The Stepmothers’ Support Group

Although Elaine held up a hand to stop Eve speaking, Eve had no intention of uttering a word. ‘I’m sure she’s not easy. Any fool can see that. But what I am saying is it’s up to you to make it work. You’re the adult in this equation. Hannah’s the child, whatever she likes to pretend otherwise. And she misses her mother terribly.’

Eve nodded, slowly. She was listening with every nerve in her body, but she hadn’t a clue what Elaine expected her to say.

‘However scared you are, her fear is far greater. Remember that.’

‘I will,’ Eve managed.

‘I watched my son go through a lot,’ Elaine said. ‘Far more than any mother wants to see her child suffer. Caroline’s death was awful, just awful. And why she had to write that damn column I don’t know. Ian hated it, we all did. But then I suppose he’s told you that. All we can do is hope they never make the film.’

Eve felt her eyes bulge in horror, and buried her face in her glass before Elaine could see her shock.

What bloody film?

She forced herself to push the question to the back of her mind. Save it, she urged herself. Don’t let her see you don’t know.

She would ask Ian later—if she ever got him on his own.

‘Caro was no saint, you know,’ Elaine was saying. ‘I’m sure he’s told you that, too. If he hasn’t—out of respect for her memory, or some such—I’m telling you now. No matter what you’ve read in the papers, she wasn’t some heroine. Oh she was brave, braver in public than in private, is my understanding, but who isn’t? But ill or not, courageous or not, Caro wasn’t perfect. Mind you, I don’t doubt that Ian is less than perfect when you’re not his mother.’

Elaine smiled, her eyes were softer now. ‘Now,’ she said. ‘I want my son to be happy. And if you make him happy—and you must, or he wouldn’t have invited you here—that’s good enough for his father and me. But I’m telling you it won’t be easy. In fact, prepare yourself for it being very, very hard. But you will have me on your side, that I promise you. While you are on Ian’s side, Tom and I will always be firmly on yours.’

She reached across the table, and placed a thin hand over Eve’s own. Despite its papery skin, her grip was strong.

‘You are the first, you realize that?’

Eve nodded. She hadn’t been sure before this weekend, but now it was obvious. Oh, she was certain there had been women before her; one-nighters, maybe two, but they hadn’t mattered enough for Ian to let them into his and his children’s life. Or, for that matter, his parents’.

‘Good. That’s clear then.’ The old woman was reaching the end of her speech. ‘But if you hurt him or my grandchildren…I assure you, my dear, I may be old, but I’m tougher than I look. You won’t know what hit you.’

‘I won’t,’ Eve said, finding her voice in the face of the older woman’s resolve. ‘Hurt them, I mean. I love Ian, Mrs Newsome…’

‘Eve?’ The kitchen door opened and Ian’s head appeared around it. He took in the table, the wine, the two glasses and the ghost of a hastily withdrawn hand. ‘Mum? What’s going on?’

Pushing back her chair, Elaine climbed to her feet. ‘Nothing dear. Eve and I were just having a little chat.’

‘Eve?’

Eve drained her glass in one. She felt as if a tsunami had washed over her and she had come out the other side. Alive, just barely, and clinging to a tree.

‘Uh-huh. Like your mother said. Just a little chat.’

NINE

‘Wake up, wake up, wake up!’

Hammering, loud, long and very, very hard. Eve wasn’t sure if it was inside her head or outside, but she knew it hurt. A lot. Surely she hadn’t drunk that much? Mentally she tried to tot up the Pimm’s, the glasses of rosé, then there was a bottle of beer and that final glass of Chablis…

‘Wake UP!’

No, definitely outside her head, but now inside the room. Inside the room, on her bed and, if she didn’t open her eyes in the next few seconds, she imagined it would be on her head.

‘Alfie, stop!’ came Ian’s voice. ‘What bit of “Let’s take Eve a cup of tea and wake her up gently” didn’t you understand?’

Eve opened one eye and found herself nose to nose with a small blond boy, his hair standing on end at the back of his head, where he’d slept on it and so far evaded all threat of a brush.

‘Hello,’ she said, hauling herself onto one elbow and risking a small hug. He hugged her back and she was surprised to feel a surge of something more than pleasure.

‘Would you like a Jammy Dodger?’

‘Alfie…’ Eve could hear a warning note in Ian’s voice, but it was too early in the day for her family code-breaker to be functioning.

‘Erm, no thanks. It’s a bit early for me.’

‘See, I told you she…’

‘Pleeeese Eve, you gotta have a Jammy Dodger.’ It was one of those wails that could go in either direction.

