Will you marry me… again?

When Annie Thomas agrees to give her ex away at his wedding to his boyfriend, she thinks she’ll be fine. With her three children at her side, she can handle anything. Then she finds out her gorgeous first ex-husband Evan Llewellyn is flying in from his glamorous life in New York to attend as well!

An unexpected pregnancy ended their relationship and as she stumbles through the ups and downs of life as a working single mum – helping everyone else find a happy ending along the way – Annie refuses to believe their old and incredibly hot spark can still exist.

It’s only when she and Evan are forced to face up to the past together that they’ll discover if they can have their own happily-ever-after too!

Also by Darcie Boleyn

Wish Upon a Christmas Cake

Something Old, Something New

Darcie Boleyn

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2016

Copyright © Darcie Boleyn 2016

Darcie Boleyn asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

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

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

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

E-book Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9781474047487

Version date: 2018-06-20

DARCIE BOLEYN

has a huge heart and is a real softy. She never fails to cry at books and movies, whether the ending is happy or not. She loves to travel and is happiest in the snow with a pair of skies strapped to her feet. Darcie is in possession of an overactive imagination that often keeps her awake at night. She always wanted to be a Jedi but she hasn’t yet found suitable transport to take her to a galaxy far, far away. She also has reservations about how she’d look in a gold bikini, as she rather enjoys red wine, cheese and loves anything with ginger or cherries in it – especially chocolate. She fell in love in New York, got married in the snow, rescues uncoordinated greyhounds and can usually be found reading or typing away on her laptop. Darcie loves to hear from readers, you can follow her on Twitter at: @DarcieBoleyn

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgement

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

Excerpt

Endpages

About the Publisher

Thanks as always to my nine. I love you all so much and I am so proud of you!

Huge thanks to my editor Charlotte Mursell, for your patience and encouragement, especially when I thought I needed to start all over again!

To my fellow Carina authors, thanks for answering my many questions during research, writing and editing, and for your support and friendship.

To the authors, readers and bloggers I interact with daily – you guys are stars!

Love,

Darcie xxx

For LK, with love.

XXX

Chapter One

Dog Poo Divorce

Coffee. Check.

Fresh air to clear head after last night’s leftover Christmas Shiraz. Check.

Dogs in the garden for morning poo. Check.

So here I am, shivering on the back doorstep early on a Sunday morning. It’s cold but dry for once. Dawn is breaking on the horizon and… wait, okay, I can’t see the horizon because of the six-foot fence and the house behind mine, but the English teacher in me is being poetic.

The sky is a beautiful shade of red and… okay, it’s not really dawn either. It’s eight-thirty but it does feel really early. On a weekday, I’m used to being up at five-thirty and I begin hurtling through the day until I flop exhausted on the sofa at nine p.m., yet on Saturday and Sunday, rising any time before ten o’clock feels early.

Perhaps it has something to do with the wine haze this morning. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have finished off the bottle, but then, I don’t drink through the week – well, not every day anyway – and is one glass after a hard day at work actually binge drinking? So I feel entitled to a glass or two at the weekend. I rarely go out anywhere so wine and chocolate tend to be my little treats. The trouble with red wine is that it just sends me off to sleep so quickly. It’s a legal and easy way to get hold of a sedative. Besides, the youngest two are at their father’s this weekend and my eldest, well, she was busy studying.

Janis turned seventeen last summer and has her A-levels coming up in May and June. She tells me she’s studying and I hope that she’s being honest. It’s so important to me that Janis succeeds, that she doesn’t follow in my errant footsteps and make the same mistakes. I know I’m lucky in that Janis is fairly sensible. She’s always had an old head on her shoulders. I wonder sometimes if it’s because I had her so young, as if nature sought to compensate for my youth and naivety by giving me a wise baby. After all, she got ten A* grades at GCSE. She’s bright and she works hard. She’ll be fine with the jump to A-level, I’m sure. She is, sadly, going through a bit of a phase regarding me and I seem to irritate her more than I used to, but I’m hoping that it’s just hormones and possibly tiredness from all the studying, and that she’ll soon adore me in the way she always used to – before she turned into a serious teenager.

My attention is dragged to my two British bulldogs Dragon and Fairy Princess. Yes, interesting names for pets dogs but Henry named one and Anabelle the other.

What on earth is that?

Dragon has just divested himself of the BIGGEST poop in the world – please excuse my vulgarity, talking about dog faeces, but when you have three children, no subject is taboo – and…

Oh no, not again! There’s something white and stringy in it.

Eek!

Worms.

Shit!

Literally.

I jump up and down on the spot, forgetting my half-full cup of coffee, which spills over my fluffy white dressing gown. I just get squeamish at the thought of parasites, especially with young children around. I’ve seen the warning posters at the doctor’s surgery about dog poo and how young children can get it into their eyes and go blind, or pick up worm eggs that they then digest and…

I approach the offending pile, which steams mockingly in the cool morning air, for a closer inspection. I don’t want to do this but as the responsible adult of the house I have to. I mean, who else would do it? Who else would mow the grass, sort the recycling and take the rubbish out? I brush away the cloud of loneliness before it can engulf me. I’ve no time for self-pity, especially not today.

I hold my breath as I lean forwards.

Yes, there is indeed a long white stringy thing wound into the mocha swirl. But part of it is sticking out of the top and waving in the breeze. And… is that writing?

I glance around the garden, looking for a tool, something to probe the smelly pile with. Dragon watches me, his big pink tongue hanging out of his wide mouth as he dons his happy face. I hope he doesn’t think that this is a game. His stubby tail wiggles with excitement. I shoot him a warning glance. He raises his eyebrows in the way that only bulldogs can, then hurries off to sniff Fairy Princess’s behind.

So…

An abandoned lollipop stick on the step of the moss-covered plastic playhouse attracts my attention. That will be my weapon of choice.

I crouch next to the brown swirl of stinky matter, well aware that I will have to clean this up before the kids come out here, and assess how best to extract the worm. Or whatever it is masquerading as a worm. But worms don’t have writing on them, do they? So it’s not worms. I sigh with relief.

But then, if it’s not worms, what has my dog eaten?

I roll up my sleeves.

Here we go.

I wiggle the stick into Dragon’s waste and lift out the white material. Yes; it’s definitely paper, and if I’m not mistaken, it’s… ‘Dragon!’

He glances up from his rather intimate grooming of Fairy Princess and eyes the lollipop stick in my right hand. He knows. He knows damn well what he’s done.

He’s been eating my post again.

****

‘That’s just disgusting!’

I glance from the dirty lollipop stick to the horrified face of seventeen-year-old Janis. There’s no look as scornful as that of a teenage girl; they just have this way of combining venom with distaste in a way that can make even a grown man tremble. I’ve seen it firsthand, believe me. Take Mr Watford-Browning who used to be employed at the school where I work. That man – once the dynamic and enthusiastic Head of Art – turned to drink because of a group of girls who terrorised him during their time at high school. It’s not funny, not at all, but I see those girls around now and they’re all grown-up with children of their own; you wouldn’t think that they were once so mean. They tormented him on a daily basis until he locked himself in his cupboard. It culminated in him being prised out of there by the caretaker and a burly PE teacher during a fire drill. They couldn’t find him at first, then one of the girls confessed and the deputy head sent the two men in to find him. It was dreadfully sad to see the quivering wreck he’d become. I heard recently that he now has his own gallery in Camden and that he’s very successful. It gives me hope, that life can continue after teaching and that people can achieve their dreams, even if the road is a rocky one at times.

‘Mother!’ Janis snarls and I stiffen. I do wish that she wouldn’t call me Mother. It’s like being called by your full name, surname and all, in gym class. You know you’re not going to get off lightly and the humiliation is made worse by the fact that your jiggly pubescent thighs are encased in totally unflattering navy gym shorts. Painful. Degrading. Best left in the past.

‘Um… morning Janis. Nice to see you up so early.’

‘What do you mean early?’

‘Well… it’s not even nine yet.’

Janis glances from me to the kitchen clock then back again.

‘That clock has stopped. Don’t you remember you were going to buy a new battery for it? It’s gone eleven.’

My heart speeds up and I feel last night’s Shiraz recycle in my veins. Oh no! Henry has a football match this morning and I promised I’d be there. I must have slept for longer than I realised. Sometimes my responsibilities overwhelm me and I live in fear of being found inadequate at the only thing I’ve ever really been good at: being a mum.

I peer at the poopy thread of letter hanging off the lollipop stick, then back at Janis.

Everything freezes for a fraction of a second. In that moment, I could change what is about to happen but I do not move. Why don’t I move? The fates are against me as time begins again, and Dragon and Fairy Princess bound over to the doorway, eager to beat each other to greet my daughter. In that stubborn bulldog way, they pay no heed to the fact that I’m in their path. Dragon knocks my legs from under me and I am hurled backwards, landing with a thump on my back.

I lie still, surprised and winded, staring into the sky, vaguely registering that slate-grey clouds are gathering like ominous puffs of smoke.

Can’t put the washing out today.

‘Mum?’ Janis appears at my side, leaning over me to look at my face. Her perfectly arched brows are knitted together above her beautiful green eyes. ‘Mum… are you okay?’

I blink at her, suddenly tearful at her change of tone. Mother has been replaced with Mum. She does still love me.

‘Mum, sit up.’

I do as she tells me, shaking my head to clear the fuzzy feeling. I can almost hear the cartoon birds twittering as they flutter around me. From the kitchen doorway, Dragon and Fairy Princess hang their heads guiltily, tongues dripping glutinous dog saliva over the wooden floor.

‘Oh Mum.’

‘What… what’s wrong, Janis?’

I peer around me, wondering if I’ve actually hurt myself but the shock has prevented me from feeling the pain.

I move cautiously, wiggling fingers and toes but nothing seems to be broken. Nothing hurts.

‘Mum you fell into the dog poo.’ Janis backs away from me, wrinkling her cute little nose and folding her arms over her chest.

The lollipop stick lies next to me, sticking up in the grass, and the paper waves free like some kind of soiled flag, held in place by one sticky end. I can just about make out two words that have survived a trip through Dragon’s digestive system.

Two words that will change my life forever.

Two words I once thought… hoped… I’d never read again.

Decree absolute.

Chapter Two

Bed Hop

My first thought on waking is that my divorce has been finalised.

It is over. Finished. My second marriage crumbled to dust.

Irreparable. Gone. Forever.

However many times you say it, in whatever way, it means the same thing.

I failed. Twice.

Of course, this wasn’t entirely my fault and the main reason we’re getting divorced now is because Dex intends to marry again, but growing up I never thought I’d be divorced once – let alone twice. In fact, I had no intention of getting married at all but life often holds a few surprises. I had such big dreams of travelling the world and being an acclaimed photographer, of attending swanky parties and winning awards for my work featured in National Geographic or the Sunday Times supplement. But none of it happened that way.

I think then of the invitation that’s sitting downstairs in my kitchen, an innocuous looking cream envelope with my name written on it in spidery calligraphy. I tucked it between a council tax bill and a reminder from the vet about the dogs’ boosters. Even though the invitation is out of sight, I know it’s there, a pregnant rectangle of card, an invitation to a wedding yes, but also to accept that yet again, my life is about to change. The wedding will be a clear sign that we’re all moving on, that we’re all being very mature and accepting about things, and that I’ve given Dex and Trevor my blessing. It will also, I suspect, bring Evan back to England and this thought makes my stomach flip.

I sigh. I should get up and begin the first Monday back at work after Christmas but I’m reluctant. It’s dark and cold. The heating should have come on but the timer must be playing up again. Unless I forgot to reset it. It means I’ll probably have to call a plumber out and it will cost the earth and I can hardly afford that right after Christmas. All these little things mount up and can become big things if I let them. But I won’t let them. I’m the responsible adult here and I have to stay strong for the kids. Have to get up, get them up, get myself ready, get them ready, go out and be presentable then earn a wage so that I can keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. I have to set my children a good example. I have to provide them with security and stability. I have to be their centre, their role model, their guide.

Gah…

Sometimes… just sometimes, it all seems too hard. Especially on a chilly January morning right after Christmas. The worst time of the year.

To be alone.

I pull the duvet over my face and breathe in the sweet, comforting – yet scientifically fabricated – essence of jasmine and honeysuckle. It helps a little bit.

My thoughts drift, as they sometimes do – in spite of my repeated vows not to indulge myself because this behaviour really is ridiculous and helps no one – to that first Christmas with Evan when life seemed so full of excitement and potential. Meeting at university in our shared major class of communication studies, we’d quickly become inseparable. Growing up, I’d sworn that I’d never fall in love, never get married or have children, vowed that I would be self-reliant and never allow a man to hurt me. However, one kiss from Evan and I was hooked. As hard as I tried to remain rational about him, it was impossible. With his bright blue-green eyes and long, curly black hair, he was like a singer from a rockband. But unlike an unreachable celebrity, he was real, right there for me to love. And he loved me too.

