The Single Mums’ Picnic Club: A perfectly uplifting beach-read for 2018!. Jennifer Joyce
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СКАЧАТЬ over Christmas and the New Year, and she’d forgotten quite how stiff her body became as she hunched over her desk. She normally counteracted this with yoga and regular runs along the beach, but she pushed the thought away as she headed across to the kitchen. She’d placed her young children in nursery so she could work, so the thought of wasting that time on such frivolous acts when her son had been so miserable at being left that morning made her stomach knot with guilt.

      No. She’d simply have to put up with the discomfort for now. Perhaps she’d do a bit of yoga once the twins were in bed tonight. Or a long, hot bath might do it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed herself anything more than a quick shower; there was always something more important to be getting on with than lazing in the bath.

      She flicked the kettle on and poured the forgotten tea down the sink before opening the fridge in search of something to eat for lunch. There wasn’t much inside, apart from a few wrapped segments of a Chocolate Orange, the Chomp from Skye’s selection box, and half a bag of limp-looking Brussel sprouts. There was butter, but she groaned when she remembered she’d used the last of the bread for her toast that morning. And the cupboards were in a worse state than the fridge. She’d used up everything over the festive period (including a slightly out-of-date tin of Spam) as she couldn’t be bothered going to the effort of getting herself and the twins washed, dressed and bundled up in winter coats. They’d spent the past week surviving on non-perishables and she hadn’t faced the shops to stock up yet.

      ‘Bugger.’ Frankie closed the cupboard and sighed. It looked like she was going to have to venture out after all. And if she was heading out anyway, what was the harm in killing two birds with one stone and going for a little run as well? The fresh air would do her good and help to keep the creative cogs turning.

      She raced up the stairs before she could allow the guilt of indulging in a bit of self-care to set in, changing into a pair of leggings, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and the hoodie her brother had bought her for Christmas. After shoving her trainers on her feet and making sure she had her purse, keys and phone (just in case Finn needed her), she was ready to set out. She started off at a gentle pace as she jogged down to the seafront, easing herself back into the exercise after a week or two of excess eating, and she immediately felt her shoulders loosen. It was hard work after holing herself up for the past couple of weeks, and there was a definite danger of rain as the grey clouds darkened, but it was so freeing being out in the open, the sounds of the waves growing closer with each step. She was soon on the promenade, the wind whipping at her hot cheeks, her mouth stretched into a smile despite her exertions. She loved this feeling. She wished she could bottle it up for those times she felt trapped in the house with two mischievous toddlers rampaging around the rooms. Not that she would ever admit this out loud. Motherhood was precious. A gift. She knew she was incredibly lucky to have two happy, healthy children. That she was there to witness them growing up. Not everybody had that luxury.

      Oh, but sometimes she missed the old Frankie. The fun Frankie who could drink her brother and his mates under the table at the pub. The Frankie who would meet her friends in town for endless afternoons of coffee, cake and gossip. The Frankie who could go to the toilet without being followed and quizzed about what she was doing. She loved her children so much, but she couldn’t help mourning the loss of the woman she was before, if only from the privacy of her own thoughts, and only briefly before she felt like a complete monster.

      She picked up her pace, enjoying the scream of pain from her thighs as it overtook all thoughts and emotions. The old Frankie was gone, never to return, and there was no point dwelling on it.

      Katie

      Helen Robinson clasped her hands together and lay them down on the file on the desk in front of her as she observed Katie, her lips pressed tightly together, her eyebrows pulled down low. She emitted a barely-audible sigh as Katie gave a firm shake of her head.

      ‘No.’

      ‘I’m sorry, Katie. I really am.’ Helen offered a half-smile. ‘But at least we know what we’re dealing with now.’

      ‘No.’ Katie shook her head again and shifted forward in her seat, slapping the palms of her hands down on the desk. Helen didn’t even flinch at the sudden sound. ‘He’s not getting it.’

      The half-smile was back on the solicitor’s face. ‘Why don’t we get you a nice cup of tea?’

      Because a cup of tea – nice or otherwise – wasn’t going to help the situation? Because Katie would very much like something with a bit more oomph than a mug of PG Tips, even if it was half past nine in the morning? Because she was so angry her hands were starting to tremble, and she suspected she’d end up with more of the tea down her front than in her mouth?

      Katie said none of this. She simply sat back in her seat, shoving her hands under her thighs to mask her agitation while the solicitor rang through to the receptionist to organise refreshments. She fixed her eyes on the wall behind Helen’s chair, her eyes seeing but not reading the framed certificates above her solicitor’s head. She swallowed against the huge lump in her throat, willing herself not to cry.

      ‘I know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear.’ Helen had done the sympathetic bit, but she was back in business mode now, her back straight, tone firm. She waited until Katie caught her eye – however briefly – before she continued. ‘But I’m afraid your husband has a right – by law – to request half of the marital assets. Including the property on Carter Lane.’

      Katie’s eyes widened, the burning anger she felt rising to the surface evaporating any notion of tears. ‘That property is my childhood home! It belonged to my parents. My mum left that property to me. Why should they get half of it?’ Katie leaned forward, her palms back on the desk. ‘Rob left me for another woman. Abandoned me with two children. And he didn’t even like my mum. Said she was overbearing. Stuck her nose in. Thought she always knew best.’ Katie was gasping for breath by now, but she powered on, the heels of her hands digging into the edge of the desk. ‘Why should they profit from my mum’s death? Why should they get to live happily ever after?’

      It wasn’t fair. Katie hadn’t asked for any of this; the heartache, the upheaval, the having to explain to her children that their father was starting a new life with another woman. It felt like she was losing everything and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

      ‘I know it doesn’t seem fair.’ Helen’s tone was gentle again, and she passed a box of tissues across the desk as Katie swiped at her eyes with the back of a quivering hand. ‘But I’m afraid your assets will be split. Of course, it isn’t up to me. The courts will decide how those assets will be split if you and your husband can’t come to an arrangement between you, but you should be prepared for any outcome.’

      Katie tugged a tissue out of the box and mopped up her tears. ‘I don’t want to lose my parents’ house. Mum and Dad worked so hard for it. And I can’t afford to buy Rob’s share.’ Rob’s share. The words made her stomach turn. ‘I’m unemployed, with two kids to feed and clothe. It’s okay for him. They have two incomes.’

      Helen nodded. ‘And the courts will take both your circumstances into consideration.’ She smiled her thanks as the receptionist arrived with a tray of tea and individually-wrapped biscuits, waiting until she’d placed the tray on the desk and left again before continuing. ‘There is an alternative, if you’re really set against selling the Carter Lane property.’

      Katie wished she’d stop calling it that. It was so impersonal. But she didn’t say so, simply raised her eyebrows in question as she tore open the packet of an oat СКАЧАТЬ