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

the way we got off to a bad start. I promise I’ll make it up to you …’ Those sexy eyes were still fixed on mine.

      ‘It’s fine really.’ He was going over the top now and I felt awkward. I clumsily retrieved my fingers and looked at my watch.

      ‘Are you going up to town too?’ he asked, his tone solicitous.

      I felt a twinge of alarm. Was he going to sit next to me? I thought wildly of pretending I was only going to the next station, getting off and getting on again at the other end. Except that was the plan that had gone so horribly wrong with Ben’s geography teacher, who’d seen me again when she changed carriages herself – presumably to get away from somebody else.

      ‘Yes – I have a meeting. I’ve got my laptop with me,’ I gabbled. ‘I have to prepare for it. I’m always so behind on everything. Lucky I’ve got the journey to catch up …’

      ‘Oh, I’m the same,’ he said. And then he laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I loathe being stuck having to make conversation too …’

      I stared at him. He raised an amused eyebrow. I felt myself flush.

      ‘I didn’t mean that.’ I began, even though it was bloody obvious I had.

      ‘I’m sure you didn’t.’ He was still grinning. ‘It’s been very nice to talk to you. I look forward to next time.’

      With that he turned and strode away to the far end of the platform. I felt annoyed all over again. That was where I liked to sit too. As he reached the spot where I would have waited, he turned and gave me a wave. Then abruptly turned his back again. But not before I saw the pleased-with-himself smile plastered across his face.

      Jinni was right. For all his apologies and hand-grasping, David was one smug bastard.

      ‘Okay,’ says Caroline. ‘So, aside from Fran, who’s knee deep in babygros, we’ve got the suave poser known as Smug Bastard, the mad actress, the even madder campaigner, a grumpy editor, the owner of the newsagent’s and the butcher. And that’s the sum total of your social circle in the entire town, is it?’

      She crosses her elegant legs, takes a sip of her white wine and looks at me with reproach.

      ‘Oh and a sort of extra surrogate son.’ I tell her about Gabriel. And as an afterthought and to bulk the numbers out a bit – the young girl Emily.

      ‘You don’t want any more bloody sons, darling,’ says Caroline. ‘You want lovers. One would do, to start with.’

      ‘I’m not sure I do,’ I say nervously.

      ‘You’ve wrapped yourself up with those kids for so long, you’ve forgotten.’

      Caroline sweeps on. ‘Of course I adore them too – you know I do – but you’ve got to let go now. Shall we try the internet dating again?’

      ‘Don’t you dare.’

      I have never fully forgiven Caroline for the night in Finchley when she filled in an unsolicited and completely fictitious profile on my behalf while I was cooking the spaghetti, then chatted up likely suitors and agreed, as if she were me, to meet someone called Quentin, who looked amazing but who turned out to be passionate about military aircraft and visiting battlefields and who I couldn’t shake off for months.

      She tried to make it my fault for getting dinner together so late, saying her judgement was impaired after too much Soave on an empty stomach, and that we should do it properly, but I have told her in no uncertain terms: Never Again.

      ‘I’ll come down for the weekend and we’ll find him together,’ she declares now. ‘I’ve got to see your gorgeous new house, anyway. I’ve found this sublime cushion shop in Kensington. I’ll get you something stunning for a house-warming present when you’ve told me the colour schemes.’

      ‘There’s nothing gorgeous about any of it at the moment. You’ll have a fit.’

      Caroline’s own flat is immaculately tasteful – all fresh gloss, with a throw here, a perfectly placed pot there and designer floorboards.

      I look at her now, in her beautifully cut shift dress and glass beads, highlighted hair smooth against her flawless skin, lipstick the exact shade of wine red to bring out the green of her eyes, and was lost in admiration.

      I could wear that exact combination of clothes and make-up and would still look as if I’d thrown it together while running for a bus. If Caroline put on anything in my wardrobe, she’d be straight off the catwalk. But she’s funny and kind and generous and hugely supportive – sometimes too much so, a la Quentin. We have nothing in common, really, except I was once married to her brother – but she’s become just about my best friend ever.

      ‘Lucky I love you,’ I say.

      ‘Love you too, darling. That’s why I want you to have a wonderful man.’

      ‘I can’t play the games. I’ve forgotten what to say. It’s difficult to get up the confidence when you’re my age …’

      Caroline flicks a manicured finger in the air and a stylish young man appears at her elbow. ‘Could you please bring my friend another glass of wine – and one for me too – she’s delirious and making no sense.’

      ‘I’ve got to go back to work …’

      Caroline narrows her eyes. ‘May I remind you I am a year older than you and have no intention of ever giving up my sex life, however many times I need a fresh start!’

      ‘Ah yes – how are they all?’

      Caroline sighs. ‘I had to end it with James – he started getting maudlin and talking about leaving his wife – Rick flies in and services me when he has a long enough stopover and Laurence is still Laurence.’ Caroline gives a small secretive smile, as if she can’t decide whether this is a good or a bad thing.

      ‘You are incorrigible,’ I tell her as I always do. ‘And you look amazing.’

      ‘It’s all the endorphins, darling. And lots of botox. You, on the other hand, are naturally gorgeous but not making enough of your assets.’ She looks at me critically. ‘You have the most wonderful eyes, beautiful skin and great breasts. Really darling – men should be falling at your feet. Come to stay and we’ll give you a revamp!’

      I shake my head. ‘I’m too busy. I’m behind with work, the kids are coming down and my mother hasn’t been well. I need to see her more.’ I can’t face saying anything else.

      ‘Rob okay?’ I ask, wanting to change the subject. ‘Tilly saw him last week but she hasn’t said much.’ I have a sudden image of my ex-husband stalking about switching off lights and think fondly of my new home, where I can have two radios on at once without anyone turning purple.

      ‘Still a boring old sod,’ says Caroline cheerfully. ‘We’ll find you someone more exciting next time.’

      She presses a lipstick on me as we leave. And a new mascara that will give me an instant false-lash look without clogging.

      ‘Kiss my nephews and niece,’ she instructs, ‘and keep your eyes peeled for opportunity. You can have fun now – unfettered by offspring! I’ll visit soon,’ she adds, ‘and assess the situation.’

      She kisses me on both cheeks and then hugs me. ‘In the meantime darling, at least do your roots …’

       Chapter 9

      Tilly was at full volume. Standing in the doorway of what had until now been Ben’s bedroom, she tried once more to prise her brother out.

      ‘You’ll only turn it into a total slob den again and I’ve got more stuff than you!’ She swung around and addressed me. ‘Tell him, Mum. If he sleeps in the small room it will be easier to air.’

      ‘Ben’s