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family of our own. Sebastian hadn’t been any
trouble so far, but the amount of kit he required looked pretty
daunting.
    ‘Dunno.’ I shrugged. ‘I just want to go
somewhere very quiet, very English, and hide for a while. The
Cotswolds, maybe?’ I fancied the poetic imagery of heartbreak
under a thatched roof, perhaps including country pursuits like long
misty walks and picking flowers. To be totally upfront, the scenes
inside my head bore a distinct resemblance to a Jane Austen
novel.
    ‘The Cotswolds are pretty. Would cost you an arm and a
leg, though.’ Jem was now doing something with powdered baby
milk. Breast-feeding had not gone well for her and for
sanity’s sake, she’d eventually given up. ‘And
presumably, your mum and dad are going to want to see
you.’
    ‘True.’ I put the kettle on, thinking another cup of
tea might keep me awake until we ate dinner. ‘But I can
hardly pick Norfolk and not stay with them. They’d be
hurt.’
    Meanwhile, sounds like a mewing kitten were reaching the
kitchen. I was about to ask if they’d adopted a cat, when I
realised I was hearing the first stirrings of a hungry baby.
    ‘And I’d be hurt ’cause it wouldn’t be
so easy to meet up for calorific treats.’ She squeezed my
arm. We’d missed each other and our afternoon tea ritual
while I’d been in San Francisco. Earl Grey with our husbands
just couldn’t compete with dainty cucumber sandwiches, or
scones topped with jam and cream, and girl talk. ‘So
that’s easy,’ she continued. ‘Just find a hotel
halfway between here and Norfolk.’
    The mewing kitten had turned into a screeching hyena. Jem
scooped up some baby gear and headed out of the kitchen.
~~~
    Later, after we’d microwaved a
Tesco’s lasagne and I had unwisely downed my share of a
bottle from Harry’s wine collection, I asked for a map. This
sparked a hunt down the sides of the bookcases, during which we
found a baby rattle and a dusty relic that had started life as a
sock. Eventually, we unearthed an out-of-date road atlas. It seemed
the straight line from my parent’s home to Ealing ran just
east of Cambridge.
    ‘There you go.’ Jem stabbed an unsteady finger at
the page. ‘That’s halfway. Go and lick your wounds
there.’
    ‘Where?’ I hoped it was only jet lag that was making
the map so fuzzy.
    ‘I dunno, it’s upside down. Under my finger.’
We had clearly overdone the Pinot Noir as both of us were
struggling with the small font.
    ‘Saffron Sheeping?’ I asked.
    I wasn’t sure I wanted a load of smelly sheep in my scenic
Jane Austen fields. But the area around Cambridge was worth
considering: we’d lived in the city when I was young and I
remembered it was pleasant enough. Presumably, it was also less
costly for visitors than the picture-perfect Cotswolds.
    ‘No, wait, it’s Saffron Sleeping.’ She peered
at it and I’m sure her eyes crossed slightly.
    ‘That sounds better. Maybe if I sleep for long enough,
I’ll wake up and find this is all a horrible
dream.’
    ‘Yeah,’ she agreed. ‘And I can bring Seb up
there to visit. He might learn how to go through the night without
terrorising me every three hours. We should Google it, see what
it’s like.’
    We failed completely to find Saffron Sleeping on the internet
and I assumed that was the end of the idea. Jem, however, consulted
the map again, which took a couple of minutes as she still had it
the wrong way up and began her quest in Cornwall.
‘Hah!’ she announced. ‘It’s not
Sleeping
, it’s
Sweeting
!’
    ‘What?’ I was digging through my suitcase, wondering
if my frenzied packing had included anything that could pass as
pyjamas. It was a good job Harry was away, as it seemed I might
have to sleep in an Alcatraz T-shirt and my knickers.
    ‘We had it wrong, it’s Saffron
Sweeting
.
Well, that’s an excellent omen,’ she declared.
    One thing I find amusing about Jem is her belief in omens,
horoscopes and reading tea leaves. ‘It is?’ I