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Katie would be the first to admit she was a control freak extraordinaire who wanted everything to be so perfect she made Anthea Turner look positively sluttish. She was the sort of woman who rose at six to clean out her kitchen cupboards, or iron and fold laundry. Charlie always teased her that her favourite room in the house was the large walk-in airing cupboard on the landing, where sheets, pillow cases, towels and blankets all sat neatly side by side in carefully orchestrated rows. White single sheets next to white doubles, coloured singles next to coloured doubles. Everything in its place, and everything easy to find.
It always smelled fresh and wholesome, and Katie would never admit to anyone the illicit pleasure she felt in running her hand over the smooth surfaces of freshly ironed sheets. But it was hard work maintaining such high standards with children in the house, although, by and large, till Molly had come along she had managed. Of late, Katie could feel those standards slipping. She had been so desperate for a third baby, despite Charlie's reservations. Now there were days when even she wondered why.
Charlie had touched a nerve, damn him. In the past Katie would have had the house tidy and tea on the table when Charlie walked in. To her that was part of the deal. She was the one at home, after all, it only seemed reasonable to cook the bacon for the person who provided it.
Emily had never got on with that attitude. ‘It just seems so regressive,’ she'd frequently said to Katie over a glass of wine when Charlie was away on business.
Katie had shrugged her shoulders.
‘I don't expect you to understand,’ she'd said. ‘But if you knew my mum, you would. She put her career above everything: her marriage, her family. It tore our family apart. I'm never going to do that.’
Katie had had feminism shoved down her throat from an early age, and was sufficiently her mother's daughter to buy into the career dream until she'd met and fallen for Charlie. The minute she knew she wanted to have children with him was the day Katie said goodbye to her career. She was not going to make the same mistakes as her mum. Her children and husband would always come first. The trouble was, no one had told her how hard that would be. Or that she'd feel a small part of herself dying every day, subsumed into becoming someone's wife, someone's mother. What had happened to Katie? No one really cared any more …
‘Let me know when it's ready,’ said Charlie, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl. ‘I've just got to go online and check some deals out.’
‘What now?’ Katie was dismayed. She was rather hoping that Charlie might join her in the kitchen and share a glass of wine with her as she cooked, like they used to do. She knew she should be glad about Charlie's recent promotion, as it meant more money and security, but his job was beginning to take over their life. The company seemed to be expanding at an alarming rate. Charlie's whole topic of conversation these days seemed to be about acquisitions and mergers, and he was away on business more than he was home.
‘Five minutes, tops,’ he said, already heading for the stairs.
Katie sighed. The chances were she wouldn't see him for another hour.
‘I'll just get on with the tea, then,’ she said disconsolately.
‘Okay,’ said Charlie. ‘At least it's not chips.’
‘Why?’ Katie had a feeling she knew where this was going. Charlie had been having little digs for weeks now.
‘Oh, nothing,’ said Charlie sheepishly, stopping on the half-landing
‘Don't do that,’ retorted Katie. ‘Tell me what you meant.’
Charlie looked a little embarrassed. ‘I was only joking.’
‘About what?’ Katie's tone was icy. Even Charlie, who had the skin of a rhino, picked up on it.
‘It's just … Since Molly …’ Charlie was looking like he'd rather be anywhere than here. ‘You didn't used to be – it's just that – well, you're looking a bit more cuddly these days.’
‘You mean I'm fat.’ Kate felt as if she had been punched in the stomach.
‘No. No. Not fat.’ Charlie was desperately trying to recover the situation. ‘It's – well, I mean, after the boys you lost weight much more quickly. Anyway, cuddly's good. You know I don't like skinny women.’
His voice trailed off. And it was true. In the past she had managed to shed the baby weight in a few months, but this time around it seemed not to want to budge.
‘You think I'm fat.’ It was a statement. Not a question.
‘Nooo – not fat exactly, but you have to admit it, love, you're a – a tad on the lardy side. Nothing that a few weeks on a diet won't cure.’
The comment was delivered in a manner that was clearly intended to be light and humorous, but the result was anything but.
Katie stood open-mouthed as Charlie disappeared upstairs. Not for the first time she wondered if workload was the thing that really kept him late at the office …
‘How was your day?’ Rob greeted Mark as he came through the front door.
