‘George?’ She was just winding up the vacuum’s power cord when she heard Cecily calling her from the bottom of the stairs. She dragged the vacuum to the top of the stairs and peered down.
‘I’m up here. Just on my way down.’
‘Can you come into the kitchen? I need a chat with you before you leave.’ Cecily moved away too quickly for George to ascertain whether she was after a friendly natter or a not-so-friendly reprimand for failing to clean the bathrooms thoroughly enough the last time she was here. George was sure she had cleaned the bathrooms meticulously, but maybe her standards had slipped without her realising?
After heaving the vacuum cleaner down the stairs, George took her time clearing away the equipment and products she’d been using. Removing her tabard, she folded it carefully and wedged it between a bottle of multipurpose cleaner and her dusting cloths. Smoothing down the old T-shirt she was wearing (perhaps it would have been better to keep the tabard on, after all), she shuffled into the kitchen, the murmur of a smile on her face as she tried to gauge Cecily’s mood. She’d never had any issues with her before, but she did have some nightmare clients who would think nothing of bawling her out over a missed spot on a kitchen tile.
‘You wanted a chat?’ George inched forward, her cleaning caddy held in front of her like a shield.
‘I did.’ Cecily was sitting at the breakfast bar and she patted the high stool next to her. ‘It’s about my granddaughter.’
George placed the caddy carefully on the floor before clambering up onto the stool. ‘Your granddaughter?’
George had never met the child, but she had seen photos of a little girl with chestnut curls and a beaming smile dotted around the house, and one of the guest bedrooms at the back of the house had a bookcase fitted into an alcove, filled with children’s classics and brightly-coloured picture books. A ragdoll sat atop the chest of drawers and there was a Peppa Pig duvet on the bed. Had George forgotten to dust the room? Had she moved the doll and now it was missing?
‘Marinette.’ The double set of dimples that she’d been famous for appeared in Cecily’s cheeks when she said her granddaughter’s name. ‘She’s four in a couple of months and I was thinking of throwing a party for her, out in the garden if the weather’s nice enough.’ She indicated the large outdoor space beyond the orangery. ‘Something relaxed but fun. Like that picnic I saw you and your friends having the other week.’
‘The teddy bear’s picnic?’ George recalled the ears, which Cecily had seen her wearing, and felt herself squirm.
‘Yes!’ Cecily clasped her hands together, the dimples coming out in force again. ‘It looked delightful. And I know Marinette would enjoy it too.’
George nodded. ‘I’m sure she will. Our kids had a great afternoon. If you’re looking for tips, I could send you the link for the Pinterest board I set up to give me inspiration. There are loads of ideas for food and decorations and even games in there.’
Cecily laughed and shook her head. ‘No, George. I don’t want to organise the party. I want you to do it. I’ll pay you, of course. Give you a budget to work with.’ She placed a hand on George’s arm. ‘But only if you have the time and want to do it, of course. It’s just your picnic reminded me of my own childhood, before parties were held in those noisy soft play centres or you had to pay a fortune to entertain twenty children at the bowling alley. No, your picnic looked so traditional and wholesome.’
‘You really think I could organise a party for your granddaughter?’
‘Yes.’ Cecily gave a firm nod of her head. ‘I really do.’
George felt a flutter of excitement as she said goodbye to Cecily after promising to put together a few ideas for the next time they met. She could just imagine the sweet little picnic in Cecily’s back garden, bunting in pastel colours draped along the fence, cute gingham blankets set out on the lawn, with bunches of balloons swaying in the gentle breeze. And the food! She was already mentally planning the menu before she’d even made it through the garden gate.
Bubbles of anticipation fizzed in her stomach as she practically skipped home. Perhaps her friends were right. Perhaps she could do this.
