The Single Mums' Picnic Club

by Jennifer Joyce

  Frankie pulled out a chair and sank down onto it, resting her elbows on the table. ‘She doesn’t know what happened. One minute she’s out in the back garden looking for Lola because she doesn’t want her getting wet in the rain, the next she’s coming round to paramedics “fussing over her”.’ Frankie rolled her eyes at her Mum’s dismissal of what could have been a serious fall. ‘She doesn’t even know how long she was out there for. If Susan from next door hadn’t spotted her over the fence…’ She rubbed at her face with her hands. This was the second time her mum had fallen; the first had been a few weeks ago, just before Christmas, and she’d refused to take it seriously then too. The paramedics had wanted to take her to A&E to be checked over both times, but Christina had refused.

  ‘She’s too stubborn for her own good.’ Isaac grabbed a couple of mugs from the little wooden mug tree on the side, popping a teabag in one and spooning coffee into the other. ‘She needs to slow down a bit. Let people look after her a bit more. And as for that cat…’ He looked down, his eyes roaming the floor for Lola. ‘It’s bloody feral. It wouldn’t surprise me if it’d tripped Mum up. On purpose.’

  Frankie laughed, despite the stress of the evening. It had started at just after five, when she’d received a call from her mum’s neighbour, informing her of the latest fall. Frankie had called her brother, and together they’d driven to check on their mum, who’d downplayed the whole thing. She was fine, she’d insisted. There were no head injuries. She wasn’t seeing stars. Did anybody want a cup of tea? Frankie had to practically wrestle the kettle from the daft woman’s hands and manhandle her into a chair. She was pretty sure she’d managed to mask her surprise when her mum had announced she was tired from all the drama and wanted an early night (and no, she’d asserted, finger jabbing at her children in turn, it wasn’t because of bloody concussion). She must have been exhausted, because not only had she allowed Frankie to escort her up the stairs without too much complaint (‘I’m not one of the twins,’ she’d said with a tut, but she hadn’t batted Frankie away, and she hadn’t barked too loudly when she’d ordered her daughter out of the bedroom when Frankie offered to help her into her nightdress), but she’d been fast asleep when Frankie had peeked in a few minutes later.

  ‘Lola’s fine,’ Frankie said to her brother now. ‘She’s sweet, and good company for Mum. Why have you always had a problem with her?’

  ‘Because she bit my neck that time.’ Isaac reached for the spot, a frown creasing his forehead.

  ‘She did not.’ Frankie pushed back her chair and grabbed the milk from the fridge.

  ‘She bloody well did. She should be named Cullen, not Lola,’ Isaac muttered as he grabbed the boiled kettle and filled the mugs.

  ‘Cullen?’

  Isaac cleared his throat and busied himself with the drinks. Frankie was still waiting for clarification, her eyebrows raised as he turned to take the proffered bottle of milk.

  ‘You know.’ He shrugged, and Frankie was sure he was starting to turn pink. ‘After the vampire family in the Twilight series.’

  Frankie burst out laughing, covering her mouth to muffle the sound too late. Her eyes widened, and she waited for the sounds of her mum waking upstairs, but there was nothing.

  ‘Twilight?’ She giggled as her brother feigned nonchalance with a one-shouldered shrug.

  ‘It’s Kayla’s favourite film. She made me watch them, over and over.’

  ‘She made you? Ha! As if.’ She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. ‘What’s the link?’

  Isaac frowned. ‘What link?’

  ‘To your fan fiction. I can’t wait to read it.’

  Isaac rolled his eyes and splashed milk into to the mugs. ‘Very funny. Hilarious, in fact. Remind me why you never became a comedian?’ After giving the drinks one last stir, he carried the mugs over to the table, sitting in the chair opposite Frankie’s vacated seat. The twins were sprawled on the sofa in the living room, engrossed in something overly bright and saccharine on Disney Junior, which would give Frankie and her brother a few minutes to chat.

  ‘So.’ Frankie sat down again with a sigh. ‘What are we going to do about Mum?’ The teasing tone of a few seconds ago was gone.

  Isaac blew on his coffee. ‘What can we do? There’s no way she’ll leave this place. It’s where she lived with Dad. Where we grew up. It’s full of memories.’