I shouldn’t do this; but sometimes it’s nice to think about the good times. Before I was even divorced once, before I knew how painful love can be. But I did love him and life seemed so full of hope when we first got together. We were both going to be successful at our chosen careers – Evan wanted to be a music journalist and work for Kerrang or NME, while I wanted to be the next David Bailey. We planned on travelling the world and meeting all sorts of people. In my head, it was a dream I could enjoy because it meant that I’d get to keep my independence and earn a good wage whilst being in love. We knew we’d be separated on occasions, but that was all right too, as we’d be saving for our future and building a life together. In my bohemian undergraduate haze, I never thought much beyond the initial days of our life together after graduation. I didn’t fine-tune the marriage or family details because I just didn’t want to face those scary hurdles, not even in a daydream. But life has a way of making you face your fears even when you try very hard not to.

Just before Christmas, in the final year of my studies, I applied to do a Masters of the Fine Arts in Photography following graduation. Then things took an unexpected turn. I had to admit that I was feeling unwell, but for a while I tried to blame the pressure of my studies and my part-time job. I was exhausted and felt quite faint a lot of the time, even after a good night’s sleep. Things smelt funny, my breasts grew tender and coffee made me heave. I was, of course, pregnant. We were being careful and using condoms but nothing is 100% and we got caught out. I was terrified because it seemed to mean the end of our hopes and dreams. Evan was shocked when I told him but he swore that he’d support me, stay with me and care for the baby.

So we gave it a shot. For the baby. For us. For the dreams we’d shared.

I wonder now, with hindsight, if I was destined to destroy my own relationships; if my father bowing out as he did shaped who I would become. I’ve watched enough TV to know that it probably did. I desperately didn’t want to become a product of my upbringing, a kind of clichéd stereotype, but perhaps it was inevitable.

Ironically, in spite of my beliefs that releasing Evan from domesticity would allow him to realise his dreams, he didn’t become the rock journalist he thought he’d be – following an uncertain career where the income would have been unstable, a career that wouldn’t have suited parenthood. Instead, being an ICT whizz, he made his fortune in CGI for movies and games, and now, although he has one main employer, he travels all over the world to work with different gaming organisations and on movie sets. This means that he’s often invited to attend movie premieres that feature his work and, likewise, promotional events surrounding the release of new computer games. He makes regular and impressive maintenance payments for his daughter. I sometimes wish he could give her more of his time, instead of so much money, but she seems okay with it and besides, I’m not sure how the dynamics would work if he lived nearby.

Janis was an accident but one I cannot regret, even though having her changed the course of my life forever. I don’t think that Evan regrets her either but he also lives his own very busy life. I just sometimes wish Janis had come along a bit later on, when I was more prepared. That’s why having Henry then Anabelle was like a second chance; for me and for Janis, because it gave me the opportunity to build the family unit for her that I felt she deserved.

I run my hand down to my belly and feel its slightly squidgy flesh. Anabelle is four now and I haven’t exactly done what I could have to improve my body, but who has time for all that unless they’re a celeb? I’d love to be able to fit in more time for me but I can’t see how I can do it. There’s always so much else to do.

‘Mumma?’

I jump and look at the bunched up quilt next to me. I dig through the mound to find little Anabelle smiling up at me.

‘Morning Mumma.’

Her cute blonde head tugs at my heartstrings. My baby.

My poor baby… from a broken home.

‘Hey sweetie… when did you come in?’

‘In the dark. I was scared.’

‘Oh angel, there’s nothing to be scared of.’ I tell the age-old lie. There’s everything to be scared of in this life. Everything. Getting older, getting cancer, losing the person you love, getting divorced, losing your job, having no security…

I lean forwards and kiss her forehead. She smells vanilla sweet as always. She still has that baby aroma of custard and almonds. It probably has something to do with the fact that I still use baby shampoo on her but then it’s not worth using anything else because if it gets in her eyes… well, let’s just say that I don’t want passers-by calling the police again because they thought that we were all being murdered. That was an evening I never want to repeat. And that handsome young policeman turned up and caught me in my threadbare pyjamas with greasy hair and not a scrap of make-up. Just typical.

But this morning, underneath Anabelle’s sweetness, is a metallic tang that catches in my throat and stings my eyes. It’s not unlike ammonia.

I sit up and push my hair behind my ears; I mean business.

‘Anabelle… do you have something you want to tell me?’

‘No, Mumma.’ Oh that face and that cute little voice. Those big blue eyes so innocent and adoring. I would do anything for this child.

‘Are you sure, Anabelle?’

‘Mother!’ The scream shatters the silence of the morning like a china teacup hitting a tiled kitchen floor. No, make that ten china teacups. The dogs start to bark downstairs. I hear feet pounding across the landing and Janis appears in my doorway, holding her bedsheet aloft.

I look at my daughters. Thirteen years between them. One dark, the other fair. The older one clad in her fleecy pyjamas, the younger one dressed as a fairy princess. (Anabelle often swaps her wet pyjamas for costumes – she’d dress as a fairy or a princess every day if I let her.) Both beautiful, both highly intelligent. Both manipulative; competitive; mutually adoring; keepers of my heart. Behind Janis, Henry appears in a superhero onesie with the top pulled down so that the sleeves hang down around his waist. No doubt he’ll have been too hot during the night; he’s constantly like a little furnace. He rubs his eyes. ‘What’s going on?’

I shrug, accepting that another Monday morning of mayhem has begun. No chance of another ten minutes under the duvet now. ‘It appears that Anabelle has performed a nightly bed hop… again,’ I tell my son.

Anabelle crawls onto my lap, the comfort of her petite warmth marred by the nostril-stinging pungency of urine. I resist the urge to cover my nose and instead sniff her hair.

Henry sighs like an old man then heads for the bathroom, while Janis throws her sheet onto my bedroom floor, harrumphs, and stomps away. I hold my baby to my chest and sigh. Anabelle is having some trouble with staying dry at night. I, obviously, blame myself. My youngest also likes to cuddle all of her family in turn during the small hours. Since I got Henry a cabin bed, he’s been relatively safe, but Janis and I are often targeted. Trouble is, Anabelle invariably has an accident then moves on to the next dry bed. Last night, she must have wet her own then moved into Janis’ before a repeat performance, then finally ended up in mine. I took Anabelle out of those pyjama pants you can get—kind of a nappy for bedwetters that’s meant to seem like underwear—because I thought she might be relying on them, which in turn wouldn’t help her to stay dry. Anabelle does have a plastic mattress protector on her bed, but it’s not exactly fair to ask Janis to have one too. I just keep hoping that Anabelle will grow out of this and that it’s a phase all children go through, but I’m sure that my other two didn’t take this long. Yet as I keep telling myself; they’re all different.

The joys of motherhood…

But as Anabelle wraps her arms around my neck and plants a big kiss on my chin, I just don’t care. Sheets will wash. Beds will dry. The mattresses will just be a bit smelly until I attack them with a freshening spray.

And that will have to wait until this evening, because right now, hugs with my own little princess are more important.

Chapter Three

A Lesson Learned

I shiver as I enter the chilly staffroom. It’s always dark and dank following the holidays, especially the Christmas break. The caretaker will only have turned the ancient heating back on this morning – about two hours before staff started arriving. I swear it takes a whole month to warm the school up and by the time the temperature’s just right, half-term rolls around again.

I check my pigeonhole and flick through the same old junk mail as always. Courses, form group attendance tracking sheets, meeting agendas from as far back as 2010 and a nice big sticky cobweb. I am flicking my hand back and fore, trying to dislodge the cobweb, when a warm hand lands on my shoulder.

‘Hello, sweetheart. How was your Christmas?’

I turn to face Laura, my port in the storm known as work, and throw myself into her arms. We rarely get together outside of school because neither of us has time but in work we’re as thick as thieves.

‘So good to see you! I relaxed… a bit,’ I say as I breathe in her distinctive and expensive perfume and admire her golden skin and glamorous highlighted hair. ‘But you look fabulous! How was your holiday?’

She waves a hand dramatically, ‘Oh you know darling. Hot and sultry, just how I like my men.’

We giggle like schoolgirls even though I’m almost forty and she’s in her mid-fifties. It’s also funny because Laura is happily married to Dean, and has been for the past ten years, so he’s the only man she has eyes for. They live comfortably, as she teaches and he has a successful career with a retail chain, and they’re devoted to each other.

‘Great to be back, eh?’ She gestures at the staffroom and I wrinkle my nose. It’s never great to be back, especially in January, but at least I get to catch up with her.

We make coffees and find seats then exchange the usual pleasantries with other teachers and support staff. I like seeing how much healthier teachers are following a break but I also know you can guarantee that within two weeks, maximum, the rosy cheeks will have been replaced with pale gaunt ones and the sparkly eyes will be dull and dark-shadowed. It’s one of the saddest things about this profession. These apparently normal people can be reduced to ghoul-like creatures within just fourteen days because of the workload, the pressure to get that all-important C grade out of every pupil, and the daily grind of the job. No wonder recent trade union surveys claim that many teachers are thinking of leaving the job within the next few years.

Just then, a loud throat clearing interrupts the murmur of sixty voices. All eyes turn to the towering form of our leader and we wait in silent, if slightly resentful, anticipation. I make an effort to unclench my teeth. It is too early in the term to be so tense.

‘Good morning everyone!’ she announces as she eyeballs us, checking that we are suitably attired, suitably awake and suitably humble. ‘Welcome back.’

There are a few hesitant replies, so she tries again. ‘I said… Good morning, everyone!’ She flashes large, white teeth in an attempt at a smile and I know that if I was standing, I would have to fight the urge to take a step backwards. Grudgingly, like grumpy teenagers, we reply with forced gusto. ‘I hope that you all enjoyed Christmas and that you are ready to commence the spring term refreshed and raring to go.’ She grins again at the staff, daring anyone to show an ounce of dissension. We plaster on fake smiles and I even find myself nodding. I hate this side of me. I’m not a sycophant but I just want to stay below the radar. I have no desire to invite more scrutiny into my life, thank you very much, so going with the flow is much easier than trying to fight it. I guess I’ve always tried to stay below the radar, although not always successfully. After losing my father, I became an instant target for the school bullies and it took a lot of effort to keep my head down and my mouth shut. There were a few occasions when I almost lashed out and attacked my tormentors, but the thought of what my mother was going through always helped me to keep myself in check. The bullies soon tired of trying to get a rise out of me and found another more volatile target for their cruelty. I used to wonder if my dad was actually there somewhere, looking down at me, feeling guilty about what he’d done and about the after-effects of his actions. Would he have worried about what I’d have to go through, would it have changed what he did? I shake my head to dispel the unsettling thoughts.

The head teacher seems placated and she launches into a monologue about termly plans, meetings, book scrutinies, lesson observations and pupil trails. It’s the same old story that every new term brings and I try to quell the fear that rises in my throat and threatens to choke me, or even worse, to draw attention to me by forcing me to projectile vomit across the staffroom. I can just picture the effect that would have on morning briefing; it would probably make the newsletter. English teacher Annie Thomas fired for defying the head! Because I do not doubt that this head teacher would see it as an act of defiance rather than as a bodily function that occurred as a result of work-related stress.

I have to make an effort to stay upright in my seat as I listen to it all. I am so tired of the doubt, exhausted by the scrutiny of books, of lessons, of planning, and of me. I came into this job fifteen years ago and in that time it has changed so dramatically that I barely even recognise it any more. It was meant to be a stable job that I could fit around my child, then my children, one that would provide a good income and a pension whilst being sufficiently stimulating to maintain my enthusiasm.

It has not been that for some years.

The English syllabus, my own subject, changes almost annually as different levels of the educational hierarchy decide that specifications need tweaking and pupils need more – or less – challenge, but the end result is always the same. Teachers are to blame for our illiterate young. Teachers are to blame for our ill-mannered young. And teachers are to blame for… well… just about everything that can’t be blamed on doctors, nurses and the police. Perhaps the most bewildering thought is that I’m supposed to work until I’m sixty-eight if I want to get my full pension. I mean, that’s almost another thirty years! I’m burning out now and wonder how I’ll ever make it that far.

As the head rounds up her speech, Laura gently pats my hand, dragging me back from my thoughts. ‘Ready?’

I nod reluctantly. But as I am about to rise from my chair, the head teacher holds up a hand. ‘And finally… I would like to welcome two new members of staff who are joining us today. The first is Melody Cromwell. She is our new second in Mathematics. And the second is Phillip Brown, who is here to cover Miss Hillman’s long-term sick leave.’ She grimaces at the word sick and my stomach clenches. This senior manager, just three years older than me, who spent a mere six years in the classroom before beginning her ascent to the leadership team, loathes sickness. I fear for poor Miss Hillman, I really do, should she ever return.

The new teachers, fresh meat for the predatory system, smile around at everyone with the confidence of the young and reckless. They do not yet know the truth about this world of red and green pens, this autocracy of deadlines, sleepless nights, irritable bowels and stomach ulcers. This is a world where frailty will lead to your destruction. The worst movie villain has nothing on our senior leadership team, where the trade union has been crushed and no one dares try to revive it.

But the new teachers will know the truth… very soon…

As I drain my coffee and place the mug next to the sink, the music from a well-known TV show plays through my head, and I almost laugh – almost – as I make my way to registration, imagining a giant finger jabbing at the newly qualified teachers. You’re hired… or… you’re fired…

I wonder which is worse.

