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

‘We’ll see you then. Have a good day!’

Frankie was about to ask after Finn one last time, just to really put her mind at ease, but the phone line was dead. She stared at her phone for a moment, contemplating ringing back – just for a super-quick call – but she came to her senses and shoved the phone into the pocket of her jeans before whipping off her coat and flicking the kettle on. She washed the dishes while she waited for the kettle to boil. There wasn’t actually a lot, just a couple of bowls and spoons, two plastic beakers, and a small plate – she really needed to stop beating herself up. She took her cup of tea into the office. Her office was actually a desk and a set of shelves squeezed into an alcove in the corner of the dining room, but it served its purpose and gave Frankie the space she needed to work as a freelance brand designer. Before the twins, she’d worked in a swanky office in the centre of Manchester, but she couldn’t face the long hours and the commute once her maternity leave was over, so she’d decided to set up on her own. It had been a risky decision, but one that was paying off, especially since the move away from her home town. She had a healthier balance between her work and home life, and it gave her more of a sense of ease being so close to her children. Of course, on days like these, it took a great effort to switch from mum mode to professional, but she managed to push aside her worries over Finn and concentrate on her latest task of designing a new website for her client. It was almost half past one before she came up for air, her shoulders and lower back aching, cup of tea cold. She winced as she stood, one hand massaging her back while the other reached for the cup. Her work had been largely neglected while the nursery had been closed over Christmas and the New Year, and she’d forgotten quite how stiff her body became as she hunched over her desk. She normally counteracted this with yoga and regular runs along the beach, but she pushed the thought away as she headed across to the kitchen. She’d placed her young children in nursery so she could work, so the thought of wasting that time on such frivolous acts when her son had been so miserable at being left that morning made her stomach knot with guilt.

No. She’d simply have to put up with the discomfort for now. Perhaps she’d do a bit of yoga once the twins were in bed tonight. Or a long, hot bath might do it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed herself anything more than a quick shower; there was always something more important to be getting on with than lazing in the bath.

She flicked the kettle on and poured the forgotten tea down the sink before opening the fridge in search of something to eat for lunch. There wasn’t much inside, apart from a few wrapped segments of a Chocolate Orange, the Chomp from Skye’s selection box, and half a bag of limp-looking Brussel sprouts. There was butter, but she groaned when she remembered she’d used the last of the bread for her toast that morning. And the cupboards were in a worse state than the fridge. She’d used up everything over the festive period (including a slightly out-of-date tin of Spam) as she couldn’t be bothered going to the effort of getting herself and the twins washed, dressed and bundled up in winter coats. They’d spent the past week surviving on non-perishables and she hadn’t faced the shops to stock up yet.

‘Bugger.’ Frankie closed the cupboard and sighed. It looked like she was going to have to venture out after all. And if she was heading out anyway, what was the harm in killing two birds with one stone and going for a little run as well? The fresh air would do her good and help to keep the creative cogs turning.

She raced up the stairs before she could allow the guilt of indulging in a bit of self-care to set in, changing into a pair of leggings, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and the hoodie her brother had bought her for Christmas. After shoving her trainers on her feet and making sure she had her purse, keys and phone (just in case Finn needed her), she was ready to set out. She started off at a gentle pace as she jogged down to the seafront, easing herself back into the exercise after a week or two of excess eating, and she immediately felt her shoulders loosen. It was hard work after holing herself up for the past couple of weeks, and there was a definite danger of rain as the grey clouds darkened, but it was so freeing being out in the open, the sounds of the waves growing closer with each step. She was soon on the promenade, the wind whipping at her hot cheeks, her mouth stretched into a smile despite her exertions. She loved this feeling. She wished she could bottle it up for those times she felt trapped in the house with two mischievous toddlers rampaging around the rooms. Not that she would ever admit this out loud. Motherhood was precious. A gift. She knew she was incredibly lucky to have two happy, healthy children. That she was there to witness them growing up. Not everybody had that luxury.

Oh, but sometimes she missed the old Frankie. The fun Frankie who could drink her brother and his mates under the table at the pub. The Frankie who would meet her friends in town for endless afternoons of coffee, cake and gossip. The Frankie who could go to the toilet without being followed and quizzed about what she was doing. She loved her children so much, but she couldn’t help mourning the loss of the woman she was before, if only from the privacy of her own thoughts, and only briefly before she felt like a complete monster.

She picked up her pace, enjoying the scream of pain from her thighs as it overtook all thoughts and emotions. The old Frankie was gone, never to return, and there was no point dwelling on it.

