THE PROMISE OF HAPPINESS. Erin Kaye

door shut on her. Turning, Joanne caught a flicker of something in her best friend’s eyes. She felt ashamed for taking out her feelings on the dog. What was wrong with her?

      ‘Oh, we’ll save the leftovers for her,’ she said brightly.

      ‘Of course,’ said Gemma smoothly.

      Joanne peered wistfully out the patio doors at a dull grey sky. ‘Do you think it’s going to rain? At least the garden’s looking good.’

      She’d made the most of the tight space, and the borders, still wet from the last shower, were brimming with summer flowers – pink and white foxgloves, frothy white gypsophila and pale purple lavender.

      ‘Great in the kitchen – green fingers too. Your husband’s spoiled,’ Gemma said lightly and Joanne’s chest swelled with pride.

      She blushed and said, ‘Have I invited too many people? I’d kind of banked on good weather and now, if it rains, everyone’ll have to squeeze inside.’

      The house was detached and had four bedrooms but everything about it was compact, a fact that constantly irked, like an itchy label on the back of a sweater. Considering she and Phil both had professional jobs, they really ought to be living in a bigger, better house. But that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon – not with Phil squandering every spare penny … no, she mustn’t go there, not today, not at Louise’s homecoming party.

      ‘It’ll be fine,’ said Gemma airily, ‘And I’m sure Louise’ll appreciate it.’ She leant against the counter, her skinny black jeans and black boat-necked jersey top emphasising her sexy contours. Joanne, in her pretty, flared skirt and delicate high heels felt suddenly in danger of appearing frumpy in comparison. And once again, she found herself wondering why Gemma was still alone. Surely there must be a man out there for her?

      ‘Do you think I’ve put on weight?’ said Gemma suddenly, sucking her already flat belly in so that it was concave.

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ said Joanne loyally. ‘You look fantastic. Like you always do.’

      Roz, Gemma’s daughter, popped her head through the kitchen door. ‘Can me and Maddy go down the shop for some magazines?’ It was Roz and Maddy who’d brought Gemma and Joanne together. They’d met at a mother and baby coffee morning when the girls were little.

      Gemma looked at Joanne and shrugged her smooth right shoulder indifferently.

      ‘Why not?’ said Joanne as Maddy followed Roz into the room.

      Gemma reached for her purse, found a fiver and handed it to her daughter. Joanne did the same with Maddy adding, as she handed over the money, ‘Just don’t be too long. Everyone’ll be arriving soon.’

      The girls, over-made-up and dressed like twins in leggings, ankle boots and baggy tops with a slightly disconcerting eighties look about them, had only just left the room when Abbey came running in, dressed in clothes of her own choosing – red leggings which bagged at the knees and clashed with her orange T-shirt. Her straight, fine hair was carelessly pinned to one side with a diamante barrette with half the stones missing.

      ‘I want to go to the shop too,’ announced Abbey breathlessly.

      Joanne smiled patiently. ‘You can’t, darling. You’re too young.’

      ‘I’m not too young to go with Maddy and Roz! They can take me, can’t they, Mum? Can’t they, Auntie Gemma?’ she pleaded, the hope in her voice slipping into desperation as the two women exchanged glances. ‘Make them take me, Mum!’

      ‘No, Abbey. I’m sorry, the answer’s no.’ Joanne paused and then added brightly, ‘Anyway, I need a big girl to help me.’

      Abbey folded her arms across her chest defiantly and Joanne pressed on, ‘See all these crisps and nibbles. Can you put them in these bowls for me, please? The rest of our guests will be arriving soon.’

      ‘That’s not fair. I have to do all the work and they get to go to the shop.’ Abbey glowered. ‘I bet you a million pounds they’re buying sweets.’

      ‘They are not buying sweets, I can assure you,’ said Joanne, losing patience. She moved towards Abbey, wafting a tea towel at her like a Spanish bullfighter. ‘If you’re not going to help, you can get out of my kitchen. Go on, out!’

      ‘I’m not helping you ever again,’ shouted Abbey and she ran out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

      Both women burst out laughing.

      ‘Why is Abbey so much work? If only I had a boy, like you, instead of all girls,’ said Joanne. In addition to Roz, Gemma had a twelve-year-old son, Jack.

      Gemma raised her eyebrows. ‘Jack has his moments too, you know. But any problems and I just call his dad.’ She sighed. ‘Having said that, Abbey’s the feistiest little girl I’ve ever met. Do you remember that year on holiday in Spain when she was only four and we lost her at the pool?’

      ‘I’ll never forget it,’ said Joanne, recalling the feeling of heart-stopping panic.

      ‘And we found her a full twenty minutes later, sitting at the bar drinking orange juice, chatting away to the barman with her handbag on the seat beside her!’

      Joanne shook her head, laughing at the memory of her fearless daughter though, at the time, it hadn’t been at all funny.

      ‘Oh my goodness. Would you look at the time? Gemma, love, you wouldn’t do me a favour would you and put out the nibbles? And I wonder what’s keeping Phil?’ Joanne added. ‘He knows everyone’s due at five.’ She slid on a pair of oven gloves, opened the oven door and waved away a bellow of steam.

      Gemma sauntered slowly over to the island unit, ripped open a packet of crisps and ate one.

      Peering inside the oven, Joanne said, ‘The chicken’s just about done. I’d better turn it off.’

      ‘Wasn’t he playing golf today?’ said Gemma, tipping crisps into a ceramic bowl.

      Joanne turned the gas off under the chilli. ‘Yes, but he promised me he’d come straight home to give me a hand.’ She stood up and made a sweeping gesture with her left hand around the kitchen. ‘And of course everything’s done and there’s no sign of him. Typical.’

      ‘He must’ve got held up,’ said Gemma reassuringly. ‘Have you tried calling him on his mobile?’

      ‘I did. It just tripped to voicemail.’ Joanne took off the oven gloves and placed them on top of the cooker. She shook her head. ‘Sometimes I wonder, Gemma,’ she said and paused.

      ‘Wonder what?’

      ‘If life wouldn’t be easier on my own.’

      Gemma looked at her sharply. ‘Do you mean that?’

      Joanne reddened, her bluff called. ‘No, of course not. That was a stupid thing to say, wasn’t it?’

      Gemma said sadly, ‘There’s nothing easy about raising a family on your own.’

      ‘Oh, of course, I’m sorry, Gemma,’ said Joanne. ‘That was thoughtless of me.’

      ‘I tell you, what I longed for most after Jimmy left was another adult just being there so that I wasn’t responsible for absolutely everything. I couldn’t even go out for an evening walk around the block without getting a babysitter.’ Gemma paused and looked out the window, then added quite brightly, tipping salt and vinegar crisps into a bowl, ‘Those days are behind me now, of course. They’re both pretty independent and Roz is old enough to mind Jack for a few hours.’

      ‘And they stay with their dad every Tuesday night and every other weekend,’ Joanne reminded her friend. ‘You know sometimes I envy you those times – when you’ve no children or husband to worry about. When you can do things that you want to do and you don’t have to be accountable to anybody else.’

      Gemma gave Joanne a puzzled