how she saw my family. Not that my family were even that wealthy or anything; my dad had just done ‘all right’ as her family had, just generations before. My parents spoke in a broad, local dialect, a trait I’d initially inherited and quickly adjusted in an attempt to fit in at school. They didn’t have degrees or ‘high-society standard’ social etiquette and always loved a good bargain, which horrified Frances. But if she’d ever given them a chance she’d have witnessed their kindness, generosity and sense of fun.
I think she’d always hoped that James and I were just having a fling and that he’d one day miraculously come to his senses and marry someone of higher social status but since that hadn’t happened she’d accepted her fate and thawed slightly. She’d gone from deep-freeze to refrigerator – meaning I could now breathe and speak in her presence, but it was still hard work through the chatter of my teeth.
‘I’m working late so I said you’d be around. She’s going to stay for dinner.’
Typical. There was a time I’d hoped to bond with James’s mother, especially after my own had left to go travelling with Dad, but it hadn’t happened and I was past caring.
‘That’s wonderful – I’ll do baked salmon.’ I took a long sip of wine. The crisp citrus taste cut through my tension, and I rolled my shoulders before taking my pre-prepared stir-fry ingredients from the fridge.
James snaked his arms around my waist and peered over my shoulder. ‘That looks good.’
‘So, have you time to eat at the dinner table or shall I bring it through to the office when it’s done?’ I tensed anticipating his reply.
He peered at his watch and twisted his mouth. ‘Better have a working dinner I’m afraid. You’re so good to me.’
‘Of course.’ I tried to keep my body from sagging when everything sunk inside. He did appreciate me at least.
After I’d cooked the stir-fry and taken James’s up to the office, I sat at the single place setting I’d laid out on the breakfast bar and ate my food dutifully, punctuating each forkful with a sip of wine whilst trying to remain positive.
***
The next morning, I awoke alone with a fuzzy head and the depressing thought of James’s mother visiting. I showered and dressed smartly in an oyster-coloured silk blouse and khaki capri pants and completed the look with my pearl necklace. It was the type of outfit I always wore in my mother-in-law’s company because she was a judgemental so-and-so. James thought it was a dowdy look and I agreed with him, but needs must if I didn’t wish to see a raised eyebrow. I slipped on some gold wedges and the dainty gold Tiffany bracelet that James had bought me for our anniversary the previous year, before grabbing my handbag and heading to the fishmonger’s for a fresh salmon.
Once I’d got back in my car, my fingers twitched on the steering wheel, fighting against my better judgement. I wanted to drive past Megan’s house to look for signs of drama: clothes on the lawn, a vandalised Merc . . . Despite being driven crazy with wanting to know what happened, I’d have to wait another day to see her. Instead, I pressed the call button on my steering wheel, rang Kate, and arranged to meet her at a Greek restaurant in Wilmslow for lunch.
‘Charlotte, darling, how are you?’ she said, air-kissing my cheeks when I arrived. She was dressed to the nines as she always was, in a pink mini-dress that, thanks to my Vogue subscription, I knew was Valentino. She also had the Valentino Rockstud shoulder bag, of which I was particularly envious because I had the matching sandals.
‘You’re looking as glamorous as ever,’ I said. Kate was the type of woman who’d have a Kir Royale for breakfast and a hotdog for lunch. She was gorgeous, wealthy, and did whatever the hell she pleased – James’s mother would call her ‘nouveau riche’ too and Kate would tell her to ‘eff off’.
She giggled and brushed off my comment with her hand. The waiter came over and took us to our table, predictably sitting Kate down first because she looked more important than I did in my drab mother-in-law-friendly attire. He probably thought she was some glossy celebrity and I was her dull behind-the-scenes assistant.
‘So, tell me what’s been happening since I last saw you. Are you . . .’ She circled her hand in the direction of my stomach, not concerning herself with etiquette.
I shook my head, placing a self-conscious hand across my middle while cursing that brownie I’d eaten at Costa. ‘Not yet. James is busy working a huge case and always comes home late and tired, so there just hasn’t been any time to try.’
‘No time to try?’ She threw her head back and laughed. ‘You mean you haven’t got the right underwear.’ She winked. I laughed and shook my head. ‘Dressing like that isn’t helping your cause.’ She looked pointedly at my blouse. ‘I thought it was maternity wear.’
‘Frightful Frances is coming over later.’
She gave me a knowing look. ‘As long as you have something more fun to wear in the bedroom you’ll be fine.’
‘You’re obsessed.’ I laughed. Kate had landed on her feet with husband number two: wealthy property tycoon and renowned local businessman Carl, who worshipped the ground she walked on. You couldn’t blame him, though – her black glossy hair tumbled down her back, complementing her long, lean limbs. She had flawless olive skin, thanks to Italian heritage on her mother’s side, and although she’d hit her forties, had yet to discover a fine line anywhere on her face.
‘What does his mother want anyway?’
‘I’ve no idea. To wither my soul, to suck the life from me or to badger me about grandkids probably. That’s her “new thing” to focus on. Since James’s dad died she’s been visiting a lot, and it’s tiresome. She’s discovered a new sense of family and my lucky womb is suddenly part of her vision.’ I paused as the waiter approached and we ordered Greek salads and a glass of champagne each.
‘I thought she hated you? So she isn’t still crossing her fingers in the hope James will run off and leave you for some blue-blood horsey type?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know, she’s been banging on about grandchildren since James’s dad’s funeral. Maybe she thinks a half-breed grandchild is better than no grandchild at all. Anyway, enough of her. Are you going to Lauren’s ball?’
‘Er, no.’ Kate hated Lauren and Carl didn’t play golf so it was a desperate ask at best. ‘I can’t make it anyway; you know I’m down in London that weekend at some presentation thing with Carl.’
‘Lucky so-and-so.’
‘Not necessarily – I actually have to go with him to the ceremony and not just while the time browsing Liberty and if it’s anything like last time, I’ll spend the night drinking cheap wine that tastes like it’s trying to kill me.’ She winced at the memory. ‘I can’t believe that hideous mare had the gall to move the date to clash with your brunch.’
‘I know, but it’s typical Lauren. I don’t know what that woman has against me.’
‘Jealousy. Her husband barely has a pulse and still manages to shag half of Cheshire behind her back. You’re happy, you have a gorgeous husband who worships you, and she can’t bear it.’
‘I don’t think she’s jealous, I think she looks down on me,’ I said modestly but if Kate was right about the jealousy (I knew she
