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

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.

‘Katie? Are you alright?’

She closed her eyes, hoping the woman would magically disappear, as she had so many times since she’d found out about the affair, but nope, she was still there when Katie opened them, except now she was making her way along the aisle, brow furrowed with concern. Which only made the situation worse. Couldn’t she be a complete bitch, so that Katie could be doubly justified in hating her?

‘There was really no need for that.’ Anya turned to glare at the man as he grabbed a pack of newborn nappies from the shelf. Perhaps it was sleep deprivation that had caused his grumpy overreaction, but whatever. Katie didn’t care and she certainly didn’t want concern or sympathy from this woman.

She turned as Anya started to manoeuvre the trolley to the side so it wouldn’t run into Katie, her mouth opening to… what? Offer more solidarity against the irritable bloke? Or to laugh in Katie’s face? Look what I have, Katie: the third child you pretended you were no longer desperate for! Katie didn’t hang around to find out which option her husband’s girlfriend would plump for, and instead she ran, aiming for the exit, not caring that she looked like a mad woman. Or a shoplifter.

She dropped the basket as she neared the automatic doors, hearing rather than seeing the contents spilling onto the floor. She didn’t pause to see the mess she’d created or the looks of bewilderment on the faces of her fellow shoppers. Instead, she pelted across the car park, dodging traffic and trolleys until she was safely in her car. Her hands shook as she inserted her key into the ignition, her breathing dizzyingly rapid. She took a few deep, slow breaths before she set off, putting as much distance as she could between herself and Rob’s new family.

Chapter Five

George

George’s home wasn’t quite as grand as some of the homes she cleaned as part of her job with Kiri’s Clean Queens, Clifton-on-Sea’s premier cleaning company, but she’d made the poky two-bedroomed flat in the middle of the 1950s house conversion as cheery and cosy as she could, hanging bright curtains at the windows and displaying Thomas’ artwork in frames in the living room and kitchen. Patterned scatter cushions rejuvenated the slightly saggy sofa, and she’d invested in a cheerful rug to add warmth against the cheap laminate flooring. It was small but homely, and perfect for George and Thomas. They didn’t need the extra bathrooms or fancy appliances she cleaned in the huge, Georgian properties running alongside the park or seafront, and although the communal garden to the back of the property was half the size of a postage stamp, Wickentree Park was just around the corner. With its playground, playing fields, and the little wooded area to explore, it had everything Thomas could ever need in an outdoor space.

George headed straight to the kitchen when she arrived home from her afternoon shift, knocking up a quick all-in-one sponge mix and popping it into the oven before she changed out of her bleach-scented work clothes and into something a bit more flattering. She still wasn’t as young or trendy as some of the other mums she’d spotted in the school playground, but she’d feel less conspicuous picking Thomas up now she wasn’t clad in her scruffs.

With the cake out of the oven and cooled, George headed down to the beach, closing her eyes briefly to savour the sound of the crashing waves before she descended the steps down to the sand. While the sounds of the seaside would be drowned out with music blaring from the pier during the summer months, George could truly appreciate the landscape during these quieter moments. It was why she was never deterred from walking down to the beach, no matter how cold and grey it was.

The beach was completely empty at this time, without even a dogwalker in sight. There were no colourful beach towels laid out, creating a patchwork of colour on the sand, or families unpacking picnics and buckets and spades, or feasting on delicious ice creams and refreshing ice lollies. Even the seagulls, with their excited cries, failed to hover overhead in the hope of finding food.

George reached into her handbag for her keys as she walked under the shade of the pier, her hand clutching the set as she emerged from the other side. The beach huts lay ahead, their painted exteriors a splash of cheer against the gloomy January afternoon, like tubs of exotic flavours of ice cream displayed in a row. George’s hut, sandwiched between a sunshiny yellow and a vivacious red hut, was painted a cheery mint green. She’d inherited the beach hut from her grandmother, who would bring George down to the beach hut for picnics every Saturday afternoon, rain or shine.

She looked up as she felt a tap of rain on her cheek. The sky had turned an ominous shade, the clouds dark and menacing. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, the heavens opened and it was pouring with rain, the drops plump and icy as they worked together to drench her hair and coat, already starting to turn the sand to sludge. With cold, fumbling fingers, she somehow managed to unlock the hut and burst into the shelter with relief. Pushing her damp hair aside, she was about to nudge the door shut when she caught movement ahead. It seemed she wasn’t alone on the beach after all as a figure attempted to shield themselves from the rain with an already soggy cardigan, stranded between the beach huts and the shelter of the pier.

‘Quick!’ George poked her head out into the driving rain and beckoned her over. ‘Get in before you freeze to death!’

George held the door open as the woman ran as quickly as she could over the sodden sand, her feet slipping every third or fourth step.

‘Come in, come in.’ George ushered the woman inside the hut. The space was small, but it had been painted white to make it appear bright and airy, and there was a small window at the back, framed by a pair of lemon curtains embroidered with tiny pink hearts. A seat running along the length of the left-hand side of the hut was covered in matching fabric, and there was a bank of cupboards underneath the window with sets of shelves either side. Opposite the long bench was a fold-down table, currently propped up by a pair of wooden legs.

