Paula suddenly remembered that she was still sitting in her potential client’s driveway, and quickly started the engine to make her departure. What a stroke of luck, though, she thought, speeding down the road in jubilation. And actually, she realized, having read Craig’s column over the years, she already knew all sorts of things about Frankie’s life. They had a little boy, didn’t they? A really cute-sounding boy, who’d overcome some gruelling operations and health problems; that was right. They lived in London, she seemed to remember, and had an idyllic work set-up together over the kitchen table, or something equally romantic, where they conjured up their delightfully charming words and pictures each week.

Oh my goodness. This was so exciting! And Paula was related to her – how weird was that? Who would have thought? Now she just had to hope that Frankie was still interested in getting to know the Yorkshire side of her family. Because now that Paula had a means of getting in touch, she was most definitely going to use it.

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

‘Tea?’

‘Lovely,’ said Robyn, sitting on Beth Broadwood’s elegant grey sofa with her hands in her lap. It was Tuesday afternoon and she had succumbed to her own desperate curiosity. Can we talk? she had texted Beth, finding her number on a list of PTA members’ contact details that one mum had helpfully pulled together some time ago. What the hell, Robyn had thought grimly. This was sure to be humiliating, but she was already way past the point of trying to avoid losing face. Besides, before she set about confronting her husband, she needed to have the facts. She needed to know just how angry with him she should be.

Sitting in a dusty-pink button-back armchair, Beth leaned forward to pour the tea. There were framed photos all around the room of her beautiful daughters with their neat plaits and wide smiles, and a large black-and-white print of Beth’s wedding, where the bride and groom gazed into each other’s eyes with complete adoration. Beth seemed to have the perfect life, Robyn thought miserably, unable to help comparing it to the current mess of her own.

‘So,’ said Beth pleasantly, passing her a cup and saucer. ‘How are things?’

Robyn stirred her tea, fingers trembling on the spoon. Here we go. ‘Things,’ she replied in a rather strangled voice, ‘have been better.’ She attempted a smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. Deep breath. Get it out. ‘Listen, Beth, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve got something I need to ask you. I’m just going to get straight to the point. What do you know about John getting sacked from the university?’

Beth blanched at the direct question. ‘Well . . .’ she began carefully, pausing for just a fraction too long.