****

The week passes in the usual blur of trying to pack too much in to too short a time and before I know it, Friday is upon me and I am teaching the last lesson. In spite of the exhaustion, I am always filled with jubilance during this lesson because it is the end of the week and the chance to breathe and relax, if just for a few hours, is in sight. This is week one of the timetable, so I have Year Ten, Set Three – persuasive writing. I have more chance of teaching Dragon how to bark I will survive in Spanish than I do of educating these teenagers about forms of writing, but I will try regardless.

‘So…’ I eye the young people – our future, our pride and our joy – as they sit facing me. Which is a good start. At least they’re actually sitting down and looking my way. I wonder if some of them are conserving energy before their Friday night drinking binge at the local park. I’m not being cynical, they openly brag about their plans to seek inebriation on Friday evenings—and sometimes during the week. One of the girls blows a pink bubble that pops and sticks to her lips and chin. I look away as she half-heartedly picks at the tacky mess, knowing that reprimanding her for chewing will only result in a debate I cannot win. ‘What makes a good piece of persuasive writing?’

A few hands drift into the air but many of the pupils drop their gaze to the floor, praying that I will not ask them to contribute. I pick one of the raised hands. ‘Harry?’ I try not to stare at what appears to be a smudge of tomato sauce below his left eye. How on earth did he get it up there? Or is it a scab? I can’t quite tell.

‘Repetition, Miss.’

‘Excellent!’ Always praise them: positive behaviour management. ‘And could you give me an example?’

He frowns, drawing his partially shaved black eyebrows together, and his eyes go blank. I wait. And I wait. Come on! I step from one foot to the other, twirling my board pen in my right hand like an ageing jazz band member. I want to help him out, but so many times we are told: Don’t be afraid of the silence. Give them time and they will answer. And this from people who’ve never taught, or who taught for all of three years before climbing the educational career ladder.

Nope. He’s not going to answer, is he?

Another hand slowly raises and I meet the boy’s eyes. ‘Do you have an example of repetition, Aaron?’

‘Yes, Miss.’

‘Would you like to share it?’ I encourage him to tell his peers as they stare at him, eyes wide as saucers as they roll their forbidden balls of gum around their open mouths. I try not to notice that some of the busy tongues are decorated with large silver balls. Jewellery is forbidden, so the pupils pierce tongues, necks, belly buttons and who knows what else in an attempt to craftily defy the system. But rebelling is a part of growing up, so the experts say.

Aaron blushes and I think I’ve lost. But then, he takes a deep breath and his nostrils flare. I bite my lip and watch him. The other pupils watch him.

What will he say?

What? What?

‘Bag a bargain!’ His eyes light up as he whispers to the class. My stomach lurches. Not that, please not that annoying catchphrase for a bargain retail chain! ‘Bag a bargain!’ This time a bit louder. Then the pupils around him join in. ‘Bag a bargain! Bag a bargain! Bag a bargain!’ They get to their feet and start swinging their arms out in front of them as if they want to sing to the world. Shanice, a small yet rather loud girl who wears thick black eyeliner and has a pierced tongue which has given her a speech impediment, points at me. ‘Come on, Missth. Join in!’

I stare at her for a moment then back at my PowerPoint, which is frozen on my board. I press the space-bar on my laptop as if it’s a panic button that will summon a special forces rescue team, but nothing happens. Technology has deserted me and I cannot access YouTube and the nice educational video I’d planned to share. I glance at the classroom door, torn between worrying that someone will arrive to find out what the commotion is or just opening it and fleeing. But I can’t run, however much I want to. I need this job; I have to provide for my children, I have bills to pay.

Then I think, what the hell, it’s Friday, and I walk into the middle of the room, take a deep breath and fling out my arms.

‘Bag a bargain!’ I squeak.

‘Louder Missth!’ Shanice waves at me.

‘BAG A BARGAIN!’ I belt it out this time.

The kids cheer and clap. ‘That’s it Miss!’

Then we sing in unison, pulling faces and making silly gestures to imitate the overly enthusiastic actors on the television commercial. Thankfully though, no one here is dressed in the luminous spandex featured in the advert.

As the pupils sing and laugh, then quit as suddenly as they began at the ringing of the final bell, I reassure myself. My lesson has not, as it might seem to some, been abandoned. It has evolved. For even though, to an outsider, what just happened could seem weird and a deviation from a more formal teaching method, it is one that will work for these modern-day children. Because if they learnt nothing else in my lesson today, I know that they will never forget the persuasive technique of repetition.

Even if they don’t actually know how to spell it.

Chapter Four

Wishing My Life Away

I hate that I do it but I do it anyway; I wish my life away.

The trouble with a job like teaching is that you live your life in chunks; everything is about waiting until the next holiday, working your way through the weeks until you can finally relax on a Friday night knowing that you don’t have to get up and go to school on a Monday morning. Every half-term break, I leave school with bags full of books and my laptop, intent on getting organised and finally… finally… getting on top of my marking, but it never quite goes to plan. By the time I’ve worked my way through the normal life stuff like cleaning the house, sorting the garden, taking the dogs for vet check-ups and the three children for eye tests, to the dentist and whatever social events they have planned, it’s time to go back to work and my marking remains untouched. Either in the dining room, where it sits in its extra-strong carrier bags for life, or sometimes in the boot of the car if I completely forget about it.

This means, of course, that I have to juggle it all when term begins again. But I often convince myself that this is the better option. After all, I’m more determined and productive under pressure, right?

January has given way to February and I can feel my spirits slowly lifting. The worst month of the year is over and done and I’m trying to look ahead to the spring and summer. Things seem to be running quite smoothly – Dex is happier now that his relationship with Trevor is out in the open, which in turn means that Henry and Anabelle are more relaxed. Janis is focused on her studies and Evan speaks to her at least three times a week to touch base. However, I’m well aware that something will come up. It always does. After all, life rarely continues without a bump in the road when you have three kids, two dogs and two divorces behind you.

Two divorces… That’s the deal breaker for me now isn’t it? I’m almost forty, have three kids and I failed to make two marriages work. Sometimes, I wonder what the future might hold for me but I try to push my concerns away. After Evan, I thought I’d never care for anyone again but I met Dex and we kind of fell into step together. It was no grand passion but it was company, friendship and better than being alone. Which was the problem. A marriage should be about love, lust, friendship, equality and a mutual desire to be together and to grow together. With Evan, there was passion, need, love and longing. But it was so consuming that at times, it was terrifying. I was afraid of being hurt, of ending up like my mother with a child relying on me and no husband in sight. It was different with Dex because I never loved him the way I loved Evan. I knew it from the outset, deep down, but I thought that what we had could be enough. Yet it wasn’t, for either of us.

Even so, splitting up wasn’t easy; it was heartbreaking. Dex and I both wanted our marriage to work and we were both angry that it didn’t. There was shouting, there were tears and there were horrible, tense silences when neither of us knew how to make it better. But somehow, one day, the clouds began to part and time has helped us both to heal. Life is short and I don’t want to be a bitter old lady who can’t let go of the past. I just wish I had a crystal ball.

As usual, I keep busy. I’m good at being busy.

The washer is on, I’ve vacuumed downstairs and the fridge and cupboards are well stocked as I went shopping last night after work. I’m contemplating tackling the ironing mountain when I receive a text. I check the display to see Evan’s name. Even now, after all these years, seeing his name on my mobile gives me a flutter in my stomach. Nothing romantic or silly of course. He’s a good guy but it wouldn’t have worked out all those years ago and we did the right thing splitting up. If we’d stayed together, who knows, we might have ended up hating each other; but as it was, I truly believe that we salvaged something.

I rub my chest with the heel of my hand. A lot of water has passed under the bridge since then; including another marriage, two kids and a second divorce.

I lift my mobile and read his message.

Hey Annie! Just to let you know, I’ve a few ideas about what we could do for Janis’ birthday – seeing as how it’s the BIG one. I’ll run them by you soon. Hope you’re all okay! Evan X

It makes me smile that he always writes everything in full in his texts. He refuses to use shortcuts and must spend ages texting Janis and me. I send a quick reply, asking him to send more details nearer the time, then read it through to check the tone.

I switch on the kettle and lean against the kitchen unit. The high squeaky voices of cartoon characters drift from the living room followed by chuckles from Henry and Anabelle. I don’t like to leave them in front of the TV but now and then I guess it’s okay. I mean, parents can’t just constantly interact with their kids and entertain them all the time, can they?

Janis is still sleeping. It’s only ten and she deserves her rest. She had a friend over last night to study – on a Friday – so I can hardly blame her for needing to catch up on some sleep. I hope she’s not working too hard.

There’s a gentle knock at the back door and it swings open. It’s my neighbour Cassie. There’s a low wall between our back gardens and she often hops over it to come in for a gossip. She’s dressed like she’s just starred in a fitness video from the eighties and I have to swallow the sarcastic comment about starring in an eighties aerobics movie that springs to my lips.

‘Morning Annie,’ she says as she approaches me and helps herself to an instant coffee. She treats my home like it’s her own. I don’t mind. In fact, it helps to have someone else around when I need an emergency babysitter or someone to let the dogs out during the day. She takes a gulp of coffee then grimaces. ‘Did I not buy you some of the good stuff?’

I frown then realise that she’s on about the ground coffee for the cafetiere. ‘Yes, of course. I think it’s in the fridge.’ I gesture at the silver doors of the fridge-freezer but hope that she doesn’t look inside. I’m actually not sure if it’s in there or if Henry used it to age his homework scroll for his Viking project. Luckily, Cassie doesn’t look for it. She’s got that pained expression that she wears when she wants me to ask her what’s wrong.

I oblige. ‘You okay, Cass? You look kind of worried about something.’ I take a sip of coffee to hide my quivering lips. I love this woman, I really do, but she does enjoy her moments of melodrama.

She pats her platinum blonde curls and lets out a huge sigh. ‘I am, darling, I am. It’s just that I have a training session today with Vlad and…’

‘Vlad?’ I frown at her. ‘I thought your personal trainer was called Barry?’

She waves her hand. ‘That was my old trainer. I had to give him the push, Annie, because he had the most awful back hair. Don’t you listen?’

I’m torn between replying to her comment regarding my listening skills and asking why back hair matters in a personal trainer, when I realise that she probably did tell me. I often carry on with chores as Cassie talks and I may well have tuned out during that particular conversation. ‘Oh, yeah. I remember,’ I say. Better to just agree and keep the peace as she clearly needs to vent.

‘So, as I was saying, I have my first session with Vlad but I look such a mess.’

‘Who is this Vlad?’

‘My new trainer, Annie, I told you this too. He’s a six-foot-four wall of Russian beefcake. He spent some time on the bodybuilding circuit but although he still works out, he now focuses his own fitness business.’ She winks at this and I bite my lip.

‘Well I think you look great, Cass. Your hair is beautiful as always, your tan is well topped up and you’re in… what… size six workout gear?’

She giggles. ‘Size eight, darling. A six would be too scrawny.’ She runs a hand self-consciously over her taut neck.

I nod in agreement, absently tugging my baggy grey t-shirt over my threadbare black jogging bottoms. I have a feeling they’re actually an old pair of Dex’s, which would make them a men’s thirty-two or even a thirty-four. Something like that, I guess. I doubt I’d even squeeze one of my arms into Cassie’s fitted three-quarter length running pants, let alone a leg.

‘So you honestly think I look all right?’ She pouts her perfectly made-up lips at me and I nod.

‘Beautiful.’

‘My lips aren’t getting too thin?’

‘No, of course not.’ I shake my head. Unfortunately, Cassie has a penchant for cosmetic surgery. So far, she’s had two breast enhancements, some lipo and tried Botox – although she didn’t like the frozen forehead look so gave that up after the third appointment – and I’m worried that she’ll get addicted and become like the bride of Frankenstein or one of those celebs from the seventies who just refuse to age. I mean, do they really think it’s better to turn into something that resembles a plastic doll than to get a few wrinkles and red veins here and there? Or am I just making excuses for what’s happening to my own almost forty-year-old body? ‘You do not need to have anything done to your lips.’

‘Okay.’ She grins. She has lipstick on her front teeth but I decide not to tell her. She might already have been out this morning and she’ll go mad if she thinks she’s been seen like that.

‘So tell me more about Vlad.’ The name conjures images of vampires and Gothic castles where wolves howl beneath a full moon. I refrain from asking if he’s dark and swarthy with long, sharp incisors and jagged black fingernails that can tear flesh apart like paper.

‘Oh he’s a blond god, Annie. Built like a wall of rock yet sweet and polite, and he has the bluest eyes…’ Cassie places a hand over her heart and stares into the distance.

‘But you haven’t trained with him yet?’

‘No, I met him for a consultation and he’s put together a plan for me, so today he’ll take me through the first stages then up my routine over the next few weeks.’

Sounds like my idea of hell.

