The Single Mums’ Picnic Club: A perfectly uplifting beach-read for 2018!

She cringed as the words tumbled from her mouth, willing her lips to seal themselves shut.

‘Unlucky.’

He was humouring her. Letting her get away with her phony excuse. But at least he wasn’t openly mocking her. Not yet, anyway.

‘Don’t I know you?’

George hoped not. It was one thing making an idiot out of yourself in front of a stranger, but she didn’t want to have to relive this experience again.

‘No, I don’t think so.’ She smiled politely at him and slowed her pace, hoping he’d accept her answer and move on. But he slowed his pace too, stooping so he could take a proper look at George as she returned her gaze to the concrete.

‘I do know you!’ He gave a soft, triumphant laugh. ‘It’s… um…’ He screwed up his face as he tried to conjure her name. ‘Jill? No.’ He shook his head and tapped his fingers on the handles of the buggy he was pushing. ‘Jane? Janine?’ He shook his head again and sighed. ‘Can you help a guy out here?’

George wasn’t sure she should. She wasn’t in the habit of giving out her details to random blokes. Or any blokes at all, come to think of it.

‘Got it!’ He stopped suddenly, his eyes lit up as he pointed at her. ‘It’s George, right?’

George turned and looked at him properly, taking in his height, his stocky build, his slightly too long brown hair and the beginnings of a beard lightly sprinkled with grey. There was something vaguely familiar about the eyes and the way they sparkled as he smiled down at her.

‘Sorry.’ He shook his head, the smile dimming. ‘You must think I’m some sort of mad stalker.’ He held up a hand. ‘I’m not, I promise. We – Leo, Ellie and I – used to go to the parent and toddler group at the community centre.’ He pointed first to the girl standing beside the buggy and then ahead at his son, who was charging towards a stray football with a roar. ‘It was about… three years ago?’

George bobbed her head up and down slowly. She and Thomas had attended the weekly Little Bees and Butterflies group up until a couple of weeks ago.

‘It was a fun group, and it certainly helped Leo burn off some energy.’ Ahead, Leo drew back his leg before pelting the football into the railings with another roar. ‘I wanted to take the little one…’ He turned the buggy slightly, where another small girl sat, padded out with a thick coat, woolly hat and matching mittens. ‘But I’ve had to take on as much work as I can lately so I haven’t managed to get there.’ He pushed the buggy forward and started to stroll towards his son. ‘I remember you brought in some cakes one time.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Sticky toffee, I think it was.’

George nodded. ‘It was Thomas’ birthday so I baked some little buns for the group.’

‘They were delicious.’ He laughed. ‘Must have been if I remembered all these years later.’

George felt a warm glow inside despite the chill in the air. She’d always loved to bake, though she rarely had the opportunity to receive feedback from anyone other than Thomas, who was always very enthusiastic about cake, whether it was homemade or shop-bought.

‘I haven’t seen you at the school before. Has Thomas just transferred?’

The warm glow cooled. Although Thomas was five now and had been eligible to attend school full-time for over a year, she’d kept him at home with her for as long as she possibly could. Thomas was probably going to be her only child, and she wanted to cherish every single moment with him that she could, but she did sometimes worry that she’d made the wrong decision in delaying his formal education. She looked around the playground now, at the small clusters of children, the friendship groups formed back in reception – back in nursery, even – and Thomas was the outsider. Had she been selfish in keeping him to herself for so long?

‘No. It’s his first day at school.’ George raised her chin slightly, ready to do battle about her choices if she had to. ‘He’s starting in Miss Baxter’s class today.’

‘Leo’s in Miss Baxter’s class too.’ He pointed across the playground to his son. ‘I’ll tell him to look out for Thomas, make sure he’s settling in.’

The shriek of a whistle pierced the air, ending the conversation before George could thank him, and George leapt into action, tearing across the playground to make sure she squeezed her son tight before he left her for the day.

Where was that tissue?

