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I put down the phone in relief. At least if they were about to leave there'd be no time for any dramatic scenes and once they were in French waters Charlotte probably wouldn't answer the phone anyway.

I'd been on holiday with Charlotte often enough to know that her general philosophy when one had to pay to receive calls, and she was busy sunning herself, was to look at the number and if she didn't recognise it or there wasn't one, to say, ‘I can't be arsed,' and turn it off.

I just hoped Roger would take my advice a bit more quickly than he had last time and tell her about Hannah as soon as possible since it didn't look as though the mad shrew was going to give up on him any time soon. Charlotte needed to be in the picture by the time she got back on Monday. In the meantime, if Hannah phoned here again, I was going to give her very short shrift indeed.

I was so distracted by planning exactly what I'd say, that I ate two slices of toast and Marmite.

In an effort to burn off these careless calories, I took Benson for a walk on the beach before I left to pick up Joe from St Mary's, and then scooped up Stanley from the bus stop on the way back.

The exercise and fresh air left me invigorated, and seeing the kids all safe and sound round the table, eating the lasagne Charlotte had left us, filled me with such pleasure and relief that I almost began to feel sorry for Hannah.

It must be awful to be home on your own, feeling desperate and deranged over a man you couldn't have. It was why I was trying very hard not to think about Cal 24/7 even though a thrill of anticipation ran through me every time I pictured the next filming session. And the lingering way he'd kissed me goodbye …

I decided, as I passed the bowl of salad around the table, knowing only Becky would even look at it, that if Hannah did phone again, I would be calm and kind to her. I'd tell her that Roger loved Charlotte and that she, Hannah, must concentrate her energies on finding someone else – someone who was single and available.

So once the boys had headed for the PlayStation and Becky had gone off for a shower, I was glad I was still in the kitchen stacking the dishwasher when the phone rang, so I could grab it before any of the kids.

‘Hello?'

‘You cow.'

I was speechless for a moment – taken aback by the ferocity in her voice. ‘Charlotte? What are you talking about?'

‘I've just been through my husband's phone – this is what you have driven me to, thank you so much – and it was you calling him earlier, when he told me very specifically it was someone from the office. What's the problem? Were you missing him already?'

I had no idea what to say. As it happened, Charlotte wasn't going to let me get a word in anyway. She sounded furious and bitter.

‘To think I apologised to you! I am going to sit him down now and make him tell me all the gory details – just so I can fully understand how stupid I've been – and then we'll use the peace and quiet to thrash out the details of the divorce. My feeling so far is that I get the house, the kids and the money. And Roger gets to go to hell.'

I felt sick. I could hear Roger in the background giving a sort of groan. ‘Charlotte,' I heard him call out. ‘Please don't, it's not her fault.'

‘Oh, how sweet! He's defending you.' Charlotte's voice was laced with sarcasm. ‘Are my children all right?'

‘Yes, of course. We've not long eaten and they're …'

‘Just you look after them!' The phone went dead.

I stood staring at it in my hand. God almighty, how much worse could this get? Hannah must have contacted Charlotte and said something about Roger. Charlotte wouldn't have been looking in his phone otherwise – they were fine this morning. I did some deep breathing and tried to get a grip.

Roger would sort it now. He'd tell Charlotte about Hannah and she would realise, once and for all, there was nothing going on with me. I knew that and knew Charlotte would calm down once she got the truth, but I still felt shaken. I had never heard Charlotte so angry – and she'd certainly never spoken to me like that before.

I wondered whether to send her a text, but decided it was better to keep my head down and leave it to her and Roger. She'd probably phone back later anyway – she'd want to say goodnight to the kids.

She did, but she clearly didn't want to speak to me because an hour later she phoned Becky on her mobile and chatted to Joe on that too.

She even sent her love to Stanley but I wasn't called to the phone.

‘Mum all right?' I asked Becky casually, when the boys were having one last go on their football game and she was back on the sofa in front of Jonathan Ross. She hardly looked up from the TV.

‘Yeah, think so.'

I wondered if Roger was …

I was up early the next morning despite not having slept well. It wasn't just the unfamiliar bed and Charlotte's noisy heating pipes that disturbed me, it was the jumbled dreams about Cal and Roger and Charlotte and Hannah and – oddly – Alfie, that startled me awake and left me staring at the ceiling, wondering what exactly was going on in Paris.

