Читать книгу The Stepmothers’ Support Group - Sam Baker - Страница 10

‘I’m sorry it’s been so long.’ Ian rolled over and planted a lingering kiss on her forehead. ‘I couldn’t get any decent overnight cover. Also, to be honest, their suspicions have been on high alert since they met you. Especially Hannah’s. They’re not stupid, after all.’

Eve wriggled up the mattress, so his lips trailed down her face until their lips met. His blue eyes were open, staring into hers as he began to do previously unimaginable things with his fingers. They didn’t say anything else for a long time.

‘I know it’s not ideal and I promise it won’t be for ever. Now they’ve met you, that’s the first hurdle over with. We just need to take it slowly, give them a chance to get used to the idea of there being someone else in our lives,’ he paused. ‘Someone important.’

Same subject, different setting.

They had dragged themselves out of bed and were now camped on Eve’s living-room floor sharing an impromptu picnic.

Joy surged through her. She felt irrationally, stupidly happy. As if she were fifteen again. Not that she’d ever felt like this when she was fifteen.

Smiling, Eve reached over the tea towel that doubled as a tablecloth, laden with pitta bread, hummus, carrot sticks and tubs of salads, to squeeze his hand. ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘The kids come first. You don’t need to explain.’

‘I do, though,’ he said. But his smile was grateful as he leant forward to kiss her again. As he did, the front of his shirt fell open, and Eve couldn’t help but stare at the trail of fair hair that led down his lean body into the waistband of his jeans.

When they were together, she felt sick with longing.

She loved him so much she felt physically ill with wanting. And when they were apart too, most of the time. It was just that, sometimes, at night or on a Sunday, when Ian had spent the weekend with the kids, and she’d exhausted Sky Plus and was on her fifth DVD of the day, she couldn’t help wondering if they really stood a chance.

There was no way he would have allowed her within a mile of his children if he wasn’t deadly serious. But this wasn’t a regular, every other weekend stepmum arrangement. There would be no collecting the children on Saturday morning, dropping them back on Sunday evening, and having the following weekend to recover. This was full-time, 24/7.

She didn’t know if she could handle that. More importantly, she didn’t know if the children would let her try. But she did know she wanted to.

The bottle of Sauvignon Blanc shook in her hand as she refilled his glass and then her own. When she looked up Ian was staring at her. ‘You all right?’ he asked.

‘Of course.’ She smiled before taking a sip. A gulp would have given her away.

‘Can I talk to you?’

Eve laughed. ‘Funny how you don’t ask if you can fuck me. And now you ask if we can talk!’

‘Eve, be serious.’

‘I was, sort of…Of course you can. Either or both,’ she couldn’t help adding.

The tension left his face and he slid a hand down the front of her dressing gown to cup her breast.

‘Talk first,’ he said, crawling around to her side of the picnic, and lying beside her, his head on his elbow, his face serious.

‘I need to tell you something,’ he said.

‘So, tell me.’

‘I’m so grateful, Eve…for everything, but above all for your patience. Believe me, I do know I’m asking a lot.’ She waved his apology away. ‘But there are other things about Caro and me. Things that might help you understand…About Hannah.’

‘What’s she said?’ Eve asked, before she could stop herself.

‘Nothing.’ Ian held up a hand. ‘Chill, OK. It’s going to be harder for her than for the others because she’s the eldest. When Caro became ill Hannah was seven. So she remembers…’ He hesitated. ‘What it was like before, I guess. She remembers things the others don’t. Especially not Alfie. He never really knew his mother. Not properly.’

Caro and me. The words tasted sour in Eve’s mouth. And she hadn’t been the one to speak them. When she looked up, Ian was watching her, obviously wondering whether to continue.

‘What does Hannah remember?’ Eve asked gently.

Ian rubbed his eyes. His skin had greyed, and in the fading light he looked older. For the first time, tiredness showed in the lines of his face.

‘Caro was ill for three years. Think about that. Hannah was ten when she died. A third of her life,’ he sighed. ‘The third she was old enough to remember properly.’

Eve felt her insides knot. She’d wanted to hear this. She needed to know how it had been. Not the publicfriendly version Ian gave in interviews. Had given her in an interview. But how it really was. Now it was coming, she was afraid of what he might be about to tell her.

‘Go on,’ she forced herself to say.

‘When Caro found the lump we didn’t tell Hannah or Sophie there was anything wrong. Even the hospital visits were fairly easy to hide. Alfie was tiny, the others were used to her being away. But then Caro needed a mastectomy.’

Wrapping her robe more tightly around her, Eve waited.

‘She didn’t want to have to hide away every time the girls came into the bathroom or our bedroom. And, of course, she couldn’t breastfeed Alfie any more. So, we told them.’

‘What?’ Eve asked.

