by Alice Ross
Running late, as usual, she realised she would probably have missed Cecilia’s mummy: the nauseatingly punctual Frances. Which would mean phoning the woman. A call she really should have been making to the dishwasher repairman.
Pulling up outside the shiny red gates, bracing herself for a chorus of disapproving sniffs and synchronised eye-rolling from the yellow-shirts, Kate breathed a sigh of relief as she spotted Frances’s immaculate 4x4 – naturally devoid of the squashed raisins, used tissues, random shoes, and eau de vomit that Kate’s vehicle boasted. Disgorging her brood from the car, she ushered them towards the entrance, wondering, as she watched the twins tramp ahead, how, in the space of ten minutes, and in the confines of their car seats, they’d managed to make themselves look as if they’d been dragged through several hedges backwards, then forwards, then backwards again.
Approaching the giant red and yellow clog that guarded the nursery door, she spotted Frances through the window, talking to Mrs Allen, the nursery manager, who ruled over the yellow-shirts with a rod of reinforced steel.
Attached to the end of Kate’s arm, Jemima obviously made the same observation. ‘See,’ she huffed. ‘Cecilia’s mummy looks pretty. And she smells nice.’
Kate couldn’t comment on the smell, but she certainly wouldn’t call Frances “pretty”. In a floral, knee-length skirt and lacy white blouse, her blonde, shoulder-length hair held back with an Alice band, she put her in mind of a 1950s Stepford wife. Nevertheless, her pristine, stain-free persona still made Kate feel like a scarecrow.
Sucking in a bolstering breath, she forced a smile onto her face and was preparing to greet the formidable pair with some pleasantry about the warm September weather when Milo emitted a spectacular war cry. Causing the women to start.
‘Goodness,’ gasped Mrs Allen, pressing a hand to her chest and glowering at the tiny perpetrator.
Obviously sensing the chief’s disapproval, Jemima wailed, ‘Milo’s horrible.’
‘Hmph! He’s certainly… lively,’ sniffed Mrs A disapprovingly.
‘I bet you can’t wait for next year when the pair of them start here,’ chortled Kate, attempting to add a splash of humour to the proceedings.
It was quelled before leaving the starting block.
Mrs A made an indecipherable snorting sound, before throwing a look at her watch. ‘Jemima’s late. And she wasn’t here at all yesterday.’
Kate twisted her features into an apologetic expression. ‘No. The twins were ill. Sorry, I know I should’ve called but I was too busy mopping up vomit.’
Mrs A shook her clearly exasperated head of short grey hair, before extending a hand to Jemima. ‘Come along now, child, or you’ll miss registration.’
A sniffling Jemima tossed one last reprimanding look at her brother, now sitting inside the wooden clog and making racing-car sounds, before tootling off with Mrs Allen.
The encounter having sapped a deal of Kate’s limited energy, she turned her attention to Frances, who was observing Mia with a strange look on her face.
Having evidently clocked the child’s bandage, which she’d attempted to reapply herself, Frances asked – with a definite “I think I may have to inform the relevant authorities” edge to her voice – ‘Has she hurt her head?’
‘Just a bump,’ breezed Kate, wishing she’d kept Jemima off nursery today too. Did other people incur all this fuss when dropping off their kids? She doubted it. Steering the conversation away from anything that might involve social services, she said, ‘Jemima wondered if she could possibly go to your house after nursery today. If you’re not too busy.’ Updating the content lists of toy boxes, or polishing your aubergines, she almost added.
‘Yes. That should be fine,’ sniffed Frances, her countenance completely neutral.
Kate affected her widest smile. ‘Great. Thanks. What time should I pick her up?’
‘Five. Before my piano pupils arrive. She can have tea with Cecilia.’
Kate suspected the inclusion of tea would be because the woman deemed her incapable of feeding her own children. Not that she could be bothered pushing the point.
‘Fantastic.’ She swooped down to pick up Mia before she tripped over her trailing bandage. ‘See you then.’
Frances gave a curt nod, before clipping down the path to her clean, shiny car.
‘Shall we go too?’ Kate asked the twins.
