The Widows’ Club. Amanda Brooke

Faith had yet to admit to herself.

      A two-week cruise around the Norwegian fjords took her fancy and as she folded the corner of the page, her phone rang. Her thumb hovered over the red decline button as she took a sip of wine. With an exasperated sigh, she accepted the call.

      ‘Hello, Ella,’ she said affably.

      Faith’s stepdaughter had made numerous attempts to call her over the weekend but irritatingly hadn’t left a voicemail. Her persistence, combined with Faith’s curiosity, had finally paid off.

      ‘I’m glad I caught you at last. I was getting worried.’

      ‘Ah, sorry about that. I treated myself to a little pamper weekend with friends,’ Faith said as she put down her glass and flexed her hand. Her attack on the garden had cost her a couple of broken nails, and her skin had acquired a roughness she didn’t like. With the money she had saved today, maybe she could afford a spa.

      ‘I hope you had a good time,’ Ella replied after a slight hesitation, as if she detected the lie.

      Faith wouldn’t be surprised if Mr Bloody Newton had a telescope trained on the house, but no matter. A fib told with confidence was far more compelling than whispering truths.

      ‘Who knew a few days’ relaxation would be so exhausting?’ Faith said with a yawn. She lifted a leg out of the water and watched rivulets of scented oil glide over her skin and caress her tired muscles. ‘It’s probably my body’s reaction to all that pummelling and prodding. Those Swedish massages are brutal.’

      ‘I can imagine,’ Ella said, possibly convinced. Possibly not. ‘As long as you’re looking after yourself.’

      If Faith didn’t do it, who would? Derek was gone.

      She closed her eyes to staunch unexpected tears; she was stronger than this. She was a survivor and could face whatever life threw at her, even if it was getting harder. Only this week she had discovered that her department would face yet another reorganisation. It was an occupational hazard and, whilst Faith was good at defending her corner, it would invariably mean more duties being heaped upon her. She had no interest in acquiring new skills, she had adapted enough in her life.

      Faith took another sip of wine and painted a smile on her lips loud enough for Ella to hear. ‘So what can I do for you?’

      ‘I have some news. Jack and I have set a date for our wedding. It’s next July.’

      ‘Oh, how lovely,’ Faith said. It was a brave step for Ella, considering that her mother was testament to how a marriage could fail, and Faith wasn’t exactly a good advert either. She wished her well.

      ‘It’s only going to be a small affair, but we would love it if you would come.’

      ‘I wouldn’t miss it.’

      ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ said Ella.

      Faith couldn’t think of anything worse than an intimate wedding breakfast where Rosemary would deliver the speech in the stead of the father of the bride. Glancing at the travel brochure resting on the edge of the bath, she wondered if the wedding was the justification she needed for one last escape.

      She yawned again. ‘Sorry.’

      ‘Before I let you go, there’s something else I wanted to run past you.’

      Reaching for her wine, Faith had an inkling she was going to need it. She should have known there was an ulterior motive for the call. ‘Shoot,’ she said.

      ‘Last time I saw you, when you were having a clear-out, we talked about you making a fresh start,’ Ella said. She paused for her stepmother to agree, but Faith remained tight-lipped. Only one of them had mentioned a fresh start. ‘I know it’s a difficult decision, but I was talking to Jack, and we wondered if it would be less of a wrench if I was the buyer?’