‘Mummy needed an operation to make her better.’

Eve nodded.

‘Then, for a long time, Caro was in remission. And then, suddenly, she wasn’t. And the rest, as you know, is terrifyingly well-documented. But it’s not so much the illness that I need to explain to you. It’s my relationship with Caro.’

She felt sick. Eve wasn’t sure she did want this conversation after all. ‘Your relationship?’ she managed.

‘Yes, I’m horribly afraid Hannah has worked it out. The others haven’t. Unless she’s told them.’ Ian stopped, as the full implications of that hit him. ‘She wouldn’t,’ he said. ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t.’

Somehow both their glasses were empty again. Eve refilled Ian’s, but when she shifted to fetch another bottle, he reached out to stop her. His grip on her wrist was gentle but solid.

‘Please,’ he said. ‘If I stop now, I’m never going to start again. And I need to tell you. I need you to know everything. If we’re going to…if we’re going to make this work.’ He stared at her. ‘We are, aren’t we?’

She sat down. Her heart was pounding. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘The night Caroline died I wasn’t there. All right? I wasn’t there. Oh, I’d been there up to then. I’d been at the hospice for weeks. Originally she came home when we realized radio and chemo were only making things worse. But eventually she had to go into a hospice. For the kids’ sake. For mine, for her own, I don’t know…But we said it was for the kids.’

Ian took a gulp of wine, then another.

‘I took them to see Caro most days, after school. Or her mother did, when I was working. Although, by the end I’d stopped accepting commissions. We didn’t want the kids to live their day-to-day lives in a house where their mother was dying. Of course, they knew she was ill, very ill. But going to visit, even someone who’s unrecognizably ill, is different from sitting in the same room as them day after day. If you’re six, I mean, or ten.’

‘Or even thirty-eight,’ he added, almost to himself.

‘I’m talking about Sophie and Hannah, because Alfie was only three. I’m not sure what he knows, even now. He’s like “Is Mummy in heaven, Daddy? That’s good. You be Venom, I’ll be Spiderman”.’

Eve smiled, she couldn’t help it. It was so Alfie.

Ian nodded.

‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘The night Caro died I took the children home, gave them a bath and put them to bed. Hannah wasn’t asleep. I knew that, because I could see light under her bedroom door. Although I pretended I couldn’t. It was our ritual. Still is. After I tucked her in, we had a long conversation about Mummy and angels. I wasn’t expecting her to get much sleep that night.’

He looked so haggard by the memory Eve wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know how, so she remained silent and hoped that was right.

‘Gone eleven,’ Ian said. ‘My mobile rang. I knew it was the hospice before I even looked at the screen. They’d agreed to call my mobile instead of the house to avoid disturbing the kids. Caro had lapsed into unconsciousness. They thought it would be soon. Her mother was there already. Her father was on his way. Could I come back?’

This is it, Eve thought. Whatever he’s been wanting to say.

‘Eve, I didn’t even stop to think. There was nothing to think about. I just said no. Someone had to look after the kids. Someone had to get them up, washed, make their breakfast. Someone had to carry on, and that someone was me. That was the way life was. The way I knew life was going to be from that moment on. That’s what I told the nurse, and it’s what I told Caroline’s mother when she called two hours later to tell me her only daughter had gone. She was kind enough to pretend she believed me. But the truth is, I didn’t want to be there. I was done.’

Ian took a deep breath, and Eve watched him wonder if he was really going to say what he was about to say.

‘The truth is,’ he said. ‘We’d been done for years. Caro and I were only together because of the kids and the cancer; not necessarily in that order. Caro knew that, although we rarely spoke about it. And I assume her parents knew; but they were kind, they never judged me. They still don’t. The thing…the thing that worries me…’

He shrugged and eyed his now empty glass.

‘I’m fairly sure Hannah knows too.’

Dusk had fallen while they were talking, and the room was dark but for an orange glow from a street light through still-open curtains, and the tiny screen of the CD player, which had long since fallen silent. For once, the Kentish Town streets around Eve’s one-bedroom flat were quiet, without even the wail of a distant siren.

With Eve, the room held its breath.

It felt to Eve that whole minutes passed before he spoke again. As if they’d slipped into a slower time zone and if they went outside they’d discover time had passed everywhere but there.

‘I had an affair,’ he said. ‘So did she. One. More than one. I don’t know. It didn’t mean anything. It was symptomatic, I guess. Before Alfie was born. He was—what do you call them?—an Elastoplast baby, meant to stick us back together again. Poor little sod. Of course, he couldn’t. How could he? I wasn’t in love with Caroline, hadn’t been for years. She wasn’t in love with me, not any longer. We stayed together for the children, then I stayed for the cancer, then she started that damn newspaper column and our life—our family—became public property. With no way out, except the inevitable.’