What Women Want, Women of a Dangerous Age: 2-Book Collection. Fanny Blake

to try new things. Her last idea had been to encourage Adele to go to the local pottery class with her. The three wonky vases on top of the old upright piano suggested lots of enthusiasm but little skill.

      ‘Ye-es.’ Bea was hesitant, worried she’d been wrong in her assessment of her mother’s state of mind. She’d clearly completely lost her marbles. ‘But where? And what about the house?’

      ‘I’m going to sell it. I’ve been rattling around it for years. We’ve found two flats – actually, Janey has – in a new development principally for old crocks like us very close to the sea front.’ Adele was beaming at the prospect of something so different.

      ‘Mum! You can’t do this without talking to us.’

      ‘But that’s what I’m doing – talking to you. I’ve always wanted to live by the sea . . .’

      ‘Have you? You’ve never said anything.’

      ‘Bea, I hardly see you. And when I do, we mostly talk about you or Ben.’

      Bea was ashamed to admit that she was right. She’d imagined she knew all that there was to know about Adele’s life. She had got into the habit of assuming that her mother’s days and weeks followed the same inevitable pattern and that Adele was quite happy with that. Bea had never bothered trying to put herself into her mother’s shoes to see how the world looked from her vantage-point. Of course, a woman of seventy-something (there – she didn’t even know exactly how old Adele was) had the right to expect more out of life and still have ambitions, however modest. ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘No, that’s not what I meant. I love hearing all your news. But Janey and I have had more cups of coffee together than either of us can count, discussing what we might do with the rest of our lives. At the moment we’re both relatively fit and healthy so it’s not too late for us to start a new chapter.’ Her eyes were bright with excitement.

      ‘Why didn’t you say something earlier?’

      ‘Because I was enjoying hearing about you and Ellen. And I was nervous. I didn’t want to spoil our outing, which I would have done if you don’t like the plan.’

      ‘But, Mum . . . the house.’ Now that the idea of Adele’s moving had suddenly become a reality, getting rid of the family home was unthinkable. Or was it? After all, she was the only one of Adele’s children who visited with any regularity any more. Why should her mother have to live there alone, just so her children could revisit their memories every now and then?

      ‘It’s only a house, dear. It’s given us plenty of good years but I like the idea of another family taking it over now. And I’d like a change while I can still enjoy it. If I move with Janey, we’ll have each other for company as neighbours again. What could be better? And you won’t need to worry about me.’

      Selling the old place would be a huge wrench, not to say a logistical nightmare as they disposed of all those years’ worth of accumulated belongings, but was that a reason to prevent Adele having one last shot at life? Bea looked around the room. She had grown up with everything in it: the faded furniture, the pictures on the walls, the green and white Penguin crime novels that Adele had collected so many years ago. Where would it all go? She turned to her mother, who was leaning forward in her chair, looking anxious for Bea’s approval. In that moment, Bea grasped that whatever her feelings about her childhood home, she couldn’t use it to deny her mother’s right to her much-cherished independence. That Adele was embracing her future with another woman close to her age should be a relief, a way of taking some of the load off her shoulders. Adele was right. The house had done them well and at last the time had come to move on.

      ‘You know what, Mum? I think it’s a great idea. Go for it.’

      The relief she saw in Adele’s face told her all she needed to know. Adele’s mind might have been made up but what she really wanted was her daughter’s blessing. Though saddened by the nostalgia provoked at the idea of selling the old house, Bea was able to enthuse over the estate agent’s details of the new flats. Soon she and her mother were making plans to travel down to inspect them as soon as they could.

      By the time she left for home, she was almost as excited as Adele by the imminent change. She was confident Will wouldn’t mind. He’d said goodbye to his childhood home long ago when he’d set off for Australia. As for Jess, she had no right to protest. She only ever visited when she felt she absolutely had to and spent much of her time eyeing up the furniture, as if mentally marking the pieces she liked with red stickers. No, this was a positive thing to do and Bea was going to support Adele all the way. Life would be easier for everyone.

      Unable to resist another chocolate, she kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the sofa as a feeling of relaxation stole over her. She wasn’t sorry that Tony Castle hadn’t turned up this evening. Having the opportunity to talk to Ellen was much more important to her. After so many years coming to terms with Simon’s death, Ellen deserved her shot at happiness. Her obvious pleasure in her new man brought home to Bea how much she wanted the best for her friend. Besides, she admitted a small afterthought, if Ellen had found someone, then maybe there was still hope for her too.

      Chapter 10

      ‘I’m not going. No way.’

      They had reached stalemate already. The conversation that Ellen had rehearsed in her head a hundred times was proving far more difficult than she had envisaged. After she’d got back from Bea’s the previous night, she’d lain awake going through exactly what she wanted to say to Oliver and the best way to put it. However much his temporary absence was going to hurt, she knew Bea’s advice was right. He had to go, and for a short while they would have to pretend a different relationship in front of the children. Once Emma and Matt liked and accepted him, they could start their future together. All day at the gallery, she had been busy planning a new exhibition, speaking to two painters whose work she hoped to show and to customers, but her thoughts had kept running ahead to the conversation she must have. Dreading Oliver’s reaction, she hadn’t been able to broach the subject immediately. He’d welcomed her home as if he hadn’t seen her for days, not hours, and she hadn’t wanted to spoil the mood. His attention made her feel alive.

      Eventually, as they sat down for supper, she’d told him that she was planning to go alone to Cornwall and began to spell out as gently and reasonably as she could what she felt was the best way of introducing him to the children. His response was as negative as she’d feared. As she talked, his expression had hardened. A barely perceptible steeliness slid into place behind his eyes. But she saw it. He pushed his chair away from the table and leaned back, folded his arms and waited, motionless until she’d finished. Then he spoke. Those five non-cooperative words.

      For a second, Ellen’s panic was eradicated by the fleeting thought of how sweet he looked, like a frustrated child about to stamp his foot. She swiftly brought herself back to the moment. ‘Darling, at least try to understand.’

      He reached for the bottle of Pinot Grigio and refilled his glass without offering any to her. ‘I am trying. But what’s so ridiculous is that I know deep down you don’t want me to go either.’ How true that was. ‘Why do you think meeting me will be so difficult for them? I love you and I’ll love them. It’ll all work out.’

      But will they love you? She pushed the thought away, annoyed that it had burrowed in through her defences. How lucky they were that she’d met a man so ready to take on her children as well as her. To find someone so big-hearted was a blessing. Of course they’d love him just as she did. She remembered the conversations she’d had with Bea over the years since Colin had left her. Bea had been convinced that any potential partner would run a mile once they’d got wind of Ben’s existence. She could hear her now: ‘Why would they take on a middle-aged woman at all, let alone one with a child? Look at me. I’m like a leftover from a designer sale! Once a desirable bit of shmutter but still on the rail and no longer fashionable, desirable or even fitting.’ Ellen was no different. But she mustn’t waver.

      Looking over Oliver’s shoulder to the wall behind him, she could see one of the large picture frames that, over the years, she’d filled