Just Married

by Zoe Barnes

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

Emma (ne Cox) and Joe Sheridan have just got married. Emma has been in love with Joe since school - marrying him was the happiest day of her life. But now the honeymoon is over and Emma's having to cope with the reality of married life. She's living in a new town, has a new job and a new husband, who hasn't quite left his bachelor days behind him.Then there's Emma's interfering mother-in-law who's expecting the patter of tiny feet before Joe's even carried her over the threshold!

Still, at least she and Joe are together at last. But Joe and Emma have never lived with each other before - and apart from the odd holiday - have never spent more than two weeks in each other's company. Setting up home together for the first time might be romantic, but nobody told them that living happily ever after takes a lot of hard work . . .

Release date: September 27, 2012

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 352

Sample

’Twas the night before Christmas …

But no ordinary night. My wedding night, thought Mrs Emma Sheridan, who only a few hours earlier had been plain Miss Emma Cox. And now she was lying in a four-poster bed in the poshest of posh hotels, while her new husband slumbered peacefully beside her, still endearingly pink and wrinkly from falling asleep in the Jacuzzi.

Small wonder he was exhausted; it had been a long, long day. After going out for the best part of seven years, Emma and Joe had finally tied the knot on Joe’s birthday. In comparison to all the build-up, the actual event had passed like lightning. She could almost have believed it hadn’t happened at all if the evidence wasn’t all around her. An ivory-coloured basque lay where it had been flung, her raw silk dress formed a rumpled heap on the armchair, and one lace-topped stocking snaked across the carpet like an escaping python.

She felt for the plain gold band on her finger. So it really had happened! She was married at last, to the gorgeous bloke she’d adored ever since he was the school hunk and she was a scabby-kneed new girl, longing for him to notice her existence. In the moonlight filtering between the brocade curtains, she saw her faint reflection in the dressing table mirror, little more than a monochrome shadow. Do I look different now I’m Joe’s wife? she wondered. I don’t feel very different.

‘Joe,’ she whispered, ‘are you awake?’

He murmured sleepily as she kissed him on the cheek, but didn’t stir; and she hadn’t the heart to wake him just to tell him that she couldn’t sleep. So she slipped out of bed, put on her new silk robe and slid her feet into her slippers.

With a backward glance and a smile, she stepped out into the corridor and closed the door softly behind her.

Hiring an entire wing of Brockbourne Hall for two whole days at Christmas was ridiculously extravagant but, as Joe pointed out, with him doing so well now they could afford it, and it was the best time of year for getting all the family together. Besides, after such a long wait it would have seemed bizarre to whisk the whole thing through in a ten-minute register office ceremony. It had to be special; more than special.

And yet …

She pushed open the door of the Hatherley Suite and stepped into a silent world which, only hours earlier, had been full of relatives and friends dancing and getting pleasantly drunk. Now it was a Marie Celeste of abandoned party nibbles, half-drunk glasses of wine, crumpled napkins.

Over there was the precise spot where she and Joe had kissed, to the accompaniment of ribald cheers, as they stepped out together for the first dance. Funny, it had been a wonderful day, yet it still felt like it had happened to somebody else.

Pink and silver balloons still floated above the remains of the wedding cake, beside the place card that read: Mr and Mrs Joe Sheridan. Mrs Joe: what a silly idea, as if a husband could still own his wife, the way they’d done in the old days. Why, she wondered, hadn’t Joe become Mr Emma Cox?

An opened bottle of champagne still sat in an ice bucket. She picked it up; it was still half-full. Here’s to us, she declared as she drank a silent toast. At last I’m what I want to be. So why do I still feel like ordinary old me?

She laughed and took another swig of flat champagne. Like everybody, she’d expected far too much. Life would go on, pretty much the way it always had. After all, all she and Joe had really done was say a few words and sign a bit of paper.

Such a little thing couldn’t really change your whole world. Could it?