The day was dry and mild, so the picnic club were meeting at the beach hut that afternoon. George arrived first, setting out the blanket she now kept in the storage space underneath the hut’s bench, and filling it with the goodies she’d prepared; mini bagels filled with roast beef and mustard, Granny Pappas’ quiche, cheese straws, and a salad with a Caesar dressing, plus individual pots of black forest trifle. She was setting out the plastic plates, cups and cutlery (George couldn’t keep using the disposable variety now the picnics were a regular thing) when Katie arrived, her cheeks flushed from her dash across the sand.
‘I thought I was going to miss it.’ She sank down onto the edge of the blanket and removed the clip that was holding her hair in place at the back of her head. ‘I had a mediation session with Rob that started – and therefore finished – later than planned.’
‘Here.’ George poured her a glass of sparkling flavoured water. ‘Looks like you might need this.’
‘Thanks.’ Katie downed half the drink in one, her nose tickling from the bubbles.
George poured herself a glass. ‘How did the session go?’
Katie shrugged. ‘Good and bad. Good, because we finally agreed on some things. Bad because one of those things is to sell my parents’ house.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t have any fight left in me.’
George reached across to rub her arm affectionately. ‘That sucks. I’m so sorry.’ She looked up and waved when she saw Frankie approaching.
‘Sorry I’m late. Lost track of time.’ She flopped down on the blanket. ‘What have I missed?’
Katie gave a wry smile. ‘My bad news.’
Frankie winced. ‘Your divorce is through?’
‘Nope, I still have that to look forward to.’ Katie filled her voice with a cheeriness they all knew she was faking. ‘No, it’s my parents’ house. I’ve agreed to put it on the market. Anyway.’ She sat up straighter and lifted her chin. ‘I’m going to stop being a Debbie Downer now. Let’s talk about something more positive.’ She turned to Frankie with a mischievous glint in her eye. ‘Have you plucked up the courage to call Alex yet?’
Frankie scrunched up and nose and shook her head. ‘That ship sailed a long time ago. I can’t call him now, can I?’ She held her hand up to her ear like a phone. ‘Hey Alex, remember me? I’m the girl who ran out of the restaurant during a date weeks ago and you haven’t heard from since.’ She removed her hand and flopped down on the blanket next to Katie. ‘Anyway, what about you, hmm? How are things going with the gorgeous Jarvis?’
‘You’ve never met him – how do you know he’s gorgeous? He could look like Gollum.’
‘Does he?’
Katie took a long sip of her drink, placing it carefully down before dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. Finally, she looked at Frankie, the beginnings of a smile on her lips. ‘No, of course he doesn’t look like Gollum. He’s bloody gorgeous.’
Frankie whooped and threw her arms around Katie. ‘I’m so happy for you, and a little bit jealous. I need to be brave like you.’
Katie snorted. ‘I’m not brave.’
‘You absolutely are.’ George’s tone was firm. ‘I think we’re all brave in our own ways.’
‘Yeah.’ Frankie nodded. ‘Women are bloody amazing.’
‘We really are.’ Kate eyed the plate of bagels. ‘But this amazing woman is starving. Can we eat now?’
‘Dig in.’ George grabbed a cheese straw while Katie made a beeline for the bagels. Instead of reaching for food, however, Frankie pulled an A4 notebook out of her bag and flicked through the pages.
‘I know I’m jumping way ahead here but…’ She turned the notebook so the others could see her sketches. ‘I’ve been having a play with the branding for your picnic business.’
‘Ooh, let me see.’ Abandoning the bagel, Katie reached for the notebook, dragging it o
nto her lap. ‘Wow, Frankie. These are great.’
Frankie flipped the page, revealing another set of designs. ‘They’re just rough at the moment. Obviously, once George has established the name of her company, I can create something more refined.’
Katie passed the notebook to George and smirked at Frankie. ‘I quite like “George’s Picnic Company”. Does exactly what it says on the tin.’
George ran a finger over the designs. Each one was perfect in their own way, apart from one detail. ‘Actually, I don’t want it to be my picnic company.’
‘Don’t worry – I was only kidding.’ Katie picked up her bagel and took a huge bite.
‘No, I didn’t mean for the name of the company. I literally don’t want the picnic company to be mine.’
