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Chapter 1 tease

Suzanne

March 10, 2014 Leave a Comment

GIRL ON BEACH

“Suzanne” by Michael Betcherman

Blurb:

Suzanne had it all. Then she lost it. Now she wants it back.

Suzanne Braun had it all – beauty, status and money. Then her husband died – but unfortunately not before making a series of foolish investments that squandered her inheritance. When a promising relationship with a wealthy and aging suitor founders during prenuptial negotiations, Suzanne finds herself a social pariah, universally regarded as an unscrupulous golddigger.

Her prospects look bleak until her late husband’s brother, Douglas, invites her to spend the summer at Inglewood, the family cottage on Lake Joseph, a playground for Toronto’s uber-rich. Suzanne packs her bag, deposits her wayward daughter at summer camp and armed only with her wits and her sex appeal, heads north with one goal in mind: to return home at summer’s end with a wealthy fiancé in tow.

Douglas’ frumpy wife Catherine dreads Suzanne’s arrival. Years earlier she went out with Suzanne’s late husband before he dumped her for Suzanne, but there is more than a summer in the company of a hated rival at stake. Catherine fears that the sexy widow will set her sights on her brother Mark, a successful businessman who is returning to Canada after 14 years in Japan. The prospect that this social climbing opportunist might penetrate the family circle is too horrible to contemplate, and Catherine will stop at nothing to prevent it.

Chapter one tease

MONDAY, JULY 3

Subject: the wicked witch of the west

To: Marjory Stein

From: Catherine

Hi Mags,

Well, the she-devil arrived Saturday afternoon, laden with six Louis Vuitton suitcases and the touching confession that her “fondest desire” was that we put the past behind us. She’s been on her best behavior; gracious towards me, deferential towards Douglas, and doting towards the children. That sound you hear is me retching.

My foolish husband has been completely taken in. He is convinced that Suzanne is sincere about wanting to turn over a new leaf. When I muttered something about a wolf in designer clothing, he accused me of being mean-spirited and even suggested that I was jealous of Suzanne because I had been ‘going with’ Michael when he met her. Have you ever heard anything more absurd? A handful of unmemorable dates hardly qualifies as ‘going with’ someone. If anyone is jealous, it’s Douglas. Why else would he dredge this up after all these years?

Michael’s the one he should be angry at. I don’t like to speak poorly about the dead, but if he’d had the courage to stand up to Suzanne, none of this would ever have happened. He and Douglas were as close to each other growing up as Mark and I were. Can you imagine either of us letting anyone get between us like she did with them? Then again, perhaps I’m being too hard on Michael. The woman is a remarkably nasty piece of business. It’s only taken her a day to set Douglas and I against each other. She had years to work on Michael.

love to David and the kids,

Catherine

___________________________

From: Maggie

To: Catherine

Hi Cat,

You know how much I love Douglas, but it was very disloyal of him to invite Suzanne to Inglewood without clearing it with you first. And that crack about you being jealous was way out of line. The point is that she went after Michael while you were still seeing him. Whether or not you were interested in him, and of course you weren’t, is completely irrelevant. You don’t do that to a friend. But then she never was interested in being our friend, was she? We were just her ticket to the right side of the tracks. I wonder if it has ever crossed her mind that if we hadn’t befriended her, she would never have met Michael in the first place. Remember that god awful yellow jump suit she was wearing the first day of class?

By the way, I saw her at Holt’s a couple of days ago. Truly depressing. The woman doesn’t age. If there is a God, she really does move in mysterious ways. If I was in charge, I wouldn’t have wasted the boils on the Egyptians, I’d have saved them for her. She was her usual phony self, declared herself ‘absolutely thrilled’ to see me. yadda yadda yadda. I guess she lost my number when it came time to put her house up for sale. By the way, she dropped the price a second time even though her agent suggested she take it off the market until things pick up. Michael must have left her in worse shape than we thought.

I have to admit she’s got nerve. Her parting words were ‘I hope we’ll get a chance to see you at Inglewood,” as if her name was on title. Why don’t you put her up in the boathouse? Maybe the raccoons will persuade her she’s not welcome.

xoxo

Maggie

Marjorie Stern

Oak Tree Realty

Everything Maggie touches turns to SOLD!