I hoped Hannah hadn't called Charlotte – I dreaded to think what sort of reception she might have got if she had – and it could only make it worse for Roger. Though perhaps he had told Charlotte the whole story by now and everything was OK.

‘I'll take you for a walk later,' I said to Benson as he reappeared from the garden. At the word “walk” he flung himself at me and then charged into the utility room where Charlotte kept his lead and throw-the-ball thingy. I heard his tail swishing wildly against the wall.

‘No, not yet,' I said, as he came back out with his lead in his mouth and threw himself against me again. ‘We've got to do some other stuff first.'

I consulted Charlotte's list. Joe had football club at 10.30 a.m. till 12 p.m. and Becky quite often went to Lauren's on a Saturday afternoon, but then again Lauren might come here if I didn't mind one more.

I ought to do some work if there was an opportunity and also needed to get Stanley some more school trousers, but since I wouldn't get to the gym this weekend, I wanted to keep my promise to the dog and fit in a decent tramp along the beach.

I made some coffee and waited for the kids to appear. Only Joe did, already dressed in his kit. I went to look at the other two while Joe ate his cereal. Stanley was sprawled across Joe's bottom bunk, Becky was curled up in the middle of a huge pile of duvet. Both were out cold. And they still were when it was time to leave. I gently shook Becky.

‘You OK left here with Stanley while I drop Joe at football? Does mum leave you on your own?'

Becky nodded sleepily. ‘Yeah, no problem.'

‘Call me on my mobile if you need me. Stanley knows the number, but I'll leave it on the kitchen table.'

I felt on hyper-alert being in charge while Charlotte was so far away – and already so furious – but if Stanley's weekend routines were anything to go by both kids would probably still be snoring when I got back.

In fact, once I thought about it sensibly, I remembered that Charlotte often left the kids on their own for short periods during the day, while she walked the dog or went to buy something.

So, having deposited Joe at the school playing fields where dozens of small boys were already charging about in circles, I decided to whizz up to the shopping centre at Westwood Cross and buy Stanley's trousers before it got too busy. Then I could relax and spend the rest of the day with the kids. Perhaps we'd
all
walk the dog – that would please and amaze Charlotte if I could tell her I got them all out for a couple of hours' exercise.

The traffic was already heavy and it was nearly 11 a.m. by the time I'd parked near Marks and Spencer and heading rapidly for 12 p.m. by the time I'd discovered that they had every size in black school trousers apart from Stanley's, and had queued up for some considerable time to order a pair which might be in on Tuesday.

I was just getting seriously anxious and abusive at the third roundabout hold-up on the way back to get Joe – imagining him standing forlornly on his own at the school gates – and shrieking, ‘Come on, move, you bugger!' at the car in front when my mobile rang. It was Becky.

‘Joe's going home for lunch with Michael,' she said. ‘Yes, yes, it's fine. He does it all the time. His mum said you can pick him up about five.'

Relieved, I drove back to Charlotte's to find Becky's friend Lauren installed in her bedroom and Stanley in front of a computer game. ‘How about a nice walk on the beach with me?' I enquired.

‘How about lunch,' he said grumpily. ‘I haven't had breakfast yet and I'm starving.'

‘Come and help me make it, then.'

‘You OK?' I enquired, as he buttered bread with bad grace.

‘Yeah.'

I left the three children sitting round a heap of sandwiches and grabbed Benson's lead before I weakened and tucked in myself, putting an apple and a banana in my pockets instead. It was incredibly cold on the beach – the wind coming off North Foreland was biting – but Benson, throwing himself joyfully into the rock pools, and then shaking himself all over me, didn't seem to care.

‘You're so lucky to live here,' Cal had said wistfully when we'd had dinner. ‘I'd love to have the sea at my doorstep.'

He was right – I was lucky, I thought, looking at the broad sweep of Botany Bay, the gulls squawking high up in the recesses in the cliffs. Even when the sky was grey and raw it was still beautiful. I ought to appreciate the simple things like that more. As I shouted for Benson and we made our way back up the steps to the green at the bottom of Charlotte's road, I suddenly felt better about everything.

Charlotte and Roger would work things out. I'd be seeing Cal again soon. I didn't have to clap eyes on Daniel's slimy face this weekend and I'd managed not to eat any bread yet today. Stanley was healthy and Charlotte had left me two bottles of Pinot Grigio in the fridge. The only downside to the situation I could see so far was that I was bloody starving and if I had a glass of wine I'd cave in and eat everything in the house.