Frankie frowned. ‘You’ve changed your mind about the business?’
Technically, George hadn’t decided to go ahead the last time they’d discussed the matter. She had certainly been wavering more towards chalking it down to a daydream.
‘What I mean is, I don’t want to do it on my own.’
Katie shook her head furiously as she chewed and swallowed the too-big bit of bagel. ‘You won’t be on your own. I’ll help you out as much as I can.’ Katie shrugged. ‘I’m only working three days a week and it isn’t as though I’ve got anything else going on in my life once the kids are at school or with their dad. I need something else to focus on other than the divorce. It’s driving me mad.’
Frankie gave her a nudge. ‘What about your fling? Doesn’t that take your mind off the D word?’
Katie looked down at her hands and shrugged. ‘For a little while.’
‘Are you blushing?’ Frankie giggled as Katie gave her a playful shove.
‘No, I am not. Now, let’s get back to business. George’s business.’
‘Yes, miss.’ Frankie flashed Katie a faux-chastened look while trying not to giggle.
‘But that’s my point,’ George said. ‘I don’t want it to be my business.’ She held up a hand as Katie and Frankie started to protest. ‘Do you two really think this picnic idea is viable?’
Katie nodded. ‘Absolutely.’
‘You make the best picnics.’ Frankie indicated the food in front of them. ‘We believe in you and the business.’
‘Good.’ George traced her finger over one of the designs again. ‘But I still don’t want it to be my business. I want it to be ours. The three of us should do this, together. There’s no way I can do this on my own, but I think if we work together as a team, we could stand a chance. What do you say?’ George looked at Frankie and Katie in turn. Frankie was the first to answer.
‘I say let’s do this.’
Katie picked up her drink. ‘And I say we need something with more of a kick than this sparkling water to celebrate our new business venture.’
‘I’m so pleased you’ve agreed,’ George said as she handed the notebook back to Frankie. ‘Because I’ve just booked our first client. We’ve got lots of work to do!’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Frankie
It was one of those days when nothing seemed to be going right. Finn had been doing well with his potty training lately, but he’d soaked three pairs of underpants before they’d even made it out of the house that morning and although it probably didn’t mean anything sinister, she couldn’t help worrying that it was a sign that something wasn’t quite right. A urinary tract infection? Was he worried? Stressed? And her day didn’t get much better when she phoned her mum, just to check in, and they ended up rowing over Christina’s health. Again.
‘Maybe she is okay now?’ Isaac pushed open the bright yellow gate and held it open so his niece and nephew could charge into the children’s play area at the park. With the extra workload of getting the picnic business together in time for their first event, Frankie’s work for her clients was starting to suffer. Her brother had offered to watch the twins while she attempted to catch up but none of her ideas for the packaging she was designing were working out. Her client wanted something fresh and innovative, but her sketches were tired and uninteresting. In the end, she’d decided to take a break. To get some fresh air while Finn and Skye burnt off some energy. The past couple of weeks had flown by and they were now in the midst of spring, with bright petals emerging from the park’s flowerbeds and leaves blowing in the cool breeze. Life, it seemed, was marching on merrily, despite the knot of dread in Frankie’s stomach.
‘She hasn’t fallen in weeks, not since they discovered her low blood pressure.’ Isaac stepped into the play area after Frankie and let the gate swing shut behind them.
‘But what if there’s an underlying problem? Something that’s causing the low blood pressure?’
‘Like what?’
Frankie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She could have something wrong with her heart. Faulty valves or something. A thyroid problem or even undiagnosed diabetes.’
Isaac was smirking as he scooped up his nephew and lowered him into the toddler swing. ‘You’ve been googling causes of low blood pressure, haven’t you?’
‘No.’ Frankie reached out to touch Finn’s flushed cheeks with the back of her hand. A result of the crisp spring air? The run through the park to the play area? Or was it slapped cheek syndrome? ‘Okay, maybe I have a little bit. I’m worried about her. I thought you were too.’
