I stand at the edge of the school playground on my own, waiting for Joe. Darcy and a group of other mums are chatting to the sports teacher, clustered around him, laughing. But it is clearly Darcy who draws everyone’s attention, with her willowy figure and honey blonde hair. She has a natural magnetism. She catches my eye and smiles. I feel as though I’ve been caught spying.

‘Louisa!’ she calls. ‘Come over.’

I dip my head and smile back as all eyes flick over to me and instantly dismiss me as not worthy. Perhaps I’m being unfair. These people don’t know me yet.

‘Guys,’ Darcy says, drawing me into her circle. ‘This is Louisa, Joe’s mum. They only just started this term.’

I notice Darcy has a subtle American accent.

‘Oh, hi.’ A woman with a sleek, chin-length brown bob smiles at me. ‘I’m Tori. Louie has been talking about Joe all week. Says he’s a great football player.’

I recognise the name Louie. I think Joe’s mentioned him once or twice. I smile back.

‘We’ll have to get him playing some matches,’ the sports teacher chips in. ‘Joe’s really impressed me so far.’

I can’t remember the teacher’s name. I’ll have to look it up on the school website when I get home. I’m pleased he’s noticed Joe.

‘Your husband does the drop off in the mornings, doesn’t he?’ a woman in sports gear asks.

I nod. ‘Yes, Jared. It’s on his way to work.’

‘Lucky you!’ the woman says. ‘He’s hot.’

I blush, not quite knowing how to respond. ‘Thanks… I guess.’

Everyone laughs, and I join in, my cheeks burning. Sometimes it’s annoying being so fair skinned.

‘Here they come,’ Darcy says, checking her watch. ‘They’re a little late out, today.’

I glance over to the double doors to see Joe’s teacher, Mrs Landry, followed by a neat line of boys and girls. It’s completely different to the sprawling, raucous exit made by the children at Joe’s previous state school.

The children shake their teacher’s hand and are handed off to the parents, one-by-one. Joe’s face lights up at the sight of me and I feel a familiar rush of love. He’s surrounded by his new friends, Tyler at the forefront proudly proclaiming that Joe’s coming to his house tonight.

‘Where are you parked?’ Darcy asks. ‘Do you want to follow me back?’

‘That would be great,’ I say.

She tells me her address just in case we get separated, and we make our way back to the cars.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re following Darcy’s silver Bentley through a set of electric gates. A workman looks up and winks at me – cheeky sod. He and another guy are painting the eight-foot high boundary wall that seems to run on into infinity. It doesn’t even look as though it needs painting. The driveway is so long I haven’t glimpsed the house yet. We pass gardeners and groundsmen on our slow cruise.

‘Does Tyler live in a castle?’ Joe asks from the back seat.

I stifle a giggle. ‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘Let’s wait and see.’

We round another bend and finally spy the house up ahead. I had assumed it would be a tacky McMansion, a tasteless pastiche like so many of the other properties in this area. But it’s actually a super-modern wood and glass house. Although the word ‘house’ is somewhat inadequate. ‘Residence’ is probably more fitting.

‘It’s like a sci-fi castle,’ Joe says. ‘It’s way bigger than our house. Not as big as Hogwarts, though.’

I mentally make a note never to invite Darcy over to our house for a playdate, and then shake my head inwardly at my insecurities. Who cares if I live in a normal house and she lives in a glass castle.

Darcy pulls up outside a row of 4 garages. I park my eight-year-old VW Golf next to her gleaming Bentley. Jared would die if he saw this place. I can’t wait to tell him about it. Joe and I get out of the car and follow Darcy to the front door.

‘Come in,’ she says. ‘Let’s get that kettle on.’

The boys charge ahead, chattering to each other about football. There’s no awkwardness or politeness between them, they’re just excited to have one another to play with.

‘There’s a plate of snacks on the counter!’ Darcy calls to them. ‘Help yourself on your way outside.’

‘We probably won’t see them for the rest of the afternoon,’ I say. ‘Not if they’re going out to play football. Joe’s obsessed.’

‘Tyler, too.’ We grin at each other and I follow her through to the most magnificent view I’ve ever seen. Forget that the place is designed like a palace, ahead of us stretches a wall of glass with a view out over the ocean. This is Sandbanks Beach as I’ve never seen it before. Not from this angle anyway.

‘Great view, huh?’ she says, as my mouth hangs open.

‘Gorgeous,’ I say.

‘We moved here a couple of years ago. There was an older property on the land and we demolished it and rebuilt. But I know it’s all about the view. Let’s go out on the deck and watch them play. Marianna will bring our drinks out. Tea?’

‘Please.’ I nod, noticing a dark-haired woman in a maid’s uniform at the far end of the huge kitchen diner.

We step out onto the terrace and sit at a chunky, wooden, square table. Below the deck lies a vast area of emerald grass where the boys are playing football. Beyond that, a white wall, and then the beach. The evening sun is warm on my face, we’re perfectly sheltered from any stray breath of wind.

