Читать книгу The Stepmothers’ Support Group - Sam Baker - Страница 7

‘They’re…Well, cute, I guess.’

‘Cute?’ Clare Adams said.

‘Yes, cute. Small, blonde, cute.’

The woman leaning on the work surface turned to look at her. ‘They’re children and there are three of them. There has to be more to say about them than, they’re cute.’

Eve was in the kitchen of her friend’s flat in East Finchley. It was a small flat, with an even smaller kitchen. As it was, there was barely room for the two of them. When Clare’s daughter, Louisa, got home it would be full to capacity.

Rubbing her hands over her face, Eve felt the skin drag. The magazine’s beauty director was always telling her not to do that. But Eve did it anyway, pushing her face into her hands hard enough to see stars. How could one hour with three children be so draining?

‘OK, let’s be honest about this. Cute, well brought-up…And lethal. Like a miniature firing squad. Only some of them wanted to shoot me more than others.’

‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ said Clare, flicking off the kettle just as it was coming to the boil. ‘You know, I don’t think a cup of tea is going to cut it.’

Heading for the fridge, she peered inside at the chaos of Louisa’s half-eaten sandwiches and jars that had long since lost contact with their lids. Emerging with half-empty bottles in either hand, Clare said, ‘Already opened bottle of Tesco’s cheapest plonk or own brand vodka and flat tonic?’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think to bring wine,’ Eve said. ‘I just…fled, I s’pose.’

After leaving Patisserie Valerie, Eve had made the journey on the Northern Line from Soho to East Finchley on autopilot, not even calling ahead to make sure Clare was at home. Although Clare was almost always home at weekends. A single mum, with a teenage daughter on a secondary school teacher’s salary, she rarely had the spare cash for a bit of light Saturday afternoon shopping.

And when she did, it was Louisa who got the goodies.

‘You want me to pop to Tesco Express on the High Road?’ Eve asked, reaching for her bag.

‘No need.’ Using her arm, Clare swept aside exercise books to make space on the table for a bottle of Sicilian white and two large wineglasses. ‘All I’m saying is, it’s not Chablis!’

When Ian first announced he’d like her to meet his children, Eve had thought they’d make a day of it: shops, a pizza, perhaps the zoo. An idea Ian rapidly squashed.

At the time she’d been hurt, maybe even a bit offended.

But now…

Now she was grateful he’d insisted they keep their first meeting brief. ‘So as not to wear them out,’ he’d explained. Eve couldn’t help thinking that she was the one in need of recuperation.

After Patisserie Valerie came Hamley’s for Alfie and Sophie, and Topshop for Hannah. Ian had grimaced when he told Eve. And Eve had wanted to hug him. Ian hated shopping. For him, Topshop on a Saturday afternoon was like visiting the nine gates of hell, all at once.

‘You are good,’ she whispered, when the children were packing their possessions into rucksacks, carrier bags and pockets. Or, in Alfie’s case, all three at once.

‘It’s in the job description.’ Ian kept his voice light, but his meaning was clear. He was their dad, and not just any old dad, not an every-other-weekend one, or a Saturday one. He was full-time, 24/7, widowed.

He was the there-is-no-one-to-do-it-if-I-don’t model.

As Eve recounted her meeting with Ian’s kids, badly chosen books and all, Clare sipped at her wine. It was more acidic than when she’d opened it the night before, allowing herself just the one, after Louisa went to bed. Well, Lou claimed she’d gone to bed. Clare knew better. Her daughter had probably spent a good hour on YouTube; only turning off her light when she heard footsteps on the stairs.

Clare had learnt the hard way to choose her battles, because, as a single mum, there was no one to back her up. If Louisa and she argued, it seemed much more serious. Besides, if they weren’t there for each other, who was?

Clare had saved hard to buy a laptop for Lou’s thirteenth birthday; taken in extra exam marking to pay the monthly broadband bill. It will help with your homework, she told Louisa at the time. If Clare was honest, it was about more than that. She wanted Lou to fit in and have the stuff that her friends had, not always to be the one who went without. Not that the reconditioned Toshiba from a computer repair shop on Finchley Road was the latest thing, but it could pass for new, and it worked, and Louisa had been ecstatic. The expression on Lou’s elfin face when she first turned it on made all the long nights at the kitchen table marking exam papers worthwhile.

Occasionally, Clare felt her life was one long night at a kitchen table. After Louisa was first born, it had been a pine table in Clare’s mother’s kitchen in Hendon; revising for the A-levels she’d missed, what with being eight months pregnant. At Manchester University, it had been an Ikea flat-pack in a grotty student house she’d shared with three others. One of whom was Eve. It was Eve who lasted. The others came and went, endlessly replaced by yet more students who freaked out at the idea of having a toddler around to cramp their style.

Now it was a pine table again. And, even now, Clare couldn’t work until Lou was asleep, the flat was still, her light came from an Anglepoise lamp that lived in the corner during the day, and the low mutter of the BBC’s World Service kept her company.

Not normal, she knew.

Clare had been sixteen when she met Will. She’d been smitten the first time he walked into her AS level English lit class, his dark floppy hair falling over his eyes. By the end of the second week they’d been an item, a fixture.

He was her first boyfriend, her first true love and, so far as she knew, she was his. At least, he’d told her she was. They’d done everything together. First kiss, first love, first fumble, first sex. Life had been a voyage of mutual discovery. And then, halfway through the next year, she’d become pregnant and everything—everything—had come crashing down.

Her mum and dad only got married because her mum was pregnant, with Clare. Her nan had married at seventeen; giving up her factory job to have five children and a husband who spent most of his life in the pub. It was the one thing Clare had promised herself would never happen to her.

