When the day drew to a close I found that I wanted to stay. Natalie’s husband wandered in to the living room and switched on The X Factor. They were settling down for the night. It was a dark November evening outside and the bite from the cold air burst the cosy bubble of Natalie’s flat as Anna shut the door behind her. I stood in the hall, my coat on, Natalie and Francesca facing me smiling, The X Factor blaring out behind them. I felt like I could just sit back on the squashy corduroy sofa and blend in with their family, feel safe.
‘It was so good to meet you,’ Francesca said kindly. ‘I really hope everything works out for you. You’re amazing. I can’t believe you look after three children on your own. I can’t even manage our cat!’ She gave me a hug and disappeared to watch Simon and his pithy put-downs.
‘I wish I could stay,’ I said to Natalie, half hoping she would invite me, but knowing she wouldn’t. The hours spent in her company had infused me with a sense of invincibility I hadn’t felt since I’d been a child. Like I was more than just the children’s mum, like I mattered and could make a difference.
‘Ahhh, that happens sometimes when you make a big change. It feels hard to leave the place where it happened. But you will be OK once you get home again and start practising Reiki on yourself every day. You might notice people will think you look different. Like you have been on holiday. You might feel things about people and intuitively know stuff and wonder how you do – your intuition is now operating on a higher level. And coincidences will start happening, but know that they aren’t coincidences, they are meant to be. And remember the Reiki principles – I have them stuck on my fridge so Andy knows them, too. It’s good to be reminded.’
Just for today, I will not be angry.
Just for today, I will not worry.
Just for today, I will be grateful.
Just for today, I will do my work honestly.
Just for today, I will be kind to every living thing.
*
That night, as I lay in bed exhausted to my very core, Natalie’s instructions to practise on myself rang through my head. We had to perform Reiki for a whole month before we were unleashed onto the outside world. I followed a self-healing ritual and drifted off somewhere around my solar plexus chakra. Out of nowhere, Ali barged into my head, gripping Grace tightly while Jim tried to prise her away. I didn’t recognise their surroundings. ‘You can’t have her here!’ she was screaming in his face over Grace’s head.
‘Watch me!’ he yelled back. Grace started crying. I jumped out of my trance and the vision evaporated like a will-o’-the-wisp. I tried to decipher what I’d witnessed but sleep beckoned and I gladly acquiesced to its rare request. When I awoke, I remembered the dream and texted Ali about it. My phone rang immediately.
‘You fucking witch!’ she cried. ‘How did you know?’
‘Know what?’
‘Jim has been secretly living with a girl I know. I followed him yesterday and barged my way in. We ended up having a huge fight in the living room and had a kind of tug of war with Grace between us.’
7
Week One in the Single Mums’ Mansion
‘What made you follow him?’ We sat on my sofa sipping calming anti-psychotic herbal tea, Grace wedged between us propped up on one of the chintzy cushions.
‘He had started going AWOL again and I just knew he was up to something, so I followed him in my car when he said he was popping to the dry cleaner’s yesterday, but he ended up at a tiny place in Brixton where he had a key. I knocked on the door and pushed past him when he opened it. I obviously started screaming in his face.’
‘What did he say?’
‘What could he say? I shouted, why did he lie and pretend we were back together, and he said he didn’t want to leave Grace, but he knew he would have to eventually and was buying some time.’
‘What a fucker.’
‘I know. I went mental at him, asking who she was. He refused to tell me, told me she wasn’t important, and that they were just friends and she was helping him find a flat, that was it.’
‘What a crock of shit.’
‘I know. I shoved Grace at him and crashed into the bedroom where there were house brochures all over the bed addressed to Ms Hattie Sloan and Mr Jim Bradfield. He had clean suits in the wardrobe and she had the most awful collection of clothes – all drab and grey, with a pair of battered Converse stuffed at the bottom. Jim hates Converse, always took the piss out of me if I wore them, said they were for students!’
‘Oh, Ali, what a fucking cunt flap.’
