The Single Mums' Picnic Club

by Jennifer Joyce

  ‘George!’

  She heard her name being called before she’d managed to make her escape, but it was only Jack, striding after her and twisting the buggy this way and that to avoid the latecomers.

  ‘Sorry, I had to get away from you-know-who before I screamed in her face.’

  Jack laughed. ‘Nobody would blame you. She rubs everyone up the wrong way. She should come with a warning.’

  George glanced behind, to make sure the woman wasn’t hot on their heels, but she was still in the playground, chatting to the teacher. Miss Baxter was edging away towards the classroom door, but Benjamin’s mum wasn’t letting her go. George felt a stab of guilt when relief washed over her, glad somebody else was on the receiving end.

  ‘I’ll see you later.’ They’d reached the gate and while Jack would be heading left to go back home, George was heading right. ‘Make sure you look out for me, in case I need rescuing again.’

  ‘I won’t be here at pick up.’ Jack shrugged apologetically. ‘It’ll be the kids’ mum, so I won’t see you until Monday morning. Unless…’ He shrugged again. ‘Katie and I are having a couple of drinks in the Red Lion tonight. Why don’t you join us?’

  Technically, George could meet them in the pub if she asked her mum to babysit, but she didn’t fancy elbowing her way into their plans and maybe playing gooseberry. ‘I can’t tonight. Prior plans. But maybe another time?’ She lifted her hand in farewell, a definite spring in her step as she crossed the road. Katie was a bit of a dark horse, wasn’t she? Not yet divorced and already two potential suitors. George couldn’t wait to grill her about Jack later.

  George was due to meet Frankie and Katie down on the beach that afternoon, but the weather was still grim, with grey clouds looming above, ready to scatter rain and ruin any notion of outdoor eating, so she’d texted Katie and Frankie to let them know there would be a change in venue. She was just putting the finishing touches to the picnic arrangement when the intercom to her flat buzzed. She was pleased to see her new friends again, but her stomach was a riot of butterflies as she opened the door. It was the first time Frankie and Katie had been to her home and she was nervous, spotting all the flaws she’d learned to ignore; the sofa was too big for the poky room, the carpet was starting to wear in the places that received the most traffic, and the wallpaper was as modern as a penny farthing. George whizzed Katie and Frankie straight through to the kitchen (which had been updated at some point during the last decade, unlike the aging wallpaper in the living room).

  ‘Come and take a seat. It’s a bit of a squeeze, I’m afraid. It’s usually just me and Thomas in here.’ George gave a nervous laugh. What must Katie, with her gigantic, glistening kitchen, think of her cramped flat?

  ‘Blimey, George.’ Neither Frankie or Katie had moved towards the table, and Katie turned to George with a gaping mouth. George’s stomach dropped to the lino. This was a mistake. They were never going to all fit in her stupidly small flat!

  ‘This looks amazing.’ Frankie shook her head as she finally took a step towards the table. ‘When I hosted the picnic, I shoved a blanket on the sand and thought that was being grand, but this…’ She blinked at George and shook her head again. ‘Wow.’

  ‘I didn’t even prepare the food myself.’ Katie cringed. ‘I bought packets of food from the mini market around the corner. I didn’t say so at the time, but I think the crisps were out of date too.’

  George felt her cheeks starting to warm, and it wasn’t because the quiche was still in the oven and turning the small space into a sauna. ‘It’s nothing, really. Probably got too much time on my hands, that’s all.’

  ‘Rubbish.’ Frankie pulled out a chair and sank onto it, her head shaking again. ‘This all looks incredible.’

  George batted away the compliment with a wave of her hand, but she was glowing inside. She had given the picnic a lot of thought, choosing the menu carefully and even jotting down ideas for the presentation in case the weather was as bad as she suspected it would be. She’d wanted to bring the outdoors into her kitchen, so she’d chosen one of the tablecloths she’d inherited from her grandmother – a gorgeous, vintage tablecloth, embroidered with pastel pink and blue flowers – and placed jars of bluebells and bright yellow cowslips either side of the cupcake stand centrepiece, while above them hung floral-patterned paperchains.