‘You should consider joining us, you know, Annie.’ She gives me the once-over and I squirm even though I know she’s not being mean. Cassie is always kind about my mum bod and she helps me to pick out flattering clothes when we go shopping together – which isn’t often as I don’t particularly enjoy clothes shopping for myself. I’d much rather purchase clothes for the children – but I know that she’s right. I have been thinking about it recently, about finding some time for me and improving myself. Exercise could be the place to start and it might re-energise me.

‘I couldn’t possibly spend money on a personal trainer, Cassie. It would be wrong when the children…’ I am about to use the kids as an excuse. The old financial excuse where I can’t spend money on me when my children need so much, but Cassie is holding out a hand and shaking her head so I stop talking. One thing I’ve certainly learnt about Cassie is that she’s stubborn, and where money is concerned she is extremely generous, so I rarely speak about money in front of her because I don’t want her to think I’m after a handout. Cassie was always comfortably off but following the sudden death of her merchant banker husband eight years ago, she became a very wealthy widow. Her husband absolutely adored her and he’d insured himself up to the eyeballs just in case anything ever happened to him. He provided so well for her that she’ll never have to worry about the bills. But money isn’t everything and I know how lonely she gets at times; just like me, although she’s reluctant to commit to anyone else because she fears being hurt all over again. She told me she couldn’t bear to lose another husband, and worries that no man will ever live up to her first love.

‘Vlad has a special offer on at the moment; two for one for the first two months. So no excuses, Annie! You’re coming with me.’

I search her face, suddenly terrified. I cannot go and work out with a huge Russian right now. I’m tired from a busy term, I’m too flabby to run around a park, I don’t have the right clothes and I have no babysitter.

Yes! That’s it! I have no childcare.

‘I can’t.’ I shrug and finish my coffee. ‘Much as I’d like to, Cass. The children…’

At that moment, as if woken from her slumber by the wicked fairy, Janis appears in the kitchen. She’s wearing her purple fluffy dressing gown and white rabbit slippers. Her hair is pulled into a bun on the top of her head and she looks about ten, not the seventeen years she actually is. Cassie pounces.

‘Janis! What’re your plans for today?’

My daughter smiles and stretches before switching on the kettle. ‘Not much Aunty Cass. Thought I’d relax this morning then get some studying in after lunch.’

‘Great! Then you won’t mind if I steal your mother for an hour, will you?’

Janis eyes Cassie then me and offers a smile. ‘Of course not. You ladies go have some fun.’ She makes herself a coffee then shuffles off to the living room to sit with her siblings.

I place my mug on the worktop and let defeat consume me. My Saturday morning of productivity has been stolen away and in its place I foresee pain and humiliation. A lot of pain. In fact, what is it that wrestler says? Something about a whole world of pain.

And my torturer is standing in my kitchen clad in Lycra and grinning at me like some kind of insane fashion doll come to life.

Chapter Five

A World of Pain

I wanted to wear my baggy old joggers but Cassie wouldn’t allow it. She had a slightly larger pair of Lycra running pants and a sports bra and she made me change into them. They almost fit, although I have serious side-boob coming out of the bra’s armpits. Cassie’s only concession was letting me put my t-shirt back on over the bra, so at least half of me is covered up, although I’m really not happy with the way that these trousers cling to my bum and thighs; it’s like wearing a full-body corset and I’m almost afraid to move in case I burst a seam.

However, Cassie forces me out the door and we walk briskly to the local park where Vlad is meeting us. My stomach churns in a mess of fear and apprehension. What if Vlad isn’t happy that Cassie has brought along her neighbour? What if I’m so unfit that I have some sort of attack during the workout that renders me helpless? My children need me. How would they manage if I wasn’t there to care for them and to earn a living? What if I’m as bad at this as I was at PE during my own school days?

Then another thought overpowers the others: Why am I so worried about a stupid workout session? It might actually be fun.

‘Come on, Annie!’ Cassie scolds, taking hold of my arm and leading me through the gates into the pre-spring confines of the park. I notice that the warning sign about letting dogs off their leads hangs at an angle on the fence, so the black silhouette dog looks like it’s doing a circus trick by balancing on its nose. I snigger. No letting your dog do circus tricks in the park or you face a possible fine of up to one thousand pounds. I can’t imagine Dragon managing to get up on his big squishy nose unless he overexerted himself sniffing the ground after Fairy Princess had done a wee.

‘Is that him?’ I ask, swallowing hard against the lump that lodges in my throat when I spy a giant Adonis up ahead. He’s so gorgeous that I swear the sun is actually breaking through the clouds above his head and filtering down upon him to make him glow like some kind of spirit. But this man is no apparition; he is clearly, undeniably, evidently, one hundred percent flesh and bone. So much hard male flesh and muscle. Cassie follows my pointing finger and nods.

‘Oh yes, that is Vlad.’ She quickly pulls a compact out of her cleavage and applies some lipstick. How on earth did she fit the mirror and lipstick in there? She notices me staring in confusion and winks. ‘It’s the implants, honey. They cradle anything, even a big, hard…’ My cheeks flame as she winks again. For a moment, as we approach Vlad, I ponder the sex act she referred to and wonder if it’s possible. Apart from a few high school fumbles, there was only ever Dex and our very tame and infrequent sex life – which confused me at the time but was understandable when he finally came out – and before him, Evan. Sex with Dex was quick and quiet but sex with Evan was so…

I can’t think about it right now. I shouldn’t think about it.

Ever.

Vlad is huge and as we stand before him I have to force my mouth shut. I mean, gaping like an idiot would not go down well. At all. But, just, wow! I take him in from his cropped honey blond hair to his strong square jaw, his tree trunk thick neck to his shoulders the width of a Chevy bonnet, then down his muscular arms which bulge out from a tight black t-shirt.

I only stop staring because someone is saying my name.

I blink.

And again.

‘Annie!’ It’s Cassie.

‘Uh… yeah?’ I lick my lips and drag my attention away from Vlad to meet my friend’s curious gaze.

‘I just introduced you to Vlad. Say hello.’ She gestures at him and as I turn to look at him again and meet his twinkling eyes, my cheeks fill with heat. He holds out a hand the size of a spade and I shake it. His grip is vice-like and I realise that he could snap me like a twig. He reminds me of a Viking as he stands before me, all raw masculinity, bulging biceps and energy. It occurs to me that it’s been a long time since I’ve ogled a man and I quite like it. Standing before him I feel womanly, I feel good, I feel… alive.

‘Annie, I am pleased to meet you.’ His English is gently accented and it makes me think of Bond villains. Why does he have to be a villain though? His eyes are kind. He has a nice smile. But a villain has that naughty sex appeal I guess. ‘Cassie says you want to get fit?’ He eyes my less-than-toned frame and my blush deepens.

‘Well, I guess I could use some toning up,’ I say. Understatement of the century.

‘You have a good shape, Annie.’ His smile broadens but he’s not mocking me. The heat in my cheeks subsides a little at his warm tone. ‘Plenty of potential.’

I nod graciously. He said I had a good shape and potential. I glance at Cassie and flash her a victorious smile. See! I’m not so bad after all. She returns my smile in her usual magnanimous way, evidently just pleased to have me along for the ride. When I return my gaze to Vlad again, I catch a softening in his expression as he looks at Cassie, but it quickly disappears and I wonder if I actually saw it at all.

‘First thing we’ll do is a gentle walk to warm up.’ Vlad gestures at the path that circles the park’s green. The grass is short and neat but the trees are bare and the landscape still has that bleak winter appearance. The twigs and branches stretch towards the sky like dark gnarled fingers and they make me feel glad that winter is behind us and that spring lies ahead. As we set off, arms swinging gently with Vlad leading the way, I allow myself to imagine how I will look by the summer after six months of fitness. When the flowers bloom in the hedgerows and the birds sing in their chick-filled nests, I will be toned and tanned from my active time outdoors. My hair will be shiny, my skin flawless, my tummy flat and my breasts and bottom high and firm. I will be happy, and possibly dating, and maybe I’ll even have quit teaching! And I will, of course, be twenty-one again!

Never going to happen…

I walk faster, determined to make some sort of a difference to my physique, even if I can’t turn back the clock.

‘Not too quickly, Annie,’ Vlad says, catching my upper arm in his hand. His fingers curl around my limb as mine would around a pen. A man this big can make even the curviest woman feel small and feminine. A flash of something hot curls in my abdomen and I shiver. Was that lust? It’s been so long since I felt it that I’m actually unsure. I smile at him and slow my pace, trying to figure out what it is that I’m feeling. But before I can figure it out, he releases me then walks instead at my side. ‘Now to get you loosened up!’ He points at the patchy winter-damaged grass and Cassie and I follow him into the centre.

We spend the next half an hour copying Vlad as he stretches and flexes, contorting his huge frame into a variety of poses that make me think about the Kama Sutra. I can’t help it. But instead of picturing Vlad with me in those poses, my mind drifts to Evan and the time we bought a copy of the flexy sex guide from a flea market then rushed back to his student lodgings to try it out. We’d ended up in fits of giggles as we contorted our sweaty bodies into a variety of positions before going on to have amazingly intimate lovemaking. I try to push the thoughts away but when Vlad decides to help me get into the downward dog while standing behind me, his fingers firmly gripping my hips, I find I’m hot all over and it startles me. I jump up and take a few steps away from him then shake myself out.

‘Wow! I’m beat.’ I stretch my neck and legs, trying not to meet his eyes. Cassie seems oblivious to my suffering as she elongates her limbs then curls herself into shapes that remind me of letters of the alphabet. Is she spelling out a word? Was that an F then a U then… I shake my head. The woman is incorrigible.

‘Okay, ladies. Good session so far. Now I’d like you to both run around the park twice.’ I stare at him blankly. ‘It’s so I can make a note of how long it takes you, Annie. Then we can measure your improvement over the next few sessions.’

‘Of course!’ I reply.

‘Following your run, we’ll cool you down before we call it quits for the day.’

Roll on quits!

I almost cry because he wants me to run. I’m already tired and sweaty, although it possibly has more to do with remembered lust than with exertion. Perhaps a run will ease some of the frustration – that I didn’t realise I was feeling until I came to the stupid park with my puppy-eyed friend and her super-fit and sweet personal trainer.

There’s nothing to do other than get on with it. So I do.

Cassie and I jog gently to the path then follow it round but soon I am running solo as she pulls away and disappears into the distance. I am pounding the ground, conscious of the pain in my chest and the burning in my legs but willing myself to keep going. Focus on your breathing. Don’t think about how long it will be until you reach the end… of the first lap. Keep going. Come on, Annie, you can do this. Am I so terribly unfit that half a lap of the park can cause me so much pain? Each step is agony as my lungs threaten to burst and my calves ache, as heavy as if my trainers were made of lead.

Then Cassie laps me and, bizarrely, tears sting my eyes – but it spurs me on. I dig deep into my reserves and push onwards, even though I know I will pay for this later and even though it hurts so badly that my muscles are all on fire. I think of all I have been through in my lifetime, of all I have done and achieved. I’m a strong, independent woman; of course I can run around the park. Of course I can do this. But my body believes otherwise.

I glance across the grass to Vlad and find that he is staring at me, watching me go – like a high school coach in one of those tearjerker movies. It gives me a boost because this isn’t just about me any more and I push onwards, continuously checking if he’s still watching me. And he is! He is waving at me now, swinging both arms above his head and mouthing something. He is cheering me on. He already believes in me and my ability to do this. I can do this; I can complete the lap. I am not a thirty-something woman past her prime. I am young and strong and healthy with so much ahead of me.

Suddenly, Cassie has joined Vlad and they both wave and point. Why are they pointing? Has one of my boobs popped right out or have I split the running trousers?

And then I can wonder no more because I am flying through the air, soaring across the path, and I land with a heavy and graceless thud, face down in a pile of dirty leaves. For a moment I lie there, frozen and winded, wondering what on earth has happened.

I suck in a deep and noisy breath and gasp at the rolling pain in my gut that’s making me feel nauseous.

What happened? Did I trip over a shoelace or my own foot?

Before I can move, I am lifted to my feet by strong hands and Vlad is before me, his blue eyes full of concern as he scans my face. I feel woozy and wobbly, as if my legs could give way at any moment, but a noise breaks though the din in my ears. A loud, persistent noise that makes me want to apologise and stamp my foot all at once, as if I am twelve again. It is Cassie I can hear and I turn gingerly to the sound of her angry voice. She is shouting at a teenage boy who stands before her hanging his head. His cheeks are crimson and he seems close to tears. The mother in me experiences a wave of compassion for him. What has he done that would cause my dear friend to reprimand him so severely?

Then I see it.

Next to him, there is a bouncing black Labrador pup with shiny fur and big brown eyes. As Cassie continues her tirade, the boy kneels and puts a lead on the dog. Even when he rises again, he keeps his head bowed and stares at the ground. The blush in his cheeks deepens and I am certain that should a sinkhole appear at his side, he would jump in. The teenager has evidently committed the cardinal sin in this park; he let his dog off the lead. No circus tricks permitted here. Yet I realise that I have performed my own version of clown-like acrobatics and even landed on my nose, which actually feels rather sore. I do hope it’s not broken.

