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  Sarah’s blood pressure was going off the scale. This woman was insufferable. He was going on it now as a matter of principle. Rebecca could sod off. ‘We’ll only go slowly. Look, he’s fine.’

  Zac gave a little moan just before throwing up his breakfast of oaty surprise all over Sarah’s dress. Which was no surprise to Rebecca, thought Sarah wryly, catching her know-it-all expression. She jumped off the roundabout and tucked Zac under one arm while she rummaged through her bag for a cloth.

  ‘That’s what he did last time, poor thing,’ said Rebecca handing her a baby wipe. ‘Bye bye.’

  She wiggled her fingers at Zac and carried Ava out of the park.

  Sarah fought the urge to fling the puke-soaked baby wipe at her back and concentrated on not bursting into tears instead.

  ‘Thank you, Rebecca, for ruining our lovely day,’ muttered Sarah under her breath as she made her way back towards home. Bloody village.

  Further down the hill on the grass verge, moving at a snail’s pace towards her, was a woman who, at first glance, appeared to be dragging a beige-coloured cushion along on a piece of string.

  ‘Carrie!’ Sarah waved merrily at her friend; never had she been so grateful to see a familiar face. ‘New dog? Or old dog, I should say.’

  She squatted down next to Zac and pointed out the dog to him. It was a mangy-looking thing. Sarah prayed that it didn’t have fleas.

  ‘I’m dog-walking Reuben for my neighbour,’ said Carrie. ‘I thought the exercise would do me good. Although I’m probably using more calories carrying him up hills than actually walking. You look frowny, what’s the matter?’

  Sarah groaned. ‘Everyone in this village is mean and unfriendly. Except you.’

  Carrie bit her lip and nodded over Sarah’s shoulder. She turned to find Abi right behind her, her lips twisted in a half-smile.

  ‘You heard that, didn’t you?’ Sarah cringed.

  How did she always manage to put her foot in it where Abi was concerned? She still hadn’t forgiven herself for her tactless comment at Fréd’s funeral which had made Abi cry. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Abi kissed first Carrie’s cheek and then Sarah’s. ‘Don’t worry, I felt a bit the same when we moved in. It takes a while to make friends.’

  Sarah exhaled with relief and the two women smiled at each other. Sarah’s heart went out to her. There was a brittleness to Abi’s smile and she wanted to ask how she was, how she was coping. On the other hand, everyone probably asked that; Abi could be sick of having to repeat the same old lines.

  ‘What are you up to this weekend?’ she asked instead.

  Abi smiled gratefully. ‘I’m supposed to be doing some sorting out before we go to Australia, but I feel as energetic as this old dog.’

  ‘Where’s Tom?’ Carrie asked.

  Reuben flopped down on the grass at the women’s feet much to Zac’s delight, who kicked his legs.

  Abi shook her head. ‘Playdate with a friend. Gosh, Sarah, Zac is growing up. He looks just like his dad. Tom’s the same.’

  Her eyes glittered with tears suddenly and she bent down to say hello to Zac, who reached out to grab her finger and pull it towards his mouth.

  ‘Someone’s hungry,’ Sarah said with a laugh. ‘Do you two fancy coming back for a coffee?’

  ‘I would,’ said Carrie, stooping to lift Reuben to his feet. ‘But one of us is incontinent. And for once, it’s not my bowels we’re talking about.’

  Sarah kissed Carrie goodbye and she ambled off, tugging the reluctant dog behind her.

  ‘Abi?’ Sarah bit her lip. ‘I could do with some adult company.’

  ‘Oh, me too,’ Abi groaned. ‘Sod the packing, I’d love a coffee.’

  They started walking again and chatted about the weather and Abi’s travel plans and how old Tom had been when he said ‘Mum’ for the first time, and a couple of minutes later they arrived at Rose Cottage.

  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing inside,’ Abi said with a smile as Sarah unlocked the door.

  ‘You’ve been here before, haven’t you?’ she said with a frown.

  She distinctly remembered Abi calling round with a bag of clothes for Zac a couple of weeks after he’d been born.

  Abi shook her head and grinned. ‘I only made it as far as the doorstep, you said the place was a tip and didn’t invite me in.’

