Publication date 18th July 2019
About the book
Can neighbours become more than good friends...
After her husband left her, Ali and her daughter Grace enjoyed living in what became known as 'the Single Mums' Mansion'. However, with her best friends Amanda and Jacqui moving on, it's time for Ali and Grace to make their own way. Thankfully, a chance conversation leads to them moving into the infamous South London gated community known only as 'The Mews'.
In 'The Mews' everyone lives in each other's pockets and curtain twitching is an Olympic sport. The neighbours are an eclectic bunch – from Nick the alleged spy, Carl the gorgeous but clearly troubled Idris Elba lookalike, to Debbie who is about to face the hardest fight of her life, and TV agent Samantha who is not as in control as she likes to pretend.
Each day brings another drama, but along with the tears, real friendships grow. And her neighbours' problems might unlock the key to something Ali has yearned for all along...
Based on a true story – you'll never be able to look at your neighbours quite the same way again...
Perfect for fans of Marian Keyes, Mhairi McFarlane and Helen Fielding.
In 'The Mews' everyone lives in each other's pockets and curtain twitching is an Olympic sport. The neighbours are an eclectic bunch – from Nick the alleged spy, Carl the gorgeous but clearly troubled Idris Elba lookalike, to Debbie who is about to face the hardest fight of her life, and TV agent Samantha who is not as in control as she likes to pretend.
Each day brings another drama, but along with the tears, real friendships grow. And her neighbours' problems might unlock the key to something Ali has yearned for all along...
Based on a true story – you'll never be able to look at your neighbours quite the same way again...
Perfect for fans of Marian Keyes, Mhairi McFarlane and Helen Fielding.
About the author
Janet Hoggarth has worked on a chicken farm, as a bookseller, children’s book editor and DJ with her best friend (under the name of Whitney and Britney). She has published several children’s books, the most recent ones written under the pseudonym of Jess Bright. Her first adult novel The Single Mums’ Mansion, a huge bestseller, was based on her experiences of living communally as a single parent.
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Extract from the book
The housing situation hadn’t always been this dire. A few years ago I’d had it all – the roomy Victorian semi near Amanda with the ubiquitous stripped wooden floors and a free-standing Habitat kitchen (something of great beauty in the noughties). Added to that, I’d had a mad chocolate Labrador called Max, a stepdaughter, and a fiancé who also happened to be my agent. I kept having to pinch myself when I finally fell pregnant – all my life goals were real and happening in vivid Technicolor. Until my now ex-fiancé, Jim, had left me holding a newborn baby and sold our perfect house from under my feet to move in with Hattie (now his wife). Completely heartbroken and homeless with baby Grace, I had ended up moving in with Amanda for a few years while Grace metamorphosed from a baby into a strong-willed toddler. During our time in the house we affectionately called the Single Mums’ Mansion, we became a patchwork family, along with Jacqui, another single mum. We spent Christmases together, hosted crazy parties, snogged unreliable men and helped each other through such an emotionally corrosive time that we formed an unbreakable bond. These women were like my family.
On the other hand, it gradually dawned on me that living in Amanda’s attic with Grace, as if we were a couple of students, wasn’t conducive to finding a much-wanted long-term partner. Grace and I needed our own space once she’d reached three, and we had to let Amanda move on with her life after she’d met Chris. Realising this had been a huge blow, but I knew it made sense. Leaving the safety net of the Single Mums’ Mansion to forge my new life had felt like losing a limb. In the first few weeks away from the house, I’d continually questioned my sanity on the matter. I desperately missed the cosy warmth of the attic and the nightly catch-ups in the kitchen over a glass of red. I’d found myself crying at the sink when washing up, and Grace had wailed for the entire first week: ‘Mummy, I want go home. I miss ’Manda.’ My heart broke for her – the Single Mums’ Mansion had been the only home she had ever known and Amanda was her other mummy. But every time anxiety swamped me, I heard Mini Amanda give me a pep talk inside my head: This is your life, own it, live it, accept it. What will be will be…
Mum had moved round the corner in Penge for a few months once her house in Spain had sold. Just having her there acted as a buffer against the low-level grey fug I couldn’t shake off since leaving Amanda’s. I’d been so excited about spending more time with Mum after she’d lived abroad for years, and Grace now had a granny she could see all the time. Dan and Alex, my brothers, were both married and had hectic family lives, and with Dad dying so suddenly four years ago it had felt all the more important that Mum lived near me.
However, after only six months it had been obvious that she was unhappy. I’d thought it was just because she didn’t like Penge. I didn’t blame her for that: every time I said ‘Penge’ out loud the word ‘minge’ reverberated in my head. I had suggested we club together to find a place in East Dulwich, but she’d been adamant. ‘I’ve missed my chance at London, love. It’s too busy, too impersonal. You and Grace are here and I love that, you know I do, but I can’t live your life. I have to live my own.’
