THE ONLY BOY FOR ME

First-time novelist McNeil makes single motherhood, as sometimes suffered but mostly enjoyed by a freelance ad-producer in a quaint village near London, look awfully appealing.

The center of Annie's life is her six-year-old son Charlie, the happy result of an unhappy affair. Charlie’s father not only went back to his wife but also moved abroad, so he’s conveniently out of the picture. Annie’s job allows her to work at home much of the time. When she’s away on a commercial shoot, she depends on an enviable network of supportive friends and family. Annie recounts her daily life with the beloved but demanding Charlie—his tantrums, his food requirements, his way of sneaking into her bed at night—in a self-revealing approach reminiscent of Anne Lamott heroines. She engages us in her routines: taking Charlie to and from school, drinking (coffee or gin) with her women friends, working on comically nightmarish commercial shoots. Soon, not unexpectedly, a man enters the picture. Mac, a divorced ad executive with two kids and lots of money, is immediately as crazy about Annie as she is about him. He is handsome and romantic. He and Charlie like each other; even better, his son and Charlie quickly become best buddies. His only flaws are his less-than-total devotion to his children and his too-frequent need to be the center of attention (in other words, he’s a man). The story’s crisis occurs when Charlie comes down with meningitis. Parents, friends, and Mac rally round the distraught Annie while Charlie receives excellent medical care. He makes a speedy recovery, but not before Annie has been reminded just how precious he is to her. Weeks later, Mac takes a job in New York and asks her to marry and move there with him. Like a more mature Bridget Jones, she turns him down, leaving room for a sequel down the road.

Not very deep but undeniably entertaining.