On a chill, damp evening in late February, Emma Sheridan screwed up her face in concentration and forced a last rebellious strand of hair into the big butterfly clip. There was rather a lot of hair to tame: thick, honey-blonde layers that framed her heart-shaped face and fell in soft waves onto her shoulders. One of these days, she really would have to get it cut; being a nurse it was only sensible. After all, she’d lost count of the number of times it had escaped from captivity and got spattered with sick, blood or something worse, not to mention the days when she’d worn it longer and a drunk had tried to strangle her with it. Ah, the romance of the A&E department – just like on the telly, but a lot smellier.

Just as she was doing up the last button on her uniform tunic, she heard the sound of Joe’s key in the front door and skipped out of the bathroom to greet him. Maybe in twenty years’ time she might be more blasé about his coming home at night, but at the moment it was lovely being loved up, revelling in the novelty of being Mrs Emma Sheridan instead of plain old Miss Cox, spinster of some other parish.

Funny how she’d imagined married life would be just like the single version, only with a bigger grocery bill: here they were only two months in, and already it seemed to have changed everything.

‘Joe!’ She sprang into his arms, and he spun round laughing, making her legs fly out like ribbons on a maypole. She was a normal-sized five foot five, curvy in the right places and pretty strong from her job, but in her husband’s embrace she felt like a seed off a dandelion clock, a tiny little puff of nothing. At six two with shoulders you could hang an elephant on, Joe spent most of his life looking down at the top of her head, while she had a crick in her neck from gazing up at him adoringly.

But there was so much to adore in that face: the soulful, golden-brown eyes; the dimpled chin; the close-cut, tawny hair; the Sheridan family nose that had kinked ever so slightly to the left since he fell off his bicycle, aged fourteen. A face that was handsome, yet not afraid to be lived in. The face she loved.

‘Hiya, Squeaky.’ She reddened with embarrassed pleasure at his pet name for her. She’d once tried to think up one for him, but none of her ideas had stuck; whereas she’d been landed with ‘Squeaky’ the first time Joe had heard her breathless, high-pitched squeak of a laugh. She’d hated it at first, but now embraced it as though it were a caress: something special, that only Joe ever gave her. He gave the tip of her nose a lick and set her down. ‘How’s my gorgeous darling wife?’

‘All the better for seeing her gorgeous darling husband.’ She noticed how tired he looked. ‘Busy day at work?’

‘Mental. Tim Rawlings ballsed up the automated ordering system, and we ended up with only three cabbages between here and Wolverhampton.’

She smoothed a gentle hand down the side of his face, slightly stubbly after a long day’s area sales-managing for Unico, Britain’s fourth largest supermarket chain. ‘But you sorted it all out, right?’

Joe preened modestly. ‘Just doing my job.’

‘Well I bet you did it better than anybody else would’ve done.’

‘You’d say that even if I didn’t.’

‘Of course I would, you’re my big hunky hero.’ She rubbed herself up against him like an overexcited eel. ‘My lovely gorgeous irresistibly sexy hero.’

‘Does that mean I can look forward to an evening of unbridled lust with my adoring wife?’ he asked hopefully.

Emma smiled. ‘I wish.’ Detaching herself, she reached for her coat. ‘I’m on duty tonight, remember?’

‘Not necessarily.’ Joe slid a coaxing hand underneath her tunic, and gave her bum a squeeze. ‘You could call in sick.’

She giggled. It was so, so tempting. She’d only been in her current job since just before the wedding, and already she’d had two weeks off for the honeymoon – still, what difference would one more night make? But she knew what would happen if she started off down that route. One night would turn into three, and before she knew it they’d have chucked her out of the nursing bank for being unreliable.

And just because she’d given up a good job in a London teaching hospital to come back to Cheltenham and marry Joe, that didn’t mean she’d stopped caring about her career – even if she did have to keep reminding herself of that occasionally.

‘You know I can’t.’

‘Why not? Everybody else does it.’ She knew he wasn’t playing a game; he really meant it. ‘And it’s not as if we’re desperate for the money.’

