

Marcia slipped her hand over Ned’s. ‘We don’t have any secrets.’

Ned was staring intently at the truffles.

‘Why would you tell Billy? It’s been eighteen years. He’s your son. You are his real father. I can’t believe this.’ Amber stood up, fast, spilling her coffee.

Marcia immediately mopped it up with a napkin.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Amber swiped her fringe out of her eyes, holding it back with her hand on her head. ‘Why would you do this to him? Just to stop him popping over to Canada every now and then for a holiday? He’s not the bloody dog, Ned! You can’t just give him away just because Marcia doesn’t want him upsetting the baby.’

‘OK. Time out.’ Marcia stood up doing an intensely annoying T shape with her hands. ‘Let’s all take a minute.’

‘Fuck off.’

Marcia gasped.

‘Amber!’ Ned stepped in front of Marcia like she needed a shield. It was all very un-Google.

They stood in a silent stand-off.

Marcia held up her hand and said, ‘You need to go someplace and cool down, Amber.’

‘I do not need to cool down, thank you very much. Come back to me in eighteen years when some jumped-up pain-in-the-arse tries to screw your kid over.’

‘I’m not trying to screw him over, Amber,’ said Ned, the tips of his ears going red like they did when he was stressed. ‘Marcia – I mean – we just thought that maybe the truth would be better, but I— I don’t want to upset Billy,’ he stammered.

Amber glared at him, incredulous. ‘What did you think it was going to do?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ned looked at his hands for a second, then at Marcia who was clearly unhappy at this capitulation but was saying nothing. ‘The last thing I want to do is hurt Billy,’ he said, looking at Marcia, imploring.

Marcia folded her arms over her chest. She did a little shake of her neatly bobbed hair. ‘No,’ she said, looking only at Ned, refusing eye contact with Amber. ‘No, we don’t want to hurt Billy.’

Well, thought Amber, as she hurtled along the M20, a silent Billy on the other end of the phone, they had clearly changed their minds.

Why had she not suspected? Because she had presumed she’d silenced Ned – that he would do as he was told, as he always did. And she had stupidly thought that if she could just get Billy to eighteen it would all be OK, it would never come out. How wrong she’d been.

‘Billy,’ said Amber, the satnav was showing a line of red, gridlocked traffic up ahead, ‘let’s not talk about this now. Don’t ruin your holiday.’

‘It’s already ruined,’ he said.

Amber bit her lip. ‘Don’t be daft. Listen. I can’t talk to you properly now.’ The traffic was slowing to a standstill. Amber could see her turning up ahead. She glanced at the clock, trying to work out what to do – how to catch the train and placate Billy just for long enough to formulate a plan. In the end she decided to appeal to his neat little brain’s constant concern about her ability to pay the mortgage and said, ‘Billy, I’ve got to get this train otherwise there’s a possibility I’m going to lose my job.’

‘What?’ Billy said, suddenly all worry. ‘Why?’

‘It’s OK,’ said Amber, feeling suddenly bad for worrying him, while also deciding that the only thing to do was to bomb it up the hard shoulder, bypassing three lanes of gridlock. ‘There’s just been a couple of problems with some of my Emerald House rooms. So, Billy, I need to get this train and then I’ll call you and we can talk properly. OK?’ The van hit a branch of a low hanging apple tree. ‘Shit!’ Amber gripped the steering wheel as it smashed against the windscreen.

Julia screamed, clearly thinking they’d hit something much worse.

‘Mum, what’s going on?’ said Billy, concerned.

‘Nothing, darling. Nothing.’

‘Don’t drive like a maniac,’ he warned.

‘I’m not.’

Julia made a sound of disbelief next to her. Clearly regretting coming on this trip. No amount of French Fancies would make up for the current debacle.

‘OK listen, darling,’ said Amber, ‘I’ll call you when I get off the train. Yes? Are you OK?’

‘Yes fine,’ said Billy, his mind now distracted by the practical concern of Amber not killing herself. ‘Please drive safely.’

‘I will,’ Amber replied, speeding along the slip road past lanes of hot, sweating holidaymakers inching forward at a snail’s pace, furious with Ned, worried about Billy, trying desperately to work out how best to handle the situation so it didn’t escalate, while also wondering if a VW camper van counted as freight because, if so, she could bypass the car check-in traffic and hurtle up the lorry lane.

Billy hung up.

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