‘We were trying to get your attention,’ Vlad explains as he gently sits me on a bench and checks me over. His ministrations are tender and bring foolish tears to my eyes. He lifts the legs of my borrowed running trousers and checks my knees, tutting as he dabs at one with a tissue. ‘That boy let the dog off its lead, in spite of the park’s rules, and it ran straight at you. I thought you’d seen it but you kept running and it was too late for Cassie or me to save you.’ He reaches up and touches the bridge of my nose. ‘It’s grazed but not broken. You were lucky.’

I watch his blond head shaking, and wipe at my stinging eyes with the back of my hand. It comes away brown and smelly and it dawns on me that I am covered in mud and rotten leaves. There I was, thinking that Vlad and Cassie were encouraging me and admiring my efforts, when in fact they were trying to warn me to watch out for the excitable puppy.

‘What’s that old saying?’ I ask Vlad as I sniff, keen to lessen the drama of the situation. He looks like he feels bad and it’s not his fault. ‘No pain, no gain?’

He offers a wan smile. ‘I was very worried, Annie. I thought you would be seriously hurt.’

‘I’m okay.’ I shrug. ‘I guess I’ll have a few bruises but I’m better off than that young man over there.’ I nod in Cassie’s direction and Vlad laughs.

‘Yes, Cassie is reprimanding him severely.’ That softening occurs again as he watches her and I realise that this man is fond of my close friend. Cassie has an amazing effect on the opposite sex, kind of like a modern day Marilyn Monroe. They drool over her, they hang on her every word, they send her flowers and take her to expensive restaurants and on luxurious holidays. But they never last. I’m sure that it’s Cassie pushing them away, that she’s too fussy, always finding things wrong with them. I suspect that she’s scared of actually falling for one of them and getting hurt, of suffering the pain of loss again. ‘I bet he’ll have nightmares tonight,’ he adds.

‘Yes I bet he will,’ I reply. ‘Because right now he’s going through a world of pain.’

Vlad helps me to my feet and places a warm arm around my shoulders. I barely reach his chest as I hobble along beside him. He is big and hard and strong beside me and he smells of fresh air and some spicy undertone, like a forest in winter. He’s also very nice. He has a kindness in his demeanour, and his size and appearance belie what I sense hides underneath. I could be wrong, but Vlad seems like one of the good ones. It has been a long time since I’ve had a man’s hands on me or a man’s arm around me. But I’m convinced that this man wants to put his arms around my best friend. I just hope I’m right and that he is a good one, because if Cassie allows herself to get to know him properly, perhaps he could finally be the one for her.

****

An hour later, I am soaking in the tub surrounded by fragrant bubbles. The water is hot, but not too hot. My knees are bent because it stings too much to soak my grazes but the rest of my aching flesh is immersed up to my neck. The house is calm and quiet as the children are all occupied in the lounge. Janis is reading whilst keeping an eye on her siblings, Henry is watching some documentary about crazy cats and Anabelle is colouring. I sink lower in the tub and let the water lap at my ear lobes.

Yes, I can relax.

Until a phone starts ringing somewhere in the house. It is a muffled sound at first until I sit up and the water runs off my slick skin. I try to remain relaxed, to retain my sense of calm, but I know that my bath has come to a premature conclusion. This always happens. Whatever time of the day or night I decide to have a soak, a phone will ring, someone will knock on the door, one of the dogs will throw up on the carpet, a child will cry or someone will need a poo.

I listen carefully until I hear Janis padding up the stairs. The bathroom door swings open and her head appears.

‘Mum?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sorry to disturb you but it’s Dad. He wants to Skype us now.’

‘Now?’ I wipe my hand across my top lip, which is moist with sweat.

‘Yes.’

‘Can he wait twenty minutes?’

‘Dad, can you wait twenty minutes?’ she says into her mobile. She goes quiet and I strain to hear his reply. ‘No, sorry, Mum. He says he has a business dinner in an hour so he has to speak to us now.’

‘Oh okay.’ I quickly wash then heave myself out of the tub as Janis goes into her room to set up her laptop. I towel off the ends of my hair then pull on my fluffy white towelling robe. If we’re quick, I can get back into the bath before the water cools.

I head into Janis’ room and see that she’s already speaking to Evan. Her laptop is on her desk and she’s sitting on her chair in front of it, so I perch on the bed behind her.

‘Mum’s here now.’ Janis tells Evan. I peer around her shoulder and see my ex on the screen. I take in his handsome tanned face, his sparkling eyes like the ocean with their blue-green hue, and his dark hair still so thick and shiny. These days he wears it short, the shoulder length curls are long gone, but I can still recall how it felt to run my fingers through them. I can remember how good his full lips felt as they met mine and…

‘Hey Annie!’ His face lights up and I feel myself flush. Being around Vlad today must’ve stirred some dormant part of me.

‘Hey Evan. So what’s up?’

‘Just wondering how my two favourite girls are.’

I shake my head. He always was a charmer. ‘Yeah, yeah. What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until I’d finished my bath?’ I pat my damp hair and his smile broadens.

‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you. I just wanted to run something by you.’

‘Okay–’

‘Janis, could I speak to Mum alone for a moment?’

‘But Dad, you’ve only just called.’ She pouts and I see him falter.

‘It won’t take long angel, I promise.’

‘Okay. Speak soon.’ She blows him a kiss then leaves the room. I wait until I hear her reach the bottom of the stairs.

‘Annie?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you wearing a bathrobe?’ Two pink circles appear on his cheeks.

I roll my eyes. ‘I didn’t have time to dress.’ I peer at myself in the bottom of the screen but realise that he can only see my shoulders and head. ‘Come on Evan, what’s so important that you had to interrupt my bath?’

‘Well, like I said in my text, I’ve been thinking about Janis’ birthday and I’ve had a few ideas.’

‘Go on.’

‘Annie, what’ve you done to your nose?’

‘What?’

‘Is that a graze?’ He peers at me from the screen.

I touch the bridge of my nose carefully. ‘Yes. I… uh… tripped today in the park. Long story.’ I wave my hand dismissively, not wanting to share the finer details of my embarrassing fall with Evan, and I realise that I don’t want to tell him about Vlad either. ‘So what was your idea for Janis?’

‘Well, as it’s her eighteenth, I thought we could do something special. As a family, perhaps.’

‘With Henry and Anabelle?’ I hope that he isn’t about to propose anything that doesn’t include my youngest children. We come as a package.

‘Absolutely! I wouldn’t be so callous as to leave them out, Annie.’

‘Of course not.’ I’m so defensive where the children are concerned sometimes and I’m terrified of anything hurting them. I let out a slow breath. ‘So?’

‘How about an all-expenses-paid trip to New York?’

‘New York?’ I am filled at once with delight and confusion. I have always wanted to go to Manhattan but never had the opportunity. ‘How would we…’

He leans closer to the screen. ‘I have to go there in May for a company meeting at the Waldorf and they’re putting me up there for a week. Families are allowed.’ He grins at me and looks just as innocent and enthusiastic as he did when he was eighteen.

Families? ‘When exactly in May?’

‘The second week.’

‘Ah.’ My heart sinks. He’s still the same old Evan in so many ways, forgetting the crucial factors that rule our lives. ‘We can’t do that week.’

‘What? Why not?’ His dark brows form a frown and his sunny expression is clouded by doubt.

‘School.’

‘What?’

‘You know, the place where I work and where the children go. And Janis has college and exams.’

‘But Annie, surely you can miss a few days for the trip of a lifetime? I thought it was half-term around then anyway.’ His cheeks darken.

I shake my head. ‘We can’t all bunk off school. Some of us have commitments.’

He rubs a hand over his face and sighs. ‘I know you have commitments, Annie. Believe it or not, everyone has commitments of some sort or another. But this is a great opportunity for the children to see one of the best cities in the world. You wouldn’t have to pay anything; the company would cover all costs. It would mean so much to me to have Janis… and you guys… there. We could celebrate her special birthday in style.’

Celebrate. Typical Evan. His life seems to be all about living it up and visiting fancy places, about meeting with movie directors and game developers. He has no idea what it’s like to have a normal job with normal worries. Of course, he spends most of his life on the other side of the world, far away from his child and ex-wife, so how could he understand? ‘It sounds fabulous Evan, it really does, but it’s a no from me.’

He sits back and folds his arms across his chest and I know that I’ve hurt him with my refusal to be drawn into his enthusiasm. The bridge of my nose throbs and it makes my eyes water. As I watch him, I am reminded of how I used to feel when we argued, even over petty things like the washing up. He’s a good guy but he’s impulsive at times and I just can’t be like that. We are so very different, yet I wonder how it would feel to be the one who could act without regard for consequences or fears of the future. To be light and free to act upon a whim. Sometimes I wish I could let go, I honestly do, but the idea of losing control terrifies me.

‘So this is a no because of your job, right?’ He unfolds his arms and steeples his fingers under his chin. I wonder if he’s about to psychoanalyse me.

‘That’s right and because the children have school.’

‘It would hardly hurt the younger two to miss a week, would it?’ He’s so persistent and I realise that this is the part of him that needs to be in control emerging.

‘That’s beside the point, Evan. Holidays during term time are frowned upon now. You’d know that if you were…’ I wince and grit my teeth. That was unfair. I was about to admonish him for not being a full-time parent, for not being here. I am hurled back in time to when he left. Janis was so young then; I’d tucked her into bed first and he read her a story. He’d packed his bags earlier that day when I’d taken her to the park, then hidden them in the small cupboard in the hall. My stomach churns as I picture those bags, filled with his things as we prepared to go our separate ways. After he’d kissed Janis goodnight, I followed him into the hallway and stood watching as he put on his coat and shoes. Everything in me was screaming out, insisting that I stop him, tell him that I loved him and that we could find a way to make it work. But I bit my lip until I tasted blood, believing it was for the best.

As he picked up his bags, he looked back at me and I saw my own pain reflected in his eyes. We had come together as kids – young, impulsive and bursting with dreams – but we’d been thrown into adulthood by getting pregnant. It changed everything and we drifted apart under the pressure. Just like my father’s death changed everything. Some things come along and change your life for the better. Some things change it for the worse. My father’s death cast a shadow over my childhood. Janis’ conception was a wonderful gift, but it came with a price. Yet there have been times over the years when I wondered if we made a mistake, if Evan and I could have worked it out. But it’s too late now.

‘You were going to say if I were there, as an everyday parent, weren’t you, Annie?’ Evan’s voice pulls me back to the present. His handsome face is blank and I search it for signs of how he’s feeling.

‘No. Yes. Uh… just, I can’t just pull the kids out of school whenever I feel like it.’

‘It’s always the same with you, Annie. You can’t relax your guard for one minute, can you?’

I sit up straight as anger fills me. So we’re back to that old argument are we? ‘Now look, Evan, I do have to hold the fort here, you know. I am responsible for three young lives, so I can’t just swan off whenever I feel like it to New York… or wherever else the fuck I feel like.’ Oh dear! I didn’t mean to swear but it seems that this man can get to me like no other; even after all these years. We have contact because of Janis but we also manage to avoid spending much time together when he comes over to the UK. It was like an unspoken agreement at first, that we try not to be in the same room for too long, and it just stayed that way. So a trip to New York together would probably be disastrous, even if it was during half-term. I don’t know what Evan was thinking.

‘Annie… all I’m saying is that you need to live a little now and then. Let your hair down.’

I take a deep breath and count to ten. ‘Evan, besides the fact that I cannot take the children away from their education, I have a steady job that I cannot walk away from. If I took a week off during term time, I would pay for it with my own blood!’ The faces of the school’s management team pop into my head and I shudder. Just the thought of trying to ask for leave of absence to go to New York, and that close to the pupils’ GCSE exams, brings me out in a cold sweat.

‘Oh don’t be so dramatic. I’m sure if you explained…’

I fight the urge to growl at the screen and instead dig my nails into my palms. ‘I cannot have days off work. The children cannot have days off school. Evan, I had to literally beg the head teacher last year just to get two hours off work to go to Henry’s Christmas play. She wasn’t happy about that and I’m sure she would have said no if she’d had a good enough reason. New York was a lovely idea but unless you can arrange it during school holidays then, as I said, it’s a no from me.’ I watch him slowly deflate so add, ‘I’m sorry.’

He looks unbearably sad and I am reminded of how he looked at me all those years ago when I told him that I couldn’t just strap our child to my back and travel the world as he carved out his career. Once Janis came along, she became my top priority. Evan was working all hours and I didn’t feel like his equal any more, because he was so determined to be the provider. It scared me, the thought of completely relying on him for everything, and what we had just eroded away.

‘Sorry again, Ev. Do you want me to get Janis?’

‘Not just yet. Wait a moment,’ he says. We stare at each other; miles between us, years of separation between us, a lifetime of hurt between us.

I get up to leave.

‘Annie!’ I turn back to face him and stare deep into his eyes, eyes that once made me dream of foreign beaches, fun and freedom, of a lifetime of happiness, contentment and love.

‘Yes?’

He opens his mouth but pauses and licks his lips. His eyes tell me a thousand things that he clearly cannot say. ‘Nothing. Just, take care. I’ll try to think of something else for Janis’ birthday. I didn’t tell her about this because I wanted to run it past you first.’