___________________________

From: Suzanne

To: Lisa

Dear Lisa,

I arrived at Inglewood Saturday after dropping Jennifer off at camp. Any doubts I had about the wisdom of placing her there were dispelled two minutes after we arrived when, in full view of everyone, she loudly announced that I could leave and then brusquely rebuffed my attempt to hug her goodbye. If she didn’t bear such an eerie resemblance to me, I would be convinced that she had been switched at birth.

Douglas and the children were out when I arrived, leaving Catherine free to provide a welcome – a slab of orange cheddar, some stale crackers and the remains of an open bottle of wine – that clearly defined the rules of engagement. I am the poor relative with nowhere else to go; she is the benevolent lady of the manor, duty bound to take me in.

What happened next convinced me that I am faced with an adversary who will stop at nothing to get rid of me. Once we exchanged pleasantries, she asked if I would like to see some pictures of the children. Before I could tell her that I would rather be jabbed in the eye with a hot needle, she advanced towards me with a hideous grin and a daunting stack of photo albums. At first I thought she intended to crush me to death with them but that would have left marks. It was only by the end of the first album, when baby Tony had rolled over onto his side for the third time in his life, that her fiendish plan became clear. She intends to bore me to death.

Catherine is a charter member of that tribe of dull women who live vicariously through their children, obsessively immersing themselves in every detail of their lives and tirelessly singing their praises. If her children are even one-tenth as talented as she claims, before the summer is out Tony will be offered a Rhodes Scholarship and Cleo’s artwork will be removed from the fridge and installed at the Whitney.

After half an hour I could feel the life force draining out of me when Douglas came to the rescue. He seemed genuinely pleased to see me. At the risk of sounding immodest, I think he is happy to have me here on aesthetic grounds alone. Catherine’s best years – a relative term – are long past. If they are still having conjugal relations, it is only because he is burdened with an extraordinarily strong sense of duty.

The children are a pleasant surprise. They are neither as dull and unimaginative as their gene pool would suggest, nor as spoiled and self-centered as their upbringing would lead one to predict. Although they are as different as night and day – Tony is an introvert, happy to spend his days with his nose in a book while Cleo is outgoing and energetic – they get along beautifully with each other. Tony takes his responsibility as a big brother very seriously and Cleo absolutely idolizes him. I couldn’t help wondering if Jennifer might have turned out differently had I been able to provide her with a sibling.

The cottage itself is lovely – a little run-down in that charming way which only the rich can pull off – and I am sure I shall be very comfortable here. It was built a half-century ago by Catherine’s grandfather – Grandpa Jack – and it is a point of honor with her that everything here remains in its original state. This year Douglas finally rebelled at his wife’s reverence for tradition and installed an indoor toilet – a state-of-the-art composting toilet that converts you-know-what into black earth for his vegetable garden in a few short days. (Note to self: avoid vegetables for the duration.) Within minutes of his arrival he showed off his new toy. He was so proud of it that for a moment I thought he was going to give me a personal demonstration.

Grandpa Jack’s original outhouse is still standing and Catherine continues to use it when the weather cooperates. She contends that the view of the lake it provides on a moonlit night is an experience that shouldn’t be missed. Not an image one is keen to linger on.

More later. An interminable evening of board games awaits. Is ‘bitch’ in the official Scrabble dictionary?

Love,

Suzanne

_____________________________

WEDNESDAY, JULY 5

Subject: Suzanne

From: Catherine

To: Jean

Dear Mummy,

I know I shouldn’t let it get to me, but if things keep up the way they’re going my marriage won’t survive the summer.

Yesterday the Wards called up to invite us to a cocktail party. Douglas made sure that Suzanne was included. I could have killed him. We were an hour late waiting for her to get dressed. She finally emerged in a pair of shorts – short being the operative word – and a low scoop neck t-shirt that had the men salivating the moment she bounced off the boat. Earl Stewart, loaded as usual, immediately started chatting her up but the look he got from Elisa sobered him up in a hurry. After that, the others were smart enough to keep their distance.

Roger Dillon was there as well. He’s throwing his annual bash this Saturday at the club. Suzanne was desperate for an invite and threw out a number of feelers, all of which Roger pointedly ignored. Not surprising, considering that he and Henry are such good friends. Most people would have got the hint but not our Suzanne. She cornered Roger when he was talking to Douglas and me and asked him outright if she could come to the party. Can you believe the gall of the woman? The poor man was caught completely off-guard. Talk about an awkward silence. He said yes, of course. What else could he do with Douglas standing right there? Tell one of his best clients that his houseguest wasn’t welcome at his party?

