It was true what they said: happiness is a state of mind.
She sounded like a greetings card. Where had that come from? She’d better watch out or the next thing she knew she’d be stencilling slogans on driftwood to hang all over the house.
She breathed in the fresh air. The goats were awake, too. She could hear them bleating in the barns. Maybe Marion was about to milk them. She had an ingenious assembly line that the goats actually queued up for. Every morning they clip-clopped up a ramp to present their udders at eye level for Marion to hook up to the milking machine. Aside from the odd stomp or kick, they hardly seemed to notice the suckling contraption. They were too busy snaffling their favourite treats from the back of the ramp.
By the time Sophie finished her shower, butterflies had started fluttering in her tummy. It wasn’t the usual about-to-mess-up-the-event nervousness, though. It was excitement. There were a million things to do, but she could do it.
She gave her reflection a no-nonsense stare in the steamed-up bathroom mirror. She’d put out all the tables and chairs, and if the Scout leader needed them in a different place then he could bloody well move them himself. Otherwise he’d have to work around her set-up.
Sophie’s back would probably ache by the end of the day, but it wouldn’t be bending. She smiled again through the steam.
Dan was up when she went back to the kitchen, dressed and make-up on, but with a towel still turbaned round her wet hair. ‘Ready for your big day?’
She wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. ‘Perfectly ready, thanks.’
‘Need any help?’
It was a trap that he’d spring either way. She could say no. Then he’d lord it over her if anything went wrong. If she accepted his help then it would become his day, not hers.
She ignored him.
‘Soph. Did you hear me?’
‘Sorry? My mind’s on other things. Help yourself to breakfast if you want. I’ve got a lot to get on with.’ She dropped the damp towel on the worktop and headed for the barn.
Let him chew on that with his slurpy spoonful of Weetabix. She wasn’t about to pass up this chance to do something for herself. If she thought about it, that’s what was bothering her so much.
Now she remembered that somewhere in the dim and distant past, she’d been a capable woman. Yet according to Dan, she couldn’t do anything right. No, that wasn’t quite it. She couldn’t do anything at all, wouldn’t be anything at all, without him.
When had she given away all of her power?
The caterer was a bubbly Spanish woman with an English boyfriend who took care of the cooking. Sophie expected the food to be made ahead of time and plopped into those metal warming trays, like they’d done for their wedding, but Marta and Joe turned up towing an enormous barbecue. ‘We cook fresh,’ she said, donning her Smokin’ Marta apron. ‘It adds to the theatre.’ Smokin’ Joe tied on his apron, too.
‘Where do you want us to set up?’
Sophie scanned the huge garden. She could see why the Scouts wanted to use it. It was completely flat, with trees ringing the edge furthest from the house and the barns making a gorgeously rural backdrop. ‘Away from the Portaloos, I guess. How about there?’
‘Can we help, Mum?’ Oliver called as her children tracked footprints from the house across the still-dewy grass.
‘Of course you can! Thank you.’ Just to show that it wasn’t the help she resented, not at all. It was Dan’s intention behind it.
They got to work topping the tables with the gaily red-checked oilcloths and Sophie’s jam jar flower arrangements. By the time they were set up, her arms ached from all the carrying. It looked so countryside-perfect. Joe had hoisted colourful flags and poles for bunting all around the cart (half barbecue, half bar – Joe had many talents). The flags fluttered gently against the bright-green foliage, and several of the goats were curiously watching them with wide, pale eyes from behind their fence.
She was sorry when the Scout leader turned up, even though she hadn’t the faintest clue what had been organised for the day and loads of people were probably expecting fundraising things.
‘Everyone ready?’ he said. His uniform – from his crisply ironed, badge-laden khaki shirt to his navy walking shorts – looked like it had been bought for a slenderer man. His Scout belt squeezed him in the middle like the twist between two sausage links.
‘Mr Simmons.’ He held his hand out for Katie and Oliver to shake. Then he shook her hand. ‘Jim. You’ve done a proper good job there.’
‘Did the planner let you know that I’d be helping today?’ Sophie asked him.