‘Okay. Speak soon.’ I smile briefly then leave the room and find Janis hovering at the top of the staircase, her face a picture of hope. I wonder how much she overheard. Hopefully very little, because who’d seem like the big bad mother in all of this?

I pop downstairs to check on Henry and Anabelle but they are immersed in competitive colouring with the dogs watching their every move. I hope that they remember to tidy up properly afterwards so that Dragon doesn’t eat their pencils again. As they are occupied, I seize the opportunity to creep back up the stairs to finish my bath. There is an ache in my chest that I blame on a pulled muscle and I’m hoping that the warm water will help to ease it away.

When I am immersed in the lukewarm water – the bubbles have long since disappeared – I surrender to my confusion. I do not like to argue with Evan; I never have. Splitting up was the right thing to do all those years ago because things just weren’t right between us, and we’ve managed to be very grown-up and civil for Janis’ sake.

But with Dex’s wedding on the horizon, I’m aware that for the first time in a long time, Evan and I will be forced to spend a considerable amount of time in the same room. And right now, that idea makes me feel rather uneasy.

Chapter Six

In the Middle of the Night

I don’t know why I agreed to this, I really don’t, as my instincts are screaming out against it. Perhaps it was guilt over the New York trip, but whatever my reasons, I caved and there is no going back now. That’s the problem with denying the children an opportunity – even if it was an impractical and impossible one – I just feel guilty and as if I need to compensate in some other way.

Henry has been asking for months if he can get a bearded dragon like his friend Joshua. Apparently, Joshua’s two bearded dragons turned out to be male and female and within months of them cohabiting, the female laid eggs. The eggs hatched and the ‘baby beardies’ – as Henry calls them – need homes.

Joshua’s parents are quite laidback, so much so that their house is full of different types of animals. It kind of freaks me out whenever I go there to pick up Henry after a play date, but I think it’s just because of all the things you hear in the media about reptiles and unusual pets. I mean, they actually share their home with spiders and snakes. Joshua’s father, Ken, works in one of those out of town exotic pet shops, so he often brings work home, and his mother Julie is a social worker. I’ve known them for years because Joshua and Henry went to the same nursery.

I knock at the door of their terraced house and wait. Henry is beside me and he hops from one foot to the other. ‘At least with it being half-term, I can help him to settle in, eh Mum?’ he asks me, his eyes wide with excitement. I nod and smile but my stomach is in knots.

What if it escapes? What if it bites? What if it carries diseases and one day I don’t turn up for work and three weeks later we’re all discovered covered in boils and…

‘Hey Annie, Henry and Anabelle! Come on in.’ Julie stands aside and ushers us into her cosy three-bedroom house which is positively bursting at the seams with vivariums, children and animals. Yet it smells very pleasant, like apple pie and fresh linen. In spite of my fear of the spiders, I feel like I could sit on one of the large sofas in the lounge, tuck my feet under me and take a nap. Let someone take care of me for a change.

Henry disappears with Joshua almost immediately to see the baby beardies and I bite my tongue to avoid telling him to watch out for spiders and snakes.

‘Mumma, can I go and play in the garden?’ Anabelle asks when she spies one of those plastic sit-in cars through the French windows.

‘Of course you can,’ Julie replies and directs Anabelle through the kitchen and outside. I briefly wonder what pets they have living in the garden, then my attention is drawn to Julie’s t-shirt which appears to be moving. It’s like she has one boob that’s developed the ability to wriggle. ‘Oh!’ She pats her chest gently as she catches me staring. ‘I’m just keeping Bertie warm.’

‘Bertie?’ I ask, even though I don’t want to. I try to tear my gaze away from her chest. What kind of animal is Bertie? I’m terrified that it’s going to be a big hairy spider.

‘Yes,’ Julie tucks a hand down her neckline and extracts a ball of mink fluff, ‘he’s a baby chinchilla.’ She holds the creature out and I peer at it. It jerks in her hand and I jump back. ‘Oh, Annie. He won’t hurt. He’s just sleepy. Here, you hold him.’

I cautiously take the fluffy thing and cradle it in the crook of my arm where it settles immediately and falls back to sleep. She’s right. He is soft and warm and kind of cute.

‘So do you have everything ready for the baby dragon?’ Julie asks.

I nod. She sent me an email listing everything we’d need so I took it to the pet shop where Ken works. ‘I’ve set it all up according to the manual. The only thing is… I’m a bit worried about the feeding thing. I bought some of those dead bugs, you know, crickets in a jar.’

Julie grimaces. ‘I’ll be honest, Annie, the dragons aren’t fussy on those things. They much prefer the live ones.’ Funny, she repeated exactly what her husband told me yesterday. ‘Tell you what, keep the jar for emergencies and I’ll give you a pot of live ones. Only trouble is, they’re normal black crickets and not the silent ones.’

I smile and shrug. It makes no difference to me whether they’re noisy or not; bugs are bugs and they terrify me. I could never go on a TV show where I’d be sent to a desert island or into the jungle because the sheer amount of insects around would totally freak me out. Having bugs crawl all over me? No thank you! As for crunching on bugs when one day we run out of other food sources, as some experts are claiming we will… there’s no way I could ever put something like that in my mouth.

Julie leads me into the hallway and up the stairs. I keep a hand over the chinchilla and negotiate the steps carefully because every one seems to have a tower of paperbacks, a pile of ironing or a pair of shoes on it. With me being rather clumsy, I’d never manage to live here. I’d be sure to break a bone every day of the week.

At the top of the stairs, we turn right then head up another flight. Joshua’s room is up in the attic. It’s a fabulous conversion that Julie showed me two years ago after they had it done. With four boys, a husband and all their pets, they needed to make the most of what space they had. When we reach the top of that flight, we walk across a small landing and through an open doorway. Henry is sitting on the floor with Joshua and they are staring into a vivarium full of tiny bearded dragons.

‘Look Mummy!’ Henry squeals. ‘Joshua has so many of them. He’s really lucky!’

I smile and take a step closer. The lively black and green creatures scuttle about inside the blue-lit tank, chasing after small crickets. They hop and jump in the pursuit of food, their instincts driving them to feed, to survive, to be on top. I think briefly about school but shake the thought away.

‘Which one do you want, Henry?’ Julie asks.

Henry stares hard at the viv. ‘Um. I don’t know. I wish I could take more than one home.’ He eyes me over his shoulder, chewing his lower lip, his childish attempts at manipulation being honed even at this early stage. I will myself to be strong, to take only one lizard home with me. Not every animal needs to be paired off like in some perfect children’s movie, surely?

‘Choose, please, Henry. We can’t keep Julie and Joshua waiting. And we have to get back for Janis.’ The latter comment isn’t strictly true, although having three children does give me an excuse if one of them is dallying somewhere.

‘Okay…’ He sighs, defeated, and points to one of the babies.

As Joshua places the dragon into a plastic tub, Julie hands me a smaller tub full of crickets and explains about feeding times. ‘It’ll be like having another baby,’ I say, though at least once the lights go off, these creatures apparently sleep through the night. I eye the plastic tub in my hand and shiver as the contents shuffle around; they remind me of currants with legs.

‘You’ll love him!’ Julie replies. ‘They’re such friendly creatures and he’ll have such fun roaming your house.’

I’m not so sure that’s a good idea as I think about Dragon and Fairy Princess and how they love chasing house spiders and woodlice. There was also that time when Janis was looking after the school hamster and it escaped. We only found it when Dragon refused to leave the fireplace in the living room because he could smell it under there. At the time, Dex had been with us and he’d had to remove the front of the fire to get at the chimney space. By then, the hamster was a little worse for wear and we’d had to nip out to the pet shop and get a new one while Janis went to Cassie’s for an hour. I just didn’t have the heart to tell her it had died. She was too young and being my first, I hadn’t gone through all that before. Henry is tougher though, more of a realist. For instance, when he had goldfish, I bought him a proper tank that we put in the kitchen on the Welsh dresser and for a few months it was his pride and joy. He’d feed the fish every morning and clean them out at weekends. Then one Saturday, we came down and the biggest fish, Bob, was gone. It had just disappeared. I thought that the other fish might have eaten it, but there was no evidence left in the tank. Henry had thought about it quietly for a few days in that way he does, then one day over pizza, he’d announced his conclusion. Bob had leapt from the water and fallen to the floor, where Dragon or Fairy Princess had consumed it. And just like that, without emotion or elaboration, my son had cleared up the mystery. To this day, I still don’t know if he was right, but we don’t have a cat, and as the dogs spent the weeks following the fish’s disappearance lurking in front of the tank, watching the remaining fish intently, I had to accept that perhaps my then six-year-old son was in fact correct. Bob had leapt to his death, a bit like my post when it falls through the letterbox and into Dragon’s mouth. I hope that this bearded dragon won’t suffer a similar fate.

At the door, I give the sleeping chinchilla back to Julie and Henry holds on tightly to the plastic tub containing his dragon. He and Joshua share a smile and Joshua solemnly tells Henry to take care of the beardy and to bring him back to play any time he likes. Just imagine! A reptile play date.

As I open the door, I realise that something is missing.

Anabelle!

‘Julie, is Anabelle still in the garden?’

Julie slaps a hand to her chest. ‘Oh my lord yes! She’s so quiet, I’d completely forgotten.’

We rush through the house to the kitchen and peer through the window. And sure enough, there she is, my beautiful little girl, driving around in the red plastic car talking away to herself. Then I look more closely and there, on the dashboard, I can just make out a green shell.

Julie rushes out into the garden and I follow.

‘Oh thank you, thank you!’ she gushes as she scoops the shell up. ‘You’ve found Larry!’

‘Larry?’ I ask as I help Anabelle out of the car and let her take the tub of crickets from my hand, hoping she doesn’t loosen the lid in the car.

‘Yes, our tortoise. Joshua let him out the other day for some exercise but he forgot about him and it was dark by the time he realised. We thought he’d escaped under the fence so it’s an enormous relief to see him again. Well done, Anabelle!’

My little girl smiles and nods, as if it’s an everyday occurrence to find a missing tortoise and take it for a drive, then she takes my hand and we head home.

****

Later that night, after I’ve tucked Henry into bed and checked on Anabelle, I pop my head into Janis’ room. ‘How’s it going, sweetheart?’

She glances up from her laptop. ‘Hey Mum!’ She removes her earphones and I realise that she probably didn’t hear me.

‘Everything okay?’ I sit on the edge of her bed and look around her room. I come in here all the time to drop ironing off and to speak to Evan on the laptop but I rarely actually register how it has changed. The little-girl pink was painted purple a few years ago then covered in posters. It makes me smile as I meet the eyes of long-haired rockers and smouldering movie stars, the beautiful people who grace our screens and make us dream of another life. The room could do with a fresh lick of paint but Janis would not be happy at all if she had to remove all her images of rock gods and stars of the silver screen, as well as her inspirational quotes and study notes. It seems that every spare inch of wall has a yellow sticky note bearing some literary quote or revision tip on it.

When did she grow up? When was it that her feet grew so much that she now wears a size and a half bigger than I do? I’m often struck by how quickly time passes. I take each day as it comes and work busily through it but at moments like this, when an evening stretches out before me, these niggling thoughts creep in and I feel sad that time has passed so quickly, that my babies are growing up and I’m hardly aware of it until another stage in their lives has passed.

But I can’t stop it can I?

It would just be nice if I had someone to share it all with, someone who understood.

I think then of my mother, the woman who gave up so much for me. She worked all hours and never once complained, not even when I had to tell her that I’d gotten pregnant, that all her hard work had been in vain. She surrendered some of the best years of her life working two jobs just to make ends meet and saving every spare penny so that I could go to university. She wanted me to achieve my dream of being a globetrotting photographer, to be independent, self-sufficient and to experience a freedom she never could. How did she feel when she found out that I’d risked all that for love? She didn’t try to encourage me to get an abortion and she didn’t even shout or cry, she just nodded and asked me what my plans were. She must have been disappointed, yet she took it all in her stride. Did she ever look at me in the same way I look at my children and think how quickly I’d grown? Did she ever wonder when I changed? These are questions I’ve never asked her, things I fear questioning her about in case she tells me something that hurts, that confirms my worst suspicions – that I did hurt her when I let her down.

I briefly contemplate ringing her but she’ll probably be on her third glass by now, surrounded by her sophisticated French friends and her doting husband. She lives in France on her husband’s vineyard and I’m happy for her that she has a second chance at love and happiness. After my father died, she remained strong. She never revealed distress or weakness, although I knew that she suffered; she just did it silently. I always wanted to make her proud and I swore that a man would never leave me in the situation that my father left her in. I couldn’t bear to be abandoned like that.

‘Studying going well?’ I ask Janis and she colours.

‘Yeah I guess.’

‘What is it?’ I smile. ‘Social networking distracting you?’

Her colour deepens and I move closer. I don’t want a chasm to open up between us. I want to keep my children close and to be there for them, to be a good mum. But a good mother ensures that her children are achieving their potential and doesn’t let them underachieve.

She takes a deep breath as if she’s going to divulge some deep, dark secret. I wait, afraid to move in case I deter her. Then she exhales slowly and says, ‘I’m okay Mum… honestly.’