Not that I could drink just yet because there was still Joe to fetch.

‘Where does Michael live?' I asked Becky, once Lauren had been collected and it was almost 4.30 p.m.

Becky looked at me blankly. ‘I don't know.'

Chapter Thirty

I tried to keep calm. Becky, it transpired, did not only not know where Joe was, but she didn't have a number for Michael's parents or know what their surname was.

‘I think she said her name was Julie. Or something like that.'

‘But you know her, don't you?'

‘No.'

‘But you said Joe went there all the time.'

‘No, I didn't – I said he goes to play with people all the time. And Mum never minds.'

‘But Charlotte does know this Julie?'

‘I don't know.'

Alarm was radiating through my chest. I tried to stay rational.

‘But Michael's a friend of Joe's?' I persisted.

‘Yeah, I think so.'

‘And so he's been there before?'

‘I don't know – I can't remember.'

My voice rose in exasperation. ‘Try to think!'

Christ, supposing it was Hannah – suppose she really was a lunatic and had taken Joe as a way of getting to Roger. But surely Joe wouldn't just go with a stranger? Then again, she was a woman and looked normal enough and she'd probably have told him she was a friend of mine or Charlotte's. She'd be able to talk about how his mum had gone to Paris. The bitch …

Becky was still gazing at me vacantly.

‘What did this woman say exactly?' I asked sharply.

‘She just said was it OK if Joe came home with them for lunch and I said OK.'

‘Without even asking where they lived? For Christ's sake, Becky. Didn't you think at all?'

Becky put both hands to her head and tugged at her hair. ‘Stop going on at me,' she suddenly shrieked. ‘It's not my fault!' She burst into tears.

‘Oh Becky, I'm sorry,' I said, stricken, putting out my arms to her. She backed away from me.

‘Why are you being like this?' she wailed. ‘Mum said you'd gone all funny.'

I stared at her, feeling terrible. ‘Oh darling, I'm sorry – I haven't gone all funny. I'm just worrying because I'm supposed to be looking after you both. Come on, Bex, you know I love you – I've known you all your life – you're like my family. Please don't cry.' She let me hug her this time and I felt close to tears myself as I stroked her hair.

Stanley came into the kitchen in his socks, took one look at Becky sobbing and hastily backed out again.

‘Look,' I said, trying to sound brighter than I felt. ‘Let's give your mum a quick ring. She'll know where Michael lives.'

And if she doesn't, and she's never heard of Michael or Julie then I'll really start to panic.

‘You give her a ring, Becky, and I'll make us some tea.'

As I put the kettle on the Aga hotplate, Becky fetched her mobile phone. After a few moments she held it away from her ear. ‘She's switched off.'

‘Try your Dad.'

He was switched off too. It was 4.55 p.m. I felt sick. ‘Oh well,' I said with forced cheer, ‘when nobody comes to get Joe, Michael's mum will phone again. Then I'll ask where they live and go and get him.'

Becky took her mug of tea and nodded. ‘I'm going to wash my hair,' she said. ‘Before
X Factor
.'

‘OK!' I beamed at her. ‘You do that and I'll get us all some dinner once Joe's home.'

As soon as she'd gone upstairs, I stared anxiously at the clock. Then at the phone. What the hell was I going to do if nobody called?

Nobody had by 5.15 p.m. But Julie – if she existed – was probably still waiting for someone to arrive. She might not think to phone for another half an hour yet. At what point did I give in to hysteria and call the police? By 5.30 p.m. I was pacing the kitchen.

What would I say to the police if I did call?
Yes, that's right. I'm in charge of this seven-year-old boy who has gone off to the house of someone whose name and address I don't know but who may in fact be a mad woman called Hannah whose surname also eludes me and I have no idea where she lives either.

I'd have to do something if I hadn't heard by six. I had the handset on the table right in front of me next to my third cup of tea and was glaring at it, willing it to ring.

At 5.50 p.m. my mobile burst into life instead. I snatched it up from the work surface. It wasn't a number I knew.

‘Yes?' I squawked.

‘Laura? Is that you?' The voice at the other end sounded uncertain. ‘Thought I'd got the wrong number for a minute.'