  ‘You can take memories with you.’ Frankie knew this only too well. She’d moved her entire life to another town, but it didn’t erase the past. Besides, she’d had this conversation with her mum, several times. Christina wouldn’t budge. ‘Do you think I should move back? It wouldn’t be a problem with work – I can do that anywhere now.’

  ‘Do you really want to move away from Clifton-on-Sea?’

  Frankie shook her head. ‘No. It’s a great place for the twins to grow up. All that sea air, sandcastles on the beach…’ No careless gossip or whispering about their father. No faux concern from the neighbours just so they could rinse every drop of tragic detail from her. ‘But what else can we do? She won’t move in with either of us in case she’s a burden.’

  ‘Which she’d never be,’ Isaac said.

  ‘I know that. You know it. But Mum won’t have it.’

  Isaac took a sip of his coffee, wincing when it burned his tongue. ‘Maybe it was just an accident. Like she keeps reminding us, she’s seventy-three, not ninety. She doesn’t need round-the-clock care.’

  Frankie nodded. ‘I know, but I’d feel better knowing she was safe.’

  Isaac caught her eye, and although Frankie knew there was something he wanted to say, he chose not to.

  ‘Do you think I should stay here tonight?’ Frankie asked as she washed the mugs a few minutes later.

  Isaac gave a snort. ‘Mum would go mad when she found out in the morning. She’d give you the lecture about not needing a babysitter again.’

  Frankie grimaced. She’d been on the receiving end of that one, many times. ‘I’ll give her a ring in the morning. Maybe ask Susan to pop over?’

  ‘She’d have to be subtle about it…’

  Frankie shrugged. ‘It’s worth a shot.’

  ‘So, what are your plans this evening?’ Isaac asked as they pulled away from the house. They’d made sure Lola was inside (or rather, Frankie had made sure the cat was inside, while Isaac gave her a wide berth), filled her bowls with food and water, and popped next door to have a quick word with Susan, who’d fussed over the twins now the drama of the evening had died down.

  ‘I have big plans. Massive.’ Frankie turned to grin at her brother. ‘There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge, a bag of Maltesers I somehow missed over Christmas, and Miranda on Netflix.’

  Her grin was wide, but her brother was frowning. ‘It’s Friday night, Frankie. You should be out having fun.’

  Frankie stifled a yawn as she glanced at her children in her rear-view mirror. ‘I’m a mum of two-year-old twins. I’m knackered.’

  ‘You could get a babysitter.’ Isaac twisted so he could look behind him. His niece and nephew were dropping off to sleep in their car seats. ‘Why don’t you come to the pub for a couple of hours? The lads are up for the weekend, so Sisqo will be there.’ He laughed as he caught sight of his sister’s less-than-impressed face. ‘He still has a massive crush on you, FYI, though I’m not quite sure he’s mature enough to be a stepfather to Finn and Skye.’

  ‘Finn and Skye are more mature than that idiot.’ Frankie had known Sisqo since he was a gangly, brace-wearing thirteen-year-old with bad skin and terrible hair, back when he was Daniel, before he’d accepted the dare that earned him his nickname and a two-week suspension from school. Frankie had never been more grateful for the four-year age gap between herself and Isaac, as it meant she was at college – and not in the vicinity of the school canteen – when Isaac’s friend burst into the room wearing nothing but a deep pink thong, his school tie, and grey socks pulled up to mid-calf. He’d jumped up onto some poor sod’s table and bla
sted out Sisqo’s ‘Thong Song’, thrusting away, until a teacher and the more robust dinner lady escorted him to the headmaster’s office.

  He’d been hailed a legend at Highmoor Secondary School and hadn’t been known as Daniel to his peers ever since.

  ‘You’ll get a couple of drinks out of him, easy,’ Isaac said with a shrug.

  ‘I’d rather die of thirst, thank you very much.’

  Isaac reached out to turn on the radio, pulling a face at his sister’s choice of radio station. He fiddled with the settings until he found a decent song. ‘Seriously though, Frankie. You need to start going out and socialising again.’

  Frankie’s mouth dropped open. ‘I do socialise. In fact, I’ve made a couple of new mum friends.’

  She reached for the radio, but Isaac batted her hand away. ‘That isn’t what I meant. You need to get out properly and have fun. Be you, instead of Finn and Skye’s mum.’

  Frankie pulled onto the motorway that would lead them back towards Clifton-on-Sea. ‘I’ll always be Finn and Skye’s mum.’

