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“Oliver? Olivia? Owen?” Paige cried above the din of the other actors. “I’ve no idea which one of them it might be.”

“Check the number,” Charlotte shouted. Paige did and felt a beat of surprise.

“So?” Charlotte prompted.

“It’s not Owen or Oliver,” Paige told her, “so it must be Olivia.”

Seeing how perplexed and uncertain she was, Charlotte hugged her. “It’s probably her way of trying to make up for things.”

Paige nodded as she wondered if she should text back or ignore it. She’d make up her mind tomorrow, she decided.

Charlotte pulled a teasing face. “So you’re not pissed off it wasn’t from Oliver?”

Paige’s eyes lit up. “Not a bit, because he’s coming to the Pitcher and Piano, so let’s grab our stuff and get the hell out of here.”

—

Six weeks later Jenna was in the dining room, surrounded by children’s clutter, with the French doors open to the garden and sunshine pouring in as frivolously and insistently as good spirits at a happy celebration. Her laptop was open in front of her, the screen filled with words she had written in a heady burst of inspiration that had lasted for most of the day. There were five entire pages of text, and having finished laying down this first chapter for now, she was very clear in her mind about where the book was going next.

What she wasn’t so sure about was what had freed her from the block, why words and ideas and characters had begun to stretch, yawn, limber up, and then to flow with a life force all their own, although she could hazard a few guesses. It would be a mix of things. There was emotional distress, which had a knack of transforming itself into creativity. She remembered her own words to Paige:
You’re not a victim. That’s not who you are, so you mustn’t let her turn you into one.
That, she realized, was what she’d allowed the author Natalie West to do to her with her cruel put-downs. Another thing—and this was the biggie—was the mind-blowing reception she’d received for the two children’s books she’d completed in less than a month.

To be fair, they were only twenty pages each, or would be once the illustrations were added, but according to her new publisher,
Billy the Bully
and
Meanie Monica
were exactly the kind of early-learning books they’d been looking for—and that the nation needed.

“This subject is constantly in the news,” Tina Nash, her enthusiastic young editor, had declared excitedly, “and what’s important is to catch kids when they’re very young to drum it into them that bullying isn’t where they want to go. No one would want to be Billy or Monica after reading these books, and if we can get schools to accept them for pre-kindergarten years…You know, this could be ripe for an animated TV adaptation. Actually, we could have a whole franchise on our hands here if you were able to come up with more.”

Jenna was still thinking about that. Writing for the very young wasn’t necessarily a field she wanted to get into; however, if part of the proceeds of her efforts could go to Kidscape, the anti-bullying charity she and Paige had recently become involved with, she might be tempted.

Until that was sorted out, she was keen to remain an adult-fiction writer, and could even start calling herself one again now that words were finally starting to flow in a very encouraging fashion. This was the third day running that she’d managed to sit at her computer and create five straight pages that truly felt like the start of something—well, something that would have a middle and end to add to the beginning, which was a definite improvement on where she’d been a month ago. Moreover, the funds she’d received for the film option on
Poetry Emotion
had enabled her to pay back her last advance, so she no longer had a deadline hanging over her like a sword of Damocles.

So it could be said that life was finally taking a turn for the better, at least on the financial and creative fronts. As far as family and personal matters were concerned, there were still days when she found being a single mum and deserted wife so difficult and dispiriting that it was a struggle to get through them. However, she managed it, mainly because she had to. A depressed mother was a burden her children really didn’t need, particularly when Paige’s recovery from her own experiences still had some way to go. Paige could seem very up one day, but the next it could become evident that her confidence, along with her ability to trust either herself or anyone else, was floundering.