I thought, if nothing else, that this would at least remove the blinkers from Douglas’ eyes, and that he would finally see her for what she is. I even dared to think he would feel so insulted by her outrageous behavior that he would send her packing. Fat chance. He was insulted – but by Roger, not Suzanne. He said he didn’t give a damn about Roger’s friendship with Henry, Suzanne was our guest and if she was good enough to be invited into our home, then she was good enough to be invited to his damn party. He actually chuckled about the way Suzanne made Roger squirm. Said it served him right.

Love,

Catherine

___________________________

From: Suzanne

To: Lisa

Dear Lisa:

Yesterday we went to a cocktail party at a cottage across the lake. After being marooned at the cottage for three tedious days with nothing to do but listen to Catherine coo with delight every time one of her prodigies uttered a word without stuttering, the change of scene came as a welcome relief.

Unfortunately, there was not a bachelor in sight. Which is not to say that the outing was devoid of entertainment. One of the guests, an obnoxious fool who confirmed my belief that self-made men are among the least agreeable of the species, mistook my friendly conversation as a sign that I found him irresistible. Emboldened by several martinis, he took me aside and told me how much he enjoyed talking to me. Then, staring deep into my cleavage, he declared that he would love to pursue our conversation at a later date, say tomorrow afternoon at the Village Inn. I told him this was a lovely idea and suggested we ask his wife to join us. From the look of consternation that crossed his face, I could only assume that he was suffering from an advanced case of dementia and had completely forgotten that he was married. His wife soon joined us and it was heartrending to witness the look of horror that crossed his face as his memory came flooding back.

Happily the evening was not a total loss on the social front. I have been invited to a party this Saturday at the golf club, an annual event that kicks off the summer season. A number of eligible bachelors are certain to be in attendance, and from a smattering of phrases I overheard as Catherine and her friends discussed their various attributes – “made a fortune from the IPO”, “bills out at $950 an hour”, “bought the penthouse apartment for $7 million, and then gutted the place” – I am hopeful I may finally meet my soul mate.

Catherine was dismayed to learn that I had been invited to the party. Indeed, I did not think the human face capable of contorting itself into a look as sour as the one that graced her face when she found out. Then again, a week in her company has caused me to question many of my basic assumptions. For example, I had not thought it possible that a human being could memorize every two-letter word in the Scrabble dictionary, nor that victory in a game of Monopoly could be the source of such visceral satisfaction, but on both counts she has proven me wrong.

Love,

Suzanne

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA**Contact Michael Betcherman:

Email: mbetch@sympatico.ca   Twitter

**Buy “Suzanne” for $2.99: Amazon   Barnes & Noble   Smashwords

Filed Under: Suzanne Tagged With: Books, Chapter 1 tease, Chick-Lit, Michael Betcherman, Romantic Comedies, Suzanne, Women's Fiction

Jamie Farrell

October 18, 2013 Leave a Comment

JamieFarrellPic

About author, Jamie Farrell: Jamie Farrell writes humorous contemporary romance. She believes love and laughter are two of the most powerful forces in the universe. A native Midwesterner, Jamie has lived in the South the majority of her adult life. When she’s not writing, she and her military hero husband are busy raising three hilariously unpredictable children.

INTERVIEW

Describe yourself in five words: SuperMom in a broken SuperSuit

What is the writing/editing/publishing like for you? I write a dirty first draft, then spend a lot of time coaxing the story into layers that hopefully meld together. My two critique partners, Kelsey Browning and Maria Geraci, are fabulous at helping me smooth out the rough parts. Some books are easier than others. Southern Fried Blues was one of those stories that just flowed, and I loved every minute of writing it.

I love the publishing aspects of my writer life, too, because the publishing side of things lets me tap into my dormant geeky engineer personality, with tracking and formatting and analyzing opportunities. Overall, the whole writing-to-publishing process is a lot of fun.

Salty or sweet? Salted caramel.

How did you celebrate when your first book was published? The hubby took me out on a dinner date without the kids. He read Southern Fried Blues for the first time the day it was published, so we gossiped a lot about the book. It felt like he’d finally met my coworkers after listening to me tell stories about them forever.