  ‘You know what I mean. When was the last time you went out on a date?’

  She held a hand up and shook her head. ‘I do not want to have this conversation with my brother. Eww.’ She lowered her hand and returned it to the steering wheel. ‘Besides, it’s quite hard to go out on dates when you have two two-year-olds to contend with.’

  ‘You know I’m happy to babysit. Anytime. I love spending time with the little nutters.’

  ‘I know you do.’ Frankie smiled at her brother. ‘And I will start dating again. When I’m ready and I’ve found someone I want to date.’

  ‘Not Sisqo then? Because it would make his year.’ Isaac caught his sister’s eye and they both laughed.

  ‘Sorry.’ Frankie shook her head. ‘Wouldn’t happen in a million years.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Katie

  ‘Lizzie has geography homework that needs to be in by Monday, and Elliot needs to be revising as much as possible.’ Katie and Rob were standing awkwardly in what used to be their shared hallway, waiting while the kids rushed about upstairs, having left it until the last minute to get ready for spending the weekend with their dad. Rob’s photo was still on the wall above the side table, a whisker away from his head, though he hadn’t commented on its presence. It had been taken three years ago during a professional shoot he’d arranged for Mother’s Day. Katie was standing next to him, with Elliot and Lizzie on either side of their parents. Rob’s face was alive with laughter (Katie couldn’t remember why now), and he had his arm around Katie’s waist. He looked happy back then, but was he?

  ‘Elliot will try to get out of revising – don’t let him. His exams are coming up and he wouldn’t put any legwork in at all if it were left up to him.’

  Rob smiled, and she swore he was on the verge of rolling his eyes at her. ‘I know what our son is like. I’ll set him up at my desk at home.’

  Home. Katie swallowed back the hurt that one little word caused. Her children had two homes now. A whole different life elsewhere that didn’t involve Katie.

  ‘You need to remind Lizzie to take her inhaler.’ Katie cleared her throat when her voice cracked. She wouldn’t show weakness. ‘One puff of brown, morning and night, and the blue if she gets wheezy.’

  ‘I do know that, Katie.’ Rob quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘I was there when she was diagnosed with asthma five years ago.’

  ‘Seven years ago. Lizzie was five at the time.’ Katie hadn’t meant to sound so snarky, but that’s how it came out, and she found she didn’t care. In fact, she quite liked how uncomfortable it made Rob. He drew his gaze away, only to be met by the happy family portrait. He looked down quickly, taking a good look at his former hallway flooring.

  ‘Did you manage to get the acknowledgement of service sent off?’

  Katie only just managed to suppress the sigh that the mention of that blasted form caused. ‘Yes, Rob, I sent it off yesterday.’

  This was a lie. But only a little one. She would sign it, she just hadn’t got round to it yet.

  ‘Really?’ She swallowed the hurt Rob’s resulting smile caused. ‘Fantastic. I know this isn’t easy, but it’s for the best. A clean slate for us all, yes?’

  ‘Hmm.’ Katie couldn’t manage much more of a response. She turned towards the staircase. ‘Elliot! Lizzie! Are you ready? Your dad’s waiting to go!’

  Katie marched into the living room and was grateful Rob had decided to remain hovering at the bottom of the stairs instead of following when she spotted the acknowledgement of service form glaring at her from the mantlepiece. She grabbed it and shoved it under the Boots’ Christmas Gift Guide (she really should throw that in the recycling bin).

  She perched on the edge of the sofa, taking deep, even breaths. What was taking the kids so long? Finally, she heard footsteps on the stairs and she hurried into the hallway again.

  ‘Hi Dad.’ Elliot was loping down the stairs, his eyes on his phone instead of his footwork. ‘What are we having for tea?’

  ‘Fast food burgers, probably.’ Katie looked Rob straight in the eye. ‘Isn’t that what weekend dads usually feed their kids?’

  ‘Yes!’ Elliot made a fist and brought it into towards his body. ‘Nice one, Dad.’

  ‘Actually, Anya’s making a curry.’

  Katie’s mouth opened slowly, the gap widening until her jaw was somewhere around her naval. ‘A curry? You’re having a curry? But you don’t like spicy food. You won’t even try it.’

  Rob shrugged. ‘I will now. Some of it’s alright.’

  Katie whipped her head round. ‘Lizzie! Come on!’