Jim nodded. ‘I expect his mum’ll be feeling better once the swelling goes down.’
‘Oh, I hope so! Do you know what was wrong with her?’
‘’Er nose,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ Skin cancer, maybe? Or even worse, some horrible flesh-eating bacteria that made people look like apple crumble.
‘And her neck, I think, for the chicken skin,’ Jim went on. ‘That’s what Bea says, anyway, and she’s usually spot on. I expect we’ll know when we see ’er.’ He swiped his fingers across each side of his nose. ‘If she looks like she’s done ten rounds in the ring.’
Ten rounds? Chicken skin? The penny dropped. This was no deadly, apple-crumble-looking bacteria that the planner was nursing his mum through. The only deadly bacteria she’d got was probably Botox.
His mum was having plastic surgery. And to think Sophie had felt sorry for the man! He hadn’t corrected the misunderstanding, either. She’d actually thought about getting a card for his mum. Ha. She might still. So sorry for your wrinkles. Hope you have lots of supportive bandages around you at this difficult time.
Sophie smiled. She couldn’t be too angry when it meant she got to be the planner for the day. He probably wasn’t cut out for the stress of event management, anyway, if his mother’s facelift could throw him into such a flap. One overdone spare rib and he’d probably walk off the job. It was definitely better for her to handle things.
‘I’ll go and set up the show ring,’ Jim told her. ‘Is there somewhere out of the sun to put the cupcakes, till later?’ He waved to the woman who’d just parked up the Bumblebee Bakery van.
Sophie jogged over to the drive to show the baker the way to the barn. Jogged! When had she last done that? Probably not since she’d locked sleeping baby Oliver in the car in the ASDA car park. In fairness (Your Honour), he was only a few weeks old, so she wasn’t yet used to having to fetch two children from the back seat, and Katie was screaming her head off, and Sophie was so focused on getting the wriggling child out of her car seat that by the time she did, in her sleep-deprived state she didn’t even notice Oliver also peacefully asleep there. She only realised she was missing something when she got to the stack of baskets inside the supermarket doors. She usually had a pram to hook the basket on.
That was when she remembered that the pram was in the car.
With the baby!
She could have beaten Usain Bolt’s 100 metres record. With Katie in her arms.
She wasn’t quite as out of breath when she reached the Bumblebee Bakery van as she’d been at ASDA, probably because nobody prosecuted you for leaving a cupcake in the car.
‘You must be the most popular person everywhere you go,’ Sophie told the baker as they each carried a large cellophane-windowed box. With such squishable cargo inside, they didn’t dare stack them.
The young woman smiled. ‘It’s a dream job. Except for the four a.m. starts and always smelling of butter.’
‘Sounds like being a new parent, though I usually smelled of worse things than butter.’
Together they carpeted the barn floor with dozens of cupcakes. They looked gorgeous, all laid out in their pristine white boxes: neat rows of blue-iced vanilla cakes with the Scout logo on top. Those were going to fetch a pretty penny for the fundraiser.
As she helped Jim set up the highlight of the day – the dog show judging ring – Sophie’s glance ke
pt stealing back to the house. But with the sun angled the way it was, she couldn’t see whether Dan was spying from any of the windows. Part of her hoped so. Then he’d see that she could stand on her own two feet. Another part of her hoped he’d leave her alone, though, because the very idea that he might take over made her angry.
Sophie liked having responsibility like this. Dan didn’t need to take it all on himself.
She didn’t want him to.
He’d probably be relieved to hear that. He was the one who loved to complain about how hard he worked, yet he always took over for her. Even this holiday, as she thought about it. As soon as she’d mentioned Italy, Dan got Laxmi to find out where the best spa hotels were, and he signed up to those websites for airfare price alerts. Suddenly it went from her holiday to his. He was such a natural leader that it hadn’t occurred to Sophie not to follow.
By the time the lawn was bustling with dozens of people, Sophie was ready for them. Everyone seemed to bring a dog. Before they’d turned up, though, she and Marion had moved the goats into the barns so that they weren’t frightened. With the stone wall encircling the entire property, the dogs were free to roam while their owners tucked into barbecue and beer.