‘Poo!’ shouted Milo – so loudly it resulted in several sniggers from inside the nursery, and a distant “I hate my brother” wail from Jemima.
‘Right,’ sighed Kate, removing the bandage from her own nose as Mia attempted to wrap it around her head. ‘Let’s find the facilities, shall we?’
Chapter Four
Driving back to Little Biddington, Kate realised that the encounter with Frances and Mrs Allen had added more fuel to her growing inferiority complex. A condition she’d been completely unfamiliar with before having children. In Life Before Kids, she’d been confident in her own skin, known what she’d wanted out of life and mapped out clear routes to achieve her goals. Since becoming a mother, she’d never been less certain of her abilities. Nor, with the Andrew/Domenique issue pressing down on her like a ton of bricks, had she ever been more scared. What she wouldn’t give to have her parents around right now. An impossible wish, given her mum had passed away two years ago. She’d been a wonderful, capable, level-headed woman, who’d complemented her highly intelligent, but slightly scatty, husband perfectly. She’d also been a tremendous help with Jemima when she’d been a baby, and had been so looking forward to the arrival of the twins. She’d only been acquainted with them for a matter of weeks, however, before she’d dropped down dead with a heart attack. With that unexpected trauma – plus the stress of two new babies – Kate had felt adrift. And adding to her worries had been her dad, who’d recently retired from his job as the village GP to spend more time with his wife. After her death, he’d retreated into himself, slamming the door against the world, shunning interest in everything.
Much to Kate’s amazement and relief, though, a few months ago he’d teamed up with Eleanor – owner of the village newsagent’s – and the pair had flitted off to sample life in Spain. Other than melting in the heat, they appeared to be having a great time. And, most importantly, rubbing along well together. Which led Kate’s musings neatly back to her own relationship and the depressing fact that, along with almost every other part of her life, it, too, appeared to be failing dismally.
To try and bolster her flagging spirits, she steered her thoughts to the one part of her life where she could claim some success: the veterinary practice. She’d set it up when she and Andrew had first moved to Little Biddington. From the refurbishing of the building, to watching the business flourish – her skills and caring reputation attracting clients from miles around – she’d loved every minute of it. It had been the culmination of a childhood dream. One she’d followed since the age of nine. During her career she’d had some amazing times, met some fantastic people, achieved some incredible results and witnessed the best and worst of animal ownership. But that was then and this was now. Could she imagine going back to it all? She didn’t think so. She’d lost the confidence to carry out the intricate, life-saving operations she’d once taken effortlessly in her stride. And she’d lost her enthusiasm. Which made her think that perhaps it was time to sell up. But, with so many other things on her mind – including the breakdown of her marriage – she felt incapable of making such major decisions. No, she concluded – as she pulled up outside the house and the twins began chanting “Old MacDonald” – as she had no idea which direction her life would be taking, now would not be a sensible time to sell. Which meant she should stop faffing about, bite the bullet and organise a locum. And as time was running out, she should do it today.
Andrew phoned that afternoon, just as Kate was attempting to persuade the twins that they really did need to pick up Jemima as she really couldn’t live at Cecilia’s house.
‘How’ve they been today?’ he asked.
‘The usual.’
‘Back to normal?’
‘I think smothering the rocking horse in yoghurt constitutes them being back to normal.’
‘Right. Good.’
‘I rang the agency to organise another locum for the practice.’
‘Oh.’
‘I thought it might be a bit short notice, but they seem confident they can find someone.’
‘Good. Did you ring about the dishwasher?’
‘No. I’ll do it now.’
‘Great. I’ll see you tomorrow night then.’
‘Yes,’ replied Kate, nerves already knotting at the prospect. ‘You will.’
She ended the call and heaved a despondent sigh. Over the week he’d been away, Andrew had phoned every day to enquire about the children and the dishwasher, but not once had he enquired about her.
Resorting to the old faithful choc-ice bribe to persuade the terrible twosome to climb into the car, Kate eventually drove to Cornfield to collect Jemima from Cecilia’s house.