Chapter Four (#ulink_7115bf5a-8abd-5588-b454-48948170eaba)

Katie

Helen Robinson clasped her hands together and lay them down on the file on the desk in front of her as she observed Katie, her lips pressed tightly together, her eyebrows pulled down low. She emitted a barely-audible sigh as Katie gave a firm shake of her head.

‘No.’

‘I’m sorry, Katie. I really am.’ Helen offered a half-smile. ‘But at least we know what we’re dealing with now.’

‘No.’ Katie shook her head again and shifted forward in her seat, slapping the palms of her hands down on the desk. Helen didn’t even flinch at the sudden sound. ‘He’s not getting it.’

The half-smile was back on the solicitor’s face. ‘Why don’t we get you a nice cup of tea?’

Because a cup of tea – nice or otherwise – wasn’t going to help the situation? Because Katie would very much like something with a bit more oomph than a mug of PG Tips, even if it was half past nine in the morning? Because she was so angry her hands were starting to tremble, and she suspected she’d end up with more of the tea down her front than in her mouth?

Katie said none of this. She simply sat back in her seat, shoving her hands under her thighs to mask her agitation while the solicitor rang through to the receptionist to organise refreshments. She fixed her eyes on the wall behind Helen’s chair, her eyes seeing but not reading the framed certificates above her solicitor’s head. She swallowed against the huge lump in her throat, willing herself not to cry.

‘I know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear.’ Helen had done the sympathetic bit, but she was back in business mode now, her back straight, tone firm. She waited until Katie caught her eye – however briefly – before she continued. ‘But I’m afraid your husband has a right – by law – to request half of the marital assets. Including the property on Carter Lane.’

Katie’s eyes widened, the burning anger she felt rising to the surface evaporating any notion of tears. ‘That property is my childhood home! It belonged to my parents. My mum left that property to me. Why should they get half of it?’ Katie leaned forward, her palms back on the desk. ‘Rob left me for another woman. Abandoned me with two children. And he didn’t even like my mum. Said she was overbearing. Stuck her nose in. Thought she always knew best.’ Katie was gasping for breath by now, but she powered on, the heels of her hands digging into the edge of the desk. ‘Why should they profit from my mum’s death? Why should they get to live happily ever after?’

It wasn’t fair. Katie hadn’t asked for any of this; the heartache, the upheaval, the having to explain to her children that their father was starting a new life with another woman. It felt like she was losing everything and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

‘I know it doesn’t seem fair.’ Helen’s tone was gentle again, and she passed a box of tissues across the desk as Katie swiped at her eyes with the back of a quivering hand. ‘But I’m afraid your assets will be split. Of course, it isn’t up to me. The courts will decide how those assets will be split if you and your husband can’t come to an arrangement between you, but you should be prepared for any outcome.’

Katie tugged a tissue out of the box and mopped up her tears. ‘I don’t want to lose my parents’ house. Mum and Dad worked so hard for it. And I can’t afford to buy Rob’s share.’ Rob’s share. The words made her stomach turn. ‘I’m unemployed, with two kids to feed and clothe. It’s okay for him. They have two incomes.’

Helen nodded. ‘And the courts will take both your circumstances into consideration.’ She smiled her thanks as the receptionist arrived with a tray of tea and individually-wrapped biscuits, waiting until she’d placed the tray on the desk and left again before continuing. ‘There is an alternative, if you’re really set against selling the Carter Lane property.’

Katie wished she’d stop calling it that. It was so impersonal. But she didn’t say so, simply raised her eyebrows in question as she tore open the packet of an oat crumble biscuit. It wasn’t that long since she’d eaten her breakfast, but stress made her crave sugary, comforting food. And she’d been boiling over with stress lately, hence the too-tight trousers.

‘Another option is to sell the family home…’

‘No.’ Katie shook her head vigorously. ‘No way.’

Helen raised a hand. ‘Hear me out, before you dismiss the idea.’

‘No.’ Katie’s tone was firm. Absolute. She loved that house and could still remember the day she and Rob had viewed it, could still feel that frisson of certainty as she stepped over the threshold into the bright hallway, already picturing their coats hanging from the line of hooks by the front door, and she could clearly see the framed photos of the family they had yet to start lining the walls. She knew this was the home where she and her new husband would bring their children up and live happily ever after.

The happily ever after bit hadn’t panned out, but still…

‘It’s my children’s home. I won’t sell it.’

Helen gave a shrug of defeat. ‘That’s fair enough, but the option is there. You should really consider mediation, to help you and Rob to divide your assets before the divorce is finalised. Now.’ She glanced down at the file on her desk. ‘Have you filled out the acknowledgement of service yet?’

