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  ‘Don’t go there,’ said Carrie harshly. ‘I’d be a terrible mother. And Alex is ten years older than me. It was something we both agreed on when we first met.’

  She felt a stab of pain at the memory. He had made a throwaway comment about not being able to imagine being a parent and she had seized on it at the time, saying she didn’t want to be either. It had become something of an elephant in the room.

  ‘Oh.’ Sarah shrank back from Carrie, looking stung.

  ‘Is Alex wealthy?’ asked Jo. ‘Is that why you don’t work? And if so has he got a brother?’

  Carrie could tell them everything. The whole sordid truth. But then they might not want to know her at all. She was tempted. Maybe one day. But not tonight.

  ‘I’ve never been the career type, you know, dropped out of uni. Not very confident. A bit shy. Alex didn’t really like me working. I was in a dead-end job when I met him. He was doing more shift work then. We never saw each other.’ She tried to read their expressions; Jo looked puzzled, Sarah looked a bit drunk. ‘I know it’s a bit old-fashioned. But it suited us. I wasn’t earning much anyway. So I stopped.’

  ‘And now?’ asked Jo. ‘What do you want now?’

  That was a good question. Carrie wasn’t quite sure yet. She was going to have to tackle one thing at a time.

  ‘No idea.’ She managed a shaky smile. ‘Of course I know employers will be falling over themselves to have me – no experience, no qualifications and an extremely wide backside. But first things first – my bikini. I’m going to have to lose at least three stone if I’m going to fit back into one of those.’

  ‘Not that I agree with any of that nonsense,’ said Sarah, moving back to the rug in front of the fire, ‘but I’m writing it down. You are now officially on a bikini diet.’

  ‘She can finish her wine first,’ said Jo, topping up their glasses.

  Sarah opened the log burner and added some more wood, waggling the poker around to coax flames from the embers. It always seemed to work when Dave did it. She was ready for the other two to leave now, to be honest. She could happily collapse into bed and sink into oblivion.

  This wish list was a stupid idea. She had no idea how she could help cure Jo of her fear of heights or encourage Carrie to lose three stone. Even if she did have the time – which she blatantly didn’t. And now it was her turn.

  She felt all fidgety and nervous. They would hate her if they knew what she really wished for. She wanted her old life back: the one where she was a promising young accountant with a sharp pencil and an even sharper mind. Now her employer was lucky if she remembered to turn up for meetings, let alone stun them with her financial acumen. And as for this evening’s ordeal with Eleanor … She shuddered. She would never live it down. She was an embarrassment. She bulged out of all her clothes and more often than not went to work with some sort of baby-related goo on her shoulders.

  And what about her and Dave? Only a year ago they were madly in love and had had mutual respect for each other’s career instead of this churning resentment that they both had to work so hard to keep at bay. He resented her for being the chief breadwinner; she resented him for getting the golden moments with Zac. And then there was living in Woodby. Popping to the shops used to mean vintage boutiques and the city centre, not the farm shop and Tesco. Village life wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  Yes. She wanted her old life back. The one before Zac.

  A shudder of revulsion ricocheted through her; how could she even think that?

  ‘You OK?’ Jo asked.

  Sarah glanced round to see two pairs of watchful eyes staring at her.

  Right on cue an ember fell out of the stove and she fumbled with the tongs to pick it up. Ringlets of hair fell forward and hid the two bright spots on her cheeks.

  Take it back. Take it back. I wouldn’t change being a mother for all the world.

  But sometimes she wished she didn’t feel quite so torn.

  Jo stood up and stretched. She picked up a picture of Sarah and Dave on their wedding day from the mantelpiece and whistled. ‘Looks like you’ve got your Prince Charming. You both look gorgeous!’

  Sarah’s eyes softened. Happy times. ‘Thanks. I think that was the one and only day my hair behaved itself.’

  She closed the log burner and sat back on the armchair. The room span and she blinked her eyes a few times. She hadn’t drunk this much wine for months. That was the reason she’d had such a terrible thought. It was just the wine talking. She didn’t mean it. She was so going to regret this in the morning.