  ‘I’m ashamed of my crappy picnic now.’ Katie sat opposite Frankie and bit her lip. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Hey, don’t be.’ George rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘I just need to stop being a show off.’

  ‘You do not,’ Frankie said. ‘I love it.’

  Katie nodded. ‘Me too. You’ve obviously gone to a lot of effort.’

  ‘Oh, it was nothing.’ George moved across the kitchen and pulled the quiche out of the oven. It was homemade, using her grandmother’s recipe (tweaked ever so slightly over the years). ‘Help yourself to the nibbles. I’ll only be a moment.’

  Apart from the quiche, which George was transferring onto a plate, the picnic was already laid out on the table. There were platters containing a selection of cheeses, fresh fruit, and grilled vegetable skewers, a jar filled with a bouquet of breadsticks with a pot of hummus for dipping, and a stand filled with the sticky toffee cupcakes George had baked the evening before taking centre stage. Champagne flutes had already been filled with elderflower cordial in preparation.

  ‘I saw Jack in the school playground this morning.’ George placed the quiche on the table and sat down, concentrating hard to keep a neutral expression on her face. ‘He says you’re going for a drink tonight.’

  ‘We are.’ Katie grabbed a breadstick from the jar and snapped it in two. ‘Elliot and Lizzie are staying with Rob, so why not?’

  Frankie gasped. ‘Maybe you’ll run into Jarvis again?’

  George sliced the quiche into generous slices. ‘Or maybe Jarvis isn’t the only interested party.’ She’d tried so hard to keep the glee from her voice but failed miserably.

  ‘Are you talking about Jack?’ Katie scooped a dollop of hummus onto the end of her breadstick. ‘I don’t think so.’

  George offered the quiche to her friends before taking a slice herself. ‘Why not? He’s a handsome bloke. Responsible. And clearly a dedicated family man.’

  ‘We’re just friends, George.’

  ‘And she’s into Jarvis,’ Frankie said.

  George shrugged. ‘That’s early days. A girl has to keep her options open.’

  Katie gave a tut as she scooped up another blob of hummus on the remaining half of her bread stick. ‘Can you two stop discussing my love life as though I’m not here? Besides, Frankie’s the one who has a date coming up.’

  ‘Ah, yes!’ George’s eyes lit up. ‘The gorgeous Alex. Are you excited about tomorrow?’

  Frankie thought about the question and then gave a one-shouldered shrug. ‘Excited. Petrified. This quiche is amazing, by the way.’

  George beamed. ‘It’s all down to my granny. I just follow her recipes.’

  Frankie brought another forkful up to her mouth. ‘I could follow any recipe and it would still end up as a disaster. I’m more of a jar-of-pasta-sauce kind of girl. I reckon you should do all the picnics from now on.’ She grinned and popped the quiche in her mouth.

  ‘I’d love that, actually.’ George pulled a breadstick out of the jar, snapped it in half and scooped up a generous blob of hummus on the end.

  Frankie shook her head, chewing furiously before she could swallow. ‘No, I was only kidding. I wouldn’t lumber you with the job every week. That wouldn’t be fair at all.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t be lumbering me with anything. I love doing all this.’ She indicated the food and decoration around them. ‘It makes me happy doing something I’m good at.’

  Katie held her hands up. ‘I wouldn’t object to bowing out of the picnic prep. You saw my effort – I doubt I’d improve much.’

  ‘I really would love to do this.’ George was aiming her words at Frankie as Katie
was already sold on the idea.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Frankie frowned. ‘We’d have to contribute – at least financially.’ George shook her head, but Frankie held her hand up. ‘I won’t have you shouldering the cost as well as all the hard work.’

  ‘Me either.’ Katie grabbed a vegetable skewer and popped it on her plate. ‘It has to be at least a little bit fair.’

  ‘Well.’ George shrugged. ‘I guess that’s settled then. I’m officially in charge of catering the picnic club.’

  ‘The what?’ both Katie and Frankie asked.

  George shrugged. ‘The picnic club. It’s what it’s becoming, right? We’ve been meeting at least once a week for a picnic lunch, so why not make it official?’

  ‘I like it,’ Frankie said.

