Читать книгу The Stepmothers’ Support Group - Sam Baker - Страница 13

‘This it, love?’

Eve peered from the taxi’s window across a gravel drive littered with dusty four by fours and expensive but lowkey cars to a solid farmhouse built from weather-beaten Cornish granite. Above the screech of seagulls she could hear the squeals of small children.

‘Sounds like it,’ she said, pushing a ten pound note and some loose change into the driver’s hand as she took the case he hauled from the boot.

It looked like it too. Eve wheeled her case between a Subaru and a Lexus, and narrowly avoided squashing a Power Ranger standing guard on a manhole cover. She bent to collect it, then stopped. Alfie was here, it said. He might not thank her for moving it.

The front door was on the latch for late arrivals and opened at first push. Dragging her case across a flagstoned hall, she lent it against a wall and slipped Hannah’s birthday card and present (Topshop vouchers—no chances this time) from her handbag, then folded her jacket—creased from the heat, the journey and being clutched too tightly—and dumped it on top of the case beside her handbag. There was no doubt the house itself was empty; but the shrieks of children and low-level murmur of adult conversation was louder now. Eve took a deep breath.

She was in no doubt what a big deal this was, not just for Ian and his children, but for his entire family. For more than two years since Caroline’s death, there had been nothing and no one in his life but the children, and getting them from one day to the next. And now, here was Eve…

Although, somehow, meeting his parents had turned into something even bigger. What Ian hadn’t made clear—at least not until there was no turning back—was thatshe’d be meeting the extended Newsome clan at the same time.

‘It’ll be great,’ Ian had promised when he’d called from Cornwall earlier in the week to check her train times. ‘The weather’s amazing and it’s meant to hold. So Ma thought it might be fun to have a barbecue in the garden, Saturday lunchtime. It’s Hannah’s birthday, so it’s her party really. My parents will be there, obviously. My brother, his wife and kids are coming over from their place in Devon. There’s a cousin or two, nothing too terrifying. Oh, and a couple of neighbours.’

Safety in numbers, that was what he’d said. Hiding in plain sight. There’d be so much going on it would take the focus off her, off them. Far from being the main event, she’d be just another guest on a lazy summer’s afternoon. And that had made sense to Eve. At the time. But that was before engineering works on the line from Paddington had added ninety minutes to her journey and she’d felt obliged to call Ian with an offer of making her own way from the station. How hard could it be, after all?

Smoothing down her top, she followed the noise.

An open door to her right led into a large sitting room that stretched from front to back. Its parquet floors were barely visible beneath a chaos of threadbare Persian rugs, and mismatched chairs and sofas covered with cushions and throws. The effect should have been a fight in a jumble sale, instead it was relaxed and cosy.

At the far end, French doors spilled out onto a terrace and lawns that led across to the fields beyond the garden’s limits. This was some holiday home, bigger by far than her own parents’ only home. A fold-out table inside the doors was laden with presents, some opened, some still neatly wrapped, and in the middle, in pride of place, stood a large birthday cake iced in pink with a large, garish number thirteen, marked in candles. To Eve’s eye, the pastel icing bore Sophie’s unmistakable hallmark.

Propping her card against a pile of unopened presents, Eve moved to the French doors. The lawn was packed. A few friends? She’d hate to be around when Ian’s parents organized a large party. Where the terrace met the grass she could see Ian, standing by the large brick barbecue, talking to a stockier man wearing a navy and white striped apron. At first glance he looked nothing like Ian, but on closer inspection his nose gave the relationship away. Eve guessed she was looking at Ian’s younger brother, Rob. The ‘boys’ were obviously on barbecue duty. Ian’s eyes found her and his face broke into a grin.

‘Eve!’ he called. ‘You made it! Over here!’

A dozen heads swivelled, Meerkat-like, faces full of illsuppressed curiosity. Smiling nervously, Eve looked for the quickest route from where she stood to Ian’s side. Not that she expected this to afford her much protection. As she did so a small whirlwind swirled through the tanned legs and deck shoes of a group that stood drinking Pimm’s on the terrace.

‘Eeeve!’ shouted Alfie, hurling himself at her, another small boy in tow. ‘Did you bring me a present?’ Although they had now spent several Saturday lunchtimes together with no further gifts forthcoming, this was still his preferred opening gambit.

Resisting the urge to hug him, Eve bent down to ruffle his hair instead.

‘Hello Alfie, what you up to?’

‘Winning!’ He grinned and turned to smack a black Power Ranger against the other boy’s toy. Eve wondered if anyone had ever explained the concept of playing nicely to Alfie.

Someone else obviously felt the same way.

