The Great Escape: The laugh-out-loud romantic comedy from the summer bestseller

It’s not as if he’s ever brought Astrid home while Lou’s been at work. That would be out of order, Spike decides as he strides down their shabbier street and climbs the stairs to their first-floor flat. As he lets himself in and grabs a beer from the fridge, Spike contents himself with the fact that no one can say he doesn’t have morals.

ELEVEN

Daisy is cleaning her teeth before bed. Normally, Hannah avoids going into the bathroom if she hears one of the kids in there, even if the door is wide open as it is now. Occasionally, she’s made a mistake, and leapt out at the sight of Josh clad in his boxers, dabbing at a chin-spot with a little piece of loo roll. But now, hearing the sound of bristles vigorously scrubbing enamel, she figures that teeth cleaning isn’t too personal and that it might be okay to tiptoe in.

‘Hi,’ she says casually. Daisy turns to her from the washbasin with a mouth oozing pink froth. ‘Er, I was thinking,’ she starts, ‘that maybe me and you could go shopping in the West End on Saturday, just the two of us?’ Daisy blinks slowly as if anticipating a cruel punchline: Because I’d like to buy you an embarrassing coat. ‘I know your dad suggested all of us going,’ Hannah ploughs on, ‘but Josh is going to Eddie’s and I thought, well … wouldn’t it be nice, just me and you? Would you like that?’

Daisy wipes some toothpaste from her chin, then turns back to the washbasin where she spits noisily. ‘I dunno,’ she says.

Hannah wonders if this means she’s unsure of her availability, or whether or not it would in fact be ‘nice’. ‘Well, I thought maybe we could choose you a dress,’ Hannah offers, starting to sweat a little now. ‘I mean, you are our bridesmaid, Daisy.’

She spits again – more for effect than out of necessity, Hannah suspects – then fills her cupped palms with water from the cold tap and slurps it noisily.

‘Or, if that’s too girlie for you,’ Hannah soldiers on, ‘maybe you’d like a skirt and a nice top, and a little cardi in case it’s cold. It doesn’t matter really. We don’t even have to look at clothes. We could, er …’ She tails off, stuck for words, as if faced with a particularly hostile interviewer. Why is she doing this anyway? Hannah doesn’t care what anyone wears to the wedding. Yet it’s not about shopping, not really. Hannah and Daisy have never done anything on their own together, because Hannah has always assumed Daisy would either come up with an excuse, like she was planning to stay home and count the woolly tufts on her bedroom rug, or reply with a curt ‘No, thank you.’ But now, with the wedding thundering towards them, she’s decided to stop assuming anything.

Daisy sucks on a tendril of hair and looks at Hannah as if she’s just suggested a trip to the chiropodist.

‘Just me and you, d’you mean?’ she asks cautiously.

‘Yes. Wouldn’t that be fun?’

Daisy pulls her lips into a thin line and nods.

‘Great, then,’ Hannah says, turning to leave the bathroom.

‘Hannah?’ Daisy has followed her out to the landing.

‘Yes?’ Hannah says eagerly.

‘Wanna see something in my room?’

‘Er, sure.’

She follows Daisy into her pale turquoise bedroom, carefully treading between the books, clothes and sweet wrappers that litter the floor. Hovering uncertainly, Hannah watches as Daisy crouches down to rummage at the bottom of her wardrobe. Finally, she pulls out a small, black, leather-bound book.

‘What’s that?’ Hannah asks.

‘Mum and Dad’s wedding album.’ She clutches it in front of her, as if about to present it to Hannah as a prize.

‘Oh! That’s nice. Did they, um … give it to you?’

Daisy perches on the edge of her bed. Hell, Hannah thinks, she’s going to make me look through it. She’s going to make me examine her mother in that billion-sparkles dress. Hannah feels vaguely queasy, and can feel beads of sweat on her upper lip.

‘She made me and Josh one each,’ Daisy explains, tossing back her long dark hair. ‘I don’t think he looks at his though.’

‘Oh. Well, I guess boys aren’t really into that kind of thing.’

‘What, weddings?’

‘No, um … looking at wedding photos. You know.’ Hannah’s entire body is now prickling with unease as she tries to conjure up a fictitious emergency downstairs – the smell of burning or gas – that will give her an excuse to charge out of Daisy’s room. She doesn’t want to scare the child by making her think her home is about to explode, but nor does she wish to peruse the album, which Daisy has now opened on her lap to reveal a full-page close-up of Petra’s radiant smiling face.

