Instructions for Bringing Up Scarlett

by Annie Sanders

Genres: General Fiction; Family Life; Friendship; Humor & Satire; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

It's not the promises we make that count, it's the ones we keep... Alice is living the life she always dreamed of: a travel guide writer, her life is one of carefree adventure, with no ties, no constraints and no worries. Virginia finally has everything she ever wanted. The loving husband, the beautiful daughter and the successful career. Life hasn't always been easy, but she knows that her family can weather any storm. They have been best friends since university - so much so that Virginia trusts Alice with all she holds dearest. Then tragedy strikes, and Alice finds she must honour a rash promise she made to her friend. It's then she discovers that it can be the people you think you know best who hold the most closely guarded secrets...

Release date: June 9, 2011

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 351

Sample

‘This isn’t going to work.’ Virginia slumped back in her chair and ran her fingers through her hair.

Alice took her feet off the table, sat up and peered at the little diagram Virginia had been poring over. A page of carefully drawn circles with names written and crossed out beside them in pencil.

‘Bloody hell! That looks like an air traffic controller’s nightmare.’

‘It feels like it.’ Virginia got up and put the kettle on again. ‘I think we’re heading for a mid-air collision, and even if I make this work, you can bet someone is going to pull out in the next week.’

Alice looked out of the window at the small garden and a couple of birds dancing about on the terrace. ‘It’s still not too late to elope, you know.’

‘No kidding. I’ve practically packed my bag already.’ Virginia poured hot water into the mugs and brought them over to the table.

‘Perhaps we should have settled for a buffet, it would have been so much easier,’ she sighed. Alice patted her knee, a bit at a loss to know how else to help.

‘So long as it’s boy-girl-boy-girl, does it really matter? And so long as I’m not on the children’s table.’

‘You don’t know the half of it. The Waverley family are like the Kennedys, and Mother-in-law has given me a spreadsheet of which family members can’t be put together or there will be fighting in the aisles.’

Alice scooped out the tea bag with a pencil and dropped it onto the empty biscuit plate. ‘They sound more like the Borgias. It’s at times like this that I’m glad I’m an only child.’

‘If only it was as simple as just one family. The problem is merging the two, and there is no way I am putting any of my relations with the Waverley lot. Can you imagine? We’d have a high court judge next to my cousin Sharon, who’s a sales assistant in a shoe shop. Where’s the common ground there?’

‘Well … we all wear shoes …?’

‘Nice try, Alice. Nice try.’

They sat in silence for a moment. The last two hours had been spent trying to make the wedding table plan work, and Alice felt frankly useless. Seating their university friends had been a breeze, but she didn’t know enough about either Virginia or Piers’ families to be able to make a useful contribution. She furtively looked at her watch. With a bit of luck they could start getting ready soon. She’d arranged for the hen night to start about seven and the sooner the better. Virginia needed a break from this.

‘At least you’ve got the top table sorted. You’ll look like that painting of the Last Supper.’

‘They only had one table to worry about that night!’ Virginia laughed. ‘Oh God, look. I’ve put the vicar next to that friend of Piers who works for the whisky distillery. Would that be sacrilegious?’

‘Some of the best clerics drink. We had a priest at school who was permanently pissed. Isn’t it called the Holy Spirit? Listen, Gin, I think you might be trying too hard. It’s your big day and everyone will be there to see you. They can bloody well put up with who they sit next to.’

Virginia let her shoulders drop. ‘You’re right. I suppose I’m just feeling a bit pressurised by Judy. She’s the world authority on party organisation and she keeps reminding me how perfect Barney’s wedding was.’

‘Yes, but she’s the mother of sons and so she’s never actually had to organise one herself, has she? And you said yourself that Barney’s wife was posh enough for two and Judy loves all that. Your problem is that you want everything to be perfect. It’ll be fine. They’ll love you just the way you are, whippets and all.’

Virginia rubbed her eyes. ‘My job is a breeze compared to this. No wonder people have to be engaged for two years – you need that much time to organise it. Perhaps a six-month engagement was too short after all, but I’m damned if I’m going to give Judy the satisfaction of being right.’

‘Frankly, I think you’d have shot her if it had been any longer.’

The front door of the flat opened and was slammed shut. ‘Hello?’ Piers called from the little hallway. ‘Is it safe to come back in yet?’ He walked into the room and dropped his sports bag by the washing machine before leaning down and kissing Virginia lingeringly on her upturned face. ‘Hello, how’s my gorgeous bride?’