  ‘Me too.’ Katie raised her glass. ‘To the picnic club and our official caterer.’

  George felt a flutter of excitement as she and Frankie raised their glasses. She had a million ideas for future menus buzzing around her head and she couldn’t wait to share them with her friends.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Frankie

  Frankie couldn’t remember the last time she’d got dressed up to go out without the kids. In fact, she didn’t think she’d managed it at all since they’d been born; the first year was a fug of nappy changes, round-the-clock feeding, and crippling grief, and she barely had the energy to function most days, let alone go to the effort of choosing nice clothes and doing anything special with her hair and make-up. It had been a tough time and she’d really struggled on her own with the twins in the beginning, but she was starting to find her feet now, though she wasn’t sure she was quite ready for a night out, never mind a date. Part of her worried it was too soon, even as she went through the motions of getting ready to meet Alex.

  She’d almost managed a night out at Christmas, after making plans to meet up with her old uni mates, who she hadn’t seen since her pre-pregnancy days. But it was the night of her mum’s first fall, and as Isaac had been away on a romantic weekend with his girlfriend, Frankie had cancelled her night out and she and the twins went to stay with Christina for a few days to make sure she was okay. Her mum had insisted she didn’t need babysitting, but Frankie had been worried about her. Plus, deep down, she was relieved as she hadn’t been looking forward to answering any questions about Bradley from her well-meaning but curious friends.

  So, although Frankie’s stomach was swirling with nerves at the prospect of the first date she’d been on in years, she was excited too. She and the twins were out of the house in record time, their overnight bags – packed in preparation that afternoon – practically thrown into the boot of the car in the rush.

  ‘You’re early,’ Isaac said when he opened the door. Skye squeezed her way past him and headed straight to the living room. ‘And you’re panting. Everything okay?’

  Frankie nodded, though it took a moment to speak as she hadn’t quite got her breath back. It was hard work strapping two wriggling toddlers into their car seats and removing them again at the end of your journey.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she rasped. ‘I think.’ She placed a hand on her stomach. ‘I’m really nervous.’

  ‘You’ll be fine. It’s only dinner.’

  ‘I know, but it’s my first date since Bradley.’ She took a deep breath and attempted a smile. ‘But you’re right. It’s only dinner.’ She bent down to kiss Finn. She hoped he’d be okay without her. It would be the first night they’d spent apart. Frankie would have been happy leaving the twins with Isaac for a couple of hours, but her brother had insisted on a sleepover, so she could really let her hair down if she so wished.

  She squeezed her son so tight, he wriggled to get free. ‘You don’t mind me dropping them off early, do you? I thought it’d be easier getting ready without an audience.’

  Isaac held his hand out to Finn, who clasped on and ambled into the hallway. ‘Of course not. Have fun, okay?’

  Frankie tried to smile, but her lips twisted into a grimace. ‘I’ll give it a go.’

  She wasn’t due to meet Alex at the restaurant until seven, but Frankie planned to pamper herself with a child-free soak in the bath (oh, the luxury of not having a toddler laughing because your boob wasn’t quite covered by the bubbles, or trying to climb in with you, fully-clothed). Afterwards, instead of scraping her hair into a ponytail and leaving it to dry naturally, she dusted off her hairdryer and even went to the effort of straightening the natural wave from her hair, which was unheard of over the past couple of years. She felt great by the time she stood in front of the full-length mirror and appraised her look (which was being helped by wonderous body-shaping underwear – no amount of running seemed to be shifting the last stubborn bit of pouch created while carrying the twins). She’d opted for a classic monochrome look, with a black leather pencil skirt, a black-and-white striped roll neck sweater and a pair of killer heels. Her make-up was subtle, apart from the fierce eyeliner flick she hadn’t forgotten how to perfect.

  This was the old Frankie, staring back at her with a mixture of recognition and surprise. She’d missed this woman, missed her drive and passion and her ability to hurl herself at life with abandon, and she was suddenly very keen to catch up with her. She’d called a taxi to take her down to the harbour, and she enjoyed a small glass of wine to help settle any remaining nerves while she waited for it to arrive. She could do this. She could go out for a nice meal with a (hopefully) nice man and enjoy an evening of being Frankie. She was a bit rusty, but the old Frankie could shine again.

