The Single Mums’ Picnic Club: A perfectly uplifting beach-read for 2018!. Jennifer Joyce

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СКАЧАТЬ hearing rather than seeing the contents spilling onto the floor. She didn’t pause to see the mess she’d created or the looks of bewilderment on the faces of her fellow shoppers. Instead, she pelted across the car park, dodging traffic and trolleys until she was safely in her car. Her hands shook as she inserted her key into the ignition, her breathing dizzyingly rapid. She took a few deep, slow breaths before she set off, putting as much distance as she could between herself and Rob’s new family.

Chapter Five

      George

      George’s home wasn’t quite as grand as some of the homes she cleaned as part of her job with Kiri’s Clean Queens, Clifton-on-Sea’s premier cleaning company, but she’d made the poky two-bedroomed flat in the middle of the 1950s house conversion as cheery and cosy as she could, hanging bright curtains at the windows and displaying Thomas’ artwork in frames in the living room and kitchen. Patterned scatter cushions rejuvenated the slightly saggy sofa, and she’d invested in a cheerful rug to add warmth against the cheap laminate flooring. It was small but homely, and perfect for George and Thomas. They didn’t need the extra bathrooms or fancy appliances she cleaned in the huge, Georgian properties running alongside the park or seafront, and although the communal garden to the back of the property was half the size of a postage stamp, Wickentree Park was just around the corner. With its playground, playing fields, and the little wooded area to explore, it had everything Thomas could ever need in an outdoor space.

      George headed straight to the kitchen when she arrived home from her afternoon shift, knocking up a quick all-in-one sponge mix and popping it into the oven before she changed out of her bleach-scented work clothes and into something a bit more flattering. She still wasn’t as young or trendy as some of the other mums she’d spotted in the school playground, but she’d feel less conspicuous picking Thomas up now she wasn’t clad in her scruffs.

      With the cake out of the oven and cooled, George headed down to the beach, closing her eyes briefly to savour the sound of the crashing waves before she descended the steps down to the sand. While the sounds of the seaside would be drowned out with music blaring from the pier during the summer months, George could truly appreciate the landscape during these quieter moments. It was why she was never deterred from walking down to the beach, no matter how cold and grey it was.

      The beach was completely empty at this time, without even a dogwalker in sight. There were no colourful beach towels laid out, creating a patchwork of colour on the sand, or families unpacking picnics and buckets and spades, or feasting on delicious ice creams and refreshing ice lollies. Even the seagulls, with their excited cries, failed to hover overhead in the hope of finding food.

      George reached into her handbag for her keys as she walked under the shade of the pier, her hand clutching the set as she emerged from the other side. The beach huts lay ahead, their painted exteriors a splash of cheer against the gloomy January afternoon, like tubs of exotic flavours of ice cream displayed in a row. George’s hut, sandwiched between a sunshiny yellow and a vivacious red hut, was painted a cheery mint green. She’d inherited the beach hut from her grandmother, who would bring George down to the beach hut for picnics every Saturday afternoon, rain or shine.

      She looked up as she felt a tap of rain on her cheek. The sky had turned an ominous shade, the clouds dark and menacing. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, the heavens opened and it was pouring with rain, the drops plump and icy as they worked together to drench her hair and coat, already starting to turn the sand to sludge. With cold, fumbling fingers, she somehow managed to unlock the hut and burst into the shelter with relief. Pushing her damp hair aside, she was about to nudge the door shut when she caught movement ahead. It seemed she wasn’t alone on the beach after all as a figure attempted to shield themselves from the rain with an already soggy cardigan, stranded between the beach huts and the shelter of the pier.

      ‘Quick!’ George poked her head out into the driving rain and beckoned her over. ‘Get in before you freeze to death!’

      George held the door open as the woman ran as quickly as she could over the sodden sand, her feet slipping every third or fourth step.

      ‘Come in, come in.’ George ushered the woman inside the hut. The space was small, but it had been painted white to make it appear bright and airy, and there was a small window at the back, framed by a pair of lemon curtains embroidered with tiny pink hearts. A seat running along the length of the left-hand side of the hut was covered in matching fabric, and there was a bank of cupboards underneath the window with sets of shelves either side. Opposite the long bench was a fold-down table, currently propped up by a pair of wooden legs.

      ‘Thank you.’ The woman collapsed onto the bench and reached up to touch her hair. It was damp, but not too bad. ‘I only popped down to the beach to clear my head. I didn’t expect this.’ She pointed at the rain dashing at the little window.

      ‘It’s quite a downpour.’ George peered out of the hut, her arms wrapped across her body in an attempt to keep warm. ‘I wanted to bring my son to the beach after school, but I don’t think we’ll make it in this.’ She hadn’t thought it was possible, but it was raining even harder now. ‘It was supposed to be a special day, but I suppose we’ll still have cake.’ She smiled brightly, but the warmth didn’t quite reach her eyes.

      ‘Is it his birthday?’

      George shook her head. ‘His first day at school.’ She sighed as she lifted her tote bag onto the fold-down table and removed the cake tin. ‘I’m finding it quite hard, if I’m honest. Letting go. Letting him grow up. Do you ever wish you could pause time? Or rewind it, just a little bit?’

      The woman gave a humourless laugh. ‘God, yes.’ She covered her face with her hands and rubbed at her eyes. ‘I’d go back a couple of hours. Before I made an absolute fool of myself.’

      ‘What happened?’ George didn’t want to pry, but maybe she could help.

      The woman slid her hands down so only her mouth was covered by her fingers. She shook her head over and over until she finally dropped her hands completely, resting them on her lap. ‘I just did a runner from the supermarket.’ She held up a finger. ‘Not with any goods, I should add. Things haven’t got so desperate I need to shoplift. Yet.’ She attempted another humourless laugh, but it quickly morphed into a groan.

      ‘Why did you run, if you don’t mind me asking?’ George lowered herself on the other end of the bench, not wanting to invade the woman’s personal space even as she poked her nose into her personal business.

      ‘I saw my husband’s girlfriend – ex-husband, I suppose, though it isn’t official.’

      ‘Ah.’ George nodded with understanding. She’d never been married, but she’d been in long-term relationships that had ended before she’d been ready to let go.

      ‘Oh, God.’ The hands were back on the woman’s face, covering her reddened cheeks. ‘I can still hear the clash of basket on tile. And the looks of the people around me as I tore past! Coming through! Madwoman on the loose!’ She rubbed at her eyes again and groaned. ‘Well, I won’t be shopping there for the next millennia. I’ll have to drive out of town or use one of the overpriced convenience stores instead.’

      ‘There’s always online shopping.’ George was attempting to add a bit of humour into the conversation, and luckily the woman managed a small laugh.

      ‘At least I have options.’ She groaned again and stamped a foot down on the floor. ‘Why did I have to react like that? It isn’t as though I haven’t seen Anya before – though I try to avoid contact with the woman, obviously. СКАЧАТЬ