Epilogue
One year later
THERE’S A CAFE around the corner from our home, a three-bedroom cottage a couple of roads back from the seafront. On Sundays when the girls are staying, Greg will often take the kids there for breakfast, leaving me to enjoy an hour of silence. It’s a necessity; I spend my weeks listening to the cute but chaotic compositions of the three-and four-year-olds who take my class, ‘Music with Martha’. I love it but even love can become overwhelming. Greg adores these breakfasts and when he gets back later in the day, without fail he tells me he’s going to reduce his hours at work and spend more time at home. I just smile and nod because I know he won’t.
When I left to start my business, Greg took my job. Then, when Bob was fired after being overheard by a customer calling someone something very much out of line with company policy, Greg took over running the department. He wants to leave the office at six but he’s so committed to his team it’s always an effort to pull himself away, but it’s an effort I know he makes and that’s all that matters to me.
Cara returned to Rio for an extended visit and let Moses and I stay on in her flat at very much mates’ rates, so I was able to save enough to get together a deposit for the cottage. Mum and Dad come over for dinner at least once a week. Mum hates my curtains but she thinks Greg’s fantastic and he seems to like her too.
James’s surgery was successful and Leanne took a sabbatical to spend time with him during his recovery. She was surprised how much she appreciated a slower pace of life, so they’re planning a move to rural Sussex. I hate the idea of her not being around the corner but I know how important it can be to move on.
Alexander and I had mediation and he agreed to give me a lump sum, which I used to get the business off the ground. We talk occasionally when he’s dropping off Moses or if we bump into each other out and about. We’re not friends but we’re not not friends and that’s enough. He and Poppy got engaged a few months ago; I didn’t attend the party.
The sun is beckoning me so persuasively through the bedroom window that I decide to abandon my lie-in and join Greg and the kids. When Moses spots me in the cafe doorway he shouts, ‘Pancakes, Mummy!’ Greg and the girls look up and wave. I mouth ‘coffee’ and Greg gives me a thumbs up.
I stand at the counter behind a guy shifting impatiently from foot to foot. When he is passed his drink in a cardboard takeaway cup he lifts the lid and peers into it. ‘Are you sure this is soya milk?’ he asks.
‘If that’s what you wanted,’ says the cafe owner.
‘Yes, but people have made mistakes before.’
‘Not this time,’ says the owner carefully. The man turns and collides with me. A generous amount of liquid from the still-open cup falls on to my sleeve. Although I am the innocent party, I start to apologize.
‘Why don’t you look where you’re going?’ says the man. I look up and into the eyes of George; eyes that are as startlingly blue as I remember from his profile picture, looking back at me from within his list-perfect, redheaded six-foot-something frame.
I smile and say, ‘I think I might retract that apology.’ I say this to give him an opportunity to start again, to recognize me and be the George I once knew.
He narrows his eyes, I think at first in realization, but then he mumbles, ‘Idiot.’ He pushes past me and leaves the cafe without looking back.
I return to the counter and the owner asks me if I’m OK. ‘Yeah, I’m great thanks,’ I say. I order my coffee and a stack of pancakes with extra bacon.
‘I’ll bring it over,’ he says.
When I slide into the booth next to Greg, he pecks me on the lips. ‘Morning, buddy,’ he says.
‘Ew,’ says Charlotte, but she’s smiling. I poke my tongue out at her and she does the same, spraying toast crumbs in the process.
‘What was that about?’ asks Greg, nodding in the direction of the counter.
‘Nothing. Someone I thought I knew.’ I can feel Greg looking at me, waiting for more. When I don’t speak he pushes my leg with his knee and I mime elbowing him in response. Greg chuckles and starts rearranging his sandwich; he likes to try and have the perfect ratio of bacon and egg in every bite.
‘There’s a craft ale festival on at Stanmer House today,’ he says. ‘Do you wanna go? We could let the kids have a run round and grab a sneaky ale.’ I watch as Greg is finally satisfied with his work and sighs happily as he takes a large bite.
I squeeze his thigh under the table and say, ‘Yes. Yes, yes, and yes again.’
Acknowledgements
Enormous thanks to everyone involved in the Penguin Random House WriteNow mentoring scheme, particularly Siena Parker for holding my hand and Sarah Rigby for giving me the confidence to jump! To all my WriteNow cohorts, you’ve made my life brighter. I want to know you and read your work for the rest of my days.
Thank you to all my Transworld teammates, especially, of course, my mentor and editor Francesca Best. Still wanna see more of you on Insta but in every other way you’re killing it!
Mum and Dad, thanks always for showing me the benefit hard graft and for only ever wanting me to be happy. Rachel and Shellon, independent studies show you are the best sisters on the planet and, undoubtedly, I couldn’t have done this without my much better-looking brother James.
Shout out to my big, beautiful, crazy family who have taught me that there is never an inappropriate time for humour. Special mention to my cuz Nadine, without whom this book would have no ending.
To my amazing, unwavering cheerleaders – Adele, Anna, Ceri, Chloe, Chris, Rhiannon, Gemma, Nicola, Sharon, Troy, Natalie, Varsha and Martin – you all keep me sane, or an approximation of it.
Graham, I’ll be forever grateful for your advice, friendship and stellar fathering skills. Indeed, thank you to all the Allcotts. It has been a privilege to start this new chapter of my life with your continued support (and name).
And most of all thank you Roscoe, for giving me a reason to get up and start again, each and every morning.
About the Author
Born and raised in London and now living in Brighton, Charlene Allcott works part time with young people in a residential care home as well as caring for her three-year-old son who has autism. She writes a parenting blog at www.moderatemum.co.uk.
The Single Mum’s Wish List is her first novel.
You can follow her on Twitter @charleneallcott or on Instagram @moderatemum.
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First published in Great Britain as The Reinvention of Martha Ross in 2018 by Bantam Press
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Corgi edition published as The Single Mum’s Wish List in 2019
Copyright © Charlene Allcott 2018
Cover Illustration by Emily Courdelle
Cover Design by Jo Thomson/TW
Charlene Allcott has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781473569867
ISBN 9780552175791
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