  Devon & Vale was a small, family-run seafood restaurant along the harbour, and although it always looked so inviting, with its huge windows either side of the glass-panelled door offering a glimpse into the cosy-looking venue, Frankie had yet to venture inside. She was looking forward to finally sampling the menu. Still, her stomach was awash with nerves as the taxi pulled up alongside the restaurant, the large, navy blue awning announcing their destination. She smoothed down her skirt as she stepped out of the taxi, took a deep breath and stepped inside.

  The restaurant was bright and bustling, with diners’ voices mingling into a general hum above the sounds of silverware on crockery and the jazzy music playing over the sound system as waiting staff coasted between the tables and the kitchen. Huge chalkboards displayed the day’s specials on the walls, framed by thick, knotted rope and seashells, and tealights created a warm glow from the centre of the tables. Alex was already inside the restaurant, sitting in the small bar area, and he stood to greet her when he spotted her in the doorway.

  ‘Hi.’ She was relieved when she saw a flicker of nerves cross his face as he leaned in to kiss her lightly on the cheek. ‘It’s great to see you again. Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘I’d love a glass of white wine, thanks.’ She hopped up onto a stool in front of the bar as elegantly as she could while strapped up in the body shaping underwear. ‘Have you been waiting long?’

  ‘Only a few minutes.’ Alex caught the attention of the barman and ordered Frankie’s drink. ‘To be honest, I was worried I was going to be late. Jake managed to escape from the back garden and went on a little adventure around town. I eventually found him down by the beach huts, digging for treasure.’

  Frankie tried not to smile, but it was impossible. ‘He’s a bit of a handful, that dog of yours.’

  ‘Hey, he ain’t mine. I’m only looking after him for a bit.’

  ‘But what if your sister doesn’t come back?’ Frankie thanked the barman as her glass of wine was placed in front of her.

  ‘She will.’ Alex gave a confident nod, but then he stopped and frowned. ‘Won’t she?’

  The corners of Frankie’s mouth twitched, but she managed to keep a straight face as she shrugged. ‘Who knows? It could be the real thing, whatever she’s got with this guy from Cyprus. She might stay out there permanently. Go the whole hog and get married.’ She stifled a giggle by taking a sip of wine as Alex’s face fell.

  ‘She wouldn’t. Would s
he? I mean, these things never last, do they? It’ll fizzle out. She’ll be back – crying, probably, which isn’t ideal but better than the alternative.’ He covered his mouth with his hand and shook his head. ‘Oh, God. I’m going to be stuck with that mutt, aren’t I?’

  Frankie couldn’t take it any longer. The laugh bubbled out as she placed a hand on Alex’s arm. ‘Relax. I’m messing with you. In all probability, she’ll be back within a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Really?’

  Frankie shrugged. ‘Have you ever known a holiday fling to last? Exactly.’ She took another sip of wine, though she vowed to pace herself. She didn’t want to end up getting plastered and regretting her actions like Katie had. Alex was handsome, and he’d already made her laugh, and it had been a really long time, but she definitely wasn’t ready for that, no matter which version of herself she saw in the mirror.

  ‘I was really nervous about this, you know.’ Alex ran a finger down his glass, wiping a path through the condensation. ‘But now I’m not sure why.’

  Alex’s admission helped to still the anxious energy still tingling uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach and she found herself confiding her own fears. ‘I was nervous too. I haven’t been on a date since… Well, I’ve been single for a couple of years now. It’s hard getting back out there.’

  Alex puffed out a huge breath and nodded his head. ‘It really is. I can’t believe I was so blasé about the whole dating thing in my twenties.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ Frankie played with the stem of her wine glass. ‘Dated a lot of women back then, did you? Bit of a stud, were you?’ She peeked up at Alex, trying not to burst out laughing when she saw the flustered look on his face.

  ‘God, no. Far from it. I mean, I did go on dates, but not loads. Less than average, I should imagine.’

  Frankie hid her amusement as she gave a sage nod. ‘My mum warned me about boys like you.’