The Day Of Second Chances by Julie Cohen Page B

council, building permissions, a fence.
    But then he’d never put the fence up. Knowing what she knew now, Jo supposed he’d been too distracted by Tatiana.
    There was someone on the other side of the hedge. From here, Jo could see him from the waist up. It looked like he was raking leaves that had fallen from the horse chestnut tree: a young man, in his twenties maybe. He had sunglasses pushed up into brown curly hair, and an unshaven face.
    Stop it, filthy middle-aged lady
, she thought, and smiled to herself. But she kept on looking, just for a moment, with the top of the biscuit tin in her hand in case she needed to look away and appear busy suddenly. Because a tug of attraction, no matter how inappropriate and one-sided, was better than thinking about the house she’d never had and the husbands she’d lost.
    Focus on the positive, focus on the future.
Her mother had always told her that, and set Jo a good example. The MS that had eventually killed her had crippled her first. But despite her pain, she’d always kept cheerful. Her advice was what had kept Jo going after Stephen had died, in those colourless days that stretched on and on and felt as if they would never end. It was what had helped her over the past year since Richard had left. She had three beautiful children, and a comfortable house, and a good friend, and a body that wasn’t so worn out that it couldn’t respond to the sight of a good-looking man.
    â€˜Whoa, who is
that
?’
    Sara had come up behind her and was staring out of the window, close enough to brush against Jo. Jo’s cheeks heated. ‘Don’t – he’ll see us.’
    â€˜But who is it?’
    â€˜He must be one of the people in the new houses.’
    Sara sighed. ‘Do you remember what it was like, sleeping with a bloke in his twenties? Bob could do it all night.’
    The wistful, lustful expression on Sara’s face made Jo laugh, despite her embarrassment. ‘Stephen used to—’
    She stopped herself. She turned back to the biscuit tin and loaded up the plate again, with the last of her homemade shortbread. Dusted with sugar, cut into squares, crumbling at the edges. This was reality, this was now. Too many calories in the kitchen with the children playing nearby. It was a good life. It should be enough.
    â€˜Anyway,’ she said, ‘I think that Honor should move in here with us for a little while.’

Chapter Seven
Lydia
    I DON’T HAVE to write about the first time I met Avril. I’ll never forget it. But it makes me feel good to think about it. It’s hard to believe it was only a bit more than five years ago.
    Mum married Richard in August and I was the only bridesmaid. I probably should have put up more of a fuss, but I couldn’t really believe it was happening. Mum made it into this whole bonding opportunity for us: trying on dresses, choosing music and flowers. We went for coffee a lot, and we spent a lot of time talking about Dad – not in a heavy way, just in a nice way, remembering him. We talked about the things we’d done together as a family, just the three of us. We looked at pictures of when I was a baby, and our holidays on the beach in Lowestoft. She reminded me of how he used to read me a story every single night, and how he named my favourite teddy bear Galileo. I think she wanted to reassure me that she wouldn’t forget about him, even though she was getting remarried.
    Looking back at it, she was trying to reassure me, too, that I was still important to her. She let me choose almost all the music for the ceremony, and she let me choose her dress. Which in retrospect, looking back at the photos, was a mistake, because at eleven, I had this thing for big fluffy princess skirts and lots and lots of sequins. I’d never been to a wedding before and it was all pretty exciting for me. I got to invite all my friends to the reception and we all drank litres of Coke and