As Olivia walked back from her council meeting, which had concluded its business with admirable rapidity, she noticed lights on in the upstairs windows of The Beeches. She stopped by the gate and stared at the big old house then glanced at her watch. It was only seven thirty so there was no time like the present. She turned and walked up the drive, scrunching over the gravel.

It took a few seconds for the door to open after she’d rung the bell.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello. I’m Olivia Laithwaite. I hope you don’t think me presumptuous if I take it upon myself to welcome you to Little Woodford.’

‘Er... no. And thank you.’

Olivia instantly sized up the newcomer to the town and confirmed what she’d thought when she’d caught a glimpse of her getting out of the car the day before; young, very pretty and blonde. She was reminded of someone... who...? Then she got it; Goldie Hawn in her younger days. But if she was living in a whacking great house like this, she was no dizzy blond. Mind you, she told herself, neither was Goldie Hawn, regardless of the image she presented to the world. Maybe this was a second wife, she told herself. A young couple wouldn’t be able to afford a place like this – not unless they’d inherited a mint of money or won the lottery.

‘I’m sure you’ll be very happy here. It is a lovely town, quite unspoilt really. I was going to call in earlier but... well, the day got away from me.’ She smiled.

‘Sorry,’ said the newcomer and stuck out her hand. ‘I’m Bex, Bex Millar. Would you like to come in? It’s chaos, as you can imagine. We only arrived yesterday.’ She opened the door wider to allow Olivia to step in.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Frankly, I’d be glad of an excuse to stop. Although at the moment I’m trying to find a corkscrew so I can have a glass of wine. I had planned to get the kitchen unpacked tonight but I think I’m running out of energy.’ Bex shut the door and led the way along the hall and into the kitchen. ‘As I can’t offer you wine, how about tea... or coffee?’

‘Coffee would be lovely. Have you got decaf?’

‘Not that I’ve managed to find.’

Olivia suppressed a sigh. The caffeine would play havoc with her sleep but she’d have to cope. ‘Never mind then, full strength will just have to do.’ She looked around at the chaos in the kitchen. Where was the order? Where was the plan? She wasn’t quite sure what to say, so she opted for, ‘You seem to have done a fair bit of unpacking already.’

Bex filled the kettle. ‘Not really. Not as much as I’d have liked.’ She plugged the kettle in and took a couple of clean mugs out of the cupboard. ‘And then there’s the children to feed and look after.’

So where was Mr Millar? Shirking, stuck in a job in another location, off the scene entirely...? After all, a man who had divorced once might be perfectly capable of doing it again. Not that Olivia felt she could pry but she was agog with curiosity. ‘You sound as if you’re on your own.’

Bex nodded. ‘I am – sort of. There are three children upstairs but I’ve lost my husband. He was killed last year in a traffic accident, on his way to work.’

Olivia felt awful. That wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting at all. ‘Oh, my dear! I am so sorry.’

‘Thank you,’ she said.

It sounded to Olivia like she’d had to say ‘thank you’ an awful lot – and she supposed it was true. After all, what else was there to say when people offered you sympathy? ‘I expect you’re finding things very tough on your own. And now a house move. It’s a lot to contend with, without...’

‘...without Richard?’ supplied Bex. ‘Yes, it is, but life goes on. Or mine does at any rate.’ She didn’t add the obvious statement that her husband’s hadn’t. ‘I keep expecting things to get easier but they don’t,’ she added, baldly.

‘No, no I’m sure they don’t. You’re very brave to move house on your own though. I mean, wouldn’t it have been easier not to?’

Bex sighed. ‘Not really.’ The kettle clicked off and she began to make the coffee. ‘If we’d stayed in London I would have had to walk past the spot where he died on an almost daily basis, and Richard always wanted to move to the country. He’d lived in a little town like this as a kid and he always wanted his kids to grow up somewhere similar; to do the things he did...’ There was a pause and Olivia wondered if Bex was going to cry but then she flashed Olivia a slightly embarrassed grin. ‘So I kind of felt I didn’t have much choice.’