The only child of piano teacher Frances and dentist husband Jeremy, Cecilia resided in a huge, built-to-their-own-specifications new-build, in its own grounds. Unlike the front of the Ellis residence, which consisted of a scrappy bit of lawn, a smattering of discarded toys and a dead twig in a pot (a nice tree in its former, regularly watered life), this one boasted clusters of beautifully potted blooms, a garden gnome poised at a keyboard, a gleaming “Welcome to our home” sign and windows so sparklingly clean you had to don sunglasses to look at them.
Jeremy answered the door, bearing a smile almost as dazzling as the windows. It dipped significantly when he spotted the ice cream-smeared twins in the car.
‘I’ll get Jemima,’ he muttered with notable panic.
As he darted inside, Frances glided into his place – still in her floral skirt and lacy white blouse, but minus the frilly apron Kate wouldn’t have been surprised to see around her waist.
‘Has Jemima been okay?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Fine.’ Frances tossed an appalled look in the direction of the car, where “Old MacDonald” was cranking up again. ‘The invitations are currently at the printers, but I might as well tell you that we’re having Cecilia’s birthday party at the house this year. Two o’clock on Sunday, the fifteenth.’
Kate’s heart sank. Was this the latest thing – having kids’ party invitations professionally printed? And having parties in the house? Evidently it must be. Not that she could imagine doing either – ever. ‘Great. Thank you for the invite,’ she said.
‘No siblings,’ Frances swiftly added.
‘Oh, the twins will be disappointed.’ Kate turned her head to the car in time to witness Milo hurling his ice-cream wrapper out of the window. To Frances’s horror, it landed on the piano-playing gnome.
Just as she’d struggled to coax the twins into the car, Kate now had an equally difficult task in persuading Jemima. Only this time with an audience of Jeremy, Frances and mini Frances – aka Cecilia – lined up at the door like a soap-powder advert.
‘Can’t I just stay here?’ Jemima whimpered.
‘No, darling. We have to go home.’
‘But I don’t want to. The twins are there and I hate them.’
Kate lifted her head and flashed the soap-powder trio her most winsome smile. ‘Kids, eh?’ she tutted, with an emphasised eye-roll.
The trio gazed blankly back.
Kate bent back down to her daughter and whispered, ‘If you don’t get in the car this minute, Milo is going to need another poo. In Cecilia’s house.’
Jemima let out an excruciating howl before scrambling into the vehicle.
‘Bye then,’ called Kate, in a voice two thousand times cheerier than she felt. Hauling herself into the driver’s seat, she waved effusively as the twins began singing “The Farmer’s in His Den”, and Jemima wailed at them to shut up.
Three stupefied faces stared back.
‘So, did you have a nice time?’ Kate ventured, back at the house where she could hear herself think.
‘Yes,’ muttered Jemima.
‘What did you have to eat?’
‘Carrot, pepper and celery batons with sweet potato dip, mini pittas with mozzarella, pesto and tomatoes, and little apple and cinnamon muffins.’
Kate blinked. Blimey. Whatever happened to chicken nuggets and jelly? ‘That sounds nice.’
‘It was. And after tea I listened to Cecilia practising her violin.’
‘Fantastic,’ said Kate, thinking it sounded anything but. ‘Would you like to learn the violin?’
‘No. If I had one, Milo would break it.’
‘He wouldn’t.’
‘He would. He breaks everything. I wish I could live at Cecilia’s house.’
Kate sighed as she regarded her son. Right on cue – on the subject of breaking things – he broke wind.
‘But just think of all the fun you’d miss,’ she’d replied, as Jemima, once again, began to cry.
Two hours later, the children tucked up in bed, Kate followed them. It was only as she crawled under the duvet that she realised yet another day had passed without her calling the dishwasher repairman.
Chapter Five
The moment Kate opened her eyes on Saturday morning, it occurred to her that she hadn’t properly thanked Melody, Connie and Trish for their kindness and consideration the evening of the cookery club. A situation she determined to rectify that same day.
‘How about we make some cupcakes?’ she suggested to poor Jemima, who’d made it perfectly clear she wasn’t looking forward to a day with the twins.