It was Andrew, trying to organise a training session with Clara and Alfie for the next morning. ‘Nine a.m.?' he was saying. ‘Or is that too early for a Sunday? We need to start getting our act together if we're going to be the dream team in this challenge.' He gave a groan. ‘Not that I quite see myself in that role …'

Eventually, I stuttered something incoherent back.

‘Laura,' he said, ‘are you all right there?'

I'd had no idea he lived in Kingsgate too. Within ten minutes of me weeping down the phone, he was in Charlotte's kitchen, patting me on my heaving shoulder.

‘I don't generally burst into tears every five minutes,' I assured him shakily, before sitting down at the kitchen table and doing just that.

When we'd put the kettle back on and I'd mopped at my face with some kitchen roll, Andrew assessed the situation. ‘They'll phone eventually,' he surmised. ‘They won't keep someone else's child all night.'

‘But suppose it wasn't really Michael's mother who phoned?' I wailed. ‘Suppose it's a set-up and someone's taken him?'

Andrew spoke calmly. ‘In my experience, people do not go pinching small boys in Broadstairs and if they did, they wouldn't phone up to warn you first.'

I told him about Hannah. He listened carefully.

‘Even so,' he said, when I'd finished, ‘it's one thing to get hung up over a bloke, it's quite another to kidnap his child.' He gave my arm a small squeeze. ‘I'm quite sure it's all OK.' He cupped his chin in one hand, thoughtfully. ‘Who organises the football club? They'll have a list of all the kids involved.'

‘I don't know. I did ask Becky but …' I shrugged, glancing anxiously at the clock. It was 6.30.

He looked round the room. ‘Have you got a computer here?' I fetched my lap top from the chair in the corner.

‘Let's see if we can find out,' he said, opening it up. ‘What school was it at?'

I put my head in hands. ‘What will Charlotte say? The last thing she said was that I had to look after her children. Now I've lost one, traumatised the other, and I haven't even fed them yet.'

As if on cue, Stanley appeared in the doorway, looking suitably famished. His eyes widened with horror at the sight of his form tutor sitting at the table while I sniffed.

‘Doesn't matter,' he muttered, leaving again.

I watched Andrew tapping away at the keyboard.

‘I was supposed to collect Joe at five – it's now an hour and a half later,' I said. ‘Do you think I should call the police?'

He stopped and looked at me. ‘Well, if you're really worried …'

And then the doorbell rang. I flew out into the hall. Joe was on the doorstep wearing an unfamiliar tracksuit, with another boy of about the same age and a large, smiling woman of about 35 with a mop of dark curls. She stuck out her hand.

‘Hi, I'm Judy – sorry if we're late. I didn't realise the time and then when I did, I wasn't sure if you thought I was bringing him home or you were just running late yourself.' She laughed. ‘I know what it's like. I did try phoning but your line's engaged. Kept going straight to answerphone. Lucky old Charlotte, eh? Being whisked off to Paris. When's she back? Do you need any help with the school run?'

I leant on the doorpost, weak with relief as she rattled on. ‘Do you want to come in?' I asked eventually

‘No, must go – I've left the dinner on.' She handed me a carrier bag. ‘Joe's kit. He was covered in mud so I popped him into something of Mikey's. Tell Charlotte no rush to get it back.'

‘Thank you. Thank you so much for bringing him home.'

I shut the door and hugged Joe hard. ‘Stanley's upstairs somewhere, sweetheart,' I told him as he squirmed. ‘Shall I come and run you a bath?'

Joe screwed up his nose and shook his head.

Becky appeared in her dressing gown. She smiled at me. ‘Back then!'

‘She was called Judy,' I said.

‘Oh, was she?' said Becky vaguely, adding, ‘Oh, yeah, I think I've heard Mum mention her.'

Andrew was on his feet when I went back into the kitchen, teeth firmly clamped to my tongue.

‘All's well that ends well, eh?'

‘She'd been phoning,' I said, pulling a face. ‘Becky must have been on the line upstairs …'

‘Oh well,' Andrew shrugged. ‘No harm done.'

We looked at each other for a moment. ‘It was so kind of you to come,' I said awkwardly.

‘No problem.'

‘Would you like a glass of wine?'

He hesitated. ‘Um. Yes, why not.'

‘Oh – unless – will your wife mind? Do you need to get back?'

‘She's not there. Taken the boys to visit her sister.'

‘Oh.'

