After the One by Cass Lester (e book reader free .TXT) 📕

thirty-eight.’ She dabbed at her eyes with the tissue, trying to rescue her mascara.

‘That must have been dreadful. For everyone,’ said Charley.

Felicity blew her nose. ‘Yes. Yes, it was.’

‘My husband died,’ Charley told her. ‘He was thirty-two.’

Slowly, Felicity turned to look directly at Charley, as if she was having trouble processing what this young woman, this young widow, had just said. ‘At the Hospice?’

‘No. In Intensive Care. He had a car accident.’

‘Oh, God. How awful. How absolutely awful.’ Spontaneously Felicity’s arms reached out to embrace Charley, ‘I’m so sorry for you,’ she said, her voice cracking, silent tears coursing down her cheeks.

Charley hugged her back. ‘Thank you.’

Angie was now standing awkwardly off to the side. Unsettled by the sight of a grown-up crying, Finn twisted round to hold his arms out to her, his little face crumpled with concern. She stooped to take him out of the buggy and then stood up again, with him on her hip, where he sat eyeing the scene warily.

Shortly, Felicity pulled herself together, sniffed a few times, and then gave Charley a brisk pat. From then on, perhaps unsurprisingly, the meeting was unexpectedly easy.

Rapidly scanning Charley’s pitch paperwork Felicity said, ‘That’s all fine. It’s just a question of the date.’

‘Anytime mid November onwards…’ said Charley hopefully.

Felicity checked the calendar on her phone and after a lot of efficient scrolling through screens, while Angie and Charley exchanged glances, she finally pronounced they could hold the Prosecco Night in the School Hall on the last Saturday of October… in three weeks’ time.

‘Three weeks tomorrow?’ Charley’s eyebrows shot up in alarm.

‘Yes. That’s the only slot available this term.’

She and Angie exchanged anxious looks.

‘I don’t think we can scramble it that quickly,’ said Charley, with a slight shake of her head.

‘Of course you can!’ replied Felicity briskly, before proceeding to effortlessly reel off a to-do list off the top of her head. ‘You just need to bring the Prosecco, the glasses, maybe some yummy nibbles and cupcakes, the little things you want to sell and a cash float. Fifty pounds should do it. We’ll supply tables and chairs, tablecloths if you want them, the kitchen, the PA system and a mic. You probably won’t need a PowerPoint, will you?’ She rattled on, without waiting for an answer, while Charley frantically made notes on the back of her pitch document. ‘Parking’s on the playground. We’ll do the social media, Facebook and the school website. Give us some flyers next week and we’ll put one in all the kids’ book bags.’ She barely paused for breath while Charley scribbled away. ‘And you might want to do a bottle tombola and a raffle,’ she raced on. ‘We’ve got books of raffle tickets, you just bring the prizes. Oh, and you’ll need to bring some flowers or bunting or whatever to brighten the place up. You see? Hardly anything to do. There’s plenty of time.’

Charley and Angie could only nod weakly.

‘How many flyers will we need?’ asked Angie.

‘One for each family. So, four hundred.’

‘Four hundred?!’ gasped Charley.

Pam hadn’t volunteered to look after Finn that morning, much as she would have enjoyed it, because she’d arranged to go house-hunting with Zee.

‘Don’t you think you might be rushing things a bit?’ suggested Zee, as they stood outside one of the estate agents in Park Street, browsing the houses for sale in the window.

‘I’m not rushing, it’s more…’ Pam paused, looking for the right phrase, ‘reality-checking. I’m not going to do anything yet,’ she reassured her. ‘I just want to know what my options might be.’

Zee looked at her, an expression of despair on her face.

‘I’m just being sensible,’ Pam assured her. ‘There’s no point me sticking my head in the sand like some petrified ostrich, is there!’

‘No, but that doesn’t mean you have to stare unflinchingly into the face of a blinding dust storm,’ replied Zee. ‘You are allowed to lie low for a while, let the dust settle, before forcing yourself to plough on.’

‘I’m not forcing myself to do anything. I just think I’ll feel less stressed, less impotent, if I know how things might stand in the future. Wouldn’t you?’

Zee nodded. ‘Yes. I can see the sense of that.’

Pam turned back to peruse the properties in the window and Zee joined her.

‘That one’s nice.’ Zee pointed to a stone-built, two-bedroomed cottage in a village out on the northern side of the city.

‘Yes! It’s very pretty!’ Pam peered more closely, scanning the details. ‘But the garden’s a bit small. It’s even smaller than Charley’s. More of a “yarden” than a garden!’

‘Well, how about something like that?’ suggested Zee, indicating a narrow, red brick Edwardian terraced town house. ‘That’s got a lovely long garden.’

Pam leant in to get a closer look at the picture of the garden. ‘Ooooh, yes, and that’s an apple tree!’ She turned excitedly to Zee. ‘A little town house like that would be perfect!’

‘Can you afford it?’

‘I have absolutely no idea. There’s only one way to find out!’ Flashing Zee a brave smile, she pushed opened the door to the estate agent’s and went inside. Zee dutifully followed.

As it turned out, she couldn’t afford either of the properties in the window. Not by a long chalk. Taking into account her postcode and the image of Pam’s house on Google maps, the estate agent said he could give her a very rough valuation of what her house was worth. Or, more accurately, what her and Geoff’s house was worth.

‘But it’ll be just a ballpark figure,’ he warned her. ‘I’d need to come round to do a proper valuation to give you anything in writing. When would suit you?’ he said, opening his calendar and pushing for an appointment.

The mere suggestion alarmed Pam. ‘I’m not looking to sell just yet,’ she said hastily. ‘I’m just looking around, seeing what might be available in my price range.’

‘That’s as may be, but even if you’re just looking at your potential options, you won’t be able to get a reliable mortgage quote without a proper