Walking Back to Happiness Read Online Free

said patiently. ‘Ben took Minton to work every day in the exact van that’s parked outside your house. Coco will be fine in the back.’
    There was a pause. Louise didn’t like doing this to Juliet, forcing her out of her shell like a reluctant crab, but it was the only way. Sometimes it was better when there was only one way. That was her current mantra: forward, forward, forward, and don’t look back.
    She turned to put Toby’s empty breakfast bowl in the dishwasher and her eye snagged on the long, framed photo of her wedding day, hanging in pride of place over the kitchen table. The brand new Mr and Mrs Davies, caught in the three different stages of their first dance: in a romantic ballroom hold, then Peter’s arm slung round her waist as she tipped trustingly backwards, then the Dirty Dancing lift they’d practised for weeks, way before it was fashionable to have big, show-stopping, choreographed numbers.
    All two hundred guests were gazing open-mouthed in their direction, clearly wowed by geeky Peter and cool Louise transformed into slick dancers, but she and Peter were locked in each other’s eyes, as if there was no one else there.
    They looked familiar, but that wasn’t her. It certainly wasn’t Peter. Not just because they were thinner and polished; something else was different. They looked like a couple. And, Louise realised with a guilty start, that six years on, the first thing she noticed about the photo was how elegant the table settings were.
    She pulled herself up. She was lucky to have her husband. Reliable, cheerful Peter, who’d turned his passion for computers into a profitable software company. Peter, who joked that he’d never leave her, because that would mean dismantling their wireless set-up. Even talking to Juliet made her feel grateful that it wasn’t her sitting in a half-decorated tip, smelling of dogs and only eating KitKats.
    Louise forced a cheerful note in her voice. Juliet responded very badly to pity.
    ‘I’m setting off now, so if you leave in the next five minutes, we’ll dovetail perfectly. You don’t even have to get dressed. Put a coat on over your pyjamas if you want – it’s what most of the school run mums do.’
    ‘I get dressed in the mornings,’ said Juliet huffily. ‘I’m a widow, not an invalid.’
    ‘Good. I’m glad to hear it!’
    The bathroom door opened upstairs and then three seconds later, Peter’s feet trotted down the stairs, the same perky one-two-three, one-two-three gallop she heard every morning. He swept past her, smelling of mouthwash and aftershave, heading for the kitchen to pick up the apple for his lunchbox. She knew, from the detailed explanation over last night’s dinner, that his small company were doing some kind of communal health kick.
    ‘Morning,’ he called out as he passed. ‘Hell-o, my big boy!’ he went on, in much more enthusiastic tones, seeing Toby in his high chair. Toby clapped his hands with delight, and Louise suppressed a twinge of irritation. Fed, dressed, washed was Toby’s natural state as far as Peter was concerned, never mind the hour it had taken to get him to that stage while Peter was in the shower.
    ‘Was that Peter? He sounds cheerful,’ observed Juliet. ‘I thought Toby was teething?’
    ‘Peter has the luxury of earplugs.’ Louise followed him into the kitchen, trying not to catch her own haggard reflection in the hall mirror. ‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes, OK? Please don’t be late. It’s my first day back and I know they’ll all be waiting for me to turn up late covered in sick.’
    ‘Isn’t it normally your clients who turn up covered in sick?’
    ‘Very funny. Come on, we need to leave.’
    ‘What time can I bring Coco back to Mum’s?’
    ‘Five-ish? I should be back by five.’ Louise ignored the whine in Juliet’s voice, and began to gather the various colour-coded bags together: Toby’s toys, his food, change of clothes. All prepared the night before while Peter was