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  ‘Well done you,’ said Sarah. ‘Do you mind if I write that down?’ The scruffy notebook came back out of hiding.

  Carrie caught Jo’s eye. ‘That probably doesn’t sound very busy to you,’ she stammered. ‘If I’m totally honest, I want to work again. But it’s been such a long time that I don’t think anyone would employ me.’

  ‘What would you like to do?’ asked Sarah. ‘What’s your dream job?’

  ‘Caterer!’ suggested Jo. ‘You’re an amazing cook.’

  Carrie shook her head. ‘I don’t want a job where I’m surrounded by food all day long, the temptation would be too much. Besides, Alex is already in catering and I think one of us in the industry is enough. I’ve been dog-walking for a couple of people, not for money, and I’ve quite enjoyed it actually.’

  Jo bit her tongue. Dog-walker? Carrie could do so much more. What a waste of potential.

  Sarah looked doubtful. ‘I’m not sure you could make a career out of dog-walking in Woodby. Everyone around here seems to love walking their own pets. Oh!’ She sat up straight. ‘I’ve got it – child-minding!’

  Carrie’s face darkened, but Sarah continued undaunted, counting off the benefits on her fingers. ‘You’re great with Zac, your house is definitely big enough, it would keep you busy and active …’

  Carrie shook her head.

  ‘Why not?’ said Jo. ‘Self-employed, independent, hours to suit … It could work.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘Honestly, Carrie, you should think about it. There are loads of preschool children in the village and it would be good to have an alternative to nursery.’

  ‘No!’ Carrie yelled, slamming her palms down on the table. She stood up roughly, knocking over one of the glasses of bluebells. Sarah gasped and Jo quickly fished her mobile phone out of the pool of water.

  ‘I’d be a terrible mother and I’d be a terrible childminder. You know nothing about me!’ The diners at the next table swivelled their heads round. Carrie flushed bright red and lowered her voice. ‘I can’t look after children. Not my own, not other people’s. So just drop it, will you?’

  Without another word, Carrie grabbed her bag and fled.

  ‘That was a bit intense,’ whispered Sarah. ‘What do you think’s behind it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Jo thoughtfully, ‘but I think there’s more to the meek and mild Carrie Radley than meets the eye.’

  Chapter 12

  Sarah unwound her long hand-knitted scarf that she’d got from the Fairtrade stall in town and stuffed it up the sleeve of her coat. Home at last. She gave a little shiver of relief; she couldn’t wait to give Zac a cuddle.

  She had spent all day at work counting down the hours until she could leave with Jo’s hurtful words circling round in her head.

  If you were that bothered, you’d stay at home.

  The whole evening at the pub last night had been a disaster; everyone snapping at each other, no one taking the wish list seriously and then Carrie’s shock exit. Sarah wouldn’t be surprised if she never saw Jo again.

  She stepped blindly over the pile of trainers in the hall and pushed past the washing basket.

  She stopped in front of the hall mirror. An angry pulse pounded at her right temple. She looked grumpy. She felt grumpy. The problem was that wherever she was, she felt like a failure: she wasn’t the fabulous mother she thought she’d be and she wasn’t the competent professional she wanted to be either. Jo didn’t understand what it was like to juggle a home, a career, a baby. She’d even admitted when they first met that she was a workaholic. What the flippin’ heck did she know about it?

  ‘I’m doing nothing wrong,’ she whispered to her reflection. ‘I’m a mother and a woman who cares about her career. I’m doing my best. So there.’ She poked her tongue out at her reflection and went in search of the comfort of her family.

  In the kitchen, Zac was banging on his high chair with a spoon and Dave was making aeroplane noises.

  She placed a hand on Dave’s shoulders and kissed the top of Zac’s head.

  ‘Hello, beautiful boy.’ His fine baby hair tickled her nose.

  She peered into Zac’s bowl. ‘That’s very … orange.’

  Zac’s face was smeared with his dinner, as was the high chair and his bib. Dave had some in his hair and the red quarry floor tiles hadn’t escaped either. Or the kitchen wall.