That was true enough, thought Emma. And even if they had been, her pitiful salary wouldn’t make much of a dent in Joe’s pizza bill, let alone the mortgage on this snazzy apartment.

‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ she promised, jumping up and dotting a goodnight kiss on his forehead.

There was just a hint of a pout in Joe’s response. ‘I might have gone to work by then.’

‘In which case I’ll see you in the evening, won’t I?’

‘Yeah, for about ten minutes.’

She sighed. ‘You don’t make this easy, do you? Hey remember, only three more nights and then I’m off for five.’ She headed off down the passage to the front door, past a row of Chagall prints and a life-size Spiderman cut-out, and Joe followed, pulling off his tie and flinging it over Spiderman’s shoulder.

‘Yes, well, just don’t expect to be getting any sleep, OK?’

‘Promises, promises.’ She turned and blew him a kiss. ‘There’s a lasagne in the fridge, I made it this afternoon; and a bag of ready-made salad. And why don’t you put your cardboard friend in the spare room, along with your Baywatch posters? I’m sure he’d be much happier.’

‘But I like having Spidey here.’ Joe flicked the end of the tie. ‘And he’s useful too, see?’

‘You want a hatstand for the hall? So let’s go out and buy one. One we both like.’

‘But I—’

She wagged a teasing finger under his nose. ‘Yes, well I live here now too, Mr Sheridan, and it’s bad enough having to share the bathroom with the Starship Enterprise. So how about it? Hmm?’ She fluttered her eyelashes prettily.

‘Well … maybe. We’ll see.’

‘You bet we will. Right, gotta go now, see you in the morning.’

Joe’s face fell. ‘Oh. OK, ’bye darling. Be good.’

And then she was gone, leaving Joe looking as if the wheels had just fallen off his skateboard.

It was a quiet night in the A&E department at Cotswold General. So quiet, the receptionist had even switched off the electronic display that usually read: CURRENT WAITING TIME FOUR HOURS.

Emma’s mouth opened in an enormous yawn, and somebody pushed a Quality Street into it.

‘What’s this for?’ she mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate toffee.

‘To keep you awake.’ Eileen, the nursing assistant who’d been at Cotswold General since King Arthur had his tonsils done, nodded towards a massive tin on the reception desk. ‘Courtesy of a satisfied customer, apparently.’

‘I didn’t think we had any of those. Just dead ones and ones who make complaints.’

Eileen laughed. ‘Who’s had too many late nights recently?’ She gave Emma a suggestive nudge in the ribs. ‘Go on, girl, don’t keep it to yourself. I’m dying of suspense.’

‘Eh?’

‘Married life! You know, rumpy-pumpy. Must be good, you obviously aren’t getting any sleep.’

Emma tried – and failed – to suppress a blush that started at her chest and ran right to the tips of her ears. ‘Eileen!’

‘I know, I know, mind my own business.’ She heaved a sigh of grey-haired nostalgia. ‘Takes me back to my own …’

‘Your own what?’ enquired Lawrence the charge nurse as he passed through on his way to return the ECG machine to its bay. ‘Teeth? That must’ve been a while back.’

Eileen swatted him with a disposable glove. ‘I was talking about when I was first married! Emma was about to tell me all the juicy bits about her sex life, weren’t you, Em?’

‘Nice try,’ laughed Emma. ‘Dream on.’

She had a sneaking suspicion it was either Eileen or Ray the night porter who’d tied an inflatable stork and baby bootees to her peg in the staff changing room, the day she came back off honeymoon, but she knew she’d have to put up with that kind of thing at least until the novelty wore off and somebody else got hitched.

When people spent their working lives among blood, guts and tragedy, they had to get their laughs somehow.

As she checked over the resuscitation trolley for the nth time, just for something to do, Emma couldn’t stop her mind sneaking back to the lovely cosy apartment where Joe would be dolefully eating his lasagne and watching reruns of Robot Wars, before climbing into the king-size bed. All on his own.