‘You poor thing,’ said Olivia, glad she hadn’t had to deal with an emotional scene. She decided to move away from the subject of Richard; keep things positive. No point dwelling on the unpleasant past. ‘But you’re here now,’ she said, briskly. ‘That’s the main thing and in a week or two I expect you’ll feel as if you’ve been here for ages, and the children will love growing up here. Mine have, I know.’

‘Bex?’ quavered a voice from the doorway.

Olivia swung round. ‘And who is this?’ She stared at the teenager. No way was she the daughter of Bex – not with that colouring and dramatic beauty. Bex was pretty enough in a china-doll kind of way but this girl was in another league. Not that her looks seemed to have given her any sort of self-confidence – she looked as if she’d flee or cry at the least thing.

‘This is Megan – my stepdaughter. Megan, this is Mrs Laithwaite. Mrs Laithwaite has dropped by to welcome us to Little Woodford.’

‘Hello,’ mumbled Megan, failing to make any sort of eye contact.

Stepdaughter – so that explained the lack of family likeness. ‘I was just telling your mother how much my children have loved it here. You must meet Zac. I think you and he must be about the same age and I’m sure you’d get on. So, are you going to St Anselm’s?’

Olivia saw Megan look at her stepmother as if she didn’t know the answer herself.

‘Er, no,’ Bex answered, passing a steaming mug to Olivia and then offering her guest the milk carton. ‘Richard didn’t believe in private education so Megan is going to the local comp. She’ll be starting after the Easter holidays.’

‘Really?’ Surely not? She poured a splash of milk into her drink.

‘Yes, really,’ affirmed Bex. ‘It seems to have a good reputation and it’s what Richard would have chosen.’

‘Well, yes... it gets good reports – for a comp. It’s just living here...’ Olivia waved her free hand to indicate the entire house, the neighbourhood, the posh end of town... ‘Well, the type of people who live at this end of the town tend to send their children to St Anselm’s. Let’s just say none of the council estate children go there and St Anselm’s does get truly outstanding results.’

‘I’m sure children with ability do just as well at the comp,’ said Bex firmly.

‘Yes, of course.’ If that’s what Bex wanted to believe.

Bex turned to Megan. ‘Did you want something, sweetheart?’

‘I came to get a drink of milk.’

‘Help yourself.’

‘Where are the glasses?’

She pointed to the cupboard by the sink. ‘In there.’

Megan trailed across the quarry-tiled floor and pulled open the door, before returning to the fridge and slopping milk into the glass. Then she left again after giving Olivia another frightened look.

‘Teenagers,’ said Bex, lightly.

‘Indeed. Like I said, I’ve got one about the same age and he can be a bit tricky. Hormones, I expect.’

‘How many children have you got?’

‘Four. But Zac was a bit of an afterthought so he’s the only one at home. His brothers and sister are all off earning their own livings. Well, one is still at uni, doing an MA, but she’ll be out in the big world in the summer. You?’

‘Just the three. Megan has two younger brothers... half-brothers. They’ll go to the local primary.’

‘Good.’ Olivia nodded approvingly. ‘Lovely school. Very nurturing and caring. Mine thrived there.’ She put her mug down on the table. ‘Look, why don’t I give you a hand for a bit? I feel guilty that I’ve held you up and I’m sure, together, we could get these boxes here unpacked tonight if we try.’

‘No,’ said Bex. ‘That’s not fair. You didn’t come here to graft.’

But Olivia had already crossed the kitchen and was hauling a carton off the pile which she brought over to the table. ‘I’ll unpack – you put away. Only...’ she paused as she opened the lid; it was the least she could do to try and help Bex to sort out the mess. ‘Tell me if I’m teaching you to suck eggs but I think we might be better off if you get the stuff that’s already unpacked put away before you do any more. And you ought to decide where you really want things to live, right from the outset. In my experience, it makes things much easier in the long run.’

‘Really?’

Olivia nodded. ‘Really. Now, where do you want your china to live? Maybe near where you are likely to serve food?’

‘I suppose.’