  ‘Did I? Oh God, I’m sorry.’ Sarah squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Seriously, it’s no wonder I haven’t made many friends in this village.’

  How embarrassing. Thankfully, the cottage wasn’t too untidy this time; she had had a quick tidy-up this morning on the off chance that she might strike lucky and bag herself a potential friend at the park. God, she sounded desperate.

  Abi helped her lift the pushchair inside and laughed. ‘That and the fact you’re a busy working mum. Stop beating yourself up.’

  Sarah sighed. ‘You’re right, thank you. Yes. Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Coffee please. Shall I get Zac out of his coat?’

  Sarah dithered. Her eyes flicked to the hand-sanitizer on the worktop. She was supposed to be reaching out to her neighbours. Making them feel unclean was hardly going to endear her to anyone.

  Abi caught her looking and twinkled her eyes at her. ‘Don’t worry, I’m perfectly safe.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Sarah, darting into the kitchen before she noticed her furious blush. ‘I’ll get the kettle on.’

  ‘So come on,’ said Abi, once they had settled themselves in the living room with Zac playing happily on the floor. ‘What brought on that outburst earlier about us all being unfriendly?’

  Sarah sighed. ‘I thought that moving to a village would mean being part of a tight-knit community.’

  ‘And we’d all be part of some big happy family?’ Abi added, raising a cynical eyebrow.

  Sarah nodded. It felt a bit silly when she heard someone else say it. But that was exactly what she had imagined.

  ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way,’ said Abi, ‘but I think you’ve been watching too much TV.’

  Sarah immediately thought of St Mary Mead, where Miss Marple was invited out to tea on a daily basis only to discover a dead body in the parlour. Maybe Abi was right.

  ‘Dave and I wanted a change of tempo, to opt for a more peaceful life. And it is definitely quieter, because we haven’t made any friends to socialize with!’

  Abi took a sip of her tea before she spoke. ‘The whole peaceful life thing … that’s a myth. People’s lives are just as busy here as they are in the suburbs. They just have a longer commute to work.’

  That was certainly true for Sarah.

  ‘You’re right. I just need to establish my place in the social scene here, find a role for myself …’

  ‘There’s no conspiracy going on.’ Abi laughed. ‘There are no coffee mornings and church fêtes happening secretly while you’re at work. Either people take part in village events or they don’t. And many don’t. But if you do, you’ll meet plenty of people and you’ll soon feel like you fit in.’

  ‘I did try,’ said Sarah flatly. ‘I went to the mother and baby group but I didn’t make any friends. Quite the opposite, in fact.’

  She told Abi about her traumatic experience and how the other mothers had reacted when she’d said that she was cutting her maternity leave short.

  ‘I remember being an emotional wreck when Tom was born.’ Abi’s eyes softened. ‘The slightest thing made me cry and I was convinced that everybody was doing a better job of motherhood than me. And most women, at some time or another, feel the same.’

  Sarah swallowed. Abi was so accurate it was untrue; that was exactly how she felt.

  Abi stood up and held out a hand. ‘Come on, stand up.’

  She pulled her in front of the mirror above the fireplace.

  ‘Now what do you see?’

  Sarah pulled a face at her reflection. ‘One knackered mother.’

  ‘Ha, we’re all in that club.’ Abi laughed. ‘Go on. What else?’


  ‘Frizzy hair in need of a trim, bags under the eyes, smudged mascara, wobbly belly.’

  ‘Weird,’ said Abi, narrowing her eyes. ‘Because I see a beautiful girl, with lovely hair, a figure to die for, a delightful son, living in one of the prettiest cottages in the village with …’ she picked up their wedding photograph off the mantelpiece ‘… a gorgeous husband.’

  They smiled at each other in the mirror, Sarah’s throat burned with the effort of trying to keep her tears in check. Abi’s eyes were misting up too.

  ‘I’m very lucky,’ Sarah said quietly. She hesitated, wondering whether to mention Fréd.

  ‘And that’s what everyone else will see too. And coupled with the fact that you have a really good job – so good that they couldn’t do without you for long – do you know what I think?’

  Sarah shook her head.

  ‘The other mums are probably a tiny bit jealous.’

