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Chapter 2

Before I take a trolley, I glance in my purse. I’ve always been careful with spending but there’s so-we-can-have-a-holiday careful and there’s so-we-can-afford-to-pay-the-bills careful. We’re now in the latter stages of careful and have been since Mike left, but whilst my budget is a lot less than it used to be, I can make this work! I take a small trolley so I’m not tempted to over-buy but realise there’s nowhere to put Henry, so I swap for a bigger one and thrust it through the doors, promising myself I won’t shove a giant multipack of Walkers crisps in.

You can get some good bargains if you look hard enough. I make a few sacrifices and choose all the low-budget supermarket stuff but it’s mostly fine and half the time it’s the same as the more expensive stuff. As I’m browsing the toilet paper, a familiar voice stops me dead in my tracks.

‘Stephanie, is that you?’

‘Emily?’ The sight of her perfectly coiffured blonde hair floods me with emotion. Since the divorce, I’ve hardly seen any of my friends. I assumed they’d rally round me with giant tubs of ice cream and talk of what a loser Mike was anyway, but they all got sort of distant and quiet. They probably wanted to give me time.

I walk over, arms wide, and hug her. She doesn’t respond; instead, she goes rigid and I end up awkwardly clutching her expensive-looking, blazer-clad torso. She smells of something posh and likely unpronounceable. I pull back.

‘Is everything okay?’ I ask, taking in her twisted expression, her microbladed eyebrows pinned into two sharp points by her Botox.

‘Yeah, it’s good to see you, Stephanie.’ She hitches her bag up her shoulder and clutches the strap like she’s ready to leave.

‘Do you want to go in the café and get a cup of tea?’ I blurt before she has chance to. I know I sound a bit desperate and she never really was the supermarket café and tea type. Thinking back, it was always a macchiato in some fancy coffee place. I’d never realised before but perhaps I wasn’t the supermarket café type either. I suppose having a husband with a generous income meant I could afford for Ocado to bring my shopping and I at least had time to shower before venturing out so the idea of going somewhere nice didn’t make me feel prickly and uncomfortable as it does now.

She glances at her watch. ‘Sorry, Steph, my two hours parking will be up soon. It’s been great to see you though. We’ll catch up soon.’

She turns to leave again and there’s no way she’s been in here for two hours. She has a basket with a solitary pack of smoked salmon in. She might be a picky eater but unless she’s brought in sniffer dogs and examined every pack with a magnifying glass several times before searching the warehouse for the most exquisite salmon on offer, she’s lying to me.

‘When?’ I ask after her. When she turns, she pouts a little in a faux sympathetic way.

‘Soon.’

I’m about to say okay when something inside me snaps. ‘Are you ghosting me?’

‘What are you talking about?’ She lets out a small puff of humour.

‘That’s what it’s called, isn’t it? When someone you thought you were close to vanishes without a trace, ignores your texts and makes you feel like you don’t exist and stuff. It’s the modern name for ignoring someone.’

Her features soften. ‘No, hon, nothing like that. I’m not ghosting you. It’s just …’

‘What?’

Her body sags but her Pilates-conditioned frame soon pulls taut again. ‘Since your divorce, Bradley and I have felt a bit in the middle of you and Mike. I wanted to comfort you and he wanted to go and spend time with Mike. It was awkward so we just decided to stay out of it all – y’know, take a step back. You understand, don’t you?’

I go to nod but catch myself and shake my head. ‘You mean that because you feel a little bit awkward, you’re ditching me? At the time when I need my friends the most?’

She looks around. My high-pitched squeak must have attracted some attention but I’m too furious to care. ‘Not ditching you,’ she whispers, ‘just giving you time and staying impartial.’

‘Mike wanted to divorce me! Some kind of midlife crisis or whatever. I was happy. If anything, you should be ditching him. Not that I want you to ditch anyone, just, someone to have a glass of wine every now and then with would have been nice.’

She shakes her head. ‘This is exactly what we didn’t want.’

‘We? We as in you and Bradley or we as in all of you – the whole gang?’

Silence.