‘How about this cupboard by this counter?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Good.’ Olivia picked up a pile of plates and put them on the shelf. Really, if Bex was going to get straight before the crack of doom someone had to take control.

The pair worked as a team and, with two pairs of hands, they first cleared the backlog of items on the work surfaces and then they began on the pile of full cartons, which diminished rather quickly. The corkscrew was found and their coffees were swapped for glasses of wine and it seemed to them both that the work went even faster after that. As they worked Olivia made it her business to tell Bex about all the great things that went on in the town that made it such a wonderful place to live.

‘Virtually Utopia,’ said Bex.

‘I like to think so.’

Olivia failed to spot Bex’s slight but disbelieving shake of her head.

‘Now then,’ said Olivia in a brief lull between boxes, ‘we need to get you involved in the town. That’s the best way to make friends and get integrated.’

‘I’m not being funny,’ said Bex, ‘but to be honest, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now; too much to consider anything else. Getting “integrated” isn’t that high on my list of priorities.’

Olivia ripped off the tape from the top of another full box. ‘You can’t unpack and try and get straight every minute of every day. And even if you do, you’ll finish eventually and you’ll need to start to join in then.’

‘Really? So, what do you suggest?’

Olivia refused to be daunted by the lack of enthusiasm in Bex’s voice. ‘The WI is a must.’

‘The WI?!’

‘I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking you’re not old enough for that but believe me it’s the perfect way of meeting people; people like you and me.’

‘I don’t know...’

‘You’d love it.’

Bex shook her head. ‘But I couldn’t. I’d need a babysitter.’

‘Couldn’t Megan look after your boys?’

‘Olivia, she’s in a big new house, in a strange town, having recently lost her dad. I don’t think abandoning her while I go off gallivanting is appropriate.’

That was no excuse in Olivia’s book, but she could hardly frogmarch this new inhabitant into the function room of the pub. She sniffed. ‘As you wish.’

They carried on unpacking in silence for a few minutes – Olivia lifting items out of the box, unwrapping them from their newspaper cocoons before handing them to Bex to stack or put away.

‘Amy would babysit.’

‘Amy?’

‘My cleaner.’

‘I don’t know, Olivia. I know nothing about this Amy woman.’

‘She’s utterly reliable, I’ve known her for years, she works in the post office and she cleans for me, the vicar’s wife and a few others in the town. Her son and mine are friends.’

‘I’m sorry but that doesn’t mean she’s suitable. I’m not saying she might be a modern day Myra Hindley—’

‘Oh really!’

‘—but it doesn’t give her a green light to look after other people’s kids. I’m a qualified nanny and I know about the rules and regulations and, trust me, I’ve no intention of breaking them and certainly not where my own children are concerned.’

‘Ask Heather, the vicar’s wife. She’ll tell you what a gem Amy is.’

‘Look, I know you mean well, Olivia, but I only arrived in the town yesterday.’

‘You need to strike while the iron is hot.’

‘Let’s leave it for a bit.’

Olivia saw that she’d met her match. ‘I shall hold you to that.’

The unpacking continued in silence again while both of them simmered down.

‘You said you were a nanny,’ said Olivia after a few minutes. ‘How lovely.’

‘It was a wonderful job. I adored it.’

‘And it must be wonderful for your children – just think, a real life Mary Poppins as a mother.’

‘I wish. Sadly, I can’t click my fingers to get things done. I still have to slog at things the hard way.’ Bex looked significantly at the diminishing pile of packing cases in the corner.

Finally, the pair emptied the last box, and Olivia stripped the tape off the bottom, folded it flat and put it in the corner with the rest of the packing materials, ready to be taken to the dump.

‘There,’ she said. She looked at the kitchen. No, not perfect but not bad, not too bad at all. Better than it would have been without her intervention, she thought.

Bex picked up the bottle. ‘Top up?’

‘Love one.’ Olivia pulled out a chair and plumped down on to it. ‘And then, as soon as I’ve had this, I’ll be off. You must be shattered.’ She glanced at the timer on the microwave. It was almost nine thirty. Definitely time to leave her new friend in peace.