It had been a long day and Mark was glad to be home, even if it wasn't quite the home he wanted.
‘Bloody awful. You?’
‘Oh, you know. Kids running riot. Kids taking drugs. Kids being suspended. The usual.’ Rob's job as head of history at the local comp gave him nearly as much pleasure as Mark's job gave him.
‘Fancy a beer?’ Mark kept resolving that he wasn't going to drink this early in the week. And kept giving in.
‘Thought you'd never ask,’ said Rob. ‘Pint at the Hookers?’
The Hookers' real name was The Boxer's Arms, but because of the propensity of rugby players who went in there, it was commonly known as the Hookers. Although urban myth had it that it was once a knocking shop – a myth that Barry, the urbane landlord, did very little to dispel.
‘Just let me wash my patients’ spit off my face and get changed,’ said Mark, ‘and then I'm all yours.’
Ten minutes later they were propping up the bar and putting the world to rights.
‘The usual, gentlemen?’ Barry already had their pints lined up for them. ‘You're a bit late tonight, if I may say so.’
Bloody hell, Mark thought in dismay, I'm becoming such a regular the barman knows what time I usually come in. How the hell did that happen?
‘If we're not careful, we're going to end up becoming permanent fixtures,’ Mark said glumly, looking round to see the usual regulars transfixed to their usual spots. Is that how people already saw them?
‘So?’ said Rob. ‘I like it here. It's my kind of pub.’
‘You know what's going to happen to us,’ Mark said moodily, staring into his pint.
‘No, what?’ Rob was scanning the bar for possible talent. Rather a waste of effort considering most of the regulars were middle-aged men, but, ever the optimist, Rob never liked to miss out on any opportunity that came his way. Mark envied that optimism and the confidence that went along with it.
‘We're still going to be sitting here in ten years’ time,’ said Mark. He paused to listen to a song on the jukebox. ‘It's like this song – the laughs in the late-night lock-in will fade away and we'll have nothing left but sad, pathetic memories.’
‘And your point is?’ said Rob.
‘Well, look at us. We‘ve already been drinking in here for years. We stay here any longer, we'll end up fossilised.’
‘You know your trouble?’ asked Rob.
‘Nope, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me,’ replied Mark.
‘You need to get out more. It's time you faced up to the truth. You're wasting your time with Sam. She's gone for good. Time you moved on, mate.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Mark responded with a wry smile. ‘And this is really the place to do that.’
‘It has been known to happen,’ said Rob, tapping his nose and looking smug.
‘When was that then?’ teased Barry, earwigging their conversation as he wiped down the bar. ‘The dark ages?’
‘You remember those two art students who used to come in here a while back?’ Rob said.
‘What, the short tarty one and the goth?’ Barry looked impressed.
‘Yup,’ said Rob. ‘Didn't you wonder why they stopped coming in?’
‘I thought they'd just finished their course,’ said Barry.
‘Nope,’ said Rob, ‘they just couldn't cope with the rejection. Once you've had a taste of the Robster, everything else pales by comparison.’
‘That's right, Rob,’ said Mark, ‘and it's got nothing to do with the fact they found out what a bastard you are and never want to see you again.’
‘You're just jealous,’ laughed Rob.
‘I keep telling you,’ said Mark, ‘I'm happy to be single.’
‘Now that's where you are so wrong,’ said Rob. ‘It's not normal for someone to be celibate as long as you have been. You need to listen up and hone your seduction skills.’
‘And how should I do that?’ said Mark with amusement as he glanced round the pub. ‘Now you've chased the art students away, I don't exactly see them queuing up.’
‘Not here,’ said Rob. ‘You really must pay attention to your Uncle Rob and learn from a master. Dancing classes is where it's all at. There are tons of single women there. Come ballroom dancing with me and I guarantee you'll get laid.’
‘I do want to actually like a woman when I go to bed with her,’ said Mark. ‘Besides, I don't want anyone but Sam.’
‘Yes, you do,’ said Rob. ‘You just don't know it yet. Come on. Live dangerously for once.’
