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

He was always so sweet like that back then. It was different when we were both working at the bank. We worked hard and partied even harder. They were very happy times, working all week, doing up the house at the weekends. We had builders in to start with but we finished it all ourselves. I can remember Saturdays, listening to cheesy music on the radio while we decorated. I feel as if I know every inch of that house.

I smiled at the memory but my thoughts were interrupted by a loud, gasping sob. I stared at Natalie. I’d almost forgotten she was there. She looked truly awful, her face red and blotchy. I watched with disgust as she used a sleeve to wipe one eye. I reached into the glove compartment and retrieved a tissue as I might do for Matilda. I held it out for her and she seemed so touched by this tiny act of kindness that it brought on a fresh round of tears.

‘Thank you. Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘You must think I’m a nightmare.’

Of course I did but I’m never rude. ‘Not at all,’ I lied. ‘We all have off days,’ although of course I rarely did.

‘Would you like to come in for a coffee?’ she asked, dabbing at her nose with the tissue.

‘That would be lovely but I’m afraid I have an appointment.’ This was only a half-lie as my cleaner was coming at ten and I always liked to be home to make sure she did her allotted two hours. I’d caught her leaving ten minutes early once.

Natalie nodded and smiled. There was an awkward pause as if she was waiting for me to say something, possibly ask her what was wrong, but I wasn’t going to do this. I barely knew her and I had a policy never to get involved with strangers’ problems. People loved to be so dramatic these days, longing for others to notice them, to affirm their existence with a ‘poor you’ or a Like on Facebook. It was all very needy. I don’t want to sound harsh but I can’t bear needy people.

Happily, there was a tap on the car window. It was our postman and he was smiling in at Natalie. He was one of those men who insist on wearing shorts whatever the weather and he always seemed to be tanned and relentlessly cheerful. I couldn’t recall his name until Natalie opened the passenger door and greeted him.

‘Hey Jim. How are you?’

‘Fine, thanks Nat. You look a bit down. What’s up?’

I took this as my signal to escape. ‘I’ll let you get on then, Natalie,’ I said.

She turned her head towards me. ‘Okay then. Thanks for the lift, Caroline,’ she replied, climbing out of the car. She shut the door with a slam. Again. ‘Sorry,’ she winced, holding up a hand in apology.

I smiled and shook my head, pretending it didn’t matter before driving off. I glanced at Natalie and Jim in the rear-view mirror. They were already deep in conversation as he handed over a pile of letters, his face creased with concern. Natalie was obviously unloading that day’s drama. I couldn’t believe that she would be telling her troubles to the postman. The world had gone mad.

As I reached home and opened the front door, I exhaled with relief – another crisis averted. I noticed a plug of fluff hanging from the bottom of the radiator. I made a mental note to ask Rosie to give them a good clean and check the skirting boards while she was at it. I always took pride in keeping a clean and tidy house. Appearances are everything, after all.

CHAPTER THREE

NATALIE

‘So are you sure there isn’t someone else involved?’ asked Ed.

‘I’m as sure as I can be,’ I replied.

‘Has he actually said that though?’

‘Woody asked him.’ Ed looked surprised. I sighed. ‘I know. He came round so that we could tell Woody what was happening and it was only when he said it, that I realised I’d forgotten to ask.’

‘You forgot to ask?’

‘Don’t judge. I was really busy being very, very angry.’

Ed shrugged. ‘Fair point. So what did he say?’

‘He did the reasonable Dan thing, denied it vehemently, told Woody how much he loves him, that it’s not his fault, that he’ll be there for him whenever he needs him and that he’ll be staying at his mum’s for now. Blah, blah, textbook reassuring estranged father stuff.’

‘How did Woody take it?’

‘He asked for a biscuit.’

Ed surveyed the almost-empty tub of brownies. ‘Takes after his mother. Has Woody talked to you about it since?’

I shrugged. ‘Not really. I don’t think eight-year-old boys do heart-to-hearts and, to be honest, he probably doesn’t know what to think. I know I don’t. I keep wondering what I did wrong, searching my brain for the moment when it all went belly-up.’ I reached for another brownie.

‘You won’t find the answer in the bottom of a carton of cakes.’

‘Hmm, what about a tub of salted caramel ice cream?’

‘Na-ah.’

‘Jar of peanut butter?’

‘Food of the devil – definitely not!’

‘Shame, because that has basically been my diet since Dan left.’

‘Well, I have to say, you’re more together than I thought you would be.’

‘I did cry in between dropping Woody at school and you arriving.’

‘But you’re not crying now.’

‘I could start at any minute.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll slap you if you do.’

I laughed. ‘What would I do without you?’

‘Don’t start – you’ll set me off.’

‘No, seriously, Ed. I needed a dose of your straight-talking no-nonsense today. Thank you.’

He grinned. ‘Any time, sweet-cheeks. So what are you going to do?’

‘I’m sort of waiting for Dan to tell me what he wants.’ Ed grimaced. ‘What?’