Petra doesn’t look like a fat nurse. There’s nothing medical about her whatsoever. She’s so lovely and elegant with her jet-black hair piled up that Hannah’s breath catches in her throat. For an instant, she thinks Daisy must have found a copy of Brides magazine, snipped out a picture and stuck it in the album to trick her. But no, it’s her mother all right – those are Petra’s steely grey eyes, sharp cheekbones and perfectly painted red lips. ‘This is Mummy arriving at church,’ Daisy murmurs, stroking the side of Petra’s face.

‘That’s nice.’ Hannah swallows hard.

‘And that’s Grandma Esther standing next to Mum,’ Daisy adds, turning the page.

Hannah feels ridiculous, perching gingerly on Daisy’s bed, and sneakily checks out roughly how many pages the album might have. A dozen or so and she’ll probably be able to hold it together, but this is a chunky album that could conceivably go on forever. ‘Maybe you’d better get your PJs on now,’ she says gently. ‘It’s gone half-eight …’

‘Yeah, in a minute. Anyway, look – that’s Daddy in his wedding suit. Is he gonna wear the same one at your wedding?’

‘No, he’s having a new one altered, remember?’ Hannah says, willing Ryan to come upstairs, witness the cosy tableau and chivvy Daisy into bed.

‘Oh yeah. Look! That’s the dress I was telling you about.’

Hannah tries to focus on the stunning woman before her. But her head is swimming and she can no longer make proper words come out of her mouth. How can Ryan not still be in love with this woman? Hannah has met Petra numerous times, when she’s picked up or dropped off the children, and has always thought, yes, she’s striking, but somehow her chilliness cancels out her beauty. But she’s never seen Petra look like this – like a woman in love, who’d go on to bear Ryan two children whom they’d raise together until her shock announcement three years ago that she must ‘put myself first’. Heartbroken and stunned, Ryan simply hadn’t seen it coming. As far as he was concerned, Petra’s career as a concert cellist had come before everything else.

Maybe that’s it, Hannah thinks, a sense of dread washing over her. Ryan asked her to marry him simply in an attempt to get over Petra. He is trying to force himself not to love her anymore.

Daisy is still going on about her mother’s billowing veil. Hannah tries to show appreciation, but her tongue feels like a dry thing flapping around in her mouth. They’re only wedding photos, she tells herself sternly. She’s just showing them off because she likes to look at them. It’s nothing more sinister than that.

‘Don’t you like it?’ Daisy swivels round to face her.

‘Oh, yes,’ Hannah croaks. ‘It’s beautiful. A really amazing veil.’ Turn the page, she thinks desperately, so we can look at pictures of the bridesmaids or cake. Daisy turns the page. There’s a group picture with everyone neatly arranged in two rows in front of the church, squinting in the sunshine. So many people. Hannah wonders who they all are. There’s also a close-up of Ryan standing next to his new bride, two beautiful people setting out on a life together. ‘So you’re up for this shopping trip at the weekend?’ she says faintly as Daisy flicks through the final pages.

‘Yeah, okay,’ Daisy mutters.

They sit side by side for a moment, with Daisy now resting the closed album on her knees as if reluctant to put it away. Hannah isn’t sure if she’s imagined it, but Daisy might possibly have shuffled a millimetre closer to her on the bed. ‘Thanks for showing me the album,’ Hannah says gently. ‘It obviously means a lot to you.’

Daisy nods mutely and bites her lip.

‘I’m looking forward to our day out, are you?’

She nods again.

‘I, er … I hope you’re looking forward to our wedding too,’ Hannah ventures, wondering if it would be okay to put an arm around Daisy’s shoulders, or if she’d flinch, or leap up and run out of the room. No, better not.

‘Yeah,’ Daisy replies, her gaze fixed firmly on the album. ‘But I still can’t understand why it’s not in a church.’

‘I can’t believe she did that,’ Ryan whispers in bed that night. After half a year of living here, Hannah still finds the nocturnal whispering bizarre. It’s not even as if they’re up to anything. Ryan is wearing pyjamas, for God’s sake. With Josh’s bedroom next door, and Daisy’s the one after that, the only time it feels remotely okay to have sex is if the kids aren’t home, or if she or Ryan happen to wake up at some ungodly hour, like 4.30 am, when they’ll grab the opportunity. It gives their sex life during the week an urgent quality, and makes the three out of four weekends when Daisy and Josh are at their mother’s feel like a bit of a treat.

Lately, Hannah has started to hanker for a baby of her own; yet, as she’s never had the faintest yearning before, she worries that this might be some desperate attempt to redress the balance. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she tells Ryan, snuggling closer. ‘Daisy wasn’t doing it to be mean or anything. And I bet every girl’s entranced by her mum on her wedding day.’

