The Single Mums' Picnic Club Read online

  The traffic was horrendous, but luckily Katie managed to drop Elliot and Lizzie off at the school gates just as the bell rang to signal the start of the day. She watched as they legged it towards the building before setting off again. With Clifton-on-Sea being a small town, the older kids had to commute to the secondary school in the next town over, where Katie had enlisted the help of a solicitor in the divorce proceedings. There was a solicitors’ office in Clifton-on-Sea, but Katie – and Rob – had gone to school with one of the solicitors, and the other one had a sister who cut Katie’s hair (when she actually got round to booking an appointment at the hairdressers), meaning the May family’s business could end up as prime gossip at Shelby’s Hair Design if she’d opted to use them. Instead, Katie had gone for a more neutral solicitor, one who didn’t know about the time Katie had been caught smoking behind the gym at school or that her natural hair colour was mousey and starting to turn grey.

  ‘So sorry I’m late.’ Katie burst into the reception area of the solicitor’s office, panting from the dash over from the car park on the outskirts of town. She swiped the hair that was sticking to her forehead away. ‘I’m here to see Helen Robinson. I have an appointment. Katie May?’ She posed her name as a question – which felt apt as lately she wasn’t quite sure who she was anymore.

  ‘Take a seat, Ms May.’ Katie flinched at the use of the term ‘Ms’, but she plonked herself down on one of the cheery blue tub chairs by the window and picked up one of the magazines stacked on the small, round table in front of her. She used the opportunity to get her breath back, taking in deep breaths fragranced by the vase of creamy roses and lavender freesias sitting on the reception desk. She’d only dashed over from the car park, but she was practically wheezing with the effort. Christmas had really taken its toll on Katie’s fitness. Perhaps she should join the gym as part of a belated New Year’s resolution? She’d already vowed to get out more and meet new people after being stuck in the house for a year but regaining some sort of fitness would benefit her wellbeing too.

  ‘Helen’s ready for you now.’ The receptionist was already striding towards one of the doors at the back of the reception area as Katie threw the magazine back onto the pile, and she held it open with a perfectly manicured hand so Katie could pass through to Helen’s office. Katie couldn’t remember the last time she’d filed her own nails, never mind paid someone to do the job for her.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you again, Katie.’ The solicitor was smiling as Katie sat down opposite her, but her smile dimmed as she opened the file on the desk in front of her. ‘But it isn’t good news, I’m afraid.’

  Chapter Two

  George

  George’s stomach was in knots as she led her five-year-old son through the school gates. It was too loud, too busy, as children whizzed by and kicked footballs across the vast playground, their voices mingling to form one thunderous hum. Thomas seemed so small – too small – and she clutched onto his gloved hand that bit tighter. It was cold and dreary that morning, still dark despite the morning edging closer to nine o’ clock, with a sky full of grey clouds threatening to spill fat, icy raindrops, and it matched George’s mood perfectly.

  ‘Are you looking forward to your first day at school?’ She kept her voice bright, pushing down her anxiety so she didn’t pass it onto her son. She was sure he’d be apprehensive enough without her own emotions bogging him down further. ‘You’ll get to make lots of new friends, and your teachers are lovely, aren’t they?’

  They’d had the opportunity to visit the school before Christmas, to see the classroom and meet the teachers, so it wouldn’t be quite so unsettling when Thomas started at Southcliff Primary at the beginning of the new term. That was the theory – George wasn’t convinced it had panned out in practice. She was a nervous wreck, so she could only imagine how daunted poor Thomas was feeling.

  ‘What are you looking forward to most?’ George bent down to hear Thomas’s answer over the drone of the playground noise, sure his voice was going to be little more than a whisper, his words strangled by fear and distress at this new, terrifying experience. But Thomas was beaming up at George, a set of tiny, white teeth on display as he threw his free hand high up in the air.

  ‘I want to paint! And play! And look at all the books!’ He sucked in a breath as he caught sight of the wooden play equipment in the far corner of the playground. ‘Mummy?’ Thomas was tugging on her hand and looking up at her with the big brown eyes he’d inherited from her. George was glad he’d mostly taken after her and not the father he didn’t even know. ‘Can I go and play?’ Thomas pointed across the playground, to the small wooden climbing frame surrounded by wood chippings.