Thomas was already in the line before she reached him, turning to chat to the boy behind him. He didn’t seem to mind the separation, which was a good thing, obviously. Even if it did break George’s heart just a little bit more.

‘Thomas, sweetie.’ She crouched down and pulled her gorgeous boy into her arms, inhaling his smell of shampoo, Paw Patrol bubble bath and fabric softener. ‘You be a good boy, okay? And have fun. I’ll pick you up later and you can tell me all about your day. We’ll have cake, yes? And hot chocolate with marshmallows. We can go to the park. Or the beach hut. Whichever you’d like.’

There was a hand on her shoulder. It was the man with the buggy, whose name she hadn’t thought to ask. ‘He’ll be fine. Honestly.’

She managed a wobbly sort of smile before she crouched again to press a kiss to Thomas’ curls, blinking back tears as she stepped away. She waved manically as the class filed inside, stretching up on her tiptoes, watching those familiar curls disappear as her precious boy was swallowed by the school.

‘It does get easier, I promise.’ Her new companion raised a hand in farewell before he turned the buggy and headed back through the gates. George hung around for a few minutes in case she could snatch one final glimpse of Thomas, but it was no use. With a heavy heart and watery eyes, she shuffled out of the playground and made her way to work.

Chapter Three (#ulink_14fa4e23-b187-5721-89e1-67361d335357)

Frankie

It still amazed Frankie that her children, who had shared a womb for nine months and were born just eleven minutes apart, could be so different. Finn was currently clinging onto her thigh, tears and snot merging on his top lip as he threw back his head and wailed, mouth surely wider than was physically possible, while his twin sister waltzed into the nursery, clumsy fingers trying their hardest to unzip her winter coat. Her hat and mittens had been discarded on the floor in her eagerness to play with the other children in the toddler room.

‘Good morning, Finn!’ The early years assistant flashed Frankie a sympathetic smile before she leaned down to pick up Skye’s abandoned garments. She secured them onto Skye’s labelled hook and turned to Finn with a toothy smile, her held a hand out to the still-wailing little boy. ‘Shall we go and play? Poppy’s already here. She’s been asking about you!’

Frankie expected Finn to unpeel himself and take Keeley’s hand. She was his favourite member of staff at the nursery, with Poppy being his play/craft partner of choice, but still Finn clung on, the wail reaching a higher pitch as he squeezed his eyes tight. It wasn’t uncommon for her son to kick up a bit of a fuss when it came to being left at nursery in the mornings, but it wasn’t usually this prolonged.

‘It’ll be the Christmas break. The holidays can sometimes set them back as they get used to being with Mum and Dad all day.’ Keeley crouched down to Finn’s level and injected more cheer to her ever-bright voice. She didn’t spot Frankie’s flinch at the ‘and Dad’ addition. ‘Shall we go and do some painting? You can paint Mummy a beautiful picture to take home later!’

Finn wasn’t convinced, but Frankie really had to get going. She was already behind on her work schedule due to the nursery closing for Christmas, so she couldn’t afford to stand around, no matter how much the guilt jabbed as she peeled Finn’s little fingers from her thigh.

‘Good boy!’ Keeley scooped Finn up before he could grab hold of Frankie again, avoiding his flailing arms as he frantically reached for his mum. ‘Give Mummy a big kiss and then we can go and have some fun!’

Keeley was very good at shutting out the screams emitting from the toddler, but the forlorn sound broke Frankie’s heart. She wanted nothing more than to succumb to her young son’s needs, to take him in her arms and soothe away his tears with cuddles and kisses.

‘He’ll be absolutely fine in a couple of minutes, I promise.’ Keeley was already backing away towards the toddler room, as though sensing Frankie was about to crumble. Finn started to thrash his little legs, but she held on tight. ‘He’ll be running around with Poppy in no time. Happens all the time.’