What is your favorite word? Discombobulated. It’s so much fun to say!

How do you come up with the titles of your books? I think about the themes in the story, then play with the key words that stand out. If a title makes me giggle too hard, I know it’s probably not marketable (although I still hope to one day revisit an old manuscript that I call Stealing Gran’s Booty), but if it’s too generic for the story, I keep trying until I find something that fits. It usually comes to me either while I’m walking or while I’m in the shower. I love the tingly, oooh! feeling that comes when the right title clicks.

The best part about being a writer is…: Knowing that 95% of the characters in my head think I’m a goddess, and I can write the other 5% out of my stories if they misbehave.

Every writer must have a…: An anchor. Writing can be a lonely profession, so having someone who gets it and is supportive is so important.

How has the social media helped your career? Social media has introduced me to some of the smartest, savviest people in the writing business. It has also introduced me to some of the most generous people on earth. In fact, I wouldn’t be here today if not for social media. 🙂

Who or what inspires your writing? Life’s funny moments inspire me. I love the unusual and unexpected parts of every day life, and so having three kids under six provides me with plenty of opportunity to look at life sideways.

What’s the best advice for a new writer? No one else’s right way will be your right way. Don’t settle for someone else’s dream. Go after yours, and own it. Decide what you want from your writing, and then work hard to make it happen. Study your craft, seek feedback from people whose opinions you trust, but most of all, put your fingers to the keyboard and write, write, write.

Can you tell us about any upcoming projects? I’m working on a new contemporary romance series set in a cute little place that calls itself the most married-est town on Earth. The first book, The Husband Games, is about a divorced single mother and a military widower and their unexpected roles in the town’s annual Knot Festival. I am super excited about this series—there’s something about quirky, small-town America that just makes me happy.

SouthernFriedBluesCoverPic

BOOK BLURB

A Yankee Lady Stuck in the South

Divorced wasn’t a label Anna Martin ever wanted.  Now she’s a thousand miles from home, underemployed, and lonely, but she’s squeezing this lemon life gave her and turning it into lemon meringue pie. Never again will she let any man—especially another military man—get in the way of her career.

A Southern Gentleman Military Officer

Jackson Davis believes in family, football, and Uncle Sam. He treats ladies right, takes his uniform seriously, and he loves his dog, but he doesn’t reckon he’s built for true love. After all, if a man good as his daddy couldn’t do it right, what chance does Jackson have?

One Undeniable Attraction


These two vulnerable souls are as different as cornbread and ketchup, but they fit together like sweet butter on hot biscuits. Short-term, they’re exactly what the other needs. But when their hearts get involved, they’re both gonna end up with a big ol’ case of Southern Fried Blues.

CHAPTER 1 TEASE

Chapter One

She was lovable in her own way, which sometimes meant she was not loved at all.

—The Temptress of Pecan Lane, by Mae Daniels

THE ONLY THING better than watching a handsome man in uniform was taking him home at the end of the night to strip him out of it. With his fresh haircut and tailored Air Force mess dress, Anna Martin’s husband complemented the elegant southern grandiosity of The Harrington’s ballroom better than the faux marble floor and the towering magnolia arrangements.

This wedding reception couldn’t end soon enough.

Anna slid up beside Neil at the open bar and nudged him with her hip. “I always feel bad for the bride at these things.”

 “Why?” Neil took two beers from the bartender. He tucked a few dollars into the tip jar.

“Because you’re already taken so they had to settle for second best.”

His face twisted into the same pained expression he’d worn the last half-dozen times she’d used that line, but she gave him a you-know-you-love-me grin anyway.

Because he’d still been happy to let her take him home and strip him out of his uniform after the last half-dozen weddings.

She shoved the gift she’d snuck from the pile at the bride’s request at him. “Oh, wait.” His National Defense Service Medal was crooked.

Before she could straighten it, he handed the gift back. “It’s fine, Anna. C’mon.”

He strode past tables of wedding guests finishing their chicken and cheese grits. Anna tagged along, enjoying the view from behind.

“Jules mention what’s in that?” Neil asked over his shoulder, his gaze shifting to the present.

“She said it’s from Rodney and they want to open it in private. So probably something with fur and spikes.”

