‘Yeah, but …’ She makes a little pfff sound.
‘Come on, darling. Dad’ll soon be living with us, then you’ll see him every day.’ Dabbing her watery eye with some loo roll, she glances down at her children who are perched on the edge of the shabby enamelled bath. Still friendless in Shorling, Kerry has taken to counting the days until Rob comes home for the weekends. Yet, when he is here, she detects a sense of distance between them, almost as if they’ve forgotten how to fit together.
’Cause you’re gonna kiss Dad. Freddie’s words echo in Kerry’s mind as she dabs away the mascara smears from around her eye and packs away her make-up. Actually, she can’t remember the last time they kissed properly, and wonders how Rob will react to her black lacy lingerie. She’s slightly worried that he might claim to be tired or, worse, not even react at all. What would she do then?
‘So, can we have a dog, Mum?’ Freddie asks as they all trot downstairs.
‘Oh, Freddie, don’t start that now …’ She zips up the children’s overnight bags which are packed and waiting in the hall.
‘But you promised!’ he exclaims.
Kerry sighs, calculating how much there’s still to do – breakfast, washing up, the gathering together of the last of her own bits and pieces – before she can be granted her small blast of freedom.
‘I can’t think about getting a dog right now,’ she tells him, filling two bowls with the only cereal her children will tolerate (virtually pure chocolate – confectionery, not breakfast, as Rob once pointed out).
‘Why not?’ Mia asks, fiddling with the banana-shaped hairclip at her forehead.
‘Because I’ve got too many other things to think about right now.’
‘What things?’
Oh, you know – getting this house sorted out and you two settled into your new school, not to mention figuring out how I’ll earn enough money and make some friends – you know, have an actual adult to talk to occasionally …
‘Just things,’ she says, turning away to make coffee.
‘Daddy would get us a dog,’ Mia says with a sigh.
‘Yeah,’ Freddie snarls. ‘We’ve got the meanest person on earth as our mummy.’
*
Anita is clearly not the meanest, most despicable person on earth, as Freddie and Mia are delighted to be having a sleepover at her place tonight. Having grown up in Shorling, where Kerry first met her during one of her numerous holidays to Aunt Maisie’s, Anita and her family headed inland as soon as the Cath Kidston wellie brigade surged to the coast.
‘Can’t stand it,’ Anita had announced at the time. ‘It’s all artisan-this, artisan-that. What if I want a completely un-artisan pint of milk or some frozen peas?’
The final straw had been trotting along to the cheap and cheerful kids’ clothes shop, from which Anita had managed to kit out her four children, and discovering it had turned into a chi-chi boutique selling cashmere pashminas for babies.
‘Wish they still lived in Shorling,’ Mia declares as they turn off the main road and follow the twisting lane towards Anita’s Sussex village.
‘Me too,’ Kerry says, more forcefully than she means to.
‘Did they move ’cause we live there?’ Freddie asks.
‘No, of course not,’ Kerry laughs, glancing back at him. ‘They came here a couple of years ago, long before we thought of moving to Aunt Maisie’s. Anyway, they’re not too far away. Only forty-five minutes. Look – can you see the church spire in the village? We’ll be there in a few minutes …’
‘Yey!’ he cries, unclipping his seatbelt in readiness and ignoring Kerry’s barked command to put it back on again. Minutes later they are pulling up outside Lilac Cottage, the ramshackle house which Anita and her husband Ian plan to renovate, but haven’t got around to yet.
‘So it’s the big surprise today,’ Anita says, hugging her friend as their children greet each other in a whirl of excitable chatter.
‘Yep.’ Kerry smirks. ‘Scare the socks off him, poor sod. He’ll probably have a cardiac arrest.’
Anita laughs as all six children descend on a tray of just baked, as yet un-iced cakes. Cramming their mouths, they surge as one – tailed by Bess, an excitable spaniel – into the living room where the TV is turned on at deafening volume.
‘Our mummy doesn’t like dogs,’ Freddie announces loudly, causing Kerry to laugh mirthlessly as Anita hands her a mug of tea.
‘Bad, bad Mummy,’ Anita teases her. ‘Imagine, not wanting to be wading through great drifts of hair and being hammered with vet and kennel fees.’
‘I know. I’m such a bloody kill-joy, aren’t I?’ She sinks into the faded sofa, nudging aside a distinctly doggie-smelling blanket. Everything about Anita’s house is tatty but immensely comfortable. Armchairs and rugs are strewn with dog hair and toys, and scratched internal doors are further evidence of canine presence. Anita recently told Kerry with a resigned shrug, ‘What we’ve done, you see, is the opposite of one those home make-overs.’
‘Our goal is to actually destroy this place,’ Ian had laughed with a roll of his eyes. Although his work as a marine engineer takes him away for weeks at a time, Kerry slightly envies their marriage. (‘Oh, he ticks all the boxes,’ Anita, ever the pragmatist, once joked.) Whereas she’d once found Rob at his laptop at 2 a.m., sweating over his Style Tip of the Month page, Kerry can’t help thinking of Ian’s job as proper work. Not that penning Cuckoo Clock songs could remotely be called that, of course.
Anita takes a seat beside Kerry and pushes back a mass of light brown curls. ‘A home-made cake, your gorgeous dress and blow-dry …’ she remarks. ‘Poor Rob’ll think you’re having an affair.’
‘Probably,’ Kerry agrees. ‘I’ve even booked a restaurant for tonight – a little Thai place where we went for our first proper date.’
‘You two are so romantic.’
‘D’you think so?’
‘Oh, come on, Kerry. You know much Rob adores you. He’ll be bowled over by this. What are you planning for tomorrow?’
‘A long lie in, hopefully. Then we’ll head back here to pick up the kids about two-ish, if that’s okay with you …’
‘No rush,’ Anita says firmly. ‘They’ll be as happy as Larry all together. Just make the most of your weekend.’
Kerry glances over to where Ruby, Anita’s only daughter, has wandered into the kitchen with Mia.
‘We didn’t win the sandcastle competition last year,’ Ruby complains. ‘It wasn’t fair. Ours was the best, wasn’t it, Mum?’
‘It was pretty impressive,’ Anita says. ‘Why don’t you join forces with Freddie and Mia this year? I’m sure you could come up with something amazing …’
‘D’you still go back to Shorling for that?’ Kerry asks, remembering her and Anita’s unsuccessful attempts to win when they were their daughters’ ages.
‘Yep, never miss it, even though the stakes are much higher these days. Remember when it was just plain old castles? We’re talking complex architectural structures now. Last year, the winners built Buckingham Palace and even had little guards in front with fluffy black hats made from glove fingers.’
Kerry shudders. ‘Good God. That must’ve been the parents’ work, surely.’
‘Of