Cathy Hopkins - Dancing Over the Hill - The new feel good comedy from the author of The Kicking the Bucket List

The house was too big for just the two of us now, but I loved having the extra space, even though the whole place needed a clear-out to really take advantage of it.

Although Jed had moved out when he went to university, he had still come back from time to time, and had only gone properly when he’d moved to Thailand over a year ago. I know other mothers who mourned when their kids finally left home, empty-nesters, and I did go through some of that when they disappeared. For a while the house seemed so empty and silent, but in time I found it liberating. I’d paid my dues; had the house full of noisy boys, sleepovers, cooking endless meals, laundry, ironing, never being able to get near the TV remote, shelling out money for all sorts, not being able to sleep until I knew they were home, safe and in their beds. Of course I missed them, but not their mess and the worry when they were out late. Now I had peace and quiet, two rooms to spare for storage, food in the fridge that didn’t get eaten within twenty-four hours of being bought, time for my friends, and beds down the corridor to go to if Matt was snoring. I went to my part-time job and worked on book ideas with no pressure. It hadn’t mattered that I wasn’t a high earner. Hadn’t mattered. It would now.

A text came through from Debs. Everything OK?

I texted back. Matt’s lost his job. Details l8r when I get them.

Debs texted back. Take Star of Bethlehem flower remedy for shock, both of you. Want me to send some over?

She had an alternative cure for all ills and, over the years, I’d been given all sorts of concoctions to apply or ingest, though I quite liked the flower remedies, probably because they came in brandy.

She texted again a moment later. We’ll sort it this evening.

Will have to take a rain check. Want to see how Matt is .

We had a supper night when we could all make it. It was our private counselling session. Debs had suggested it last year as an excuse to get together, and she’d made up rules. We took turns in choosing where to go. It had to be somewhere we hadn’t been before. We put our troubles on the table and offered each other support and advice. It had been a life-saver, an evening to laugh, cry, try out a new place and air any problems. I’m not sure I’ll be able to afford supper nights for a while , I thought as I decided to opt for Lorna’s advice, poured myself a second glass of wine and wrote a list of things to do.

Check out local house values on Rightmove.

Check out properties for sale in areas we could afford.

Stop worrying. It’s only stuff.

Cue the mini princess from Frozen singing ‘Let It Go, Let It Go’ in my head. Cue visualization of smashing her in the face with a frying pan.

Chin hairs plucked: 1

Nose hairs trimmed: 3

Items lost: my space

3 a.m. Bedroom. Yoda, our cat, decided he needed to declare his undying love. He’s a honey-coloured Persian chinchilla, named because he resembles Yoda from the Star Wars movie, only furrier. He jumped on the bed, onto my chest and began kneading and purring loudly. I got out of bed and put him outside the door.

3.05 a.m. Banshee howling loud enough to wake the dead. Desperate scratching at the door. Not a spirit from beyond the grave, it was Yoda again. Got up and let him back in.

3.10 a.m. After more chest-kneading, Yoda wrapped himself around my head and fell asleep, but my mind was wide awake, thinking about our future. It had been almost ten days since Matt lost his job. What if we ran out of money? Should we sell the house? Stay? Should Matt try and find another job? What? Anything? Should I try to go back into teaching? It paid better than the temporary part-time jobs I’d been doing for the last five years.

Dad. He’s lonely. Care home? Not necessary. He doesn’t need care, just company. Maybe he’d consider sheltered accommodation for that. He wouldn’t be alone there. Maybe he’d like Yoda.

4.07 a.m. Matt was snoring away.

I gave him a nudge and he obediently turned over, and after five minutes resumed his snoring.

Nudged him again.

Finally started drifting off to sleep when Matt did one of his spectacular snort-snores. Very loud. Almost leapt out of my skin. Nudged him and he turned over and continued snoring softly.

Debated whether to thump him in the kidneys, suffocate him with a pillow or nudge him again. Grrr.

Got up and climbed into the bed in the spare room. Peace at last, but sleep still escaped me as it has done for the past year or so.

Finally dozed off. Zzzzz.

5 a.m. Yoda found me. He patted my cheek gently with his paw. I ignored him. More gentle patting, which I ignored.

5.05 a.m. Yoda inserted a claw into my nostril and pulled. Ow! That hurt. Wide awake now. Where has he learnt to do that? Do cats come with a built-in manual of instructions on how to wake your owner? Advanced technique no. 3: locate hole in middle of human’s face. Flick out claw. Insert into hole and pull.

5.10 a.m. Got out of bed, went downstairs and fed Yoda, who was now purring like an old bus. Back to bed in spare room. Can hear Matt still sleeping and snoring in our bedroom. Grrr.

6 a.m. Finally drifted off. Zzz.

8 a.m. Matt came into the room and nudged me awake.

‘Cup of tea, Cait?’

I turned over and opened my eyes. ‘Uh. No. I’m fine, thanks. I’ll get one when I’m up.’

He put a mug on the bedside cabinet. ‘Made you one anyway.’

8.05 a.m. Drifting back off to sleep, just for another half-hour …

Matt came back into the room. ‘I’ve fed Yoda so you don’t need to.’

‘Mmm. Right. Thanks.’

‘Are you getting up?’

‘No. Yes. Didn’t sleep too well. You were snoring.’

‘Sorry. You should have nudged me.’

Kitchen. 9 a.m. ‘What shall we have for breakfast?’ asked Matt. He was still in his blue towelling dressing gown.

‘ We ? Uh. Oh. Right. I don’t usually have much in the week. I usually just grabbed something quick after you’d gone to work. A Nutribullet or something.’

‘Oh. What’s in that then?’

‘Kale, seeds, fruit.’

Matt pulled a face. ‘OK. I’ll fix my own.’

He seemed miffed.

10 a.m. Top floor. Study. Stared at screen which was blank apart from two words. New ideas.

Clicked on Facebook. Watched a clip of a panda with no eyes that is befriended by a puppy. Aw.

Must start work, but I see someone’s posted a clip of a baby elephant playing in the sea for the first time. Crucial viewing I’d say.

Stared out of the window at the fields at the back of the house. It’s misty out there.

Back to blank screen.

Matt, still in his dressing gown, popped his head round the door. ‘Cup of coffee, Caitlin?’

‘No thanks.’

‘Did I hear the phone go earlier?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who was it?’

‘Dad.’

Matt came in and settled himself on the chair opposite my desk. ‘What did he have to say?’

‘Nothing much.’

‘He must have said something.’

‘Usual stuff. How my brother’s doing. How his dentist appointment went. He’s lonely, I think.’

‘How is your brother?’

‘Fine.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Trying to work.’

Matt got up. ‘Sorry. I can see I’m interrupting you.’

He seemed miffed.

10.30 a.m. Sent email to my friend Lizzie, a retired literary agent in London, asking her to call.

Post arrived. I went downstairs to pick it up.

Into kitchen to open post. Matt was sitting on a stool at the island.

‘What’s that?’ he asked.

‘Post.’

He got up and hovered behind my shoulder. ‘Aren’t you going to open it?