The Single Mums' Book Club

by Victoria Cooke

  ‘Bella Jackson said she heard her mummy telling Lilly’s mum that you’d been crying in the supermarket because you’re unwell.’

  I swallow hard trying to shake off the sinking feeling in my gut. ‘Oh, honey, that’s not true at all. I’d had a bad day. Do you remember when you cried in the supermarket because they didn’t have any Kellogg’s Frosties?’ She looks at me wide-eyed and nods. ‘It was just like that.’

  ‘Okay,’ she says, bouncing off her chair.

  How dare those bloody women gossip about me. How careless that they’ve done it in front of the children too. Can’t people see I’m doing the best I can? I’m trying to rebuild a life that was torn apart. Why can’t people just mind their own business?

  Chapter 12

  The sun is dipping in the sky, casting its golden glow across the long grass in the fields either side of Stable Lane. It’s one of those evenings where you can practically smell the sunshine. It’s been a fortnight since Janey and I got together to discuss The Handmaid’s Tale and the early May weather really has turned for the better.

  ‘I hope she drinks plonk,’ Janey says, referring to the bottle of Pinot Blush she’d procured from the off-licence.

  ‘I’ve only brought Doritos,’ I say. ‘It will be fine.’

  As we near the giant gates, I get my first proper look at the red-brick mansion.

  ‘Jesus, look at this place. I bet her and her husband go days without bumping into one another. They’ll be like two marbles rolling around on a footy field,’ Janey says. ‘Is that pampas grass?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ I shrug taking in the creamy white feathery plumes poking above the tall garden wall.

  ‘Is she a … you know?’

  I raise my eyebrows. ‘A what?’

  ‘You know. A swinger? Pampas grass is like a beacon in those circles apparently.’

  ‘Is it?’ I’ve never heard of that before.

  ‘Yes! She might as well put a sign up that says, “Swingers Welcome”. What if she’s invited us here using the book club as a ruse to lure us into her lifestyle?’

  ‘Oh, Janey, stop being daft. I seriously doubt she is. Probably just a keen gardener and it is quite pretty. Come on.’

  Beside the black iron gate, there’s an intercom. A few moments after pressing the button, Amanda’s immaculate face appears on the tiny screen.

  ‘Hello, ladies. Just a second, I’ll let you in.’

  The gates creak open.

  ‘This is how many a horror movie starts,’ Janey whispers as we walk through.

  ‘You’re obsessed,’ I whisper.

  The golden gravel crunches beneath our feet as we approach the dark oak double-front door.

  ‘She’s probably spent more on these tiny yellow rocks than I spent on my whole house. I’ve seen them on Grand Designs – they’re a fortune.’

  ‘That’s her business.’ As I speak, the door opens.

  ‘Stephanie, Janey, how lovely to see you both. Come through to the orangery. I’ve got drinks and nibbles out.’ She waves us in and we follow her down the excessively wide hallway to a door at the end, which leads into a pristine sitting room. I wonder how long it would take my three to turn this place upside down. There are some French doors, which are propped open giving way to the glass orangery and the lush greenery of the garden beyond.

  ‘You have a beautiful home,’ I say as we walk in and sit down on the heavily cushioned wicker chairs. For once, Janey seems lost for words. Perhaps she really was expecting to walk in to a rampant swingers’ party.

  ‘Help yourself to nibbles.’ Amanda gestures to the spread on the matching coffee table. There are smoked salmon blinis, mini tomato bruschettas, devilled eggs, tempura bites and some other things I couldn’t identify if I wanted to. It all smells delicious and my bag of Doritos is cowering in shame – I’m sure it would throw its own self into a bin if it had the legs to reach one. Janey is already tucking in. She hands Amanda the wine and Amanda accepts it graciously so I brave the ceremonial handing over of my offering.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘I was in such a rush.’

  ‘Oh don’t be silly, I love these. Very moreish. I’ll get a bowl.’ Amanda returns a few moments later with an ornate pearlescent serving dish that looks like it should be in a museum, not serving the likes of Janey and me. Furnishing it with Doritos is sacrilege.