I handed him a drink and dug about in the freezer for something to feed the children. When I'd filled a baking tray with sausages and put it dubiously in the Aga – with little idea how long it would take to cook – I sat down opposite him with my own glass.

‘How old are your kids?'

They were his stepsons, he reminded me, and they were 13 and 15. He'd married Elaine eight years ago, so they'd been through a lot together. ‘They're great lads,' he said. ‘How's Stanley now?'

As usual, he was easy to talk to. We had a second glass of wine and before I knew it, I'd given him the full low down on Daniel and The Twig and how upset Stanley had been the day Daniel had finally packed his bags.

‘I felt such a failure,' I said, the words surprising myself because I'd not analysed it before. ‘It's not that I want him back – especially now he's got really boring about everything. But it felt as if I wasn't good enough to be able to keep my husband. Though how could I compete? Emily is 20-something, naturally blonde – well unnaturally, probably,' I added bitchily, ‘and her whole body is about the size of one of my thighs.'

Andrew grinned.

‘And there was a time,' I went on, ‘when Daniel used to talk about women being too thin and how he liked nothing better than a steak and kidney pudding.'

‘Certainly nothing to feel a failure about then,' said Andrew. ‘If Daniel hadn't left you, and gone off with this young, skinny, blonde girl, you'd be feeling fine about yourself, wouldn't you?'

I looked at him quizzically. ‘Well, maybe, but the point is, he did.'

‘And the point is – it's him who's changed, not you. Mad fool, I say. You're lovely.'

I looked at him, startled, suddenly acutely aware he was not only Stanley's teacher but married to boot. Should he be paying me compliments like that? ‘Will you tell your wife what you've been doing?' I blurted out, unable to stop myself.

Andrew looked surprised. ‘Probably' he said. ‘If she's interested. The thing is ' he began, stopping as Becky came into the room.

‘Is it food soon, Laura?' she asked beseechingly. ‘We're starving.'

I jumped up. ‘Yep, sorry – just coming.'

Andrew got up too. ‘I'll leave you to it. I'll call you tomorrow about the gym.'

I felt exhausted by the time the kids had eaten a mountain of sausage, chips, and beans (I'd fill them up with vegetables tomorrow) and were collapsed in front of the TV. I had a last mouthful of wine, ate a stray sausage myself, and went upstairs for a long shower, thinking that then I'd attempt to shepherd everyone into bed and have an early night.

As the hot water drummed down on my back I thought about the days ahead. This time next week I'd be doing the final filming with Cal – we'd be in the hotel now. Before that I had Stanley's birthday to think about – the new iPhone had already arrived and was safely hidden away, but I hadn't organised anything else – and in the meantime I had heaps of work to get through for Mike. What with the Joe fiasco I hadn't looked at any of that today. I should be thinking of ad ideas for water coolers …

But I was really tired now and my mind slipped away from all these issues (except for a delicious vision of Cal's lips touching mine, possibly while he had no shirt on) and refused to concentrate. I turned off the water and gave up trying. I'd be better after a good night's sleep.

I came downstairs in my dressing gown, rubbing my hair with a towel. The boys had gone back to the PlayStation, but Becky was still curled up on the sofa, a bowl of crisps beside her. ‘Mum called,' she said.

‘Oh good. How did she sound?'

Becky shrugged. ‘Fine. Like Mum.'

I nodded. However many domestics Charlotte was having in Paris, she'd sound fine to the kids – it didn't mean a thing.

‘Are they having a nice time?'

‘Suppose so – she didn't really say. Just wanted to know if we were all OK.' She gave me sudden smile. ‘I didn't tell her about Joe. Though she'd only have laughed if I had.'

I tried to smile back. I wouldn't bet on it, I thought.

‘Did you speak to your dad?' I asked casually.

‘No, he was in the shower too.'

‘Oh, OK. So no message?'

‘No,' said Becky, turning back to
The X Factor
. ‘Mum just asked what you were doing and I told her you were upstairs.' She settled herself down among the cushions. ‘Then she wanted to speak to Joe.'

But she didn't want to speak to me …

Despite my unease about Charlotte, I slept better than I had done the night before. We spent the morning drifting about in our pyjamas and then I insisted on a mass exodus into the outside world to walk the dog which, with the exception of Joe getting a Wellington boot full of sea water and Benson losing two more rubber balls, passed without incident.