‘I was, but it seems to be under control now.’ Isaac pulled the swing back – not too high, Frankie silently warned – and Finn giggled as he released it again. ‘I think we have to trust her judgement.’
‘Even if it’s wrong?’ Frankie shielded her eyes from the sun as she searched for her daughter. ‘That’s high enough, Skye. Come down now.’ Skye was only a couple of rungs up the ladder on the climbing frame, but that was as far up the ladder her daughter should be unaided, as far as Frankie was concerned. She turned back to Isaac. ‘She’s not immortal.’
Isaac’s eyes flicked to his niece. ‘Nothing’s going to happen to her while she’s two rungs up the ladder.’
Frankie tutted. ‘I’m talking about Mum, you muppet.’
‘She’s a grown woman, Frankie. You’ve got to trust she’s making the right decisions for herself.’
‘Grown-ups make the wrong decisions sometimes too, you know. They don’t ask for help even when they know they need it.’
‘Frankie.’ She stiffened as she felt a gentle hand on her back. ‘Mum isn’t Bradley. That isn’t going to happen again.’
She had days like these, when her past bubbled to the surface and threatened to choke her, but they’d become less frequent, especially since the move to Clifton-on-Sea where there was little to remind her of Bradley and the life they’d built together. But part of her still blamed herself for not doing more, for allowing Bradley to leave for work that morning, for not spotting the signs, and she didn’t think she would ever forgive herself for that. So while her mum may have dismissed her concerns as fussing – and now even Isaac thought she was overreacting – she couldn’t let anything bad happen to her loved ones again.
‘Do you know how many times this one called me last night?’
Frankie, Isaac and the twins were slumped in their mum’s living room, stuffed after a Sunday roast and generous helpings of apple crumble, with the twins taking charge of the TV (they relied heavily on Frankie for most things, but they’d mastered the remote control long ago). Christina nodded in Frankie’s direction as she posed the question to Isaac.
‘Seven.’ Christina raised her eyebrows at Frankie as she answered the question herself.
Frankie drew her gaze up to the ceiling and sighed. ‘It was not seven times.’
‘Oh, yes it was.’ Christina folded her arms across her chest. ‘Once during The Chase, twice during Granada Reports and four times during Emmerdale. Four!’ She held up the corresponding fingers and waved them at Isaac.
‘You only answered the last one though.’ Frankie’s tone was accusatory. She wouldn’t feel anything but annoyance over this o
ne. ‘Why didn’t you pick up the other times if you were in?’
Christina pointed at the telly. ‘Because I was watching, and I didn’t want to be interrupted.’
‘You didn’t want Granada Reports to be interrupted?’ Frankie gave a loud tut. Emmerdale, she could understand as it was her mum’s favourite soap. And she could give her The Chase, but the local news? ‘What if it was an emergency? What if Finn or Skye had hurt themselves at the playground?’ An image of Skye wobbling precariously as she stood up on the seat of the springy pig earlier, arms outstretched for balance, popped into her head. She still felt as panicky now as she had tearing across the wood chippings to rescue her from danger.
Christina looked at the twins, who were engrossed in the brightly-coloured puppets on the screen. ‘But they hadn’t. They’re fine.’
‘But you didn’t know that. Anything could have happened, and you wouldn’t have known about it unless it happened to pop up on the local news.’
Some of Frankie’s friends had found out about Bradley’s death that way, as she hadn’t been able to say the words out loud. In those first few days, she’d switched off her phone and curled up in bed, only moving when the twins needed her, functioning on autopilot as she fed and changed them. They’d worn the same sleepsuits – day and night – for three days until Christina had taken matters into her own hands.
Christina gave a loud tut now. ‘Stop being so dramatic. If it was an emergency, Isaac would have called me.’
Frankie stared at her mum, her mouth gaping. ‘So you’d have picked up if he’d phoned?’ Charming!
‘Your brother doesn’t bother me with questions about what I’ve eaten or when the last time I had a bowel movement was.’
The Single Mums' Picnic Club Page 18