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

‘Can you walk?’ her helper asked. (Could he be classed as a helper when it was his dog that had caused her to splat on the sand in such an ungainly fashion?)

‘I think so.’ She took a tentative step but collapsed against the stupid dog’s owner as pain sliced through her knee. Jeez, that hurt. She hoped the bloody sandwich was worth it!

‘Come and sit down in my beach hut. It’s just over here.’ Another set of arms was holding her up, and she somehow managed to hobble – painfully, through gritted teeth – to the nearby hut. She dropped onto the cushioned bench, grateful to take the weight off her knee.

‘Jake, you are the worst dog ever!’ the dog walker shouted over his shoulder as he hovered outside the hut, but the dog, now rolling on his back on the sand having wolfed down the entire sandwich, clearly didn’t give a hoot. The owner turned back to Frankie, eyebrows pulled down with concern. ‘I really am sorry. He’s not even mine. I’m only looking after him while my sister’s on holiday. I can’t wait until she’s back. He is completely out of control.’ He yelled the last bit over his shoulder, but the dog was sniffing his own arse now and wasn’t listening.

‘It’s fine.’ Frankie pressed her foot gently to the ground to test her knee. ‘Ow!’

‘That knee isn’t fine.’ The woman who’d helped her pulled out a mobile and started tapping at its screen. ‘I’m going to phone the doctor.’

‘No, it’s fine, honestly.’ Frankie grasped the phone before she could make the call. ‘I don’t want to be any trouble.’

The woman smiled and patted Frankie’s shoulder. ‘It’s no trouble. You need it looking at.’

‘It’ll be okay in a minute or two.’ Frankie flexed the joint to demonstrate, holding back a wince.

The woman’s brow furrow. ‘Are you sure?’

Frankie nodded. ‘Absolutely.’ She thought about flexing again but decided against it. ‘You don’t mind if I rest it though? Just for a few minutes?’ Until the throbbing subsided.

‘Of course not. Take all the time you need. In fact.’ The woman reached for a floral-patterned tin and eased the lid off. ‘Why don’t you have a slice of cake while you wait? There’s plenty.’

Frankie’s stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten lunch yet – unlike the daft dog who was trying to nudge his way into the hut now he’d sniffed something tasty in the air.

‘It’s really good.’ The other woman currently squeezed into the hut eyed the tin. ‘Best Victoria sponge I’ve ever had, hands down.’

‘Well then.’ Frankie shrugged. ‘How can I refuse?’

The cake really was good, with just the right amount of buttercream to jam ratio. The women introduced themselves to Frankie while she ate; George, the owner of the beach hut and Victoria sponge baker extraordinaire, and Katie, the Victoria sponge enthusiast. The dog, she could see between the gap in the doorway, was bounding away towards the sea having realised he wasn’t getting a crumb, but the owner hadn’t noticed. He’d dropped onto the bench beside Frankie and was now shaking his head.

‘I really am sorry about the dog. He somehow yanked himself free of his lead and… Oh, God. Where’s he got to now?’

Frankie couldn’t help giggling as he sprang up, turning this way and that in the small space. ‘He’s over there.’ She pointed out of the door, down towards the shallows, where Jake was attempting to burrow down to Australia.

‘Oh, God.’ With a groan, he sprinted off, calling over his shoulder that he’d be back in a minute.

The dog was restrained on his lead by the time Frankie started to tuck into another slice of cake (George had insisted, and Frankie hadn’t put up much of a fight), though Jake wasn’t at all happy about it, as evidenced by his constant yapping and tugging. His temporary caregiver – Alexander Greyson, as he introduced himself once the dog was under control (sort of) – had insisted on sticking around, to make sure she wasn’t maimed for life.

‘I don’t think there’s anything to be concerned about,’ George said as Frankie took her first tentative step. ‘It isn’t swollen, and you say the pain is easing off?’

Frankie nodded and flexed the joint a couple of times to demonstrate. She felt bad for wasting everyone’s time, but she didn’t regret the cake.

‘Make sure you rest it as much as possible.’ George had adopted a matronly tone, almost finger-wagging as she doled out her advice. ‘And if the pain does persist – or gets worse – then pop in to see your GP.’

Frankie nodded. ‘I will. I promise.’ She took another step and although she was a bit wobbly, the pain was definitely more bearable now.

‘Can I help you home?’ Alexander offered, but George held up a hand.

‘There’s no need. I’ll make sure she gets home safe and sound. I’m not sure how you’d manage with that liability.’ She pointed down at the dog, who was gnawing on his lead.

‘Good point.’ Alexander gave a tug on the lead, dislodging the dog from his ropey snack. ‘I really am sorry.’

Frankie shrugged. ‘It’s okay. No real harm done.’ She took two more cautious steps; it really wasn’t too bad. A bit uncomfortable, but the sharpness had worn off.

‘I’ll get going then. Before this one causes any more damage.’ He started to back away, towing the dog with him. He gave a wave before turning and upping his pace.

‘Come on you.’ George pressed gently on Frankie’s shoulders, so she sank back down onto the bench. ‘Finish your cake. Then, when you feel up to it, we’ll get you home, slowly but surely.’ She popped her head out of the hut, where Alexander and Jake were disappearing from view. ‘That dog is a menace, but his master is pretty cute.’