  She needed this man out of her house before he threw any more verbal punches her way. It seemed it wasn’t only Rob’s taste in women that had changed. All those years she’d stuck to that crappy pizzeria where the chef stared at her chest and the waiting staff wouldn’t know how to wipe down a table even with a live demonstration (Katie always made sure she took a pack of wet wipes whenever they ate there) because Rob was too unadventurous to try anywhere else! What next? Did he have a sudden interest in ‘girly guff’ movies (any film that didn’t involve guns, explosions, or Angelina Jolie)? A penchant for Strictly, Cold Feet, and Pointless? She bet he didn’t talk incessantly through Anya’s favourite TV programs!

  ‘Can Zara come over tomorrow?’ Elliot looked up briefly from his phone to ask his father the question. ‘She wants to see the new house.’

  Rob nodded. ‘I don’t see why not. What time were you thinking?’

  ‘Dunno.’ Elliot’s attention was back on the phone. ‘Afternoon?’

  Katie looked from father to son and back again. ‘Aren’t you even going to ask who Zara is?’

  Rob rolled his eyes – again. Had he ever rolled his eyes at Katie before he shacked up with that woman? Was this a new Rob thing, like the spicy food?

  ‘I don’t need to ask. I know who Zara is.’

  ‘Oh.’ Katie didn’t. But she wasn’t going to admit that now. ‘Erm, Elliot, where’s your stuff?’

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘You know, clean clothes, toothbrush, deodorant? That kind of thing. You’re staying over, remember?’

  Elliot lifted a small carrier bag. ‘Got it.’

  Katie snatched the bag and peered inside. ‘Your toothbrush and a clean pair of boxers? That’s it?’

  Elliot shrugged and snatched it back. ‘What else do I need?’

  ‘Clean clothes? You haven’t even put a pair of socks in there! And where are your pyjamas?’

  ‘Mum.’ Elliot flashed her a look of derision. ‘When was the last time I wore pyjamas? Why do you think I’ve got clean undies?’

  ‘Go upstairs and grab a pair of socks at the very least.’ Katie thrust a finger to point the way. ‘And tell your sister to hurry up.’

  Eventually, Elliot returned with the clean socks, followed shortly by Lizzie (who had a rucksack stuffed to the gills), and her family filed out of the house and climbed int
o Rob’s car. She watched them drive away, dreading the moment she would have to close the door and face up to the fact she was alone in the house.

  Katie didn’t have long to stand around and mope about her solo status, however, as Jack was due to pick her up at seven and, as she was still to ascertain whether their evening in the pub constituted a drink or two with a friend or an actual Date (Katie figured it deserved a big, scary capital D), she hadn’t settled on a grooming schedule or even a befitting outfit. Because if it was a date, she should definitely jump in the shower and scrub, scrub, scrub. Dry shampoo and a spritz of perfume wouldn’t cut it if Jack had romantic intentions. (She wouldn’t shave, FYI, because this was just asking for trouble. If she removed hair, it was because she wanted somebody – Jack in this case – to see the now-smooth areas, and she definitely didn’t want that kind of carry on just yet. A Date would suffice at this point.)

  Okay, so she really should shower, whether it was a Date or not. Her hair must have been ninety-five percent dry shampoo by now, which was beyond icky. She’d jump in the shower and then face the next hurdle: to make-up or not to make-up.

  In the end, Katie opted for a bit of tinted moisturiser, a dab of peachy lipgloss, one coat of mascara and the tiniest hint of blush. She looked nice, which could be a bit of a wishy-washy word, but it was perfect in this instance – it signalled neither effort or slovenliness.

  She didn’t ponder over her outfit choices for nearly as long as she suspected she would. Mainly due to circumstance; there wasn’t much to ponder when your outfit choices boiled down to two-and-a-half options; black trousers with either a spotted sweater or a voluminous, stripy shirt, or a black, tie-waist dress she’d bought for a work party a couple of months before Rob left her. All the other pieces in her wardrobe were too tight now or consisted of well-worn leggings and baggy tops, so she opted for the dress as it was the only outfit that didn’t make her look like Mr Blobby or his stripy cousin. She really needed to go shopping, but she’d been more than happy in her leggings since she resigned from her father-in-law’s haulage firm, only bringing out the black trousers and a smart blouse when she managed to score an interview.