‘It gets better. In my rage I pulled back the bedcovers and a massive vibrator was lying half under the pillow.’ I cringed. ‘I asked what a vibrator was doing in the bed if she was just helping him find somewhere to live.’
‘And?’
‘He shouted at me: “It’s not a vibrator; it’s a clit stimulator!”’
I exploded into involuntary raucous laughter and hurriedly clamped my hands over my mouth.
‘Oh shit, I’m so sorry.’
‘I punched him in the face.’
‘No!’
‘I know. Bad, bad, bad. He was holding Grace, too.’
‘Ali! He could do you for that.’
‘I knew I wouldn’t hurt him; it was more like a slap.’
‘I bet he went nuts.’
‘He did.’
‘So this has been going on for some time with her?’
‘I think so. I know her. She’s the Marketing Director at New Look. They’re moving in together. He wants to sell our house immediately. She was on her way home from the shops and he rang her in front of me and told her to stay away and that I knew everything.’
‘Oh, Ali. What will you do? He’s making you homeless. And he certainly can’t be your agent any more.’ She dissolved into tears after my clumsy precis. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be brutal.’
‘No, it’s OK, it’s true. I’m going to have to find my own place. The house might take ages to sell and the thought of staying there while it does makes me feel so sad. Grace and I won’t be living in a home… And I’m not sure what I can afford. I need my money back first.’ She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. ‘I hate her, and I hate him. I want to key his car and slash his tyres.’ From the crazed look in her eyes, I thought Ali capable of both.
‘Look, leave them to their clit stimulating, I have a better idea…’
*
I rarely visited the top of the house. I had used it as my office, writing on a table under the eaves, but writing occurred downstairs at the living-room table now so I didn’t have to heat the room. The radiator was permanently switched off, lending the room a forlorn feel, abandoned and empty, the stale air oppressive. The walls were painted basic white and the carpet was cream dotted with a few indeterminate stains. The only furniture was a plain white double bed made up under one of the windows and two chests of drawers in a recess knocked out of the chimney breast. This had been our spare room for when family visited. The bathroom next door was a sorry sight. The tiles were mismatched where they’d obviously been tiled with a different batch number and some of them were cracked, with tenacious mould festering between them. The loo seat, once white, now yellow, sported a dubious-looking fag burn right in the middle. The brown cork tiles on the floor were peeling upwards round the edges in some places like fungus-infected toenails.
‘Please won’t you let me pay you for the work you’re going to do?’ I asked Pete, Ali’s dad.
‘Don’t be silly, woman! You’re letting my daughter and granddaughter stay with you in their hour of need. The least I can do is tart this place up for them. It’s what I do.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes! Now, I thought new tiles on the floor. I got these from a man I know – like them…?’
*
‘Close your eyes, Ali. No peeking!’ I held Grace in my arms. Meg, Isla and Sonny stood back as Ali walked into the room, guided by her mum and dad. ‘Open!’
The stark
winter sun streamed in through the two shabby windows. Pete had hung powder-pink blackout blinds above the frames and they distracted the eye from the unyielding bleach-scrubbed mould stains. The walls were now painted a lovely light stone colour with the window wall painted hot pink. Anne had styled the room, leaving the bed under the windows and Grace’s white wooden cot at the foot of the bed. In the alcove under one of the eaves my two battered chests of drawers stood snugly pushed together side by side, newly painted dark grey, a basket of nappies and wipes on top, with all Grace’s baby books lined up neatly between yellow solid wooden ‘G’ and ‘A’ bookends. The bed resembled a marshmallow puff stuffed with pillows of all colours and a chintzy Cath Kidston throw draped artistically over the pink chequered duvet. I could imagine disappearing into the bed and never resurfacing. Chugga obviously had that very same thought as he launched himself like a torpedo, falling short of the bed.
‘Lift him up!’ Ali laughed, taking it all in, and he fell face first into all the pillows, giggling.