Frankie gave a slight nod of her head, but she made no attempt to leave. Every instinct was telling her to grab hold of her son and reassure him. What must be going around his little head? Did he feel abandoned? Rejected? She could take him home. Fit her work around his needs, even though this had been virtually impossible over the Christmas holidays. She’d been so exhausted after running around after two two-year-olds that she hadn’t been able to work in the evenings as planned. She’d attempted to, fighting against the urge to flop down on the sofa with the tub of Quality Street and a glass of wine, but her brain was too frazzled to do much more than check her emails. This was the very reason the twins went to nursery in the first place.

‘Seriously, Frankie.’ Keeley smiled serenely at her, as though she wasn’t struggling to keep hold of a very wriggly toddler. ‘He’ll be fine. You can always give us a ring to check later.’

Frankie nodded again, and this time she took a step back. A teeny step, but a step all the same. She did need to crack on with her work, especially with a deadline looming. She’d phone the nursery when she got home – it was only a ten-minute walk away – and if he was still upset, she’d rush back and collect him.

‘Bye, Finn. I’ll see you soon.’ She pushed a smile onto her face and somehow managed not to break down in tears herself. She craned her neck to catch a glimpse of Skye as Keeley pushed open the door to the toddler room, but her daughter had marched off to play without a backwards glance. From one extreme to the other. ‘Love you.’ She raised her hand in a quick wave before she turned and hurried away from the nursery and the heartbreaking sounds of her son’s sobbing.

Nobody warned you about this bit. They told you all the gory details of labour and birth. The horror stories of night feeds and teething and the terrible twos (doubled, when you had twins). But they didn’t prepare you for the gut-wrenching moments when you had to leave them in the care of somebody else. They didn’t prime you for the guilt of being anything other than the child’s mother.

Finn was perfectly fine when Frankie phoned the nursery six-and-a-half minutes later. She’d run all the way home, taking a short-cut through the park, and hadn’t even bothered to ditch her coat before she dialled Parkside Day Nursery, panting and slightly sweating despite the bleak, early January chill.

‘Are you sure he’s okay?’ Frankie had been told that Finn was now happily splatting paint with bestie Poppy, but Frankie couldn’t seem to quell the nagging doubt that she was doing Something Wrong, a feeling that had plagued her for the past year. She could never quite shake off the feeling that she was failing her children, that she wasn’t good enough despite her best efforts. She’d moved to Clifton-on-Sea for a fresh start, but the feelings of inadequacy had moved with her. Most notably, and the concern Frankie could easily identify, was the worry about her poor babies’ lack of a two-parent family. Perhaps this was the reason Finn was so clingy now? Did he feel abandoned? Rejected?

‘He is absolutely fine.’ Keeley’s voice was upbeat, but then it always was so it offered little consolation. The lack of screaming in the background, however, was definitely a comfort. ‘He cried for, like, another minute. Two, max. And now he’s having a brilliant time with Poppy.’

‘Good.’ Frankie swallowed the urge to ask if the paint Finn was using was toxic-free and nudged the front door – which she hadn’t paused long enough to close – with her foot and unzipped her coat as she moved through to the kitchen. The breakfast dishes were still piled in the sink – another Something Wrong. ‘You’ll phone me if he needs me, won’t you? Because I work from home. I can be there in ten minutes. Less.’

‘Of course, but there’ll be no need. Finn was just thrown off kilter because of the Christmas break.’

‘Yes, I’m sure that’s all it is.’ Frankie didn’t necessarily agree, but she didn’t like to come across as a neurotic mum, even if she felt like one a lot of the time. She’d been horrified the first time Skye had marched out of the nursery, her wrist held in the air as she showed off her crafting skills. She’d created a bracelet by threading a mishmash of buttons and large wooden beads onto a length of elasticated cord. Where the nursery saw the opportunity to experiment and unleash the children’s creativity while practicing those all-important motor skills, Frankie had spotted a choking hazard the embellishments could have caused.

She’d managed to push down the fear and panic, but it had been there, and continued to present itself on a daily basis.

‘I’ll see you this afternoon then. About three?’ Frankie didn’t usually pick the twins up until at least five, but she needed to ease herself back into their routine. And to be honest, three o’ clock – almost six hours away – seemed like a stretch.