felt almost as embarrassed as Marianne. ‘I didn’t think it was polite to, and I think you’re embarrassing your friend.’
‘Oh, Marianne, I didn’t mean to offend you. Come on. Let’s go to the pub, so you two can get to know each other properly. Honestly, he doesn’t bite.’
It’s a kind of magic…That’s what I always think about baking. You take four simple ingredients, flour, eggs, butter, sugar, and look what you can achieve with them, anything from fancy cakes to shortbread. And when I was a kid, watching my mother bake was also somehow quite magical…
Catherine paused from what she was typing and sighed. How was it that the words in her head, which seemed so magnificent, always seemed so dull when transferred to the page? Maybe it would be better if she wrote the recipes first and added the linking bits in later? She pulled a sheaf of material out. Granny Dreamboat’s Perfect Victoria Sponge, Auntie Eileen’s Fabulous Fairy Cakes…she’d stolen recipes from around the family and planned them all for this book, which was meant to be a celebration of basic good, honest home-baked cooking, aimed at the generation of women who’d always been too busy for the kitchen.
It was also in part meant to be a homage to her own mother, a way of saying thank you for all the help and support. Ever since she was tiny, Cat could remember her mum cooking in the kitchen, and following her round, eager to learn how to cook herself. It had only been the two of them, when Cat was growing up, and they had bound their love in the kitchen preparing pastry and roast dinners. So it had seemed appropriate to write a cookbook based on her mother’s recipes. Catherine paused for a moment. Was it her imagination, or was Mum being rather tetchy of late? It was unlike her to make mistakes, and she’d been quite vociferous in blaming Cat about the day she hadn’t picked the kids up. Yet when Cat had sneakily peeked in Mum’s calendar she saw Mum had written the right day down. Cat had also spotted a pile of unpaid bills in the kitchen, but, when pressed, Mum had insisted she was up to date on all that stuff. The episode had left her with a slight feeling of unease.
She was probably worrying unnecessarily. Noel certainly thought she was. Maybe Mum had just got a bit behind with her bills. Catherine turned back to the screen, her mind utterly blank. Funny that. It was always so easy writing a blog post or an article for Happy Homes. But this? This was like panning for gold in a river where you knew you were only ever going to find lead.
It didn’t help that she’d only come up here to start working at nine, and she was absolutely knackered. Mel and James needed to be chased into bed so much later now. She’d practically had to prise them away from watching Dave. Magda, who had reluctantly agreed she was fit enough to cope with childcare duties once more, was out with the boyfriend—the bust-up as usual only lasting as long as it took to send a reconciliatory text message. Noel was out at yet another leaving do. From what he was saying about work, which wasn’t much, there seemed to be an awful lot of redundancies at the moment. Reading between the lines, Catherine could tell he was worried. She wished he’d talk to her about it, but he seemed unwilling to, and she didn’t like to push it.
Sometimes it felt as if a vast chasm was growing between them. Cat worried that Noel didn’t seem to be as pleased with her success as she might have hoped. She even thought he might resent it slightly. But then he’d come home, muck about with the kids, give her a hand with the tea and it was as if there was no division at all. Maybe it was like that for everyone when they had kids, but sometimes (and she felt guilty for even thinking it) Cat longed for the days before they’d had children, when they only had themselves to please. Life had seemed so much simpler then.
Nowadays she was so exhausted coping with the various needs of the children, the demands of Magda, and the difficulties of her job, she had very little left to give Noel. He deserved better from her, she knew that. But it was so hard to give of yourself, when you had nothing left to give.
How she wished her life was as easy and straightforward as the Happy Homemaker’s. She wouldn’t be reduced to trying to write a cookery book late at night, when the children were in bed. Oh no. The sodding Happy Homemaker would have been up at six to do the housework or prepare that day’s dinner. She’d have sorted out reliable childcare so she wouldn’t spend her days fretting about arrangements she wasn’t sure would be met. She’d be able to effortlessly organise her work life so it didn’t impinge on her home life, and no doubt she’d always be up for dynamic sex in exciting new positions with her husband at any time of the day or night.
There were times when Catherine really hated her creation, and increasingly she was becoming drawn to the idea that she should actually kill the Happy Homemaker off. The only thing stopping her was the financial reward that her alter ego brought them. If Noel’s job was in jeopardy, Cat couldn’t really do her in. Even if, as Cat sometimes suspected from the bitchy comments that occasionally got left on her blog by people who clearly didn’t get the joke, thousands of women up and down the country would rejoice to know the true state of affairs chez the Happy Homemaker…
Marianne settled down in the corner of the Hopesay Arms feeling completely idiotic. How come she hadn’t picked up that Gabriel was Pippa’s cousin? She’d been so embarrassed about what had happened on New Year’s Eve she hadn’t told anyone about it. She rather liked the fact that Gabriel hadn’t told anyone either. Well, she would like it once she got over the embarrassment. In the meantime, she was squeezed at the end of a large table, feeling out of place and awkward, listening to Vera talking to Mr Edwards in a pink and enthusiastic manner. It was so crashingly obvious that Mr Edwards had the hots for her as well. Marianne had never seen a couple so well suited and yet so shy of each other. She felt almost voyeuristic. But she’d rather be cramped down here than sitting anywhere near Gabriel, whose mere presence made her feel like a prat.
‘You are so not going to hide in the corner.’ Pippa came marching over and dragged Marianne up to their end of the table. Marianne was about to protest but, realising that Vera and Mr Edwards were oblivious to her departure, decided there was no point.
‘I can’t talk to Gabriel,’ protested Marianne. ‘I was sick all over his feet.’
‘I wondered what had happened to you on New Year’s Eve,’ said Pippa. ‘The trouble was, I was so pissed by the end of the night, I couldn’t remember anything about it. Though I do recall Gabe saying something about having sick on his shoes, I just thought it was his.’
‘Yes, well, now you know,’ said Marianne, ‘and you’ve embarrassed me enough for one evening. So I think I need to go home right now.’
‘What you need,’ said Pippa, ‘is to lighten up and meet new people. Coincidentally, my lovely cousin needs to do exactly the same thing. So you are going to get to know him and find out that he isn’t at all ogrish, and thinks it’s quite funny that you threw up on him.’
Pippa pushed Marianne into the seat next to Gabriel before disappearing to the bar. This was excruciatingly awful.
‘I’m sorry about this,’ Marianne said, thinking it couldn’t get any more awkward. ‘I had no idea Pippa was so bossy. She seems to have decided we need to bond or something. But it’s quite all right, we don’t. After the last time we met, I can quite see that you wouldn’t be at all interested in talking to me, so I’ll just finish my drink and head on home.’
‘Don’t do that,’ Gabriel said. He looked at her with those lovely brown eyes and Marianne had to swallow hard. ‘I once went back to a girl’s room and did the very same thing. We’ve all done something silly under the influence.’
‘In my defence,’ said Marianne. ‘It was a bit of an intense night. I hadn’t meant to get so drunk, and I certainly didn’t mean to come on to you like that. I was on