‘I don’t think I’m any further on than when you left,’ Virginia groaned. ‘You should have made them row another few miles.’

‘The boys were knackered. Thank goodness it’s nearly half-term. And how’s the gorgeous bridesmaid?’ He leaned down and kissed Alice on the cheek. ‘What time did you get here?’

‘About eleven. Getting through Hammersmith was a complete nightmare as usual, but a nice relaxing session of wedding planning has eased the tension a treat.’

They all laughed and Virginia threw her pen down on the scrawled plan and stretched. ‘I’ve had enough for one day. Come on. Let’s have a drink and start thinking about tonight.’

‘Aha!’ Alice put down her tea and pulled a carrier bag from her overnight case. ‘As officer in charge of the hen night, I have your costume right here.’ With a flourish she produced the swag. She’d been having so much fun choosing the bits, she’d been late for a meeting, and with unashamed glee she now laid it out on top of Ginny’s table plan: pink sashes for all eight of them (Virginia’s emblazoned with ‘bride-to-be’ in sequins), pink devil hairbands (the fluffy horns bobbing about suggestively) and, for Virginia alone, fishnet tights, a pink satin bodice and matching tutu.

Virginia gasped and put her hands over her face. ‘No. Way.’

‘Yes way!’ Alice responded. ‘It’s the law.’

Piers picked up the tutu and the tights. ‘Ooh, darling, I like the look of this. Can you keep them on for the bedroom later?’

Virginia’s face was a vision of embarrassment. ‘If I’ve got to walk down St Giles in this lot, I’m gonna need that drink,’ she squealed. ‘Just promise me, no photos.’

Alice raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m promising nothing.’

‘Don’t turn around yet.’ Alice put up her hand and adjusted Virginia’s veil on her shoulder, then appraised her. ‘We’ve got to have you looking absolutely perfect before you see the result.’

Virginia could feel a bubble of anticipation rise in her stomach. The organza silk of the dress felt cool and unfamiliar against her legs. At the fittings it had all seemed such fun. Standing here now, groomed and cleaner than she’d ever felt before, rigid in case something creased, her nerves began to push to the fore.

‘Relax, honey,’ Alice cooed. ‘You can blink, you know!’

‘It all feels a bit odd and precarious.’

‘That bloke in the salon has put so much hairspray on you, you’ll have to snap your hair loose this evening so I wouldn’t worry too much about it falling down out of that bun thing.’

‘I think the proper word’s a chignon,’ Virginia laughed.

‘Whatever it is, it’s beautiful, Gin.’

Virginia’s head hurt. She knew the second bottle of champagne last night had been a mistake, but Alice had insisted they celebrate her ‘last night of freedom’ properly. With Virginia’s mother safely in bed in her room, and her sister Rosie having tottered off too, and after a few more glasses than was really sensible, Alice had ordered another bottle of Lanson from the barman. They’d then worked their way down the bottle, Alice reminiscing as if tomorrow Virginia would change personality altogether and nothing would ever be the same again, and Virginia assuring her, in an increasingly slurred voice, that she’d be the same person as she always was, even if she did have a ring on her finger.

Yesterday afternoon had been fun as well. Rosie had arrived at the hotel in her little car with their mother, Cameron and Kerry, in time for a cup of tea before they all headed off to the church for the rehearsal. Despite complaints about the Friday traffic on the M6 and the children’s fights over a bag of Hoola Hoops, Rosie hadn’t been able to hide a measure of excitement at their arrival. Virginia was fairly sure she’d hardly ever stayed in a hotel, and certainly not one as good as this one, and after some huffing and complaining, she’d surrendered her bags to the porter and there had been a glint of pleasure in her eye as he threw open the door on the king-sized bedroom Virginia had allocated to them.

She tried to imagine where Piers would be now. Would he already be greeting guests outside the church with his usual ease? He’d stayed at the flat last night with his best man after a civilised Waverley family dinner at a favourite restaurant in the middle of Oxford. Her experience of family get-togethers since she’d met Piers told her it would have been a noisy affair, and it felt odd not to have been there with them all. Instead, Virginia’s last night of spinsterhood had ended with her and Alice lying on the enormous bed in Virginia’s suite, giggling hysterically over nothing in particular.

The room was now filled with summer sunshine and the scent of flowers from an arrangement Derek, her boss, had had placed there with uncharacteristic generosity. He’d given her an unbeatable staff discount on the wedding reception and rooms too. Working in the hotel business had its perks.

