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  A waitress appeared holding menus. Sarah looked at her and plastered on a smile.

  ‘Your table is ready if you’d like to come through to the restaurant.’

  Sarah and Dave managed to keep the conversation flowing over dinner. She told him about Carrie’s amazing diet, Jo’s eleventh-hour rescue opportunity from the airport company for her new shoes and details of the trip to New York the three women had planned for September, and he filled her in on a couple of painting jobs he had picked up, a funny story about Zac losing his socks and some morsels of village gossip. They oohed and ahhed over the menu, she chose mushroom risotto and he had a steak and they shared a warm chocolate fondant.

  Somewhere into their second bottle of wine she finally relaxed. The other people in the restaurant faded out of view and she gazed at her husband’s familiar handsome face. Impulsively, she pulled him towards her by his shirt and kissed him full on the lips. Dave responded, as she hoped he would, not caring that anyone could see them. For the first time in months, she felt sexy again and it felt fantastic. They came up for air and grinned at each other.

  It was time to share the news she’d been keeping to herself all evening.

  ‘Guess what?’ said Sarah, leaning closer and squeezing his hand.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m going to wake up extra early in the morning. I’ve got a really lucky feeling about tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Dave gave her a cheeky grin and slid his free hand under the table to her leg.

  ‘Not that sort of lucky.’ She laughed nervously. ‘Eleanor has asked me to come into the office early. There’s been something in the air all week. I think it’s an announcement about the partnership. I’m sure they are going to offer it to me. Imagine!’ She stared at him, expecting him to be happy for her.

  ‘Yeah, imagine.’ Dave removed his hand from her leg. ‘You’re already knackered when you come home, a partnership will put more strain on you. On us.’

  He picked up his glass and took a long drink.

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ she said, her heart beginning to race.

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong but you have to buy a partnership, don’t you?’

  ‘Oops! We’re out of wine, shall we order another bottle?’ she said innocently.

  Dave looked at her, his jaw set.

  ‘Have you thought about where the money will come from for you to buy your share?’

  ‘Well,’ she swallowed, ‘I’ll earn my way in partly, you know by taking a cut in salary, and er, take out a loan for the rest.’

  ‘Oh my God, Sarah!’ Dave placed his glass down on the table and rubbed his hand roughly over his cropped hair.

  She could hear her pulse whooshing in her ears and wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

  ‘What?’ she said shakily.

  ‘You wanted to move to the country, so we did,’ he said in a dangerously low voice. ‘You wanted to go back to work early, so you did. Last week you were talking about wanting an extension on the house and now you’re planning on borrowing money to pay for your partnership. You won’t let me go back to work full time and you already work long enough hours. What about Zac, what about me – your family?’

  ‘OK, OK, calm down,’ she said, smiling at him to ease the tension.

  Dave glared stony-faced and then looked away with a tiny shake of his head.

  Sarah’s heart sank. This was supposed to be a romantic date. Time together as a couple, as Carrie had suggested, not a night out with Mr Stroppy. It was on the tip of her tongue to back down, tell him to forget she had ever spoken, but then she remembered her wish.

  ‘Come on, Davey, you knew I was ambitious when you married me. Surely you wouldn’t want me to be a boring, stay-at-home drudge …’ Her words faded away at the sight of Dave’s thunderous expression.

  Any romantic spark that may have keen rekindled had been well and truly extinguished. All that remained was a damp patch of regret. Her and her big mouth; she could have killed herself.

  He stared at her for what felt like hours. ‘Thanks.’

  Her insides trembled and she had an awful feeling she might be sick. She thought of a few things to say, but rejected them all. She waited for him to speak, her heart in her mouth.

  Dave scratched at his stubble; looking totally fed up.

  ‘Sometimes,’ he said gruffly, ‘I look at Zac and the love I feel for him is so immense it’s almost painful. And caring for him should be enough. But when you leave the house in the morning, I’m jealous of your freedom.’

  ‘Freedom?’ she exclaimed quietly. She felt anything but free. ‘Trapped’ would be a better word.