  She kissed her husband lightly on the lips. ‘Hello, beautiful man.’

  ‘It’s butternut squash and parsnip. I made a huge batch and froze it today. High in vitamin A and calcium, you know,’ said Dave, trying to negotiate a clear path with the spoon to his son’s mouth.

  She didn’t know. A wave of self-doubt washed over her. She was missing out. On cooking Zac’s food, on seeing his first attempt at crawling, on check-ups with the health visitor … Her son was growing up without her. The thought struck her as viciously as if someone had hit her in the stomach with an iron bar. She turned away quickly to the sink so Dave didn’t see her stricken face and rinsed a flannel under the hot tap. The clean water splashed on to their dirty breakfast and lunch dishes; porridge and beans on toast by the look of it.

  ‘Let Mummy wipe your mouth.’ Sarah forced a smile at Zac, who whipped his head from side to side to avoid the flannel. ‘It’s very chunky,’ she said, peering into the bowl.

  ‘It’s fine. He can do big lumps now.’

  ‘Can he?’ She swallowed a massive lump in her own throat. ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Can you light the fire, babe? I haven’t had a chance.’

  ‘Or I could finish feeding Zac?’ she suggested hopefully.

  ‘We’re nearly done,’ said Dave. ‘Just put a match to the kindling and leave the door open for a bit.’

  ‘OK,’ she replied, stifling a sigh.

  She opened the living-room door and almost gagged. What a stench. Urgh, she was going to be sick. And the mess! What had he been doing all day? Toys all over the place, changing mat on the sofa and a full stinking nappy sack lying on the floor. Dave hadn’t got the first idea about hygiene. She shouldn’t have to come home to this.

  She kicked some toys towards the toy box angrily. If she was at home all day with the baby, it would be a different story; the house would be spotless. A little voice in her head that sounded uncannily like Jo’s reminded her that it was her choice not to be at home all day.

  ‘Oh, sod off,’ she muttered.

  This was not how it was meant to be.

  As she opened her mouth to yell at Dave, he appeared in the doorway with Zac, both happily ignorant that they were still smeared in food. Her spirits plummeted. What was the point? It would only start a row.

  ‘You do the fire.’ Sarah handed the nappy sack to Dave and reached out for Zac. ‘I’ll do bath.’

  Two hours later over dinner, Sarah had just started to relax; the house was halfway to being tidy again, Zac was asleep and Dave had poured her a glass of wine. Just as she took a long sip he dropped his bombshell.

  ‘Guess what!’ His eyes flicked to hers briefly. ‘I’m working tomorrow. An old contact has called in a favour. Cash job so I couldn’t say no.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ Sarah lowered her glass. ‘Dave? What about Zac?’

  He helped himself to more broccoli.

  ‘I managed to get him in to nursery for the morning. The job is only a small room, so I’ll be finished by lunchtime.’

  ‘Dave! We said we didn’t want our child brought up by strangers. The horror stories you read in the papers … No! How could you?’

  Her cheeks flamed with indignation. So Rebecca had been right about Zac going to nursery. Nice of Dave to discuss it with her, before his own wife. Decisions about her son were being made without her and she hated it. She didn’t feel like a mother at all. She felt like … she felt like … a father.

  ‘No, we said we didn’t want him going to nursery full time until he’s one.’ Dave laid his fork down on the edge of his plate and looked directly at her.

  ‘I said I
didn’t want him to go to nursery full stop,’ she retorted.

  ‘We liked the nursery,’ said Dave calmly. ‘We liked the atmosphere and the staff. It was clean, the kids were happy and it’s only for half a day.’

  ‘But if I’d known you were going to paint some stupid room tomorrow, I’d have taken a day off and spent some quality time with my own baby. Now it’s too short notice.’

  Dave reached across the table for Sarah’s hand.

  ‘Don’t get upset,’ he said quietly, bringing her fingers to his lips. ‘I need this. I need to work. I try my best to be a house husband but,’ he gave her a lopsided smile, ‘I’m crap at it.’

  A vision of the living room earlier flashed into her mind and she managed a feeble laugh despite her frustration. She sat back in her chair, dinner abandoned, and blotted the tears from her face with kitchen paper.

