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

‘My whole life is a mess.’ Katie sighed. ‘My husband is divorcing me, so he can marry the woman he cheated on me with and knocked up.’

Frankie’s mouth dropped open. ‘You’re kidding!’

Katie shook her head and gave a wry smile. ‘Afraid not.’

‘You’re better off without him,’ George said. ‘Why would you want to be shackled to a man who doesn’t even respect you, or your marriage, or your family?’

Katie gave a slow nod. ‘I know you’re right, but…’ She shrugged. ‘It’s scary. I’ve never been on my own before. We were only kids when we got together. It’s always been me and Rob, working together, you know?’

George nodded and gave Katie’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘I get it, honestly I do. I was terrified at the prospect of raising a baby by myself, but I also knew it was something I wanted so badly I couldn’t not do it. I can’t say it’s been plain-sailing, but parenting never is.’

‘We’re all sort of in the same boat, aren’t we?’ Frankie looked from George to Katie. ‘Single mums. It’s kind of nice to know I’m not alone with my struggles. I don’t really have any mum friends – I only moved here a year ago and I’ve been so caught up with work, I haven’t had the chance to socialise.’

Katie snorted. ‘I’ve forgotten what socialising is. All my friends and workmates were Rob’s friends and workmates too, and I’ve been too paranoid about whether they knew about the affair to keep up with any of them.’

‘That sucks.’ Frankie flashed her a sympathetic look. ‘I know what it’s like to lose friends en masse. When Bradley – the twins’ dad – died, people started to avoid me. It wasn’t a malicious thing – I just think they were struggling with what to say to me or afraid they’d say the wrong thing.’

‘Your husband died?’ George’s eyebrows pulled down and her hand lay gently on Frankie’s arm. ‘That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.’

‘We weren’t married.’ Frankie laughed without humour. ‘Just one of the many things we never got round to. But yes, it was terrible. I miss him.’

‘Of course you do.’ Katie offered a small smile. ‘But he’d be proud of you. You’re so strong.’

Frankie shook her head, but Katie’s words meant a lot. ‘Not strong enough to withhold an ambush from that shaggy beast, clearly.’

‘I don’t think any of us could have withstood that beast, especially whilst holding a tantalising hot sandwich.’ George looked at her watch, her eyes widening at the time before she leapt to her feet. ‘I’m really sorry, but I have to get going soon. I need to pick my son up from school.’

Frankie stood too, wincing as her not-quite-restored knee jarred. ‘I really have to get going too. I’m supposed to be working.’ She’d fall even further behind if she didn’t get a shift on.

‘I’ll give you a lift,’ Katie said. ‘My car isn’t far away and I need to find a shop selling Chocolate Oranges anyway. Do you think you could make it up to the promenade?’

With Katie and George’s help and taking it slowly, Frankie made it to the top of the stone steps leading up to the promenade.

‘We should do this again,’ George said as Frankie rested against the iron railing running along the seafront. ‘Not the injury, obviously. But we should get together for a natter, when we’ve got a bit more time. Why don’t we meet again tomorrow?’

‘It would have to be at lunchtime.’ Frankie’s stomach growled, despite the double helping of cake. ‘I’m snowed under with work after the Christmas break.’

‘Sounds perfect.’ George clapped her hands together. ‘We can meet at the beach hut, in case it rains again.’

She sounded so excited at the prospect that Frankie couldn’t help smiling. ‘Okay. I’ll be here.’

Katie nodded before she started to move towards the kerb, car keys in hand while the other hand was held aloft, silently instructing Frankie to remain where she was for the moment. ‘Me too. Sounds fun.’ She turned to wink at George. ‘Especially if you bring more cake.’

George clapped her hands together again, her eyes wide and shining. ‘I can do better than that – why don’t I bring a picnic since we’re meeting at lunchtime?’

Katie waved her ‘wait there for a moment, Frankie’ hand vigorously. ‘No, no, I was kidding about the cake. I wouldn’t really put you to that much trouble.’

‘It’s no trouble at all.’ Frankie could tell by the firm nod of George’s head that they would be treated to a picnic the next day whether they agreed to the plan or not. ‘I’ll see you back here tomorrow. Bring your appetites!’

Chapter Seven (#ulink_5a97f7e9-6e2e-5cee-9095-3660b2ab8867)

Katie

Katie managed to find a replacement Chocolate Orange at a mini market around the corner from Frankie’s house (and it was reduced to half price – hurrah!), switch it with Elliot’s depleted one, and remove the evidence that there had ever been another Chocolate Orange in the house at all (and was now feeling sickly. Not good) with time to spare. She found herself sitting on the sofa in the kitchen, the acknowledgement of service in hand, not sure whether it was the overindulgence or the prospect of signing away her marriage that was making her feel queasy.

She still couldn’t quite believe it had come to this. All those years wasted. All those happy memories obliterated by that one ugly word. Divorce. She’d failed – as a wife and a mother – but Rob had failed too. Failed more, because whatever cracks had appeared in their marriage – to him, at least – he’d chosen to have an affair rather than addressing them. If Rob had been unhappy, which he must have been even if he hadn’t shown it at the time, then he could have talked to Katie. He could have tried harder. But he hadn’t. He’d been unfaithful. He’d set off on a different path in life without her, without even letting her know he was about to veer off course. He’d disregarded their marriage, disregarded her. George was right! Why would she want to remain shackled to this man who looked like the husband she knew and loved but had stopped acting like him a long time ago? She didn’t know what life without a husband would be like – and the concept alone terrified her – but surely it was better than this no-man’s-land of being married in name only? This love limbo, where she couldn’t go back but couldn’t seem to move on either.

