‘There was really no need for that.’ Anya turned to glare at the man as he grabbed a pack of newborn nappies from the shelf. Perhaps it was sleep deprivation that had caused his grumpy overreaction, but whatever. Katie didn’t care and she certainly didn’t want concern or sympathy from this woman.
She turned as Anya started to manoeuvre the trolley to the side so it wouldn’t run into Katie, her mouth opening to… what? Offer more solidarity against the irritable bloke? Or to laugh in Katie’s face? Look what I have, Katie: the third child you pretended you were no longer desperate for! Katie didn’t hang around to find out which option her husband’s girlfriend would plump for, and instead she ran, aiming for the exit, not caring that she looked like a mad woman. Or a shoplifter.
She dropped the basket as she neared the automatic doors, hearing rather than seeing the contents spilling onto the floor. She didn’t pause to see the mess she’d created or the looks of bewilderment on the faces of her fellow shoppers. Instead, she pelted across the car park, dodging traffic and trolleys until she was safely in her car. Her hands shook as she inserted her key into the ignition, her breathing dizzyingly rapid. She took a few deep, slow breaths before she set off, putting as much distance as she could between herself and Rob’s new family.
Chapter Five
George
George’s home wasn’t quite as grand as some of the homes she cleaned as part of her job with Kiri’s Clean Queens, Clifton-on-Sea’s premier cleaning company, but she’d made the poky two-bedroomed flat in the middle of the 1950s house conversion as cheery and cosy as she could, hanging bright curtains at the windows and displaying Thomas’ artwork in frames in the living room and kitchen. Patterned scatter cushions rejuvenated the slightly saggy sofa, and she’d invested in a cheerful rug to add warmth against the cheap laminate flooring. It was small but homely, and perfect for George and Thomas. They didn’t need the extra bathrooms or fancy appliances she cleaned in the huge, Georgian properties running alongside the park or seafront, and although the communal garden to the back of the property was half the size of a postage stamp, Wickentree Park was just around the corner. With its playground, playing fields, and the little wooded area to explore, it had everything Thomas could ever need in an outdoor space.
George headed straight to the kitchen when she arrived home from her afternoon shift, knocking up a quick all-in-one sponge mix and popping it into the oven before she changed out of her bleach-scented work clothes and into something a bit more flattering. She still wasn’t as young or trendy as some of the other mums she’d spotted in the school playground, but she’d feel less conspicuous picking Thomas up now she wasn’t clad in her scruffs.
With the cake out of the oven and cooled, George headed down to the beach, closing her eyes briefly to savour the sound of the crashing waves before she descended the steps down to the sand. While the sounds of the seaside would be drowned out with music blaring from the pier during the summer months, George could truly appreciate the landscape during these quieter moments. It was why she was never deterred from walking down to the beach, no matter how cold and grey it was.
The beach was completely empty at this time, without even a dogwalker in sight. There were no colourful beach towels laid out, creating a patchwork of colour on the sand, or families unpacking picnics and buckets and spades, or feasting on delicious ice creams and refreshing ice lollies. Even the seagulls, with their excited cries, failed to hover overhead in the hope of finding food.
George reached into her handbag for her keys as she walked under the shade of the pier, her hand clutching the set as she emerged from the other side. The beach huts lay ahead, their painted exteriors a splash of cheer against the gloomy January afternoon, like tubs of exotic flavours of ice cream displayed in a row. George’s hut, sandwiched between a sunshiny yellow and a vivacious red hut, was painted a cheery mint green. She’d inherited the beach hut from her grandmother, who would bring George down to the beach hut for picnics every Saturday afternoon, rain or shine.
She looked up as she felt a tap of rain on her cheek. The sky had turned an ominous shade, the clouds dark and menacing. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, the heavens opened and it was pouring with rain, the drops plump and icy as they worked together to drench her hair and coat, already starting to turn the sand to sludge. With cold, fumbling fingers, she somehow managed to unlock the hut and burst into the shelter with relief. Pushing her damp hair aside, she was about to nudge the door shut when she caught movement ahead. It seemed she wasn’t alone on the beach after all as a figure attempted to shield themselves from the rain with an already soggy cardigan, stranded between the beach huts and the shelter of the pier.
