The Single Mums' Mansion: The bestselling feel-good, laugh out loud rom com

by Janet Hoggarth

  We waded cautiously out into the sea so we were up to our waists in the crystal-clear water; tiny fish darted between our legs, startling us.

  ‘I think we should float,’ I announced. ‘Come on. Let’s get our barnets wet.’

  ‘I’ll get sheep hair!’

  ‘Tough. If you want the ocean and the universe to hold you and take away the pain, you have to show willing. Sacrifice the hair.’

  Breathing deeply, I dived into the water and resurfaced further out and unable to touch the ocean floor. Ever since I had watched Jaws in 1981 from behind my nana’s chintz-covered replica Louis XIV sofa, I had had a fear of deep water. Even swimming pools could sometimes unnerve me. But I would always swim in the sea, not too far, just enough to feel I had accomplished it, all the while trying hard not to imagine my limbs being violently torn off by an undetected predator.

  Jacqui emerged next to me, treading water.

  ‘Hold my hand,’ I instructed her. ‘Now let’s float on our backs.’ It took me a few minutes to relax and not keep sinking, then the Reiki really flowed.

  ‘Your hand’s burning,’ Jacqui said, seemingly from miles away.

  The sea buoyed us up in its saline embrace, stroking our bodies, fanning out our hair like mermaids. My edges gradually dissolved the longer we floated; I couldn’t even feel Jacqui’s hand in mine and after a while I felt in union with the ocean.

  ‘Argh, get off!’ Jacqui unexpectedly screamed, flaying her arms and snatching her hand away, splashing water into my face, forcing me to take in a mouthful of briny seawater.

  ‘What?’ I spluttered, water in my eyes almost dislodging my lenses, hysteria mounting. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Fucking seaweed! It scraped my leg and freaked me out.’

  We looked at each other and started laughing uncontrollably, practically choking.

  ‘I’ve just weed in the sea,’ I gasped. ‘Seaweed!’

  ‘Me, too! It’s all warm!’

  ‘Come on, let’s go back.’

  ‘Did you feel different?’ Jacqui asked as we dried off on the shore. ‘I did… do feel different. I feel empty in a good way.’

  ‘Me, too. I felt like I wasn’t afraid. A bit like after giving birth and you realise death will be a piece of cake after that hideous invagination.’

  *

  Jacqui made a sound like someone had kicked her in the stomach and sat bolt upright, pushing her sunglasses onto her head.

  ‘Slagger, why are we here?’

  ‘We escaped after the party on the boat because it all got a bit creepy. You said you wanted to watch the sun rise on another day.’

  ‘I snogged that boy, didn’t I?’

  I nodded.

  ‘He was hot, though, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, very.’

  Jacqui let out a loud guffaw, then slapped her forehead. ‘Oh, no, we promised Remi we would meet her for yoga this morning. I don’t even know what time it is.’

  I rummaged round in my bag and pulled out my phone. ‘It’s nine fifteen.’ I still felt faintly drunk.

  ‘What’s this ring?’ Jacqui asked, thrusting her wedding finger at me.

  ‘We got married on the yachties’ boat, remember. The captain got us rings and made us kiss.’

  ‘With tongues? I hope you’re taking my name!’

  *

  Before the week faded over the cloudless horizon we set about exploring local beauty spots. I indulged my Captain Corelli fascination by imagining that Agia Efimia was part of the legend and inspiration for the setting when Louis de Bernières delved into his research. It certainly resonated with me and that felt good enough.

  ‘Do you think we will ever feel OK about being divorced?’ I asked on our last morning, before yoga.

  ‘I know that I feel better now than I did before I came,’ Jacqui admitted. ‘I feel like I’ve shed a skin. This was just what I needed to distract me from Simon’s wedding. I know I would have probably been fine, but to do something so amazing instead of sitting at home moping has made the whole thing a real treasured memory. Thank you.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘You did. You brought me here and baptised me in the sea. You practised yoga with me every day and you made me see it’s something I’m good at. I think I will do that yoga teacher course. I’m signing up as soon as we get back. It’s about time I stopped thinking life will feel better when this happens or that happens or when I meet someone. Life is happening now.’

