to examine what Katie suspected was a splatter of seagull poo on the pavement. ‘Sorry. First day back to school chaos.’
Katie grimaced. ‘Been there myself. Surprised we made it out of the house at all.’ She met Jack’s eye and they shared a wry smile. ‘Anyway, yes, the boiler is fantastic, thanks to you.’
Katie had been in a bit of a flap when the boiler had decided to take a break from its duties a few days ago, but Jack had stepped in, repairing the aging beast and insisting on only charging for parts (neighbours’ rates, apparently).
‘You’re a life saver.’
Jack laughed and shook his head. ‘I don’t know about that.’
‘We’re all very grateful, anyway.’ She looked at her kids. They didn’t seem particularly grateful; Elliot and Lizzie were fiddling with their phones (nutrition wasn’t the only thing that had slipped over the school holidays. The pair had become superglued to their technology since the end of the autumn term), oblivious to the conversation taking part. ‘We’d better get going. Don’t want to be late and I think Leo’s about to…’ Jack turned as Katie’s gaze paused down the street, where Leo was crouched, finger poised to prod at the splatter of seagull droppings.
‘Leo! No!’ Jack, still clinging onto his daughter’s hand and the buggy, tore off down the street as Katie pulled away from the kerb. If the traffic was kind this morning, they wouldn’t be too late.
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.’
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