‘Can I have more paracetamol please?’

‘Nope.’ Alice snapped briskly and stood back. ‘Absolutely nil by mouth. You’ll smudge your lipstick. Ooh, Gin. You look perfect.’

Virginia felt a mixture of pleasure and a strange embarrassment at being scrutinised so closely. ‘You don’t look too shoddy yourself. In fact,’ she took in the pretty deep-red dress in Virginia’s favourite shade and Alice’s hair, scooped up by the hairdresser earlier and held with combs they’d found in a vintage shop in Camden Market, ‘I’ve never seen you look so … normal. Where’s the haphazard, thrown-together woman I know and love? I think you’ll steal the show.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ Gently Alice placed her hands on Virginia’s shoulders and turned her around to face the full-length mirror. For a moment they both stood there speechless.

‘Gosh, who’s she?’ was all Virginia could eventually manage, and then she smiled in disbelief. The dress was indeed perfect. She’d never been the sort of girl who fantasised about weddings and dresses, always being more at home in sports kit and comfortable jeans, but looking at herself now, the delicate pearls on the bodice catching the light and the fresh pinky-white of the dress emphasised by the deep red of the roses in her bouquet, her hair and make-up flawless, she barely recognised herself.

There was a tap on the door, and, as Alice opened it, Rosie and their mother scuttled into the room, Rosie wearing a pale-blue dress and small pillbox hat, and Elizabeth in a familiar floral shirt-waister and the only hat she possessed, that had made outings as long as Virginia could remember. She’d refused all offers from Virginia to buy another outfit for the occasion with a ‘this one is perfectly serviceable’. Her hair had been ‘done’ though and she was immaculately turned out.

‘Sorry we’re a bit late – oh, Virginia!’ Rosie stopped and put her hand to her mouth. ‘You look like a princess.’

‘You look lovely too.’ Virginia smiled as a stab of something – was it guilt? – shot through her. Today, all this fuss, the dress, was the kind of day Rosie had always dreamed of, had planned for from about the age of six, but which life had conspired to rob her of.

Rosie came over and pretended to look more closely at the dress. ‘I lost Mum again,’ she whispered so only Virginia could hear. ‘Found her in the hotel kitchen chatting to the chefs. It’s getting more and more frequent, this wandering off.’

Virginia glanced over at her mother. Alice was chatting to her and straightening her hat. ‘I know. It’s worrying. Let’s talk when Piers and I get back, hey?’

Rosie nodded. ‘Right,’ she clapped her hands. ‘Kerry and Cameron are in the hall with the porter and I daren’t leave them a second too long in those bridesmaid and page boy outfits or there’ll be a disaster. I’ve already taken Cameron to the toilet three times! Are we ready to go? The cars are here.’

‘Yup.’ Alice scooped up her small bouquet from the bed. ‘Let’s leave the bride for a minute to compose herself and we’ll go on ahead as planned. OK, Gin? Ready, Elizabeth?’

‘One moment, dear.’ From her clip bag Elizabeth brought out a small box and with fumbling fingers she opened it and took out a brooch in the shape of a swan. ‘It’s not much, but I wore it at my wedding and I think my mother wore it at hers. It’s for you today, sweetheart.’

Virginia took the modest little trinket from her mother and pinned it to the front of her dress, then kissed her mother’s powdery cheek. Elizabeth’s eyes were watery with tears and, pulling out a tissue from the box on the dressing table, Virginia dabbed them. Did she know that she was getting worse, Virginia wondered, wretched with sadness. Did she realise that she would need constant care very soon? Would she even remember this day?

‘Thanks, Mum,’ Virginia said quietly. ‘It’s beautiful.’

Alice mouthed ‘love you’, then the door shut behind the three women and, for a moment, everything was silent. Virginia turned back to the mirror. In the reflection she could see the bed in which she’d slept fitfully last night, too excited – and drunk – to sleep deeply, and in which she and Piers would sleep tonight. Even after just one night apart, she missed him, his warm body beside her. She couldn’t wait to see him again, so with one last check that she didn’t have lipstick on her teeth, she left the room.

Dominic, in dark morning suit and a red rose in his lapel, was standing at the bottom of the wide staircase as she made her way down. A few hotel guests were milling around the hallway on this busy Saturday afternoon in May and they stopped and looked at Virginia. Dom’s face was wreathed in smiles.