There’s a beat’s silence and she breathes in the scent of Ryan’s skin. There’s something almost edibly warm about him: sweet and moreish, like a croissant. Hannah’s paranoia about Petra has ebbed away, and she plants a soft kiss on his chest.

‘I know they don’t make it easy for you,’ he says.

‘Well …’ She hesitates. ‘It’s not easy but, you know, I’m an adult. We’ll get there. It’ll just take some time.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he says, kissing her. I am, she reflects. I just need to keep believing that. Anyway, what kind of person of Ryan’s age doesn’t come with a little baggage? In fact, she likes the fact that he knows what days gym kits are needed and never forgets to pay the deposit for a school trip. So much information to store, and he manages it so admirably. She doesn’t even think of Ryan’s children as baggage; after all, they belong here, while she feels like an awkward guest at a fancy boutique hotel, under the watchful eye of two stern concierges. ‘Anyway,’ she adds, ‘I’ve got some good news. I’ve been thinking me and Daisy should spend some time together, so I asked her if she’d like to come shopping and she said yes.’

‘But you hate shopping,’ he exclaims. ‘You can’t stand it. You don’t see the point …’

‘I know, but I thought she’d enjoy it.’ Because I don’t know her, you see. I don’t really know anything about your daughter.

‘Well, I think it’s a great idea.’

‘And hopefully,’ Hannah adds, ‘it’ll get her in the wedding mood.’

Ryan pauses, then asks, ‘Are you in the wedding mood, Han?’

Hannah frowns in the darkness. ‘What d’you mean?’

He hesitates, and the hand which has been stroking her back and shoulders comes to a halt. ‘I … just think you seem a bit tense, that’s all.’

‘Um, just wedding nerves, I guess.’

‘Not getting cold feet, are you?’ he asks.

‘No, of course not. It’s just … I don’t know. Right now, it doesn’t seem quite real. I’d never imagined getting married, being a wife.’

‘But you’re glad I put the idea in your head?’

‘Yes, of course I am. Actually, no one’s ever asked me before.’

‘But they all wanted to, I bet,’ he says affectionately.

‘Hey, less of the all…’

They lie in silence for a few moments, and Hannah hears Josh padding to the bathroom.

‘Maybe you should plan a hen night,’ Ryan adds.

‘It’s funny, but Sadie was saying the same thing.’

‘Well, I’m having one.’

‘What, a hen night? I didn’t think you were the type, darling, for the L-plates and the bunny ears.’

‘No, a stag party. Not a stag stag party,’ Ryan adds quickly. ‘Not your gigantic piss-up and being stripped naked and tied to a lamppost …’

‘Come on, I know you’d love that …’

‘No,’ he insists, ‘I just mean something to mark the occasion. You should do something too.’

‘Ryan,’ she says firmly, ‘if I was having a hen night, I’d want Sadie and Lou to be there.’

‘But that’s not impossible, is it?’

‘Well, there’s the little matter of Sadie having the twins and Lou being in York, plus they’re coming to the wedding so I can’t really expect them to schlep down to London twice in six weeks …’

‘How about rounding up some of your other friends?’

Hannah shakes her head. ‘I’d only keep wishing those two were there. Anyway,’ she adds, realising they’re forgetting to whisper, ‘I’m really pleased about Saturday. I thought me and Daisy could choose her bridesmaid’s outfit, if you don’t mind not being there …’

‘No,’ he chuckles. ‘You go ahead. I’m happy to leave that to you two.’

You two, thinks Hannah as sleep starts to close in on her, as if they might possibly become a little gang. And somewhere down the line, perhaps there’ll be another person in the gang. A baby – a little brother or sister for Daisy and Josh.

Hannah wants to mention it – to say, ‘I think I’m ready, Ryan. I can now almost imagine myself being a mother.’ But as she turns to him, Josh makes a rather noisy exit from the bathroom, shutting the door unnecessarily firmly behind him.

It’s as if he’s reminding them that he’s there, awake and prowling around on the landing, ensuring that no future babies are made. And by the time she hears Josh’s bedroom light click off, Ryan has already fallen asleep.