‘I see.’ My voice falters. I’m vaguely aware that Henry seems to have picked something up off the shelf nearby. ‘In that case, enjoy your smaller group size. In fact, invite Mike back into your dinner party gang. I don’t want to be part of your pretentious circle anyway. There, your difficult decision has been made.’ I shove the trolley but it’s heavy and stiff. Now that I’ve lost momentum, it takes much more effort to move it than I’d prepared for.

‘Steph, don’t be like that,’ she says as I shove the trolley one more time, and mercifully it starts to move but not before Henry squirts a tube of something all over me. I recognise the torn yellow and blue box from my pregnancy days. Preparation H. I’m not quick enough to miss Emily’s look of disgust.

Hot needles stab my eyeballs as I walk away. I don’t look back and Emily doesn’t call after me. I make my way through the checkout as quickly as possible, for once thankful for the checkout lady’s super speed. When I leave the shop, I let out a heavy breath.

When I’m home and the shopping is put away, I stick the kettle on. I’ve got a life to sort out, children to raise and a house to run. I haven’t got time to worry about Emily and the rest of my so-called friends. If they’re uncomfortable staying friends with me, sod them all. Henry is asleep in his crib and my tea is hot and brewed to perfection. The washing machine has finished but emptying it can wait. I have to take these moments of bliss as and when I can because I never quite know when the next one will be.

After my tea, I take the opportunity to use the loo in peace. One thing they don’t tell you about having kids is that the toilet becomes a sort of sanctuary of bliss. A few minutes of self-preserving loo-time can do wonders for your sanity and can mean the difference between being able to take a few deep breaths and get on with things, versus completely losing your composure and letting all hell break lose. Unfortunately, as most parents are aware – the little buggers nearly always find you in there. With Ralph and Ava at school, and Henry asleep, this is my perfect moment – I even have a game of Candy Crush. I’m in heaven. That is until I finish, and realise there’s no loo roll.

‘Shit!’ Pardon the pun. ‘Bloody Emily!’ Thanks to her catching me off-guard, I didn’t pick any up!

I waddle, with my jeans around my ankles, to the changing bag in the hall and then back to the downstairs loo where I clean up and bag the baby wipes because the last thing I need is a blocked soil pipe (that isn’t a euphemism).

When Henry wakes up, I change and feed him and pop him into the pram.

‘We’re going for a walk,’ I say, smiling at his podgy face.

As I’m wrestling the pram down the steps to the pavement, my phone rings.

‘Mike?’ My heart plummets. He’ll be welching on father duties, no doubt – he never calls otherwise.

‘Hi, Stephanie, listen do you think the kids would be okay with me picking them up from yours on Saturday morning instead of from school on Friday?’ Almost!

Yes, they’ll mind – their entire week revolves around the exciting things that Daddy will do with them on the weekend. It’s their break away from boring Mummy and her homework schedule and reading routine.

‘They’ll be disappointed,’ I say, not wanting to lay on a guilt trip just in case his mother is dying or something. Side note – the best thing about divorce is that you also get rid of the mother-in-law, not that I hope she’s dying. The physical distance and absence of obligation is enough.

He sighs dramatically. ‘I can get them, it’s just that I’ve had this awful week at work and it’s only going to get worse over the next few days. I’ll probably have to work late Friday and then there will be team drinks after …’

Ding ding ding. There we have it. Twenty-one-year-old wannabe Mike fancies a night out with his work friends. Poor cherub!

‘Whatever you think is best,’ I say. Yes, I’m being passive-aggressive (one of the things he threw against me in the divorce – he just couldn’t take it anymore) but, well, I don’t care because ninety-nine per cent of my passive-aggressive instances would never have occurred if he wasn’t being such a twat in the first place.

‘Stephanie, don’t make me feel worse than I already do. It’s hard juggling a job like mine and, well, you don’t work.’

And there it is. I. Don’t. Work. Another reason for his emotional stress even though he was the one who told me to give up my job and be a stay-at-home mum because he earns a bloody fortune and the kids need a parent around. Turns out that’s not at all true in Mikelandia where kids raise themselves.