‘Alfie, behave. Now go and tell Daddy we need him over here.’

The woman who spoke was tall, slim and elegant in a beige cotton skirt and white short-sleeved blouse and cream sandals. Around seventy, she had the stature and aura of someone much younger, someone used to people noticing her. Someone like Caroline, had Caroline lived to see her eighth decade.

‘But Graneee…’

‘Alfie,’ the woman’s voice was gentle but firm, ‘go and fetch Daddy for me, there’s a good boy. And take Danny with you.’

‘How do you do?’ The woman held out her hand with a smile. ‘I’m Elaine, Ian’s mother.’

‘I’m Eve,’ said Eve, unnecessarily. ‘It’s nice to meet you. I’m so sorry I’m late. The train…’

The woman waved her apology away.

As she did so, Eve couldn’t help noticing that Ian’s mother took in every particular of Eve’s appearance.

‘I’m delighted to meet you, dear. You’re something of a hit with my grandson, I gather. And my son, of course, but I imagine that goes without saying.’

No, thought Eve. She would never tire of hearing it. Instead she smiled with relief. ‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘They’re something of a hit with me too.’

‘Eve…you’ve obviously met my mother.’ Eve felt a warm arm slide around her waist and resisted the temptation to sink gratefully into Ian.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You look like you need a drink…Ma, another Pimm’s?’

Ian’s mother waved her half-full glass and shook her head. ‘Not for me dear. I’d better go and see what your brother is burning on the barbecue.’

‘How was that?’ asked Ian, leading her by the hand to a white-clothed table that had been set up at the side of the terrace with metal buckets full of iced beer and bowls of punch. ‘Survive the first encounter?’

Eve took an indecently large gulp of Pimm’s and nodded. ‘So far so good,’ she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. She glanced behind her. ‘One down…Ooh, about twenty total strangers to go.’

‘You don’t have anything to worry about,’ he said. ‘Everyone here wants me to be happy. And you make me happy.’

A wave of pleasure flooded through her.

He leant forward and, for a split second, she thought he was going to kiss her full on the lips in front of his entire family, but his mouth slid sideways and he nuzzled her cheek before pulling back, just as Sophie appeared at his side and wrapped her arms around his middle. ‘Daddy,’ she said.

‘Have you said hello to Eve yet?’

Sophie shook her head and her pink braided topknot bobbed. ‘Hello Eve,’ she said. ‘Did you see the cake I made for Hannah?’

Ian laughed. ‘I think Granny might have helped.’

‘Excellent icing,’ Eve said.

Sophie glowed. ‘That bit was mine.’

‘Definitely the best bit,’ Eve agreed. ‘Much too good to eat.’

Ian choked on his beer and whispered, ‘Nice try, but you don’t get out of it that easily.’

Half an hour later Eve had completed a circuit of the entire garden, been appraised and assessed by twenty pairs of eyes and shaken as many hands. Other than Ian’s immediate family—his brother Rob, Jill, his wife, and their children Danny and Ella—she remembered not a single name.

Rob had given Eve a hug, kissed her on the cheek and said he was glad—really glad—to meet her finally. (He was so obviously genuine that Eve was embarrassed to find herself almost reduced to tears.) Jill, on the other hand, eyed Eve with unbridled curiosity. Not unfriendly, but not friendly either. If looks could talk, hers would say: Rebound! After all, how could Eve—all wild hair and flushed face, freckles leaping out at the first hint of sun—compete with the cool elegance of Caroline?

But there was no competition. Already Eve could see that to compete with Caroline was to lose before she began. What Ian liked, Eve was beginning to understand now she’d met his family, was that she bore no resemblance to Caro, or to any of the other women in his life, whatsoever. A tall, blonde mother, a tall blonde sister-in-law, and the ghost of his tall blonde late wife. Whereas she…

Give yourself a break, Eve thought.

And give them a break too, while you’re at it. They have a vested interest. Who wouldn’t, after all this time?

‘You OK if I give Rob a hand?’ Ian asked, when they’d done the rounds. He looked as relieved as she felt.

‘Sure. Is there anything I can do to make myself useful?’

‘Well, we’ll need tomato sauce, mayonnaise and mustard from the kitchen. Shall I show you where it is?’ His over-the-shoulder glance to where Rob stood brandishing a lethal-looking metal fork didn’t pass Eve by.

‘That would defeat the object,’ she said. ‘There are only so many places it can be.’

Skirting the crowd in an attempt to steer clear of any more and-what-do-you-do? small talk from guests whose names she’d already forgotten, she passed Hannah, sitting on a wooden bench in the corner of the garden, iPod firmly plugged into her ears in a not remotely subtle attempt to ignore her relatives, neighbours and knee-high cousins. Until now, Eve hadn’t noticed that Hannah was by far the oldest of all the children. No wonder the girl was hiding. One of those family celebrations that’s for the family, not the birthday girl.

