Samantha smiled to herself. Things were definitely looking up.
Caroline Jones didn’t have time to be bored. As usual, her mug of coffee was only half-drunk and growing cold while it stood forgotten on the kitchen counter.
She logged into her email on the laptop, cradling the mobile between her ear and neck.
‘We have one place left in the Tuesday class,’ said the voice at the other end of the line. ‘Would you like me to reserve it for you?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Caroline, relief flooding her voice. ‘It’s just such a rush on a Wednesday when Flora does ballet as well.’
‘I understand. We’ll transfer all of the future classes to Tuesday at 2 p.m. and cancel the Wednesday lessons.’
‘Thank you so much,’ replied Caroline, grabbing her desk diary and placing it on the kitchen worktop.
She flipped over the page to Tuesday of the following week and scribbled ‘Mandarin class, 2 p.m.’
Caroline was relieved she had been able to transfer the class to a different day of the week. Flora’s Mandarin lessons were so important, now that China had become an international player in the world markets.
But Caroline also knew how valuable ballet classes were to a child. Correct deportment was important for Flora’s bone structure, not to mention the benefit to her health and fitness.
Flora had enjoyed disco when she was younger but Caroline disliked the lack of structure in the classes and moved her into ballet as soon as she was old enough.
Caroline glanced at the clock. Four o’clock and still so much to do before supper at Charley’s house that evening. She really didn’t want to go, reluctant to let Jeff take over the bedtime routine. It was so important, in these last precious months before Flora started school, that her reading skills were brought up to scratch. Jeff was always a little too lax, too willing to give in and read that dreadful Peppa Pig book his sister had bought Flora for her birthday. Caroline’s preferred option was the Oxford Reading Tree. Flora was already over halfway through level one.
However Caroline had known Charley since secondary school and didn’t want to let her down at the last minute. They had been friends after Caroline’s parents moved to the village when she was thirteen. Her life had been on an upward trajectory ever since school. She had been a top PA for six years at a firm of solicitors. Engaged at twenty-five to Jeff, married at twenty-seven and pregnant at twenty-nine. Her life was orderly, planned and smooth. Even her titian hair was perfectly straight.
Caroline skimmed her emails. A couple of children’s party invites would require carefully worded replies. All her diplomatic skills came into play in weeding out any of Flora’s ‘friends’ whose parents might not share Caroline’s ambitions. It was all very well now, but as soon as school began, so did the real work. They had scrimped together enough money for Flora to attend the private school for girls on the edge of the village. Her education needed to be given top priority.
Flora was still in her ballet outfit from that afternoon’s class and Caroline’s heart warmed as she watched her four-year-old daughter read Angelina Ballerina. Dressed in a pale pink cardigan and leotard, her red hair swept back into a tidy bun, she was the image of Caroline as a child.
Except there had been no ballet classes for her then. Her own upbringing had been happy, but modest. She was determined that Flora would do better and to that end she had to be a super mummy, an alpha mum. It was exhausting but it would be worth it.
Julie Gordon unpinned the butterfly brooch from her black jacket and stared down at the gold detail. It had been on her mother’s dressing table for as long as she could remember. Not worn very often, of course. Perhaps at her grandmother’s funeral, Julie wasn’t sure. Anyway, it had felt like the right thing to wear that afternoon.
Julie felt sad that there hadn’t been many people attending the funeral but she wasn’t surprised. Her mother’s social circle had always been small, especially after her husband had been sent to prison all those years ago. Nobody trusted a thief at a party or in the pub. Or the wife of one either.
Julie was grateful that her lovely Uncle Sidney had been able to attend. He had wept a few silent tears over the loss of his younger sister, especially when her favourite hymn was played. Afterwards, Julie had taken him home to his flat above the shop that he could no longer manage to run. With a sigh, she knew it would become her responsibility to sort things out for him over the years to come. After all, she was his only family now.
A few of the mourners had been close friends, supporting her mother throughout her hard life. Friends like dear old Sheila and Daphne, muttering under their breath about how Julie’s father had been scum and undeserving of such a special wife.
She hadn’t offered any defence of her father. Why should she? His infrequent visits between stays in prison had stopped around the time of her fifth birthday. From then on, it had been just Julie and her mother.
Until Julie had fallen for Clive Gordon at the age of seventeen. He had managed to stick around long enough to see their son’s sixth birthday. But then he too had left, deciding life would be much better spent in Spain with the barmaid from their local pub. Or so she had been told.
Clive had left behind a large mortgage for Julie to manage and a young son for her to bring up. She had never wanted the rundown house in fancy Upper Grove. What did they need three bedrooms for? But her husband had made a deal with the owner just after they were married. Another dodgy contract, the details of which Julie didn’t want to know.
She had never had enough spare money to do up the house so had never bothered. Its rundown exterior and lack of modern appliances didn’t concern her. The real interest for Julie lay in the mature garden at the back of the house.
She looked out of the window. Apart from the vibrant red stems of the dogwood, the garden seemed to contain only dead stems or evergreen leaves. It was her least favourite time of the year. But she was filled with hope. The snowdrops had just come out, soon to be followed by early crocuses and then daffodils. Spring brought fresh life to the scene, a blank canvas waiting to be rediscovered. She couldn’t wait.