He shrugged. ‘Just that I’m a bit surprised, that’s all. I thought you’d be firing up the sass machine, fighting for yo man, getting a little fierce, sister!’ He clicked his fingers and fixed me with a head-swivelling look.

I raised an eyebrow. ‘Once more in English, please?’

‘You know what I’m saying, Nat. You’ve got to stand up and fight for your man!’

‘Who am I fighting? According to Dan, there’s no-one else involved.’

‘Which makes it so much easier! Think about it. You’ve been married for like a hundred years, haven’t had sex for six months.’

‘More like nine,’ I muttered.

‘Jeepers, it’s worse than I thought. You’ve lost that lovin’ feelin’, darlin’.’

‘If you’re about to break into song, I’m leaving.’

‘I’m serious, Nat. You’ve just become incredibly boring.’

‘Wow. I’m so glad we had this chat.’

He grabbed my arm. ‘I think you just need some proper time together, sweet-pea. Get dressed up, go out on a date, reacquaint yourselves a little.’

‘Do you think that’s all it is?’

‘Of course! You know I’ll have Woody any time – he is my godson, after all.’

‘Thank you. I just don’t know if a couple of dates is going to solve it though.’ I remembered the look on Dan’s face when he told me he didn’t love me any more. He didn’t look like a man whose problems would be solved by sharing a Wing Roulette with his wife at Nando’s. He looked like a man who wanted to get away. Fast.

Ed seemed to read my mind. ‘I know what Dan said but everyone says things they don’t mean sometimes. He may have thought it at the time but I’m sure it won’t last. I mean, there was a time when he didn’t love you at all and then he fell in love with you, so there’s no reason why he can’t just do that all again, is there?’

‘I guess,’ I frowned, doubting his reasoning but grateful for his attempts to reassure me.

‘It’s got to be worth a try, hasn’t it? I know how much you still love him.’ I could feel tears mist my eyes. ‘Don’t cry, sweetheart. He’s not going to fall back in love with a puffy-eyed snot monster.’ I laughed. ‘And you do look hot when you get dolled up on our nights out, so you should make the effort for Dan, don’t you think?’

I gave him a weak smile. He put an arm around my shoulder and kissed the top of my head. ‘Can’t I just marry you?’ I asked.

He laughed. ‘That would be fine in terms of the no-sex thing but trust me, I’m a bitch in the morning. You deserve better, my gorgeous girl.’

I smiled. Maybe Ed was right about Dan and me. Maybe I’d been neglecting my own husband, forgetting that we needed to go out and have some fun. Plenty of couples hit these kinds of bumps in the road, so maybe I just needed to up my game a little. I started to think about where we could go – somewhere special with history. Perhaps we could go to the pub where we’d first met.

It had been just down the road from my college in town, a dark cavernous place with a huge bar on one side and uncomfortable tables and chairs on the other. I’d gone for a drink after lectures with a boy I fancied but who spent most of the time looking either at my breasts or over my shoulder for someone more interesting to talk to. In a desperate attempt to get his attention, I’d put ‘Truly Madly Deeply’ by Savage Garden on the jukebox with the intention of singing it to him. Yeah, I know. I’m one classy chick but desperate times and all that.

Just as the intro began, he’d downed his lager and declared, ‘Need a slash,’ before disappearing to the toilets. I took a large gulp of the cider I was drinking, even though I hated it and tried desperately not to look like Norma No-Mates.

Suddenly I was aware of a guy next to me at the bar. He was singing along to the track and much to my surprise, was looking straight at me as he did. I wasn’t used to this kind of attention from men so I looked away, pretending that it wasn’t happening, at which point, he grabbed my hand and continued with his full-on serenade. His singing was terrible but I was impressed that he knew all the words. Plus, he looked a bit like the guy from Savage Garden and he grinned at me with such dark-eyed intensity that I felt an unexpected urge to snog his face off. It was one of those moments when you find yourself thinking, I’m starring in the movie of my life here. When he finished singing, he kissed my hand and offered to buy me another drink. I accepted, ordering a glass of dry white wine because I detected that my life was about to change and I needed to assume a more grown-up persona. Fortunately, the other boy had found someone more interesting to talk to at the back of the pub and never returned. I woke up the following morning with Dan next to me and a hangover of epic proportions. I never usually slept with boys after a first date, much less a first meeting, but it just seemed to happen as if it was meant to. We’d barely had a night apart since. Until now.

So maybe that was the answer. We had to re-engage with our past, to remind ourselves of the feelings that had brought us together, to recapture some of our wasted youth.

‘Thank you, Ed. I appreciate your advice and support. You’re a good bestie,’ I told him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

‘Always here for you, angel.’ He smiled.

I sighed. ‘What a loss you are to the heterosexual female population.’

Ed grinned. ‘If I had a pound for every time someone has told me that.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘You’d have a pound?’

‘Har-de-fuckity-har. Now are we going to do any work today or what?’

I popped another brownie into my mouth. ‘Ab-fer-lutely,’ I said through a mouthful of chocolate deliciousness. ‘Fo me wha yoo got.’