**Contact Jamie:

Email: jamie@jamiefarrellbooks.com   Website   Facebook   Twitter

Filed Under: Jamie Farrell Tagged With: Books, Chapter 1 tease, Chick-Lit, Guest Interview, Jamie Farrell, Romance, Southern Fried Blues

Sarah Pearce

October 23, 2012 Leave a Comment

Author, Sarah Pearce

Bio:   I’m a mum of four and author one (to date). I decided to try my hand at writing after reading Fiona Neill’s ‘Slummy Mummy’ (and thoroughly enjoying it). I don’t know what it was about that book that made me decide (after years of thinking ‘I’d love to write books but surely I couldn’t’) that, actually, yes I could and this is the type of book for me. So I popped it down and began to write. It took two years, since my writing time is limited to evenings, but I got there in the end.

In my spare time… just kidding; obviously, having four children, I don’t have any spare time. But I am finding the time to write my second novel, which I don’t anticipate taking two years. In fact, it should be finished early 2013.

OUT OF  THE MOUTH OF BABES

Blurb:

Out Of The Mouths Of Babes takes a light-hearted peek beneath the seemingly smooth surface of Amy’s life – A housewife with a delightful nuclear family, comfortable home, pleasant daily routine, cordial circle of friends. An altogether composed existence – or so it may seem.

From the moment Amy casually mentions to best friend, Becky, that she fancies a bit of excitement in her life, trouble is inevitable. If her attempts to spice up her sex life with husband, Ben, don’t land her in enough hot water, problems just seem to snowball from there. With the unexpected arrival of several individuals from her past – some more welcome than others, the discovery of one or two secrets she’d rather not know about and the everyday trials of bringing up two young children, Amy finds herself frequently in need of a glass of wine – or three.

Chapter 1

Theoretically, Amy’s life should have been simple. She was a full time mum with two children, James and Holly, aged five and three respectively. Her husband, Ben, worked nine to five, providing a comfortable lifestyle. Together, they lived in a modern detached house in an affluent part of town with a cordial circle of friends and acquaintances. Straight forward and simple.

It was a typical weekday morning. Amy awoke to the sound of James and Holly arguing over a dried up leaf brought in from the garden the previous day. Having resolved this altercation with the aid of a post-it-note which was evidently more appealing to Holly than the leaf, she set about the morning assault course that was preparing James for school, feeling slightly more harassed than usual.

“I don’t know what’s the matter with me this morning,” she said, handing Ben his coffee. “My head’s all over the place. I’ve just nearly given your coffee to Holly. You’re lucky you didn’t end up with chocolate milk.”

Ben placed his mug down on the kitchen table, smiling. “Sounds quite nice,” he said, resting his hands on her slim waist and kissing the tip of her nose. “Cheer up, you’re always grumpy in the mornings. You’ll be fine in a bit.” She attempted a smile. “Unless,” he went on, “you’re going through the change. I’ve heard that can turn you into a right miserable cow.”

“Oh thanks! That’s really helpful, Ben.” She poked him in the ribs and pushed his hands from her waist. He couldn’t help but laugh at how easy she was to wind up. “I feel so much better now,” she said. “And for your information, I’m thirty three, not fifty three. It’d be more likely to be pregnancy than the menopause.”

“I’m only messing,” he said. “You’re probably just exhausted. You know what you’re like – always on the go. I doubt you have the time to scratch your bum some days… You’re not pregnant are you?”

“You have such a way with words, Ben. And no, I’m not pregnant so you can stop looking so terrified. No, you’re right, I’m just shattered, I’ll be fine in a… Holly, no! Sweetie, I’ve told you not to do that. Look at the state of you, now. James, go and play for a few minutes while I get Holly changed. And please try to stay clean; that’s your last clean school shirt and I really don’t want to go rummaging through the washing basket again.”

Fifteen minutes later, she was bustling two relatively presentable children out of the front door. Despite having promised herself last year when James had started school that she’d take the half mile journey to school on foot every day, come rain or shine, more often than not she found herself bundling everyone into the car with seconds to spare.

They arrived at school just as the bell sounded and darted across the playground to James’s class, just making it before Mrs Bailey locked the door. James gave his mum a big sloppy kiss on the lips and hurried inside shouting bye to Holly as he went.