‘Thank you.’ The woman collapsed onto the bench and reached up to touch her hair. It was damp, but not too bad. ‘I only popped down to the beach to clear my head. I didn’t expect this.’ She pointed at the rain dashing at the little window.

‘It’s quite a downpour.’ George peered out of the hut, her arms wrapped across her body in an attempt to keep warm. ‘I wanted to bring my son to the beach after school, but I don’t think we’ll make it in this.’ She hadn’t thought it was possible, but it was raining even harder now. ‘It was supposed to be a special day, but I suppose we’ll still have cake.’ She smiled brightly, but the warmth didn’t quite reach her eyes.

‘Is it his birthday?’

George shook her head. ‘His first day at school.’ She sighed as she lifted her tote bag onto the fold-down table and removed the cake tin. ‘I’m finding it quite hard, if I’m honest. Letting go. Letting him grow up. Do you ever wish you could pause time? Or rewind it, just a little bit?’

The woman gave a humourless laugh. ‘God, yes.’ She covered her face with her hands and rubbed at her eyes. ‘I’d go back a couple of hours. Before I made an absolute fool of myself.’

‘What happened?’ George didn’t want to pry, but maybe she could help.

The woman slid her hands down so only her mouth was covered by her fingers. She shook her head over and over until she finally dropped her hands completely, resting them on her lap. ‘I just did a runner from the supermarket.’ She held up a finger. ‘Not with any goods, I should add. Things haven’t got so desperate I need to shoplift. Yet.’ She attempted another humourless laugh, but it quickly morphed into a groan.

‘Why did you run, if you don’t mind me asking?’ George lowered herself on the other end of the bench, not wanting to invade the woman’s personal space even as she poked her nose into her personal business.

‘I saw my husband’s girlfriend – ex-husband, I suppose, though it isn’t official.’

‘Ah.’ George nodded with understanding. She’d never been married, but she’d been in long-term relationships that had ended before she’d been ready to let go.

‘Oh, God.’ The hands were back on the woman’s face, covering her reddened cheeks. ‘I can still hear the clash of basket on tile. And the looks of the people around me as I tore past! Coming through! Madwoman on the loose!’ She rubbed at her eyes again and groaned. ‘Well, I won’t be shopping there for the next millennia. I’ll have to drive out of town or use one of the overpriced convenience stores instead.’

‘There’s always online shopping.’ George was attempting to add a bit of humour into the conversation, and luckily the woman managed a small laugh.

‘At least I have options.’ She groaned again and stamped a foot down on the floor. ‘Why did I have to react like that? It isn’t as though I haven’t seen Anya before – though I try to avoid contact with the woman, obviously. I ducked into the funeral director’s when I spotted Rob and Anya strolling with their new baby through town during the summer. I didn’t realise it was the funeral director’s until I’d catapulted myself inside as I’d just panicked and opened the nearest door. I had to pretend to be browsing for a coffin until it was safe to leave.’ She sighed. ‘I really have to stop embarrassing myself like this, but I just couldn’t face her.’

‘It’s tough, especially in the beginning.’ George pushed herself up from the bench and returned to the table, where she pulled a flask of hot chocolate from the tote bag.

‘I thought I knew who I was, where my life was heading. Now I have no idea. I feel like this was all done to me, and I have no control of my life anymore.’ She cringed as George pressed a plastic mug into her hands. ‘People must think I’m mad. You must think I’m mad. I’m not even sure why I’m telling you all this. Sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It sounds like you’re having a rough time.’ George indicated the mug. ‘Now, drink that. It’ll warm you up a bit.’

‘Thank you…’ The woman paused, the hot chocolate held aloft. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name and I’m boring you to tears with my life woes.’

‘It’s George.’ She patted the woman on the knee. ‘And you’re not boring me to tears. We all have tough times. It’s good to get it out rather than bottling it all in.’

The woman shrugged. ‘I guess.’ She took a sip of the warm drink. ‘I’m Katie, by the way.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, Katie.’ George patted her knee again before she headed for the table. ‘Now, can I interest you in a slice of cake?’

Katie smiled, genuinely and brightly. ‘I never, ever say no to cake.’

‘That was the best Victoria sponge I’ve ever tasted.’ Katie licked the jam and cake crumbs from her fingers while George batted away the compliment with a wave of her hand.

‘I don’t know about that. It was just something I whipped up.’ Despite her protestations, George felt her chest swell with pride. While she scrubbed other people’s homes and places of work for a living, baking was George’s true passion. She had catering qualifications, specialising in patisserie and confectionery, as well as files stuffed with recipes handed down from her grandmother.

