The Choir on Hope Street: A gorgeously uplifting romantic comedy to make your heart sing!

‘My pleasure. I just wanted to check that you were okay after our little bump the other day?’

She said it like it was a fun thing – a mutually shared treat. ‘I’m fine, thanks, and you didn’t need to buy me flowers.’

‘Well, I was in Waitrose and I saw them so I thought I would, plus Matilda told me that your son is in her class and that you write the Ned Bobbin books. I had no idea, so I thought I would pop in on my way home, say, “Hi,” and just check that you’re all right. You seemed very upset the other day.’ She creased her face into a grimace of sympathy.

I realised then that she had only called in because of who I was. I get this from time to time. People are often very interested when they find out you’re a writer.

‘Wow! That must be fascinating!’ they say. It isn’t really. It’s a job like any other and it involves staring at a blank piece of paper, desperately trying to think of some words, so it can be quite stressful too.

Or they’ll smile at me with obvious envy. ‘You’re so lucky. That’s my dream job.’ Really? Because my dream job is to be Mary Berry’s official cake taster. You should aim higher, my friend.

‘You must earn millions,’ is another one I hear occasionally. Hmmm, not especially. Although I am waiting for the Hollywood version of Ned’s life to propel me towards retirement. It’s turning out to be quite a long wait.

I did love my job but it was as frustrating as any other and often quite lonely. Dear old Ned had become quite popular amongst pre-schoolers and contributed towards the mortgage but man, he could be demanding.

So it was clear that Caroline had just discovered a new fact and decided that she wanted a writer as a friend. Still, there are worse crimes and I am pretty fantastic, despite now being a single mother with a worrying brownie addiction. ‘It’s very kind of you to pop by,’ I said.

She smiled and nodded at me, glancing over at Ed and then back to me, waiting for an introduction. ‘Sorry.’ I said. ‘This is Ed Jarvis.’

‘Oh, my God! You’re the Ed Jarvis. You illustrate the Ned Bobbin books. We love those books. They were basically the only thing that would get Matilda to sleep,’ chimed Caroline. She shook hands with Ed. He gave her his best modest but charming smile. Caroline looked from Ed to me and back to Ed. ‘This is so exciting! I can’t believe I’m standing here with Natalie Garfield and Ed Jarvis – it’s amazing!’

Ed and I exchanged glances. ‘It is overwhelming,’ he joked. ‘To be honest, Nat and I rarely get any work done due to the overpowering nature of our awesomeness.’

I rolled my eyes whilst Caroline snorted with delight as if this was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. ‘Soo, are you working on something at the moment?’ she asked, eyes fixed firmly on Ed.

I shot him a look, which I hoped would say, ‘No.’

‘Actually, I was about to show Nat my roughs for the new Ned book. Would you like to see?’

‘Oh, my God, I would love that!’ gushed Caroline, pressing her hands to her heart as if he’d just offered her a date with Ryan Gosling.

I shook my head in disbelief. The problem with Ed was his ego. He loved to show off and he loved to get approval for his work. I know this is a normal human thing but he was basically a three-year-old when it came to his artwork and I was his mum. Today. Caroline was the auntie who only visits on occasion and Ed knew he had a captive audience. ‘Follow me,’ he said, grinning, leading Caroline into the dining room.

‘Oh, wow!’ breathed Caroline, taking in the sketches. ‘These are gorgeous.’ Ed stood back, basking in the glory.

Actually, they were pretty magnificent. He had given Ned a super-hero make-over, complete with mask, cape and dinky boots.

‘You are so talented,’ declared Caroline.

‘Well, Nat?’ asked Ed, looking at me. Bless, I thought. He still needs approval from his mum.

‘They’re wonderful,’ I smiled. Ed beamed. I almost wished I had a gold sticker to give him. ‘Just one thing, do you think he should have his pants over his costume like that? Maybe he should have a belt with the NB logo instead?’

Ed’s face wrinkled into a frown as he took in the illustrations again. ‘I thought the pants thing made it more fun,’ he said.

‘I think it’s perfect,’ declared Caroline.

‘See? Caroline thinks it’s perfect and she’s an actual, real-life reader,’ said Ed in a know-it-all voice.

