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

A summer of new beginnings…

Katie thought she had the perfect family life by the sea – until her husband left her for another woman, abandoning her and their two children! She knows it’s finally time to move on but she’s unsure where to begin…

Frankie is shocked when gorgeous dog-walker Alex asks her on a date! As a single mum with her own business she struggles to put herself first, but maybe she’s ready to follow her heart?

George is used to raising her son on her own – but now he’s at nursery, her life feels empty. So when she meets Katie and Frankie at the beach, she realises that her talent for rustling up delicious picnics could be the perfect distraction!

But of course, life isn’t always a beach and as secrets begin to surface the three women’s lives are about to be turned upside-down…

A cosy and charming romance set at the English seaside, perfect for fans of Trisha Ashley and Caroline Roberts.

Also by Jennifer Joyce

The Wedding that Changed Everything

The Little Teashop of Broken Hearts

The Little Bed & Breakfast by the Sea

The Wedding Date

The Mince Pie Mix-Up

The Single Mums’ Picnic Club

Jennifer Joyce

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Jennifer Joyce 2018

Jennifer Joyce asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2018 ISBN: 978-0-00-828143-4

JENNIFER JOYCE

is a writer of romantic comedies. She’s been scribbling down bits of stories for as long as she can remember, graduating from a pen to a typewriter and then an electronic typewriter. And she felt like the bee’s knees typing on that. She now writes her books on a laptop (which has a proper delete button and everything). Jennifer lives in Oldham, Greater Manchester, with her husband Chris and their two daughters, Rianne and Isobel, plus their Jack Russell, Luna. When she isn’t writing, Jennifer likes to make things – she’ll use any excuse to get her craft box out! She spends far too much time on Twitter, Pinterest and Instagram.

You can find out more about Jennifer on her blog at jenniferjoycewrites.co.uk, on Twitter at @writer_jenn and on Facebook at facebook.com/jenniferjoycewrites

For three amazing ladies in my life: my mum, June and my daughters, Rianne and Isobel.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Excerpt

Endpages

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Katie

‘What do you mean, you don’t like cheese sandwiches?’ Katie blinked at her daughter, unable to comprehend the information she had just been given. ‘Since when?’

Hadn’t Lizzie polished off the double Gloucester with onion and chive from the cheese board just a few days ago? The double Gloucester with onion and chive that Katie had been looking forward to? She’d deliberately left it until last and the deep disappointment at finding the empty wrapper in the fridge was still there, as was the annoyance, bordering on rage, that her children seemed unable to use the flipping kitchen bin to dispose of empty wrappers. The whole kitchen showed their abuse of the family home, from the puddle of milk seeping towards the edge of the countertop to the dirty breakfast dishes dotted around the room; a bowl plonked on top of the microwave, a plate spilling toast crumbs on the table, a butter-slicked knife smearing grease on the floor. Katie despaired, but she was hardly a domesticated goddess herself right now, as evidenced when she gathered up the dirty plates, bowls and cutlery and yanked opened the dishwasher. It was full. And the contents inside were far from clean.

Lizzie dumped the offending clingfilm-wrapped cheese sandwich down on the kitchen counter, missing the milk puddle by mere millimetres. ‘Can’t I have Nutella instead?’

Ha! If only. Katie had discovered the empty jar in the cupboard during the early hours, when she’d been in dire need of a stress-generated snack, and had almost howled with fury. She suspected her oldest child was the culprit of this particular crime, so she’d enacted her revenge by wolfing down three segments of the boy’s squirrelled-away Chocolate Orange. Elliot hadn’t clocked the theft yet so, having calmed down since her hunger-induced haze of rage, Katie was hoping to replace the pieces before he did.

‘It’s cheese or nothing, I’m afraid.’ After dumping the dirty dishes in the sink, Katie grabbed the sandwich and dropped it back into Lizzie’s open Tupperware box. ‘You’re lucky we had any bread in for sandwiches at all.’

It was January now – the first day back to school after the festive break – but Katie was still submerged in the fog of Christmas, where routine things like grocery shopping flew out of the window and more relaxed eating habits became the norm; five-a-day now related to different versions of chocolate treats, and grazing replaced structured mealtimes. The bunch of blackened bananas lounging in the fruit bowl hadn’t enticed anybody while there was an unhealthy supply of festive indulgences on offer.

‘Mu-um!’

