A/N Have a chunk of this written so thought I would get the first few chapters up to kick things off. Hope you enjoy. Nearly got some other chapters boxed off for NY NY so will sort that soon - thanks for your R&R, always very much appreciated. It's good to be back - Painted x

The doorbell rang. I looked through the peep-hole. Thank God, it wasn't the journalist, only Liz. I opened the door to see my younger sister dressed like some kind of over-the-top rock star at ten in the morning. She was wearing dark sunglasses, skin tight jeans, six-inch heels and a tank top, with Dolce & Gabbana emblazoned across the chest.

'Subtle top, Liz. And in case you hadn't noticed, it's cloudy so you don't need the shades.'

'Out of the way.' She pushed past me, wheeling a suitcase behind her. 'What time is the photographer coming? You need a lot of work.'

'Thanks! The journalist from the London Evening Standard will be here to talk to Charles at half ten, and they're going to do the photo about eleven.'

'Thank God for that. I'll need a full hour. Now, for the love of God, make me a cup of coffee, will you? I'm really hung-over.'

'Morning Liz.' Charles came in and kissed her cheek. 'You're looking very...last night,' he said, with a grin.

Liz grinned back at him. 'You're right, Charles, these are last night's clothes.'

I spun around. 'Where did you stay?' I asked, hoping Liz wasn't sleeping around. She had to grow up. At twenty-seven, she needed to calm down, stop shagging random men and meet a nice guy.

'Chill, Molls, I crashed in a friend's house,' she drawled, sticking her head into the fridge, then drinking orange juice straight from the carton. 'A very cute, randy friend,' she added, giggling.

Before I could tell her off, Charles stood in front of me. 'How do I look?' He asked fiddling with his tie.

He looked very handsome. He was wearing his one and only suit - dark navy with a blue shirt and red tie. I noticed he was thinner. The suit was a little too big for him now. His brown eyes searched my face for approval. Where had my confident, self assured husband gone?

I went over to kiss him. 'You're gorgeous. Even cuter than when I first met you.'

He smiled, relaxing.

'You look like and accountant,' Liz said. 'You should lose the tie. You're a rugby coach, not a banker.'

'Ignore her,' I told him. 'You look very distinguished.'

'Thank you, darling.' He squeezed my hands; his palm was sweaty. 'Right. I'll leave you two to it. I want to go over my notes.'

As Charles walked out, the children came running in. 'Auntie Liz!' They squealed, when they saw her, and charged over.

Alexei and Lara adored Liz, because she talked to them as if they were adults. She never censored herself in front of them. She said exactly what was on her mind and the kids loved that. She also bought them completely unsuitable presents. For Christmas last year she had given Alexei a huge toy machine gun and Lara a big case filled with make-up, glitter, stick on nails, plastic earnings and bracelets.- a true treasure trove of girly junk.

Of course, I was the one who got shot by the little balls from Alexei's gun, and it was me who had to clean up the glitter that Lara stuck to all the furniture and cushions in the house. But they all got on well, which I liked, and the children brought out a nicer side to Liz. She genuinely cared about them. In fact, they were probably the only things she gave a damn about, apart from herself and her career.

Liz held up her hands to stop them. 'Hey, kids, what have I told you? Never call me "Auntie". I'm far too young for that. Just because your mother is ancient doesn't mean I am. Remember, I'm thirteen years younger than her.'

Lara put up her arms. Liz checked her little hands were clean, then lifted her up for a kiss. 'My God, you get more beautiful every time I see you. Not as beautiful as me, but still you're going in the right direction.'

Putting Lara down, she turned to Alexei. 'So shorty, what's up? Have you grown?'

Alexei nodded proudly. 'Three centimetres since I saw you.'

'Well, you won't be playing basketball anytime soon, but I suppose it's something. Now I've got a treat for you.'

'What is it?' Their eyes were wide with anticipation.

Liz pulled a box of Smarties out of her bag. Great, I thought, just what we need: sweets to make them hyper when there's a journalist on the way and we'd like him to see a nice, normal family.

They shrieked with delight. Liz handed the box to them. 'Run for your life, before the witch here gets hers hands on them and let's you have just one each.'

As they ripped open the box, I turned to my sister. 'Thanks so much. They'll be bouncing off the walls now.'

'I know, and their teeth will fall out and I won't be the one bringing them to the dentist and paying for fillings, blah blah blah. Come on Molls, live a little. It's a box of Smarties, not crack cocaine.'

I decided to change the subject. 'Did you ask your work people about Putney? Do any of them know the area? Any advice or tips for me? We'd been in Putney three days now, but I still had no real feel for the place.

Liz reapplied her lip-gloss while the children gorged themselves on Smarties. 'It's where all the boring people with kids live so you'll fit right in.'

"Gee thanks. I'm so glad to hear that,' I said, giving her a fake smile.

'Seriously,' she said, looking around, 'this place is depressing. All the houses on the road look exactly the same. I don't know why you didn't listen to me and get a cool loft in Soho.'

I shook my head. 'Because lofts are for people like you- young, selfish and single - not for some one like me who has two small kids. I need a garden so the children can run around in circles and tire themselves out instead of trashing the house.'

'Fine, whatever.' Liz polished off her coffee and ordered me upstairs for my make-over.