The success of
Under Milk Wood
had been a perfect example of how fragile she still was—on the performance night, the praise for how well she’d handled the role had given her a tremendous boost. However, after the high had come the low, which had sent her crashing back to earth in a way that had lasted far longer than either of them had expected. Still, the one-on-one counseling was definitely helping, as were the group therapy sessions run by Kidscape that she’d attended in London over Easter while staying with Hanna. Hearing about other people’s experiences, as well as sharing her own, seemed to be making her feel much more positive about life, especially now she knew that such luminaries as Barack Obama, Rihanna, David and Victoria Beckham, and Will Young had all experienced some form of bullying—and look where they were now. Having such role models was driving Paige to help those who were still suffering; she was even planning to give a talk at school later in the term about what had happened to her, why she thought it had happened, how she’d felt during the worst of it—and how important it was to seek help as soon as it became obvious that the abuse was getting out of hand. “Don’t Be a Victim” was the title of the speech she was preparing.

“We can’t allow anyone to hold back because they’re afraid it’ll get worse if they tell,” she’d declared to her mother the last time they’d worked on her talk. “That’s what I did, and OK, it did get worse, but only because I didn’t make it clear to Miss Kendrick just how bad it was. If I had, the school would have put a stop to it there and then.”

Whether that was true they’d never know now, but what mattered was that Paige believed it, and though she could be a little evangelical at times in her determination to stamp out “this evil menace,” as she called it, Jenna would far rather see her like that than struggling to overcome it.

At the same time, Jenna had to concede that Paige was one of the lucky ones, for, having been blessed with a strong character—an attribute Jenna insisted was all her own, nothing to do with either parent—she was recovering far more quickly than others who’d been in her situation. As for Jack, his relationship with Paige might be slowly starting to improve (largely because Paige, in her words, was more tolerant of weakness now than she used to be), but the dynamic between them had definitely changed.

Though Jack continued on occasion to try to blame Jenna for the rift, saying she was turning Paige against him, Jenna had learned to stop rising to it. Nothing would come from such a futile argument when he already knew that he’d created the problem himself. So the furthest she would go to hit back was to remind him, in a very sweetly cutting way, that this was the price he was paying for choosing himself and his needs over his children’s. However, it apparently mattered greatly to him that he should remain a part of his stepdaughter’s life. If nothing else commended him, that certainly did.

Exactly how his relationship with Martha was going, Jenna had no idea, nor did she care—unless it was badly, in which case she wouldn’t mind knowing every last detail. However, when he was around, which wasn’t nearly as often as he’d promised the children he would be, no mention was ever made of his other life, nor had anyone yet been invited to take part in it. (Lucky them, she always thought.) Paige wouldn’t be interested anyway, but Josh and the twins might be if it meant spending more time with their father. However, Jack clearly wasn’t listening to the hints Jenna frequently dropped.

“Martha’s not interested in children,” her mother, whose own therapy had so far helped her to progress from a pat on the back to an occasional rub, would often comment. “She doesn’t want to spend her precious weekends at petting zoos, or swimmers’ club, or kiddie athletics, much less taking them for a haircut or to buy new shoes.” And the newly talkative Kay would sometimes continue, “He was a decent enough father for the time he was here, but that was because it suited him. Now it doesn’t, so he’s happy to do what he can when it doesn’t get in the way of anything else he wants to do. If it does, it’s down to you.”

Though the truth of that grated on Jenna, she had to admit that maybe she preferred it that way. Of course it had been easier when Jack was around doing whatever fatherly activities he did, which actually amounted to quite a lot, but these days it was definitely simpler to be in control of what the younger ones were doing and where they needed to be without having to rely on him. Relying on her mother, however, was a whole different story, since she certainly wouldn’t be able to manage without her, nor would she want to when it meant so much to Kay to feel needed. There was also the invaluable Bena, who was constantly offering her services as chauffeur, babysitter, or drinking companion on the evenings they could manage to fit in a glass or two.

Suddenly deciding she felt like celebrating her day’s work—and the sunshine, and the wonderful sense of freedom that was hers for about another half an hour—she went into the kitchen to put on the kettle. One of the best parts of being her these days, she was coming to realize, was not having to wonder where Jack was all the time, or show an interest in his new hobbies, or—more importantly—ask him for money. He still provided for the children, of course, but not regularly, and when his contribution did come it was often short of what it should have been. Since he’d never been mean, she could only conclude that he wasn’t earning as much as he’d like as a director of Gwynne and Associates.