‘Quick!’ George poked her head out into the driving rain and beckoned her over. ‘Get in before you freeze to death!’
George held the door open as the woman ran as quickly as she could over the sodden sand, her feet slipping every third or fourth step.
‘Come in, come in.’ George ushered the woman inside the hut. The space was small, but it had been painted white to make it appear bright and airy, and there was a small window at the back, framed by a pair of lemon curtains embroidered with tiny pink hearts. A seat running along the length of the left-hand side of the hut was covered in matching fabric, and there was a bank of cupboards underneath the window with sets of shelves either side. Opposite the long bench was a fold-down table, currently propped up by a pair of wooden legs.
‘Thank you.’ The woman collapsed onto the bench and reached up to touch her hair. It was damp, but not too bad. ‘I only popped down to the beach to clear my head. I didn’t expect this.’ She pointed at the rain dashing at the little window.
‘It’s quite a downpour.’ George peered out of the hut, her arms wrapped across her body in an attempt to keep warm. ‘I wanted to bring my son to the beach after school, but I don’t think we’ll make it in this.’ She hadn’t thought it was possible, but it was raining even harder now. ‘It was supposed to be a special day, but I suppose we’ll still have cake.’ She smiled brightly, but the warmth didn’t quite reach her eyes.
‘Is it his birthday?’
George shook her head. ‘His first day at school.’ She sighed as she lifted her tote bag onto the fold-down table and removed the cake tin. ‘I’m finding it quite hard, if I’m honest. Letting go. Letting him grow up. Do you ever wish you could pause time? Or rewind it, just a little bit?’
The woman gave a humourless laugh. ‘God, yes.’ She covered her face with her hands and rubbed at her eyes. ‘I’d go back a couple of hours. Before I made an absolute fool of myself.’
‘What happened?’ George didn’t want to pry, but maybe she could help.
The woman slid her hands down so only her mouth was covered by her fingers. She shook her head over and over until she finally dropped her hands completely, resting them on her lap. ‘I just did a runner from the supermarket.’ She held up a finger. ‘Not with any goods, I should add. Things haven’t got so desperate I need to shoplift. Yet.’ She attempted another humourless laugh, but it quickly morphed into a groan.
‘Why did you run, if you don’t mind me asking?’ George lowered herself on the other end of the bench, not wanting to invade the woman’s personal space even as she poked her nose into her personal business.
‘I saw my husband’s girlfriend – ex-husband, I suppose, though it isn’t official.’
‘Ah.’ George nodded with understanding. She’d never been married, but she’d been in long-term relationships that had ended before she’d been ready to let go.
‘Oh, God.’ The hands were back on the woman’s face, covering her reddened cheeks. ‘I can still hear the clash of basket on tile. And the looks of the people around me as I tore past! Coming through! Madwoman on the loose!’ She rubbed at her eyes again and groaned. ‘Well, I won’t be shopping there for the next millennia. I’ll have to drive out of town or use one of the overpriced convenience stores instead.’
‘There�
�s always online shopping.’ George was attempting to add a bit of humour into the conversation, and luckily the woman managed a small laugh.
‘At least I have options.’ She groaned again and stamped a foot down on the floor. ‘Why did I have to react like that? It isn’t as though I haven’t seen Anya before – though I try to avoid contact with the woman, obviously. I ducked into the funeral director’s when I spotted Rob and Anya strolling with their new baby through town during the summer. I didn’t realise it was the funeral director’s until I’d catapulted myself inside as I’d just panicked and opened the nearest door. I had to pretend to be browsing for a coffin until it was safe to leave.’ She sighed. ‘I really have to stop embarrassing myself like this, but I just couldn’t face her.’
‘It’s tough, especially in the beginning.’ George pushed herself up from the bench and returned to the table, where she pulled a flask of hot chocolate from the tote bag.
