Jane Green - Second Chance

Tom wakes up first. Lies in the blackness and sighs as he reaches over to turn off the alarm clock. Five thirty. Blinking red, beeping madly, waiting for him to bang it off. He turns his head to see if Sarah has woken up, but no. She is still soundly asleep, rolled on her side, breathing heavily into her pillow.

He packed the night before, so accustomed now to these business trips, to getting up in the middle of the night, looking out of the window to check that the town car is waiting in the driveway, the driver killing time by reading the New York Post, a large cardboard cup of steaming coffee in hand.

The pay-off, as he and Sarah both know, is that these business trips wont be for ever. Soon his company, a large software company, will have finished buying the smaller start-ups and, as chief executive officer, he will be able to concentrate on growing what they already have. Hes thirty-nine now and in another three years or so hopefully his annual bonuses will allow him to think about doing something else. Some money will have been put aside for the kids college accounts, and hell be able to retire, maybe buy his own business, do something that doesnt involve travel or a commute, time away from the family.

In the bathroom, he trips over Tickle Me Elmo and shakes his head in exasperation before smiling at the memory of Dustin, two years old, giggling uncontrollably alongside Elmo until his elder sister, Violet, grabbed it away, leaving Dustin in floods of tears.

A hot shower, the last of the packing, and hes ready to go. Back into the bedroom to kiss Sarah on the cheek. Love you, Bunks, he whispers, using their pet name for each other, a name theyve been using for so long they dont even remember how it came to be.

Sarah stirs and opens her eyes. Love you, she murmurs. What time is it?

Just after six. The town cars here. Are you going to get up?

Yup. In a second. Have to get the kids ready for school.

Promise me youll take pictures of Dustin in the play, okay?

Okay, sweetie. Promise. Have a safe journey.

I will. Ill call before I get on the train.

kay, and Sarah smiles and sinks back into the pillows and falls fast asleep again before Tom has even made it to the front door.

Across the Atlantic Ocean, just as Toms town car pulls out of the driveway, Holly Macintosh also wakes up: 11 a.m. Today she has taken the day off, exhausted from the past few sleepless nights when the routine is always the same: she stumbles through her bedroom, hits the light switch just outside the doorway of her tiny bathroom, and sinks her head in her hands as she sits on the loo. This has started happening every night. At more or less exactly the same time, Holly wakes up needing to pee, and by the time she climbs back into bed her mind is up and racing, and these last few nights she has still been awake when the sun comes up.

Last Sunday she had just managed to fall back into a deep sleep when Daisy came in, clad in mismatched socks, her brothers Spiderman pyjamas, and Hollys favourite cashmere scarf wrapped around her neck. Daisy demanded Weetabix, and Holly stumbled out of bed shooting daggers at Marcus, who, she was convinced, was merely pretending to be fast asleep.

And last night again, she was up all night. She lay in bed, her eyes closed, trying to ignore the occasional snore or grunt from her husband, too deep in sleep to notice her. Usually when his snoring becomes too irritating to bear, even though she is wide awake and not even pretending to be attempting to get back to sleep, she will shove him over from his position lying on his back. Snoring, she will hiss, suppressing the urge to prod him hard enough to push him right out of the bed.

Holly turned on the light last night, waiting as her husband stirred, then rolled over again, still sleeping. She gathered up a magazine from the pile on the floor next to her bed, resigning herself to yet another of those long, long nights, those nights that render her almost senseless in the mornings.

This morning, a zombie in oversized mens pyjamas and moccasin slippers, Holly just about managed to get the children up and dressed. Dont start, she said warningly to Oliver, who is never at his best in the mornings, and particularly now that his four-year-old sister has discovered exactly which of his buttons to push to start the tears falling, and with huge enjoyment has incorporated it into her daily morning routine.

The au pair stumbled down at the end of breakfast, and Holly smiled gratefully as Frauke bent down to get the children buttoned up, slapping some ham and cheese on pumpernickel bread for herself and holding it in her teeth as she took Daisy and Oliver by the hand.

Im not working today, Holly said. But Im exhausted. Another bad night. Would you mind organizing a playdate or something this afternoon? Im just desperate to sleep. Is that okay?

Yes, Frauke nodded, with her stern morning face the result of having gone out last night with six other au pairs and staying up until much too late drinking Starbucks. I will phone Luciana, although the last time I tried to see her she was thirty-six minutes late, which was not good. But I will try again. Dont worry, Holly. I will keep the children out of the house today. Perhaps a museum.

Holly sighed with satisfaction. She finds herself describing Frauke to friends as my grown-up daughter from my first marriage. Her other friends complain about their au pairs, but Holly feels constantly and consistently thankful that Frauke has come into her life. She is organized, strict, loving and happy. When Marcus goes to work and it is just Holly and Frauke alone with the kids, the house always feels lighter, happier, the energy changing entirely.

So now, awake again at 11 a.m., Holly gets up and makes herself a cup of tea, loving how quiet the house is in the middle of the day. This is the house she and Marcus lived in together well before the children were born. It is the house she bought expecting to fill it with children and animals, neighbours and friends popping in at all hours of the day and night. A house we can grow into, she thought. A house that will truly be a home.

Hollys mother was an interior decorator, and every house Holly had lived in as a child had been a project. As soon as the project was finished, the Macintosh family was on the move again. Holly had had bedrooms in every colour of the rainbow. She had had blue fairies, yellow Laura Ashley, hot fuchsia and gold leaf. She had attempted to stop attaching herself to these houses, but couldnt help the secret hope with every new move that perhaps this house would be the one her mother would fall in love with, perhaps this time she would finally have a home.

When she and Marcus found this house in Brondesbury, Holly knew that she would never leave. Five bedrooms for all the children she was convinced they would have, a large garden for barbecues and swing sets, a huge, dilapidated kitchen that Holly started mentally reorganizing as soon as they first saw it.

There is no doubt at all that it is home. Holly bought every piece of furniture herself, she trawled through dusty, fusty antique shops, spent months going to car-boot sales looking for that one special find, even buying several pieces on eBay, and getting burnt only twice. (One time it was a sofa that was supposed to be in great condition but it turned out that the picture on eBay was of a different sofa; and the other was an antique cherry sideboard that turned out to be riddled with woodworm.)

In so many ways, Holly has exactly the life she has always wanted. She still gets pleasure every time she comes home, and still, at least four times a week, she finds herself wandering around her house, leaning in doorways and looking at rooms, smiling at the home she has created.