  She picked up the wish list and doodled along the margin. She was fine, everything was fine. She was overreacting. And she did have a wish. It was the same wish she’d had since leaving university and in the absence of having anything better to say, where was the harm in spitting it out?

  She dropped her pad on the floor, picked up her wine glass and drained the last drop. ‘My wish is to be a partner in the firm where I work.’

  ‘You go, girl,’ Jo said, pinching her spot in front of the fire.

  ‘It’s not a new wish; it’s always been my long-term goal. I hope that’s not cheating? It’s been on hold while I had Zac but I think I’m ready to go for it now. One of the partners in the practice is retiring this year and this could be my way in. Besides …’ She felt her voice give way. ‘I haven’t mentioned this, but I’m the main breadwinner and the extra money wouldn’t go amiss.’

  She scanned their faces for a reaction; some people could be quite judgemental about men taking on a traditionally female role. Her dad would have had something to say about it, that’s for sure. God rest his soul.

  ‘I don’t know how you do it, Sarah.’ Carrie’s hand stole towards the bowl of crisps and stopped.

  Sarah pressed her lips together, silently pleased to see Carrie showing some self-restraint. Sarah pulled the bowl towards her. It was empty.

  ‘Your career must be very important to you to want promotion,’ Carrie went on. ‘Especially with Zac still so little.’

  Sarah felt the heat rise to her face again. ‘Like it or not, people judge you on your job title. That’s just the way it is.’

  ‘Write it down, then, if that’s what you want,’ said Jo with a shrug.

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Sarah’s blush deepened and she hid her face behind her hair. Not everyone had Daddy’s empire handed to them on a plate like Jo. Her father’s empire had disappeared long ago when he and the other coalminers had ended up on the scrap heap, most of them never to work again. It had made him bitter and resentful of other people’s success and made Sarah more determined than ever to educate herself and get on in life.

  But Sarah had niggling doubts. Becoming a partner would inevitably mean longer hours, less time with Zac, more pressure on Dave. Oh God. Was this a bad idea? Was it the right timing?

  She cleared her throat. ‘Or alternatively, I could wish to feel more part of things in Woodby.’

  Her new friends were happier with that; she could see it in their faces.

  Carrie sat forward in her seat. ‘Go on.’

  ‘My old life in the city was so … I don’t know … me,’ she said. ‘I don’t feel like I fit in here.’

  Carrie tucked her feet underneath her and set down her wine glass. ‘It does take a while. Everyone’s so busy with their own lives.’

  ‘We moved to a village to start a family. We thought it would be a great place to bring up kids. And it is. But I feel … isolated.’

  ‘It can be isolating,’ murmured Carrie, reaching out to touch Sarah’s arm reassuringly.

  ‘Get involved more, then,’ said Jo, checking her watch.

  ‘There’s the village show,’ said Carrie. ‘The whole village turns out for that. End of the summer. Competitions for jam-making, flower-arranging, that sort of thing.’

  Jo put her hands up. ‘I’d be no help with that. My skills lie outside of the kitchen and that’s putting it mildly.’

  ‘It’s not my forte
either,’ said Sarah, pulling a face.

  ‘We’re all amateurs,’ said Carrie, lifting her shoulders. ‘It’s the way to get involved. I promise you.’

  ‘So. What are you going to put on the wish list?’ said Jo.

  Sarah opened her mouth and hesitated. For all their obvious disapproval, she knew what she had to do. ‘I’m going for partner.’ She winced. ‘It’s the thing I’d most regret not achieving. Sorry. And I’ve no idea how you can help me do that.’ She busied herself with her pen and pad.

  ‘It’s your choice,’ said Jo, standing up. ‘I should go back to Abi now we’ve made our wishes.’

  ‘Hold on!’ said Sarah, peeling three sheets of paper off her pad. ‘You both need to sign here.’ She handed them each a handwritten contract. ‘Sorry it’s messy; I think I might be slightly drunk.’ Maybe making them sign contracts was a bit bossy, but they might as well do things properly.

  ‘I thought we should give ourselves a six-month deadline, what do you think?’ she said, handing Carrie a pen. ‘That would make it September. OK with you?’