The garden had become Julie’s refuge from her marriage, with its loud arguments and painful bruises. After Clive had left, Julie had spent more and more time there, especially when Nick entered his teenage years and began to get himself into trouble.
Nick . . . her nineteen-year-old son. A chip off Clive’s block. Another lazy, cheating, lying man in her life. But she had raised him so perhaps it was her fault that he had turned out so bad. He hadn’t even bothered to finish school before leaving home at sixteen.
He had visited infrequently ever since, usually when he needed money to get him out of yet another mess. And Julie helped him because that’s what you did for your children, wasn’t it? It would have been nice if, for once, he had thought of her and been at his grandmother’s funeral. But he hadn’t turned up.
The house seemed very quiet that afternoon and Julie was looking forward to seeing the girls later on. Upper Grove had become very fancy over the years and many familiar faces had gone. Her only friend there these days was Charley.
She was nice and not at all stuck-up like the other neighbours. Of course, she and Steve had done a beautiful job with the house, but they never seemed to look down on Julie’s shabby home. In fact, Charley was easy to talk to and get along with. A bit of a lifesaver when the house felt big and empty as it did that afternoon.
Julie stared down at her mother’s brooch in her hands. Thank goodness she was still meeting the girls later. She really didn’t want to be alone this evening.
Chapter Three
THE SALMON HAD been poached to perfection. The salad was fresh and crisp. The wine chilled to just the right temperature. Now it was time for the ice-cream and gossip.
‘This is fantastic,’ said Julie, licking the chocolate ice-cream from her spoon.
‘I don’t even like rhubarb normally,’ said Caroline, leaning forward to scoop more sorb
et into her bowl.
‘Just one more spoonful then don’t let me have any more,’ said Samantha, helping herself to the chocolate.
Charley smiled inwardly, revelling in her friend’s compliments. It wasn’t that Steve didn’t appreciate her cooking, but to her chagrin a takeaway from McDonald’s seemed to give him as much pleasure.
This was her favourite time, sitting around her lovely big kitchen table, eating good food and exchanging gossip.
‘So what else do you know about this new Adonis in the office?’ asked Caroline.
‘He’s got buttocks of steel,’ replied Samantha with grin.
‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Caroline, shaking her head, but smiling too.
‘What’s the plan then?’ asked Charley.
‘Seduce him at the staff party at the end of the month.’
‘Does he have any brothers?’ asked Julie.
It was her first quip of the evening. She had been quieter than usual, her trademark sense of humour absent after the grief of the funeral earlier that day.
Charley got up from the table to get another bottle of wine, thinking as she did so that she was in awe of Samantha’s love life. Charley herself had never had a one-night stand, her first and only date had been with Steve, twelve years ago.
The wine cabinet was hidden behind a dark walnut door. Charley picked up a bottle of Pinot Grigio, chilled to just the right temperature. She loved all the gadgets in the kitchen; the hot water tap, which meant the work surfaces didn’t need to be cluttered with anything as mundane as a kettle. The integrated bean-to-cup coffee machine, which produced everything from espressos to large lattes. And, of course, the Gaggia Gelatiera ice-cream maker.
She returned to the table and topped up all the wine glasses, apart from Caroline. She was driving Samantha home.
‘Are you sure Nick’s all right?’ asked Caroline. ‘I mean, something must have happened for him to miss the funeral.’
Julie shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied, blowing out a long sigh. ‘But it won’t be anything serious. It never is.’
‘Easy does it,’ said Samantha to Caroline who was helping herself to yet more ice-cream. ‘Are you going for the world record?’
They all knew that Caroline never overdid anything, especially food.
‘Everything okay?’ asked Charley.
Caroline tucked a strand of red hair behind one ear. ‘It’s all been a bit stressful today. Apparently I’ve left it too late to book Flora the violin lessons with Professor Stratberg.’
‘Who?’ asked Samantha.
‘He’s the best violin teacher in the area. Comes highly recommended. I was told to leave it until she was five, so that her hands would be large enough. I figured there was only a couple of months to go until her birthday, so I’d perhaps book some lessons in early. But now the professor is fully booked until Christmas.’
‘It’s only February!’ said Charley.
‘Exactly,’ said Caroline with a sigh.
‘She’s only four,’ said Samantha, trying not to roll her eyes.
‘You do realise that Mozart was five when he wrote “Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star”?’ replied Caroline, still stressed.
‘Yes, but he’d never been subjected to the Teletubbies,’ said Julie, a touch acidly.
A while later, they were giggling over Samantha’s bitchy descriptions of her work colleagues, when the front door slammed shut.
‘Sounds like the Lord of the Manor is home,’ said Charley.
‘I’d better think about going,’ said Caroline, standing up. ‘Lord knows what state I’ll find Flora in when I get home.’
Julie was also rattling the front-door keys in her hand. ‘It’s been a long day,’ she said, hugging Charley goodbye.
‘I’ll pop in tomorrow,’ Charley told her.
