Also by Kate Forster
The Sisters
STARTING OVER AT ACORN COTTAGE
Kate Forster
AN IMPRINT OF HEAD OF ZEUS
www.ariafiction.com
First published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Kate Forster, 2020
The moral right of Kate Forster to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788544382
Cover design: Charlotte Abrams Simpson
Aria
c/o Head of Zeus
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5–8 Hardwick Street
London EC1R 4RG
www.ariafiction.com
Contents
Welcome Page
Copyright
Dedication
Spring
Chapter 1
Summer
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Early Winter
Chapter 57
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Become an Aria Addict
For my grandmothers.
Thank you to Marjorie for seeing something in me that others did not.
Thank you to Jean for the last conversation we had where everything finally made sense.
Spring
1
Clara Maxwell’s love life was in the bin. The whole thing. Every card, letter, note and photo of her and Giles was now into the rubbish. Mostly it was she who had penned the notes and cards and held the phone out for the selfies but she had excused Giles for his lack of romantic gestures as he was so reliable in other ways, like putting the toilet seat down or putting the bins out – which is where the last vestiges of their relationship now lived.
As Clara tripped over a box in the living room, she wondered why she thought him doing the most basic of tasks in their relationship was a romantic gesture. Why had she thought him doing the basics in life was something to celebrate? She would give credit where credit was due, but she wasn’t about to applaud a dog for barking.
Clara’s mum had once said to her that women settled for average men because very few were spectacular. But when they had a taste of the spectacular, they realised they could never go back. The best in life was often troublesome because it made you yearn for more and women who yearned for more were considered nags or troublesome, or – the worst insult – high-maintenance.
Once Clara had been upgraded on a flight from Berlin to back to London from a work trip. Everything about the flight was so wonderful, from the blankets to the way the airline hostess had offered a selection of international magazines to the perfect chicken salad and chilled Chablis that she was served, that Clara had never wanted to turn right in a plane again.
Perhaps that’s what Giles had felt when he had sex with her best friend. That Judy was first-class and Clara was a stale muffin and a can of Sprite up the back near the toilets.
Now as she ripped the photos from their fridge and shoved them in the rubbish, she wondered why he had stayed if he was so unhappy with her. Why did he stay and pretend to be with her when he was skulking around with Judy? Clara could never understand why anyone would stay anywhere they weren’t happy. She had seen what lingering in an unhappy relationship could do to a person.
Clara threw her collection of Learn to Craft magazines into the garbage bag and swallowed back her tears. Two years of a relationship down the drain. Two years of investing in something with no return. Their relationship was a bad loan and Giles was a dud product.
Picking up the last of her paperback novels and cookery books, Clara shoved them into the large rubbish bag. She looked around the apartment they had shared for the past eleven months. Most of her things had been packed and were already on the van, and she had taken great pleasure in leaving Giles with the bare essentials.
One knife.
One spoon.
One fork.
One plate.
One cup.
One glass.
One towel.
One roll of loo paper.
She knew it was petty but sometimes petty was the only answer a person had in the face of extreme humiliation, and that was what she felt. A red-hot shame flushed from her toes to her scalp when she thought about the duplicitous behaviour of the two people who were supposed to love her.
Clara picked up the file that had all their shared paperwork in it for the flat and their savings account. She had loved this little flat they had rented while they supposedly saved for their dream house, but she seemed to be the only one who contributed to the savings account. Giles always had an emergency expense such a golf club membership or a work function ticket or something last-minute that meant he couldn’t put money into the account each month.
Clara had supplied everything in the flat they shared and had decorated it, so it was cosy, thanks to her touches of soft throw rugs and houseplants. She had tried to create a home for them and instead Giles had created an affair, with her best friend, Judy.
Judy, who had always been the more interesting friend while Clara was the sensible one. Judy, who was a feminist pole dancer and who made her own scented candles and owned cats named Dali and Gala. Judy, who was tall and lithe and blonde (thanks to a bottle of Nordic Mystery peroxide) and had tattoos of climbing roses on her chest. Judy, who was the