Leaping to her feet (as much as one can leap when you’re stuffed to the gills with chocolate), Katie scoured the room for a pen. She would sign this acknowledgement of service. She’d send it off, set the ball rolling from her end, and one day in the near-future she would become the new Katie she was fated to be. She didn’t know who this Katie was; what was her favourite restaurant (Rob didn’t like seafood or anything remotely spicy, and was averse to trying new things, so they’d always stuck to the local pizza parlour), what were her hobbies (she had more time to fill now the kids were spending large chunks away from her, however much she wanted to cling onto them), what was her name? Would she remain Katie May, or return to her maiden name, which she hadn’t used since her late teens and would separate her from her children?

It was all so confusing, but change was inevitable. Rob wasn’t going to come back, and life would never be the same even if he did. She could never trust him, would never feel enough for him. And Anya – through their daughter – would always be a grey cloud looming over them. No, there was no going back. Katie knew that now deep down, and it was time to move forward, one tiny step at a time, starting with one little signature on this piece of paper.

It sounded so easy in her head, such a simple act, yet her breathing was shallow, and the paper quivered slightly in her hand. Had it been this difficult for Rob? She hoped so, because the idea that he’d started proceedings to end their marriage without even the briefest of hesitation was heart breaking.

Deep breaths. Katie took three of them. She didn’t feel any more determined to do this thing, but she reached into her handbag for a pen, quickly, before she changed her mind. She put the paper down when her fingers failed to connect with any kind of writing implement, dragging the handbag closer so she could peer inside at the contents. Purse. Mobile, which had switched itself off due to low battery. She plugged it into the charger before continuing her search, which wasn’t a delaying tactic but a necessity. Lipstick (ha! When was the last time she’d bothered with make-up?). A scrunched-up tissue. Two receipts (dated before Christmas) and the ticket from the pay and display meter she’d used that morning.

No pen. She usually had at least three in her bag. She checked again. Pushed her fingers deep into the corners and ran them along the lining at the bottom. Nothing. She moved through to the living room, rifling through drawers, checking under the junk accumulated on the coffee table and even risked a rummage down the back of the sofa, where she located several sweet wrappers, eight pence, and a pink paper hat from the Christmas crackers, but not one single pen.

She was about to move back to the kitchen, but her plan was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was a bit too early for the kids (who had a key each but often left them lying around the house), but she shoved the acknowledgement of service under a Boots’ Christmas Gift Guide anyway (she really must shove that in the recycling bin), just in case, and plonked the novel she’d been trying to read since the school summer holidays but was still languishing on Chapter Seven on top for good measure.

‘Oh, you’re in.’ Jack looked taken aback when she opened the door, his eyebrows lifting as he turned back towards the door. He’d already started to walk towards the gate, but he came back now. ‘I was about to give up.’ Bending, he pulled a small brown box from the basket under the buggy and held it towards Katie. ‘This came while you were out.’

Frowning, Katie took the parcel. She vaguely recalled picking something up from the mat when she’d arrived home, but she’d been so preoccupied with her Chocolate Orange subterfuge, she’d simply dumped it on the little table in the hall. Glancing back, she saw the ‘sorry you were out’ card.

‘Are you okay?’ Jack asked when she turned back to the parcel. ‘You look a bit… windswept.’

Katie reached up to touch her hair, which was loose around her shoulders. Her fingers tangled in the rat’s nest the windy beach and rain had produced. Could this day get any more embarrassing?

‘I went for a walk. On the beach.’ And spilled my secrets and fears to a couple of strangers.

It had felt strangely cathartic.

‘Thanks for this.’ She turned the parcel over, her stomach seeming to scrunch in on itself when she spotted the label. Mrs Katie May. How much longer would she be able to call herself that? Would it change as soon as she signed the papers hiding under the Boots Christmas Gift Guide? ‘Would you like to come in for a coffee?’ This was not a delaying tactic; this was being polite to a kind neighbour. She opened the door wider, but Jack scrunched up his nose and thrust a thumb over his shoulder.

‘I was just on my way to pick up Leo and Ellie. Just knocked on the off chance I’d catch you. Sorry.’

‘No worries.’ She looked down at her watch, surprised by the time. Where had the afternoon gone? ‘You’d better hurry.’

Jack gave a wry smile. ‘I’ve spent my life hurrying since having kids.’ He raised a hand in farewell before turning the buggy around and heading for the gate. Katie waited until he’d disappeared from view before she returned to the kitchen with the parcel. She’d take care of that and then get right onto signing the papers.

The parcel was nothing to get excited about and contained nothing but a cheap-looking keyring from one of the job search sites she’d signed up for and far too much packing material. Still, she attached it to her set of keys, which wasn’t a delaying tactic – it was where keyrings belonged, after all. But once the keyring was in its rightful place and she’d squashed the box and packing materials into the overflowing recycling bin, there wasn’t anything left to do but sign the acknowledgement of service. She could do this. She would do this.

Finally locating a pen from the junk drawer, she picked up the slip of paper that would start the change of not only her marital status but her life. Deep breaths. Three of them, long and calming.

Right. Let’s do this thing.

Her phone ringing jolted Katie, but she couldn’t help feeling relieved by the legitimate delay. She threw the pen and paper down on the sofa and leapt at her phone, crouching so she could answer while it was still plugged into the charger. She frowned when she spotted her husband’s name on the screen. Had he sensed she was about to sign the papers? Had he changed his mind? Was he about to beg her not to return it? To shred it. To burn it.

‘Hello?’ She cringed at the wobble in her voice.