Lizzie’s protests about the cheese sandwich situation were swallowed by the holler of her fifteen-year-old brother from the top of the stairs. Katie winced. Had he discovered his depleted Chocolate Orange already? She’d planned to dash to the supermarket after her morning’s appointment (she desperately needed to stock the kitchen with foodstuff that contained vitamins after two weeks of eating crap anyway) and replace the nabbed segments before Elliot noticed, but it looked like she’d been rumbled. She should have nipped the chocolate-for-breakfast in the bud as soon as Boxing Day was over, but she’d rather enjoyed indulging too, to be honest.

‘Where’s my tie?’

Katie released a giant sigh of relief. She was still safe.

For now.

‘Didn’t you put it away safe in your underwear drawer at the end of term? Like I told you to?’

Lizzie sniggered as she clicked the top of her Tupperware lid into place. ‘Elliot doesn’t even have an underwear drawer anymore, Mum. Most of his clothes are on the floor and any that have made it into drawers are in shoved in at random. When was the last time you saw his room?’

She was in it only a matter of hours ago, actually, creeping around using the torch on her phone to guide her, but she’d been so delirious with hunger, so set on her mission, she hadn’t stopped to survey the state of her teenage son’s bedroom.

She didn’t tell Lizzie this.

Life didn’t used to be like this for Katie. She didn’t used to sneak around the house, hunting sugar fixes in the dead of night because she was stressed and unable to sleep. She hadn’t felt like a harassed madwoman back then, one who always seemed to be on the verge of tears or an empty Nutella jar away from throwing back her head and howling. Eighteen months ago, her life was pretty perfect. She’d enjoyed her job as a bookkeeper at the haulage firm she’d worked at for most of her adult life, she’d had a fantastic husband who was an amazing father to their son and daughter, and they had a gorgeous Georgian property on the seafront of Clifton-on-Sea, a small seaside town in the North West of England. Life was idyllic, with the promenade across the road and the beach beyond, the cliffs just a few minutes’ walk away with their stunning views, the harbour with its restaurants and fresh fish and chips at the other end of town. And the house was everything she’d ever dreamed of when she’d imagined starting married life with Rob; large, airy rooms with high ceilings and original fireplaces, a homely kitchen with a sofa at one end and high-gloss cabinets and worktops at the other, and a master bedroom overlooking the sea. Yes, life had turned out perfectly for Katie. Okay, so her boss – who also happened to be her father-in-law – thought it was appropriate to refer to the female members of staff as ‘birds’, and she’d barely caught sight of Rob since he’d started an introduction to French course at the community centre, but she was happy. She’d thought Rob was happy too, until she learned it wasn’t just French he’d been introduced to at the community centre, but the stunning, stretchmark-free and legs-up-to-here tutor. French, it transpired, really was the language of love, and Katie had been dropped like a hot pomme de terre.

Bastards, the pair of them.

‘It isn’t there!’ Elliot was back at the top of the stairs, yelling down an update on the tie situation.

Katie dropped the milk-soaked kitchen roll into the bin after making sure she’d mopped up every last drop and headed out into the hallway to peer up the stairs. ‘It must be in your room somewhere. Have a good look.’

Elliot sighed, long and hard. ‘I have looked. It isn’t there.’

‘It must be. Look again. Properly. But please hurry. We have to leave in…’ Katie craned her neck to look at the kitchen clock. With a yelp, she dashed back into the kitchen to rifle through the basket of clean washing that had yet to be sorted into piles, locating a ruffled blouse that she could get away with wearing without having to iron it. Katie – and the kids – had to be out of the house in less than five minutes and she wasn’t even dressed yet. Wasn’t parenting supposed to get easier once the kids gained a bit of independence? She couldn’t remember feeling this frazzled when Elliot and Lizzie were babies, but then she’d had youth on her side back then. And a husband to share the load. Rob and his infidelity were the gift that kept on giving.

‘Mu-um!’ Elliot was back at the top of the stairs before Katie had even stepped foot out of the kitchen with the blouse in hand. ‘It isn’t up here.’

‘It must be.’ Unless Elliot’s tie had grown legs and scuttled away (many objects in the May household had a tendency to sprout limbs and hide themselves away, mostly remote controls, the pens Katie kept in her handbag, and every single teaspoon they owned).

‘I’ve looked everywhere. It isn’t in my room.’

‘Where else would it be?’ Katie didn’t hang around for an answer. She needed to throw herself into some smart-ish clothes and get the hell out of the house before they were all late. She was in the middle of wrestling on a pair of black trousers (they’d fit before Christmas, she was sure. She really needed to cut out the sweet stuff) when Lizzie poked her head around her bedroom door, dangling a bottle-green tie with the school’s crest embroidered on the front between her fingers.

‘Where did you find it?’ Lizzie and Elliot attended the same school and wore the same uniform, but Katie knew the tie belonged to her son as it was still knotted for ease (or laziness, to be more accurate).