‘I’m here to talk, you know. Whenever. I know the younger two keep me busy but you’re my child too and I love you, Janis.’

‘I know, Mum.’ She nods her easy acceptance of my fierce maternal devotion, evidently unable to comprehend exactly how much I love her, then plugs her earphones back in. I stand there for a moment and smooth out the patchwork quilt again. I want to say more, to have a meaningful conversation with my baby girl, but I can’t seem to find the right words because I’m afraid of saying the wrong ones. So I say nothing at all.

As I pull her door behind me, then walk out onto the dark landing, I am suddenly overwhelmed by sadness. There is no manual to help with this stuff, to tell you how to negotiate your way through having three children by two different men and two divorces, while dealing with your own guilt at getting it wrong before you’d even really begun. There are manuals on parenthood, sure, but I need a precise one to help with my particular situation.

And as I descend the stairs, heading to the living room where I’ll sit with a book or flick through the television channels for an hour before heading up to bed alone, I wish again for all that I miss. For things to have been different from the start. Yet at the same time, I know that what I want is impossible and that, therefore, I would change nothing.

Getting pregnant when I did gave me Janis. Marrying Dex gave me Henry and Anabelle. Things happened as they did and I wasn’t wholly to blame. Yet I wasn’t totally blameless either.

****

I jump awake, dragged from a dream about being in the jungle. Strangely, Lady Macbeth was there, talking about when the owl shrieks and the crickets cry…

Crickets?

I hold my breath and will my heart to slow down as I listen.

But I am not mistaken; my house is filled with the song of crickets. It’s as if I am abroad and they’re chirruping away. But I am not on a Greek island in a café eating date and walnut scones filled with honey and yogurt; a pleasant image inspired by a recent novel. I am, in fact, in England, inside my own home, clad in my fleecy pyjamas and it is February. So why, then, can I hear crickets?

I sit up and rub my eyes. My neck is stiff from sleeping on the sofa and I am cold. I need to go to bed and snuggle beneath the duvet. I pick up my phone and check the time. Three-thirty a.m. I head out to the hall and nearly fall over Dragon who is sleeping across the hallway guarding the stairs like some ancient mythical creature guarding its gold. Fairy Princess is not far away, snoring her head off in a very un-princess-like way. They clearly don’t need to go out, so I step carefully over them and tiptoe up the stairs. The house is immersed in darkness and I usually like this time when I can listen to everyone I love breathing in unison under one roof. But tonight, there is another noise and it is incongruous in my Sutton semi.

The crickets! The central heating must have encouraged their journey to maturity and some of the larger ones are chirping.

Upstairs, I pop my head into each child’s room to check on them. Anabelle and Janis are sleeping in their beds, but when I enter Henry’s room, he is sleeping on his knees in front of the vivarium. How can children do that? Fall asleep in some strange sort of yoga position. The lights inside it are off but I can make out the small dark shape of the baby dragon underneath the fibre-glass cave. I gently scoop Henry up and shuffle him into his cabin bed – not easy when he is getting so big and I have to lift him up four steps too – then pull the covers over him. As I turn away and head for the door, something crunches under my foot.

And again as I take another step.

There is a slimy wetness beneath the crunch.

I pause as my sleep fuddled mind tries to conjure an explanation.

Lego.

Henry probably sneaked a grape up here too and that somehow got mixed up with the Lego and that’s what’s now sticking to the ball of my foot and oozing between my toes. It must be Lego that Henry has left out again, even though we’ve had the discussion about putting it away once he’s finished playing with it. The dogs don’t brave the stairs very often, but if they do and they decide to consume some of his plastic building blocks or his intergalactic pirate ship, then there will be an expensive trip to the vet and Henry will lose what is now being hailed as a better investment than stocks and shares. I will certainly have to speak to him about tidying up properly tomorrow.

But as I take another step, the chirruping gets louder and something scuttles across my naked foot and up my shin. I shake my leg vigorously and hear a plop as something hits the wall. It’s like a horror movie where everyone except for the actress can see that at any moment she’s going to have her leg ripped off by a giant killer scorpion. My heart thuds as I realise with mounting dread what must have happened. This is no giant scorpion and this is not a movie. I told Henry ten times before he went to bed to ensure that he put the lid on the cricket tub properly but now…

I thrust my fist into my mouth and bite down to stifle my scream. I want to get my feet off the floor so I take it in turns to lift one then the other. Which is your favourite foot? Which one would you keep if you had to choose? It’s like some bizarre Sophie’s choice.

I hate bugs!

The doorway is further away than the bed so there is only one option open to me. I hop back to the steps and climb them, then perch on the edge as I use a tissue from my pyjama pocket to clean the squashed cricket corpses from between my toes. The thought makes me heave but what can I do? I am trapped, a prisoner in my own home, surrounded by a Gryllidae enemy. I long for some antibacterial handwash but I would have to step back into the abyss to get it, so I have to make do with an already soiled tissue.

And all this because I could not deny my son another pet. I am a stereotype of the overindulgent single mother. Will my son grow up with a sense of entitlement because I struggle to say no to him when I should stand firm? No. Henry is a good boy, not some little prince who believes everyone exists to please him. He’s kind, intelligent and sincere, even a bit too serious at times for a boy of his age. Giving him a pet all of his own is a good thing. It provides a sense of responsibility and helps him to understand how important it is to care for an animal properly. I have done the right thing; this will be good for him. Just not for me.

As these thoughts race through my mind, I sit still for a while, gazing into the darkness. My eyes burn with tiredness but I cannot look away in case I come under attack from an advancing cricket army.

I am staring at the floor as the grey dawn light seeps into the room and brings with it another day. I am cold and tired and my head is fuzzy. But only when I am certain that no crickets have found their way up the steps, do I finally surrender and crawl beneath the covers at the bottom of Henry’s bed and fall into a restless slumber.

Chapter Seven

The Sky’s the Limit

I open my eyes to find my youngest child staring at me. It’s quite disconcerting waking up to a curious child watching you intently.

‘What are you doing in Henry’s bed, Mumma?’ Anabelle’s big blue eyes roam my face.

I sit up and run my hands through my hair. I am disorientated and groggy.

‘Oh, I uh, came in here last night and I was very tired and I fell asleep.’ I peer cautiously over the edge of the bed to see if the cricket army followed me. It’s almost as if I expect them to be waiting there for me like evil sentries, ready to throw themselves kamikaze style beneath my feet.

‘All the crickets escaped, Mumma. I don’t like them. They’re in my room and in the bathroom. One tried to crawl on my foot when I went to wash my hands.’

I sigh and pull Anabelle into my lap. A flicker of pride runs through me as I inhale her unmarred sweetness and realise that she must have had a dry night. ‘I know sweetheart, Mumma doesn’t like them either. I guess today is going to involve a big clean-up.’

‘Can we go to the park too?’ she asks as she snuggles against my chest.

‘If it stays fine.’

The quilt moves and Henry sits up at the other end of the bed. His hair is messy and he has a white dribble streak up his left cheek. The lucky boy slept through it all, oblivious to the great cricket escape. ‘Mum?’ He frowns at me. ‘Why are you and Anabelle in my bed?’

‘Somebody forgot to put the lid on the cricket tub.’ I stare at him but his face is a picture of innocence. ‘They all escaped.’

‘Oh no!’ he gasps and crawls over to me. I expect him to express concerns about how on earth we are going to manage to find all of the crickets but instead he says, ‘Whatever will I feed the dragon today?’

I shake my head. ‘I guess a trip to the pet shop is in order too.’ He nods and smiles sleepily at me. ‘But first you’d better get up and see how many crickets you can catch because I don’t fancy finding the crunchy little bodies beneath my feet for the next year.’

Anabelle shudders. ‘A year, Mumma? But does that mean they will be in my room for Christmas?’ She pops her thumb into her mouth, a habit that I usually try to discourage but at this moment in time I don’t, because I know how she feels. I too need some comforting.

‘Tell you what. Let’s go down and make pancakes for breakfast shall we?’

‘Yes!’ Henry bounces on the bed and Anabelle joins in.

‘Watch your heads!’ I shout over their laughter, because a cabin bed is not the best trampoline in the world and I do not fancy having to call out a builder to have the ceiling repaired.

Downstairs, I pull flour and sugar out of the cupboard and get the milk out of the fridge. The kettle is bubbling away and Henry and Anabelle are sitting at the kitchen table chatting about the best methods to trap the errant bugs. Apparently, a snare would be a good plan but they’re not sure that they have enough wire outside in the playhouse. I make a mental note to find said wire and dispose of it. Where they’ve found wire I do not know, and how they would create a snare small enough to trap a cricket is beyond me, but their earnestness makes me smile.

The early morning sunlight streams through the window and across the kitchen floor, warming the tiles and creating a golden glow that suggests the day ahead will be fine. It lifts me, the promise of good weather, and I think that Anabelle may well be lucky and get her trip to the park. I try to avoid looking at the calendar that hangs from the wall by the door, because I know that it will dampen my mood. Four days of half-term left before we all return to school, and I know that those four days will fly. So I vow to make them count.

I measure out the ingredients then begin to beat them together into a thick batter. ‘Do you want blueberries with these?’ I ask my youngest children.

‘Yes please!’ they reply in unison.

‘Can you get them out of the fridge then, Henry?’

He does as I ask then heads for the sink. I have taught him well; he knows that everything needs to be washed before we use it. He’s funny like that anyway. Last Christmas when he wrote his wish list, at the top was SAFE. I immediately launched into worried maternal mode, concerned that he wanted to feel safe. Was he being bullied? Was he suffering insecurity because I had split from his father, or was he just trying to tell me that he needed me to hug him more? However, he’d calmly explained – in that way that eight-year-old boys can do when they think they’re talking to an irrational adult – that he actually wanted an electronic safe to keep his valuables in. So Santa brought him one. And now he locks everything in it. His money, his favourite toys – well, the ones that fit anyway. I have no idea what the combination is, so I told him to make sure that he remembers it, but he said that he will never forget as it’s linked to his favourite movies.

The conversation about keeping his money safe progressed to one about how important it was to wash his hands after he’d touched the money. Anabelle was present too and she chipped in, stating that it was especially important now since the outbreak of cola. If you didn’t wash your hands, she explained, it could kill you. I’d wondered why she’d turned her nose up at a glass of pop in a cafe a few days earlier, and suddenly it all became clear. She meant Ebola. Henry had finished the rather odd conversation with the comment that at least if his money was locked in the safe, then the Ebola couldn’t get us, so he’d lock all my money in there as well if I wanted him to. He was so determined in his desire to protect us that I gave him all the change out of my purse and now, whenever I need something from the corner shop, he offers to get me some money from The Bank of Henry.

I pour some batter into my large non-stick frying pan and drop blueberries into it. As the pancake slowly cooks through, I flip it to brown the other side. The blueberries pop in the heat and I inhale their sweet summery fragrance. Summer may be a while off, but at least we can eat as if it’s here.

When I’ve used up all the mixture, I put a few pancakes into the oven to keep warm for Janis, then take the rest over to the table. Just as I’m about to eat, the back door opens and Cassie waltzes in.

‘Good morning!’ She helps herself to a plate from the cupboard then takes a seat at the table. We mumble hello through mouthfuls of breakfast. ‘And how are we all today?’ Cassie asks, looking from Henry to Anabelle to me.

‘Good, thank you,’ Henry replies.

‘Henry left the lid off the crickets, Aunty Cassie, and they all escaped.’

I see Cassie start then she turns to me for an explanation.

‘Henry’s bearded dragon.’ I gesture at the hallway with my fork. ‘Up in his room.’

Cassie presses a hand over her chest, which is bursting out of a black vest top with a pretty sunflower print. She’s coupled it with black capri pants and yellow wedge heels. She looks gorgeous and I realise that I’m still in my pyjamas and that I must look a sight, as I haven’t even brushed my hair.

‘It eats live insects?’ she asks as she dabs at her pink lips with a tissue.

‘Yes, Aunty Cassie!’ Henry says, rolling his eyes. ‘It doesn’t like dead ones.’

‘Because dead bugs would be so much worse?’ Cassie grimaces and I suppress a smile, thinking about how she’d react if she went up to Henry’s room and saw the cricket corpses ground into the carpet. I’ll have to scrub that later and I shiver at the thought of the crushed little bodies embedded in the thick pile.

I clear the table and Henry and Anabelle hurry upstairs to wash their hands and check on the dragon. Henry hasn’t decided on a name yet, so I’ve told him to try to think of one. It should keep him busy for a while and I have a feeling that Cassie wants to speak to me.

‘Coffee?’ I offer as I fill the kettle.

‘Please, Annie, but use the good stuff won’t you?’

I fetch the packet from the fridge – luckily there’s still some in there, although I did find out that Henry used it to age his homework because he left a pencil in the packet – and fill the cafetiere. The ground coffee smells divine and I breathe deeply of its rich aroma. I’m more of a tea drinker, Earl Grey in particular, but I do enjoy coffee and this one that Cassie bought me from Harrods is certainly delicious.

