Fern Britton - New Beginnings

‘You can’t expect to be all things to them, you know,’ said Maureen, sounding uncharacteristically wistful. ‘You’re not a bad mother, Christine. And perhaps this second chance is heaven sent. Nick and Daddy would be proud of you.’

Christie looked at her, surprised. This was rare praise indeed. A woman of few generous words, Maureen normally managed to convey a faint air of disapproval when confronted by the chaos her elder daughter generated. But occasionally Christie had to acknowledge that, deep down, her mother wasn’t such a bad old stick. She had just become a creature of habit who controlled her life so that it ran with as few surprises and as much order as possible. They might not always see eye to eye but Christie knew her mother’s heart was in the right place.

Having waved her off, she leapt into the car and drove to collect Libby. Her daughter was sitting on the doorstep of Sophie’s house, swaying her head and mouthing the words to whatever was playing on her iPod Shuffle. As soon as she saw Christie, she got to her feet and ran down the garden path to the car.

‘Where have you been? I told you Soph was going to London with her mum at five.’ She wrenched open the car door and climbed into the passenger seat. ‘I’ve been sitting there for hours.’

‘It’s only ten past!’ Christie protested. ‘I’m so sorry. I was sorting things out with Granny.’

‘Tell me she isn’t going to be over at ours every time you’re at work. Please.’ Libby cast her eyes heavenwards. ‘We don’t need anyone. I can look after us.’

‘You’re only twelve, sweetheart. I wouldn’t put all that responsibility on your shoulders. Besides, it’s illegal.’ Christie wasn’t entirely sure whether leaving a twelve-year-old home alone was or wasn’t against the law, but grasped at the excuse, grateful that it had flashed into her mind.

‘Who’d know?’ Libby’s reasoning was impeccable. Her father’s daughter.

‘Well . . .’ Christie hesitated ‘. . . I would, and I wouldn’t be happy. Look, it won’t be for long.’ She reached out to lay a consoling hand on her daughter’s leg.

‘But suppose they take you on for ever? People stay in those jobs for years, don’t they?’

If Libby hadn’t sounded so anxious, Christie would have laughed at the idea. Instead she reassured her: ‘They won’t. I’m only going to be there while Gilly Lancaster’s on maternity leave. She’ll be back.’

‘But suppose you’re better than her? Or suppose she wants to stay at home with her children?’

‘Libby, don’t. This will only be for a few months. Just understand that it’s an opportunity for me that may work out well for us all.’ She smoothed her daughter’s hair. ‘Look at me. I promise.’ She leaned across and kissed her cheek. ‘Let’s go and get Fred.’

They drove in silence, Libby listening to her music, occasionally bursting into random snatches of song, while Christie thought about their future. The prospect of being beamed nightly into households all around the country was as daunting as it was exciting. However much she tried to reassure Libby, she knew at the back of her mind that her daughter was right. There was no doubt that their life was going to change, perhaps not altogether for the best, and there was nothing she could do to stop that.

This is what I wanted, she reminded herself. And, after all, it’s only for a year tops, so I’d better make the most of it.

They turned down a long driveway, between two rows of rowan trees, the car crunching over deep gravel, and she stopped in the stable-yard at the back of a square, red-brick Victorian farmhouse. The door to the kitchen was open and Christie could see Olly and Fred’s heads bent in concentration as they studied something on the kitchen table. They looked up when they heard the car door slam but immediately went back to the matter in hand.

Christie tapped at the door before she went in. Stepping over a pile of muddy boots and shoes, she found herself in a long wide room with a large pine table in the centre and wooden units along two of whitewashed walls, which were hung with rusty old farming tools at one end, cooking utensils at the other. Richard was standing with his back to her, intent on pouring a colourless liquid from a large brown bottle into a preserving pan.

‘What are you all doing?’

‘We found a bird’s skull and some spine bones!’ Fred gabbled. ‘Olly and I are trying to work out what kind of bird from this book. You have to look at all the different shapes of beak. We think it might be a kestrel. See how hooked theirs are?’

‘We’re soaking them in hydrogen peroxide to sterilise them so they can take them into school,’ Richard said, putting the pan safely at the back of the wooden draining-board and screwing the top back onto the bottle. ‘Jigger, no!’ Said too late as a black Labrador rushed through the door and jumped up at Christie, almost bowling her over. ‘I’m so sorry. He’s not meant to do that but he’s young and very stupid.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Christie was laughing as she took the cloth he offered and wiped at the paw prints on her jeans, turning away from the disobedient dog, which was now refusing to be shooed out by Olly.

‘Mum, we’ve been learning to track in the woods too. And I know how to tell the time without a watch now.’

‘Really? How can you do that?’ she asked, giving the cue for a torrent of incoherent explanation from the two boys, who talked over each other as they described something involving the sun, a stick and some stones. ‘Come and see.’ They rushed out of a second door at the end of the room into the garden, Jigger chasing after them, jumping up and catching their sleeves with his teeth as they ran.

‘I was going to offer you a cup of tea, but I guess we haven’t got time.’ Richard let her go out of the door first. ‘Wouldn’t Libby like to see too?’

‘She’s wrapped up in her music. Besides, anything Fred gets up to is way beneath her. She’ll be fine provided we’re not too long.’

They followed the boys across the garden to a stick that was standing with a circle of stones placed evenly around it.

‘Go on, Mum. Ask me the time,’ said Fred.

Christie obliged.

‘Half past five,’ he yelled, triumphant.

‘That’s amazing and completely right.’ She knelt down to have the elementary sun-dial explained to her. When she looked up, Richard was gazing in her direction. She got to her feet. ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she said. ‘This is just what Fred needs. He absolutely loves coming here.’

‘And we love having him. Don’t we, Jigger?’ He bent to pat the dog that was wagging around his legs, shivering with delight at the attention. ‘We were lucky today, not having any team-building groups in. Some companies want to come at the weekend – they simply can’t waste a minute of the working week – and then it all gets a bit hectic on the childcare front.’

‘Perhaps I could return the favour on those days,’ Christie offered, as they began to head back to the car. ‘Fred! Come on.’

‘If Caro’s away, I’ll hold you to that.’

‘Oh, sorry, how stupid of me.’ She kicked herself for forgetting that his situation was not the same as hers.

‘Nothing to be sorry about. But there is one thing I was wondering, which is . . .’ He paused, as if nerving himself to say something. ‘There’s a pub quiz next Saturday and one of the regulars on our team can’t make it. I don’t suppose you’d like to come? Would you?’

Christie froze. Was he actually asking her on a date? She dismissed the idea as fast as it had entered her head. Of course he wasn’t. They had the kids in common and he probably didn’t have anyone else he could ask at such short notice. Mates, that’s what they were. But then she remembered Mel’s comment about tuning her radar. Perhaps they could be more. Perhaps she was failing to read the signs. ‘I’d love to,’ she answered. ‘Provided I can find a babysitter.’