  ‘Yes, sweetheart, of course.’ George forced her hand to release its grip on his little hand, but she pulled him into a hug before he could leave her, her fingers finding the comfort of his familiar curls. ‘But just for a few minutes, okay? You have to line up when the whistle blows, remember?’

  Thomas nodded, but he was already tearing off, leaving her standing on her own. She glanced around the playground and suddenly felt ancient. Most of the mums were at least a decade younger than her, some even two. Clad in skinny jeans and spiky-heeled boots, they made George feel old and frumpy in her worn leggings and supermarket-brand canvas pumps. Still, she’d be heading straight off to work once Thomas’s class was inside the school, and fancy clothes didn’t really suit a cleaning job.

  George looked across at the climbing frame as she made her way further into the playground, and her heart melted a little bit when she saw Thomas giggling with one of the other boys. See, he was making friends already. He would be fine.

  If only the same could be said of George, who was rooting around in her handbag for a clean-ish tissue to dab at her eyes. Thomas was taking to school like a duck to water, but his mother was very much in need of a lifejacket to keep her afloat. She wanted nothing more than to scoop up her little boy and scurry to the safety of their home together.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  Startled, George almost jabbed herself in the eye with the tissue. She gave a quick dab to mop up the stray tears and presented the owner of the concerned voice with a beaming smile. ‘Yes, of course. Everything’s fine.’ She held up the tissue and rolled her eyes before she dropped it back into her handbag. ‘Hay fever’s playing up, that’s all.’

  ‘Hay fever?’ If George had been able to look at the bloke now walking alongside her, she would have seen a slight frown appearing very briefly as he took in the miserable winter morning.

  ‘Yep.’ George nodded as she stared down at the concrete floor, watching as her pumps trailed over the painted-on hopscotch grid. ‘Winter hay fever. Not all that common, but still as debilitating as its summer cousin.’

  She cringed as the words tumbled from her mouth, willing her lips to seal themselves shut.

  ‘Unlucky.’

  He was humouring her. Letting her get away with her phony excuse. But at least he wasn’t openly mocking her. Not yet, anyway.

  ‘Don’t I know you?’

  George hoped not. It was one thing making an idiot out of yourself in front of a stranger, but she didn’t want to have to relive this experience again.

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’ She smiled politely at him and slowed her pace, hoping he’d accept her answer and move on. But he slowed his pace too, stooping so he could take a proper look at George as she returned her gaze to the concrete.

  ‘I do know you!’ He gave a soft, triumphant laugh. ‘It’s… um…’ He screwed up his face as he tried to conjure her name. ‘Jill? No.’ He shook his head and tapped his fingers on the handles of the buggy he was pushing. ‘Jane? Janine?’ He shook his head again and sighed. ‘Can you help a guy out here?’

  George wasn’t sure she should. She wasn’t in the habit of giving out her details to random blokes. Or any blokes at all, come to think of it.

  ‘Got it!’ He stopped suddenly, his eyes lit up as he pointed at her. ‘It’s George, r
ight?’

  George turned and looked at him properly, taking in his height, his stocky build, his slightly too long brown hair and the beginnings of a beard lightly sprinkled with grey. There was something vaguely familiar about the eyes and the way they sparkled as he smiled down at her.

  ‘Sorry.’ He shook his head, the smile dimming. ‘You must think I’m some sort of mad stalker.’ He held up a hand. ‘I’m not, I promise. We – Leo, Ellie and I – used to go to the parent and toddler group at the community centre.’ He pointed first to the girl standing beside the buggy and then ahead at his son, who was charging towards a stray football with a roar. ‘It was about… three years ago?’

  George bobbed her head up and down slowly. She and Thomas had attended the weekly Little Bees and Butterflies group up until a couple of weeks ago.