‘I thought I knew who I was, where my life was heading. Now I have no idea. I feel like this was all done to me, and I have no control of my life anymore.’ She cringed as George pressed a plastic mug into her hands. ‘People must think I’m mad. You must think I’m mad. I’m not even sure why I’m telling you all this. Sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It sounds like you’re having a rough time.’ George indicated the mug. ‘Now, drink that. It’ll warm you up a bit.’
‘Thank you…’ The woman paused, the hot chocolate held aloft. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name and I’m boring you to tears with my life woes.’
‘It’s George.’ She patted the woman on the knee. ‘And you’re not boring me to tears. We all have tough times. It’s good to get it out rather than bottling it all in.’
The woman shrugged. ‘I guess.’ She took a sip of the warm drink. ‘I’m Katie, by the way.’
‘It’s nice to meet you, Katie.’ George patted her knee again before she headed for the table. ‘Now, can I interest you in a slice of cake?’
Katie smiled, genuinely and brightly. ‘I never, ever say no to cake.’
‘That was the best Victoria sponge I’ve ever tasted.’ Katie licked the jam and cake crumbs from her fingers while George batted away the compliment with a wave of her hand.
‘I don’t know about that. It was just something I whipped up.’ Despite her protestations, George felt her chest swell with pride. While she scrubbed other people’s homes and places of work for a living, baking was George’s true passion. She had catering qualifications, specialising in patisserie and confectionery, as well as files stuffed with recipes handed down from her grandmother.
‘It’s true.’ Katie shrugged and was about to say more when her attention was caught by something happening outside the hut. Or rather, something not happening. ‘Hey, it’s stopped raining. When did that happen? Just how long have I been rabbiting on for?’ The sand was still wet, but the grey clouds had dispersed, revealing the suggestion of blue sky. ‘I should go home and lick my wounds before the kids get home from school. I was hoping to have a bit of a tidy up before…’ Katie’s next words were snatched away as a voice bellowed outside. A huge, shaggy dog appeared in the doorway of the hut, panting as it took in the inhabitants, and then it was inside, its claws clattering on the wooden floor. It sniffed at George and Katie in turn before it barked once and tore off out of the hut again.
‘I’m so sorry.’ A man was jogging towards the beach hut, a red lead dangling from his fingers, as George stuck her head out of the doorway. ‘He’s a bloody menace. Jake!’
And then the man was gone, speeding up as he spotted the dog leap into the sea.
‘Well, that was bizarre.’ George chuckled. ‘But at least it didn’t try to scoff the cake.’ With the day turning brighter, perhaps she’d get to bring Thomas down to the beach hut after all.
‘I really should get going.’ Katie pushed herself up from the bench. ‘I’ve got a hot date with the dishwasher and vacuum cleaner. Unfortunately, it’s the only date I’ll have for a long time.’
George patted her on the shoulder gently. ‘Everything will work out in the end.’
Katie nodded, but the grimace wasn’t so encouraging. ‘Thanks for the cake and the hot chocolate. And for listening. You were right – it does help to get it all off your chest, even if only a little bit.’
‘It was nice to meet you, Katie.’
‘You too, George.’ Katie stepped out of the beach hut but shuffled back when she heard the distant bark of the dog again. She peered out, checking the coast was clear before she ventured out.
‘Jake! Slow down, you absolute nutter!’
Katie took another step away from the door as the dog bounded by. The owner was sprinting after the dog, but he was powerless to stop the beast from leaping up at an unsuspecting jogger, sending her – and the paper bag she was carrying – flying and landing with a thud on the damp sand.