‘OK, OK…I’ll have a Jammy Dodger.’ If it mattered that much, the least she could do was have a biscuit with her tea.

‘See Dad!’ The little boy jumped off her bed and raced for the door, his Spiderman pyjamas a whirr of blue and red. A second later, she could hear his feet as he pounded down the stairs.

‘What a pushover,’ Ian said. ‘Budge up.’ She moved her legs to one side and he perched beside them, squeezing her knee through the floral duvet. ‘You’re just too easy.’

Eve grinned. ‘Speak for yourself.’ But before either one could find out just who was easy around here, she spotted a flash of pink bobble lurking beyond the door.

Just as well, as the door crashed open again, and Alfie appeared carrying a plate with four Jammy Dodgers skidding around precariously. By the time the plate reached Eve, two had vanished.

‘We’re not allowed biscuits before breakfast,’ said a voice from the landing. Sophie sounded put out.

‘Granny said OK.’ Crumbs sprayed from Alfie’s mouth as he spoke. ‘I can have a biscuit if Eve does.’

Eve heard a bedroom door slam.

‘A biscuit. So, where’s the other one?’ Ian asked. But it was too late, the second Jammy Dodger had gone from Alfie’s dressing-gown pocket to his mouth in a flash.

‘Alfie!’

‘Can’t didn’t won’t!’

‘Alfie, what have I told you…?’

But boy and biscuit were long gone. Eve realized she had, indeed, been had. Used up and tossed away by a five year-old mercenary who knew a fast track to a snack when he saw one and wasn’t above using it.

‘Can’t didn’t won’t? ’ she asked

‘All-purpose denial.’ Ian couldn’t help grinning. ‘Can’t do it, didn’t do it, won’t do it. One size fits all.’

Eve was impressed. Maybe it would work on Miriam? ‘I didn’t even know they made Jammy Dodgers any more.’

‘I know, disgusting things. They’re all E-numbers. Reckon they must be in the granny handbook. Those, and those horrible sports biscuits with icing on one side and pictures of stick men playing tennis and cricket on the other. She has a limitless supply of the damn things. Dread to think what their sell-by date was. Begins with nineteen probably. Used to drive Ca—’ he stopped, aware of what he’d almost said.

Caro mad, Eve wanted to finish for him. Of course it had, of course Caroline would have been the queen of organic. No E-numbers in the Newsome household then, that was for sure.

They were saved by a second flash of pink in the gap where door met hinges. ‘Would you like a Jammy Dodger?’ Eve said, looking past Ian, to where she knew Sophie lurked on the landing outside.

Silence.

‘Sophie? Would you like a biscuit?’

A be-bobbled head peered around the door into Eve’s room. ‘Am I allowed one, Daddy?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Ian said. ‘Just this once.’

The girl ventured in, coming just close enough to the bed to take the remaining biscuit before backing away again. She was already dressed in denim jeans with pink embroidery on the pockets and pink everything else.

‘Thank you for lending me your room,’ Eve said. ‘It was kind of you. Your bed’s very comfortable.’

The girl smiled, pleased, but didn’t speak.

‘What d’you say Sophie?’ Ian coaxed.

‘It’s OK, but my sleeping bag’s really prickly.’

Eve burst out laughing.

‘Sophie!’ Ian rolled his eyes.

‘Well,’ she said, bottom lip wobbling. ‘It is.’

‘I’ll swap you for your duvet if you want,’ Eve offered.

‘No,’ Ian said. ‘You won’t. Anyway, Granny and Grandpa are going today so there’ll be enough duvets for everyone tonight.’

Breakfast at the cottage was chaotic, all dogs, children, Rice Krispies and spilt milk, but that was as nothing compared to the fight for the children’s bathroom. Were mornings always like this? Eve wondered. Getting to the office on time was about the full extent of her usual morning achievements. How Ian got three kids washed, dressed and to school with all the necessary equipment and all before nine, she had no idea. And as for doing it without them looking as if they’d been dragged through a hedge backwards…it was beyond her. OK, so he usually had Inge, the au pair, who had returned home for a holiday…but, even so, Eve was impressed. And slightly appalled. Although there was no way she’d let Ian’s mother get a whiff of that.

‘Can I give you a hand?’ she asked Ian’s father, as he staggered downstairs, carrying a large suitcase. He stopped, taking advantage of the opportunity to rest the case on the bottom step and catch his breath. ‘If you can lift this you’re tougher than you look,’ he said. ‘But I’m not about to find out. Ian would kill me if you did yourself a damage.’

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