marketing plan and some diversification. How about a range of buildings instead of the traditional Georgian townhouse? A New York brownstone, maybe, a cottage, offices, castles, ships, Emily’s palace. Richard could design them.
1:37 A.M. “Kate, what do you think you’re doing? It’s two o’clock in the morning.”
My husband Richard is standing in the doorway of the kitchen: Rich, with his acres of English reasonableness and his invincible kindness.
“Darling,” he says, “it’s so late.”
“I’m just coming.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
He squints curiously at me in the light. “What kind of nothing?”
“Oh, I was just thinking about, you know, homemaking.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Don’t worry. Warm my side of the bed, I’m just coming.”
The kiss he plants on my forehead is a question as much as a gift.
Seeing my husband go upstairs, I long to follow him but I can’t leave the kitchen in this state. I just can’t.
The room bears signs of heavy fighting; there is Lego shrapnel over a wide area. In my absence, three apples and four satsumas have been added to the big glass bowl, but no one has thought to discard the old fruit beneath and the pears at the bottom have started weeping a sticky amber resin. As I throw each pear in the bin, I worry about the cost. After washing and drying the bowl, I carefully wipe any stray amber goo off the apples and put them back. All I need to do now is get Emily’s lunch box ready for the morning, check the time for Ben’s appointment at the surgery, see if I can get from there to the bank to talk to my manager, convene a meeting of workers at the factory, call the receivers and still get back in time for school pickup. Chicken out of freezer. Chicken out of PTA meeting. Emily wants horse. Over my dead body; who will end up cleaning out the stable? Rich’s birthday — surprise dinner? Bread. Milk. Honey. And there was something else. I know there was something else.
What else?
Acknowledgments
This book could not have been written without my beloved friend Miranda Richards, who taught me not to be afraid of the Dow Jones and so much else.
I want to thank Hilary Rosen for her heroic research into the subject of this novel and for the e-mails which make me laugh out loud whenever life got too Kate-like. There are so many Kate Reddys out there who offered up their disasters with incredible good humor; they know who they are and I salute them.
Episodes from
Nicola Jeal, at the
As a first-time author, I was very fortunate in my agents, Pat Kavanagh in London and Joy Harris in New York. My editors — Jordan Pavlin at Knopf, Alison Samuel at Chatto and Caroline Michel at Vintage — brought the baby into the world with loving care. Norman North at PFD and Miramax’s Lola Bubbosh ensured that one day Kate will have a second life on the big screen, while Nicki Kennedy at ILA sold her around the world with reckless enthusiasm.
Others offered moral support and practical criticism: Adam Gopnik, Martha Parker, Quentin Curtis, Anne McElvoy, Kathryn Lloyd, Claerwen James, Richard Preston, Philippa Lowthorpe, Prue Shaw, Tamsyn Salter, Justine Jarrett, Naomi Benson and Niamh O’Brien.
A book about mothers naturally owes a great deal to the writer’s own. I want to thank my Mum for giving me a love of song lyrics and babies, and for her precious time, the value of which I am somewhat belatedly starting to appreciate.
The character of Ben would not have been created without the lovely hindrance of Thomas Lane. Emily’s observations were inspired by the wit and wisdom of Eveline Lane, Isabelle and Madeleine Urban and Polly, Amelia and Theodora Richards.
Finally, I send all my love and gratitude to Anthony Lane, who can take credit for most of the commas in this book and for all of the semicolons. While the fictional life of a harassed working mother was being created in our house, he loaded the washing machine, cooked dinner, read
Allison Pearson
London, April 2002