Katie yanked the biscuit from its packet and took a bite, chewing slowly before answering. Helen waited patiently, hands clasped in front of her again.

‘Not yet.’ Katie squirmed in her seat as Helen tilted her head to one side. ‘I’ve been busy. Job hunting. And I have two children to take care of. And it’s been Christmas and everything…’

‘You only have a small amount of time to return it, Katie.’

‘I know.’ Katie rewrapped the remaining biscuit and placed it back onto the tray. ‘I’ll do it later. When I get home.’

Helen didn’t say a word, but the slight raise of her eyebrows displayed her disbelief as loudly as her shouting it through a megaphone would have done.

Katie hadn’t admitted to her solicitor that the acknowledgement of service had been sitting in her handbag, afraid that the formidable woman would insist she sign it there and then and get the divorce ball well and truly rolling. She’d do it later, at home, where she was comfortable. She’d sign it and send it off straight away, before the kids got home from school.

It wasn’t yet lunchtime, so she had plenty of time to stop at the supermarket up by the train station. She needed to replace Elliot’s Chocolate Orange before he realised its size had been depleted and all hell broke loose over the snaffled 3 a.m. feast. She filled her basket with fruit and vegetables, which she knew she’d have to battle to get her kids to eat but it was a new year, a fresh start, and time to stop eating so much junk. They’d thank her in the long run. Maybe. She made a quick dash down the confectionery aisle, thanking the Sweet Treat Gods when she spotted the Chocolate Oranges on the shelf. Hurrah! Grabbing one (and only one, no matter how tempting it was to add more to her basket), she hurried towards the self-checkouts, taking a shortcut down the baby aisle.

Big mistake.

Her pumps squeaked on the tiles as she came to an abrupt stop. She backed away carefully, breath held, eyes wild with panic should the woman ahead turn to her left and spot her sneaking away. She was currently plucking jars of pureed baby food from the shelf, resting two in the palms of her hands as she weighed up which one to add to her trolley.

Just keep reading those labels. Don’t turn around…

Katie took another careful step backwards, wide eyes trained on her nemesis. Anya. The other woman. The woman who had taken her husband, best friend and the father of her children all rolled into one. Rob had been Katie’s first and only love. Childhood sweethearts, the couple had met when Rob had transferred to Katie’s school aged fourteen, and the pair had been inseparable ever since. It was funny to think that they were a year younger than Elliot was now when they’d started their relationship, but Katie had known Rob was The One, even back then. They were just nineteen when they married – which seemed ridiculously young now, but they’d been head over heels and so sure their futures would be entwined forever. Elliot had arrived a couple of years later, followed by little sister Lizzie. Katie had enjoyed her perfect life, with her perfect little family in their perfect house by the sea.

Until eighteen months ago, when Rob dropped his triple bombshell:

He’d been having an affair with his French tutor for the past eight months.

The French tutor was pregnant.

And Rob was leaving Katie to be with her.

The news had knocked Katie for six. She’d felt physically sick, and completely lost her appetite (for the first few months, at least, before it returned with a vengeance), which rendered her exhausted. Getting out of bed in the morning had been a battle, and when she did manage to drag her weary body from the covers, she did nothing but cry and mourn for the life she – and her children – had lost. Because while Rob got to play happy families with his new partner and their daughter, Katie had been left on her own, with two kids and no job. And now Rob wanted a divorce, so he could marry the woman who helped to destroy their marriage, plus half of the house she’d inherited from her mum in the process. It had been kick in the teeth after kick in the teeth from Rob over the past eighteen months, and Katie couldn’t take any more. She couldn’t face that woman or the child, with the puff of blonde curls that reminded Katie so much of Lizzie as a baby it felt like she was being sliced through the chest. Katie had been desperate for a third child, a baby brother or sister for Elliot and Lizzie to complete their family, but Rob had coaxed her away from the idea; they had two beautiful, healthy children – why would they crave more? And yet here he was, with that third child, a baby sister for Elliot and Lizzie, but it was with another woman.

Katie was almost at the end of the aisle again. She could slip away and get on with her day, replacing Elliot’s Chocolate Orange, checking the multitude of job sites she checked every single day, cooking the nutritious vegetables that were sitting in her basket…

‘Oi!’ An angry voice growled as she backed into something solid. ‘Watch where you’re bloody going!’

She hopped away from the bear-like man as he glared down at her, apologising as earnestly as she could while whispering. Lip curled, he shook his head and ambled away, but not before he’d called her a few unsavoury names.