Fiona Gibson 3 Book Bundle. Fiona Gibson

hate it here!’ Mia announces, stopping in her tracks. ‘I hate it. I want to see Daddy and I want to go back to London.’

      ‘Mia, please …’ Her daughter’s eyes flood with tears, and Kerry bobs down to hug her tightly. ‘Come on, darling. You’ve been so good about moving …’

      ‘WHY CAN’T I HAVE FIGS?’ she roars, pulling away from Kerry, her cheeks flaming. Kerry stands there, feeling as if she’s been punched in the stomach.

      ‘Mia,’ she mutters, ‘please stop this …’

      ‘It’s not fair! I told you about the feast …’

      Yes, and quite a lot has happened since then … A few metres ahead, a couple of mothers – each with an immaculate daughter – have turned back for a gawp, because not much happens in a genteel seaside town. (Kerry has noticed this: the way people stop and gaze when something of mild interest occurs, like a car exhaust backfiring or a plane flying overhead). Grabbing Mia and Freddie’s hands, she marches onwards, past the staring women – one auburn, one pale blonde, both wearing what would be termed ‘fun skirts’ in the Boden catalogue.

      ‘Did you hear that?’ one of the women hisses. ‘I can hardly believe it. That little girl was yelling for fags.’

      Kerry turns to face them. ‘No, she wasn’t. She’s seven years old. She said figs, for the Egyptian feast at school.’

      ‘Oh!’ At least the auburn-haired one has the decency to blush. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean …’

      ‘It’s okay,’ Kerry says tersely.

      ‘That’s Mia, Mummy,’ the woman’s daughter announces. ‘She’s in my class.’

      ‘Hi, Audrey-Jane,’ Mia says shyly. ‘Hi, Tabitha.’ The blonde woman’s daughter grins, showing missing front teeth.

      The auburn mother musters a smile. ‘Er, I’m Lara, this is Emily …’

      ‘Kerry.’

      ‘Nice to meet you, Kerry,’ Lara says rather coolly, as if still unconvinced over the fags issue.

      ‘You’ve moved into Maisie Cartwright’s house, haven’t you?’ Emily asks. Christ, does everyone know everything around here?

      ‘That’s right, she’s my aunt actually. She’s moved to Spain …’

      ‘So I heard. Is she enjoying it?’

      Kerry casts her mind to the postcard she received this morning which she could hardly bear to read: I’m so happy that you, Rob and the children will be living in the cottage. I hope you have many happy years there … ‘Um, yes, she seems to be.’

      ‘Lucky woman,’ Emily says with a prim smile as they all start marching briskly towards school. ‘So, how are you settling in?’

      ‘Oh, we’re doing fine, thank you,’ Kerry says blithely.

      ‘My mummy forgot the Egyptian feast,’ Mia murmurs to Audrey-Jane.

      ‘God, so did I,’ Emily exclaims.

      ‘Me too,’ adds Lara, seemingly unconcerned, ‘but I’m not sure about food-sharing in the classroom anyway. I mean, you can’t be sure where everything’s come from …’ She winces at Kerry as if expecting her to agree, and the two friends fall into a discussion about various crimes against nutrition. Diluted cordial at the school Christmas party, fun-sized Mars Bars hidden during the Easter egg hunt … that’s the thing about living somewhere like this, Kerry realises. Everything’s so damned policed. You have those Beach Buddies, scanning the shoreline for so much as a discarded ice lolly stick, and mothers checking each other out as their ravenous children surge through the school gates at home time to be handed punnets of cherries and bottles of water.

      As they turn into a side street, Kerry glances at the chalkboard propped up outside a sandwich shop. Char-grilled mozzarella and figs on lightly-toasted walnut sourdough …

      ‘Figs!’ she blurts out. ‘Look – FIGS!’

      ‘Sorry?’ Lara gives her a quizzical look.

      ‘Figs! They have figs here, and they’re open …’ And that’s not all. Manchego cheese with dates and Serrano ham … ‘Are dates Egyptian, Mia?’

      ‘Er, I think so. I don’t like ’em …’

      ‘It doesn’t matter what you like,’ Kerry says quickly. ‘Oh, and look, they do chargrilled chicken with spinach and honey and pomegranate dressing …’

      ‘The Egyptians had pomegranates,’ Tabitha exclaims as Kerry marches into the shop.

      The gangly, dark-haired boy behind the counter couldn’t be sweeter, allowing her to buy an array of fruits and seeming unperturbed by the fact that she doesn’t require them to be turned into a sandwich.

      ‘You’ve just saved my life,’ she says, clutching the bulging brown paper bag.

      ‘Any time,’ he says grinning.

      ‘Well, thanks again. I’m so glad I spotted your shop. I hadn’t even noticed it until today.’

      Outside, she shows Lara and Emily her purchases. ‘Well, that was very slick,’ Lara remarks, ‘but now we’re late and you know what Miss Pettifer’s like if they miss the bell.’

      Be like that then, Kerry muses as they march onwards in a tense, stony-faced group. Pour scorn upon my Egyptian offerings that I managed to pull together less than twenty-four hours after my marriage went tits up.

      *

      Perhaps, Kerry surmises later, she has managed to pull off a small feat today, and not just for the school banquet. She has, after all, survived the first morning after Rob’s announcement. She may have shed a few tears but she hasn’t lain weeping with the children stepping over her in a puddle of gin on the kitchen floor. And when Anita arrives that evening, having driven down to Shorling straight after work, Kerry has already decided that, somehow, she’ll find a way through this thing that’s exploded in her face.

      ‘He’s the last person I’d have thought would do this,’ Anita declares, sipping tea in Kerry’s kitchen.

      Kerry nods. ‘I know. Nice, reliable, respectable Rob – maybe it serves me right for being so complacent.’

      ‘But it’s insane, Kerry. It’s as if he went mad that night. You don’t think he’s ever done anything like this before, do you?’

      ‘No,’ Kerry says firmly. ‘I really don’t …’

      ‘And …’ Anita pauses. ‘I don’t suppose you can forgive him?’

      ‘How can I possibly when she’s pregnant?’

      ‘But …’ Anita pauses. ‘What if she’s lying and it’s not his?’

      Kerry rubs her hands across her face as the sound of The Bare Necessities drifts through from the living room. ‘The thing is, it could be, and he’s certainly assuming it is.’

      ‘Why, though? He can’t even remember it happening. She might have made the whole thing up. Maybe they didn’t even do it—’

      ‘Oh, he’s got a history of being unable to remember whether he did it or not,’ Kerry cuts in bitterly. ‘Said it happened with me.’

      Anita frowns. ‘Like some kind of blackout thing, you mean?’

      Kerry nods miserably, the tears flowing unchecked now as Anita envelops her in a hug.

      ‘I’d want to kill him,’ her friend murmurs. ‘I can’t believe the stupid sod has done this …’

      ‘Me too, and you know what the worst thing is right now – the thing I’m most