  ‘I’m not going to say emasculated,’ he continued. ‘That’s one of those poncy words they use in women’s mags. “My husband feels emasculated by my success.” Isolated maybe. Embarrassed definitely. And I did it for you, because I know your work is important to you, far more so than mine is to me.’

  She attempted to disagree, but he held up a hand.

  ‘But to hear you describe my role in this marriage as boring drudgery …’ He shook his head and finished in a hoarse whisper. ‘It hurts.’

  They sat in silence, staring into their glasses while the waitress collected their plates. Only an hour ago she’d thought that she and Dave would never run out of things to say; now look at them.

  She scooted her chair around the table next to his and snuggled up to his rather unyielding shoulder.

  ‘Saying exactly the wrong thing is a skill that I think I’ve nearly perfected now. Wouldn’t you agree?’ She nudged him. Dave didn’t reply so she tried again. ‘I just want to be somebody. And it might sound snobby but status is important to me.’

  Dave stared into her eyes.

  ‘So Zac and I aren’t important.’

  ‘Of course you are; that’s not what I meant. It’s just I’ve got a lot to prove, you know, to my dad. I told him before he died that I was going to get to the top of my game and I have to do that. I cannot fail to do that.’ Her chest felt tight with emotion and she forced herself to breathe deeply.

  Surely he could understand? He knew how she felt about her dad. After a moment, Dave wrapped his arm around her and kissed her temple. The relief escaped out of her in a long breath.

  ‘When I asked your dad’s permission to marry you, he made me promise something too. That I’d always do the right thing by you. So I’m saying no.’

  ‘What?’ Her jaw dropped and her head whirled with the enormity of his words.

  ‘No. I don’t want you to take the partnership if they offer it to you.’

  They glared at each other. That wasn’t fair. He couldn’t ask her to give up her dream. She had made a wish, signed a contract. It was what she had given up so much for.

  ‘I mean it.’ He unwound his arm from her waist and drained the last bit of his wine. ‘I’m putting my foot down.’

  Had she suddenly been plucked from the twenty-first century and inserted into a Charles Dickens novel? She stood up too quickly and grabbed the edge of the table as the room began to spin. No way. He could put his foot where he liked, but this wasn’t his decision to take.

  ‘Can I get you anything else?’ trilled the waitress.

  ‘The bill please,’ muttered Sarah.

  ‘A brandy,’ said Dave blackly, at the same time.

  The waitress looked from one to the other, pencil poised and then retreated.

  ‘I’m not saying no for ever,’ he added, reaching out a hand to her arm. ‘I know you’re determined and I admire that in you. But now is not the right time for us. And sometimes …’ He paused and seemed to search for the right words. ‘Sometimes, I don’t think your job even makes you happy.’

  Well, he had that wrong for a start, she thought, conveniently forgetting how she’d mentally described herself as trapped only a few minutes ago. Most of the time, her job gave her immense satisfaction. Unless she had a run-in with HMRC, or she got in a mess with her timesheets, or she got told o
ff for wearing the wrong clothes. But by and large … Anyway, work wasn’t supposed to be fun.

  Sarah clenched her jaw, determined not to cry at the injustice of it all. Their date had been a disaster. The sooner she could get home and get tonight over with, the better.

  She picked up her handbag. ‘I’m heading off home. It’s late.’

  ‘It’s ten o’clock,’ said Dave sarcastically. ‘Even Cinderella stays up later than that.’

  The date had gone on long enough as far as she was concerned.

  ‘It’s the babysitter’s first time,’ she said, not meeting his eye. ‘I don’t want to leave her for too long. Have you got some cash on you?’

  Sarah flinched as Dave shot her a filthy look. ‘I’m not so strapped that I need hand-outs from my wife, I’ll pay the bill myself.’

  ‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ she retorted.

  Dave gave a mirthless half-laugh. ‘Right.’

  The waitress approached with the bill and a brandy. Dave pushed his chair back roughly, took both from her and strode off into the bar.

  Sarah stared after him, her heart heavy with sorrow. How had they come to this? He had been to the cashpoint to get the money for the babysitter; now she’d have to pay Rosie by cheque. That was all she had meant.