Mum headed for the south coast to be near Uncle Graham. I’d balled my eyes out as I’d driven off, leaving her in the cute little cottage in the centre of Whitstable, but I could see she was thrilled. ‘Don’t worry, Mummy, we can always visit. Granny Annie said so,’ Grace wisely told me from the back seat. ‘Don’t be sad.’ But it wouldn’t be the same. I’d loved having that local family connection even if it had been only for a short while. It had made me feel cosseted, just like my time in the Single Mums’ Mansion. Grace and I were alone once more…
Left to my own devices my life started to go completely off the rails with no grown-ups to rein me in. I’d lost count of the number of times I would say on a Sunday night after a particularly wonky weekend: ‘Monday is the start of a whole new me!’, but it must have been quite a few because Jacqui had threatened to get it printed on a T-shirt. By Thursday I would be climbing the walls and, in the weeks that Grace was off to her dad’s, the bar-hopping treadmill would restart, more often than not dragging along terminally single Ursula, one of my uni mates, Jacqui, or Amanda. Not even the lure of my latest discovery, Radio Four, could keep the ants in my pants at bay. But my love of it did seem to mark my inevitable slide into middle age, especially when combined with a sudden interest in garden centres (I didn’t have a garden) and a new appreciation for the benefits of flossing one’s teeth in the knowledge that preserving your own set was essential with time ticking.
On the other hand, it gradually dawned on me that living in Amanda’s attic with Grace, as if we were a couple of students, wasn’t conducive to finding a much-wanted long-term partner. Grace and I needed our own space once she’d reached three, and we had to let Amanda move on with her life after she’d met Chris. Realising this had been a huge blow, but I knew it made sense. Leaving the safety net of the Single Mums’ Mansion to forge my new life had felt like losing a limb. In the first few weeks away from the house, I’d continually questioned my sanity on the matter. I desperately missed the cosy warmth of the attic and the nightly catch-ups in the kitchen over a glass of red. I’d found myself crying at the sink when washing up, and Grace had wailed for the entire first week: ‘Mummy, I want go home. I miss ’Manda.’ My heart broke for her – the Single Mums’ Mansion had been the only home she had ever known and Amanda was her other mummy. But every time anxiety swamped me, I heard Mini Amanda give me a pep talk inside my head: This is your life, own it, live it, accept it. What will be will be…
Mum had moved round the corner in Penge for a few months once her house in Spain had sold. Just having her there acted as a buffer against the low-level grey fug I couldn’t shake off since leaving Amanda’s. I’d been so excited about spending more time with Mum after she’d lived abroad for years, and Grace now had a granny she could see all the time. Dan and Alex, my brothers, were both married and had hectic family lives, and with Dad dying so suddenly four years ago it had felt all the more important that Mum lived near me.
However, after only six months it had been obvious that she was unhappy. I’d thought it was just because she didn’t like Penge. I didn’t blame her for that: every time I said ‘Penge’ out loud the word ‘minge’ reverberated in my head. I had suggested we club together to find a place in East Dulwich, but she’d been adamant. ‘I’ve missed my chance at London, love. It’s too busy, too impersonal. You and Grace are here and I love that, you know I do, but I can’t live your life. I have to live my own.’
Mum headed for the south coast to be near Uncle Graham. I’d balled my eyes out as I’d driven off, leaving her in the cute little cottage in the centre of Whitstable, but I could see she was thrilled. ‘Don’t worry, Mummy, we can always visit. Granny Annie said so,’ Grace wisely told me from the back seat. ‘Don’t be sad.’ But it wouldn’t be the same. I’d loved having that local family connection even if it had been only for a short while. It had made me feel cosseted, just like my time in the Single Mums’ Mansion. Grace and I were alone once more…
Left to my own devices my life started to go completely off the rails with no grown-ups to rein me in. I’d lost count of the number of times I would say on a Sunday night after a particularly wonky weekend: ‘Monday is the start of a whole new me!’, but it must have been quite a few because Jacqui had threatened to get it printed on a T-shirt. By Thursday I would be climbing the walls and, in the weeks that Grace was off to her dad’s, the bar-hopping treadmill would restart, more often than not dragging along terminally single Ursula, one of my uni mates, Jacqui, or Amanda. Not even the lure of my latest discovery, Radio Four, could keep the ants in my pants at bay. But my love of it did seem to mark my inevitable slide into middle age, especially when combined with a sudden interest in garden centres (I didn’t have a garden) and a new appreciation for the benefits of flossing one’s teeth in the knowledge that preserving your own set was essential with time ticking.
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