She waved them off from the front door before closing it behind her. The house was quiet, giving no indication where her husband was. She hunted around the ground floor before finding Steve slumped in a chair in the den. It was a snug room with large leather armchairs and a huge 3D television.
‘Hello,’ said Charley, leaning down to kiss him.
Even after twelve years together, he still looked good to her. His strong jaw and cheekbones had become a little more pronounced over the years but he managed to maintain his muscular body with frequent visits to the executive gym to which they both belonged.
But as Charley inhaled the strong smell of whisky and cigarettes coming from him, she stopped short.
‘Have you been smoking again?’ she said. ‘I thought you’d stopped.’
‘Give it a rest,’ snapped Steve, suddenly getting up and leaving the room.
Charley trailed behind him, shocked by his harsh tone. Normally Steve was all charm and cheeky smiles. But he wasn’t smiling now, as he headed into the kitchen and poured himself a large glass of wine.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
He swilled the wine around in the glass before downing it in one. ‘Nothing,’ he said, sitting down at the table which was still strewn with dirty bowls and spoons. ‘Go to bed.’
‘Is it the bank?’ she asked, picking up the dishes and taking them over to the dishwasher. ‘I had a problem with both the debit and credit cards today. You need to get it sorted out tomorrow.’
As she bent down to load the dishwasher, she could feel an extra roll of fat escaping over the waistband of her designer jeans. She hadn’t visited the gym in months and then only for a massage. She really had to go the next day and talk to someone about a personal trainer. She turned round to catch Steve pouring himself another large glass of wine, his mouth a tight line.
Charley walked over to the table and sat down opposite him, suddenly anxious.
‘What’s happened?’
There was a short silence whilst he swirled the liquid round and around in the glass.
He took a large gulp before replying, ‘It’s all gone.’
‘What has?’
‘The business. Our money. Everything.’
‘What do you mean, it’s all gone? Gone where?’
Steve took a deep breath. ‘As of four o’clock this afternoon, we are now officially bankrupt.’
Charley stared at him in horror as he raised his glass to her in mock celebration.
‘Cheers,’ he said.
Chapter Four
FOR A MINUTE after her husband’s shocking admission, Charley could only sit speechless. At last, she found her voice. ‘I don’t understand. How has this happened to us?’
She realised his mouth was trembling as he fought tears. So she leant across the table and grabbed his hand.
‘Tell me everything.’
‘Business hasn’t been so good recently.’
‘It’s a recession. What does the bank expect us to do about it?’
‘They expect us to pay back our debts.’
Charley frowned. ‘How much do we owe?’
Her husband sighed before speaking. ‘Almost £200,000.’
She was aghast, her hand slipping away from under his. ‘How can we owe that much money?’
‘Unpaid rent on the shops. Stock to pay for.’
Charley frowned. ‘Yes, but that still seems a huge amount.’
Steve looked away. ‘Things have been tight since we opened the third shop. I sorted out some loans but didn’t read the small print. Turns out the interest was sky-high. We’ve ended up owing almost double the amount borrowed. I’ll never be able to pay it back.’
‘Wait,’ said Charley, dragging a hand through her hair. ‘The third shop? That was over a year ago. Why didn’t you tell me?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Thought I could sort it out by myself.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘So have you talked to the bank? What about the Citizens Advice Bureau?’
‘It’s too late,’ he snapped. ‘We’ve got an interview with the Official Receiver on Friday. He wants all our personal papers. Mortgage and
all that kind of stuff.’
‘Why does he need all that? It’s the business that’s bankrupt, not us.’
Steve got up from the table to find another bottle of wine to drink. With his back to her, he said, ‘Our commercial landlords were given a personal guarantee against the shops.’
‘I don’t understand what that means.’
He glanced over his shoulder. ‘It means that we’ll have to use any assets we own to pay off the debt.’
She took a sharp intake of breath. ‘We’ll lose the house?’
He shrugged his shoulders before turning away again. ‘House, savings, the lot.’
Suddenly Charley was angry. She got up from the table and began to pace across the kitchen.
‘I don’t believe this! I don’t bloody believe this!’ she raged at him. ‘How can you have got us into such a mess and not told me?’
‘I told you to calm down on the spending, didn’t I?’ Steve shouted back.
Charley felt a guilty pang. She had raided the savings accounts recently to pay off some of the credit card bills. She had planned to put the money back, but it seemed she was too late.
‘I didn’t know things were this bad.’
‘No, you never asked. You just kept on buying more and more bloody stuff!’
Charley’s face flushed with shame as she realised there was some truth in that. But she retaliated, ‘You’re blaming me for all this?’
‘Fancy holidays to the Caribbean. Expensive furniture.’ Steve waved his hand around the room. ‘Posh kitchen, for God’s sake.’
They glared at each other for a minute before she was able to take a deep breath. She placed her hands on the kitchen counter, drumming her perfectly manicured nails on the imported Italian marble worktop. Charley clenched her jaw and ignored the small voice inside reminding her of the tens of thousands of pounds she had spent on this room. And the rest.
‘So we have to go and see this Receiver person on Friday?’ she said, deliberately making her tone softer once more.
‘Yeah.’
The Desperate Wife’s Survival Plan Page 2