‘Mum, can we get a puppy?’ Oliver was cuddling a Yorkshire terrier who kept licking his face. ‘Please?’
‘That’s not a puppy,’ Sophie pointed out. ‘It’s a tiny dog.’
‘Then can we get a tiny dog?’
‘We’ll see.’ In other words: not in a million aeons. ‘You’re having fun, aren’t you?’ She smoothed his dark hair. ‘I’m glad.’
‘This is the best holiday ever, and you’re the best Mum in the world for letting us have it. I love you.’
‘I love you, too,’ she said through her smile, ‘but that doesn’t mean you’re getting a dog.’
Katie had overheard them. ‘You’d get us one if you really loved us.’
‘You’d clean your room if you really loved me,’ said Sophie. ‘Why don’t you work on that before you worry about cleaning up after a dog?’
A few of the adults had started rounding up their pets for the judging, but others were calling in vain. The dogs couldn’t have escaped over the wall. ‘They must be here somewhere,’ she told their anxious owners. ‘Jim has walked the whole perimeter and there’s no way out.’ Anyway, James would have had to make sure about that when he got the goats, or he’d end up chasing them all over the county.
‘They’re here!’ cried a Scout. ‘Bad dog!’ He was standing in the doorway to the barn where she’d stored all the party supplies.
For the second time in a day, Sophie ran.
Half a dozen dogs had their snouts shoved into the torn-open bakery boxes. They’d managed to savage every single box.
A black spotted standard poodle looked like the ringleader. His mouth was a vivid blue from the icing.
One Jack Russell had given up on the feast. He was lying on his side, panting, his blue tongue darting in and out.
Everyone rushed towards their pets as the air filled with questions.
‘Are cakes toxic to dogs?’
‘They are! I read it.’
‘Only if they’re chocolate.’
‘Is there any sugar substitute in these?’
‘That’s bad!’
‘Nuts? What about nuts?’
‘Who puts nuts in cupcakes?’
‘Who leaves cupcakes on the floor??’
‘We need to ring the baker.’
Sophie agreed with that. ‘Should we also ring a vet?’
‘My sister-in-law’s a vet,’ said one woman, pulling out her phone.
It was a tense few minutes while Sophie relayed all the cupcake ingredients to the vet via her sister-in-law, but there was nothing toxic in them. The dogs’ poo, on the other hand, would probably require a hazmat suit to clear up tomorrow.
The cake sale was off, but the rest of the afternoon was a success.
Sophie was still full of barbecue when she threw herself down on the sofa that Oliver usually claimed as his. She ached from the ends of her fingers to the tips of her toes. ‘Sorry, mate, Mum’s in a coma,’ she told Oliver.
‘That’s okay.’ He sat on her.
‘Oi!’ But she drew her arms around her boy. Thank goodness he was still young enough to enjoy it. He might think now that he wanted to live at home until he collected his pension, but Sophie was pretty sure that one day she’d long to have her organs crushed like that. ‘Good day, wasn’t it?’
Oliver’s lids were heavy as he nodded. They’d all go to bed early tonight. ‘It was the best.’
Katie glanced up from her phone. ‘I wish we’d had the cupcakes.’
‘My God, you can’t still be hungry.’
‘I’m a growing girl. Will we do something fun tomorrow, too?’
Ha, she’d raised the holiday bar now. ‘Let’s see if Dad fancies anything special. I’ve got my treatment at ten, so I’ll be finished by lunchtime.’
‘Should I ask Dad?’ Oliver asked.
‘Nah, leave him alone in there. He’ll come out when he wants to.’ She knew he could hear them. What a baby, ignoring her now just because she hadn’t gone running to him for help. Well, sod it, why should she? She’d done fine on her own.