  ‘Grab a drink from the bar and we’ll start talking books,’ she says, gesturing to a dark wood sideboard with a built-in wine fridge. There are some champagne flutes out and an open bottle of Prosecco chilling in a bucket. I pour three glasses.

  ‘So, would you two like to start, since I’m the newcomer?’ Amanda says, sipping her fizz. Her voice trembles slightly with nerves whilst Janey shoots me a look of panic.

  ‘How about we start with what we thought about the book. What we liked and what we disliked,’ I say, registering both of their apprehension.

  ‘I loved it,’ Amanda says. ‘I liked the complex nature of Eleanor’s character and her inner monologue was delightful.’

  ‘Oh I liked her snarky observations, definitely,’ Janey says. I share my opinions and we dig a bit deeper. This is good; we’re actually talking about the book and all is going well.

  ‘So, what about the central themes?’ Amanda says. Janey takes a sip of her second glass of Prosecco. A ploy to occupy her lips, I’m sure of it.

  ‘I thought the theme of loneliness was quite poignant. She likens modern-day loneliness to a cancer – fearful and incurable,’ I say. It’s the most obvious theme but at least it has plenty of meat to it.

  ‘Yes!’ Janey sounds excited. ‘It was so interesting on so many levels. The reasons for her isolation were more than just circumstantial. She was socially awkward, but also her physical appearance worked in some way to keep others away. It wasn’t really until she helped the old man, Sammy, that a sliver of her inner beauty came through. But it was so profoundly sad.’

  ‘It struck a chord,’ Amanda says, her throat contracting like the words are difficult to swallow. It’s hard to imagine why. On the surface, this is the woman who has it all. She must be in her late fifties now and in life has acquired more than most people dream of.

  Except for friends perhaps?

  ‘Are you all right, Amanda?’ I ask softly.

  She stares at the rising bubbles in her glass. Then, her mouth opens but instead of speaking, she bites down on her bottom lip.

  ‘Do you feel isolated sometimes? Like Eleanor?’ The fizz gives me the balls to ask. Janey’s eyes are wide open and the rest of her body is frozen. It makes me realise that people don’t talk about loneliness. People on the whole are so busy, they don’t want to hear about it and admitting you’re lonely is hard. There’s a photograph on the wall of her and a man I assume to be her husband. It looks fairly recent. Perhaps he’s away a lot.

  Amanda places her glass on the table slowly then centres it on the coaster. ‘It can get a little lonely up here. My only daughter works as a doctor in Africa. I haven’t seen her in over three years. She keeps telling me to go on Zoom or something and when she has a signal we can chat face-to-face but I have no idea what I’m doing.’

  My throat is thick. I’ve spent more time judging Amanda than seeing if she’s okay. ‘I know how it is to feel alone. I live in a madhouse. I’m not technically on my own, but before Janey took me under her wing, I was completely devoid of adult company. The children are there and they need me, but I’m just a utility to them, to be used at their disposal.’

  Amanda and Janey smile sympathetically. At some point they’ll have both felt the same. ‘I’m completely fine,’ I add.

  ‘That’s what Eleanor said.’ Janey winks.

  ‘At least we have our book club now,’ Amanda says. ‘Once a month, or a fortnight or however often we meet, we’ll have something to look forward to.’

  ‘Definitely,’ I say, raising my glass.

  ‘Yeah, definitely,’ Janey says, following suit and lifting her glas
s.

  ‘Cheers, ladies.’ Amanda clinks her glass against each of ours. ‘Here’s to books.’

  ‘To books,’ Janey and I chime.

  We discuss a few other themes through with an excited buzz. As the evening draws to an end, I’m quite merry. Merry with the Prosecco but also giddy with the exciting warmth of new friendships.

  As we’re getting ready to leave, I tell Amanda my library story to give her a giggle. ‘I’m going to need a disguise to get past the librarian to borrow a copy of Jane Eyre.’

  ‘Oh don’t worry about that. I have several,’ Amanda says. ‘I can’t resist the different covers. Hang on, I’ll get you both a copy from the study.’

  ‘The study?’ Janey mouths when Amanda leaves the room.

  I shrug.

  ‘My study consists of the kids’ iPad on the kitchen table. Oh, and I have a shelf in the loo with a copy of The Subtle Art of Not Giving A Fuck on it,’ she continues and I can’t help but think it’s one self-help book that she doesn’t need.

