at every one of her A-level sittings, scraping a measly B and two C’s – embarrassingly not enough for her to be offered a place on the journalism course she’d been considering. The look of disappointment on her parents’ faces when she’d informed them of said results would stay with her for a very long time.
And so Ella had more or less resigned herself to being a failure. And, by taking a year out, knew she was merely postponing the inevitable. At some point she’d have to bite the bullet and enter the world of proper work – earn enough money to support herself. But doing what? So tired was she of contemplating that question that she’d neatly bundled it up and lodged it in an “only to be visited when absolutely necessary” crevice of her mind. As naff as it sounded, she’d convinced herself that this year was all about “finding herself”. Or, at the very least, stumbling across something she derived a soupçon of satisfaction from.
‘You can’t sit around doing nothing for a year, though,’ her mum proclaimed, the moment Ella’s exams had finished. ‘You’ll have to find a job.’
So she had. She’d headed straight up to Buttersley Manor to enquire about work, and the following day began waitressing in Annie O’Donnell’s tearoom. Ella loved working there. The entire manor house, owned by Annie’s best friend, Portia, had recently been rescued from its dilapidated state, and beautifully refurbished and restored. It now offered a range of immensely popular courses throughout the year, including photography, cookery, dancing, and writing. Those visitors, combined with locals and day-trippers, all swarming to the Stables Tearoom for freshly squeezed orange juice, frothy hot chocolate, and Annie’s mouth-watering cakes, conspired to make the place a hive of activity every day of the week.
Ella enjoyed the buzz, the banter, the generous tips and last, but certainly not least, the fascinating mix of individuals. People came from all over the country to attend the courses – interesting people who seemed to know stuff about everything: politics, books, music. People who’d travelled widely and had fascinating tales to relate.
Not that Ella ever joined in any of these conversations. For one thing, she was never invited to, only mustering snippets as she set down lattes or scones, or cleared a nearby table. But mainly because she couldn’t join in. Her knowledge of politics stretched only as far as the name of the prime minister; the only serious books she’d ever read were those forced on her by her teachers; and she didn’t think any of the manor’s well-heeled visitors would be remotely interested in the latest One Direction album. As for being widely travelled, the furthest she’d ever ventured was to London on a school trip. Yet another disadvantage of coming from a large family, she concluded. With six kids for her parents to lug around, not to mention the expense, holidays to Disneyland or Spain had been experienced vicariously through mates at school.
Nonetheless, Ella enjoyed collecting these oddments of conversation – these insights into other people’s lives. Not, she was aware, that this little sideline would sit well on any proper job application form. But as she didn’t have any proper job application forms to complete at the moment, she wouldn’t waste time worrying about her future tonight. Indeed, she couldn’t have worried about it even if she’d wanted to. Because she was far, far too excited. And even now – five months on – still ever so slightly chuffed with herself for exploiting this opportunity when it first arose …
One day, when she’d been working at the tearoom for a few weeks, Ella had been taking a bag of rubbish to the bins outside when she’d overheard Annie on her mobile.
‘Oh no. What a pain … No. Honestly. It’s fine. Don’t you worry … Let me know when you get back … Okay. Bye.’
‘Shit!’ she exclaimed, just as Ella appeared round the corner. ‘Oops. Sorry, Ella. That wasn’t aimed at you. I’ve just had a call from Miranda, my partner in the party-planning side of the business. She’s been to Portugal for the week and was due to fly back this afternoon in time to supervise a big birthday party. But now her flight’s delayed, which means I’ll have to do it. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but Jake’s in Glasgow at a book-signing and I don’t have anybody to look after the kids.’
Ella’s stomach leapt. ‘I can look after them if you like,’ she gushed, hoping she didn’t sound overly keen.
Annie’s emerald-green eyes grew wide. ‘Oh. I didn’t mean … That is, you don’t have to—’
‘It’s no problem. Honestly,’ blustered Ella, battling the urge to jump up and down. ‘I’m not doing anything else tonight and it’ll be fun. Your kids are lovely.’
Annie’s pretty features twisted into a dubious expression. ‘Hmm. Hold on to that thought for as long as it lasts. Are you really sure you don’t mind?’
Mind? Does a pig mind muck? Ella almost replied. ‘Of course not,’ she said instead. ‘I’m looking forward to it already.’
‘Seven o’clock okay?’
‘Perfect,’ said Ella. In oh so many ways.
That had been her first time babysitting for Annie. And her services had been called upon many times since. But tonight was one of those special nights.
By the time Ella reached The Cedars, her heart was pounding so much she was convinced the effect must be evident in her push-up bra.
She rang the brass doorbell. Annie answered it.
‘Wow,’ she exclaimed, the moment Ella stepped inside and shrugged off her parka. ‘You look stunning. You meeting up with your mates later?’
‘Er, yes,’ lied Ella.
‘Come on in,’ breezed Annie, whisking around and marching across the tiled hall. ‘Thomas has been in the foulest mood all day and fell asleep half an hour ago, so you’ll be pleased to know you have one less to deal with. I’ve told Sophie she can stay up until half past eight. And there’s plenty for you to eat. There’s chocolate cake in the fridge, and cheese—’
‘And don’t forget my homemade bread,’ came a deep male voice from behind.
Ella whipped round to find Jake striding down the corridor behind her, looking even sexier than usual in black jeans and a slim-fitting grey jumper, which showed off his toned torso to perfection.
Ella’s heart skipped a beat, her shaking legs almost caved, and her throat went dry. ‘Hi, Jake,’ she managed to croak.
*
‘I’ve ordered a brochure for St Hild’s Girls School,’ Bea announced over their Chinese takeaway.
Maddy had been fractious all day, mercifully wearing herself out by six o’clock. With her soundly asleep, Stan had suggested the takeaway as a treat for him and Bea. And, for what seemed like the first time in eons, Bea had actually deemed his suggestion a good one, even going so far as to open a bottle of his favourite Riesling to accompany the food.
A tiny part of Stan dared to hope they might enjoy a relaxing baby-free evening, along the lines of how they used to spend Sunday evenings in Life Before Maddy, or LBM, as he secretly termed it. He should’ve known better.
‘Schools,’ he spluttered, almost choking on his wine. ‘But she’s only nine months old.’
‘Precisely,’ confirmed Bea, stabbing an anaemic-looking prawn with her fork. ‘Some people reserve a place before their child’s even born. If we’re not quick, her year will be full.’
Stan ripped a sheet of kitchen tissue from the roll on the table and dabbed at his mouth. One of his colleagues whose daughter went to St Hild’s was constantly pleading poverty due to the astronomical fees. And his wife was a GP! How on earth Bea thought they could afford such an extravagance when she’d packed her job in, he was more than intrigued to know.
‘How much are the fees?’ he asked innocently, opting for the tread-lightly approach rather than the confrontational. The latter would undoubtedly lead to yet another row, which, after spending all day assembling Maddy’s new wardrobe, he didn’t have the energy for. Nor did