  ‘Jealous of me? I’m jealous of them.’ Sarah’s cheeks coloured, realizing for the first time how true this was. ‘With their playdates and their precious bonding time and their choice to embrace motherhood as the most important job a woman can do.’

  Abi sat back down and cradled her mug. ‘I gave up my career when Tom was born. It seemed the best thing to do. Fréd works …’ Her voice faltered. ‘Fréd worked crazy hours at Cavendish Hall. If I hadn’t have stopped work we’d never have seen each other. But was it the right thing to do?’ She shrugged. ‘It seemed like it at the time. But I bet you enjoy the adult company, the chance to be a professional woman, rather than simply Mummy, for a few hours a day.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Sarah acknowledged.

  As much as she loved her time with Zac, she relished the challenges that she faced on a daily basis at the office. Apart from her encounters with HMRC.

  Sarah looked down at Zac clutching a soft rabbit to his chest, his eyes starting to droop. She got the best of him really: first thing in the morning when he was full of energy and bath time, which they both loved, followed by a story and a goodnight kiss.

  ‘I feel like I’m missing out, though,’ she said quietly, ‘and I can never get that time back.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Abi carefully, ‘going back to work can be the easier option. If I hadn’t stopped working, I’d have something else in my life to focus on now instead of just seeing the space that Fréd has left behind.’

  Her bottom lip wobbled and Sarah quickly set her mug down and sat beside Abi, drawing her into a hug.

  ‘I’m sorry, Abi. What am I like going on about my own problems, when you’re grieving for Fréd?’

  ‘Don’t apologize.’ She sat up and managed a smile, brushing the tears from her eyes. ‘You’re a breath of fresh air, actually,’ she said half-laughing. ‘I’m fed up of people tiptoeing round me. And don’t be afraid to be proud of your career. There is no one way to bring up a child. Just do it your way, do what feels right.’

  Sarah knelt down in front of the now dozing Zac, held her hand to his forehead and loosened his clothing.

  Abi was right. There was nothing to be ashamed of about wanting to do well, to be the best you could be. And she was a good – no, make that an excellent – accountant. As much as she adored her son, she couldn’t simply give it all up for motherhood. She just couldn’t.

  Chapter 9

  Jo propped the three mood boards up against the wall in her office and took a step back. A tingling sensation shot up the length of her spine until even her scalp felt excited.

  They looked fantastic.

  Each of the large pieces of card was covered with catwalk photographs, swatches of leather and fabrics, ribbons, buttons, colour squares and, of course, Cesca’s design sketches.

  They had taken Jo hours of research, snipping, rearranging and general fiddling, but they were done. Her stomach felt like she was on a roller coaster; the new collection was ready. She had promised Ed Shaw that she’d have something ready to present to him by mid-April and they had made it. Just.

  Jo turned to her desk and picked up a shoebox. The new box design was a work of art in itself. All Patrick’s idea. He had suggested making the box look like a luxury suitcase with the new Josephine Gold logo printed on to a luggage label. It was a great concept and it worked. No woman was going to throw away one of these shoeboxes.

  It had been Karen from Payroll who came up with the name: ‘Call it Josephine, Jo’s Sunday name,’ she had said. ‘It’s all about a new generation of Gold’s Footwear and that’s what she is. Simple.’

  Jo resisted for about five seconds. Seeing her name on the logo gave her a tiny thrill every time she saw it. For the first time since taking over from her dad, she felt as if she was truly putting her stamp on the company.

  Jo had gone over and over Cesca’s sketchpad and had eventually settled on the most commercial styles. They had then worked like demons to refine and modify them, creating shoes and boots that suited the Gold’s brand but had the quirkiness that Shaw’s was looking for.

  There were to be three collections: English Rose, Carnaby and Bond. Each had six styles and was available in three colourways. It wasn’t a huge range, but it was a starting point and as Patrick pointed out, it was big enough until they got the go-ahead from Shaw’s.

  Jo turned to her desk where three piles of boxes were stacked and ready. She opened one from the English Rose range and took out a mink nubuck leather court shoe. Square-heel and round-toe, a row of tiny suede roses edged the front. Not really Jo’s thing, but it was absolutely gorgeous.

