CHAPTER ONE - THE PLAYDATE

As she walks up the gravel drive of the imposing Edwardian house, Annie is surprised at how nervous she feels. Nervous and excited at the same time. She is about to do something that is purely for herself. Nothing to do with the kids, or Mark or work. Completely voluntary and, supposedly, for fun.

What if no-one likes me? They already know each other, what if no-one talks to me? What if Maggie wasn’t supposed to invite me, or assumed I’d say no. I’ve never even spoken to Amira. Wish Fran was here.

She had been surprised at the original invitation. She didn’t really know any of the other mums as she only did pick-ups on a Friday. Her one ally was Fran, whose appearances at the school gates were even less frequent than her own.

Maggie, who, alongside her portfolio career, manages to find time to be on the PTA, seemed to know everyone; and everything come to think of it. She was best avoided unless you wanted a rundown of her plans for the holidays and how fabulously her children were doing. Annie was too late to dodge her approach that day.

“Do you read?” Maggie had asked her, hustling up with a beaming smile.

“Er, sorry, what?”

“Do you read” Maggie repeated, dropping her head to one side, as though wondering if Annie was quite with it. “We’re setting up a book club. We invited Fran but she said she doesn’t read fiction but that you do. Would you like to join?”

“Yes” Annie was surprised to hear herself say.

“Fabulous. Amira’s hosting. I’ll message you.”

So here she is, outside Amira’s Edwardian mansion – house doesn’t really do it justice – feeling like a shy child on a play date. Ridiculous!

The first problem had been what to wear. She rarely saw these women socially. The only place she saw them with any regularity was Friday afternoons in the school playground. Most of them were either in gym kit or clearly on their way to work. Except maybe Stacy, who always looked as though she was off to a romantic rendez-vous, hair perfectly blow dried, makeup immaculate.

How do I look? She had chosen a new pair of jeans, white T shirt, low heels and her new Isabel Marant knitted jacket.

Why are you wearing that?

Well, you know, just …

Ignoring her husband, Annie had picked up her large, burgundy leather handbag, selected a Diptyque candle, still in the cellophane, from a draw in the hall and headed for the door.

I’m off. Won’t be late. Be good for Dad.

She had considered taking flowers. And then thought better of it. She hated it when guests brought her flowers. It meant stopping what you were doing and scurrying around to find a suitable vase in which to arrange the damn things. Flowers, along with scatter cushions, throws, excessive pillows and scented candles were amongst the list of things that Annie had no experience of arranging.

It was hardly better if the flowers came already pre-tied, in little posies, nestling in water. The posies would inevitably not fit in any of her vases, since the only vases they possessed had been bought by Mark, who had a penchant for tall, statement flowers. Lillies, typically. Looked beautiful for three days then the scent became over-powering and the pollen started to fall and stain whatever surface they were on.

She remembered, with some relief, that Viv was a florist. So no flowers. A book? To a book club? How would she know what books Viv already had. Was a gift even expected? Why hadn’t she asked Maggie when she first accepted the invitation. Can I bring anything? Wasn’t that what you were supposed to say?

The candle was there as back up. If no-one else brought gifts, it could remain in the handbag. If everyone else had brought a food contribution, she could explain she’d had to work late but brought the candle for ambience.

Unfamiliar with Amira’s address, she had typed it into her phone and followed its directions across the park. It was still light, the clocks having gone back only a few weeks before, and the day had been unusually warm for April. The trees were sprouting new leaves and as she turned into the avenue leading up to Amira’s house, a large magnolia was coming into bloom.

Annie takes a breath and lifts the heavy matt silver door knocker.

Amira comes to the door (wide legged trousers, thin sweater, so far so good!).

“Annie, hi! So glad you could make it.”

Amira ushers her through a hall lined with modern art and not a trace of a coat, shoe or any of the usual paraphernalia that regularly build up in Annie’s own hallway. Stairs lead down to a large open-plan kitchen with glass doors leading on to a long garden, where Maggie is in full flow.