‘I won’t kiss you or I might smudge something,’ he laughed in his immaculately pronounced voice so like Piers’, ‘but all I’ll say is that my brother is a bloody lucky man and he’d better look after you.’

Unable to speak in case she cried, Virginia slipped her arm through his and they made their way out to the vintage Rolls-Royce parked outside the front doors, bedecked in ribbon, pausing only for the photographer to bob about and take pictures. Virginia had a sense of being in a carapace of unreality as the car pulled away from the kerb for the short journey to the church, and found herself waving royally out of the window at the people watching.

‘I feel like the Queen!’ she giggled.

‘Only much better-looking!’ Dom replied, then moved uneasily in his seat. ‘Look, I know I’ve said it before, Ginny, but I feel deeply honoured that you asked me to give you away. I know that you no longer have your dad and all that, but I’m sure you could have mustered up an uncle or something.’

‘There aren’t any, I’m afraid,’ Virginia laughed. ‘And the only cousin I have would have been so overwhelmed by you Waverleys that he’d have staggered up the aisle with me on a wave of Dutch courage!’

‘I guess we are a bit much en masse, aren’t we? Especially dear Mum.’

‘For simple northern folk like me, you are.’ Virginia laughed, hamming up her accent, then patted his leg. ‘Having you with me is brilliant, Dom. Thanks.’

‘I bet your dad would have been so proud.’

‘Don’t make me cry! My mascara will never recover!’ Then, to distract herself from the large missing piece of the jigsaw, she went back to watching the shoppers out of the window, wondering how they could be going about their day so normally when it was the most fantastic day ever and surely everyone should be enjoying it as much as she was.

There was a commotion around the church door as they arrived, Alice trying to corral Cameron and Kerry who, overcome by the gravitas of the moment, were hiding their faces on Rosie’s skirts, but as Virginia and Dom made their way up the blossom-strewn path, they were distracted by the image of her in her dress and veil, and Rosie was able to extricate herself and slip into the church door, giving a thumbs-up of support and approval to Virginia as she did so.

The church bell was pealing out in the spire above her as Alice and the children moved on ahead of her towards the door through which she could make out a sea of people in hats and finery, and for a moment Virginia’s ears felt muffled and she was in a place entirely alone. This was it. Too late to go back, though that was the last thing she could imagine wanting to do. This was their future, hers and Piers’, to be cemented now in front of all these people. Everything she had ever wanted. Slipping her arm through Dom’s, she squeezed it for support.

‘Come on then,’ he laughed. ‘Let’s make you a Waverley,’ and he led her into the church. As the organ burst into life, Piers stepped out from his seat at the top of the aisle and turned to look at her as she made her way slowly towards him. He looked strong and so handsome in his morning suit, his eyes never leaving her face, his smile the widest she had ever seen in her life.

With no regard for who might hear, Virginia trilled in high-pitched accompaniment to Celine Dion on the car radio.

She had seen Titanic about four times already and Piers had bought her the CD for her birthday. He sighed tolerantly every time she put it on or it came on the radio, and she adored bellowing out the chorus as she drove. Today, with the windows down and the May breeze blowing her hair, it fooled her into thinking for a while that she was confident and on top of things.

Natasha had asked her to come for coffee this morning when the four of them had met for dinner the week before – Piers and Virginia, Natasha and Sebastian – tucked away chummily in a booth in a favourite local gastropub. Both older than her by ten years, Sebastian ran a logistics firm just outside Oxford and Natasha worked part-time as a receptionist for some medical consultants, with hours that fitted around the kids and lunch parties. And, presumably, coffees with the newish wives of her husband’s friends.

Virginia slowed and squinted at the road sign. Woodstock was uncharted territory for her and, even though Natasha had been fairly detailed in her instructions, Virginia still wasn’t sure where she was going. ‘You sort of bear left’ wasn’t very specific, but then people are generally hopeless directing others to a place they know too well.

Even before she pulled in through the gate, Virginia knew the sort of thing to expect. A pretty stone house smothered in wisteria with a wide drive in front and a substantial car – no doubt Natasha’s – and a smaller hatchback parked neatly by beds teeming with flowers that Virginia couldn’t name. She sighed. She’d have to reciprocate the invitation or, worse, offer to have them for dinner, and her hands felt clammy even now at the prospect.

