you try,’ he says, passing the spool to Freddie while Mia claps delightedly.
‘You did it, Daddy!’ she cries.
‘Hero,’ Kerry murmurs teasingly. ‘Kite maestro superstar.’
‘Hey, it was nothing.’ Rob chuckles, his smile dissolving as the kite spins erratically before dive-bombing a child-free couple who have just set out their picnic à deux. ‘Shit, bollocks,’ he blurts out, haring towards them to apologise profusely.
‘It’s fine,’ the woman snaps. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ She extracts the kite from a fluted glass dish and hands it to Rob.
‘Shit-bollocks,’ Freddie sniggers into his hand as his father returns, brushing cous-cous off the kite with the flat of his hand.
It doesn’t spoil the day though. The afternoon drifts by in a pleasant blur, and Rob is even persuaded by Mia to roll up his pristine Levi’s and have a paddle. The muffins are devoured, plus delicious crab sandwiches from a nearby cafe. The children are engrossed in playing with a bouncy white terrier now, throwing a wrecked tennis ball for him with the approval of his elderly lady owner.
‘I wish we had a dog,’ Mia announces. ‘Why can’t we have one, Mummy?’
‘Please don’t start on about that now,’ Kerry says, resting her head on Rob’s shoulder.
He turns to her in the pinkish evening light and gently brushes a strand of hair from her eyes. ‘This is beautiful, Kerry. I don’t think I’ve ever realised how lovely it is to be by the sea.’
‘It’s been a perfect day,’ she agrees. ‘We should come down here more often.’
He nods, and there’s a pause, as if he’s taking care to choose the right words. ‘You know what? I think we should do it. We should take up Maisie’s offer and move here.’
She sits up and stares at him for a moment, wary of overreacting and causing him to backtrack. Then, unable to help herself, she flings her arms around his broad shoulders and kisses him long and hard on the lips.
‘Are you sure?’ she says finally. ‘You’re not feeling pushed into it, are you?’
‘No, I’m not. Look at this place, and how the kids are here – it’s so much better for them than a tiny backyard …’
‘Well, I think so.’ She swallows hard, watching as the yellow kite, now being flown single-handedly by Mia, darts gracefully, as if performing its own excited dance. The posh picnics have long been packed away and the beach is deserted apart from a couple of dog walkers in the far distance.
‘Let’s talk to her,’ Rob says, ‘as soon as she comes back from Spain.’
Kerry nods. ‘Okay.’ Closing her hand around his, she squeezes it tightly. ‘It’ll be great for us,’ she adds. ‘I can just feel it, Rob. I think it’ll turn out to be one of the best things we’ve ever done.’
Chapter Two
Four months later
Certain activities should be left until the children are safely tucked up in bed. Sewing falls into this category. With all the swearing and blood loss involved, it’s best not undertaken with impressionable young people around. Kerry has already acquired a repetitive injury from jabbing herself with a needle; all this to stitch a few name tapes onto school uniforms for the new term ahead. Could she get away with writing their names in biro on the wash-care labels instead? It’s considered slovenly, Kerry knows this, but surely it’s better than sending the children to their new school in blood-stained tops?
As a fresh scarlet bead seeps from the wound, Kerry manages to locate the first aid box from one of the many packing crates. These are still full and stacked precariously along one wall of the living room, like reinforcements against floods. Opening the tin of plasters, she selects one disguised as a bacon rasher (Freddie requested these last birthday; the set includes an egg, sausage and a blob of beans – a full English breakfast in plaster form). The name tapes are too thick, that’s the trouble. The biro option hovers tantalisingly in Kerry’s mind, even though she has already surmised that Shorling-on-Sea is a sewn-in-name-tapes sort of place.
The small, compact seaside town had a very different vibe when she spent childhood holidays here, in this very house where her Aunt Maisie used to live. Back then, the place bustled with visitors eating burgers on the seafront and children plucking tufts from pink candyfloss clouds. Where the town once smelt of fried onions, these days it’s all organic bakeries and seafood restaurants. Apparently, more scallops and langoustines are consumed per capita in Shorling than anywhere else in Britain. Eating a doughnut in public would probably have you shot. The Gold Rush Arcade is now a Wagamama, the World’s Biggest Museum of Tattoo Art has become a glass-walled restaurant filled with glossy people tackling crustaceans with an impressive array of little metal tools. The bleach-blonde ladies in velour tracksuits who once ran the numerous B&Bs – where did they all go, Kerry wonders? – have been replaced by glowing-skinned women with long, glossy hair, perfect teeth and children called Lottie and Felix.
Of course, it had been clear on kite-flying day that Shorling had gone upmarket. But it wasn’t until they’d actually moved that the extent of the transformation had truly sunk in. Still, Kerry reflects, at least there’s one final week of summer holidays. She’d noticed a sign advertising a children’s end-of-summer beach party, and if Freddie and Mia could make some new friends, surely starting school would be a little easier. And what about her? Without lurking weirdly around the dog-walking women who hang out on Shorling beach, she hasn’t the faintest idea how she’ll meet anyone. Maybe it’ll be easier at the school gates. Even more important, then, that Mia and Freddie’s names aren’t biro-ed on.
This flicker of optimism leads Kerry to picturing Rob selling their London home. Although it’s on with an agency, Rob is adamant that estate agents are clueless, and that as deputy editor of a men’s magazine, he is far better equipped to point out its numerous Unique Selling Points. Reassuring herself that the house will sell, and that Rob will soon join them in Shorling, Kerry turns her attentions to the large, square chocolate cake sitting solidly on the table to her right.
In contrast to her pitiful needlework skills, Kerry can decorate cakes pretty nicely, even if she says so herself. Nothing fancy – no detailed scale models of a Loire Valley chateaux – just intricate piping that usually garners her a few brownie points at the children’s birthday parties. For Freddie’s last birthday she replicated an entire comic strip from one of his much-loved Tintin books, and when Mia turned seven she crammed the entire Simpsons cast, including many lesser-known characters, onto a ten-inch Victoria sponge. She even created a magazine cover to mark Rob’s tenth anniversary of working at Mr Jones – ‘The Thinking Man’s Monthly’, as the magazine’s tagline goes.
This cake, too, is for Rob, but Kerry can’t decide what to put on it. A simple ‘Happy 40th Darling’? No, too generic. She could do a portrait in glacé icing but, while her beloved is undeniably handsome with his dark-eyed Italian looks, she wouldn’t be able to resist exaggerating the long, strong nose and full, curvy mouth (trying to do a flattering portrait on a cake would be ridiculous, surely?) and she’s not sure he’d appreciate that. As his new twenty-something boss has brought in an editorial team of equally youthful pups, Kerry senses that Rob is not entirely delighted about reaching this milestone. No – better tread carefully with this cake.
She