“The garden’s looking so beautiful Amira. Look at those irises! Coming into flower already! Aren’t you clever! “

“Well, I guess it’s sort my job.”

“I’ve been trying to grow Irises in the front but Richard says they wouldn’t’ fit with the Acer. You know what architects are like, everything has to fit … Annie! You’re made it.”

Amira ushers Annie towards the kitchen area.

“Do you all know Kate and Jo?”

“Erm … not really, Hi, I’m Annie.”

“Hi, Jo” the smaller of the two stands, ignoring Annnie’s outstretched hand to give her a hug.

“Kate.” A tall, elegant woman appears carrying two bottles of wine, which she sets on the long table which fills the front half of the room.

“Let’s all sit, shall we” Amira commands.

As the women arrange themselves round the table, the doorbell rings.

“That must be Zoe”, Amira says and disappears up the stairs, returning with a blonde who Annie recognised immediately. She looks about twenty. Annie had assumed she was someone’s nanny. Maybe not.

“Hi everyone.” Zoe, gives a beaming smile, which she accompanies with a little wave.

“Right. Chrissy couldn’t make it so that’s a full house. Everyone grab yourself a glass of wine, or water or there’s orange juice in the fridge if anyone prefers. I thought maybe we could start by going round the table with some introductions. How about we each say why we’re interested in joining a book club and maybe what sort of books we enjoy?”

The others nod in agreement. Maggie leans forward and draws breath, but is stopped short by Amira, who continues

“How about I start. This all came about my friend Monica, who’s a client actually, she runs events at Claridges, anyway, last time I was there she got to talking about her book club. I love reading but don’t find enough time, so I thought it might be a great idea to start one. And here we are!

Oh, and what sort of books? Well, I love a bit of historical fiction, as long as there’s not too much war involved.”

Ignoring Maggie, sitting on her right, she looks left

“Kate how about you? Didn’t you do English at uni?”

“Yes but that was yonks ago. And a lot of it was medieval literature, Beowulf. Wouldn’t wish that on anyone. And the classics. But I do love reading, not necessarily just the classics but given a choice I’d probably go for literary fiction. Annie?”

What’s literary fiction? Annie thinks. Isn’t all fiction literary? Must look that up. Why am I here? Because I’m a bit lonely and was hoping to make new friends? Because Maggie caught me at a weak moment?

Looking around the table now she says

“Erm, well, yes, I love reading. But the only time I get is on the tube on the way to and from work. Love the idea of talking about a book with someone else. I haven’t really thought about what sort of books I enjoy but I guess, anything with great characters. I have to care about the characters. Oh and plot. There has to be a plot. Can’t stand too much description. No Howards Bleeding End.”

Zoe, sitting next to her, looks dismayed.

“Hi everyone, I’m Zoe. I’m so excited to be here. To be honest, I don’t really read very much and I’d like to get into it. I remember reading Little Women when I was younger but other than that, well, I’m happy to go with whatever you suggest.

“I was going to get onto that” Amira interjects, “but the way Monica’s group do it is that the person hosting makes a couple of suggestions, then the group has a vote on it. So I was thinking we could do the same. Jo?”

“Sounds great. Why am I joining a book club? Heard there would be wine, for a start. And it will make a change from listening to six year olds struggle through Biff and Chip. I’ll read anything as long as no magic key involved.”

“The Magic Key began to glow …” Zoe adds.

They all laugh, leaving Maggie, who takes her turn and seizes the opportunity to tell everyone that she used to live on the same road as Zadie Smith. As if that’s relevant.

“Food” Amira declares, leaving the table and returning with platters of cheese, ham, dips and assorted crips, breadsticks and bread.

“Help yourself, and I’ll run through the books I thought we might begin with. I’ve got three for us to choose from.” She reaches a pile from the sideboard behind her.