‘Virginia, how lovely to see you!’ Natasha was at the door in jeans and a floaty shirt. Her face was freckled and tanned and her reading glasses were pushed on top of her head, holding back healthy, well-cut hair. Virginia kissed her cheek briefly, then pulled away quickly. She wasn’t quite sure about the protocol of social kissing and had never been entirely comfortable with it. Alice had tried to explain it to her, but she always seemed to get it wrong. At home, growing up, they’d hugged each other briefly if they hadn’t seen each other for a while, and when she saw mates like Alice greetings usually involved a squeal and a massive embrace, but since meeting Piers she’d had to negotiate a whole new minefield. Did you simply make contact with one cheek, or did you go for both? And what noise did you make? It seemed ridiculous to fake a ‘mwah’ sound, but nothing at all seemed a little … flat. Whenever they met with friends, usually Piers’, she tried to watch what everyone else did before stepping forward and, more often than not, there would be an awkward moment as she was left leaning forward, cheek half-proffered, or she’d pulled away before realising the other person was expecting more. Piers’ mother, Judy, barely even made cheek contact and simply left Virginia in a haze of Van Cleef & Arpels.

‘Gorgeous garden,’ Virginia offered, hooking her handbag up over her shoulder.

Natasha waved a dismissive hand. ‘Terrible mess I’m afraid. That rain the other night has decimated everything and I haven’t had a chance to tidy up. We have a chap who helps, but he’s gone on a fishing holiday or some such thing. Come on in.’

Virginia followed her through the half-glazed front door, painted in the olive green so favoured around these parts, and into a large, airy flagstoned hall. Coats were hung randomly on brass pegs, and the floor was strewn with walking boots and wellies. An enormous bouquet of flowers appeared even bigger as it was reflected in the overmantle mirror behind it and Virginia picked up the heady scent of lilies. Natasha led on through to a spectacular and even larger kitchen, with French doors along one entire wall giving way to a patio, probably called a ‘terrace’. Virginia could see a long teak table and chairs and wide cream parasol and, beyond, a lawn and garden twice the size of the one in front.

It was all perfect and effortless. Just right. Just what the magazines said comfortable middle-class life should look like. Quality and taste oozing out of every handmade cornice and Corian worktop, with the haphazard details of family life – children’s drawings on the fridge, papers and magazines piled up on the central island – that smacked of days well spent and successful, attentive parenting.

Virginia swallowed hard.

‘Coffee?’ Natasha started to bustle with a percolator and Virginia knew that asking for a cuppa wouldn’t be the right thing to do at all. She found real coffee made her feel a bit sick but she had battled on and had even bought a machine for home. Well, everyone else had one. As Natasha made up a tray with pretty mugs and a packet of Hob Nobs, a youngish woman walked into the kitchen. At first Virginia thought it must be a child of Natasha’s she didn’t know about – she was fairly certain their eldest was only about twelve – until she saw she was carrying a basket containing furniture polish and dusters.

‘This is Alessandra,’ Natasha introduced her in the patronising, overfriendly way people keep for foreigners or domestic help, or both. ‘She’s a marvel – looks after the kids and keeps us all in order. How did you get on with Ollie’s room? Did you find the floor?’ Alessandra smiled and shrugged, perhaps missing her meaning. Natasha raised her eyebrows exaggeratedly.

‘Kids! Spend your whole time cleaning up after them,’ She picked up the tray and headed out of the French windows. Virginia hesitated and smiled at the young girl, feeling rude walking away, then, unable to think of anything to say, followed Natasha through into the garden.

‘You’ve got all this to come, haven’t you?’ Natasha laughed, putting the tray down on the teak table. ‘Just you wait. Ruin your life they do, and wreck your house. Are you going to have a brood? Piers comes from quite a big family, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes, yes he does.’ Virginia sipped on the scalding coffee, realising she was sounding much more reticent than was normal for her. ‘Four boys. We’re still enjoying it just being the two of us, to be honest.’

‘And you? What about your family?’

‘A younger sister. She has two kids, a boy and a girl.’

‘Does she live close by? Always nice to have family close by. Mine are in bloody Suffolk which is a nightmare to get to.’

‘No, Stoke. That’s where I grew up.’

‘Oh right.’ Natasha seemed stumped for a reply. Clearly Stoke was not on her radar and she was at a loss to make any social connections.