  ‘You’re so right. I needed to let my hair down, be me again. I wasn’t me when I was with Woody. I felt like being with him just gradually highlighted how much I missed Sam. He so wanted me to love him and I just couldn’t. I think Sam and Carrie having their baby made me feel so left out, so wounded that he could have a child with someone else, that when I was gifted one in return, getting rid of it felt wrong.’

  ‘I totally get it. I kind of knew that. Did you have a name for the baby?’

  ‘No. But I think he was a boy. I just felt it. I found it strange seeing all the babies on the beach this week. It made me feel sad because I know I probably won’t have any more kids now. It’s all downhill to the menopause.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that. I can’t believe we’ve got divorced and then the next thing to look forward to is that! Well, I think the universe helped you come to a decision.’

  ‘I think you’re right, I couldn’t have coped with an extra baby, a man I didn’t love and my own three kids. I would have lost the plot.’

  Jacqui grabbed my hand and squeezed it. ‘You know we all would have helped. You would never have been on your own.’

  On our last night we asked if we could take Remi out to dinner at the Paradise Beach Taverna as a thank you for being such a wonderful host.

  ‘Here’s to you lovely ladies. Thank you for treating me.’ We toasted with tumblers of the taverna’s finest red wine poured from a rustic clay carafe. Fairy lights loosely looped like strings of pearls amid the grapevines emulated the dense splattering of stars that stretched far above the sea beyond the patio.

  Even though it was a balmy evening, a slight nip in the air rolled off the ocean, its waves swishing gently on the stones below. Our divorces had been picked back to the bare bones over dinner, lots of incredulous gasps and cries of ‘Fucking wanker!’ peppered the easy conversation. But I was keen to know one more thing before we paid the bill.

  ‘You don’t mention anyone else in your life apart from Karys, your parents and friends. Has there been anyone else?’

  Remi took a large gulp of wine and sat back in her chair. ‘There is, but it’s complicated and not many people know about it.’

  ‘He’s married?’ I asked, painfully aware I felt disappointed in Remi.

  ‘He is, but it isn’t what it seems. His wife is very ill, she has motor neurone disease and is in the final stages of it. She is in a hospice in Argostoli.’

  ‘Oh, no, how tragic,’ Jacqui cried. ‘How long have you been together?’

  ‘Well, we’re not exactly together. We haven’t, you know, consummated anything. I have known Nikolas for about six years.’

  ‘So, you’re just friends?’

  ‘We were for a long time. However, we realised we were in love about a year ago, but he feels in respect for his wife we have to keep it like this.’

  We all took a minute to digest the tragic paradox of Remi’s situation. I sipped the last of my wine before speaking tentatively.

  ‘But one day, you can be together?’

  ‘Maybe. I have no idea really. That’s the ideal, but until it happens, which is in itself heart-breaking, I won’t know.’

  ‘How did you meet?’

  ‘He owns the gallery where I exhibit in Fiskardo. Please don’t think badly of him; he is a kind man and has been living with this disease in his life for some time. He has been amazing to Cassia, so dedicated, caring for her and their children and running a business.’

  ‘I don’t think anything!’ I said, hastily b
anishing the disappointment as quickly as it arrived. ‘He must be worth it.’

  ‘He is. I think he may be the kindest man I have ever met. He wasn’t expecting this and neither was I. I made a vow that I would never marry again. But I feel different now. He has made me see you can recover after divorce, and you change who you would go for, too. Kind is more important to me now. And maybe that’s something I can instil in you both – only accept kind.’

  ‘I feel wrong saying I hope it works out for you,’ Jacqui said despondently. ‘But you deserve happiness, too.’

  ‘Let’s not be sad,’ Remi said brightly. ‘My life is what it is; I made this choice, so there’s no complaining. This is your last night.’ She tapped the table authoritatively. ‘We’re celebrating! I think you’re both beautiful, amazing women and I am so happy you came to my guesthouse. Live life, don’t wait for it. You really are very lucky, remember that.’