  ‘Here you go.’ Amanda reappears with two pristine copies of Jane Eyre.

  We thank Amanda for the books and for our wonderful evening and make our way home.

  ‘She’s all right really,’ Janey says.

  ‘I told you.’

  ‘I felt a bit sorry for her when she was talking about her daughter being away. We should help sort her out on Zoom,’ Janey says.

  I smile. Despite Janey’s big overactive mouth, she’s got a big overactive heart to match. ‘That would be a nice thing to do.’

  As we get to where the lane meets our road, both of our phones buzz.

  Thank you so much for tonight. I needed it. A x

  ‘I think we all did,’ I whisper under my breath.

  Chapter 13

  The next few weeks are a blur of regimented routine. Like a cheaply oiled machine, I get up and ensure the kids are ready for the day, deliver them to their assigned institutions and head to work. Every now and then we groan as our pace becomes stiff and rusty.

  This particular morning, the low-viscosity oil has run out and our machine is grinding to an end-of-term halt. Ralph has lost his PE kit, Ava can’t find her school shoes and we’re out of bread, which on a normal day wouldn’t be an issue, but for the past few days, all Henry will eat is buttery toast and he’s refused the banana I lovingly sliced for him, by mashing it into his hair. It’s five to nine and instead of kissing Ava and Ralph at the school gate, I’m rubbing Henry’s head with a baby wipe whilst yelling at the other two to ‘pack any T-shirt and shorts for PE and wear trainers if you can’t find your school shoes’.

  As we bundle into the car, my mobile rings. On a manic day like this, I wouldn’t normally acknowledge it ringing but some sort of instinct prompts me to see who it is. It’s the childminder.

  ‘Chloe, is everything okay?’ My voice is breathy and flustered as I’m bent over strapping Henry into his stupid car seat where four silly prongs have to be held together at the right angle whilst simultaneously reciting the Lord’s prayer and calling on the genie from Aladdin to grant a wish. Seriously, most parents see walking or talking as the major milestones in their child’s life, but mine was when they could get in and out of the car by themselves.

  ‘Stephanie, I’m so sorry but I think I’ve got norovirus. It’s an occupational hazard I’m afraid but it means I won’t be able to take Henry for a few days. I have to wait until forty-eight hours after my last episode and it’s not finished yet. It’s like a tsunami; both ends.’

  No, no, no, not today! To be fair, she does sound dreadful. ‘Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that. Thanks for letting me know. Feel better soon.’ My voice comes out all high-pitched.

  ‘Mummy, you sound weird,’ Ralph says.

  I arrive at work early, which is a miraculous feat. Carly is sitting on the wall outside having her morning cigarette break. She smiles a wide smile that twists into something more bitter when her eyes land on Henry.

  ‘I know. I know. I’m sorry. It’s an emergency. The childminder has norovirus. I thought I’d come in and see if I could take some work home for a few days.’ After Edward gave the go-ahead, I upgraded the main computer and installed a cloud-based accounts package. I’ve been transferring the client accounts over for the past week and a half and I’m almost done so hopefully it won’t be a problem.

  She looks at me like I’ve asked if I can work upside down wearing a dress made of blancmange, but I don’t need her permission, I need Edward’s. Kettle and pot springs to mind – she doesn’t exactly have her nose to the grindstone throughout the whole working day.

  When I go inside, he’s handing a ginger cat to an elderly lady.

  ‘No more chicken dinners for this one. Just plain old cat food is what her digestive system needs. You can give her some of the plain turkey but definitely no more Yorkshire pudding.’

  ‘Ooh thank you, vet, you’re a good ’un. Come on, Ruby.’ She takes the cat carrier from Edward and hovers at reception, presumably wanting to pay. As if on cue, Carly comes in and takes the payment so I head to the kitchen and put Henry’s lunch in the fridge. I hear footsteps behind me.

  ‘Morning, Steph,’ Edward says, raising his eyebrows when he spots Henry.

  ‘I’m so sorry. The childminder called last minute to say she’s ill and won’t be able to have him for a few days. I was wondering if I could work from home. I still have the new invoice templates to set up and there’s an online tutorial I need to do.’