‘On top of the fridge.’

Katie opened her mouth to question why Elliot’s tie would be on top of the fridge, but it was a useless enquiry. She wasn’t sure why half the things happened in this house any more.

‘Great. Thanks. Can you give it to Elliot and get your stuff ready? We need to leave. Now.’ Katie yanked the trousers over her hips, ignoring the sound of ripping threads, and prayed she’d be able to zip them up.

By some miracle, Katie managed to coax the zip to fasten on her trousers and throw on her blouse while only overrunning by a couple of minutes. Lizzie was already waiting in the car as she ran from the house, yanking a hairbrush through her shoulder-length hair, with Elliot – now wearing his tie and with a slice of toast clamped between his teeth – throwing himself into the front passenger seat as Katie started the engine.

‘I’d rather get the train.’ Elliot tugged at the triangle of toast and chomped on it as though the bread had offended him somehow.

‘You can get the train home later, and I won’t be offering chauffer service every day. It’s only because I need to go into town anyway.’ Katie wound down her window despite the freezing temperature outside. She’d grown up in the small seaside town, but she never took her surroundings for granted, and the smell of the salty air still filled her with joy. She’d fallen in love with the house that would become her family home because of its large kitchen, its en suite master bedroom and the beautiful period fireplace in the living room, but mostly she’d fallen for its seafront location. She would never grow tired of throwing open the curtains in the morning to be greeted by the golden sand and the rippling sea beyond. It was a breathtaking sight, even on a gloomy January morning.

‘Why are you going into town so early anyway?’ Lizzie asked from the back seat. ‘Have you got another interview? Or are you signing on? Are we skint?’

‘We’re not skint. We’re fine.’ Coping, at any rate. Rob was still covering his half of the mortgage and providing for his kids (he hadn’t abandoned them completely, no matter what Katie thought of him) and they’d had a bit of extra income from their holiday let over the festive period. Katie had stuck it out at her father-in-law’s haulage firm for a couple of months after Rob left her, but eventually she’d felt she had no choice but to leave as she felt herself turning into a paranoid wreck. Who’d known about the affair? Her father-in-law, probably, but what about Lesley in payroll? Or Nancy down on reception? She’d handed in her notice, sure she’d be able to find a new job quickly with her qualifications and experience.

She was still job-hunting, more than a year later.

‘I have an appointment, that’s all.’ Katie didn’t mention the appointment was with her solicitor as she didn’t want Lizzie worrying about divorce proceedings. ‘Jack! Hello!’ She waved out of the window as her neighbour staggered out of his house with a child pulling on his hand as he tried to manoeuvre a buggy onto the path with the other. An older child was already flinging open the gate, even as his father instructed him not to. Katie flashed him a look of solidarity.

‘How’s the boiler getting on?’ Jack had stooped over to chat through the car’s open window, but he straightened almost immediately as his eldest child took the opportunity to bolt. ‘Leo! Wait there! Don’t go round the corner!’ Jack stooped again once his son slowed down. Leo came to a complete standstill to examine what Katie suspected was a splatter of seagull poo on the pavement. ‘Sorry. First day back to school chaos.’

Katie grimaced. ‘Been there myself. Surprised we made it out of the house at all.’ She met Jack’s eye and they shared a wry smile. ‘Anyway, yes, the boiler is fantastic, thanks to you.’

Katie had been in a bit of a flap when the boiler had decided to take a break from its duties a few days ago, but Jack had stepped in, repairing the aging beast and insisting on only charging for parts (neighbours’ rates, apparently).

‘You’re a life saver.’

Jack laughed and shook his head. ‘I don’t know about that.’

‘We’re all very grateful, anyway.’ She looked at her kids. They didn’t seem particularly grateful; Elliot and Lizzie were fiddling with their phones (nutrition wasn’t the only thing that had slipped over the school holidays. The pair had become superglued to their technology since the end of the autumn term), oblivious to the conversation taking part. ‘We’d better get going. Don’t want to be late and I think Leo’s about to…’ Jack turned as Katie’s gaze paused down the street, where Leo was crouched, finger poised to prod at the splatter of seagull droppings.

‘Leo! No!’ Jack, still clinging onto his daughter’s hand and the buggy, tore off down the street as Katie pulled away from the kerb. If the traffic was kind this morning, they wouldn’t be too late.