  ‘Did you enjoy your meal?’ asked the waitress nervously.

  ‘Not really,’ she said, swallowing hard.

  Chapter 22

  Sarah was up at six the next morning. She hadn’t had a wink of sleep and had tried in vain to block out the noise of the dawn chorus when it started up two hours ago. Zac had woken up screaming with a temperature at one point and she had almost been glad of the company. Now her head was thumping and there were lumps of sleep in her eyes the size of Rice Krispies. Still, looking on the bright side, she thought, as she snuck out of their bedroom, leaving Dave to sleep off his hangover, at least she was up early for Eleanor’s meeting.

  Dave, her Lord and Master, withholder of independence and mover of goalposts, had stumbled in at midnight, waking her up. He mumbled something about a job he had picked up from the pub, before collapsing starfish-style on to the bed and conking out.

  Sarah had had to give the babysitter a cheque seeing as he had had the money to pay her in his pocket. Rosie had stared at the rectangle of paper and asked if Sarah did PayPal.

  She looked in on Zac before she left. He was in a deep sleep with one arm outstretched and the other clasped around his toy giraffe, the blankets tucked around his tummy. Damp tendrils of fine hair stuck to his hot forehead. She peeled back the blankets, stroked his face with her fingertips and bent right into his cot and kissed him goodbye.

  She contemplated leaving a note for Dave, telling him about Zac’s temperature, but last night’s argument was still raw and she couldn’t even bear to write to him, let alone speak. Besides which, he was perfectly capable of looking after their son without her interference.

  Sarah left the house, got in her car and drove away as quietly as possible.

  Her heart twisted with guilt about her plan to defy Dave’s wishes as she drove off through Woodby and into Nottingham. Mr Buxton was retiring in two months’ time and it made sense that succession planning needed to be firmed up pretty soon. If Eleanor offered her the chance to take up a partnership today, she wouldn’t turn it down. She just couldn’t.

  Dave was right; she would have to buy her way in to the partnership. But borrowing the money would be a cinch, he was worrying about nothing. And she would be earning more as a partner; she would soon pay it back. Zac was nearly one, he could go into nursery every day then and Dave could get his painting and decorating business back up and running. Sorted. There was absolutely nothing to stress over.

  Anyway, who did he think he was telling her she wasn’t allowed to take promotion? Hadn’t he heard of smashing the glass ceiling? She turned on the radio and put her foot on the accelerator to get herself in a rousing mood but a massive tractor pulled out in front of her at that moment and she was forced to slow right down.

  ‘Farm vehicles shouldn’t be allowed on the road when normal people are trying to get to work,’ she muttered crossly under her breath as she ran down the deserted corridor and skidded to a halt outside Eleanor’s office. She was late, hot, out of breath and her hair was probably all over the place. She took a second to smooth down her curls then lifted her hand to knock, but the door swung open. The office was empty.

  Dammit. Now what?

  She swung round and looked down the corridor and couldn’t resist a smile as the skirt of her new dress swirled round her legs. She loved this dress; it was pale blue and printed with little white birds. Her outfit wasn’t one hundred per cent business-like, as she’d been advised to aim for, but it made her feel confident and after last night’s argy-bargy with Dave, she needed all the bravado she could get.

  Her breathless panting was so loud that she nearly missed the faint noise from the far end of the corridor. Voices, chattering and laughing coming from the boardroom. It sounded like the whole firm was in there. Except her. They must be waiting for her.

  Oh Lordy.

  A fluttering sensation started in her stomach and made its way up to her throat. Major promotions were always celebrated in the boardroom. A bubble of excitement threatened to burst free and she pressed her fingers to her lips to keep the squeaks in. Eleanor must have organized a surprise.

  Slowly, using the precious few seconds to get her breathing to revert to normal, Sarah made her way to the boardroom. She pushed her shoulders back, lifted her head up, and with a huge beaming smile, she stood in the doorway and waited for the applause.