  Carrie had gone a bit pale and Jo was looking at her like she had two heads.

  ‘Whatever.’ Jo shrugged. ‘I usually have a research trip to New York in September. It works for me. Carrie?’

  ‘Semi-naked. In public,’ Carrie whispered hoarsely. ‘What am I letting myself in for?’

  ‘Sorted.’ Sarah collected the sheets back. ‘I’ll make copies and circulate them at the next meeting.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Sarah,’ Jo said with a smirk. ‘I thought this was meant to be a bit of fun?’

  Sarah felt her cheeks flame.

  ‘When I say meeting, I mean, you know, for a drink.’ She shrugged self-consciously, feeling a bit silly.

  It was the contracts that had done it; they thought she was a control freak.

  Carrie came to the rescue and pulled them all close for a hug. ‘OK. Let’s make our wishes come true.’

  Jo took one last lingering look at Sarah’s wedding photograph. ‘A girl’s got to have dreams.’

  Chapter 5

  Sarah jumped up to hold the door for an unsteady old man who was trying to angle his Zimmer frame into the doctor’s surgery, his sparse hair ruffling in the harsh March winds.

  ‘I’m back for more Viagra,’ he called to the receptionist, winking at Sarah.

  The receptionist sighed wearily. ‘Morning, Mr Prior.’

  ‘Here to see the nurse. Ten o’clock. I hope it’s that bossy one with the big—’

  ‘Take a seat, thank you, Mr Prior.’

  He shuffled into the waiting room and eased himself into the chair next to Sarah.

  He nudged her arm. ‘Nothing contagious, I trust?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Sarah, hoping the same could be said of him, seeing as all the other seats in the room were vacant. He waited, presumably hoping for some interesting ailment story.

  ‘Just a check-up with the nurse.’ She certainly wasn’t going to tell him that she wanted contraception. In view of his Viagra comment, it might be seen as tantamount to an invitation. She hoped the nurse hurried up, before she changed her mind.

  ‘Don’t tell me they’re handing out Viagra to you youngsters as well?’ Mr Prior guffawed, sparking off a mucusy cough.

  ‘Sarah Hudson?’

  ‘Yes!’ Sarah jumped up with relief as a sturdy nurse appeared at the door.

  The nurse ushered Sarah into a chair and sat down opposite her. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Deep breath.

  ‘I’m going to stop breastfeeding, so I want to go back on the pill,’ said Sarah, twisting her wedding ring round and round. The decision had taken her days to make. It was the only sensible solution, but the guilt was unbearable. She stared down at her lap.

  ‘How old is baby now?’

  ‘Eight months.’

  ‘And is he doing well, thriving?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Sarah’s face softened into a smile.

  ‘Any problems with feeding?’

  ‘None at all. Zac eats everything we try him with, well, what doesn’t go in his hair or down his bib.’

  ‘I remember that stage with mine. Mind you, my eldest son could still do with wearing a bib and he’s twenty-five.’

  Sarah watched as the nurse untwisted the blood pressure monitor cuff and she dropped her gaze. Her eyes were hot and she felt a wave of emotion take hold.

  ‘It’s all getting too much: trying to feed him myself before work, then there’s nowhere private in the office, so I have to try to express milk in the ladies’ loo, surrounded by God knows how many millions of germs. I’m terrified of passing on germs. Half the time I’m in a meeting when my milk comes in and all I can think about is my aching boobs. And the looks I get … One of the men even got my expressed milk out of the office fridge the other day and started gagging. On top of that I’m not concentrating at work and I’m always in a rush at home.’

  She took a deep breath and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. The nurse sat down in front of her and gently took her hand. She pushed Sarah’s sleeve up and fitted the blood pressure cuff.

  ‘Sounds like you’re doing a fantastic job to me.’

  Her chin wobbled.

  ‘I’m not. I’m letting Zac down. Depriving him of precious antibodies. I had planned to carry on breastfeeding until he was one, but it’s just not practical. And …’ If she was going to get promoted, she needed to get herself under control and prove to Eleanor how focused she was. The nurse wouldn’t understand that.

  The nurse squeezed her hand, giving her the encouragement she needed to go on.