‘It’s true.’ Katie shrugged and was about to say more when her attention was caught by something happening outside the hut. Or rather, something not happening. ‘Hey, it’s stopped raining. When did that happen? Just how long have I been rabbiting on for?’ The sand was still wet, but the grey clouds had dispersed, revealing the suggestion of blue sky. ‘I should go home and lick my wounds before the kids get home from school. I was hoping to have a bit of a tidy up before…’ Katie’s next words were snatched away as a voice bellowed outside. A huge, shaggy dog appeared in the doorway of the hut, panting as it took in the inhabitants, and then it was inside, its claws clattering on the wooden floor. It sniffed at George and Katie in turn before it barked once and tore off out of the hut again.

‘I’m so sorry.’ A man was jogging towards the beach hut, a red lead dangling from his fingers, as George stuck her head out of the doorway. ‘He’s a bloody menace. Jake!’

And then the man was gone, speeding up as he spotted the dog leap into the sea.

‘Well, that was bizarre.’ George chuckled. ‘But at least it didn’t try to scoff the cake.’ With the day turning brighter, perhaps she’d get to bring Thomas down to the beach hut after all.

‘I really should get going.’ Katie pushed herself up from the bench. ‘I’ve got a hot date with the dishwasher and vacuum cleaner. Unfortunately, it’s the only date I’ll have for a long time.’

George patted her on the shoulder gently. ‘Everything will work out in the end.’

Katie nodded, but the grimace wasn’t so encouraging. ‘Thanks for the cake and the hot chocolate. And for listening. You were right – it does help to get it all off your chest, even if only a little bit.’

‘It was nice to meet you, Katie.’

‘You too, George.’ Katie stepped out of the beach hut but shuffled back when she heard the distant bark of the dog again. She peered out, checking the coast was clear before she ventured out.

‘Jake! Slow down, you absolute nutter!’

Katie took another step away from the door as the dog bounded by. The owner was sprinting after the dog, but he was powerless to stop the beast from leaping up at an unsuspecting jogger, sending her – and the paper bag she was carrying – flying and landing with a thud on the damp sand.

Chapter Six

Frankie

It felt fantastic to be out, gulping the fresh sea air after over a week cooped up in the house with the twins. The muscles in her thighs were crying out for her to stop as she charged up the cliffs, but she couldn’t stop now. She hadn’t realised quite how much she’d missed the freedom to just go wherever her body took her until now, how much she enjoyed pushing her body to its limit. She’d been a bit of a gym junkie in her early twenties, though that was mostly down to the fact she fancied one of the personal trainers. She’d spent hours on the treadmills and cross trainers back then in the hope of glimpsing Bradley and his toned-to-perfection body. She never would have plucked up the courage to speak to him had it not been for the malfunctioning treadmill that sent her flying when it suddenly cut off without warning when she was sprinting (she always upped her speed when she spotted Bradley in order to impress him). He’d rushed over to help her, and although she’d been embarrassed after going arse over tit, she did end up with his phone number (as well as a grazed chin). Before the twins, they’d led an active lifestyle, running half-marathons, abseiling, whitewater rafting, even bungee jumping from the Colorado River in Costa Rica. They’d taken risks Frankie wouldn’t even dream of taking now.

She felt herself slowing as she made the ascent and she half-ran, half-ambled her way up to the top of the cliff, her chest heaving as she looked out across the sea, a safe distance from the edge. The view was amazing from up here. You could see all the way to the opposite end of the beach, with the pier jutting out into the sea, the Ferris wheel still now the kids were back in school. She turned, taking in the view of the town. The hotel, pub and shops along the seafront, the pretty Georgian houses, the rooftops of the mishmash of properties beyond. Frankie could stand there taking it all in forever, but she had to buy her lunch and get back to work before the weather nudged from the threat of rain to a downpour.

Her trip down the cliff was much quicker than her trek up had been, but she slowed down once she reached the pavement at the bottom, clutching her side as she sucked air into her lungs as though it was her first introduction to oxygen. She jogged slowly along the seafront, heading towards the pier, where she knew there was a sandwich shop nearby that, according to her brother, was to die for. She found the shop and ordered a hot Cumberland sausage and egg roll (as recommended by Isaac) but it had started to rain while she was inside. She sheltered under the awning of the neighbouring shop until the rain had abated and she started her jog back home, taking a small detour via the beach. The sand was wet, and the wind was a bit wild down there, but she was hooked on the feeling of freedom now she’d had a taste. She felt like her old self again. The Frankie she knew before, the Frankie who thought nothing of throwing herself from bridges with nothing but an elasticated cord preventing death.

‘Whoa!’ Too late, she spotted the furry missile heading straight for her. She didn’t have a chance to dodge out of the way, so one minute Frankie was jogging – albeit slowly along the wet sand – and the next she was on the ground, her knee throbbing with the impact while her assailant nudged its way into the paper bag it had knocked out of her hand.

‘Oh, shit!’

‘Oh, dear.’

‘Are you okay?’

She heard a chorus of voices as she heaved herself up into a sitting position, hissing as pain shot through her left knee.

‘I am so sorry. The mad bastard is out of control.’ A hand appeared, which she took, swearing under her breath as she was helped to her feet. The dog, she noticed, was tucking into her sausage and egg roll. Unforgivable!