Frankie covered her mouth as laughter burst from her lips. ‘I suppose he is.’ If you were into tall, dashingly handsome men with sparkling blue eyes and mischievous grins.

George sighed. ‘If I were ten years younger…’

Frankie winked at her. ‘Age is just a number.’

‘That’s true. Do you think I should go after him?’ George laughed before shaking her head. ‘No, I think our dog-walker would be more interested in a pretty, young thing like you.’

‘Nah.’ Frankie wrinkled her nose. ‘Not interested. Men are strictly off the menu.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Katie said. ‘They’re more trouble than they’re worth sometimes.’ She gave a half-smile. ‘If I sound bitter, it’s because I am. My husband cheated on me, left me for another woman, and yet I feel guilty that our family is splintered.’

‘Try having a baby on your own, without a father in the picture at all,’ George said. ‘I’ve had loads of judgemental comments from people who should learn to mind their own business.’

Katie settled herself on the bench. ‘I think parenting is hard, whatever the situation.’

‘It’s doubly hard when you have twins,’ Frankie said. She nodded as Katie widened her eyes at her. ‘Two-year-old twins. They’re like mini tornadoes. I can’t remember the last time my house wasn’t a mess.’

‘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

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.

‘Katie? Is everything okay?’

She cleared her throat and gave a pretty unconvincing laugh. ‘Everything’s fine. Why do you ask?’

‘I’ve been trying to phone you for the past hour.’

He had? Interesting. Rob rarely phoned her, unless it was to arrange access with the kids, but they’d established a routine that suited them both as much as possible by now.

‘My phone ran out of battery while I was out. Is everything okay?’

A million scenarios crossed her mind, the most pressing being the possibility that Rob had finally come to his senses. He’d realised what an absolutely selfish arse he’d been and wanted the opportunity to grovel on his knees for her forgiveness.

She wouldn’t grant him anything close to absolution, obviously.

Not straight away.

‘Anya phoned me. Told me you’d run out of the supermarket this afternoon.’ Katie flinched at the mention of The Other Woman. ‘She was worried she’d upset you.’

Katie wanted to hoot.

Worried she’d upset her? Anya had turned her world upside down, given it a vigorous shake until everything fell down into oblivion and tossed it aside. Of course she’d upset Katie. When had her husband morphed into this moron who made such understatements and expected to be taken seriously? Probably around the time he’d slept with another woman.

‘Anya said you looked distressed.’

Katie laughed, but it sounded more like a snarl. ‘Well, isn’t Anya observant?’

Rob sighed. ‘Come on, Katie. There’s no need to be like this. Anya was just trying to be nice. Looking out for you. She was worried when you ran out of the shop without paying.’

‘I left my shopping behind. I didn’t steal anything if that’s what she told you.’ Like that made her actions normal.

There was another sigh from the other end. ‘There’s no need to be like this, Katie. I’m just looking out for you.’

‘Is that so?’ There was another snarly laugh. ‘Well, I’d have been much better off if you hadn’t had an affair.’

‘Katie…’ Rob sighed again.

‘What? Am I making you uncomfortable? Guilty? Or do you really not care about what you did to us?’

‘Of course I feel incredibly guilty about the way I behaved, but I can’t go back in time and change the way I went about it all. It was wrong of me to have an affair, I know, and I shouldn’t have left it until Anya was pregnant to tell you.’

Katie sucked in her breath. ‘You’d have left me, wouldn’t you? You’d have left me anyway? For her.’

‘I love Anya.’ Rob’s voice was small, contrite. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t change the way I feel.’

Katie ended the call without another word. How was she supposed to react to that without bursting into noisy, snotty tears? He’d have left her anyway, even if he hadn’t impregnated his bit on the side. He’d have left Katie and married her instead.

Well, screw them. They could get married and live happily ever after, but Katie wouldn’t make it easy for them. Why should she enable them to skip off into the sunset?

Placing the phone down on the side, she returned to the acknowledgement of service, picked it up and folded it into a neat square before sliding it between the sofa cushions to be forgotten about for a little bit longer.

Chapter Eight

George

George was singing along to Barry Manilow’s ‘Copacabana’ while spraying the tiles of her client’s en suite bathroom’s shower cubicle, squirting the cleaning solution in time to the beat. The secret, she’d found over the past few years, was to find some enjoyment to the job you were doing. This hadn’t been difficult back when she was utilising her baking talents in her jobs but cleaning toilets and scrubbing floors wasn’t quite so pleasant. Music, it seemed, was the answer. George had created a massive playlist of fun, upbeat songs to clean to, songs she loved to sing along to, songs that motivated her during the grubbiest of tasks.

The bathrooms were sparkling by the time she’d sung and jiggled her way through dozens of joyful songs, and although she was exhausted after scrubbing the four bathrooms in the large property, she couldn’t help smiling as she packed up her cleaning gear.

‘You’re looking far too jolly for somebody who has spent the morning in a pair of marigolds.’ Cecily, the sixty-something ex-supermodel who lived in the gorgeous Georgian house, hopped up onto a stool at the high-gloss breakfast bar while George stored the mop and bucket away. ‘What’s your secret?’ Cecily wrinkled her nose. ‘You’re not one of those weirdos who actually enjoy cleaning, are you?’