He’s right, she thought. I could’ve rung in sick tonight – they’d never have missed me. God knows, they’d probably have been grateful. Even allowing for the differences between London and Cheltenham, and the fact that it was a dull, damp Wednesday in February, this was a quiet night. Normally, anyone with minor injuries was in for a long wait on a wobbly plastic chair, with nothing but anti-drugs posters to stare at. Tonight, the minute a minicab driver came in with a cut finger, three nurses and a junior house officer had all pounced on him at once.

Just as she was wondering if she could fake a migraine and get sent home, the phone rang and all hell broke loose.

The charge nurse slammed down the receiver, all trace of merriment gone from his face. ‘Major traffic accident on the motorway,’ he announced. Everybody sprang instantly to attention.

‘How many injured?’ asked one of the junior doctors.

‘Sixteen, four serious, coming our way in around,’ Lawrence glanced at the clock, ‘five minutes. So if anybody wants a pee, go and do it now. Looks like it’s going to be a long night.’

‘Emma?’ A voice called through the open door and down the passageway. ‘Emma dear, this door knocker could do with a bit of Brasso. Emma, are you there?’ The voice paused but no reply came. ‘Joe?’

Joe had just put Emma’s rather fine home-made lasagne into the microwave (he couldn’t be arsed using the real oven, it took far too long), and was singing along to J-Lo on the radio when his mother put her head round the kitchen door.

‘Joe, darling. I let myself in with that spare key you gave me, you don’t mind?’

Joe opened his mouth to remind her that she was supposed to have given them the key back when they returned from honeymoon, but what the heck. After all she was his mum, not a cat burglar. ‘Hello there.’ He gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘How’s Dad?’

‘Fine since he started on the new tablets, and don’t let him tell you he isn’t.’ Minette Sheridan glanced around as though there might be somebody lurking in one of the kitchen cupboards. ‘Where’s Emma?’

‘She’s on nights again, Mum, didn’t she tell you?’

Minette’s diminutive body stiffened, matching the ruthless symmetry of her chin-length ash-blonde bob. ‘On nights? Again?’ The ping of the microwave oven punctuated the outraged silence. ‘And she’s left you to make do with some horrible TV dinner? Oh Joe, that’s just not right.’

Joe protested, albeit weakly. ‘It’s a lasagne, Mum, Emma made it h—’

But it was pointless; Minette had already made up her mind. Seizing the plate from Joe’s hand, she slid the contents straight into the kitchen bin. ‘Right! You’re coming home with me for a decent meal.’

‘But Mum …’

‘I’ve made a steak and kidney pie. And apple crumble to follow.’

That swung it for Joe. He’d always been a sucker for his mum’s home cooking, perfectly respectable though Emma’s might be. And besides, his dinner was in the bin now and he had to eat something, didn’t he?

‘I’ll just get my coat, then.’ He was drooling already.

Emma peeled off her disposable latex gloves and dropped them wearily into the bin.

‘You OK?’ asked Lawrence, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She nodded. ‘Fine. Just a bit bushed, that’s all.’ It was more than that though, she reflected; a mixture of acute physical exhaustion and an adrenalin high that wouldn’t let her come down for hours. She was glad she had Lawrence to talk to; he was the kind of bloke you’d trust with your life. Emma’s boss or not, in the couple of months she’d been at the General, they’d become really good mates. And mates were in pretty short supply since she’d left all of her old ones back in London.

He stepped away and leaned his back against the door frame. ‘It’s been quite a night,’ he observed.

‘Do you reckon the kid’ll make it?’ she asked, thinking of the fourteen-year-old with the ghostly white face and the twisted legs, who’d thought it would be such a great idea to take his brother’s car for a drive.

The charge nurse shrugged. ‘Hard to say, isn’t it. But we did our best, like we always do. And if it wasn’t for you being so quick off the mark, that old lady with the aneurism would probably be dead.’

She looked up. ‘You reckon so?’