Next to the cot a sizeable round dark brown wicker basket overflowed with cuddlies, rattles, shakers, neon electronic plastic button-pushing toys and a giant Elmo perched on top, surveying his kingdom. Unable to shift her shabby chic wardrobe from her old house up the stairs, Ali had to make do with a clothes rail on the left side of the room, next to the desk, tucked away under the opposite eaves.
‘It’s perfect. Thank you!’ Ali looked flabbergasted and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. ‘I love that view.’ Anne had cleaned the window panes, revealing London in all its majestic glory, the London Eye the crown jewel, twinkling as it turned imperceptibly, the city looming up like headstones from the roof-top horizon.
I handed Ali a tissue-wrapped present.
‘Oh, wow, a gorgeous crystal. Thank you.’
‘It’s a rose quartz. Stick it in the top left-hand corner of the room from the door. It will attract love again, when you’re ready. And keep you calm.’
Ali hugged me.
‘Check out the bathroom,’ Pete said proudly.
Across the small landing he opened the door and stepped back so we could enter. Gone were the cracked mismatched white tiles, yellow loo seat, wonky shower door and fungal-infested floor. In its place was a bright shower room with a realigned shower door scrubbed within an inch of its life. The trendy brick-shaped white tiles were fixed with dark grey grout, echoing the colour in the bedroom. The sink splashback utilised the same tiles and the walls were painted in the stone shade from the bedroom. Real slate tiles covered the floor and the loo seat was one of those old-fashioned black ones, immune from fading or yellowing. Anne had placed a scented candle on the window sill and fresh pink towels hung on the chrome rail above the radiator.
‘Oh, Dad, thanks so much.’ Ali’s voice wobbled with emotion. ‘You’ve made a proper haven for Grace and me.’
‘Thanks for adding value to my house!’ I laughed, unable to believe the transformation in such a short time. ‘Now, if you could just do the rest of the house by tomorrow, that would be fab!’
Anne had brought up ice-cold champagne and we all clinked glasses.
‘Here’s to our new life in the Single Mums’ Mansion!’
8
Familiar Face, New Friend
I fought against the January arctic drizzle, the formidable pushchair my shield against the rain, perfect conditions for the first day back to school after the Christmas break. On any given day when this kind of weather prevailed, I would normally have walked back to the house after dropping Isla at school and then driven Meg to nursery. But, oh no, not today. Today I would walk, because, well, just because a stubborn urge hunkered down and refused to budge. And I needed to start listening to my intuition, believe in myself again, just like Natalie had said.
‘Want to go in the car, Mummy!’ Meg cried as I announced the new order of events.
‘No, Meg, we’re walking.’
‘It’s wet!’ she sobbed, and ground to a halt outside school, a sure-fire harbinger of a shit fit brewing. Instead of giving in and trudging back to the car, a spark of anger ignited.
‘No, Meg, we’re walking.’
‘Don’t want to walk!’ she screamed, and some of the other parents filing past on their way to work looked at me pityingly.
‘Look, Meg, I really want to walk. It’s not that wet. Jump in the back of the pushchair and I will push you.’ Sonny was cosy and dry under the rain hood, so it made no difference to him in his steamed-up plastic bubble. Meg’s saucer eyes overflowed with tears and her huge pudding cheeks wobbled as she worked up into a temper, even though I had offered an alternative. Hug her, a voice echoed in my head, just hug her. It doesn’t mean you have lost. Even though I wanted to throw a fit myself because no one ever listened to me – and why did everything have to be a fight? – I surrendered to the know-it-all voice and bent down and hugged her. Just for today I will not be angry. Her little body stiffened inside her pink puffa jacket; I could tell she felt hesitant. Usually our roles were clearly defined. She would start having a strop about nothing, I would be patient for about ten seconds and then I would irrefutably get cross and sometimes (always) shout and the entire thing would blow up into a mushroom cloud of doom. The scenario customarily concluded with me lying on a bed of nails for the rest of the day wanting to gouge my eyes out because I was a useless twat.
Hugging Meg instead of firing off admonishments was definitely following the road less travelled. She melted into the hug and her muffled sobs slowed. My anger dissolved, tears stung the back of my eyes and my heart filled with love for this little person who was tricky, but actually very like me. I made a pact to start Reikiing the children at bedtime that evening.