The suitcase, it turned out, contained a whole bunch of outfits Liz had borrowed from the wardrobe department at the TV show she presents. An hour later, having managed to squeeze myself into one of the fifteen dresses she'd brought, I was ready.

'Give us a twirl,' Liz said, and I obeyed. 'If I say so myself, I did a damn good job. Green is definitely your colour. It goes with those disapproving eyes - and, with the super-suction Spanx, the dress actually looks like it fits you properly.'

I heard the bell ring, and Charles opening the front door. He was greeting a man - it must be the journalist.

I studied myself critically in the mirror. My make-up was good, at least I was able to do that myself, and the dress was very flattering. Liz had insisted that I wear six-inch heels, to make my legs look thinner, and I had to admit that, although the shoes were torturously uncomfortable, they made a big difference. I smiled at myself. I was pleased with the overall result. I really wanted to look good for this photo. I knew it was important to Charles. He was determined to make sure his new job went smoothly and a good first impression was vital. He was still haunted by what had happened with the Australian team, and I knew he was determined not to put a foot wrong this time.

We went back downstairs. I still hadn't dressed the children, who were running around like lunatics in the garden in their pyjamas, high on sugar. I was waiting until the very last second to put in their freshly pressed clothes. Charles's interview was in progress. Liz and I watched them through the glass door that separated the kitchen from the living room.

The journalist was dressed very casually in a crumpled shirt and chinos. He was younger than Charles. His dictaphone lay on the coffee-table between them, but he was taking notes as well. Charles was sitting bolt upright on the couch, his hands clasped together in his lap. He seemed very tense.

'Are you worried you'll end up like your predecessor, out on your ear after nine months?' the journalist asked him.

Nine months! Charles hadn't told me that. He'd said the previous rugby manager hadn't worked out, but he hadn't mentioned the very brief timeline. Would we have to move again in nine months? Would anyone hire him if this job didn't work out, just like the last one? My stomach twisted.

Charles smiled stiffly. 'I'm planning to bring all the experience and success I had coaching in Australia to London. I'm confident I can turn this team around and have a long and fruitful career with them.'

'But your last position as assistant coach for your last Australian team, ended after only six months. What makes you think this will be different?'

'Ouch,' Liz muttered. 'Look at Charles's face.'

Damn! Why the hell had the journalist brought that up? It was so unfair. It hadn't been Charles's fault.

Charles crossed his arms and frowned deeply. "The last Australian position didn't work out because of a clash of personalities between the head coach, Franco Green and the Australian Rugby Federation. Unfortunately I was a casualty of that disagreement. The only reason I was let go was because of the new coach they hired, Jackson Hadley, wanted to bring his own assistant coach with him.

'Good answer,' I whispered.

'Yes, but his body language is really defensive,' Liz whispered back.

Charles was sitting with his arms still tightly folded across his chest. The Australian job fiasco had really knocked his confidence . I hated Franco Green with a passion. If he had just been a little less pig-headed and got on with managing the team, none of this would have happened and we'd be back home in Sydney, living our lovely life, and Charles would be his old self-assured and contented self.

'He's going to have to be tougher,' Liz said. 'He should tell the journalist to stick his stupid questions up his arse.'

'Keep your voice down!' I warned her. The last thing Charles needed was the journalist to hear insults being slung at him from the other room.

'Seriously, Molly, Charles needs to grow bigger balls. He can't go round being defensive and poor-me about his old job. It didn't work out. He should put some kind of spin on it and make it sound like he walked out on them, or he was keen to move back to the UK, or something.

She had a point. He'd need to be smoother and more polished for future interviews.

There were several more questions before they seemed to be wrapping things up, Charles tilted his head for me to come through. I took a deep breath and slid through the gap in the glass doors.

'Joe, this is my wife Molly.' I proffered my hand and plastered a smile on my face, but something caught my eye: it was Liz, waving at me from the doorway. 'Psycho smile,' she mouthed. 'Tone it down.' I tried to relax my facial muscles into a less alarming grimace.

Joe Kendall smiled at me and I couldn't help feeling like a mouse in a snake pit. 'OK. Well, thanks very much Charles. I'll just pop out and ask Eddie to come in for the photos now.'

Charles and I shook his hand, exchanged a relieved glance, and I ran out to wrestle the children into their clothes.

While the photographer was setting up, I watched Lara and Alexei sitting beside Charles on the couch. Alexei looked adorable in his little blue shirt. With his fair hair and bright blue eyes, he would have melted anyone's heart. And as for my little princess, she had inherited Charles dark brown curls, chocolate pools for eyes and his killer smile. When she smiled, two big dimples appeared,one on each cheek. It was adorable.

I marvelled at my two beautiful children and silently thanked God for giving me the gift of motherhood. Although my infertility, Alexei's adoption and then Lara's premature birth had been really difficult times, there was never a day went by when I didn't feel grateful that it had ended like this. These two children were my miracles, and I appreciated them all the more for having struggled so hard to have them.

As I watched my beautiful little ones snuggling into their dad's arms, I willed myself to be positive. We were a family, a unit, a team, and together we would make it work. I shook my hair over my shoulder and shot the most convincing smile I could manage at the camera lens.