Shame.

She was doing quite well herself. Well enough, in fact, to think about taking the children and her mother to Disney World next year. Charlotte too, if she wanted to come and keep Paige company.

“Hey, Mum! Did you remember to wash my black top?” Paige asked, appearing out of nowhere and catching a happy Waffle as he leapt at her.

Still getting over the shock of someone suddenly being there, Jenna said, “What are you doing home already?”

Paige went to the fridge. “Didn’t you get my text? Last lesson was canceled. Mrs. Brain fainted, so they decided to call it a day.”

“Fainted? What’s wrong with her?”

“I think she’s pregnant. Anyway, my black top?”

“Is on your bed.”

“Cool. Oh, by the way, what are you doing for your birthday next Friday?”

Jenna shrugged, as though she’d all but forgotten. “I haven’t given it much thought,” she replied. “Maybe we could all go to the King for something to eat. Do you fancy it? Would you come?”

Paige didn’t look thrilled. “So how about you come to where I’m going?” she suggested.

“Which is where?”

At that, Paige’s expression turned mischievous. “Well, since you ask, Oliver’s doing a gig at the Cross Keys and he’s offered me some tickets.”

Understanding that she ought to look suitably impressed, Jenna did her best. “That’s very kind of him,” she said, “but I’m sure you don’t want to take me.”

“Oh no, I definitely don’t,” Paige confirmed, “but Richard’s going to be there and we thought you two oldies might like to keep each other company.”

Laughing, Jenna went to give her a hug. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to do a little matchmaking,” she accused.

“And if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were interested.”

Jenna’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh come on, Mum, everyone knows you two fancy each other to hell and back.”

“Mm, wouldn’t it be better to be taken to heaven and back?”

“Too tame.”

Jenna had to laugh.

“Does that mean you’ll come?”

Jenna pretended to give it some thought. “I will,” she decided, “with the proviso that you don’t get in my face, invade my space, or cramp my style.”

Paige groaned desperately. “I know you’re trying to speak my language, but honestly, don’t.”

Laughing as she cupped her daughter’s face, Jenna said, “You know, I’m thinking I might turn you into a novel.”

Paige seemed to like the idea of that. “Cool,” she declared, her eyes widening with interest. “Can my name be Florence? And can I have a love interest who’s an awesome musician?”

“Yes to everything,” Jenna concurred, “just as long as we make sure it has a happy ending.”

Acknowledgments

An enormous thank-you to Harriet Ferris for helping to start the journey of this book during the writing of her dissertation.

Also to Megan Wiltshire and her friends Chloe Bragg, Hannah Day, Aimee Woodhouse, Emilia James, and Kayleigh Griffee of Brimsham Green School, who at age fifteen offered their inspirational insights. Also to school librarian Becky Harrison for arranging my visit, and for the hugely appreciated backup that followed.

Another enormous thank-you to Dick Knill of South Wales Police, and to Jonathan and Buffy Lee.

Thank you to Dan Norris for putting me in touch with Claude Knights of Kidscape, who gave so generously of her time with much expert knowledge and guidance.

A thousand times thank you to Christine McCarthy for introducing me to parts of the Gower I’d never have otherwise found. Also to Julie Dixon for pointing me in so many right directions.

Last, but by no means least, love and thanks to my stepson, Michael Garrett, for the lyrics included in this book. And to the Lambert family, especially Max, for helping out with the children!

I should also thank Verbena Forse and her daughter Sarah for the generous donation made to the children’s charity CLIC Sargent in return for having Verbena’s name featured in this book.

If you are the victim of bullying or if you know someone who is, then please don’t hesitate to ask for help. Someone will always be there for you.

The number for Kidscape is 020 7730 3300. Or you can contact them at
www.kidscape.org.uk
.