who made such understatements and expected to be taken seriously? Probably around the time he’d slept with another woman.
‘Anya said you looked distressed.’
Katie laughed, but it sounded more like a snarl. ‘Well, isn’t Anya observant?’
Rob sighed. ‘Come on, Katie. There’s no need to be like this. Anya was just trying to be nice. Looking out for you. She was worried when you ran out of the shop without paying.’
‘I left my shopping behind. I didn’t steal anything if that’s what she told you.’ Like that made her actions normal.
There was another sigh from the other end. ‘There’s no need to be like this, Katie. I’m just looking out for you.’
‘Is that so?’ There was another snarly laugh. ‘Well, I’d have been much better off if you hadn’t had an affair.’
‘Katie…’ Rob sighed again.
‘What? Am I making you uncomfortable? Guilty? Or do you really not care about what you did to us?’
‘Of course I feel incredibly guilty about the way I behaved, but I can’t go back in time and change the way I went about it all. It was wrong of me to have an affair, I know, and I shouldn’t have left it until Anya was pregnant to tell you.’
Katie sucked in her breath. ‘You’d have left me, wouldn’t you? You’d have left me anyway? For her.’
‘I love Anya.’ Rob’s voice was small, contrite. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t change the way I feel.’
Katie ended the call without another word. How was she supposed to react to that without bursting into noisy, snotty tears? He’d have left her anyway, even if he hadn’t impregnated his bit on the side. He’d have left Katie and married her instead.
Well, screw them. They could get married and live happily ever after, but Katie wouldn’t make it easy for them. Why should she enable them to skip off into the sunset?
Placing the phone down on the side, she returned to the acknowledgement of service, picked it up and folded it into a neat square before sliding it between the sofa cushions to be forgotten about for a little bit longer.
George
George was singing along to Barry Manilow’s ‘Copacabana’ while spraying the tiles of her client’s en suite bathroom’s shower cubicle, squirting the cleaning solution in time to the beat. The secret, she’d found over the past few years, was to find some enjoyment to the job you were doing. This hadn’t been difficult back when she was utilising her baking talents in her jobs but cleaning toilets and scrubbing floors wasn’t quite so pleasant. Music, it seemed, was the answer. George had created a massive playlist of fun, upbeat songs to clean to, songs she loved to sing along to, songs that motivated her during the grubbiest of tasks.
The bathrooms were sparkling by the time she’d sung and jiggled her way through dozens of joyful songs, and although she was exhausted after scrubbing the four bathrooms in the large property, she couldn’t help smiling as she packed up her cleaning gear.
‘You’re looking far too jolly for somebody who has spent the morning in a pair of marigolds.’ Cecily, the sixty-something ex-supermodel who lived in the gorgeous Georgian house, hopped up onto a stool at the high-gloss breakfast bar while George stored the mop and bucket away. ‘What’s your secret?’ Cecily wrinkled her nose. ‘You’re not one of those weirdos who actually enjoy cleaning, are you?’
George wished she was. It would have made her job much easier. ‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Well, something has put a smile on your face.’ Cecily wrapped her hands around the mug of coffee in front of her and winked at George. ‘And it’s something more than Barry Manilow.’
Grabbing her caddy of cleaning products, George called out a hasty goodbye before she practically threw herself out of the house. The cold air helped to control her burning cheeks as she scurried away. She was horrified at the knowledge Cecily had heard her warbling along to her playlist, but the truth was, she did have a spring in her step that morning as she would be meeting Frankie and Katie at the beach hut for their picnic lunch. George adored picnics; her granny used to make the best picnics when George was little and she’d inherited the knack of putting together delicious packages of food (even if the only judges of her talents were herself and Thomas of late). George loved creating dishes and treats in the kitchen, and the kitchen in her flat was surprisingly roomy considering how poky the other rooms were. She’d started the picnic preparations early that morning, rising before Thomas as she wanted it to be perfect. She’d already made honey and mustard seafood kebabs, spicy mustard chicken wings, and a potato salad with a lemon and herb dressing, which were all chilling in the fridge, and she’d defrosted a batch of homemade sausage rolls leftover from Christmas. She’d also baked her favourite lemon drizzle cupcakes, which had been cooling on the side while she worked and would now be ready to be topped with her lemon syrup and zest mixture. Once the cakes were completed, she’d make some simple sandwiches and prepare a salad.
She may have gone slightly overboard for an afternoon meet up, but it wasn’t often she was given the opportunity to spread her foodie wings.
George didn’t have a picnic basket like the one she remembered her grandmother using to transport their picnics down to the beach hut on Saturday afternoons, so she loaded the food into a large tote, remembering to add paper plates, plastic cups and packs of wet wipes and serviettes. She’d been chilling a bottle of sparkling apple- and blackberry-flavoured water in the fridge, and she wedged it down the side of the tubs of food in the bag now before rolling up the throw from the back of the sofa to use as a picnic blanket. It was still chilly out, but at least it hadn’t rained for a few days, so she hoped the sand would be relatively dry.
George emitted a small yelp when she realised she was running late. Tucking the throw under her arm and slinging the tote bag over her shoulder (and listing to one side under its weight), she hurried out of the flat and down to the row of beach huts, raising her hand in greeting when she spotted the others already waiting outside her mint green hut.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ George was out of breath. She placed the tote bag and blanket down on the sand before thumping a hand down on her waist, sucking in air and puffing it back out again. Little clouds formed on the exhales, but George wasn’t cold after scurrying down to the beach so quickly.
‘Wow, is all that our picnic?’ Frankie peered at the overstuffed bag. ‘I was expecting a sandwich and a can of coke.’
George, still panting, grinned. ‘The Pappas family are famous for their picnics.’ She gave a wheezy laugh. ‘At least among my granny and I. Granny Pappas’ picnics were legendary as far as I’m concerned.’ She grabbed the throw and tote now she was starting to get her breath back. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’
‘I am.’ Katie pressed a hand to her stomach. ‘I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had the chance to sit down all morning. Breakfast wasn’t even an option.’
George gave a tsk. ‘You know what they say – breakfast is the most important meal of the day.’
Katie nodded as she helped to shake out the throw. It billowed for a moment before landing gracefully onto the sand. ‘I know, but I had an interview this morning, and obviously I couldn’t find a smart enough top that was clean. I don’t know how I used to manage going into the office full-time. My brain’s turned to mush.’
‘How did the interview go?’ Frankie asked, and Katie scrunched up her nose.
‘I know I should remain positive, but…’
Frankie rubbed her arm. ‘I bet it went better than you thought it did. When do you find out?’
‘They said they had a few more candidates to see, and that they’d let me know within a few days. I’m really