‘I love you, Meg,’ I whispered into her ear. ‘Even when you get cross, and even if I shout, I still love you. I always will. Do you understand?’ She nodded her head inside her fluffy hood.
‘Mummy, can I get in the pushchair now?’
I nodded and my heart hurt for her. I didn’t tell her I loved her enough. I started silently chanting the Reiki principles, in an attempt to ingrain them into my psyche, when inside my mind’s eye a cine film projected a scene of a nicely spoken woman I used to be friendly with at Baby Music. I could see her children, too, Joe and Neve. The vision was bathed in a sepia tint and she was laughing and hugging the children. I didn’t even know her name, which was odd because we had been going to the same music group for a few years, and we were pregnant with our second babies at the same time. Every week we would chat animatedly, but for reasons unknown to both of us, we never ever asked what each other’s names were or met for coffee.
‘Why am I thinking about her?’ I asked the rain as I trundled on down the hill towards nursery. I dropped Meg, giving her an extra hard hug and kiss, and turned round for my return journey home. I looked up from my gloved hands on the pushchair and spotted a tiny figure at the top of the road, wrapped up in a black trench coat, tottering down the hill and I knew instinctively it was her. As she got nearer, her startling blond hair poked out from under her umbrella and her face broke into a smile.
‘Hello!’ she said brightly. ‘I haven’t seen you for ages. How have you been? Is this Sonny? Wow, he’s big now.’ She bent down and peered in through his steamed-up rain hood.
‘Yes, I’m OK. How are you?’
‘Oh, I’m all right. Lovely to see you, though. I’m just popping down to Lordship Lane to get some bits. Look, why don’t we go for coffee one day? We can have a proper catch-up.’
‘I’m free Wednesday evenings and every other weekend, or I can meet you in the day. Next Monday after I drop Meg?’
‘Oh, me, too, with the weekends. This is going to sound stupid, but what’s your name?’ she asked, looking embarrassed.
‘I’m so glad you said that because I have no idea what your name is either!’ We both started laughing, a bit too hysterically.
‘Jacqui Snowden. I feel like we’re at school!’
‘Me, to
o. I’m Amanda Wilkie. Shall we exchange numbers?’
She pulled out a flash new iPhone from her bag, and I scrabbled around for my Nokia brick in my pocket and punched in her digits.
‘Listen, I’ve got to dash, but I mean it about meeting up. I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to and how the kids are.’ And she leaned in and gave me an affectionate hug and kissed my cheek, then set off down the hill. I’d been home alone about an hour when my phone pinged.
Are you single?
Yes! I thought you might be too!
So did I. When you said every other weekend that’s when I realised.
My phone rang immediately.
‘Hello,’ Jacqui said. ‘I’m just walking back home.’
‘Where do you live?’ I asked.
‘At the top of Underhill Road.’
‘You must walk right past my house! Have you got time to pop in?’
‘Give me your address.’
Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door.
‘Come in.’ Sonny was having his morning nap in his room and there was a rare air of calm eclipsing downstairs.
‘Wow, the wallpaper!’
‘I know. It’s an original seventies horror story.’
‘But it feels in keeping. It’s very bohemian. This must have been glorious at one time.’ I laughed. ‘Gosh, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! I meant back in the day, when it was at its peak. All the cornicing and ceiling roses are amazing. People pay a fortune for them. The developers who did my house had to buy them in.’
‘Don’t worry, I know exactly what you mean. That’s how I feel and that’s why we bought it. If I don’t have to sell it in the divorce, one day maybe I will get to finish it. First World problems and all that. I know I’m incredibly lucky to have a house at all in my situation.’
I led her into the kitchen at the back.
‘Oh, your kitchen is wonderful. I love all that pale blue with the bright yellows. Did you do all this? Gorgeous tiles.’
The Single Mums' Mansion: The bestselling feel-good, laugh out loud rom com Page 5