The traffic was horrendous, but luckily Katie managed to drop Elliot and Lizzie off at the school gates just as the bell rang to signal the start of the day. She watched as they legged it towards the building before setting off again. With Clifton-on-Sea being a small town, the older kids had to commute to the secondary school in the next town over, where Katie had enlisted the help of a solicitor in the divorce proceedings. There was a solicitors’ office in Clifton-on-Sea, but Katie – and Rob – had gone to school with one of the solicitors, and the other one had a sister who cut Katie’s hair (when she actually got round to booking an appointment at the hairdressers), meaning the May family’s business could end up as prime gossip at Shelby’s Hair Design if she’d opted to use them. Instead, Katie had gone for a more neutral solicitor, one who didn’t know about the time Katie had been caught smoking behind the gym at school or that her natural hair colour was mousey and starting to turn grey.

‘So sorry I’m late.’ Katie burst into the reception area of the solicitor’s office, panting from the dash over from the car park on the outskirts of town. She swiped the hair that was sticking to her forehead away. ‘I’m here to see Helen Robinson. I have an appointment. Katie May?’ She posed her name as a question – which felt apt as lately she wasn’t quite sure who she was anymore.

‘Take a seat, Ms May.’ Katie flinched at the use of the term ‘Ms’, but she plonked herself down on one of the cheery blue tub chairs by the window and picked up one of the magazines stacked on the small, round table in front of her. She used the opportunity to get her breath back, taking in deep breaths fragranced by the vase of creamy roses and lavender freesias sitting on the reception desk. She’d only dashed over from the car park, but she was practically wheezing with the effort. Christmas had really taken its toll on Katie’s fitness. Perhaps she should join the gym as part of a belated New Year’s resolution? She’d already vowed to get out more and meet new people after being stuck in the house for a year but regaining some sort of fitness would benefit her wellbeing too.

‘Helen’s ready for you now.’ The receptionist was already striding towards one of the doors at the back of the reception area as Katie threw the magazine back onto the pile, and she held it open with a perfectly manicured hand so Katie could pass through to Helen’s office. Katie couldn’t remember the last time she’d filed her own nails, never mind paid someone to do the job for her.

‘It’s lovely to see you again, Katie.’ The solicitor was smiling as Katie sat down opposite her, but her smile dimmed as she opened the file on the desk in front of her. ‘But it isn’t good news, I’m afraid.’

Chapter Two

George

George’s stomach was in knots as she led her five-year-old son through the school gates. It was too loud, too busy, as children whizzed by and kicked footballs across the vast playground, their voices mingling to form one thunderous hum. Thomas seemed so small – too small – and she clutched onto his gloved hand that bit tighter. It was cold and dreary that morning, still dark despite the morning edging closer to nine o’ clock, with a sky full of grey clouds threatening to spill fat, icy raindrops, and it matched George’s mood perfectly.

‘Are you looking forward to your first day at school?’ She kept her voice bright, pushing down her anxiety so she didn’t pass it onto her son. She was sure he’d be apprehensive enough without her own emotions bogging him down further. ‘You’ll get to make lots of new friends, and your teachers are lovely, aren’t they?’

They’d had the opportunity to visit the school before Christmas, to see the classroom and meet the teachers, so it wouldn’t be quite so unsettling when Thomas started at Southcliff Primary at the beginning of the new term. That was the theory – George wasn’t convinced it had panned out in practice. She was a nervous wreck, so she could only imagine how daunted poor Thomas was feeling.

‘What are you looking forward to most?’ George bent down to hear Thomas’s answer over the drone of the playground noise, sure his voice was going to be little more than a whisper, his words strangled by fear and distress at this new, terrifying experience. But Thomas was beaming up at George, a set of tiny, white teeth on display as he threw his free hand high up in the air.

‘I want to paint! And play! And look at all the books!’ He sucked in a breath as he caught sight of the wooden play equipment in the far corner of the playground. ‘Mummy?’ Thomas was tugging on her hand and looking up at her with the big brown eyes he’d inherited from her. George was glad he’d mostly taken after her and not the father he didn’t even know. ‘Can I go and play?’ Thomas pointed across the playground, to the small wooden climbing frame surrounded by wood chippings.

‘Yes, sweetheart, of course.’ George forced her hand to release its grip on his little hand, but she pulled him into a hug before he could leave her, her fingers finding the comfort of his familiar curls. ‘But just for a few minutes, okay? You have to line up when the whistle blows, remember?’

Thomas nodded, but he was already tearing off, leaving her standing on her own. She glanced around the playground and suddenly felt ancient. Most of the mums were at least a decade younger than her, some even two. Clad in skinny jeans and spiky-heeled boots, they made George feel old and frumpy in her worn leggings and supermarket-brand canvas pumps. Still, she’d be heading straight off to work once Thomas’s class was inside the school, and fancy clothes didn’t really suit a cleaning job.