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Fiona Gibson

The Mum Who’d Had Enough

The voice of modern women is back! Perfect for fans of Milly Johnson and Carole Matthews.

‘More than funny, it’s true!’ Elle

After sixteen years of marriage, Nate and Sinead Turner have a nice life. They like their jobs, they like their house and they love their son Flynn. Yes, it’s a very nice life.

Or, at least Nate thinks so. Until, one morning, he wakes to find Sinead gone and a note lying on the kitchen table listing all the things he does wrong or doesn’t do at all.

Nate needs to show Sinead he can be a better husband – fast. But as he works through Sinead’s list, his life changes in unexpected ways. And he starts to wonder whether he wants them to go back to normal after all. Could there be more to life than nice?

Buy link

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B077XB5KW6/ref=nosim?tag=av_tw-21

EXTRACT

As I near Hesslevale, I make a few firm decisions. Whatever happens tonight, no matter how upset and defensive I feel, I must not let any of that out. I’ll listen to my wife, and show that I don’t intend to take her for granted ever again – not that I ever have! Why does she even think this when I love her madly? WHY? Maybe it’s sex: i.e., we’ve not been having enough lately. Perhaps she thinks I don’t fancy her anymore, which patently isn’t true. In fact, we actually did it a few nights ago, which seemed to surprise us both – and it was lovely, as it always is. But all too often, we’re too knackered to do anything other than fall asleep when we climb into bed. Should we just forget our ‘meeting’ this evening and go straight upstairs, tell Flynn we’re tired? Would that fix everything?

Stopping at red lights on the edge of town, I try to disentangle my racing thoughts. A new restaurant has opened, called Elliot’s. I know it’s eye-wateringly expensive, but Eric and his wife Sarah have raved about how lovely it is. Maybe I should suggest dinner here sometime?

By the time I pull up in our street, I’ve almost managed to convince myself that Sinead just needs a damn good rant – then she’ll feel much better. However, the very fact that she is coming around at a specified time – 8 p.m. – makes it feel less like a ‘chat’ and more like court.

Your honour, I only decided to build the shelves myself because the quote that joiner gave was frankly astronomical …

I find Flynn in his room, emitting distinct ‘do not disturb’ vibes. We eat dinner together at the kitchen table, in a rather stilted atmosphere, my slimy noodles and ageing babycorn clearly failing to delight him, even with a liberal dousing of oyster sauce. In fact, Flynn seems to be merely combing his noodles with his fork. Given the circumstances – and the fact that he is virtually a fully grown man – it doesn’t feel right to tell him to stop playing with his food.

We clear up together, although it hardly seems worth the effort with just two bowls and one wok. As Flynn disappears back to his room, I try to occupy myself in our Sinead-less home by shining up the cooker hob and emptying the kitchen bin and then, when I can think of no other tasks to attend to, pacing randomly around the ground floor.

Finally – FINALLY! – here she comes, knocking lightly on the door (why is she knocking? This is her house too!). ‘Hi?’ she calls out, stepping into the hallway now, as if she were a neighbour popping in to ask to borrow a cup of sugar. No one borrows sugar anymore, I realise as I hurry through to greet her. Everyone has plenty of sugar of their own … ‘Hi, Nate,’ she says as Scout scrambles past me in order to throw himself at her. You can’t move out. Look how much he loves you!