TWELVE

Sadie isn’t used to attending birthday parties at 11 am on a Saturday. In fact she isn’t used to attending babies’ birthday parties at any time of day, and hopes that her present, tucked into the little wire compartment beneath the buggy, will be deemed acceptable. The whole business of toys seems terribly complex these days. Sadie grew up in Liverpool, playing with the ordinary things little girls played with back then – Barbie, Sindy, a severed doll’s head on which you could practise make-up techniques. None of the children she’s encountered on the Little Hissingham coffee-morning circuit seem to own such things. The babies have scrunchy bead-filled bags to encourage fine-motor skills, while their older siblings play with tasteful wooden construction kits and Brio train sets. It’s good to be invited, though, Sadie reminds herself, as this suggests that she’s starting to belong.

‘So glad you could come,’ says Monica, the hostess, beckoning her in beneath a voluptuous swathe of lilac hanging over the cottage door. ‘Isn’t Barney with you?’

Although Monica has never met Barney, all the women around here seem adept at remembering not only everyone’s children’s names, but the names of their partners too. Sadie can’t understand how they can store so much information. ‘He’d loved to have come but he’s working today,’ Sadie fibs.

‘He works on Saturdays?’

‘Sometimes, at home,’ Sadie says, which is the truth. ‘Just to catch up, you know.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Monica says, looking genuinely crestfallen. ‘Anyway, come on in. Party’s in full swing already.’

It sounds like it, too, with a blend of chattering toddlers, the odd crying baby and a dozen or so women all talking at once in Monica’s overwhelmingly floral living room. Actually, Sadie didn’t even ask Barney to come. He’d accompanied her to one parent-and-baby get-together in Hissingham church hall a couple of months ago, but it was impossible to even try to mingle when, whichever way Sadie turned, she could still see her husband, pressed to the flaking pale pink wall with terror flashing in his eyes. ‘How long does this go on for?’ he asked, grabbing her arm while she politely took a biscuit from an offered plate.

‘Only about sixteen hours,’ she joked, hoping he’d crack a smile and at least try to relax. But his jaw clenched even harder and she detected a faint lick of sweat on his upper lip.

‘Oh, your babies are so cute!’ a small, neat woman exclaims as Sadie manoeuvres the buggy containing her snoozing children to a far corner of Monica’s living room.

‘Thanks,’ she says with a swell of pride.

‘They’re just like you, aren’t they? Same colouring, face shape and that lovely dark hair …’ Dylan and Milo wake up simultaneously and Sadie smiles, relieved that she’s managed to kit them out to a reasonable standard – not too matchy-matchy, but in a vaguely coordinated selection of blues and greens which, she hopes, gives the impression she’s some kind of alpha-mother. She’s even managed to find all four soft leather shoes.

‘Oh,’ Sadie says, as Monica swoops past with the birthday baby in her arms, ‘this is a present for Eva.’ She snatches the present from beneath the buggy, which Monica accepts with thanks, placing it on an enormous pile on the oak dresser.

Freeing her babies, and lifting them down onto a circular rug littered with various multicoloured wire-and-bead contraptions, Sadie scans the room for somewhere to station herself. She glimpses her reflection in a large gilt-framed mirror. Although her hair is bleating for a cut, at least she’s wearing lipstick. It’s slightly askew, but it’s on, and that’s the main thing.

‘So you’re the one with the twins,’ says a blonde-bobbed woman, beckoning Sadie to squish onto the rose-patterned sofa beside her.

‘Yes, that’s right.’ She smiles brightly, keeping a close eye to ensure that Milo and Dylan aren’t attacked by the other babies on the rug.

‘I’ve seen you around. You moved here a few months ago, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, that’s right, it’s been six months now.’

‘I’m Polly, and this is Justine,’ she says, introducing the redhead next to her, who offers Sadie a dazed smile over the baby clamped to her breast.

‘I’m Sadie …’

‘So you moved with new babies?’ Polly says. ‘That was brave of you.’

‘Well, we didn’t plan it that way,’ Sadie explains. ‘We’d been trying to sell our London flat for ages but it didn’t shift, then it finally did, and after having the babies I probably wasn’t thinking straight, so …’

‘You mean you don’t like it here?’ Justine asks with a small frown.

‘No! No, I love it,’ Sadie declares. ‘It’s so, er … peaceful and pleasant and everything. And it’s safe, much safer than where we lived – in fact we were burgled when I was pregnant and that set us thinking that we should move somewhere small and quiet and er …’ Hell, she’s broken her rule already, babbling on when all these women want is a bit of light chit-chat. Sadie glances at the table laden with chocolate brownies and cupcakes and her stomach rumbles ominously.

‘It’s much better for children out here,’ Justine remarks. ‘There’s such a strong sense of community.’