‘I’ve had less stressful days,’ agreed Bex as she poured wine into Olivia’s glass and then refilled her own. She sat down too and leaned her elbows on the big kitchen table. ‘And thanks for the help. I wouldn’t have managed nearly so much on my own. To be honest I was on the verge of giving up for today so thank you for spurring me on to finish.’ She smiled gratefully at Olivia.

‘If you feel the need to get away from the unpacking you must come up to mine. Just give me a ring first, to make sure I’m home – I’m quite busy. On lots of committees, lots of voluntary work... you know, that sort of thing. Here...’ Olivia got up from the table and picked her handbag up from where she’d dumped it on a window sill. She rummaged in it for a second or two before producing a business card. ‘All the contact details are on that. And the house, the barn conversion, is almost bang opposite the primary school – you can’t miss it.’

Bex took the card and put it on a counter. ‘Let’s hope I don’t lose it.’

Ten minutes later Olivia had drained her glass. She said her goodbyes then walked up the hill to The Grange. As she approached the front door she could hear the row going on. Zac and her husband were at daggers drawn – again. She wondered what had caused the altercation this time? What with Nigel’s touchiness and Zac’s hormones the house was a powder keg of emotions, although she didn’t stop to consider that none of her other children had been prone to quite such violent mood swings. With a sigh she let herself in and shut the door behind her. And as for Nigel... he’d been a nightmare to live with for some months now. Touchy as anything. She’d tried asking him if there was anything wrong but he always said things were fine. Mid-life crisis, she supposed.

She walked down to the kitchen area of the vast space that was the central living room of the barn conversion. Zac and her husband were so busy yelling at each other, they were oblivious to her reappearance until she was right beside them.

‘What does it matter?’ shouted Zac. ‘It’s what we have Amy for.’

‘Amy is not paid by your mother to clean up after you.’

‘Then why do we pay her? What is she, a charity case?’

‘I won’t have you speak to me like that.’

‘Or what?’ sneered Zac.

‘Stop it, the pair of you,’ said Olivia, stepping between them. She hated them rowing and, if she could, she usually tried to head Zac off before he actually locked horns. But today it was too late. ‘Just stop it.’

‘Keep out of this, Oli,’ said Nigel. He tried to push her out of the way.

But Olivia – how she loathed Nigel calling her Oli, although now was not the moment to mention it – didn’t budge. ‘What’s Zac done?’ she demanded.

‘Look,’ said Nigel, pointing to the worktop on which was the detritus left from some mid-evening snack that Zac had made for himself. There was a dirty plate, crumbs everywhere, to say nothing of a couple of dollops of jam and a loaf left on the breadboard. Nigel had a point, it was a mess and Olivia knew, when she’d gone out earlier, she certainly hadn’t left the kitchen in such a state, but it could be swiftly put right. She went to the sink and picked up the dishcloth and wrung it out.

‘Don’t you dare,’ snapped Nigel. ‘I’ve told Zac to clear it up.’

But Olivia began to use the cloth to sweep the crumbs into her hand.

‘I said stop!’

She stopped and turned to face him. ‘It’s just a few crumbs, Nigel.’

‘And I’ve told Zac to clear them up.’

‘It’ll only take me a second.’

Nigel reached forward and snatched the dishcloth off her, scattering crumbs onto the floor.

‘Oh, Nigel,’ said Olivia. She’d have to get the dustpan out now.

‘This is Zac’s mess, I’ve told him to clear it up and I will not have you undermining me.’

Olivia realised she’d gone too far. ‘Sorry, Nigel. Zac – do as your father says.’

Zac, now he had both parents against him, realised that he had no choice. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ he snarled as he picked up the plate, opened the dishwasher door and almost threw it in.

Nigel grabbed his son’s arm. ‘What did you say?’

Zac straightened up and glowered at his dad. ‘Nothing,’ he muttered.

‘Apologise to your mother this instant. I will not have you using that sort of language in front of her.’