She had to be honest with herself. She wasn’t having as much fun with Dan on holiday as she’d thought she would. She’d been desperate to go away with him, imagining all the perfect days they’d have together as a family. Yet now, she remembered, the last holiday they took wasn’t as much fun as she’d thought it would be, either. They’d had a villa in Majorca then, that even had its own pool. The children loved it but Dan had been annoyed with her most of the time. If she wasn’t wearing the wrong shoes for walking, she picked the wrong restaurant for dinner.
She’d been relieved when they returned to London and he’d gone back to working long hours. Being lonely didn’t seem as bad as walking on eggshells all the time.
Dan still hadn’t come out of the office by the time Harriet rang her. They’d have to knock before dinner time.
She was tempted not to answer Harriet’s call, but then she wanted someone to brag to. It was at times like this that she really missed her mum.
‘Any idea where your snake might like to hide?’ Harriet asked the second Sophie picked up.
‘She’ll be around somewhere. So you did let her out.’
‘I didn’t let it out. It got out and we can’t find it.’
‘Don’t worry, she can’t leave the house. She’ll turn up when she’s hungry. She always does.’
‘I’m not worried about it leaving the house, Sophie, or not turning up. I’m worried about where it’ll turn up when it does.’
‘You sound stressed.’ That pleased Sophie. How did Harriet think she’d felt hearing her accusations about Dan?
‘Of course I’m stressed when there’s a python loose in the house.’
‘She’ll go back into her enclosure eventually, so just leave the door open for her.’
‘I don’t feel like you’re grasping the seriousness of this situation,’ said Harriet.
‘Well, I can’t make her come out now, can I? We don’t know where she goes, either. I’m sorry, but she will go back into her cage. Ask Owen to have a look. He’s usually pretty good at finding her.’
‘I did. He can’t. He and his mum haven’t made up yet. Is that normal?’
‘Sometimes.’ Owen’s mother wasn’t the most reliable person. Sometimes she disappeared for days. That was why he’d gone into care in the first place. ‘He usually comes and goes.’
‘And Dan doesn’t mind that?’ Harriet asked. ‘I mean, having a teenage boy in the house?’
Sophie thought back to when Owen first came. Dan knew how much she’d love having another child to look after, and he was right. Oliver was a few years out of nappies by then, and that feeling was overwhelming her again. The same one she’d had when Katie got to that age. If she couldn’t have another baby, then at
least she could look after Owen. That little boy had needed her so badly. Dan called him her little project.
‘He knows how much I love Owen,’ Sophie said. ‘So he doesn’t mind.’
‘He’s welcome to stay as long as he needs to. He really is no trouble. How was today?’
‘Fine.’
‘Only fine? You sound like my teenager.’
Sophie could hear herself. Just because she was cross didn’t mean she couldn’t be a civil adult. ‘There was a dog show,’ she added. ‘Put it this way: Crufts doesn’t need to worry about the competition. They got at the cupcakes, though. The ones for the cake sale.’
‘That would have put a dent in their takings,’ said Harriet.
‘It did, but they sold more barbecue and drinks than they planned, so that helped make up for it. And we scrambled together a baking auction at the last minute. Some of the parents offered cake prizes as IOUs.’ That was her idea, and it had worked! That had earned the Scouts nearly £100, thanks to her quick thinking.
‘Did you take pics?’ Harriet asked.
She should have! Not that one event made her a party planner, so get over yourself, Sophie Mitchell. Although the original planner hadn’t even done one event, and he’d set up his own business.
Why was she thinking about party planning anyway? It wasn’t like she didn’t have enough to do with looking after the children. ‘I was too busy running around, but it looked gorgeous. I’m surprised you don’t know all the details. Weren’t you in on the planning?’
Harriet laughed. ‘Definitely not. Why would I want to know details that don’t affect me? There’s enough on my plate as it is. When the leader asked to use the garden, all I needed to do was check with James that the goats wouldn’t be stressed and make sure there weren’t any liability issues. It was up to the planner to make it work. That’s poor business to back out at the last minute. You did well to step in. I hope you’re proud of yourself. You should be.’
The Staycation: This summer's hilarious tale of heartwarming friendship, fraught families and happy ever afters Page 17