‘Hi,’ Eve said, waving her fingers so Hannah knew Eve was talking to her. ‘Didn’t see you earlier. Happy Birthday.’

Hannah reluctantly pulled one bead out of her ear, ‘Oh, hi.’ She was wearing skinny jeans, Havaianas flip-flops and a black waistcoat over a T-shirt. She shrugged. ‘Thanks.’

That’s it? Eve thought. Oh hi, thanks.

‘Cool iPod,’ she said, it was small and silver, the latest design, and definitely not the one Hannah had been carrying the first time they met. ‘Present?’

‘Uh-huh, Dad got it for me.’

Eve tried to conceal her disquiet. Shouldn’t Ian have told her that? There was so much she didn’t know about Ian’s life with his kids. It was like standing at the top of a cliff, with the thinnest of ropes, waiting to jump off. Unless it was like standing at the bottom without any ropes at all—no equipment, just her bare hands—and being expected to climb to the top.

‘Um, well, it’s lovely,’ Eve said, certain she looked as pathetic as she sounded. ‘I’m, uh, I’m looking for the kitchen. Can you point me in the right direction?’

‘In there.’ Hannah jerked her head towards the nearest window. Her grandmother was clearly visible through the glass. Eve was glad she’d at least tried to make an effort with Hannah. Still, she was none the wiser about how to reach the kitchen.

‘Um, thanks,’ Eve said. ‘I’ll let you get back to it.’

Head down, Eve walked away, and feet first into one of Alfie’s battles.

‘Who’s winning?’ she asked, scoobying down.

‘Me,’ Alfie said, oblivious to the fact he was the only one playing. Doh he might as well have added.

‘Where’s Danny?’ Eve asked.

‘His mummy.’ This was clearly explanation enough.

In that second Eve made her decision. ‘I need to find something,’ she said. ‘Can you help me?’

He peered up through tufts of hair. ‘Like hide-and-seek?’

‘Sort of. I have to get Daddy some ketchup. I thought you might be able to show me where it lives.’

‘Tomato sauce?’

Eve nodded.

‘All right.’ Alfie scrambled to his feet and wiped his fingers on his already grubby shorts. ‘This is easy,’ he said and marched off towards the house, ploughing through adults as if they were invisible. ‘It’s in the kitchen. I’ll show you where. But we have to put it back in the right cupboard, with the lid on properly, or Granny gets cross.’

Eve didn’t know where the kitchen was. But thanks to Hannah she knew one of its windows looked out on the back garden. So when Alfie entered the house through a different door, crossed the hall and made for the stairs, she was sure that wherever he was headed, it wasn’t the kitchen.

‘Hey, Alfie,’ she said. ‘Ketchup? Kitchen?’

‘I want to show you something,’ he said, already halfway up. ‘Come and see my room.’

The house was silent, and even with Alfie as her guide, Eve couldn’t shake the feeling she was trespassing. ‘Alfie,’ she repeated, ‘Daddy asked me to get the ketchup.’

‘In a minute. Come on!’ the look Alfie gave her was withering: Don’t be such a girl.

At the landing, the small boy vanished through the first door he came to. His room was tiny, but then so was Alfie. It was also crammed with furniture. Two single beds, two white bedside tables, a not-quite-matching chest of drawers and one of those flat-packed wardrobes with a flowered curtain where a door should be. There was scarcely any floor to see; but what there was, was littered with shoes, discarded clothes and toys. The diamondpaned window above the beds was open; the smell of cooking, and the clink of glasses and chatter and laughter seeped in from below.

‘This is my bed,’ Alfie said, flinging himself onto the nearest and disturbing an elderly labrador that was clearly trying to get some peace. ‘And this is Ben, Grandpa’s dog. He’s old,’ Alfie said, shoving his face against Ben’s, so they were nose to nose. The dog didn’t look wildly impressed.

‘You can sit on Daddy’s bed.’

Eve’s smile froze on her face.

Daddy’s.

Of course it was.

Ian hadn’t mentioned the sleeping arrangements. But since, as far as the children were concerned, Ian and Eve were ‘just good friends’ and had done little more than hug in their presence, there was no question of sharing a room, let alone a bed. That was for mummies and daddies. Not daddies and daddies’ friends.

And what about Tom and Elaine? Ian’s parents knew, didn’t they? That she and Ian…that they were…?

Of course they did. They weren’t born yesterday.