I knew he was teasing but I was irritated by Caroline’s interference. What did she know about books and writing? This was my world. She should stick to PTA cake sales and Farrow and Ball paint charts. I kept my voice calm. ‘Let’s see what the art director thinks, shall we?’

Ed glanced at me. He could tell I was riled. ‘Whatever you think, angel-cake.’

I smiled with gratitude. ‘Anyway, Caroline, thanks for dropping by and for the flowers.’

She looked at me in surprise. If she thought she was staying for a cuppa, she was mistaken. ‘Oh yes, no problem at all. It was great to see you and lovely to meet you, Ed,’ she cried with a sycophantic smile. I followed her to the front door. She paused, turning back to face me. She was one of those women who knew how to make the best of her features. She wasn’t necessarily beautiful but she wore the right make-up, clothes and hairstyle to make herself effortlessly attractive and therefore rather intimidating to me. ‘Actually, Natalie, there was something I wanted to ask you.’

Oh gawd, here it comes. She’s got a brilliant book idea that she wants me to look at or she’s going to enlist me to write all the copy for the PTA. And I’m too weak to say no. Damn you, Dan – this is all your fault.

‘Did you know that they’re planning to demolish Hope Street Community Hall?’

I was shocked. I had fond memories of the place. It was a fairly dilapidated building but it was much loved and used by the busy, chaotic toddler group, which provided a haven for new mothers on Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings. I had found this a godsend when Woody was a baby. It was run by a group of retired ladies, who were basically like clucky, kindly hens, always willing to make you an industrial-strength coffee whilst they rocked and cuddled your fractious baby. On more than one occasion, during the intense early years, I had arrived looking like a character from A Nightmare On Elm Street, but returned home feeling almost human and reassured by their kindness and insistence that I keep up my strength by devouring at least twenty-five chocolate bourbons.

‘Oh, that’s really sad,’ I said, feeling my eyes mist at the memory and then hating myself for being so bloody emotional at the moment.

‘I’m glad you feel like that,’ said Caroline, thrusting a flyer into my hand. ‘Save Hope Street Community Hall’ was printed on it in large red letters with details of a forthcoming meeting, which I noted with increasing dread was due to be held at Caroline’s house later that week. I avoided her gaze by staring down at the flyer. ‘So you’ll come? I’m going to leaflet this street and the surrounding ones today. I think we’ll get a huge response.’

I swallowed, ready to make my excuses. Single parenthood wasn’t a status I wanted but it was a trump card today. ‘Oh, I don’t think I can make it. There’s no-one to look after Woody,’ I explained.

‘Won’t your husband be home?’ she asked.

‘Not any more,’ remarked Ed, appearing behind us.

I glared at him. To his credit, he recoiled in horror, mouthing ‘Sorry’ to me.

Caroline’s eyebrows were raised and I realised that I would need to explain before she cranked up the rumour-mill in the school playground. I sighed. ‘My husband and I are having a few problems,’ I said, feeling annoyed that despite my writer’s credentials, this was the best I could come up with.

‘Oh. Oh dear,’ she said in a way that sounded to my ears like, You’ve clearly failed. I’m pretending not to judge you, whilst judging you. ‘Well, I do hope you manage to sort it out and persuade him to come home. I don’t know what I’d do if Oliver ever left. Not that he would, of course.’

‘You can never be too sure,’ I retorted.

‘I know my husband,’ said Caroline with a thin smile.

‘I thought I knew mine too,’ I replied with narrowed eyes.

‘Anyway, ladies!’ cried Ed, detecting the start of a bitch-fight. ‘I love the sound of your campaign, Caroline, so I’m more than happy to baby-sit for you, Nat.’

‘Thank you,’ I said through clenched teeth.

‘Thank you,’ repeated Caroline, beaming at Ed in adoration. ‘See you on Thursday then, Natalie. 7.30 sharp. Lovely to meet you, Ed.’

‘You too.’ Ed said, nodding with a grin.

Caroline gave us both a neat little wave as she skipped down the steps into her stupidly large, gas-guzzling car. ‘Byeee,’ she trilled before driving off in a haze of planet-destroying fumes.

‘Judgemental cow!’ I cried as I slammed the door behind me.

‘I thought she was nice,’ teased Ed.