‘I know so. You’re good at this job, Emma.’ He lowered his voice. ‘To be honest we’re lucky to have you, but I didn’t say that, OK?’

She smiled. ‘Say what?’

‘Now for God’s sake get yourself washed and changed, woman. From what I hear there’s a sexy young man waiting for you at home, and he doesn’t want you turning up smelling of puke.’

‘That you, Rozzer? Hang on a minute.’ Joe held the mobile to his ear as he squeezed through the Unico warehouse, taking care not to get economy ketchup on his new Armani. Like his ex-army dad, who still ironed creases in his jeans, Joe liked to look smart. And anyway, it was part of the job to look good – especially when you were on the management fast track with no intention of stopping till you hit Success Central.

Hand muffling the receiver, he gestured to the store man in the brown coat. ‘Those fifty pallets to Abingdon by four, or I’ll want to know the reason why.’ His voice returned to normal volume. ‘You still there?’

Rozzer Wilkinson – christened Roswell by his UFO-mad parents – replied through what sounded like a mouthful of crisps. ‘Yeah. Just having a bevvy in the Two Foxes before the afternoon rush. What’s up?’

‘You and Toby fancy coming round on Friday night? There’s a big match on satellite. Gary’s coming,’ he added, by way of an additional incentive.

‘You sure it’ll be all right?’ asked Rozzer doubtfully.

Joe scratched his nose. ‘How d’you mean, all right?’

‘With Emma. You know, the new lady of the house? I mean, you’ve only just got back off honeymoon, you might want to … do something else.’

Joe chuckled. ‘Of course it’s all right with Em, she’ll be cool about it. Hey, we’re not at it like rabbits every minute of the day you know.’

‘More fool you,’ quipped Rozzer.

‘So – you coming round then?’

‘OK, half-eight all right? Only I’ve got to close up the shop and then it’s football practice.’

‘Fine. See you then – oh, and don’t forget the beer!’

Joe rang off and clipped the phone back onto his belt. He felt a little thrill of domesticated excitement as he thought of Emma. His lovely new wife. Of Emma, and of the nice warm bed they’d be sharing again after she’d finished this run of nights.

Hmm. Joe smiled to himself. Emma, a soft bed, a bottle of champagne … Rozzer definitely had something there.

Emma finished suturing the two-inch gash in the little girl’s forehead, and sat back to examine her handiwork.

‘There,’ she smiled. ‘That didn’t hurt, did it?’

The corners of the little mouth quivered, but the child shook her head.

‘And you were ever so brave!’ Emma turned to the harassed-looking mother, still dressed in her pyjamas and blood-spattered dressing gown. ‘Wasn’t Sara-Jane a brave girl, Mum?’ Mum smiled weakly, no doubt still recovering from the shock of having a brick thrown through her bedroom window in the middle of the night. ‘I think that deserves one of our special certificates.’

She fetched one from the drawer in reception and filled in the girl’s name in red felt pen. It read: This certificate is presented to Sara-Jane for being very brave in hospital. ‘There we are.’ She handed it over. ‘Well done.’

‘Say thank you to the nice lady, Sara-Jane.’

‘Fank oo.’

‘You’re very welcome. Now, I’ll just fetch a leaflet for your mummy, so she knows what to do if you feel poorly later on.’ She looked the mother up and down. She wasn’t saying much, and she was white as a sheet. ‘Are you OK? Would you like the doctor to have a look at you too?’

‘No, I’m fine. Really. It’s just the shock.’ She swallowed. ‘I’ve just been thinking. About talking to the police …’

‘That’s OK, I can call them as soon as you’re ready.’

‘Actually.’ The woman laid a protective hand on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘I’ve changed my mind. What I mean is, well, I don’t want to make a fuss. In fact I don’t think I’m going to bother reporting this at all, thanks.’

