‘Four-year-old twins, a boy and a girl. Oh, and the cat. It was during my maternity leave that Brandon and I started planning our great escape.’
‘So you’ll commute each day?’ asks Margot.
‘Oh, no. The city and I, how did Gwyneth Paltrow once put it? Ahh, “consciously uncoupled”.’
I have no idea what she means. ‘So what’ll you do now you’re here?’
‘A lot of yoga and Pilates, if all goes according to plan.’
‘Well, the village community centre holds weekly sessions if you don’t mind sharing a room with OAPs,’ Margot informs her. ‘I went once myself but it smelled of cabbage.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t explain myself.’ Liv smiles. ‘I’ll be opening my own wellness studio in the new year.’
‘Oh,’ says Margot. ‘Well ... good for you.’
Her smile is as fake as her nails.
‘How about you girls?’ Liv asks. ‘What do you do?’
‘Nothing as interesting as opening your own studio,’ I say. ‘I make jewellery from home and sell it online and to independent stores. And my husband, Drew, is a delivery driver.’
‘Oh, I love jewellery that’s not mass-produced,’ says Liv. ‘Handcrafted pieces are always so much more personal, aren’t they?’
I spot Margot slowly covering her Pandora charm bracelet with the palm of her hand.
‘I’d love to see some of your designs,’ Liv goes on. ‘I have some fashion influencer friends who love championing fresh designers.’
Imposter syndrome strikes and my face reddens. ‘They’re probably not that good.’
‘I’m sure with a little more practice you’ll get better,’ says Margot.
‘And how about you, Maggie?’ asks Liv. ‘What do you do?’
‘It’s Margot.’
‘I amsosorry,’ Liv replies.
I’m not entirely convinced Liv didn’t say that on purpose. And if I’m right, I think I like her already.
Chapter 3
Liv
Of course I know her name is Margot. But even after a few minutes in her company, I recognise her type. I’ve met a thousand versions of her in my time. Their narrowed eyes bore holes into you, searching for a flaw to help them feel better about themselves. I could be doing her a disservice. We’ll see.
‘SoMargot,’ I continue. ‘What do you do?’
‘Like you, I used to be London-based, but now I’m a full-time homemaker.’
Again, I might be misreading her, but she utters the word ‘homemaker’ with barely disguised contempt.
‘How old are your kids?’ I ask.
‘My eldest turns thirteen in a few months and her brother is eleven.’
‘Tricky ages. They must keep you busy.’
Her smile is tight. ‘I’m very hands-on, so I barely have a minute to myself.’