  28

  Free Bird

  ‘I think you need to clear out Sam’s old office,’ Ali instructed the day before the children returned from their holiday with Sam. ‘Jacqui said she would come down and help; Neve and Joe aren’t back until next week.’

  ‘Is this some kind of intervention?’ I laughed, sipping my tea in the sunshine the morning after returning from Greece.

  ‘Yes! But not really. You said how much you wanted to get on with your book after everything that’s happened, and the room isn’t needed for anything else. I feel bad that I’m sleeping in the space you used to work in, and clearly writing at the living-room table isn’t working.’

  ‘I like it there!’

  ‘Only because it’s close to the biscuits! Come on, we could do it in half a day and get some paint and decorate, like a TV make-over programme. We can move your writing desk from your bedroom and buy one of those office chairs from Ikea.’ Ali’s infectious enthusiasm roused me from my blind spot about the room, and what may have been.

  ‘OK. There’s things I haven’t looked at for years in that room, a lot of Sam’s stuff that I think he’s forgotten about, as well as wedding photos.’

  ‘We’ll sort it, don’t worry. We can have a pile of his shit ready for him to deal with when he drops the kids tomorrow. You won’t even have to look at it.’

  Jacqui cycled down the hill, and brought with her a cheeky bottle of cava.

  ‘We can declare the room open when you move in!’

  We tackled the boxes of arbitrary crap – old video tapes of Sam’s, one of which was of our wedding, an old printer that actually worked, so I kept that, and so many technical books on filming, editing, camera work, lighting, storyboards.

  ‘Chuck it in there, Slagger.’ Jacqui pointed to another box.

  I flicked open the lid and unearthed our wedding photo album and collection of pictures from when we were young, before kids. I winced.

  ‘What is it?’ Ali asked as she peered in. ‘Oh. Do you want me to look?’

  ‘No, it’s OK.’ I pulled out the maroon album, wiping the thick layer of dust from its cover.

  ‘Is this a good idea?’ Jacqui asked cautiously.

  ‘Yes, I need to look.’ Turning the stiff white pages was like revisiting someone else’s life. In one of the pictures Sam looked fresh-faced and nervous, standing waiting for me in the orchard.

  ‘Wow, you looked so beautiful,’ Jacqui said. ‘That dress…’

  ‘Where’s the picture of you and me?’ Ali asked and, as she said it, I turned a page and there it was. Ali was tearfully hugging me just before I climbed awkwardly into Rob’s vintage Beetle, my dress billowing up around my armpits like a giant marshmallow. ‘I love that picture.’

  ‘Oh God!’ Jacqui squeaked. ‘Is that Woody and Ursula?’ Woody was dressed incongruously in a suit, his arm casually draped round Ursula as they posed with glasses of champagne in front of the fake Gipsy Kings. He looked devilishly handsome and I felt a faint pang of regret.

  ‘And Will and Sarah,’ Ali pointed out in another photo. ‘We were all there. Look how young we looked.’

  ‘What will you do with the album?’ Jacqui asked eventually. ‘I think I kept mine for the kids.’

  ‘I’ll do that. Put it in my wardrobe until I can bear talking about it with them.’

  I didn’t look at the other photos and donated them to Sam to make a decision about.

  By Sunday night, when the children returned, the dumping ground of Sam’s old office had been transformed into a writer’s den. The walls were painted navy blue and grey, the bed was decked out with a new white broderie anglaise duvet cover filched from one of Ali’s catalogue shoots, and I added some extra bright red geometric patterned cushions from Ikea to accent the over-all design of the room. I had yet to hang any pictures, but I had bought a red and cream kilim rug also from Ikea, to conceal the uneven woodwormed floorboards. The bookcase had been wiped down and I had stuffed it with my grammar guides, dictionaries and Beardy tomes. My antique fold-down writing desk with all its nooks and crannies fitted perfectly and a cheap wooden office chair completed the look.

  ‘Gosh, I can’t wait to sleep in my brand-new room!’ Jacqui said, winking at me.

  ‘Writing room by day, brothel by night.’

  She punched me hard on the arm.

  *

  ‘Amanda, it’s Sarah. Do you think you could ring me back, please?’