Ed shook his head. ‘If only the fans of Natalie Garfield could see her at this moment.’

‘I fink you’ll find vey’d be very understanding – ’specially ver muvvas,’ I sputtered.

Ed shot me a disapproving look. ‘Are your fingers clean?’ he asked, picking up his large black art case.

‘Courth,’ I answered, wiping them hastily on my trousers.

‘Go and wash them,’ he ordered, unzipping the case.

‘’Kay, Dad.’ I carried our mugs into the kitchen. ‘Want another cuppa while I’m out here?’

‘No thanks, I’m all caffeined out.’

‘I’m just going to have one more,’ I said, flicking the kettle into life. I stared out of the window. It was early May and the garden was just beginning to bloom its way into colour. The apple tree looked particularly beautiful as it emerged into blossom.

I could remember the day we’d bought that tree. Woody had been three years old and Dan had decided that supermarket fruit and veg were poisoning his son. One Saturday morning, he had suggested a trip to the garden centre so that we could start to plant our own. It had been a beautiful spring day and I could remember Woody toddling happily between the rows of plants, pausing to point or shout, ‘Dat!’ at anything that interested him. It was one of those rare family outings where everything had gone to plan. Woody had napped in the car so that he was smiling and laughing throughout the visit, we had enjoyed carrot cake and coffee in the café (always a necessary pit stop for me) and Dan had been excited about the possibility of becoming the next Monty Don. He had filled our trolley with all manner of plants – courgettes, peas, sweetcorn, peppers, tomatoes and aubergines – before heaving three large bags of compost onto the space underneath. He had put his arm around me and kissed me and I remember feeling the sun on my face, hearing the gentle hiss of a sprinkler and the sound of Woody giggling with delight at a porcelain garden frog. It was a tiny moment and then Dan had disappeared with a wink.

‘Just got to get one more thing.’ He returned five minutes later, grinning and struggling with the tree in his arms. ‘I’ve always wanted an apple tree,’ he explained.

‘How are we going to fit it in the car?’ I laughed.

We drove home, singing along to ‘I Gotta Feeling’ on the radio, with our new tree poking out of the boot of our tiny VW Polo. I felt my heart sink at the memory as I gazed out at the tree, now festooned in cloud-like blossom.

‘You’re not moping are you?’ called Ed from the dining room. ‘You’ve gone very quiet.’

Damn him and his insightful perception. I had known Ed for over ten years and he knew me almost as well as Dan did. My publisher had paired us as a writer-andillustrator team for the very first Ned Bobbin book and we had worked together ever since. He was a bit like a favourite brother, collaborator and best friend all rolled into one. He was the first person I’d called after Dan left too. Admittedly, I didn’t call him until the next morning. I hadn’t wanted to speak to anyone before that. The ‘almost getting myself killed’ aspect to that morning had made me realise that I needed someone to talk to and, as was often the case when life got tricky or sad, it was Ed that I called.

‘I’m not moping. I was waiting for the kettle to boil.’

‘Very well,’ answered Ed. ‘Anyway, come and look at Ned in his super-hero outfit. I think he looks rather dashing.’

‘On my way,’ I replied, pouring boiling water into my mug. There was a knock at the door. I could tell almost immediately that the person on the other side was impatient. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they knock at a door. We have one of those very loud metal door-knockers that always makes me jump. I would have liked a doorbell really but we’d never got round to installing one and at least the knocker got my attention. Whoever it was tapped it loudly and rapidly so that I slopped my tea at the sound.

‘Damn, blast and bollocks!’ I cried.

‘Shall I get it?’ offered Ed.

‘Would you mind? Thanks.’ I reached for a cloth. I heard Ed talking to someone whose voice I didn’t recognise. They were speaking very loudly as people often do when they meet for the first time and are trying to size each other up. I heard Ed say:

‘She’s just in the kitchen, come through.’ I hastily wiped the tea splodges from my top before turning to be confronted with Tilly’s mum, Caroline, holding out a bunch of scarlet peonies.

‘Oh, hi, Caroline,’ I said. I was surprised to see her. We hadn’t spoken since the incident with the car, even though I’d seen her in the playground. Woody and Tilly were in the same class and I’d heard him mention her from time to time but I don’t think Caroline realised this. I got the feeling that I wasn’t her sort of person. She had been the Chair of the PTA for years and to be honest, women like that terrify me.

I had baked some cakes for a sale once and something had gone wrong with the buttercream icing so that they sort of slumped overnight. Added to this, I had topped each bun with a Malteser. My friend Mel had sidled over and snorted with amusement, ‘They look like boobs, Nat!’ just at the moment I was handing them over to Caroline. She had stared at the nipular cakes and then back at me before accepting the Tupperware box with obvious disdain and muttering, ‘Thank you but please make sure you bake something more appropriate next time.’ Obviously there hadn’t been a next time.

She was beaming at me now as if we were old friends. ‘Hi, Natalie. These are for you,’ she said, handing over the flowers.

‘Thank you. They’re lovely.’

‘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.