‘Yet,’ I say, and he laughs nervously. I could rant about how being a one-woman feeding, cleaning, bathing, clothing, emotional support machine is a full-time job. I don’t because he’ll come back with some retort about how he has to fund us all, then things could get quite nasty – I’ve been there before. I know plenty of single mothers work but we’ve built a life this way and unpicking it is a process.

‘So, you are looking for work?’ He sounds hopeful.

‘Of course I am,’ I say, and it’s true. I am, but who wants to hire a bookkeeper whose only bookkeeping experience in the last ten years has been neatly stacking nursery rhyme books and filling in reading logs?

‘That’s great, Stephanie.’ His voice tinkles like a fruit machine dispensing pound coins.

‘Is that everything? I’m sort of busy.’

‘Henry running rings around you is he? That’s my boy.’

Oh fuck off! ‘Something like that.’

‘See you Saturday morning then, about elevenish?’

Because we can’t do without a proper lie-in on a Saturday, can we?

‘Fine, see you then.’ I end the call and stare at my phone. I don’t even know why I have the thing because all it does is bring misery.

When Henry and I get to the Tesco local, I grab a packet of toilet roll but before I get to the till, I panic and check my purse. I paid cash at the supermarket earlier and I gave the cashier everything I had in note form. I rummage through the coins. There’s a queue behind me but I just need ten more pence. I dig deep and catch a large coin between two of my fingers. Yes! A small victory. But the victory is short-lived when I pull it out and it’s a murky brown two-pence piece.

‘Sorry,’ I say, coming out of the queue. I walk back to the toilet paper section hoping for a budget version of the normal own-brand stuff I’d picked but the only alternative is Andrex and I’m not exactly made of money. As I stare at the toilet paper that I’m eight pence away from, everything comes crashing down on me. The divorce, going it alone, juggling the kids, budgeting, my deserting friends, the fact I can’t get to sleep at night, and everything knots together in my stomach before propelling itself into my throat like a grenade. My eyes water and my chest heaves. A loud sob escapes and before I even realise it’s me making that awful wailing sound, a firm hand lands on my shoulder.

‘Stephanie?’

I turn my head and, through watery eyes, see a lady who I recognise as a neighbour from across the street. She’s a little shorter than me with frizzy brown hair that she always has tied back. She bears all the hallmarks of a frazzled mum; for starters, her white and navy striped top is inside out.

‘Janey?’ I say uncertainly. She nods and smiles warmly.

‘Are you okay?’

I nod to give myself time to recompose. ‘I’m just having one of those days and now I’ve come here for loo roll and I’m eight pence short – I should have checked my purse before I left but—’

‘Shh, hon, listen, we’ll go and pay for this and then I’m taking you home for a cup of tea.’

I don’t know what it is about the warmth and kindness of this woman who hardly knows me, but it sets me off crying again.

‘Why don’t you go and get some fresh air and I’ll sort this.’ She prises the loo roll out of my hand and I might be mistaken but I think she shoves me a little towards the door. Outside, the cold air hits me like a slap in the face. My head starts to pound like an embarrassed little man is trying to dig himself a hole in my grey matter. I contemplate scurrying off but she knows where I live and I really need that loo roll.

‘Here you go,’ she says, handing me a carrier bag. ‘Right, your place or mine?’ Despite living across the road from one another for years, we’ve never said more than a quick hello, or given knowing glances as we’ve struggled to get the kids into their impossible car seats, but here she is offering me support. I suppose I was always busy before the divorce, people-pleasing the likes of Emily, and ever since Mike left I’ve been so frazzled myself, I’ve barely acknowledged anyone. The fact she’s doing this for me sends a warmth so strong through my body, it almost sets me off crying again.

Ten minutes later we’re in my kitchen and I’m apologising for the mess whilst cursing myself for not tidying up earlier.

She bats away my comment with her hand. ‘Listen, I’ve always thought there was something suspicious about super tidy people – I mean, where do they find the time to be constantly cleaning? They’re missing out on something somewhere.’

I laugh. I like this woman.

‘Anyway,’ she says as she fills the kettle. ‘Do you want to talk about anything? I’m a good listener and have a few hours to kill.’