  A month into my new life as a dedicated writer I returned to my desk to find an unsettling voicemail waiting for me on a Monday morning. I didn’t want to return her call; I had a nasty feeling it was about Woody. I sat at my desk and tried to pick up where I had left off, but I couldn’t jump back in; the words weren’t forthcoming and the voicemail played in my head. I decided to listen to it once more and try to decipher the tone of Sarah’s voice. Oh, fuck it, I should just ring her.

  ‘Sarah, it’s Amanda.’

  ‘Oh, thanks for ringing back. How are you?’

  ‘I’m good thanks. Working mostly, at the moment. You?’

  ‘I’m at work, actually, so I have to be quick.’ You called me! ‘Woody’s been in an accident.’

  ‘Is he OK? What kind of accident?’

  ‘A car accident; he was driving…’

  ‘Oh God, was he off his face?’

  ‘Twice over the limit, coming back from a night with us. He and Will had taken coke, too. It was the morning after, but I have no idea when he stopped drinking before he drove home.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Sunday morning. We found out last night. His mum rang. He’s obviously survived and is OK, but he’s busted his leg and hip very badly. He had to be airlifted to hospital. He needs pinning back together.’

  ‘He didn’t kill anyone, did he?’

  ‘No. No one else was involved. He’s feeling terrible and very sad.’

  ‘What an idiot.’

  ‘Yes. I think he knows that.’

  ‘Why did you ring me? I mean, thanks for telling me, but I can’t really do anything. We’re not together any more…’

  ‘I thought, or maybe Will did, would you visit him?’

  My kneejerk was to slam the phone down and block her number. I had already deleted Woody’s.

  ‘What good would that do?’

  ‘Cheer him up.’

  ‘But he brought this on himself.’

  ‘I know.’ She sighed heavily. ‘He’s been a wreck since you two broke up, what with the baby and everything.’

  ‘Please don’t bring the baby into this and make it about that. He has a problem and he needs help.’

  ‘We know. We were hoping you could talk to him, suggest he went NA or got some counselling.’

  ‘I can ring him and see how he is but he has to want to sort himself out. I thought he had calmed down and just did it every now and then.’ God, I was so naïve.

  ‘He had completely stopped after his sailing incident, then started occasionally going out again and sometimes dabbled. Then, when he started seeing you and we all began going out a lot more, I think he
slipped back into old habits. Then when you got pregnant I think he freaked out. Will told him he had to kick it into touch when the baby came, and he said he would, and he did calm down massively, but then you broke up.’

  ‘You knew all along he was coked off his nut and we were having a baby?’ I roared, rage overthrowing any kind of niceties. ‘Were you all laughing behind my back? No wonder he suddenly went all weird and shouty.’

  ‘No! It wasn’t like that. I was so worried. Will wouldn’t let me tell you. He said he had never seen Woody so happy and so together in years. You were good for him. He wanted to stop for you.’

  ‘He has to do it for himself, not me, not for a baby.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Amanda. I know it’s a lot to ask, but please will you ring him?’

  I slowly breathed in, to stop me saying something awful, something along the lines of, Look at your own life.

  ‘I will ring him, but I’m not visiting him. Send me his number.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I sat for about half an hour just listening to the pressing silence, the buzzing of my omnipresent tinnitus my sole companion. I was not responsible for Woody’s darkness. I felt angry all of a sudden. I just wanted him out of my life; I had moved on. For the second time I speculated whether this was what Sam had felt when I wouldn’t let go without a fight, when I insisted on trying to make it work, when I begged, when I cried, when I said I would change – did he just look at me and feel revulsion at my desperation? I shook my head; this was different. Woody and I were together only a short while. Sam and I had been married, brought a family into the world, we had more meat on the bones of our relationship; it had been worth fighting for. It was awful Woody was in a bad way, but it wasn’t my responsibility.

  ‘Hello, Woody?’

  ‘Amanda.’

  ‘Er, yes. Are you OK? Are you in pain?’

  ‘Only in my heart.’

  ‘Does your leg hurt?’

  ‘It’s not my leg, it’s my hip. Do your research.’

  ‘Oh, er, sorry, Sarah said it was your leg, too.’