Still in her Little Mermaid pyjamas, the child awarded the proposal some consideration. ‘Can we put chocolate sprinkles on top?’
‘We can put whatever you like on top.’
‘Poo,’ piped up Milo.
‘Well, apart from that, obviously.’
With the exception of Mia tipping a packet of flour over the rocking horse in a bid to turn him white, the making of the cupcakes passed with minimal drama, and resulted in a humongous pile of washing-up. Kate couldn’t face it. As the children began bickering, she deemed it time to take them out. With a view to dropping off the cakes, she sent a text to Melody asking if they could call round. It being such a beautiful, unseasonably warm day, Melody insisted they come for the afternoon and make use of her outdoor swimming pool. A prospect which made the kids completely hyper. By the time Kate had prevented Milo from diving down the stairs, rescued Mia, who’d been hanging upside down on the rocking horse, dug out everyone’s swimming gear, bundled them into the car, got halfway down the road then realised she’d forgotten the cakes, turned back for the cakes, then set off again, they bowled up at Melody’s abode half an hour later than planned, to find Connie there with Eric the greyhound, and Trish with her teenage daughter, Amber.
‘What a lovely surprise,’ she exclaimed, as the twins charged towards Amber, and Jemima made a beeline for Eric, on the terrace with Melody’s Jack Russell, Tilly.
‘Malcolm’s on a corporate hospitality thing,’ Melody explained. ‘So I thought we should make the most of this gorgeous weather. After all, we won’t have many more days like this before the year’s out.’
‘Good thinking,’ agreed Kate. ‘Winter will be here before you know it.’
‘Ugh, cold mornings and dark nights,’ said Connie with a shudder.
‘You should shut up shop and move to Spain for the winter. Stay with Eleanor and my dad,’ chuckled Kate.
‘Now there’s an idea. How’re they getting on?’
‘Great, as far as I can tell. Although I think they’ve struggled with the heat.’
‘I have no sympathy at all.’
‘Me neither,’ agreed Kate. ‘On a freezing day in July when it’s chucking down with rain, the last thing you want to hear is someone in Spain grumbling about how hot it is. Not that I c
ould cope with Spanish temperatures. I much prefer the south of France. The weather there is perfect. As are most other things. But, before I depress myself too much thinking about my ideal life, going back to my less-than-ideal one, I wanted to thank you all for the other evening. I know my house is never a good venue for the cookery club, but me being semi-comatose didn’t help at all.’
‘Your house is great fun,’ said Melody.
Kate rolled her eyes. ‘I wish. It’s a nightmare. And completely exhausting. But it was wonderful having you lot there and not having to lift a finger. And even more wonderful having a decent night’s sleep. I really appreciate the trouble you all went to. And… to show my appreciation, Jemima and I made these.’ She snapped the lid off the plastic box to reveal six rows of misshapen cupcakes – some sprinkled with chocolate, others dotted with jelly tots, one with a bite out, and a couple with holes from exploring fingers.
‘They look great,’ giggled Melody. ‘Gold star to Jemima. Does this mean we’ll be signing her up for the cookery club soon?’
‘Possibly. For no other reason than giving her a break from the twins. The poor thing is completely overshadowed by them.’
‘Bless her,’ said Melody, as they all turned to watch Jemima gently stroking the dogs. And then turned to the twins, who were beside themselves with laugher as Amber swung Mia around by the arms. ‘I can see how that would happen. The twins do attract a lot of attention.’
‘Mostly for the wrong reasons,’ pointed out Kate.
‘I know,’ piped up Melody. ‘How about we have a little cookery club just for Jemima? Here, now? I’d planned on throwing a few sausages and burgers on the barbecue, but I’m sure we can think of something more exciting to go with them.’
‘Like crepes,’ suggested Kate. ‘They’re in keeping with our French theme and Jemima loves them.’
‘Brilliant idea. I have a gorgeous recipe for banana pancakes with chocolate sauce,’ said Trish. ‘I often rattle up a couple for Amber as a treat.’