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Chapter Four

Driving back to Little Biddington, Kate realised that the encounter with Frances and Mrs Allen had added more fuel to her growing inferiority complex. A condition she’d been completely unfamiliar with before having children. In Life Before Kids, she’d been confident in her own skin, known what she’d wanted out of life and mapped out clear routes to achieve her goals. Since becoming a mother, she’d never been less certain of her abilities. Nor, with the Andrew/Domenique issue pressing down on her like a ton of bricks, had she ever been more scared. What she wouldn’t give to have her parents around right now. An impossible wish, given her mum had passed away two years ago. She’d been a wonderful, capable, level-headed woman, who’d complemented her highly intelligent, but slightly scatty, husband perfectly. She’d also been a tremendous help with Jemima when she’d been a baby, and had been so looking forward to the arrival of the twins. She’d only been acquainted with them for a matter of weeks, however, before she’d dropped down dead with a heart attack. With that unexpected trauma – plus the stress of two new babies – Kate had felt adrift. And adding to her worries had been her dad, who’d recently retired from his job as the village GP to spend more time with his wife. After her death, he’d retreated into himself, slamming the door against the world, shunning interest in everything.

Much to Kate’s amazement and relief, though, a few months ago he’d teamed up with Eleanor – owner of the village newsagent’s – and the pair had flitted off to sample life in Spain. Other than melting in the heat, they appeared to be having a great time. And, most importantly, rubbing along well together. Which led Kate’s musings neatly back to her own relationship and the depressing fact that, along with almost every other part of her life, it, too, appeared to be failing dismally.

To try and bolster her flagging spirits, she steered her thoughts to the one part of her life where she could claim some success: the veterinary practice. She’d set it up when she and Andrew had first moved to Little Biddington. From the refurbishing of the building, to watching the business flourish – her skills and caring reputation attracting clients from miles around – she’d loved every minute of it. It had been the culmination of a childhood dream. One she’d followed since the age of nine. During her career she’d had some amazing times, met some fantastic people, achieved some incredible results and witnessed the best and worst of animal ownership. But that was then and this was now. Could she imagine going back to it all? She didn’t think so. She’d lost the confidence to carry out the intricate, life-saving operations she’d once taken effortlessly in her stride. And she’d lost her enthusiasm. Which made her think that perhaps it was time to sell up. But, with so many other things on her mind – including the breakdown of her marriage – she felt incapable of making such major decisions. No, she concluded – as she pulled up outside the house and the twins began chanting “Old MacDonald” – as she had no idea which direction her life would be taking, now would not be a sensible time to sell. Which meant she should stop faffing about, bite the bullet and organise a locum. And as time was running out, she should do it today.

Andrew phoned that afternoon, just as Kate was attempting to persuade the twins that they really did need to pick up Jemima as she really couldn’t live at Cecilia’s house.

‘How’ve they been today?’ he asked.

‘The usual.’

‘Back to normal?’

‘I think smothering the rocking horse in yoghurt constitutes them being back to normal.’

‘Right. Good.’

‘I rang the agency to organise another locum for the practice.’

‘Oh.’

‘I thought it might be a bit short notice, but they seem confident they can find someone.’

‘Good. Did you ring about the dishwasher?’

‘No. I’ll do it now.’

‘Great. I’ll see you tomorrow night then.’

‘Yes,’ replied Kate, nerves already knotting at the prospect. ‘You will.’

She ended the call and heaved a despondent sigh. Over the week he’d been away, Andrew had phoned every day to enquire about the children and the dishwasher, but not once had he enquired about her.

Resorting to the old faithful choc-ice bribe to persuade the terrible twosome to climb into the car, Kate eventually drove to Cornfield to collect Jemima from Cecilia’s house.

The only child of piano teacher Frances and dentist husband Jeremy, Cecilia resided in a huge, built-to-their-own-specifications new-build, in its own grounds. Unlike the front of the Ellis residence, which consisted of a scrappy bit of lawn, a smattering of discarded toys and a dead twig in a pot (a nice tree in its former, regularly watered life), this one boasted clusters of beautifully potted blooms, a garden gnome poised at a keyboard, a gleaming “Welcome to our home” sign and windows so sparklingly clean you had to don sunglasses to look at them.

Jeremy answered the door, bearing a smile almost as dazzling as the windows. It dipped significantly when he spotted the ice cream-smeared twins in the car.

‘I’ll get Jemima,’ he muttered with notable panic.

As he darted inside, Frances glided into his place – still in her floral skirt and lacy white blouse, but minus the frilly apron Kate wouldn’t have been surprised to see around her waist.

‘Has Jemima been okay?’ she asked.

‘Yes. Fine.’ Frances tossed an appalled look in the direction of the car, where “Old MacDonald” was cranking up again. ‘The invitations are currently at the printers, but I might as well tell you that we’re having Cecilia’s birthday party at the house this year. Two o’clock on Sunday, the fifteenth.’

Kate’s heart sank. Was this the latest thing – having kids’ party invitations professionally printed? And having parties in the house? Evidently it must be. Not that she could imagine doing either – ever. ‘Great. Thank you for the invite,’ she said.

‘No siblings,’ Frances swiftly added.

‘Oh, the twins will be disappointed.’ Kate turned her head to the car in time to witness Milo hurling his ice-cream wrapper out of the window. To Frances’s horror, it landed on the piano-playing gnome.

Just as she’d struggled to coax the twins into the car, Kate now had an equally difficult task in persuading Jemima. Only this time with an audience of Jeremy, Frances and mini Frances – aka Cecilia – lined up at the door like a soap-powder advert.

‘Can’t I just stay here?’ Jemima whimpered.

‘No, darling. We have to go home.’

‘But I don’t want to. The twins are there and I hate them.’

Kate lifted her head and flashed the soap-powder trio her most winsome smile. ‘Kids, eh?’ she tutted, with an emphasised eye-roll.

The trio gazed blankly back.

Kate bent back down to her daughter and whispered, ‘If you don’t get in the car this minute, Milo is going to need another poo. In Cecilia’s house.’

Jemima let out an excruciating howl before scrambling into the vehicle.

‘Bye then,’ called Kate, in a voice two thousand times cheerier than she felt. Hauling herself into the driver’s seat, she waved effusively as the twins began singing “The Farmer’s in His Den”, and Jemima wailed at them to shut up.

Three stupefied faces stared back.

‘So, did you have a nice time?’ Kate ventured, back at the house where she could hear herself think.

‘Yes,’ muttered Jemima.

‘What did you have to eat?’

‘Carrot, pepper and celery batons with sweet potato dip, mini pittas with mozzarella, pesto and tomatoes, and little apple and cinnamon muffins.’

Kate blinked. Blimey. Whatever happened to chicken nuggets and jelly? ‘That sounds nice.’

‘It was. And after tea I listened to Cecilia practising her violin.’

‘Fantastic,’ said Kate, thinking it sounded anything but. ‘Would you like to learn the violin?’

‘No. If I had one, Milo would break it.’

‘He wouldn’t.’

‘He would. He breaks everything. I wish I could live at Cecilia’s house.’

Kate sighed as she regarded her son. Right on cue – on the subject of breaking things – he broke wind.

‘But just think of all the fun you’d miss,’ she’d replied, as Jemima, once again, began to cry.

Two hours later, the children tucked up in bed, Kate followed them. It was only as she crawled under the duvet that she realised yet another day had passed without her calling the dishwasher repairman.