  She would never be able to concentrate at work tomorrow, worrying about whether Zac was being looked after properly.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ she said in a small voice.

  Dave got up from the table and pulled her into his arms. She felt her body sag in defeat.

  ‘Our best, babe,’ he said. ‘That’s all we can do.’

  The next morning Sarah scurried along the corridor towards Eleanor’s office and prayed her boss was in a good mood.

  She was so pleased with herself that she could scarcely keep the grin off her face. The solution to her domestic problems had come to her in the middle of the night. It was so obvious; she could kick herself for not thinking of it before. To give credit where it was due, it was Rebecca who had given her the idea from something she said in the park a few weeks ago: Oh, I think we all have a choice, she’d said snootily. And actually, she was right, Sarah did have a choice, and today she was going to make it.

  She would simply ask to work from home. Dave could get his business back up and running again and work, say, four or five days a week, she would set up her laptop on the kitchen table and only go into the office whenever she had a meeting.

  It was the best thing to do, she was sure of it. Poor Dave; the expression on his face last night when he’d admitted he hated staying at home had broken her heart. Secretly, she was pleased that he wasn’t perfect at being a house husband; it wasn’t exactly normal, was it? Her father would have been appalled. Not that that mattered for one instant. She felt a flush to her cheeks and took a deep breath.

  Focus, don’t think about him.

  She forced herself to get her thoughts back on track … And with more money coming in they’d soon be able to afford that extension. It would all be perfect, absolutely perfect.

  She was about to knock on the door but paused, doubting herself for a moment. But she flicked the fear away. Eleanor would understand. She was a mother; she’d be fine about it. She knocked and Eleanor called her in.

  ‘Have you got a second?’

  Eleanor’s eyes flicked to her watch and she nodded, Sarah closed the door and took a seat opposite her.

  At the moment, Eleanor was the only female partner out of five. She had a rapier-sharp brain for figures, nerves of steel when it came to negotiations and seemed to slice through her workload like a blade through butter. The downside of working for a superhero was that Eleanor had blazed such a trail for females at Finch and Partners that it was a bit daunting for mere mortals like Sarah to keep up.

  Eleanor was waiting.

  Sarah smoothed her skirt down with clammy hands. She had had her little speech all figured out, but now she was here, in front of the boss, her reasoning seemed flawed and she doubted her own ability to put a strong case forward.

  ‘Is this about the bakery accounts?’ asked Eleanor. ‘I hope they’re nearly ready?’

  Sarah crossed her fingers under the desk. ‘Ninety-nine per cent there. Just one final check through and …’

  Her voice faded as she caught sight of what Eleanor referred to as her wall of fame; a series of framed photographs cataloguing her finest moments: Eleanor drinking champagne with the board on becoming a partner, Eleanor shaking hands with the Prince of Wales when he thanked her for services to charity, Eleanor at the launch party for her own accountancy textbook, Eleanor holding her newborn granddaughter after her daughter-in-law went into labour and she had had to deliver the baby with instructions over the telephone from the emergency services.

  She was probably wearing a red and blue spandex corset under that suit.

  Eleanor cleared her throat pointedly.

  Oh God. Sarah’s stomach churned. Whatever had possessed her to think this was a good idea? Oh well, she was here now. She took another deep breath.

  ‘I was wondering if you would – if the board would – consider letting me work from home two days.’ She caught sight of Eleanor’s nostrils flaring. ‘I mean one day a week. Just for a few months. Until Zac is a bit older.’

  Bad move. She just about resisted biting her lip; that would really show weakness.

  Eleanor stared at her, a look of confusion etched across her smooth brow. Sarah hated it when people stayed silent; it was rarely a good sign. She toyed with the idea of telling the truth.

  Help. I need your help. I’m totally failing at life, spreading myself too thin. I shouldn’t have come back to work so soon and definitely not full time. I’m a rubbish accountant and I’m a crap mum too.