  ‘These things happen. He’s welcome to stay here with you if he won’t cause you too much bother? I have a big softie of a Newfoundland in later who’s also called Henry – I think the two of them will get along.’ He smiles and ruffles Henry’s hair. ‘It’s up to you.’

  If I could finish transferring the accounts, I could start chasing unpaid invoices from home for the next couple of days. I glance at Henry who’s looking around the room babbling at random objects. His good nature might last a short while. ‘Okay, as long as you don’t think it’s too unprofessional?’

  ‘Unprofessional? You? I’m not even a real vet!’ he says with a wicked glint in his eye before heading back into the examination room.

  I go and get Henry’s buggy out of the car and strap him in. His changing bag has a few toys and snacks in, so I give him those and log on. He’s at the awkward stage where he’s too old to nap all the time and too young to amuse himself. His attention won’t be held for long, so I get cracking.

  Carly glances at me as I struggle to get the buggy through the door. ‘You’re keeping the baby here?’

  ‘Just whilst he’s settled, then I’ll take him home.’

  ‘I don’t know how you manage with three,’ she says. ‘I have enough with my Luke – he’s such a handful.’

  For comparison, Luke is fourteen and currently suspended from school for running some sort of cigarette racket.

  ‘It’s hard,’ I say politely. ‘But we muddle through.’

  I know she’s just making benign conversation but it irks me and I’m not sure why. Perhaps I’ve come to feel defined by my children and my divorce and a whole host of other things that surround me but aren’t me. Getting this job, the book club and making new friends is part of a new, individual version of me and that independent person with a life is who I want people to see.

  ‘What’s that smell? Is that …?’ Carly gestures towards Henry.

  Brilliant.

  Chapter 14

  After Henry stunk the entire practice out, I decided to work from home on Thursday and Carly came to my rescue on Friday by delivering some much-needed files. Henry still keeps asking for a bear; I think the Newfoundland made quite the impression and I’m not sure he’ll ever want to go back to the childminder. Now it’s Saturday and Mike is coming to collect the children. He’s booked the half-term week off work so they can stay with him all week, which means I’ll miss them like crazy but also not have to worry about childcare. Today, he’s coming early because he wants to tak
e them to the aquarium so I’m frantically packing clothes, toys and books for the three of them when the doorbell rings.

  ‘Ralph, get the door,’ I yell.

  A few moments later, it rings again. ‘Ralph?’

  Nothing.

  I run downstairs and pull my dressing gown belt tighter before opening the door.

  ‘Not dressed yet?’ Mike says in an annoyingly cheery tone. Honestly, it’s like he’s read Riling Steph for Dummies. He’s first-class at it.

  ‘No, it’s been quite a busy morning. Come in – the kids are around somewhere.’

  As if on cue, Ava screams. ‘Lounge,’ I say walking towards it.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ I ask. Ava’s face is red and tear-stained whilst Ralph wears a guilty expression.

  ‘Ralph pulled my hair,’ Ava says with hitched breaths.

  ‘She was annoying me, Mum.’

  ‘I don’t care if she was annoying you, you don’t resort to violence,’ I say, disappointed. ‘You’re older and you know better.’

  ‘But, Mum!’ Ralph whines.

  ‘You’re being a bit hard on him. They were both in the wrong,’ Mike says.

  I grit my teeth. ‘I know that, but we have a “no violence” policy and Ralph knows this. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the worst offence here so I’ve dealt with it first.’

  Mike holds his hands up defensively. ‘I was just saying.’

  ‘Well don’t. Don’t waltz in here once a week telling me I’m doing everything wrong.’ Emotion wells inside me but I can’t crack in front of Mike. He’s probably already heard about my supermarket meltdown.

  ‘Kids, get your things. I think your mum needs to have a bit of a rest.’

  The kids, of course, do exactly as Mike asks of them but I’m too wound up to speak. As they’re leaving, Ralph scowls at me for the injustice I’ve just served him but Ava, true to her sweet nature, runs over and gives me a big hug. As I hold her tight, the strawberry scent of her hair fills my nose and lungs with love and I fight harder than ever to keep tears from rolling down my cheeks.