The Single Mums’ Picnic Club: A perfectly uplifting beach-read for 2018!. Jennifer Joyce

      Helen Robinson clasped her hands together and lay them down on the file on the desk in front of her as she observed Katie, her lips pressed tightly together, her eyebrows pulled down low. She emitted a barely-audible sigh as Katie gave a firm shake of her head.

      ‘No.’

      ‘I’m sorry, Katie. I really am.’ Helen offered a half-smile. ‘But at least we know what we’re dealing with now.’

      ‘No.’ Katie shook her head again and shifted forward in her seat, slapping the palms of her hands down on the desk. Helen didn’t even flinch at the sudden sound. ‘He’s not getting it.’

      The half-smile was back on the solicitor’s face. ‘Why don’t we get you a nice cup of tea?’

      Because a cup of tea – nice or otherwise – wasn’t going to help the situation? Because Katie would very much like something with a bit more oomph than a mug of PG Tips, even if it was half past nine in the morning? Because she was so angry her hands were starting to tremble, and she suspected she’d end up with more of the tea down her front than in her mouth?

      Katie said none of this. She simply sat back in her seat, shoving her hands under her thighs to mask her agitation while the solicitor rang through to the receptionist to organise refreshments. She fixed her eyes on the wall behind Helen’s chair, her eyes seeing but not reading the framed certificates above her solicitor’s head. She swallowed against the huge lump in her throat, willing herself not to cry.

      ‘I know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear.’ Helen had done the sympathetic bit, but she was back in business mode now, her back straight, tone firm. She waited until Katie caught her eye – however briefly – before she continued. ‘But I’m afraid your husband has a right – by law – to request half of the marital assets. Including the property on Carter Lane.’

      Katie’s eyes widened, the burning anger she felt rising to the surface evaporating any notion of tears. ‘That property is my childhood home! It belonged to my parents. My mum left that property to me. Why should they get half of it?’ Katie leaned forward, her palms back on the desk. ‘Rob left me for another woman. Abandoned me with two children. And he didn’t even like my mum. Said she was overbearing. Stuck her nose in. Thought she always knew best.’ Katie was gasping for breath by now, but she powered on, the heels of her hands digging into the edge of the desk. ‘Why should they profit from my mum’s death? Why should they get to live happily ever after?’

      It wasn’t fair. Katie hadn’t asked for any of this; the heartache, the upheaval, the having to explain to her children that their father was starting a new life with another woman. It felt like she was losing everything and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

      ‘I know it doesn’t seem fair.’ Helen’s tone was gentle again, and she passed a box of tissues across the desk as Katie swiped at her eyes with the back of a quivering hand. ‘But I’m afraid your assets will be split. Of course, it isn’t up to me. The courts will decide how those assets will be split if you and your husband can’t come to an arrangement between you, but you should be prepared for any outcome.’

      Katie tugged a tissue out of the box and mopped up her tears. ‘I don’t want to lose my parents’ house. Mum and Dad worked so hard for it. And I can’t afford to buy Rob’s share.’ Rob’s share. The words made her stomach turn. ‘I’m unemployed, with two kids to feed and clothe. It’s okay for him. They have two incomes.’

      Helen nodded. ‘And the courts will take both your circumstances into consideration.’ She smiled her thanks as the receptionist arrived with a tray of tea and individually-wrapped biscuits, waiting until she’d placed the tray on the desk and left again before continuing. ‘There is an alternative, if you’re really set against selling the Carter Lane property.’

      Katie wished she’d stop calling it that. It was so impersonal. But she didn’t say so, simply raised her eyebrows in question as she tore open the packet of an oat crumble biscuit. It wasn’t that long since she’d eaten her breakfast, but stress made her crave sugary, comforting food. And she’d been boiling over with stress lately, hence the too-tight trousers.

      ‘Another option is to sell the family home…’

      ‘No.’ Katie shook her head vigorously. ‘No way.’

      Helen raised a hand. ‘Hear me out, before you dismiss the idea.’

      ‘No.’ Katie’s tone was firm. Absolute. She loved that house and could still remember the day she and Rob had viewed it, could still feel that frisson of certainty as she stepped over the threshold into the bright hallway, already picturing their coats hanging from the line of hooks by the front door, and she could clearly see the framed photos of the family they had yet to start lining the walls. She knew this was the home where she and her new husband would bring their children up and live happily ever after.

      The happily ever after bit hadn’t panned out, but still…

      ‘It’s my children’s home. I won’t sell it.’

      Helen gave a shrug of defeat. ‘That’s fair enough, but the option is there. You should really consider mediation, to help you and Rob to divide your assets before the divorce is finalised. Now.’ She glanced down at the file on her desk. ‘Have you filled out the acknowledgement of service yet?’

      Katie yanked the biscuit from its packet and took a bite, chewing slowly before answering. Helen waited patiently, hands clasped in front of her again.

      ‘Not yet.’ Katie squirmed in her seat as Helen tilted her head to one side. ‘I’ve been busy. Job hunting. And I have two children to take care of. And it’s been Christmas and everything…’

      ‘You only have a small amount of time to return it, Katie.’

      ‘I know.’ Katie rewrapped the remaining biscuit and placed it back onto the tray. ‘I’ll do it later. When I get home.’

      Helen didn’t say a word, but the slight raise of her eyebrows displayed her disbelief as loudly as her shouting it through a megaphone would have done.

      Katie hadn’t admitted to her solicitor that the acknowledgement of service had been sitting in her handbag, afraid that the formidable woman would insist she sign it there and then and get the divorce ball well and truly rolling. She’d do it later, at home, where she was comfortable. She’d sign it and send it off straight away, before the kids got home from school.

      It wasn’t yet lunchtime, so she had plenty of time to stop at the supermarket up by the train station. She needed to replace Elliot’s Chocolate Orange before he realised its size had been depleted and all hell broke loose over the snaffled 3 a.m. feast. She filled her basket with fruit and vegetables, which she knew she’d have to battle to get her kids to eat but it was a new year, a fresh start, and time to stop eating so much junk. They’d thank her in the long run. Maybe. She made a quick dash down the confectionery aisle, thanking the Sweet Treat Gods when she spotted the Chocolate Oranges on the shelf. Hurrah! Grabbing one (and only one, no matter how tempting it was to add more to her basket), she hurried towards the self-checkouts, taking a shortcut down the baby aisle.

      Big mistake.

      Her pumps squeaked on the tiles as she came to an abrupt stop. She backed away carefully, breath held, eyes wild with panic should the woman ahead turn to her left and spot her sneaking away. She was currently plucking jars of pureed baby food from the shelf, resting two in the palms of her hands as she weighed up which one to add to her trolley.

      Just keep reading those labels. Don’t turn around…

      Katie took another careful step backwards, wide eyes trained on her nemesis. Anya. The other woman. The woman who had taken her husband, best friend and the father of her children all rolled into one. Rob had been Katie’s first and only love. Childhood sweethearts, the couple had met when Rob had transferred to Katie’s school aged fourteen, and the pair had been inseparable ever since. It was funny to think that they were a year younger than Elliot was now when they’d started