Chapter Six
Frankie
It felt fantastic to be out, gulping the fresh sea air after over a week cooped up in the house with the twins. The muscles in her thighs were crying out for her to stop as she charged up the cliffs, but she couldn’t stop now. She hadn’t realised quite how much she’d missed the freedom to just go wherever her body took her until now, how much she enjoyed pushing her body to its limit. She’d been a bit of a gym junkie in her early twenties, though that was mostly down to the fact she fancied one of the personal trainers. She’d spent hours on the treadmills and cross trainers back then in the hope of glimpsing Bradley and his toned-to-perfection body. She never would have plucked up the courage to speak to him had it not been for the malfunctioning treadmill that sent her flying when it suddenly cut off without warning when she was sprinting (she always upped her speed when she spotted Bradley in order to impress him). He’d rushed over to help her, and although she’d been embarrassed after going arse over tit, she did end up with his phone number (as well as a grazed chin). Before the twins, they’d led an active lifestyle, running half-marathons, abseiling, whitewater rafting, even bungee jumping from the Colorado River in Costa Rica. They’d taken risks Frankie wouldn’t even dream of taking now.
She felt herself slowing as she made the ascent and she half-ran, half-ambled her way up to the top of the cliff, her chest heaving as she looked out across the sea, a safe distance from the edge. The view was amazing from up here. You could see all the way to the opposite end of the beach, with the pier jutting out into the sea, the Ferris wheel still now the kids were back in school. She turned, taking in the view of the town. The hotel, pub and shops along the seafront, the pretty Georgian houses, the rooftops of the mishmash of properties beyond. Frankie could stand there taking it all in forever, but she had to buy her lunch and get back to work before the weather nudged from the threat of rain to a downpour.
Her trip down the cliff was much quicker than her trek up had been, but she slowed down once she reached the pavement at the bottom, clutching her side as she sucked air into her lungs as though it was her first introduction to oxygen. She jogged slowly along the seafront, heading towards the pier, where she knew there was a sandwich shop nearby that, according to her brother, was to die for. She found the shop and ordered a hot Cumberland sausage and egg roll (as recommended by Isaac) but it had started to rain while she was inside. She sheltered under the awning of the neighbouring shop until the rain had abated and she started her jog back home, taking a small detour via the beach. The sand was wet, and the wind was a bit wild down there, but she was hooked on the feeling of freedom now she’d had a taste. She felt like her old self again. The Frankie she knew before, the Frankie who thought nothing of throwing herself from bridges with nothing but an elasticated cord preventing death.
‘Whoa!’ Too late, she spotted the furry missile heading straight for her. She didn’t have a chance to dodge out of the way, so one minute Frankie was jogging – albeit slowly along the wet sand – and the next she was on the ground, her knee throbbing with the impact while her assailant nudg
ed its way into the paper bag it had knocked out of her hand.
‘Oh, shit!’
‘Oh, dear.’
‘Are you okay?’
She heard a chorus of voices as she heaved herself up into a sitting position, hissing as pain shot through her left knee.
‘I am so sorry. The mad bastard is out of control.’ A hand appeared, which she took, swearing under her breath as she was helped to her feet. The dog, she noticed, was tucking into her sausage and egg roll. Unforgivable!
‘Can you walk?’ her helper asked. (Could he be classed as a helper when it was his dog that had caused her to splat on the sand in such an ungainly fashion?)
‘I think so.’ She took a tentative step but collapsed against the stupid dog’s owner as pain sliced through her knee. Jeez, that hurt. She hoped the bloody sandwich was worth it!
‘Come and sit down in my beach hut. It’s just over here.’ Another set of arms was holding her up, and she somehow managed to hobble – painfully, through gritted teeth – to the nearby hut. She dropped onto the cushioned bench, grateful to take the weight off her knee.
‘Jake, you are the worst dog ever!’ the dog walker shouted over his shoulder as he hovered outside the hut, but the dog, now rolling on his back on the sand having wolfed down the entire sandwich, clearly didn’t give a hoot. The owner turned back to Frankie, eyebrows pulled down with concern. ‘I really am sorry. He’s not even mine. I’m only looking after him while my sister’s on holiday. I can’t wait until she’s back. He is completely out of control.’ He yelled the last bit over his shoulder, but the dog was sniffing his own arse now and wasn’t listening.
‘It’s fine.’ Frankie pressed her foot gently to the ground to test her knee. ‘Ow!’
‘That knee isn’t fine.’ The woman who’d helped her pulled out a mobile and started tapping at its screen. ‘I’m going to phone the doctor.’
The Single Mums' Picnic Club Page 4
