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getting her hands dirty. In fact, thought Maddy, Mrs Notley was here to tick a box on her list of jobs to be done, and to make sure this new wife knew who the boss’s wife was.
    â€˜It’s colic,’ Maddy explained, as Mrs Notley (no invitation to call her by her first name, Maddy had noticed) raised an eyebrow in her son’s direction.
    â€˜Poor you,’ said Mrs Notley. ‘I was lucky, I’ve had four children and not one suffered.’ But there was no doubt in Maddy’s mind that Mrs Notley didn’t think
luck
had played a part at all. ‘Still,’ she’d breezed on, ‘colic or no colic, I’ve no doubt you can’t wait to get stuck into regimental life.’
    Maddy tried hard to arrange her expression into something that might be taken for enthusiasm rather than horror.
    â€˜Unless,’ continued Mrs Notley, with a hint of a sneer, ‘you’re going to be one of these career women.’
    Shit, thought Maddy, since when did having a job and earning money become socially unacceptable? She’d heard that in some circles the only acceptable career for an officer’s wife was supporting her husband’s, but she’d never really taken it seriously. But now… sheesh, how last century was
that
?
She grabbed Nate out of his chair while she tried to think of an ambivalent answer.
    â€˜Mrs Notley…’ She paused, waiting for the ‘call-me-whatever’
invitation
.
Nope. ‘To be honest, right now I can’t think of anything beyond unpacking and Nate’s colic. He’s only a few months old,’ she added, although wasn’t it obvious, especially to someone who had had four kids?
    â€˜But soon you’ll be
raring
to get back into harness. And as soon as you are, I am sure you’ll be
dying
to make yourself useful as a regimental wife.’
    When I do get any energy back, I’m going to be
raring
to earn money and
dying
to do a proper job, thought Maddy desperately. Fuck being a volunteer drudge for the regiment. But she had an awful feeling that the sentiment was going to be unacceptable. Mrs Notley might have managed to be the Perfect Officer’s Wife, while she’d been popping out kids like peas, but all Maddy could cope with right now was getting through each day.
    Still, she thought, pushing the last nightmare visit into a corner, this was Caro at the door, not Mrs Bloody Notley, so she slapped on a smile and tried to look welcoming.
    â€˜Hon, this is a big ask,’ said Caro, ‘but Will is back and wants feeding, and I’m out of bread. The kids ate the last for their tea and the Spar is shut. Any chance you can bail me out?’
    Thank God, thought Maddy, a sensible request, not something that was going to require a huge personal sacrifice of either her time or her career prospects or both. ‘Good grief, yes. It’s not a big ask at all, I’ve got at least one loaf in the freezer, if not several.’
    Caro followed her into the house as Maddy went to find the bread. ‘I see you’re still battling with the move,’ she said, looking at the piles of kitchen equipment still waiting to be put away.
    Maddy returned with the loaf. ‘I’m being pathetically slow, aren’t I?’ She knew of some wives who could get a house completely straight in just a few days.
    Caro flashed her a smile. ‘Absolutely not. In fact I think you’re doing wonderfully well, considering you did the move on your own with a tiny baby.’
    â€˜Why is it that us wives always seem to end up doing it? The men seem to have to be in their new post before we can leave the old house, or go straight off on an exercise the instant we arrive.’
    â€˜They plan it that way,’ said Caro, giggling. ‘Actually, I shouldn’t joke, they probably do!’ Maddy handed over the loaf. ‘Thanks,’ said Caro. ‘I’ll bring you a replacement in the morning.