  Gold’s had never had anything so delicate in its range before. She tucked the shoe back into its box and carefully wrapped it in tissue paper.

  It was Carrie, she realized with a jolt, glancing back at the mood board, English Rose reminded her of Carrie. The colours were muted and discreet, just the way she dressed. And each one was embellished with three-dimensional flowers, from huge suede roses to small leather daisies. She seemed to have a thing about flowers. Plus, the styles were feminine and understated, and that was just like Carrie too.

  She took the lid off a Carnaby style shoebox and it screamed Sarah at her. Jo couldn’t believe that she hadn’t noticed this before. The collection had a kookiness to it that Jo knew Ed was going to go mad for. Primary colours, contrasting fabrics and even floral soles, Carnaby was slightly off the wall. Sarah would look fantastic in these with her vintage style of dressing. Jo smiled to herself; she had never met a less stereotypical accountant.

  So was Bond her collection, then, she thought wryly, lifting a box from the final pile. She traced a finger around her name on the logo. It was more edgy than the other two; monochrome and metallic, harder textures, spiky heels. She shrugged. No use soft-soaping it. That definitely was Jo’s nature.

  She could see herself ordering every style in Bond and possibly in more than one colour. She couldn’t wait to have production samples. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this excited about Gold’s Footwear. It was a million miles from anything they’d done before.

  Jo felt a shiver of apprehension. What would her dad think about this new direction? Every new addition in the past had been simply a modification to the existing range. And God knows what he would say when he saw the budget to develop her new collection.

  She gave herself a shake. Get a grip; she was in charge now and it was up to her to turn the business round. Ed Shaw was the one she had to impress, not Bob Gold.

  She was ready.

  Tomorrow she and Patrick would present the collection to Shaw’s in Nottingham. But today was the staff meeting, time to show the whole team the finished product. Jo picked up the boards and the prototypes and set off for the warehouse, praying for a positive reception.

  The following morning, while Patrick stowed all the samples in the boot, Jo diligently brushed what looked like flapjack crumbs off the passenger seat. If she got chocolate on the seat of these skin-tight trousers, they were going to have words.

  ‘If I’d known your car was such
a skip, we would have gone in mine.’

  She gave Patrick a stern look and climbed in.

  ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ said Patrick, not looking very sorry. ‘Holly had to eat in the car last night on the way to swimming practice. I apologize on her behalf.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Jo, unable to stay cross at her god-daughter for long. Holly was a total bundle of fun and Jo adored her. Also the thought of Patrick valiantly trying to feed his eleven-year-old on the run and get her to her after-school activities gave her a funny feeling in her stomach which she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She shook them away and gave him a sideways glance.

  ‘Glad to see you’ve made an effort in the fashion department anyway, McGregor. Ed Shaw is into his designer brands; we don’t want to let the side down.’

  Patrick rolled his eyes. ‘So he’s – how do you normally put it – hot, then?’

  ‘Might be.’ Jo pressed her lips together and focused her gaze out of the window as Patrick started the engine and pulled out of Gold’s car park.

  ‘Single?’

  ‘Er … no.’

  Patrick sighed and shook his head.

  ‘Oh, give it a rest.’

  He was like a big brother sometimes. Annoying and judgemental. And, she suspected, a big romantic at heart; he couldn’t resist the odd dig about her casual approach to relationships. It was all right for him; he hadn’t had Bob Gold drumming it into him for the last sixteen years about the dangers of ‘settling down’.

  She examined him out of the corner of her eye. His dress sense wasn’t in the same league as Ed Shaw but it was a major improvement on yesterday. Then, his trousers had been so short they had appeared to be having an argument with his shoes. His hair looked nice today too – tamed into submission. He had thick, wavy hair; in the hands of a good woman, he could be quite attractive.

  Since his divorce last year Patrick had gradually become more mismatched and, she didn’t like to say unkempt, but … well, unkempt. She had been contemplating having a subtle word with him, but had so far put it off, not quite able to find the right words or the right moment, aware that there was a line between them now that shouldn’t be crossed. And of course, she knew he had a lot on his plate: working, looking after Holly, moving into a smaller house. Thankfully, the subtle word might not be necessary any more. He looked really good.