‘Oh, yes, I can see that …’

‘Especially if you’re planning a big family,’ chips in Polly, whom Sadie has realised is mother to three of the children in the room, which seems almost unimaginable. ‘It’s wonderful how everyone helps each other out.’

‘Well, I’m not sure we’ll have any more,’ Sadie says with a grin.

‘Oh!’ Polly frowns at her, then a flicker of understanding crosses her face and she adds, ‘Of course, if it was difficult for you the first time …’

‘No, it’s lovely, and I’m really happy and everything,’ Sadie explains, ‘but, you know, managing the two of them is probably enough to be going …’

‘I mean conceiving,’ Polly murmurs. ‘If you’ve been through all that, you probably won’t want to again with all the drugs and expense and the stress of it.’

Sadie blinks at her. What is it about having twins that makes everyone assume they were conceived by IVF? Sadie is tempted to have a T-shirt printed saying WE DIDN’T HAVE ANY BOTHER CONCEIVING. IT WAS RIDICULOUSLY SIMPLE – IN FACT IT HAPPENED THE FIRST TIME WE TRIED!

‘No, that part was easy,’ Sadie says lightly. ‘We didn’t have IVF.’

‘Oh, didn’t you? I’m sorry, I just assumed …’

‘It’s okay,’ Sadie says, feeling bad now for making Polly uncomfortable. ‘What I mean is, we’re not in any hurry for another.’

‘Don’t rely on breastfeeding as contraception then,’ Justine remarks. ‘That’s how we got Benjamin …’

‘Oh, I’m not,’ Sadie says quickly.

‘I got a coil after that,’ she adds.

‘Me too,’ Polly says eagerly. ‘It’s fantastic.’

Sadie falls silent, not sure she has anything to add to this new, startling line of conversation that doesn’t feel quite right at a child’s first birthday party. Anyway, contraception is hardly an issue at the moment. Since Sadie was around six months pregnant, the very prospect of sex has been as appealing as having a foot amputated – which makes it nearly a year since she and Barney last did it. God, she realises, we’re heading for our first no-sex anniversary.

As Milo starts to cry, Sadie rescues him from the rug and holds him on her lap. ‘He thinks it’s an ice lolly,’ Polly chuckles, indicating her toddler who’s sitting nearby, gnawing at a yellow disc.

‘What is it?’ Sadie asks.

‘Frozen banana. It’s great for teething, soothes the gums …’

‘And he really thinks it’s a proper lolly from a shop?’ Sadie marvels. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Monica starting to unwrap the presents, showing each one to baby Eva in turn.

‘I wouldn’t give Alfie an ice lolly from a shop,’ Polly exclaims, as if Sadie has just suggested feeding him frozen Red Bull. ‘I make them at home with fresh juice.’

‘Of course, that’s what I meant …’ she says feebly. Monica is opening Sadie’s present now, and says a brief ‘Ahhh’ to the garish giraffe before dumping it on a teetering pile of already opened gifts.

‘Have you ever frozen a banana?’ Polly asks.

‘Er, no, but I’ll definitely try it,’ Sadie says, seized by an urge to leave the overheated room and almost grateful when Dylan emits a howl from the rug.

‘Oh dear. Your boys are a bit unsettled, aren’t they?’

‘Yes, I think they’re a bit hot …’ She gathers him up, holding both babies who are now wailing heartily.

‘They make quite a racket, the two of them!’

Sadie nods. ‘They certainly do. In fact I think we’d better go.’

‘Maybe you could just give them a little push back and forth around the garden?’

‘No, I really think we should head home.’ Trying not to seem too eager, Sadie tries, unsuccessfully, to soothe the boys. Strapping them into the buggy, she says a collective goodbye and makes for the front door, trying to stroll rather than charge towards it, and filling her lungs with crisp spring air once she steps outside. She needs to talk to Hannah or Lou, someone who really knows her and won’t start going on about their ‘fantastic’ coil or imply that she and Barney should get on with the business of baby production.

Sadie tries Hannah first, who thankfully picks up. ‘Sadie? How’s it going?’

‘Good, fine … whereabouts are you?’

‘Just out shopping in the West End with Daisy,’ Hannah replies, and the hubbub of voices and traffic, then a siren wailing, almost makes Sadie faint with desire.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘We’re just trying to find something for Daisy to wear to the wedding …’

How cosy, Sadie thinks – reassuring, too, to be reminded that babies grow up, and that at some point it’s feasible to take them to the shops. To the West End, even.

‘What about you?’ Hannah asks.

‘I’ve just been to a party.’

‘Really? Like, a lunch party or something?’

‘Er, yeah, sort of.’