Truly, Madly, Deeply. Romantic Novelist's Association

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      ‘Dear Leo, I’m sure you won’t remember me, Isobel Dunbar, but we met at the McCreadys’ once. We’re staying in the house where you stayed last year. Such a coincidence, I had to get in touch.’

      Feeling very slightly naughty, and so cheered up, she went back into the house to finish the clearing she had abandoned.

      Very much to her surprise she had a reply from Leo. She sneaked a look, feeling wonderfully teenage, while supervising the two-year-old’s porridge consumption.

      ‘Isobel! Of course I remember you! How could I forget? And by an amazing coincidence we’re down here too! Do you think you could manage a lunch? Not the whole family, just us?’

      She was so shocked and delighted she couldn’t even think of replying. She just held her glorious –and guilty –secret to herself. She whizzed through the chores and even made up some batter for pancakes for breakfast. She almost ran down the lane to the little shop that stocked everything a holidaymaker might require and was open almost continuously. She panted back up the hill clutching croissants and maple syrup.

      ‘Mum!’ said her daughter, a plump baby on her hip. ‘You didn’t get any nappies while you were in the shop, did you? We’re nearly out.’

      ‘Sorry, darling, I didn’t know about the nappies and just thought it would be fun to have pancakes.’ The adrenalin shot of the email protected her from resentment. ‘Now, shall I take Immi so you can start frying?’

      All day she was superwoman. She packed a picnic of homemade pizzas and sent the whole lot off to the beach. ‘I’ll meet you at lunchtime. There are just a few things I want to do here!’ she said, as she waved them off.

      Then she ran to her phone. ‘It’s as if I have a lover!’ she told herself, slightly breathless, as she switched it on. The thought of having a lover was like being submerged by a huge wave and then being lifted up by the same wave. She couldn’t decide if the feeling of exhilaration matched the feeling of utter doom. It was while she was feeling ridiculously happy she wrote a quick reply: ‘That should be possible. When did you have in mind? Not today,’ she added hurriedly.

      She doubted if Leo had had to tidy the kitchen, go shopping and make pancakes –not to mention the picnic –in order to have a few moments to send an email, but was very pleased to hear the ping of a reply while she was clearing up sodden towels from the shower. It was him. He mentioned a pub in a little village a reassuring distance from the house: ‘Tomorrow any good? We’re going back at the end of the week.’

      ‘Lovely,’ she wrote back, not giving herself time to think further. If she passed up this opportunity it wouldn’t happen and she’d regret it for ever. ‘One o’clock?’

      Feeling as guilty as if she had made a pact with the devil, Isobel made her way to the beach, bringing chilled bottles, extra cardies and some sunscreen with her.

      ‘Oh great, beer,’ said one of her sons, taking a couple of bottles out of her bag, which had been very heavy.

      ‘That’s fine, darling,’ Isobel muttered. ‘It was no trouble bringing it at all…’

      The following morning Isobel got everyone’s attention at breakfast time –as far as one could, given that they all had separate distractions. ‘I’m going out for the day,’ she said. ‘I’ll be taking the car.’

      ‘What do you want to do that for?’ asked her husband, utterly bemused.

      ‘Oh you know. I just need a bit of time on my own. “Me time”.’ She bit her lip to stop herself adding ‘because I’m worth it.’

      ‘Will you be back to help with bath-time?’ asked one daughter-in-law. ‘You promised to read Otto a story!’

      ‘I’ll be back in plenty of time for that.’

      ‘This is a bit out of left-field, isn’t it?’ said a son.

      ‘Yes, and what about supper?’ asked her daughter. ‘What are we having?’

      ‘Why don’t you decide?’ she asked. She turned to leave but before she had got out of the room her daughter stopped her.

      ‘Don’t you think you ought to at least wash your hair first?’

      Isobel laughed. ‘Oh no, my hair is just fine.’

      She managed not to spray gravel as she drove away, feeling as if the family car had turned into a getaway vehicle. In her Cath Kidson shopper, like stolen goods, were as many of her clothes that she felt she could get away with taking, and her entire make-up kit. Her holiday packing had not included control pants or a sexy dress but she had bought a couple of new tops and some new linen trousers that were quite flattering. She knew of a public lavatory with quite big cubicles, she’d do her changing there.

      Her hair would be sorted by a quick wash and blow-dry at a local salon. It couldn’t go too wrong and if it did, she could gussy it up with some products that the local Boots would provide. She was going to enjoy every minute of this.

      But in between the wonderful excitement came troughs of guilt. She was struggling into her new trousers in the public convenience, giggling at the ridiculousness of it all, when she suddenly pictured her husband. What would happen if he found out? She suddenly felt sick. It would be too awful. He would be so hurt. Her mouth went dry and for a moment she couldn’t move. After a few minutes she collected herself and carried on getting dressed in a more sombre manner. She walked out of the cubicle in two minds. Should she cancel?

      A glance in the mirror decided her. She was looking good. Well, as good as she could look given the circumstances. The local salon had done a good job on her hair and her new clothes were nice. She would meet an old friend for lunch, she would do a bit of shopping and then go back in time to bathe the babies and cook supper. After she’d had her few hours of intrigue would she go back to her humdrum role of wife and mother and not care that no one seemed to appreciate her, let alone treat her as the sort of goddess who starred in her favourite sort of reading material. She would have her secret, even if it was a very small one.

      She felt so sick with nerves when she arrived at the pub that she nearly turned round and went back to the holiday house. But she knew she’d regret it if she did that –and it was only lunch, for God’s sake. She and Leo might wonder what on earth they had ever seen in each other. She would more than likely go home wondering what on earth she’d gone to all that trouble for –but she had to find out.

      Leo was waiting for her, watching the door for her to come in, and stood up the moment she appeared. She recognised him instantly, and going by the smile on his face he recognised her too.

      They hugged briefly, and then Isobel sat down. Her knees were shaking.

      ‘What can I get you?’ Leo asked.

      ‘A white wine spritzer,’ she said. She needed at least some alcohol to get her through this. And if she stuffed herself with sandwiches when she was alone again, after the salad she would have in front of Leo, she should be OK to drive back.

      ‘So, Isobel. This is so nice.’ His words were bland but the expression in his eyes was anything but. She may have forgotten some of the signs but she was fairly sure she saw a twinkle of admiration. ‘I’ve often wondered what would have happened if we hadn’t both been married when we met.’

      Isobel took a sip of her drink –she wouldn’t have been able to talk if she hadn’t. ‘But we were both married and still are.’

      He smiled ruefully and nodded. ‘So there’s no point in suggesting we get a room then?’

      She started to laugh. It was so ridiculous. He laughed too and then they were both chuckling away. Isobel knew it was a release of tension –for her anyway –but whatever the reason it was lovely.

      ‘All I can say,’ he said, when they had recovered themselves, ‘is that your husband is a very lucky man. Now what would you like for lunch?’