‘Are you from America?’ I ask.

‘Uh huh. Is my accent that obvious? My US friends say I’ve lost it. They tell me I’ve gone all British.’

‘It’s only slight,’ I say. ‘It’s pretty, though.’

‘Thanks.’ She raises her eyebrows and turns her gaze to the boys. ‘So what do you think of Cerne Manor School so far?’

‘It’s amazing. Joe’s adapted really quickly. He loves it.’

‘Tyler, too.’

‘Tyler’s really helped him settle in. It’s great they get on so well.’ I hear a noise behind me and turn my head to see Darcy’s maid bringing a tray of tea things – a teapot, china cups, and a plate of biscuits. At my place, she would’ve got a couple of mugs and a shared teabag. Okay, maybe a teabag each, but still.

‘Thanks, Marianna,’ Darcy says without looking at the woman.

‘Thanks,’ I echo with a smile.

Marianna doesn’t make eye contact.

We pour our tea. There’s no milk jug so I guess I’ll have to drink it black. I help myself to a chocolate-chip cookie that tastes homemade.

‘How long have you lived in England?’ I ask.

She counts on her fingers. ‘It’ll be eight and a half years now. Mike and I met a year before Tyler was born. It was a whirlwind romance.’

‘Wow. Is Mike American, too?’

‘No. I met him over here, in London. He’s English. He’s also a workaholic, which is why you’ll hardly ever see him at the school gates. Unlike your divine husband.’

‘What does Mike do?’

‘Our company deals with commercial property. We buy up buildings and let them out as office space.’

‘Cool,’ I reply, taking a sip of my tea, which is absolutely delicious. I thought tea was tea. Obviously not. ‘Mm, this is so refreshing.’

‘Castleton tea,’ she says. ‘From Darjeeling. I’ll give you a tin when you leave.’

‘No, no, that’s okay,’ I say, mortified she might think I was hinting.

‘It’s fine; I always keep a good supply.’

My eyes keep being drawn by the view, to the dog walkers and joggers on the beach beyond, to the Condor Ferry heading out towards France, the sailing boats like white handkerchiefs in the distance, and seagulls hovering overhead. It’s like being on holiday. How can all this be so close to our house, and yet feel so distant?

‘How about you?’ she asks, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Do you work?’

‘I write a column in a weekend newspaper supplement.’

‘How exciting,’ she replies.

‘Not really. It’s only one small piece a week… but I do love it.’

‘Do you write about people you know? Might I be in it one day?’ She leans forward, a gleam in her eye.

‘Do you want to be in it?’ I laugh.

‘Of course!’

‘I write about being a mother – schools and being married and all that stuff.’

She gasps. ‘You write Louisa’s Life’s a Beach!’

‘Guilty,’ I say.

‘I love that column. So, you’re famous.’ She reaches out a slender, French-manicured hand to squeeze my arm.

‘Hardly,’ I say, with a swell of pride in my chest.

‘I’d brag all the time if I wrote for a newspaper,’ she says. ‘I write a blog, but it’s not the same.’

‘What’s it about?’ I ask.

‘Interior design. Hints and tips. That kind of thing.’

‘I can see you’ve got a good eye,’ I say, gesturing back to the house. ‘Did you—’

‘Yeah, I designed the house. Problem is, it’s finished now so I’m twiddling my thumbs again. I do enjoy interior design, but my passion is writing.’

‘As in books?’

‘Mm-hm.’

‘Have you written anything yet?’

‘Working on a novel,’ she says, tossing her hair back behind her shoulder, ‘you know, like half the world’s population.’ She laughs.

I don’t mention that I’ve also been trying to write a novel.

‘Mum!’ Joe calls from the lawn below.

I shade my eyes and peer down at him.

‘Tyler asked if I can have a sleepover. Can I, Mum?’

‘Not on a school night,’ I call back.

‘He’s welcome to stay,’ Darcy says. ‘I have spare toothbrushes, and he can borrow some of Tyler’s PJs.’

‘Please, Mum!’

‘Mum, he can stay, can’t he?’ Tyler yells.

‘That’s kind,’ I say to Darcy. ‘But he’ll be too tired tomorrow.’

‘Really?’ Darcy raises an eyebrow. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they get to bed by nine.’

I flinch inwardly. Joe’s bedtime is normally seven o’clock. He’ll be exhausted at school tomorrow if he stays over. Yet I don’t want to be a killjoy. I don’t want to be the uptight mum who’s too strict.

‘I’ll take them both to school tomorrow,’ she says. ‘They’ll have a great time.’

‘Well, if you’re sure,’ I say, wishing I could just say no.

‘Absolutely!’ Darcy replies. ‘Sleepover!’ she calls down to the boys, standing and punching her fist in the air. Joe and Tyler go crazy, jumping up and down and high-fiving each other.

Darcy turns and smiles at me. ‘I love seeing them so happy and excited.’

I smile back despite my concerns.

One late night can’t hurt.