Amy started back across the playground. She’d almost made it back to the car when she was accosted by Jane, Tom’s mum. Tom being the bane of James’s life. Not so much a bully as just plain irritating.

“Amy, you look a little flustered. Running late again?” Jane said annoyingly. The fake empathetic expression on her face made Amy want to punch her. Not many people could evoke such feelings in her with a mere facial expression.

“Almost,” she said, forcing a smile. “We just made it.”

Jane shook her head. “It’s a nightmare, isn’t it? Trying to get them out of the door in the mornings.” Amy opened her mouth to speak but Jane went on. “Mind you, I have to admit, I’m pretty lucky in that sense. My Tom, he wakes up every morning at seven on the dot. He wolfs down his breakfast and he’s nearly always ready before I am – nagging me to hurry up with my make-up.” She made a grunting sound as she laughed at her own quip.

He could always give you a hand with it – pass you the trowel or something, Amy thought. “It’s not actually much of a nightmare for you then?” she said.

“I suppose not.” Jane laughed again, tapping Amy’s arm as she guffawed. Anyhow, must dash, lovely chatting with you.” She waved over her shoulder and continued on her way.

Amy shook her head as she secured Holly into her car seat. “Lovely gloating, more like,” she said to herself. Her mood lightened a little as she drove off. She’d arranged to meet Becky at the playground this morning. If anyone could put a smile back on her face, it was Becky.

They had met on their first day at school when they were both four years old and gelled from day one, slipping easily into a rather impish partnership. Throughout the subsequent years this partnership had grown into a close friendship. They’d had their share of obligatory fallings out during their adolescence, caused mainly by hormones and boys, but nothing that could test their friendship.

Nine thirty was a time rarely witnessed by Becky on her day off, but Amy had persuaded her to get up and out, complaining that it was such a nuisance to have to take Holly home and then get her all ready to come out again shortly after. So Becky was making a benevolent effort. She’d even declined an offer of dinner at her favourite restaurant; knowing that had she gone out she’d undoubtedly have ended up drinking far too much and staying out far too late to enable her to be up and out before nine thirty. Having said that, the invitation had been extended by an ex-lover for whom she had no desire to give up another minute of her life, let alone a whole evening – and possibly night if he managed to ply her with enough alcohol. So it wasn’t an entirely altruistic act.

There was no sign of Amy or Holly when Becky arrived, so she wandered over to a bench near the play area and sat down. She was amazed by the serenity of the park at this time of the day. She’d only ever experienced it bustling with children. Yet, now, with the exception of an elderly couple walking hand in hand and a Scottie dog trotting a few yards ahead of them, she was alone. They nodded and smiled as they passed by her and she smiled back. As their footsteps faded into the distance, the only sounds that remained were those of leaves rustling in the gentle breeze and birds chirping away to each other. She closed her eyes, indulging herself in the tranquillity.

“There she is, Mummy, I can see her,” came Holly’s voice, bringing Becky out of her dream-like state.

“Hello gorgeous,” she said, certain that an enormous cuddle was imminent as Holly ran across the grass, arms flailing.

“Will you push me on the swing?” she asked, leaping at Becky, almost knocking her over.

“Course I will, so long as you’ll come on the see-saw with me after,” Becky said, scooping her up.

“Yippee! Swings and see-saw,” she said, her smile widening. She kissed Becky and wriggled free of her embrace, skipping off towards the playground.

Becky turned to Amy. “You look tired,” she said. “Ben been keeping you up with his snoring again?”

“No, he slept like a baby last night. So did I. I don’t know what’s the matter with me, to be honest. I’m just a bit… I don’t know… a bit fed up.”

“With Ben?”

“No, of course not,” Amy said, taken aback by this assumption. “Y’know, just fed up in general.”

They reached the play area, where Holly was waiting patiently by the swings. Becky lifted her in. “Ignore me,” Amy added, “I just feel like having a bit of a moan.”

Becky put her arm around her and squeezed. “Ignore my oldest friend? As if.”

“Less of the ‘oldest’,” laughed Amy. “I’ve already had Ben suggesting I might be going through the menopause.”

“Higher!” Holly yelled.

Becky gave her a push, sending her soaring. “You’re only thirty three!” she said. “Anyhow, I think I can offer a solution to your problem.”