Mark sipped his pint and looked round the Hookers. Warning signs littered the pub. Paranoid Pete (catchphrase: ‘They're watching us, you know’) was swaying ominously over a pint. He appeared to be talking to a wall. In another corner he spotted Jim ‘n’ John, who were so well-known in the Hookers, people had forgotten which was which now. Their beer bellies (twice the size they'd been when Mark first met them) were the fruits of the time they'd both been drinking there. Oh God. This was his and Rob's fate if they weren't careful.
‘Oh go on then,’ said Mark. ‘I suppose it will make a change from a night in the pub.’
‘That's the attitude,’ said Rob, ‘and you're wrong about the song, you know.’
‘I am?’
‘Yup. I've got a much better theme tune for us.’
‘Which is?’
‘“The Boys are Back in Town”,’ said Rob, raising his pint.
Katie paused from cleaning the bath, keeping a weather ear out for Molly, who could still just about be relied on to nap in the morning, allowing Katie to get on with some household chores. She looked around at the chaos of the bathroom (one day her sons would eventually learn not to miss) and sighed.
Katie had neglected the bathroom of late, and it showed. Another by-product of living with a mother with her head in the clouds had been a childhood spent in chaos. Katie, a type-A personality if ever there was one, hated the messy disorder of the place she had called home, and had spent the best part of her adult life ensuring she didn't replicate it.
Katie had just about managed to keep ahead of the game with two children, but the arrival of Molly had made it that much harder. Sometimes she was up at six in order to get the vacuuming done, and she frequently went to bed at 1 a.m. having got stuck into mopping the kitchen floor. The sheer exhaustion of keeping up with it all was taking its toll, mainly in the bedroom, where she frequently crawled in so dog-tired that even if Charlie had shown any interest, she would have been completely unable to rise to the challenge. No wonder he'd lost interest. Perhaps all that they needed was for Katie to initiate things a bit more. Trying to cook a candlelit meal the other night hadn't worked, it was true, but that was because it had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. She should have planned it properly. She'd try to do it again, on a Saturday night, when the kids were in bed and Charlie didn't have to worry so much about work.
Feeling a bit better, Katie got up from her kneeling position and went to pick up the bleach so she could start cleaning the loo. Damn. She'd run out. She ran downstairs to the loo there, but that was empty too. When Molly got up, she'd have to go and get some more.
Molly conveniently chose that moment to wake up so Katie wrapped her up warmly, popped her in the buggy and walked down the road towards the High Street. She and Charlie hadn't quite afforded a house on the Hill, the posh part of town (much to Marilyn Caldwell's sniffy disgust). But Katie liked their house, it was homely and comfortable, and close to town, and even on cold February days like today she liked to walk.
The advantage of living in a small town like this was that you were never far from anywhere. The disadvantage was that sometimes it was like living under a microscope and everyone knew your business. Invariably, if Katie met someone she knew on the High Street she would be regaled with the sordid details of some petty scandal, or told where she and Charlie had just been on holiday. Once, an acquaintance had even come and congratulated her on a nonexistent pregnancy. It could be very stifling. There were days when she just longed to get on a train and go somewhere, anywhere. Just to get away from where she was.
It wasn't just the feeling of being trapped in domesticity that was bothering her either. Although Charlie had apologised for the comments he'd made about her weight, his words still rankled. Especially as she knew he was right. From a size ten in her pre-children days, Katie had ballooned up to sixteen at one point, and was just heading back towards a fourteen when she had fallen pregnant with Molly. Now, just over a year later, she was hovering around the sixteen mark, and her exhaustion meant the idea of ever getting any exercise in was a complete joke. Her smallish frame didn't help. If she had been tall and buxom, she could have carried the excess weight, but now she felt like a little round barrel. Her fair hair flopped languidly around her shoulders. For practical reasons it would be better to tie it up, but then she risked exposing her double chin. Charlie was right. She had let herself go.
As she approached the corner shop her eye was caught by a poster.