I take two large mugs to the table, then the coffee pot and a plastic carton of semi-skimmed milk. When I sit down, I can see that Cassie is bursting with news.

‘So?’ I say as I pour the coffee.

‘Whatever do you mean?’ she asks, fluttering her fake eyelashes.

‘Something’s up and I know you want to tell me.’

‘I do.’ She takes a sip of coffee. ‘Mmmm. That’s so good.’

‘Oh come on, Cassie, out with it!’

‘Tonight… I have a date!’ She claps her hands.

‘That’s great news. Who’s the lucky guy?’

‘He’s a friend of Vlad.’ She stares at me waiting for my reaction.

‘Okay.’ I sip my coffee. I’m not sure where she’s going with this and to be honest, I’m surprised it isn’t Vlad himself. I mean, I saw how he was looking at her.

‘It’s a blind date.’

‘What? So you don’t even know what he looks like?’

She shakes her head.

‘Then how are you going on a date? Isn’t it a bit risky?’

‘Well, see, I was speaking to Vlad after our training session the other day and he said that he had this friend who is quite shy. He’s a bodybuilder apparently and he has his own gym.’

‘Doesn’t he get to meet many women at his gym then?’ I ask, images of tight bodied gym bunnies clad in colourful Lycra filling my head. I don’t know why but they always have eighties hairstyles. It’s as if my ideas about gyms always have to throw back to the days of my childhood when movies were filled with aerobics and backcombed perms. ‘You’d think that he’d have his pick of women.’

Cassie shakes her head. ‘I just told you. Vlad said he’s shy.’

‘Is he Russian too?’

‘No. He’s Irish.’

‘Irish?’

She nods.

‘A Russian and an Irishman…’

She holds up her hand. ‘Just don’t do that, Annie. This is serious.’

‘It is.’

‘I’m actually quite nervous.’

‘I would be too if I was going on a date with a mysterious Irish bodybuilder who I’d never even met or spoken to.’

‘The thing is…’ She toys with her bottom lip and I get a sinking feeling in my gut. ‘Vlad kind of wanted to know if you’d like to come too.’

‘Me? What… why… he does?’ I am suddenly conscious that I am pulling a face so I try to relax my mouth and cheeks, to bring my eyebrows down to their normal position. Why would that hunk of muscle want me to go out on a date?

‘I think he likes you, Annie.’

I look down at my hands and my empty ring finger makes me start as it always does, as if I’ve misplaced my ring without realising.

‘Annie? Will you come?’

I feel like I’m fourteen and my friend is telling me that the gorgeous boy in the year above wants to take me to the school disco. I’m a woman fast approaching forty, I’m a mother to three children and I’m twice divorced, yet it’s as if all that suddenly drops away and I’m terrified. My stomach clenches and my mouth goes dry. What if he wants to kiss me or hold me or something else? I’m out of shape, my hair needs dyeing and I haven’t shaved my legs for weeks. I can’t go on a date! Besides, Vlad likes Cassie. I wonder if there’s been a mistake and if she’s misunderstood him. Did Vlad want to date Cassie but bring a friend along for moral support? This could end messily if I’m right.

‘I can’t, Cassie.’

‘Please?’ She steeples her fingers together and moves closer to me. ‘Don’t make me beg. I need you to help me with this one. I can’t go alone because if Connor really is that shy then we might not have a proper conversation. At least if you’re there then I can relax a bit. Pretty please? I need my wingman.’

‘Or wing woman,’ I say with a shrug. Perhaps if I go I can steer Cassie to see that Vlad is interested in her. If I don’t go, then she can hardly go out with the two of them and she might never find out that Vlad likes her. Henry and Anabelle are meant to be going to Dex’s later so I could allow myself a night out. Janis will have plans or she’ll be studying and I should support my friend.

Cassie slowly slides off the chair and onto her knees then she crawls towards me like a dramatic thirties movie star. It makes me grin. She’s such a good friend and I think the world of her. I owe it to her to help her out, don’t I? Suddenly, I hear a scratching of claws on wood and before Cassie can get to her feet, Dragon has skidded across the kitchen floor and mounted her from behind. She struggles to remove his front paws from around her waist but he’s so strong and when he decides to hump someone, it’s difficult to get him off. ‘Please, Annie?’ Cassie’s eyes are wide as she begs for my support. It could be that she wants my help removing Dragon but it could also be that she’s just as set on her course as my bulldog is on his.

‘Oh I don’t know, Cassie,’ I say as I take hold of Dragon from behind and try to extricate him from my neighbour. His movements are so powerful that the three of us are soon bouncing back and fore and I start to laugh at how ridiculous the situation is. We must look like we’re taking part in some weird human-dog conga.

‘Please?’ Cassie gasps as Dragon loses traction and his back feet slip on the kitchen floor. He grunts and scrabbles to regain the advantage. ‘For me?’

I manage to free my friend from my dog then I open the back door and send Dragon out into the sunshine with a tap on his bottom. When I look behind me, Cassie is prostrate on the floor, her face red and sweaty and her lipstick smudged. She grins at me as I take her hand and haul her up.

‘Okay then!’ I force out through my laughter.

‘You’ll do it?’ She gets to her feet and hugs me. ‘I am so grateful, darling! You won’t regret this, I promise.’

‘I hope not,’ I say as I tear off a piece of kitchen roll and clean away the lipstick from Cassie’s chin.

‘I’m off to choose an outfit but I’ll be back later to check that we don’t clash!’ She pecks my cheek then dashes off through the garden and I am left standing at the sink. I plunge my hands in the bowl of soapy warm water and start washing the breakfast things.

I cannot believe what I have just agreed to do.

I am going on a double date.

For the first time in years, I need to get ready to have dinner with a man I’m not married to. The thought is at once thrilling yet disconcerting. Vlad evidently likes Cassie but she’s unaware of it and has hopes for a romance with his gym buddy. I could help her to get to know both men and decide which one she should date properly. Of course, I could be wrong about Vlad. I mean, I hardly know the man and he might not be her Mr Right, but if we don’t go, she’ll never find out.

Evan’s face flashes through my mind as I rinse a glass and for some strange reason I feel a prickle of guilt, as if I’m betraying him by even thinking of going on a date. But it’s silly, we’re not together and haven’t been for ages. I mean, I’ve been married to another man since then.

As I dry my hands, I realise that I’m not actually sure that I could flirt with another man, let alone kiss one or do more. It’s like riding a bicycle, so I’ve heard, but I never was that good at cycling; I don’t have the best sense of balance.

Something brushes my naked foot and as I look down, I see a small black cricket hopping across the floor. I grab a glass and place it over the creature, careful not to catch its legs beneath the rim. As I watch it wriggling around in the confined space, it reminds me of my own situation. I do the same things week in, week out, chasing around in circles, not getting anywhere except for older. I have beautiful children, I have a lovely home, I have relatively good relationships with my two ex-husbands and I have a few close friends. Yet life is passing me by and time waits for no woman.

Perhaps it is time to do something for myself, to have a little fun, to play matchmaker for my dearest friend who seems unable to find a decent man herself even when there’s one right under her nose.

****

So I’m ready. At least, I think I’m ready. I’m wearing black; black trousers and a black camisole top under a black chiffon blouse, which falls to mid-thigh. I feel sick and shaky as I step into my black heels and my legs tremble. This is ridiculous. I’m too old for this. I dress smartly for work but I don’t try to look attractive. I can’t recall the last time I actually consciously thought about trying to make myself look alluring. Smart and presentable, yes, but I’m not out to bag a man so I tidy myself up then focus on my children. This makes me feel strange, reminds me of dressing up to go on dates with Evan all those years ago. I used to make such an effort for him. Of course, that changed once I’d had Janis and had no time to spend on my appearance any more. Not that he was around much to notice anyway in the later days of our marriage.

I stand before the mirror and check out the end result. Not bad. Could be worse. My hair is clean and shiny and a rich chocolate truffle brown – I have the semi-permanent hair dye that was in the bathroom cabinet to thank for the colour. It could do with a cut but to disguise the fact that my layers are in dire need of a trim, I created some soft waves with my straighteners. It now looks gently tousled, though I have no doubt that the waves will drop and it will hang lankly by the end of the night. My brown eyes look darker because I have smudged them with black kohl eyeliner and applied some of the mascara that was lurking at the bottom of my make-up bag. I did hesitate before using it; after all, I’ve read that you can develop eye infections from cosmetics that have been open for a while, but I decided to risk it.

It’s been a while since I donned heels, so I hobble across the landing and tap at Janis’ door. We’ve had a peaceful afternoon as Dex picked Henry and Anabelle up at four. They were going to the cinema to see the new fairy tale movie, so I was glad to hand them over as they were both getting more and more wound up by the minute.

‘Come in!’

I enter and jump as she gasps. ‘Wow, Mum! I’m not sure I should let you out looking like that. You’re… so…’

Panic fills my chest. Oh no, I’ve overdone it. ‘Should I wash my face?’ I ask my seventeen-year-old daughter. ‘Is it too much?’

Shouldn’t this be the other way around?

‘No! Definitely not! I was about to say that you look amazing, Mum.’

‘Pah!’ I wave my hand and smile then lean over and give her a hug. ‘Thanks love. I know I don’t but at least I’m clean and well cared for.’

She giggles and hugs me back. ‘Mum, you don’t realise how attractive you are.’

I shake my head. ‘Will you be okay tonight? I’ve left money in the kitchen in case you want a pizza and there’s plenty of food in the fridge.’

‘I know, Mum and w… I’ll be fine, I promise.’

I smile at her, my chest filling with pride. She’s beautiful, intelligent and so grown-up. Before I know it, she’ll be moving out, getting married and having kids of her own. The thought brings an ache to my chest and I blink hard.

‘Hey Mum, now stop it or you’ll have to redo your make-up. Hang on!’ She jumps up from her bed where she’s been working on her laptop and goes to her dressing table. She returns with a pretty dragonfly shaped diamante slide. She slips it into the side of my hair, fluffs my fringe, then stands back and smiles. ‘There. Perfect.’

I check out my reflection and have to agree. It does add some sparkle.

‘Mum, I need the loo but I’m waiting for a call. Could you hang on for five minutes?’

I nod and Janis hurries off to the bathroom. The moment she’s gone, her laptop suddenly makes a noise and I approach it cautiously to see that her father is calling on Skype. I press the accept button and Evan pops up in front of me.

‘Annie?’ He peers at me. I frown in return.

‘Of course it’s me, Evan.’ I see myself in the bottom corner of the screen and cringe.

‘Hey Annie, how’re you doing?’ His white linen shirt sets off his golden skin. He has that endearing air of innocence mixed with a wicked twinkle in his eye. His smile lights up his face and something funny happens. My stomach gives a little flip, just like it used to all those years ago when I was an undergraduate. I attribute it to my nervous state. ‘You look amazing. Are you going out?’ A frown flickers across his clear brow but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

‘Yes, with Cassie. She persuaded me to have a night on the tiles.’ For some strange reason I don’t want to tell him that it’s a double date.

‘She’s got a date!’ Janis announces as she plops onto the bed next to me.

‘Janis!’ I shake my head.

‘What?’ She nudges me. ‘She has, Dad. That’s why she’s all dressed up.’

I shrug, irritated by my daughter’s comments. I’m almost hurt by her flippancy about the subject and I instantly long for the comfort of my pyjamas and a night in front of the TV. I feel embarrassed, as if I’m doing something wrong.

‘Well, have a great time, Annie.’

‘Thanks. You too.’

‘I’m not going anywhere this evening,’ he says, staring right at me, his blue-green eyes like full pools after a rainstorm. I spent hours gazing into those eyes. Even now, it’s as though he can see right down to the bottom of my heart. I shake myself. Silly musings about my ex are not conducive to a successful double date with another man.

‘I bet you are. Probably got a date or two lined up.’ I try to sound light-hearted, not wanting anyone to misread my feelings here.

‘Yeah, Dad!’ Janis snorts. ‘You international jetsetter. Probably got an air stewardess or hotel manager lined up in every city.’ My baby girl! Laughing about her father’s sex life as if he’s a school chum.

‘Janis! Don’t speak to your father like that.’

She eyes me sideways and I shake my head. It’s not on to be disrespectful, not even if it’s true. Joking is one thing but it can go too far.

‘Sorry, Dad,’ she says then smiles goofily at me.

‘I really don’t have women lined up in every city you know, girls.’ Evan’s expression is deadly serious.

‘Dad, we’ve seen the photographs in the tabloids. All those beautiful models and celebrities at those swanky events you attend. The one you were at last month for that blockbuster you helped with the CGI for looked incredible! I’d love to come with you some time.’

Janis’ comment about the beautiful women stings, even though she’s teasing him. I have seen those pictures, the ones of big events that appear on the tabloid websites and are attended by the rich and famous. Even though we started off together as children of working class parents, who went to university then had a child together, our lives are so very different now. Seeing him with those women is strange, I can’t deny it. My throat tightens as I realise that it’s probably because he’s moved on while I’ve stayed basically the same, trapped in some kind of emotional stasis. I tried to escape it with Dex but I failed. I do need to move on myself.

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