Amy looked at her sceptically. “Really? I’m not entirely sure I have a problem. I thought we’d established that I’m just having a moan?”

Becky ignored her. “Sounds like Mummy needs some fun, doesn’t it, Holly?”

“Yeeesss!” Holly squealed. “You can come on the see-saw with us, Mummy. See-saw is the best fun. It makes your tummy tickle when you come down fast.”

Amy smiled. “Wouldn’t you just love to be three again? D’you remember when the most important decisions you had to make were what flavour juice to have and whether to play with Barbie or Lego?”

“I’m not sure I do. But Holly’s got a point, the see-saw is pretty cool. It’ll do for now, Hol, but I think that your mummy and I need to get out.” She looked at Amy. “We need to go for a good drink – how long’s it been, now?”

Amy’s brow furrowed as she shook her head. “Too long.”

“Way too long,” Becky agreed. “I’m free this Saturday if you are?”

“You, free on a Saturday night?, free on a Saturday night?” Amy said, helping Holly out of the swing. “You want to be careful, you’ll be doing Sudoku and watching Heartbeat before you know it.”

“Actually, Heartbeat’s Sunday, not Saturday. So if you’ve finished taking the piss…” She glanced at Holly. “Er, I mean… taking the mick.” Holly appeared to be in a world of her own. “What d’you say – Saturday night?”

It did sound appealing. Just having a reason to get dressed up would be a treat. She felt like she’d been living in jeans since… well, forever. She tried to pinpoint the time in her life when she’d stopped shopping for clothes in trendy boutiques and started throwing pairs of jeans and leggings into the supermarket trolley alongside a roast chicken and multi-pack of Milky Bar Buttons.

“It’s a date. Where d’you fancy going?”

“You choose; you’re the one who doesn’t get out much.”

“Thanks! If this is your idea of cheering me up…”

“Stop moaning and get thinking where you want to go.”

Amy felt better already. She was convinced that a good night out was just the thing to set the world to rights.

“I’ll have a think and give you a ring before the weekend,” she said. “Anyway, that’s my life straightened out; anything new happening in yours?”

“Nothing we can discuss in the range of little ears,” Becky said with a grin. “I’ll fill you in on Saturday.”

It had been ten months since they’d been on a night out together, and by Thursday Amy was like a teenager looking forward to a house party with promises of cheap cider and cheesy music. The prospect of a whole evening with nobody but herself to worry about was pure bliss. In years gone by, ten days would’ve seemed like too long, let alone ten months.

On Friday morning, she took James to school and dropped Holly off at her mother-in-law’s house. Martha was, as always, delighted to be spending time with her cherished granddaughter. She ushered them inside, insisting on making Amy a cup of tea before she left.

“One quick cup to see you on your way and you can tell me what you’ve got planned for the day.” She regarded Amy with a troubled expression. “What are you having done with that lot?” she said, waving a teaspoon in the direction of her hair. “Can you have it styled or does it just fall back down like that?”

Amy had come to realise that Martha didn’t mean to cause offence. Prior to their first meeting, Ben had warned her of his mother’s abruptness. Although she hadn’t been too bad at first – she must have done some serious tongue-biting, Amy thought. But the closer they became the more candidly she voiced her opinions.

“Just a trim, probably. I don’t suppose it’ll make me look like the girl in the Pantene advert but it might help a bit.”

“Don’t get me wrong, sweetheart, it’s fine the way it is – the lank look suits you.”

Amy rolled her eyes as they went through to the lounge. Martha pulled a wad of paper and a box of crayons out of a drawer in the dresser and put them on the coffee table. Holly instantly began scribbling away.

“I’m having my nails done, too,” Amy said, waiting with bated breath for Martha to pass comment.

“I don’t blame you,” she said. “We deserve a bit of pampering, us mums. I’d have done anything for a day to myself when the boys were little.”

“Yeah, you’re right, we do deserve it,” Amy said, feeling a little guilty for expecting the worst of Martha. She had a kind heart; even if she was extremely irritating at times. “I hope you make up for it,” she said, “now that they’re grown up and can fend for themselves. Have you ever treated yourself to a day of pampering?”

Martha found this amusing. “I get my roots done but that’s about it. I don’t feel the need to impress anyone anymore – not much point when you get to my age. Whilst we’re on the subject, though, I can’t help but notice you have a few stray greys beginning to surface. Do you think it’s time you started getting your roots done? I’d been covering up for a good while by the time I was your age.”