Emma cocked her head questioningly. ‘But someone tried to hurt you. And your little girl. What if—’

‘Never mind what if.’ The woman’s dark eyes met hers, and the look was suddenly diamond-hard. ‘Look love, I live on the Meadows Estate,’ she said. ‘There’s things you do and there’s things you don’t. It’s talking to the police that got me in this mess in the first place. Now, if you’ve done with Sara-Jane, we’re going home.’

‘Hey, c’mon.’ Joe refilled Emma’s wine glass and set it back down on the edge of the bath, where it nestled among the overflowing bubbles. ‘You’re supposed to be in the grip of unbearable sensual ecstasy. Or am I doing this all wrong?’

‘What? Oh, I’m sorry darling.’ She sat up in the bath and gave him a foamy kiss. ‘You’re not doing anything wrong, I was just thinking.’

‘Well, don’t!’ Joe pulled off his socks and sat down on the edge of the bath. Candles flickered around them in the half-light, casting romantic shadows. This was Emma’s first night off, and he was determined it was going to be one to remember. ‘You’ve got to stop imagining you can sort everybody else’s lives out for them.’

‘I know, and I don’t, but I—’

‘Yes you do! You’ve got a heart as big as a house and people take advantage of that.’ He stroked her honey-blonde hair back from her face. ‘Look, sweetheart, you had a word with the charge nurse, let him deal with it. If he thinks he ought to talk to Social Services or whatever, he will. It’s not your responsibility, OK?’

‘I—’ He threw her a warning look. ‘OK, ancient history.’

Emma flopped back into the foam and he started nibbling her toes, making her giggle. He was right of course, and she knew it. If there was one thing nursing had taught her, it was not to get personally involved. You’d go mad if you thought too hard about the person behind every bruise or dislocated toe. Professional detachment, that was what you had to aim for; even a first-year student nurse knew that.

To be honest, she’d thought she had the balance just about right; but that was before she’d moved back here from London and her whole life had turned inside out, leaving her feeling curiously vulnerable and adrift. She was so lucky she had Joe, her paradise island in an ocean of uncertainty, even if Joe was the cause of the upheaval – in the nicest possible way.

‘This is so strange,’ she heard herself murmur.

Joe looked up from her pampered toes, crestfallen. ‘I thought you liked it.’

‘I do!’ she replied, smiling at his expression. ‘I didn’t mean what you’re doing, I mean life.’

‘Oh God,’ Joe sighed dramatically. ‘Now she’s a philosopher.’

She splashed him playfully. ‘I’m serious! It’s such a strange time in our lives, don’t you think? Everything’s different, so … new.’

‘Of course it is.’ He ran a finger lightly up her leg, teasing her beneath the waterline. ‘But it’s wonderful, not strange.’

‘Both.’ Detaching herself, she rolled over onto her belly and dotted kisses on Joe’s bare thigh. He really is beautiful, she thought as she tasted the hint of salt on the smooth, toned flesh. He could have any woman he wants. How did I ever get so lucky? ‘All those years we went out together, and we never really started to know each other till now. I never even knew you were allergic to celery!’

‘So what? Hey, the getting to know each other bit is half the fun. Squeaky, love – what’s brought this on?’

‘Oh, nothing. Take no notice.’

‘You are happy, aren’t you?’

‘Yes!’

She looked up into his eyes and felt the thrill of knowing that he was hers, really hers at last, and she was his. Everything else – the newness, the strangeness, the not quite fitting in – would sort itself out, because what really mattered was that they were together.

‘Darling,’ she whispered, drawing his face down to hers.

‘Hmm?’

‘Do you remember that big sunken bath we had that time in Tunisia? The one with room for two?’ Joe’s smile broadened. ‘Do I ever.’

‘And do you remember what we got up to in it?’

‘Of course I do. What about it?’

She kissed him. ‘I’m not sure I can recall all the details. Maybe you’d better climb in here and remind me.’

Emma was still towelling herself dry when the phone rang.