They chatted on for a while, Natasha sticking mainly to the safe subject of her children who went to the best private day school in Oxford, where Piers taught history. Private school was something Virginia knew nothing about but which Piers, having been steeped in them since birth, had explained the workings of to her. He’d even taken her back to his Alma Mater in Hampshire early on in their relationship and proudly shown her pictures of him sitting straight-backed in rowing team photos, but it was another time and another place. And another world. He talked of quirky traditions and odd names for things understood only by pupils and old boys. He recounted tales of being a fag or getting ‘chits’ for misdemeanours and she’d laughed at the quaintness of it all, utterly at a loss to comprehend it.

‘Be great if our kids came here,’ he’d sighed as he put his arm around her and they walked across the quad.

‘Christ!’ she’d gasped. ‘We’ll both have to get another job if we’re going to afford it!’ But they knew full well that there was no way any child of hers was coming to a place like this.

Natasha had now moved on to house prices. ‘You are so sensible to stay in town. I spend a fortune on petrol going to and fro but you and Piers can just nip down the road for dinner or the shops.’

Virginia thought about their flat, so totally different from this house with its country views and huge garden. ‘It was all we could afford really,’ she explained and Natasha sighed.

‘I know what you mean. Sebastian has hocked us to the eyeballs for this place and I love it, don’t get me wrong, but you should see the bills. And that on top of everything else!’

After a bit more of Natasha talking and Virginia listening, and what seemed like a polite length of time, Virginia glanced at her watch and picked up her bag. ‘I’m afraid I have to go, but thanks for the coffee. Delicious.’ She stood up and Natasha ushered her back through the kitchen where Alessandra was mopping the floor. She didn’t look up as they negotiated around her bucket.

‘Usual Eastern European charm,’ Natasha whispered once they were in the hall, and Virginia wasn’t sure how to reply.

‘At least you get the floor cleaned,’ she said lightly, hoping Natasha would take it as a joke, but deeply uncomfortable.

Natasha kissed her briefly. ‘I know you’re busy, but do come again, won’t you? It’s been lovely and we’ll get those two men of ours on the golf course too.’ She folded her arms and stood in the doorway as Virginia reversed out of the gate carefully, not daring to attempt turning in the driveway in case she drove over the flowerbeds or pranged Natasha’s car. She didn’t drop her shoulders and relax until she was a mile or so down the road and heading back to the safety of home. It hadn’t been lovely at all. It had been a strain trying to do the right thing and not make a gaffe.

She was sure she must have come over as boring and she could imagine Natasha and Sebastian discussing her as they tucked into a perfect macaroni cheese at the kitchen table later that evening. Natasha would recount it all and they’d agree she wasn’t as much fun as Piers.

As she headed back towards Oxford, she wondered why she kept getting it wrong. She observed closely, studiously in fact, the way this circle of people operated – their casualness, what they drank, even the language they used – but somehow she kept falling short of the mark. Perhaps Alice was right – she was trying too hard and worrying too much.

Passing the playing fields for St Edward’s and Keble College, she turned off the Woodstock Road and pulled into a space just down from the flat. The road was cool and shady, the parked cars covered in blossom like confetti and, at last, Virginia felt safe.

Slamming shut the front door of the flat, she dumped her bag and clicked on the kettle, throwing open the windows as it started to heat up and knocking over a couple of anniversary cards on the windowsill. Then she opened the French window that looked onto the small square of garden dominated in the centre by the gnarled apple tree she refused to let Piers cut down. The fruit it produced had been small and shrivelled, and its blossom was now patchy like an old lady dressed up in the last vestiges of finery, but it was the only tree they had and to lose it seemed like a step backwards.

Taking her tea into the garden, she sat down at the table. Not nearly as impressive as Natasha’s and considerably cheaper. The chair wobbled and nipped her thighs painfully through her shorts. Even though it was her day off, she had a report to write, but it could wait. She dialled Rosie.

‘’llo?’

‘Hello, Kerry? It’s Virginia.’

‘Auntie Ginny?’

‘That’s the one,’ Virginia laughed, imagining her niece’s serious little frown, so like her mother’s. ‘Mum there?’

‘She’s just gone down the shop to get something for our tea.’

‘Are you on your own?’ It wasn’t her problem, she kept reminding herself, but it bothered her that Rosie left the kids alone even for a second. Virginia had never mentioned it, but she knew Rosie struggled with the logistics of children and chores. Virginia had even teased her that she was making it sound as if motherhood was something someone had foisted on her without her permission!

‘Tell her I’ll call later.’

‘Bye-bye, Aunty Ginny.’ Kerry put down the phone. Virginia smiled at the a