A mess of emotion swept through Eve. This was like being a teenager again. Worse, in fact. At least when you were a teenager you knew the rules and did everything in your power to break them. Now everything was flipped on its head. It gave her a headache just to think about it.

But Eve was impressed, too. It was so very Ian.

One of the many reasons she’d been so blown away by him. Right from the start, right from their first conversation, he’d made it completely clear the children came first. No matter what. No exceptions. Not for him. Not for anyone. Not even, Eve saw now, for her. This was going to take some getting her head around. And the sooner she managed it, the better.

‘It’s a good room, isn’t it?’ said Alfie. He was bouncing up and down on springs that sounded as if they’d last been oiled in 1935. ‘I like sharing with Dad. He won’t let me at home. Says I’m big enough to sleep on my own.’

‘It’s a very good room,’ Eve agreed. The dog, now irredeemably disturbed, jumped off, yawned and pushed his way through the slightly open door, in search of a new place to sleep, or food, or both.

Now she’d had a chance to look around Eve could see all the signs of Ian’s occupation. The coat draped over the top of the wardrobe was big boy’s not small boy’s. The shoes kicked into one corner were a mishmash of Ian’s huge feet and Alfie’s tiny ones. And the books on the bedside table, Roald Dahl and James Lee Burke…Although, thinking about it, both of those could have belonged to Ian. The plastic figures on the floor, though, were most definitely Alfie’s.

‘Smile.’ Ian’s voice from the doorway took her by surprise. Her expression as he clicked the shutter was one of confusion, rather than the pleasure she felt when she realized he’d taken a picture of Alfie and her together.

‘Two of my favourite people,’ he said, clicking again. ‘But I hate to tell you…unless Alfie has a secret stash—and anything’s possible—you’re not going to find the tomato sauce in here!’

Eve flushed. Embarrassed.

‘I’m showing Evie our room,’ Alfie said, saving Eve from having to choose between confessing to being a snoop or grassing up a five-year-old.

Ian’s eyes met hers. ‘You’re sleeping in Sophie’s room,’ he said. ‘She’s moved in with Hannah for the night. I hope that’s OK?’

‘Of course it is,’ Eve said with feeling. ‘I was expecting the sofa.’

It was gone eight before the stragglers left and Ian disappeared to coerce an exhausted and over-excited Alfie and Sophie into a bath and their beds. Hannah used his vanishing as an opportunity to commandeer the sitting room, and turn on whatever reality show was flavour of this month.

Feeling like a spare part, Eve went to see if she was needed in the kitchen.

‘Ghastly,’ said Ian’s father, as he staggered in with a plastic sack full of rubbish. ‘Not all it’s cracked up to be, entertaining.’ Tying a knot in the top of the sack, he said, ‘People descend like locusts, eat the place bare, then leave their rubbish all over the lawn and push off, leaving me to clear up. Remind me why we do it?’

Elaine patted his arm as he passed. ‘The pleasure of seeing the people you love enjoy themselves, perchance,’ she said, smiling. ‘Your eldest granddaughter’s birthday, maybe?’

He pulled a face and went to get another bag.

‘Can I persuade you to dry?’ Elaine asked Eve, who was loitering awkwardly by the doorway.

‘Of course. I was just about to offer.’ Eve was conscious how pathetic that sounded. As soon as Elaine shut the door, then headed not for the sink but the fridge, where she liberated a half-full bottle of Chablis and two glasses, Eve realized she’d been had. It was a trap.

Should she start washing up anyway?

The elderly woman read her mind. ‘Sit down, my dear,’ she said. ‘Keep me company while I put my feet up and have a drink I actually taste.’

Eve knew the feeling. She felt much the same about food. She hadn’t tasted a thing all day, even though she’d eaten like it was going out of fashion.

Taking a chair, Eve perched on its edge and hoped she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.

Elaine filled two glasses and pushed one towards Eve. And then, having raised her glass in silent salute, she said, ‘I hope you don’t mind, but there are a couple of things I’d like to say.’

It wasn’t a question, so Eve picked up her glass too; more for something to do with her hands than anything else, and made herself sit back in the chair.

Ian’s mother took another sip, longer and slower, and closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were steely, almost as if someone else was suddenly in residence.

‘I hope you understand what you’re taking on,’ she said. ‘Ian’s not just their father, he’s both parents in one. I don’t know what sort of deal you and he have, but you need to understand that those children must be part of it. Will always be part of it. He wouldn’t let it be any other way. And nor, I assure you, would I.’

Eve held Ian’s mother’s gaze for a few seconds, then looked down at her own glass. Condensation was dripping onto her fingers.

‘Those children have been through a lot. And Hannah more so than the others.’

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.’