“First up, this won the Booker last year.” She puts a hard copy of Wolf Hall on the table. “Don’t worry, it’s out in paperback now” she says to no-one in particular, though Annie feels Zoe shrink beside her.

“Might be a bit heavy-going on the tube” she says. “Go on.”

“Or we could do something more modern. Monica said her book group started off with this” she shows the group a paperback of The Time Traveller’s Wife”.

“I’ve read it” Jo says, “But don’t mind me, I’m happy to read it again. It was a couple of years ago and I don’t remember what happened. I enjoyed it though.”

Annie wonders how this will be resolved. How do you get six very different women to agree on something as subjective as a novel. Will there be a show of hands? What if it’s a draw? Who gets the casting vote?

“OK, then, well how about Mrs Dalloway?” She puts a slim, cream Vintage Classics publication on the table in front of her. Annie notices Zoe sit up and lean forward.

“Kate, what do you think? You’re the expert.”

“Hardly. But maybe it’s good to start with a classic.”

There is an awkward silence for a few moments, broken by Maggie

“Did you see Meryl Streep as Virginia Woolf in The Hours? Wonderful! Such a talented actress, so versatile. Can you remember there was all that kerfuffle in the press about the prosthetic nose?”

“Nicole Kidman” Kate asserts. “Nicole Kidman played Woolf, Meryl Streep played a woman called Clarissa in the modern day.”

And that seemed to be it. Mrs Dalloway it was.

Decision made, the women drank the wine, dipped into the dips, ate the cheese and ham and studiously avoided the bread. They chatted amongst each other, finding common ground with small talk about children and the school.

Annie managed to establish that Amira’s “floristry” business was not, as she had previously assumed, a high street shop but MacKays, a well established operation supplying flowers for major hotels, restaurants, lavish weddings and other upscale events. On top of which they were in the process of opening a school. And she had three other children in addition to the one Annie already knew about, in the same class as Sam.

Hence the mansion, she surmises. Don’t be so materialistic! She thinks.

She had taken Zoe under her wing a little, driven partly by feeling sorry for the girl but, if she were honest, more by a desire to get the back story. Zoe was, in fact, a fair bit older than twenty (a ripe old thirty five) and was the second wife of a much older husband who ran the advertising agency where Zoe used to work. She was almost the opposite of Amira in that her one daughter seemed to occupy her whole existence. Annie hadn’t quite worked out the order of her marrying the boss, falling pregnant, having the baby and leaving work. She suspected it didn’t quite go in that order.

Before she had time to gather much more intelligence, Amira brought the group to heel.

“OK ladies, here’s what happens next. We all read the book and then we’ll get together again to discuss. Does five weeks time sound about right? That would take us to May 13^th. Does that work?”

They each checked diaries and agreed it did.

“Monica’s group take it in turn to host. If you’re all OK with that we could do the same? Shall we go alphabetically? Annie that would mean you next?”

Annie noticed a huge look of relief pass over Zoe’s face as she replies that of course, she’d be happy to host.

Note to self. Make sure Mark is out that evening and get the cleaner to come in.

Amira removes the last empty bottle from the table and begins to clear away the plates. Taking this as a sign that the date is over, Annie gets up to leave.

“You’re the other side of the park aren’t you?” Zoe says. “I’ll walk with you.”

It’s dark and so the two women take the road around the park.

“That was fun” Zoe says, “I wasn’t sure about coming. Everyone’s so clever.”

“Don’t be silly, I’m sure they’re no cleverer than you, everyone’s just different, that’s all. Thank God we’re not reading Wolf Hall!”

“I know, I really don’t think I’d have been able to get through all of that in five weeks. Probably take me more like five months.”

“At least Mrs Dalloway’s quite short.”

“Do you know if there is a film?”

“I’m afraid not. But don’t worry, why don’t we both read it and compare notes before the next book club.”

Zoe laughs. You’re on.

Well, at least that’s one new friend made, thinks Annie.