‘Sounds like a glorified housekeeper to me,’ Bernice sniffed.
Sam pulled a face, her back turned to her mother.
‘Way to go being supportive, Mum,’ said Max.
‘Maxine,’ Bernice frowned, ‘it isn’t cute to speak like an eighteen year old when you’re in your thirties.’
Now Maxine pulled a face. Sam grinned. The second weekend in November was always set aside for the traditional Christmas cake and pudding baking day. Sam was disappointed this year because it was the children’s weekend with Jeff, but Bernice wouldn’t hear of changing it. You’d think it was written in stone somewhere – any sooner was impossibly early, and any later was unthinkable. Sam thought about swapping weekends with Jeff, but she knew that Joshua wouldn’t have come anyway, and Jess would no doubt have complained. But Ellie would have loved it. It was just the first of many traditions that would be compromised from now on, and it made Sam heartsick.
‘Tell her, Sam,’ said Max. ‘You don’t even have to do any housework, do you?’
‘No, but we can arrange a cleaner if the client requests it.’
‘What, these “clients” can’t pick up a telephone?’
‘They are very busy, pressured people.’
‘“Precious” more like it,’ Bernice smirked.
‘Mum, it’s a good job. I can work around the kids’ school hours and I can do a lot of it from home.’
‘But you already have a job. The MRA is a proper job, with benefits and a regular pay packet.’
‘And I’m bored stupid with it.’
‘Well, excuse me!’ Bernice scoffed. ‘These days a job has to entertain you as well as put food on the table?’
Sam wondered why she even bothered to explain anything to her mother, she was so intractable.
‘How many clients do you have so far, Sam?’ Max asked.
‘Just three. Sheila wants me to get them started and then she’ll pass along more.’
‘How does it work?’
‘The clients pay an upfront annual fee,’ Sam explained. ‘Then I’ll be paid according to the time I put in. On top of that, clients are billed for any unusual or extra services, and I get to pocket all of that.’
‘Have you met your clients yet?’
‘I have two appointments next week – with a married couple, and an older, semiretired gentleman.’
‘I thought they were all busy executives?’ Bernice sniggered.
‘Well, apparently his eyesight is failing and he needs a personal assistant for a couple of hours every week.’
‘Who’s the third?’ asked Max.
‘A Mr Buchanan. He’s some kind of IT executive. I’ve emailed him, but I haven’t had a response yet.’
‘What’s does IT stand for?’ Bernice asked blankly.
‘Information Technology,’ said Sam.
‘Computers, Mum,’ Max added. ‘I think it sounds interesting, Sam. How long before you’ll be able to quit work?’
‘You’re not going to quit the MRA, are you?’ said Bernice, horrified.
‘Eventually, if I can build up a solid client list.’
‘And what if the country goes into recession and all these rich, pampered people have to make their own phone calls? Then what happens to your house? And the children?’
‘The rich are usually the last to be affected by a recession,’ Max informed her drily.
‘Besides, Jeff would never let the children go without,’ said Sam.
Bernice stopped, wooden spoon midair. ‘Are you even going to attempt to reconcile with your husband, Samantha?’
Max groaned. Sam turned to face her mother.
‘Mum, my “husband” is living with another woman! He’s not interested in reconciling. I have to move on, make my own life.’
That sounded so much more self-assured than she felt. If she was so ready to move on, why hadn’t she contacted the solicitor Alex had recommended?
‘Well, then, what arrangements have you made for Christmas?’ Bernice persisted.
‘What do you mean?’ Sam frowned.
‘When is Jeff having the children?’
‘He isn’t, not over Christmas,’ Sam said firmly.
Both Bernice and Max stopped to look at her.
‘Has he agreed to that?’ asked Max.
‘I don’t care if he agrees or not. He chose to leave, he can’t have everything his own way.’ She beat the cake batter savagely with a wooden spoon. ‘I can’t do without the kids at Christmas. Jeff will understand.’
He wasn’t going to get a choice.