  Her heart lurched with longing. One day a week she would love to sit down to breakfast with Dave and Zac, together, as a family, instead of dashing out of the house with a cereal bar in her bag, leaving them both still in their pyjamas. For once she would like not to have to sit for an hour in a queue of cars all nosing their way slowly along the commuter treadmill towards the city.

  Her gaze fell on the plaque Eleanor used as a paperweight. It was engraved with the inscription ‘1992 Nottinghamshire Business Woman of the Year’. Eleanor’s own children would have been small then, how had she managed to stay at the top of her game?

  Sarah’s stomach fluttered with nerves. She glanced at the door, wishing she had never started this.

  Please say something, Eleanor.

  ‘I’d miss the camaraderie, of course,’ she said, to fill the silence.

  ‘Of course.’ Eleanor inclined her head slightly but didn’t break eye contact and didn’t smile.

  Sarah’s mouth had gone dry now. She licked her lips and racked her brains for something positive to say.

  ‘I think it would help me to raise my productivity. I could motor through tax returns without the constant interruption of the telephone ringing. It would be a godsend at peak times, when we’re sorting out all our last-minute clients. I’d be on top of my monthly reports and it would help me to be more efficient on the days I am in the office.’

  Eleanor appeared to be listening, which she took to be a good sign.

  ‘It’s the future,’ said Sarah, getting into her stride. ‘Lots of companies are seeing the benefits of home-based workers. Reduced absenteeism, improved staff morale. Fewer lost hours due to bad weather and traffic jams. Saving on fossil fuels …’ She closed her mouth, sensing that she had started to veer into weird territory.

  Eleanor leaned her elbows on the desk, linked her fingers and circled her thumbs.

  ‘I do understand how you feel. I remember those days myself when the children were small and I can see you’ve given it a lot of thought.’ She lowered her voice and leaned forward. ‘The problem is, Sarah, that the rest of the board are men. They’ll see this request as a sign of weakness. That you aren’t partner material after all.’

  Sarah looked at her boss in alarm. ‘I think I’ve proved that I am, and I cut my maternity leave short to come back when you needed me, and—’

  Eleanor held up a hand to stop her.

  ‘The way they’ll see it is like this: once we let one woman do it, the floodgates will open. You’ll be setting a precedent. Word will get out that this company is a soft touch and all the female staff of child-bearing age will want to work part time
– I mean work from home.’ Eleanor gave her a knowing smile. ‘And there’ll be no one in the office to answer calls and take client meetings.’

  A soft touch? Hardly. Her mouth had gone dry with nerves; this hadn’t gone to plan at all.

  Eleanor picked up her fountain pen and pulled a stack of papers towards her.

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s a no, Sarah, and I’ll do you a favour and pretend we didn’t have this conversation.’

  Sarah held Eleanor’s gaze for a long moment. She was being dismissed. She needed to say something quickly to redeem herself. If she lost her chance to become partner, she couldn’t bear it. She had worked so hard to come this far.

  ‘Eleanor,’ she inched forward on her chair, ‘can I just reiterate that I’m one hundred per cent—’

  There was a knock at the door. Ben walked straight in without waiting for an answer. Eleanor beamed at him.

  ‘Ah, Ben, take a seat.’

  There was only one visitor’s chair. That was her cue to leave. Sarah walked out, digging her nails into her palms and suspecting she may have just shot herself firmly in the foot.

  Chapter 13

  Jo had been cooped up in her office for hours and for the last thirty minutes she had been staring at the wages spreadsheet. She rubbed her eyes and sighed. Every employee was listed, along with their salary and number of weekly hours. If there was a way of cutting the costs without making redundancies, she was damned if she could spot it.

  The two biggest earners were herself and Patrick. She could hardly make herself redundant and the thought of Gold’s without Patrick was too awful to bear. Besides, since his divorce, Patrick needed his salary more than ever. He was renting a tiny terraced house for himself and Holly at the moment, and although he hadn’t complained, she knew he was struggling to get back on the property ladder. She had even overheard him laughing with Len, saying that he hoped Holly didn’t want to go to university because he couldn’t afford it, and she suspected he was only half-joking. She owed it to him and Holly to safeguard his job for as long as possible.