as she ducked beneath an olive tree.
‘What do you mean?’ called Isobel.
‘Those gorgeous Oakes boys, you’ve already met Arthur’s eldest!’ Isobel glanced at the bleeding surfer. ‘And I can tell you now, Isobel, you’re yet to meet the better looking of the two!’
Ben was smiling at his feet. Cleo gone already. Isobel reached out automatically for a stiff handshake. ‘Mr Oakes’ son?’
He grinned at the handshake. He had a friendly face that looked to have seen plenty of sun. And laughter. He was probably a very nice person too, maybe even genuine. Or maybe he was a nice-looking sociopath who took twisted pleasure in destroying the lives of strangers.
‘Ben Oakes.’
‘Isobel. Oliver.’
‘I know. The girl who’s moved into a cottage on a hill in the middle of nowhere, all by herself.’
Isobel gritted her teeth. ‘Guess so. Nice to meet you.’
‘Nice to meet you too, Isobel Oliver. Sorry about the blood.’
‘Buona sera, signora, table for three this evening?’
‘Grrr, raahhh . . . I’m going to eat everybody in this whole place, grrrr!’
‘Maxy, could you keep a lid on the Godzilla bit until we’re all sitting down? Or this nice man might not want to find us a spot. Table for four please. My . . .’ Sarah stalled. Fiancé always felt alien on her tongue. Boyfriend just as misshapen. She was a divorced, stretch-marked mother of two. ‘We’re waiting on one more,’ she smiled.
Hurry up, Jon. One waft of warm herby air and she was suddenly famished. She’d survived a whole day on a ration of Tic Tacs, just so she could avoid Juliette in the staff room.
‘Very good, signora, this way.’
Will led the way. He’d done a quick change at home, swapping school uniform for his signature hoody and jeans. Sarah reached over Max, gently pulling Will’s hood off his head. Will’s head was always buried beneath something nowadays: Hoody . . . headphones . . . Sarah missed that head. She missed the days Will used to curl up on her lap, her fingers teasing through the deep brown curls she also missed kissing goodnight.
Will rubbed his hand over his hair and took the menus offered to him. He had a couple of inches on the waiter. ‘Thanks, we’ll shout when we’re ready.’ The waiter nodded at Will and left. Will shuffled into the booth, pulling Max in after him. Will had been a scrawny eleven-year-old when they’d first met Jon. All elbows and knees. In a blink, he was almost a man, towering over Sarah for at least a year now. Broad shoulders, harder set to his jaw. He would be taller than his father one day. A bigger man. It was what Sarah wanted most, for Will and Max, that they would be bigger men than Patrick Harrison.
Will patted Max’s head with a menu. ‘Come on, shorty, let’s get ready to order.’
Sarah took a seat opposite. She let go of the deep breath she’d been holding since the disabled loo and broke into a packet of breadsticks. ‘So guys, have we had a good day? What have you been doing? Worst bits and best bits?’
Max began attacking a colouring sheet with the crayons the waiter had left. Will shrugged and leaned back into the booth, filling the space.
‘Maxy? Best bit?’ asked Sarah.
Max kept scribbling. ‘Chloe’s mummy brunged her new puppy to school. It’s got long ears and is different colours and is called Fritz.’
‘A new puppy? What a shame I missed him.’
Sarah missed everyone at school pickup; it was great. Max went into after-school club three nights a week while she finished up, usually with his nose pressed to the classroom window, watching his pals scooting up and down the yard while the ‘normal mummies’ chatted over fundraising initiatives and nit outbreaks. Those conversational circles Sarah never managed to navigate without feeling clumsy and disjointed.
‘But you don’t like dogs, Mummy.’
‘I do . . . it’s just . . .’
Max sighed. ‘I know, Mr Fogharty’s got long claws.’ Mr Fogharty was a furred menace parading as a King Charles spaniel. Jon’s mother preferred painting Mr Fogharty’s nails to clipping them and Sarah’s clothes usually paid the price. Max gasped with a new thought. ‘Can we have a puppy, Mummy? I’ll cut his nails with my art scissors, I’ll be careful!’
Will grinned and shook his head. Since his braces came off it was almost criminal that he didn’t smile more often. Will hadn’t brought a single girl home yet, not one. There’d be a queue lining the street if he flashed those beautifully aligned teeth a little more.
‘Sorry, Max, no one’s home all day, it wouldn’t be fair. And we do get to look after Mr Fogharty for Jon’s mummy lots, don’t we? So we don’t really need a dog of our own, do we?’
‘What about when we move house?’ pressed Max. The muscle in Will’s jaw tensed. ‘Nanny Judy could stay at home with our puppy while we go to school. Or you could teach me at our house!’
‘We’ll talk about it later, Max. When things have settled down.’
If she thought a puppy would swing it for Will, she wouldn’t hesitate. What would swing it? She needed a golden carrot, something to incentivise him. A reason to move. She just didn’t have one right now. All afternoon she’d been in the grips of a mild panic at the prospect of Will going home to find not only a newly planted For Sale board in their driveway, but a big fat impatient SOLD slapped across it, too.
Will was watching her thinking it all out. ‘So, what’s the occasion?’ he asked.
Sarah looked for Jon through the windows. ‘Just thought we’d eat out tonight,’ she lied.
‘Mummy? I haven’t told you my worst bit.’
‘Sorry, Max. Go on.’ Will pulled his phone from his pocket. Conversation over.
‘Seb said I’m not allowed to like Chloe’s new puppy.’ Max changed crayons, eyes still fixed on the happy-faced pizza he’d been colouring ferociously.
Will’s eyes remained fixed on his phone screen. ‘Seb’s not allowed to tell you what you’re allowed to like or not.’
Max frowned, face serious while he picked through his big brother’s words.
‘I’m sure Seb meant something else, Max. I wonder where Jon’s got to? He said six p.m.’
Will did a double-take at the restaurant doors. A smart-casual man with the beginnings of grey hair where his stylish rectangular glasses met his temples led his family inside. Sarah champed into a breadstick. Karl Inman-Holt had the only set of teeth in Fallenbay that could out-dazzle Will’s. Karl the Millionaire Mouth Magician, Patrick used to call him. Patrick had been borderline jealous of Karl’s success; Jon couldn’t care less. Jon used the Horizon dental practice like everyone else in the bay. Everyone bar Sarah and the boys.
‘What are we eating then?’ She could hear the forced joviality in her voice.
Will was hawk-like, watching the Inman-Holts take their table up by the pizza ovens. Sarah stole a quick look at the children who’d once played in Will’s sand pit. She hadn’t seen Elodie for at least a year now. She was still lovely, still a fan of floral tea dresses and retro pumps, just taller now, more willowy. More womanly. Milo had lost his baby face too. Goodness, he looked like Karl. Did Elodie just smile at them? Juliette looked over. Will muttered something under his breath.
‘Are you okay, Mummy? Your neck is going red.’
‘Oh, it’s just a bit hot in here, darling. I’m fine.’ Jon had been in their