  ‘And I can’t take him to mother and baby group because I work. He won’t learn to share or play with other children. He’ll probably start school unable to make friends, completely lacking in social skills. And I don’t meet other mums …’

  She stopped. Where had all that come from? The nurse stared at her for a moment, patted her hand and turned away to jot down a few notes. Damn! Sarah’s heart sank; the nurse probably thought she had post-natal depression. She hadn’t got time to be depressed.

  ‘First things first. I can sort you out a prescription for the pill now. You could cut right down and only feed baby yourself at night. That takes the pressure off a bit. And even if you did stop completely, he’s had eight months to build up his immune system. You’ve done much better than many mums already.’

  Sarah swallowed hard; she always felt like crying when someone was kind to her. She was a ridiculous, over-emotional wreck. The nurse smiled at her.

  ‘As for the other stuff …’ She leaned forward and whispered, ‘I hated mother and baby group: two hours of talking about the contents of other babies’ nappies.’ The nurse shuddered. ‘Spring is on its way, you’ll be out and about more then. Take him to the park; you’ll soon start meeting other mums.’

  Sarah felt the cuff tighten as the nurse started to pump it up. ‘And how about waiting until he can walk and talk first, before you start worrying about school.’

  Sarah made a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. ‘I’m getting carried away, aren’t I?’

  ‘A bit.’ The nurse stood up and went to the counter. ‘What do you do for relaxation?’

  ‘Yawn, mostly, then go to bed.’

  The nurse laughed.

  ‘You need to make time for you. Here.’ She held out a small booklet. ‘The village magazine. Tells you what’s on. Try yoga.’

  Make time for herself? As in, do what’s right for herself? That must mean that the nurse thought it was OK to go for promotion. Sarah perked up immediately. Wish list here we come.

  Email to: Jo Gold (work)

  From: SarahDaveZac

  Jo,

  Can you make it over on Friday night? There’s a yoga class in the village hall at seven. I know Carrie says she hates exercise, but she might enjoy something like this. Anyway, if we say we’ll be there to keep her company, she’s bound to agree.

  Sarah x

>   Jo was at her desk with five minutes to spare before the staff meeting when an email from Sarah arrived. She opened it on her phone and read it through carefully, cringing as she did so. Yoga in a village hall. Women kidding themselves they were working out, whale music and fleecy blankets. Give me strength. Her idea of exercise was to push herself through the pain barrier, working her body until her lungs threatened to collapse and her leg muscles trembled. None of this ‘My body is a temple’ rubbish.

  Jo leaned back in her chair and pulled this month’s sales report towards her. Please let it not be as bad as I think it’s going to be. She flicked to the bottom of the page. Bugger. Ten per cent down on last year. Which in itself didn’t sound too bad, except that last year they had hit an eight-year low.

  The sound of her staff making their way to the warehouse made her stomach churn. She should get going; it was time to face the music. She could murder a cigarette.

  Liz knocked on the door and pushed it open. ‘All set?’ she asked.

  ‘Not really,’ Jo replied. ‘But thanks for asking.’

  ‘I’ll tell them you’re on your way.’ Jo’s secretary smiled and pulled the door to behind her.

  Liz had worked for the firm for over fifteen years and had been her father’s secretary until he retired. And if Jo wasn’t mistaken, he still tapped her up for information even now. God knows what he was going to think about today’s news.

  She rolled her shoulders back to release the stiffness, caused by hunching for hours over her laptop. Yoga was supposed to be good for relieving stress, wasn’t it? She certainly had plenty of that. Besides, she had nothing better to do this Friday night. Maybe there would be some hot and flexible men. In Woodby? Yeah, right. She typed a quick reply to Sarah’s email and left her office to join the rest of her staff.

  Patrick McGregor, Gold’s operations director, stood in the middle of the team, head and shoulders above the rest of them. He had assembled the staff by the warehouse doors. Despite her nerves, she suppressed a smile. He couldn’t have picked a worse spot, the plonker; it was freezing there with the draught coming through the metal shutters. Patrick was sharing a joke with Len, the workroom manager, and grinned at her as she strode towards him and stood at his side. Nice to see someone was happy.