The Single Mums' Secrets - Janet Hoggarth Page 0,6

Lasagne For One stashed in the freezer lurking behind half a wholemeal loaf of bread I’d rammed in there six months ago to stop it going off. I hated cooking. Well, hate is too strong a word for warming up limp leftovers in a microwave or shoving a ready meal in the oven. Since Tom and I had split up, I’d found cooking for one a miserable exercise.

‘Yeah, why not? My dinner can stay in the freezer for a bit longer.’

‘I can make you something if you want. I haven’t eaten yet. I don’t like eating on my own.’

‘Where’s Nick?’ Nick was Ali’s boyfriend, who also happened to reside in the Mews, a few doors further up on my side.

‘He’s at a work do; I’m not seeing him until Friday, which suits me just fine. I feel like a headless chicken at the moment; work is so busy. Not that I’m complaining!’

Theirs was one of those obvious yin/yang relationships. Nick revelled in his own yin-ness (quiet in large groups, very chilled, a good listener), while Ali’s overenthusiastic yang brought the party to any occasion. The Mews with all its interwoven and occasionally complicated neighbourhood relationships often felt like co-existing in a BBC televised social experiment, City Life in the 2000s. I could hear the theme tune in my head. I fancied it sounded a bit like the reassuring plucky strings of The Great British Bake Off.

I had grown up on an anodyne eighties cul-de-sac in Haslemere, a small bucolic market town in Surrey, with Louise, my parents and a similar gaggle of neighbours to the Mews. Thus the gated community wasn’t such an alien concept to me, and probably why I felt right at home.

When I’d first moved in, I’d been clueless about the inhabitants and daily aspersions that apparently ricocheted round the Mews like a tennis ball. But as with all decently paced TV shows, the drama progressively unfolded over time, hooking me in. I soon learned that Jo had moved out of her house to avoid Debbie, a divorced college professor and breast cancer survivor, whom she used to date. Norman, the older gentleman, was a single gay man recently reunited with his estranged family. He had sidestepped retirement to work as a make-up artist on a YouTube fashion vlog with Ali.

Flamboyant Samantha lived next door to him – she was a widowed talent agent in her early sixties with grown-up sons living abroad. She also happened to be Ali’s agent and it was in her living room that the vlog, Clothes My Daughter Steals, was filmed. Ali, the fashion stylist, was co-host with a very youthful Lila Chan, a previous winner from The X Factor. The girls and Norman presented a slot on Good Morning with David and Mina on Channel Five, giving lucky viewers make-overs.

When the receptionists at the surgery found out that Ali was my neighbour, I was inundated with begging emails to get them on the TV show or the vlog for a free make-over. Elinor, a glamorous divorcee in her late sixties, shared a half house with Ali opposite me. Elinor had been single for years, but was now dating Norman’s widower brother, Ambrose. It gave me hope I wasn’t going to die alone being ripped apart by my cats (note to self, do not get clichéd cats).

Carl, a photographer, lived in the next-door half house to Ali and Elinor. He was a widower – his wife had died five years ago. No one really knew much about the two guys he shared the half house with. They were both called Ben and refused to be drawn into anything to do with the Mews.

My favourite member of the Mews was Francesca the shaman. She lived on the corner plot with Ian, the father of her two teenage daughters. Standing on the scientific side of the healing fence, I took a wide view of alternative therapies. Some of them I knew complemented traditional medicine very well. The ancient practice of acupuncture was one of them, osteopathy another and I would throw reiki in there too, purely for relaxation. Shamanism was a whole other ball game, steeped in ancient mystery and indigenous Peruvian culture. I found it fascinating.

While Ali prepared us dinner, I perched at the breakfast bar and we talked about the funeral and poor Louise.

‘She should try and find a support group. I lived with Amanda and her kids while she went through her divorce and Jim left us when Grace was a