The Mid-life Trials of Annabeth Hope

Chapter 1

Southampton

Beth paused in the doorway of the counselling room. A waft of lavender air freshener caught in her throat. The cramped room with peeling paint couldn’t be more uninspiring if it tried. Yet it was a vast improvement on the waiting room, where the smell of damp and despair had seeped into her bones.

A slim woman in a neat blue suit looked up and smiled. ‘Annabeth Hope?’

‘Everyone calls me Beth.’

‘I’m Jane Montgomery. Do you understand why you’ve been referred for counselling?’

Beth nodded.

‘Come in and grab a seat. We’ll get started.’ The orange plastic chair she gestured to jarred with the dingy room.

A bumper box of budget tissues lurked on a low table. That’s a bad sign . Beth’s feet refused to move her any closer. Someone as young and perky as Jane couldn’t possibly understand the shitstorm that was her life. If she started crying, she’d never stop. And she didn’t have time for that. She should be back in the forest seeing a man about the roof, not navel-gazing in a repurposed semi on the seedier side of Southampton.

‘I just need another prescription.’

Jane glanced at the papers in her hand, the ends of her glossy brown bob swinging forward to graze her chin. ‘I’m sorry. Doctor Sharma says no more sleeping tablets until you’ve given counselling a try.’ When she looked back up, there was steel behind the sympathetic, puppy-dog eyes. ‘Come in. Please. Let me help you.’

Beth sagged against the door jamb. ‘I’m fine… I’m just… I’m…’ Her cheeks burned at the wobble in her voice. I’m a mess. She glanced down at knackered body parts stuffed into frayed jeans and a faded hoodie; the naturally pale skin of a redhead leached grey by exhaustion; hair that was limp and lifeless. Fifty wasn’t even that old. She felt closer to ninety. Her mobile pinged. Diving into her bag, she checked the screen.

‘It’s clinic policy for mobiles to be switched off during consultations, Beth.’

‘Sorry. It’s just Grace only started preschool last week and there isn’t anyone else to… uh… never mind, I’ll put it on silent. And…’ She scanned the message as she fumbled with the handset. ‘Oh no.’

‘Problem?’

‘The head of sixth form wants to see me. My stepson, Jack, has been in a fight.’

‘Do you just have the two children?’

‘No. Four.’

‘What ages?’

‘Rose is nineteen, Jack and Daisy are sixteen – they’re twins – and Grace is three.’

‘Gosh! That is quite a gap.’

‘The older three are my husband’s – he’s called Paul. Grace is ours.’

Jane made a note. ‘And Paul, is he supportive?’

‘Not so you’d notice.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Believe me, I’m the one who’s sorry.’ The back of her eyes gave an ominous prickle.

‘We can do this in the doorway if you prefer, Beth, or you could sit.’

Beth took a deep breath. Poor, sweet Jane had no idea what she was letting herself in for. Perhaps I should sit, just for a minute . In an uncharacteristic snap decision, she marched over the stained carpet, tugged a tissue from the box and planted her backside on the waiting orange plastic.

‘Go on then, Jane. Fix me.’

Jane closed the door. ‘Can you tell me why you feel Paul isn’t supportive?’

‘Because he buggered off.’

‘I see. When you say he buggered off—’

Beth groaned. ‘It’s such a cliché it’s embarrassing. He went out for a pint of milk six months ago and never came back.’

‘You’re sure he didn’t have an accident?’

‘Oh, I’m sure. He’s not actually a missing person. He’s just a waste of space.’

‘So you have heard from him?’

‘Once. But once was enough.’

The sound of Jane’s pen scratching away in the otherwise silent room, officially documenting Paul’s treachery, made Beth ache inside.

‘What support do you have, Beth? Do you have family nearby?’

‘My parents emigrated to Australia after my sister settled out there. We speak on the phone all the time.’

‘What about friends?’

‘Most of them are in London. I used to work there.’

‘What about your stepchildren’s wider family? Uncles and aunts? Grandparents?’

Beth really didn’t want to get into Isla, the most perfect biological mother on the planet. ‘Paul hasn’t been in contact with his adoptive family since he left home at eighteen. And the children’s grandparents have all passed. There is only this annoying woman in the village. She used to help Paul look after the children before we met. Barbara Trenchard. She hates my guts.’

Jane pursed her lips. ‘You can’t do everything on your own. You need a support network. What about neighbours?’

‘I don’t need people. They just let you down. What I need is sleep and a roof that doesn’t leak.’

‘Oh dear. It rained a lot last night.’

‘It did. And the leak blew the electrics. Believe me, searching for buckets at 1am with a hyperactive three-year-old skipping around with a torch making ghost noises isn’t fun. The only reason I’m functioning today is industrial-strength coffee.’

‘So, the roof is a problem?’

‘The whole farmhouse is a problem,’ said Beth.

‘Farmhouse? You live on a farm?’

Beth shook her head. ‘It was a farm, years ago; now it’s just a crumbling farmhouse with a bit of land. I grow vegetables. We have a few animals.’

‘Like what?’

‘Chickens, a duck, a donkey, llampaccas—’

‘Lam-whats?’

Beth winced. ‘Sorry, that’s what Grace calls them. Llamas and alpacas.’

Jane grinned. ‘Cute. Anything else.’

‘No, that’s it. Well, apart from Paul’s ancient fox terrier, Paddy. The grumpiest dog on the planet.’

‘And where is this farmhouse?’

‘In the New Forest. A couple of miles outside the village of Ambleford.’

The consultation continued in much the same vein, with Jane asking questions and making note of Beth’s replies, until eventually a ripple of light chimes rang out. Jane glanced at the clock. ‘We’ve covered a lot of ground, Beth. Well done. Time’s up for now. We’ll pick this up in the next session. Meanwhile, I’ll send you a link for a meditation app I want you to try. It should help you to relax before bed. Remember the importance of fresh air and exercise. And try to switch all that coffee for a decaffeinated alternative. Yes?’

Huh! Why didn’t I think of that? Some organic veg, a herbal teabag or two, a quick trot around the park and a spot of deep breathing. Simple. ‘I’d rather have tablets.’

‘You need a long-term, healthy solution, not medication. I’ll see you next week.’