Tempted to Tango? Ready to Rumba? Can't wait to Waltz? Come to Isabella's Dancing Classes on Tuesday Evenings at 8–9.30 p.m. Beginners welcome
Tempted? Was she ever. In her early twenties, Katie had spent a happy summer learning how to waltz. She had been young, carefree, in her first job in London, where she knew no one. Week after glorious week in a summer, filled in her memory only with sunshine and happiness, Katie had gone along to dance, and had discovered that she was rather good at it. Then she had met Charlie through a mutual acquaintance. Nothing much had happened between them till she'd persuaded him to come dancing too. Katie was fond of saying he literally whisked her off her feet. And when the summer ended in the tragic and sudden death of Katie's beloved father, it had seemed natural to fall into Charlie's arms and seek comfort there. Within the year they'd been married, but somehow they'd never gone dancing again.
She stared at the notice. Perhaps she could give it a whirl. Maybe she should ask Charlie if he wanted to come along. She knew her mum would babysit for them, and it was certainly a way of spending more time together. Besides, if he made any objection, she could always say she was doing it to lose weight. That should shut him up.
‘Ballroom dancing? What, like on Strictly Come Dancing?’ Emily collapsed in fits of giggles on Katie's comfortable sofa at the idea. It always did her good to come here. Katie's house was so serene, a haven of ordered domesticity which provided a sharp contrast to the chaos of Emily's own life. She had no idea how much effort went into keeping a four-bedroom house inhabited by three males so tidy, but given how much mess Callum always seemed to make in her place, Emily guessed it was rather a lot.
‘Yes, why not?’ said Katie.
‘And you want me to come along?’ asked Emily. ‘What about Charlie?’
‘I did ask him,’ admitted Katie, ‘but he didn't want to come. Will you come with me? I used to go years ago and it's great fun.’
‘So you'll know what you're doing, then,’ said Emily. ‘Me, I've got two left feet.’
‘Oh go on,’ said Katie. ‘I need someone to keep me company. Anyway, what else are you going to do on a dull February evening?’
What else indeed? Emily thought over her options. Tuesdays usually involved getting dragged to one of Ffion's PR bashes, but Emily had scarcely seen her since Jasmine's book launch. Ffion was notoriously touchy, and had clearly taken offence that Emily had gone home early on that occasion. Not that Emily minded all that much. To be honest, it made a nice change not to have to hang around sweaty nightclubs. There was always Callum, of course. Although, since their loved-up weekend she'd scarcely seen him either. That, too, she was finding peculiarly restful. It was always exciting being around Callum, but also incredibly stressful. You never knew what to expect. And of late the excitement didn't seem to be counteracting the stress all that much. Which only left –
‘Is working late a good enough excuse?’ Emily knew the answer to that question.
‘No, it is not,’ said Katie firmly. ‘you've used that one on me far too often recently. It's about time you got a life.’
‘Yeah, you're right,’ replied Emily. ‘I must admit, the thought of doing an all-nighter at work doesn't hold the same appeal it once did.’
‘And what about Callum?’ Katie asked. ‘Does he hold the same appeal?’
Emily sighed and sipped her wine.
‘Now there you have me,’ she said. ‘I just don't know any more. When I'm with him it's great – well, most of the time. Although he was absolutely useless about Dad. He says he doesn't do that kind of stuff very well.’
‘Didn't that make you want to deck him?’ Katie said. ‘I don't think I could put up with that. Charlie was truly fantastic when my dad died. He took a week off work to be with me, and was really brilliant to my mum. And he spent weeks afterwards giving me little treats to cheer me up. Flowers, chocolates. That sort of thing. He even remembered the anniversary, and took time off to visit Dad's grave with me. I couldn't have got through it without him.’
‘I know, I know,’ said Emily. ‘You're right. Callum uses me horribly. And when I'm not with him I'm fretting about him not texting me, or worrying that he's flirting with some other woman. And then we go out and I'm anxious the whole time in case he gets too drunk and does something stupid or comes to meet me from work high as a kite.’
‘He hasn't, has he?’ Katie looked suitably horrified.
‘Once, although he promised not to do it again,’ admitted Emily, ‘but I can't really trust him not to.’
‘What you need’, declared Katie, ‘is a change of scene. Come on, you're always banging on about how much you hate going up to town. Spend some proper time here once in a while. Get to know people round here. It might do you good.’
‘I thought you hated it here,’ said Emily with some surprise.