There was a pause and for a second Olivia wondered if the two were actually going to exchange blows. And then Zac mumbled an apology of sorts before he carried on tidying up. Olivia relaxed a fraction.

‘And make sure you do it properly,’ said Nigel.

‘Jesus, Dad, I’m doing it, aren’t I?’

Olivia was on guard again, ready for it to kick off once more, but thankfully Nigel only responded with a gruff ‘good’ before he left his son to it.

God Almighty, thought Olivia, feeling exhausted by the incident. She’d only been out for a few hours but, without her there to keep the peace, all hell had broken loose. Men! There were occasions when she didn’t much like her family. On the other hand, at least Zac had some spirit, unlike that child of Bex’s. Megan, was it? Olivia didn’t give much for her chances of surviving in a melting pot like the comp – not given that she didn’t seem to have any backbone and wouldn’t say boo to a goose. On balance she’d rather have Zac – at least he stood up for himself.

‘You’ve got to get a grip of Zac,’ said Nigel after he’d finished tidying and thumped upstairs, making as much noise as was humanly possible.

‘Me?’

‘You indulge him, you make excuses. He’s got to be made to take responsibility for his actions.’

‘He’s at that difficult age.’

‘You see, you’re doing it again. His brother and sisters weren’t like this.’

Nigel had a point. Zac was either so laid-back he was almost catatonic or his temper was on a hair-trigger. Olivia admitted to herself that she did tend to tiptoe round him to avoid upsetting him but she had enough going on in her life without having constant rows with her son.

‘Maybe if you didn’t work such long hours...’ She regretted it almost as soon as the words were out.

‘Jesus, Oli, have you any idea about the size of this mortgage? What it costs to keep this place running? And that’s before I get on to what it cost to educate the kids, paying off their gap-year debts, helping out with their rents in London, your cleaner... Shit, do you think I like working all the hours God sends?’

‘No, I’m sorry.’

Nigel glared at her. ‘And if you stopped being Lady Fucking Bountiful and got a job, I might be able to ease off.’

‘Yes, dear,’ she said, hoping that would placate him, because she had absolutely no plans whatsoever to go back to work. Besides, she’d been out of the job market ever since Mike, her eldest, had been born and he was nearly thirty. Anyway, Nigel earned pots of money – more than enough to keep them in this lifestyle. She didn’t know why he was making such an issue of it now. He never had in the past.

*

After Olivia had taken her leave Bex poured another glass of wine. Stuff it – she deserved it – and then leant back in the chair. She felt utterly exhausted. Olivia was lovely but she did seem to be quite... Bex searched for the right word. Energetic? Bossy? Opinionated? Yes, she was certainly all that. Bex sighed and sipped her wine.

Olivia had been right, of course; she did need to join in sometime soon, find things to do, find new friends, because she was under no illusions about what would happen to the friends she’d left behind in London. One or two might make the trek out to the countryside in the first year or so – especially as the children would like to see some of their old school chums, but the visits would get less frequent until they petered out entirely. Then all that would be left was an exchange of Christmas cards until that too eventually fell by the wayside.

No, she needed to make new friends here if she was going to move on and Olivia was a start – even if Bex didn’t think that they were destined to become bosom buddies. Still, with two boys at primary school there would be ample opportunity to meet other mums and Bex was sure they’d soon slot in to the local community. There was also Olivia’s suggestion of joining some of the local groups and societies. There was, according to Olivia, a comprehensive list on the town hall notice board. Bex resolved to go and have a look the next morning – although she was sure that Olivia must have covered pretty much everything. She finished her wine, thought about finishing the bottle but decided against it, and took the cork off the corkscrew before slapping it firmly back in the neck. She’d save the rest for tomorrow.

Despite the fact that it was only about ten, Bex went upstairs to her room, got ready for bed and then slipped under the covers. She put her hand under her pillow and dragged out an old T-shirt. She put it to her nose and inhaled the smell – the scent of her husband; the merest whiff that still remained of his aftershave and a hint of his sweat. Exhausted by the day, she was asleep before she cried – as she had almost every other night since his death.