Because we are now broke, the only change we have made in the house is to install theseven-burner double oven from our last house, so I stick bread under the grill. Slowly I become aware that the genius coffee machine is not working. It is making a noise, but the wrong one. I try to brew an espresso and realise it is banjaxed.
Dan will be distraught. He loses his temper very rarely. Still, if his precious Barista Baby has been broken by the movers, he will go nuts.
Big Brian will be getting a phone call, for sure.
‘No coffee, Teddy,’ I say, pulling a horrified face at her. ‘Mummy goes crazy without coffee ...’ And I launch myself at her with outstretchedzombie-tickling arms.
She giggles, then says, ‘Mummy tea?’
‘Tea is only for evening,’ I sigh, and we eat our breakfasts together and watch Peppa and George laugh at Daddy Pig.
‘I wonder if Daddy Pig could fix our Daddy’s coffee machine?’ I ask her.
Teddy picks up her bowl to slurp/spill the sweet milk and shakes her head at the same time.
Breakfast over, we wander hand in hand through themoving-box-strewn downstairs.
‘Very messy, Mummy, very messy,’ says Teddy, shaking her head.
‘Mummy and Daddy will make it lovely,’ I say with determination, ignoring Mildred telling me we have made a huge mistake buying this place and how will we ever pay for it?
‘Do you like your new house?’
Teddy nods happily. She has the easy adaptability of the very young.
‘Me too,’ I say, watching the way the May morning sun shines in through the windows and how our new garden is alive with butterflies and bees, with a starling poking at the grass as if it knows a worm is hiding just a hint out of reach.
The house belonged to a widowed lady who had lived here for years but her husband was ill for a long time, the estate agent told us. I assume there was no money left because the place, though spotlessly kept, boasts decor from the late seventies and early eighties.
It’s still big and detached, so we had to push ourselves to afford it, which is why Dan and I will need to do complicated curtseys to the bank manager, or even gofull-Buddhist on the floor and bow our heads, for the next twenty years. I, personally, will need to work flat out with minimal childcare to pay for it all, which is going to be tricky, but once I saw this house, I knew this was it.
‘It needs a lot of work,’ said Dan, looking at rooms papered with wallpaper that even Laura Ashley stopped selling years ago.
‘But look at the kitchen!’ I said, as we admired the one modernised part of the house, that will suit for filming of my TV series in September.
The owner had it done up to help her sell the house, the estate agent added, and it has worked. This place is perfect.
Chefs who can cook in their own kitchens definitely have the edge in TV world and the redone kitchen here is gorgeous: creamy wood, a stainless steel splashback and a huge island unit.
What I don’t mention, never mention, is that my actual favourite part of the new house is the high wall around it all.
A wall and a big wooden, electric gate that nobody can see under or over. Unless they are seven foot tall.
Although I have said a lot about how I’d love more space and a garden for the children, what I really like most about Kellinch House is that it’s safe. And since that cold January night, just over five months ago, safety comes very high on my list of priorities.
I was ... I hate even saying it.
OK, mugged.
I was mugged.
What a hopelessly gentle word for a vicious, shattering and terrifying experience. I was in a city centre garage late at night after doing a demonstration and Lorraine, who works with me, had helped me with all the equipment and had already driven off. I was still rearranging things in the back of the car, mentally running over what I’d said and thinking about what Ishouldhave said, when a man appeared out of nowhere.
In an instant, he knocked me to the ground and threatened me with a knife.
I knew he was on something – I could smell the foetid smell of despair, drugs and unwashed human, but my strength vanished. I felt as small as a child. Terrified. Cowering.
He ripped my handbag off and ran, leaving me bruised and with a broken collarbone. It was all over in thirty seconds and yet it felt so much longer.
