Mum in the Middle: Feel good, funny and unforgettable. Jane Wenham-Jones

‘Could it be an animal?’ I asked cautiously.

      ‘Well, yes, obviously. Fox shit, I think,’ said Jinni impatiently. ‘Or a very small dog. But look at the position. Dead symmetrical.’

      ‘I really don’t think …’

      ‘I wouldn’t put it past these zealots. God knows who Ingrid’s wound up on social media. I emailed it to Gabriel – he thought it was suspicious too. He wanted to run something, but that miserable git of an editor–’

      I stifled a smile at the thought of Malcolm faced with a picture of a fox poo and a conspiracy theory.

      ‘We had foxes in the garden at my old house,’ I said, reasonably, my face as straight as I could manage. ‘Sometimes they’d leave mess right in the middle of the path up to the front door. Probably just how it came out.’ The ludicrousness of this sentence made me giggle despite my best intentions. Jinni gave me a sharp look.

      ‘Well, I think someone’s been sniffing around my garden,’ she said. ‘I thought I saw someone the other night.’

      At this, I felt a frisson of alarm. I had only just started to sleep better, without imagining an axe murderer lurking in every shadow.

      ‘It might have been his tricky mate,’ said Jinny. ‘He doesn’t like me either, since I got the size of his extension knocked back. But, bloody hell, it was bigger than the bloody house – and looked right over my garden …’

      ‘It might also have been a trick of the light,’ I said, grasping the coffee pot and pouring the contents into two mugs.

      ‘Have you got sugar,’ asked Jinni. ‘Or brandy?’

      Visitors are like buses. No sooner had I packed a slightly glazed Jinni off across the road, suggesting that she left the knocking down of the next partition wall till she’d had an afternoon nap, than Gabriel appeared.

      ‘I was just passing,’ he said, ‘and thought I’d say hi. Am I disturbing you?’

      ‘Not at all.’ I shut my laptop lid for the second time and put the kettle on again. ‘How’s it all going?’

      Slowly, was the short answer. Gabriel reported a dull week in which he’d been scratching about for a decent lead story for Malcolm, who’d been more than usually grouchy. The revelation about the strategically placed poo had gone down particularly badly, with Malcolm bellowing that if it was the best Gabriel could come up with, he’d better go for a job in the chippy. Gabriel did not look traumatised about this – he grinned widely as he took off Malcolm’s voice with impressive accuracy. ‘And you’d probably mess that up too!’ he finished loudly. We both laughed.

      ‘A fox had done it,’ I said. Gabriel nodded. ‘I know. But there is some backlash going on. You know the woman with the holiday cottages who had her tyres slashed?’ He looked serious again. ‘She’s had quite an unpleasant anonymous letter.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘Yes, I only found out when we were right up against deadline so I’m holding on to it till next week – in case anything else happens. I haven’t even told Malcolm yet.’ He lowered his voice. ‘So if you can keep it to yourself …’

      ‘Of course.’ I looked into his solemn face and once again suppressed the urge to snort. The whole thing had a bizarre village who-dunnit feel to it, and I couldn’t believe Gabriel and Jinni were taking it so seriously.

      ‘What are you doing for Easter?’ I asked. ‘Going home to see your parents?’

      Gabriel shook his head. ‘I’ve only got Good Friday off. He imitated the editor’s gruff tones once more. ‘News doesn’t stop because it’s a bank holiday!’ Gabriel pulled a face. ‘I’ve got to go to the Easter Fair on Monday – my punishment for the window company thing.’

      I smiled. ‘Well, my boys will be home for the whole weekend if you want to pop in and have a drink.’ I was filled with a warm glow. All my children would be home …

      ‘I’d like that,’ said Gabriel.

      He gave me another kiss on the cheek as he left. I wondered if he had any friends to invite round to the tiny studio flat he’d mentioned. I guessed he was homesick and a bit lonely and I reminded him of his mum.

      As I waved him off, I saw Ingrid walking slowly past the Rectory.

      Jinni was right – she did come along this road a lot.

      I hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to scuttle indoors or take the lead and call out hello.

      But Ingrid was staring straight ahead. She didn’t look over at me at all.

       Chapter 8

       Shopping - done

       House – cleaned

       Downstairs loo - painted

       Beds - made

       Fridge - full

       Washing – up to date (Ben and Tilly were bound to descend with bags of their own)

       Ironing board – held together with tape. (See above) NB must get new one but do not let Ben use.

       Turkey – collect Saturday

       Work – shit!

      I grabbed my office bag, throwing the last of my tea down the sink. There was a key hidden under a brick in case Tilly arrived early or Ben had forgotten his again. My train to London left in twenty-two minutes and it took at least fifteen to walk to the station. I’d asked for the meeting to be brought forward so I could leave early. And I was seeing Caroline at lunchtime. I really couldn’t be late.

      It was cold for April but by the time I turned the final corner into the drab road that approached the station, I’d broken into a sweat. I pulled off my scarf and flexed my toes. The heels of my new ankle boots weren’t that high but already the balls of my feet hurt.

      As I walked through the double doors, I caught sight of my reflection in the booking office window. My face was red and what little style my hair possessed had disappeared in the wind.

      Moving past the figures waiting, I started to make my way along the platform.

      ‘Excuse me. Isn’t it Tess?’

      I turned round to see Ingrid’s son David standing behind me. Last time he’d been in casual clothes. Now he was every inch the sophisticated gent, dressed in a clearly expensive suit and tie and carrying a brief case.

      He was holding out his hand.

      Even as my brain was telling me to ignore it and be as rude to him as he’d been to me, I was aware of my hot palm against his cool one.

      He shook my hand firmly and kept holding it.

      ‘I am SO sorry,’ he was saying. ‘My mother told me I was most terribly rude the last time we met. You were holding out your hand and I didn’t even notice. I really do apologise. I’m not usually so discourteous.’ He gave a huge and charming smile.

      ‘I’m afraid you happened along at rather a fraught moment. My mother and I were having a slight contretemps. Not that that is any excuse for ignoring you.’ He smiled again. He looked as though he were in an advert for the cloud of aftershave that drifted around me. All super-smooth shiny dark hair and crinkly eyes. I imagined he knew he looked like that.

      I had to look upwards to hold his gaze. I could feel a crick in my neck but I wasn’t going to be embarrassed this time.

      ‘That’s quite all right,’ I said stiffly. ‘I shouldn’t have interrupted.’

      ‘You weren’t to know.’ He