  ‘It was a fun group, and it certainly helped Leo burn off some energy.’ Ahead, Leo drew back his leg before pelting the football into the railings with another roar. ‘I wanted to take the little one…’ He turned the buggy slightly, where another small girl sat, padded out with a thick coat, woolly hat and matching mittens. ‘But I’ve had to take on as much work as I can lately so I haven’t managed to get there.’ He pushed the buggy forward and started to stroll towards his son. ‘I remember you brought in some cakes one time.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Sticky toffee, I think it was.’

  George nodded. ‘It was Thomas’ birthday so I baked some little buns for the group.’

  ‘They were delicious.’ He laughed. ‘Must have been if I remembered all these years later.’

  George felt a warm glow inside despite the chill in the air. She’d always loved to bake, though she rarely had the opportunity to receive feedback from anyone other than Thomas, who was always very enthusiastic about cake, whether it was homemade or shop-bought.

  ‘I haven’t seen you at the school before. Has Thomas just transferred?’

  The warm glow cooled. Although Thomas was five now and had been eligible to attend school full-time for over a year, she’d kept him at home with her for as long as she possibly could. Thomas was probably going to be her only child, and she wanted to cherish every single moment with him that she could, but she did sometimes worry that she’d made the wrong decision in delaying his formal education. She looked around the playground now, at the small clusters of children, the friendship groups formed back in reception – back in nursery, even – and Thomas was the outsider. Had she been selfish in keeping him to herself for so long?

  ‘No. It’s his first day at school.’ George raised her chin slightly, ready to do battle about her choices if she had to. ‘He’s starting in Miss Baxter’s class today.’

  ‘Leo’s in Miss Baxter’s class too.’ He pointed across the playground to his son. ‘I’ll tell him to look out for Thomas, make sure he’s settling in.’

  The shriek of a whistle pierced the air, ending the conversation before George could thank him, and George leapt into action, tearing across the playground to make sure she squeezed her son tight before he left her for the day.

  Where was that tissue?

  Thomas was already in the line before she reached him, turning to chat to the boy behind him. He didn’t seem to mind the separation, which was a good thing, obviously. Even if it did break George’s heart just a little bit more.

  ‘Thomas, sweetie.’ She crouched down and pulled her gorgeous boy into her arms, inhaling his smell of shampoo, Paw Patrol bubble bath and fabric softener. ‘You be a good boy, okay? And have fun. I’ll pick you up later and you can tell me all about your day. We’ll have cake, yes? And hot chocolate with marshmallows. We can go to the park. Or the beach hut. Whichever you’d like.’

  There was a hand on her shoulder. It was the man with the buggy, whose name she hadn’t thought to ask. ‘He’ll be fine. Honestly.’

  She managed a wobbly sort of smile before she crouched again to press a kiss to Thomas’ curls, blinking back tears as she stepped away. She waved manically as the class filed inside, stretching up on her tiptoes, watching those familiar curls disappear as her precious boy was swallowed by the school.

  ‘It does get easier, I promise.’ Her new companion raised a hand in farewell before he turned the buggy and headed back through the gates. George hung around for a few minutes in case she could snatch one final glimpse of Thomas, but it was no use. With a heavy heart and watery eyes, she shuffled out of the playground and made her way to work.

  Chapter Three

  Frankie

  It still amazed Frankie that her children, who had shared a womb for nine months and were born just eleven minutes apart, could be so different. Finn was currently clinging onto her thigh, tears and snot merging on his top lip as he threw back his head and wailed, mouth surely wider than was physically possible, while his twin sister waltzed into the nursery, clumsy fingers trying their hardest to unzip her winter coat. Her hat and mittens had been discarded on the floor in her eagerness to play with the other children in the toddler room.

  ‘Good morning, Finn!’ The early years assistant flashed Frankie a sympathetic smile before she leaned down to pick up Skye’s abandoned garments. She secured them onto Skye’s labelled hook and turned to Finn with a toothy smile, her held a hand out to the still-wailing little boy. ‘Shall we go and play? Poppy’s already here. She’s been asking about you!’

  Frankie expected Finn to unpeel himself and take Keeley’s hand. She was his favourite member of staff at the nursery, with Poppy being his play/craft partner of choice, but still Finn clung on, the wail reaching a higher pitch as he squeezed his eyes tight. It wasn’t uncommon for her son to kick up a bit of a fuss when it came to being left at nursery in the mornings, but it wasn’t usually this prolonged.

