association. It wasn’t a big place: just two small bedrooms, a galley kitchen where you rubbed shoulders, an L-shaped lounge and a garden just big enough for Gawain to ride his trike.
As Tom said, it might swallow up most of their monthly incomings, but at least they had a place of their own. Much as she loved her mum, it hadn’t been great, sharing a kitchen and bathroom. And, as she’d tried to reassure her mother, they were only round the corner.
Even so, the mortgage meant Tom had to do overtime at the garage. The dinner lady job helped a bit, but the best thing about it, to be honest, was that she hadn’t so much found a job as discovered a vocation.
‘See you’ve worked your magic again,’ remarked Bernie when she left her place at the kitchen counter to help Emma and the other two mealtime assistants clear up while the children shot off to the playground, accompanied by the duty leaders. ‘Little Miss Buck Teeth almost cleared her plate. That’s a first.’
Emma didn’t care for expressions like ‘buck teeth’. Her own had a funny little gap in the middle; Tom declared it ‘endearing’ but she hated it. That was something she’d have liked to have had fixed before the wedding, even though it was impossible. For a start it was too expensive. And secondly, there was only a week to go.
‘Have you got a second?’ asked Bernie as Emma reached for her cardi to go home. ‘Only the girls and I wanted to have a bit of a word.’
Her friend led her through to the back of the kitchen where the dishwasher was buzzing merrily. The surfaces were spotless and the smell of antiseptic just about took away the smell of sausages and broccoli. Emma’s stomach was beginning to rumble. All she wanted was to collect Gawain and Willow and get back home for a crispbread and cottage cheese – part of the pre-wedding diet she’d been on for months now but which still hadn’t made much difference.
Nor had the famous Winston King’s breakfast television workout, which she’d tried to do while dishing out breakfast at the same time.
‘We’ve got a little present for you,’ said Bernie excitedly, handing her a white envelope. ‘It’s not just from the girls. The teachers contributed too. In fact, it was Gemma Balls’ idea.’
How kind, thought Emma as she ripped open the envelope. It was typical of Gemma Balls to organise a collection. She was so nice. And bright too. Exactly the kind of person that Emma admired. Even now, she still felt a bit cheated when she thought about her old dreams of being a teacher.
She pulled out the piece of card from the envelope. It didn’t look like an ordinary voucher for Boots or Marks & Spencer. This one had a picture of a beautiful little house with red and purple flowers growing up the outside with a stunning blue sky behind and a beach running down to the sea.
One week at the Villa Rosa in private cottage
, said the lettering below.
Breakfast and dinner included.
There was a photograph too of a pretty blonde woman, standing on a balcony holding a glass of wine.
Co-owner Rosie Harrison will look after your every need.
Emma looked up at Bernie. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s a honeymoon!’ Her friend’s eyes were sparkling with the excitement of giving someone something really nice. ‘I knew you didn’t have one planned. That was why I was trying to get you on the wrong track earlier when I asked if you were going away.’
Emma was still trying to take this in. ‘But the children …’
‘We’ve got it sorted. Your mum’s going to have Willow and Gawain.’ Bernie was almost jumping up and down now like the little boy in Year Three who went hyper at the whiff of an additive. ‘We talked to Tom about it first, of course, and he thought it was a great idea. He also confirmed you had a passport. See? We’ve thought of everything.’
He should have told her first, Emma thought. This wasn’t the sort of thing you could spring on someone. A cold feeling of
As Tom said, it might swallow up most of their monthly incomings, but at least they had a place of their own. Much as she loved her mum, it hadn’t been great, sharing a kitchen and bathroom. And, as she’d tried to reassure her mother, they were only round the corner.
Even so, the mortgage meant Tom had to do overtime at the garage. The dinner lady job helped a bit, but the best thing about it, to be honest, was that she hadn’t so much found a job as discovered a vocation.
‘See you’ve worked your magic again,’ remarked Bernie when she left her place at the kitchen counter to help Emma and the other two mealtime assistants clear up while the children shot off to the playground, accompanied by the duty leaders. ‘Little Miss Buck Teeth almost cleared her plate. That’s a first.’
Emma didn’t care for expressions like ‘buck teeth’. Her own had a funny little gap in the middle; Tom declared it ‘endearing’ but she hated it. That was something she’d have liked to have had fixed before the wedding, even though it was impossible. For a start it was too expensive. And secondly, there was only a week to go.
‘Have you got a second?’ asked Bernie as Emma reached for her cardi to go home. ‘Only the girls and I wanted to have a bit of a word.’
Her friend led her through to the back of the kitchen where the dishwasher was buzzing merrily. The surfaces were spotless and the smell of antiseptic just about took away the smell of sausages and broccoli. Emma’s stomach was beginning to rumble. All she wanted was to collect Gawain and Willow and get back home for a crispbread and cottage cheese – part of the pre-wedding diet she’d been on for months now but which still hadn’t made much difference.
Nor had the famous Winston King’s breakfast television workout, which she’d tried to do while dishing out breakfast at the same time.
‘We’ve got a little present for you,’ said Bernie excitedly, handing her a white envelope. ‘It’s not just from the girls. The teachers contributed too. In fact, it was Gemma Balls’ idea.’
How kind, thought Emma as she ripped open the envelope. It was typical of Gemma Balls to organise a collection. She was so nice. And bright too. Exactly the kind of person that Emma admired. Even now, she still felt a bit cheated when she thought about her old dreams of being a teacher.
She pulled out the piece of card from the envelope. It didn’t look like an ordinary voucher for Boots or Marks & Spencer. This one had a picture of a beautiful little house with red and purple flowers growing up the outside with a stunning blue sky behind and a beach running down to the sea.
One week at the Villa Rosa in private cottage
, said the lettering below.
Breakfast and dinner included.
There was a photograph too of a pretty blonde woman, standing on a balcony holding a glass of wine.
Co-owner Rosie Harrison will look after your every need.
Emma looked up at Bernie. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s a honeymoon!’ Her friend’s eyes were sparkling with the excitement of giving someone something really nice. ‘I knew you didn’t have one planned. That was why I was trying to get you on the wrong track earlier when I asked if you were going away.’
Emma was still trying to take this in. ‘But the children …’
‘We’ve got it sorted. Your mum’s going to have Willow and Gawain.’ Bernie was almost jumping up and down now like the little boy in Year Three who went hyper at the whiff of an additive. ‘We talked to Tom about it first, of course, and he thought it was a great idea. He also confirmed you had a passport. See? We’ve thought of everything.’
He should have told her first, Emma thought. This wasn’t the sort of thing you could spring on someone. A cold feeling of