Something about her round face and soft brown eyes compels me to want to open up. I rarely get to speak to other adults, excluding Mike of course but he doesn’t count.

When I try to pinpoint the things that are getting to me, I can’t. It’s not the divorce – I’ve had time to come to terms with that. The hardest part of the divorce wasn’t losing Mike, it was losing the family unit I’d always yearned for. Growing up without a mum and having a dad who was always away left me longing for a proper family. I never grew up wanting to be a nurse or a pop star. I grew up wanting to be a mum and a wife. The loss of that dream is what I’m mourning for, but the version Mike and I had was far from perfect. Today I think it’s just life that’s getting to me though. It all sounds so trivial when I try to verbalise it – people struggle with so much more.

‘I’m just being daft. I’m having a bad day and too many things got on top of me at once.’

‘I know that feeling.’ She uses the teapot off the shelf by the window and I daren’t tell her it was a gift that I keep for ornamental purposes because she’s being so kind. ‘Happens to me at least once a day. The kids run me ragged and my other half is as much use as a marshmallow mallet. I love them and all, but I do cherish the time I get when they’re at school.’

When she places the mugs of tea down, she sits opposite me at the kitchen table and takes a sip. ‘The kids giving you grief too?’ She says the statement like a question.

‘Something like that. They’re not especially bad; it’s just the collective nature of them.’

‘Ahh, the many-headed beast, though I only have two – you’ve got your work cut out with three. Listen, it’s not my place to say and tell me to shut up if you wish but I heard about you and Mike splitting up and just wanted to say I’m sorry and I’m here if you need help or fancy a natter.’

The kindness Janey is showing me is almost enough to set me off blubbing again. I can’t even remember a time when somebody showed me this level of empathy.

‘That’s so kind – thank you. Today has just been a special kind of horrendous … I didn’t sleep. I never sleep.’

‘Oh, honey, I know that feeling. All of life’s problems seem to want solving the minute you close your eyes.’

I nod but it isn’t that. I can’t tell her the real reason I don’t sleep well. Instead, I find myself filling Janey in on everything else – right from Ava refusing to get dressed and Emily ditching me. Instead of telling me I’m being a drama queen, like Mike would have, or switching off like my old friends did, she listens and pulls sympathetic faces in all the right places. When I’ve finished, I feel several pounds lighter.

‘And to top it off,’ I add, ‘I was parent-shamed by the kids’ school this morning.’ I find myself laughing. It’s euphoric and unfamiliar.

‘Parent-shamed! We’re going to get along well. Tell me more?’ She rests her head on one hand, her elbow on the table.

She laughs as I tell her there were no kids about when I entrusted my two to walk in unaccompanied. ‘Honestly, I think some jobsworth sits monitoring the CCTV just to try and catch a parent out!’ I shake my head. ‘More tea?’

As I go to fill the kettle, Henry starts to cry. ‘Sorry.’

‘I’ll do the tea – you see to Henry,’ she says.

A few hours pass quickly and before I know it, it’s time to pick the kids up.

‘Right, I’d better get going. I’m taking the car today as my eldest, Tom, has a friend coming for tea and he’s a bit of a whirlwind, this little guy, so I don’t fancy walking, but we totally should try and walk together a few days a week. Great for the bum!’ she says, slapping herself on the bottom for emphasis. I laugh.

‘And listen, my other half, Jimmy, works away a lot so I know how tough it can be on your own. When he’s here he’s always too tired to take any notice of me anyway, so if you’re ever stuck for someone to take the kids to school or look after them while you go on a hot date, just ask – if I’m free to help I will do,’ she says, giving me a pointed look that suggests she means it.

My body fills with warmth. ‘Thank you – same here, although with you being married and me being a hot mess, I can’t see either of us going on a hot date any time soon.’ I chuckle but the reality is, I haven’t once considered dating. The thought of going through all of that early relationship stuff terrifies me, and besides, I have three children to think about.

‘You never know.’ She winks and I can’t quite tell if she means that I could be dating one day, or she could. Either way, I like Janey a lot.