  ‘It’ll be the Christmas break. The holidays can sometimes set them back as they get used to being with Mum and Dad all day.’ Keeley crouched down to Finn’s level and injected more cheer to her ever-bright voice. She didn’t spot Frankie’s flinch at the ‘and Dad’ addition. ‘Shall we go and do some painting? You can paint Mummy a beautiful picture to take home later!’

  Finn wasn’t convinced, but Frankie really had to get going. She was already behind on her work schedule due to the nursery closing for Christmas, so she couldn’t afford to stand around, no matter how much the guilt jabbed as she peeled Finn’s little fingers from her thigh.

  ‘Good boy!’ Keeley scooped Finn up before he could grab hold of Frankie again, avoiding his flailing arms as he frantically reached for his mum. ‘Give Mummy a big kiss and then we can go and have some fun!’

  Keeley was very good at shutting out the screams emitting from the toddler, but the forlorn sound broke Frankie’s heart. She wanted nothing more than to succumb to her young son’s needs, to take him in her arms and soothe away his tears with cuddles and kisses.

  ‘He’ll be absolutely fine in a couple of minutes, I promise.’ Keeley was already backing away towards the toddler room, as though sensing Frankie was about to crumble. Finn started to thrash his little legs, but she held on tight. ‘He’ll be running around with Poppy in no time. Happens all the time.’

  Frankie gave a slight nod of her head, but she made no attempt to leave. Every instinct was telling her to grab hold of her son and reassure him. What must be going around his little head? Did he feel abandoned? Rejected? She could take him home. Fit her work around his needs, even though this had been virtually impossible over the Christmas holidays. She’d been so exhausted after running around after two two-year-olds that she hadn’t been able to work in the evenings as planned. She’d attempted to, fighting against the urge to flop down on the sofa with the tub of Quality Street and a glass of wine, but her brain was too frazzled to do much more than check her emails. This was the very reason the twins went to nursery in the first place.

  ‘Seriously, Frankie.’ Keeley smiled serenely at her, as though she wasn’t struggling to keep hold of a very wriggly toddler. ‘He’ll be fine. You can always give us a ring to check later.’<
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  Frankie nodded again, and this time she took a step back. A teeny step, but a step all the same. She did need to crack on with her work, especially with a deadline looming. She’d phone the nursery when she got home – it was only a ten-minute walk away – and if he was still upset, she’d rush back and collect him.

  ‘Bye, Finn. I’ll see you soon.’ She pushed a smile onto her face and somehow managed not to break down in tears herself. She craned her neck to catch a glimpse of Skye as Keeley pushed open the door to the toddler room, but her daughter had marched off to play without a backwards glance. From one extreme to the other. ‘Love you.’ She raised her hand in a quick wave before she turned and hurried away from the nursery and the heartbreaking sounds of her son’s sobbing.

  Nobody warned you about this bit. They told you all the gory details of labour and birth. The horror stories of night feeds and teething and the terrible twos (doubled, when you had twins). But they didn’t prepare you for the gut-wrenching moments when you had to leave them in the care of somebody else. They didn’t prime you for the guilt of being anything other than the child’s mother.

  Finn was perfectly fine when Frankie phoned the nursery six-and-a-half minutes later. She’d run all the way home, taking a short-cut through the park, and hadn’t even bothered to ditch her coat before she dialled Parkside Day Nursery, panting and slightly sweating despite the bleak, early January chill.

  ‘Are you sure he’s okay?’ Frankie had been told that Finn was now happily splatting paint with bestie Poppy, but Frankie couldn’t seem to quell the nagging doubt that she was doing Something Wrong, a feeling that had plagued her for the past year. She could never quite shake off the feeling that she was failing her children, that she wasn’t good enough despite her best efforts. She’d moved to Clifton-on-Sea for a fresh start, but the feelings of inadequacy had moved with her. Most notably, and the concern Frankie could easily identify, was the worry about her poor babies’ lack of a two-parent family. Perhaps this was the reason Finn was so clingy now? Did he feel abandoned? Rejected?