Amy smiled dutifully, finished her tea and set off on her mission of self indulgence.

Her first port of call was ‘Here Come The Girls’, her favourite beauty salon. Not that she frequented the place. She didn’t frequent any such establishment. But when she did get around to having her hair cut, this was the place she’d go. She had, unfortunately, booked too late to secure an appointment with Lyle – her favourite stylist. This was disappointing; the salon being the only place where she could have the well sculpted hands of a strapping young man about her person and remain entirely devoid of guilt. Still, Imogen was a good stylist; even if she didn’t take her breath away every time she brushed the back of her neck with her fingertips.

“What are we doing today then?” Imogen asked, fingering Amy’s mass of chestnut hair.

“If you could just make me look like Eva Longoria, that’ll be great. Otherwise, I’m open to suggestions,” Amy said, smiling as Lyle walked by. She settled for a trim, a touch of feathering around her face and her roots done. It was an altogether relaxing experience, or at least it was until the waxing began. The legs were bad enough but it was the first time she’d had her bikini line done. By the time it was over, she thought it looked worse than it had beforehand. But Molly had promised her faithfully that she’d look like a goddess once the redness went down.

She left, feeling more desirable than she had in a long time. She almost skipped to the car, her long hair bouncing with vibrance, her nails manicured to perfection and her body as smooth as a baby’s bottom, well, almost.

Next on her schedule was lunch – a trip to ‘Prêt A Manger’ for a smoked salmon and capers artisan baguette. She had been introduced to this particular delicacy by Becky, when she was pregnant with James; deeming Becky responsible for most of the weight she had gained.

It had been a while since she’d indulged herself in one of these and it tasted every bit as good as she remembered. She washed it down with a large cappuccino, and feeling slightly less svelte, set off in the direction of La Senza. Despite Ben’s misgivings about her buying sexy new underwear for an evening out without him, she had decided it was about time her lingerie draw was brought up to date. And she had managed to placate him with the promise of a sneak preview.

I’ll need something strapless if I’m to wear it tomorrow, she pondered. Black, ideally. Mmm, I’m not keen on those clear straps; I don’t want to look like I’ve got Sellotape on my shoulders. Why aren’t the strapless bras as sexy as the others? Hmm, this looks quite promising, ‘Especially For You’ range. That’s more like it. What knickers does it come with? Shorts or thong?

“That’s nice. It’d look great on you – better still on the bedroom floor.”

Amy jumped at the sound of Steve’s voice. She’d been so deep in her own thoughts, she hadn’t noticed Ben’s brother approaching. She felt her cheeks flushing.

“Hi, I didn’t see you there,” she said, fiddling awkwardly with the thong she’d picked up. “Shopping for Amanda?”

Steve’s eyes widened in mock innocence. “Who else?”

Amy gave a sceptical cough. Despite being married with a daughter, Steve was a well established Casanova, never missing an opportunity to flirt. And although he wasn’t particularly attractive in an obvious way, women just seemed to love him. Amy had suspected him of infidelity many a time, but despite all her efforts to extract information from Ben, she remained unenlightened.

“And yourself?” he asked.

“Sorry?” she said, still a little thrown.

“Who’ll be reaping the benefits of that little number?”

“I will, actually. I’m treating myself. You do realise that women would still be buying underwear if men didn’t exist?”

“Not from La Senza, I bet. It’d be all big pants and comfortable bras.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “Yeah, well, if Ben likes it it’ll be a bonus, I suppose.”

“Oh, he’ll like it.” He took a step back and inclined his head, eyeing her curiously. “Actually,” he said, nodding, “you’re about the same size as Mand. Don’t suppose you fancy trying this basque on – just so as I can get some idea of what it’ll look like on, you understand?”

She shook her head, laughing. “As much as I’d love to parade around half naked in front of you, I have to collect my daughter from your mother and my son from school.” She turned towards the checkout and then stopped. “Oh, Steve,” she called back. He looked up, still smiling. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Amanda that you were in here buying sexy underwear.”

He feigned a befuddled expression. “I’m not sure I know what you’re suggesting?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise, would I?”

He wasn’t worried. Whenever he bought a gift for a lover, he always bought a little something for his wife at the same time.

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