‘I’ll get it,’ said Joe, flicking back his still-damp hair. A moment later he reappeared in the doorway of the bathroom, portable phone in hand. ‘It’s for you – the hospital I think.’ He mouthed, ‘Tell them to bugger off,’ but Emma just stuck out her tongue at him.

‘Hello? Emma Co—’ she halted herself just in time, ‘Sheridan speaking.

‘Hi, this is Jennie from the Nursing Bank. Just thought I’d let you know where we’re assigning you next week.’

‘Oh,’ said Emma, slightly taken aback. ‘I thought I was staying on A and E.’

‘Well, as you know Sister Murphy’s coming back off sick leave and we’ll be fully staffed for nights, so we’re transferring you to days on …’

Emma brightened considerably. Days on A&E, that was even better. And if she could stay on days until a permanent job came up …

‘… Milbrook Ward.’

For a moment, it didn’t quite register. Then an alarm bell went off inside Emma’s head. ‘Milbrook? Isn’t that a geriatric ward?’

‘Female medical, strictly speaking, though a lot of the patients are long-stay elderly. A few of them have psychiatric issues as well.’

‘Oh.’

‘Is that a problem?’

‘Er … no,’ lied Emma. Not that she had anything against elderly patients; it was just that she’d slogged her guts out to pass those courses in A&E and Intensive Care. That was what she loved. That was what she was good at, what she’d always wanted to do. And that was what she’d given up to come here.

‘What’s up?’ mouthed Joe.

‘Could you hold on a moment?’ She cupped her hand over the receiver. ‘They’re transferring me to days next week.’

‘Great!’

‘On geriatrics.’

Joe shrugged, uncomprehending. ‘Does that matter? Hey, we’ll actually get to spend some time together!’

Emma turned back to the phone and took a deep breath. ‘No problem at all, Jennie. When do you want me to start?’

The following day, the last of Emma’s adrenalin ran out and the accumulated tiredness of eight consecutive nights hit her like a brick wall. She spent most of the day slopping around the flat in her Miffy pyjamas while Joe raced off to Evesham to find out why cheese sales had slumped by twelve per cent.

Yet again she had to admit that Joe had a point. Milbrook might not have been her choice, but it would be nice to do days again, not to mention sleeping in the same bed as Joe – at the same time.

As she lounged on Joe’s huge white leather sofa, eating some salami she’d found at the back of the fridge, the phone trilled into life.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello, love, it’s Mum. How’s my number-one daughter enjoying married life?’

Emma had to laugh. Her mum always called her that, despite the fact that Emma was an only child. Mr Cox’s early death had put paid to plans for brothers and sisters, and Karen Cox had never remarried. She always said she was quite happy as she was, and now the guest house kept her too busy to think about men.

‘It’s great, Mum, but you might have warned me about the underpants!’

‘The what?’

‘One minute they’re wooing you with their skintight Calvin Kleins, the next they’ve got the ring on your finger and the Scooby-Doo boxers come out of the closet! It wouldn’t be so bad, but he sleeps in them.’

‘Never mind, love,’ laughed Karen. ‘Just rip a few holes in them next time you do the washing, and blame it on the machine. That’s what I used to do with your dad’s long johns. How is Joe, anyway?’

‘Working too hard, as usual. I’m on my days off now, so I thought I’d get a nice romantic video out, do some pizzas, and then we can have a cosy Friday night in, all snuggled up on the sofa.’

‘Sounds lovely.’

‘What about you, Mum?’ asked Emma. ‘I hope you’ve been having a rest.’

Her mother laughed. ‘A rest! What about all my guests?’

‘In January?’

‘You’d be surprised, Blackpool’s busy all year round these days, what with the new casino and the boom in the gay trade. Did I tell you I got taken to a transvestite show-bar last weekend?’

‘Mum!’

‘It was fascinating. One of them gave me the most brilliant tip for getting nail varnish on without it smudging.’

‘Mum,’ said Emma sternly, ‘you really do have to rest. Go away for a nice winter sun break or something. You looked absolutely exhausted at the wedding.