  A champagne cork popped. People whooped and clapped and Sarah stared in dismay. Blood rushed to her head and all she could hear was the whooshing sound of her wish to become partner disappearing. Seconds seemed to lengthen as the occasion sank in, the facts took hold and her career plan fell apart. It was like watching a silent movie; Ben, centre stage, was being handed a glass by Mr Buxton, slapped on the back by one of the other partners and kissed by Eleanor.

  The Golden Boy had taken her crown.

  She knew with certainty that her chance of making partner at Finch’s was almost nothing now; this would have been the perfect time, but she had been overlooked.

  Game over.

  Eleanor spotted her first; her eyes flicked to the wall clock and she beckoned her over. Sarah dragged herself across the thick carpet feeling suddenly childish in her summer dress amidst the sharply creased suits, the ties and the high heels.

  Someone handed her a glass of champagne. She took a desperate swig and lifted it in congratulations to Ben. She attempted a smile too, but her cheeks had got that post-dentist numbness and refused to lift. He grinned back, a smarmy grin that made Sarah want to slap him. She turned back to her carrot-dangling boss and thought that she had never despised anyone quite so much in her life.

  ‘He’s young,’ said Eleanor, unable to drag her eyes away from the chosen one, ‘but he’s got everything. Charisma, drive, dedication …’

  Everything except family commitments, Sarah thought bitterly.

  ‘Absolutely,’ she said, a fixed smile threatening to lock her jaw. ‘Please excuse me, I’ve got an awful headache.’

  She smiled apologetically at Eleanor, set down her glass and fled back to her office.

  By the time her new business appointment called to say she was running late at lunchtime, Sarah had re-categorized her thumping head as a migraine of crippling proportions.

  She swallowed some paracetamol and vowed to dispatch the cupcake maker she had met at the networking meeting as soon as possible and go home to sleep it off.

  ‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ said Heather McCloud when she eventually arrived. She dropped into the chair opposite Sarah with a sigh. She had dark wavy hair and plump rosy cheeks. ‘I forgot how long it takes to drive into the city centre.’

  Sarah smiled despite her headache; even if she hadn’t known Heather ran a ca
tering business, she could have guessed: she had flour in her hair, and lumps of coloured icing stuck to her cardigan. Sarah poured her a cup of coffee and nudged the sugar bowl towards her.

  Heather shook her head and took a noisy sip of her coffee.

  ‘And I’ve been up since five, preparing for this afternoon. I’m doing gluten-free today and I’ve been experimenting with different types of flour. I’ve brought you some cake to try.’

  Her new potential client opened a large cake tin and offered Sarah a muffin.

  Sarah’s mouth watered at the aroma of fresh baking. She accepted a small one and set it to one side for later.

  ‘Shouldn’t really,’ she said, patting her stomach. ‘I’m still trying to lose the baby weight.’

  ‘Well done you!’ said Heather.

  ‘Not really, I’m still flabby under these clothes.’

  ‘No,’ she laughed, ‘I meant coming back to work with a young baby. That must be tough?’

  Sarah felt her cheeks redden. ‘We’re coping.’

  At least she assumed Dave was coping; they hadn’t been in touch with each other today. She was dreading their next conversation, if she was honest.

  ‘Best thing I ever did was to set up my own business,’ said Heather through a mouthful of cake. ‘No easy ride, mind you. But at least it gave me a bit of flexibility when I needed it. Like when my three all went down with chicken pox.’ She shuddered. ‘I still can’t stand the smell of calamine lotion.’

  Flexibility: music to Sarah’s ears.

  ‘Tell me about your business, Heather.’

  ‘I run baking parties, for kids’ birthdays mainly. It has really taken off,’ said Heather, sounding amazed at her own success. ‘I’m planning on building a franchise network over the next five years. If it all goes well, “Kids in the Kitchen” could go national.’

  Sarah smiled; Heather’s enthusiasm was infectious. Perhaps that was the answer? Be her own boss, choose her hours and find a better way to juggle her career with motherhood. Anything had to be better than feeling like such a loser as she did now. But she had zero business experience and seemed to have an aversion to making a profit. She sighed inwardly and scanned her notes.