A mistake like that, it could ruin your life.

Will had laughed when she’d said that. Said people didn’t think like that any more. He’d been trying to get her into bed at the time. Well, he’d been trying to get his hand inside her knickers on his parents’ settee while they were next door having drinks. Like a fool, she’d believed him.

Clare wasn’t sure what happened exactly. They’d always been careful. Originally, she only went on the pill because she didn’t think condoms were enough. After Will stopped using condoms, Clare never, ever missed a pill. But a vomiting bug went around college, and that was enough, apparently.

Everyone, from her mum to Will and Will’s parents told her to do the sensible thing, and ‘get rid of it’. Even her dad would have had an opinion, Clare was sure of it; if he’d ever bothered to show an interest in what she did, or even sent a birthday card in the five years since he’d left.

‘What do you mean? You want to have it?’ Will said, sitting in the recreation ground not far from her home. Clare watched the ducks try to navigate a Tesco shopping trolley masquerading as an island in the middle of their lake.

‘I want us to have it,’ she said. ‘Us. It’s our baby.’

Out of the corner of one eye she was aware of Will staring at his knees. Once, his curtain of hair would have hidden his eyes, but he’d had it cut shorter and removed his earring for a round of medical school interviews.

‘Our baby,’ she said, turning to stare at him. ‘We would have had one eventually, wouldn’t we?’

Will refused to catch her eye.

‘Wouldn’t we?’

It was only later she realized he’d never answered the question.

‘If it’s our baby, then it’s our decision,’ he said, trying to harden his voice. But Clare could hear it tremble as he spoke. ‘And I don’t want a baby. I’m too young, Clare. We’re too young. What about university? What about those novels you’re going to write? And me? Seven years of medical studies. How can I do that with a baby?’

‘We can manage,’ Clare promised. ‘Both of us, together.’

She was fighting a losing battle. She knew it, and Will knew she knew it. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘We can’t manage. And I won’t do it.’

Hurtling into the kitchen, Louisa threw her skinny arms around Eve. ‘Hello Auntie Eve,’ she said. ‘Mum didn’t say you’d be here.’

‘That’s because Mum didn’t know,’ Clare said.

Louisa raised her eyebrows.

Eve had known Lou since she was a baby, and been an honorary aunt—the kind whose job it was to provide presents, play-dates and an impartial ear—almost as long. But it always amazed her how unlike her mother Lou looked. Where Clare was stocky, Louisa was wraith-like. Taller, lankier, olive skinned, with eyes so dark they were almost black, and a curtain of shiny black hair that kept falling into her eyes. A black T-shirt carrying the logo of a band Eve didn’t recognize, black jacket, skinny jeans and a pair of sneakers that were almost Converse. The girl had emo written all over her.

‘Mum,’ said Louisa, heading to the fridge. ‘What’s for lunch?’

‘Lunch was two hours ago and if you think I’m cooking again you’ve got another think coming. If you’re hungry, you can have what’s left of last night’s risotto or make a sandwich.’

Her daughter’s nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘A sandwich?’ she said, sounding like Edith Evans playing Lady Bracknell in The Importance of Being Earnest, her last school play. ‘I’m going to look like a sandwich if I eat any more. Anyway, there’s nothing to put in one.’

‘I’ll do a shop tomorrow. For now, there’s cheese, peanut butter, marmite, jam…’ Clare recited a list of jars in the fridge and hoped the cheese hadn’t yet developed a crust.

‘They’re all empty. And you know I don’t eat cheese,’ Louisa said, spotting the bottle. ‘Can I have a glass of wine?’

‘You know you can’t,’ Clare sighed. ‘Have orange juice.’

Louisa opened her mouth to object.

‘Don’t even start. Auntie Eve and I are trying to have a conversation. A private conversation,’ Clare added pointedly.

It was no use.

As the mother-daughter combat bounced back and forth, Eve listened as Clare negotiated her daughter down to marmite on toast now, plus a glass of orange juice, with the promise of a takeout pizza later as a Saturday night treat. Apparently, Louisa didn’t regard mozzarella as cheese. Eve couldn’t imagine ever having a conversation like this with Hannah.

‘Kids,’ Clare said, as Louisa bounced out, orange juice sloshing as she went. ‘That’s all they are you know. A mess of emotion done up to look scary.’

It was Clare the schoolteacher speaking.

‘I know…I know.’ Draining her glass, Eve reached for the bottle and topped herself up to the halfway mark, before emptying the rest into Clare’s. ‘And I can’t begin to imagine what Ian’s have been through. But the eldest, Hannah, I don’t think she has any intention of giving me the slightest chance. It’s like she’s already decided to hate me.’

‘How old is she again?’

‘Twelve, going on twenty.’

Clare shot her a warning glance. ‘A year younger than Louisa,’ she pointed out. ‘Can you imagine how Lou would react to a new man in my life? Not that that’s going to happen any time soon. She’d hate it.’

‘You think?’

‘I know,’ Clare said firmly. ‘Hannah doesn’t hate you. She hates the idea of you. She’d hate any woman who threatened to come between her and her dad.’

Looked at objectively, Eve could see Clare was right.

‘But right now,’ Eve protested. ‘I’m just a friend of her dad’s.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Clare rolled her eyes. ‘Of course she knows. How many of their dad’s friends have those children met since their mum died? I mean, think about it. How many times have they traipsed into London to meet someone and then been taken to Hamley’s or Topshop as a reward for good behaviour?’ She looked at Eve questioningly.

‘Zero, nada, zilch. Am I right?’

‘Oh bollocks,’ Eve said. ‘D’you think so?’

‘I know so. They might be children, but they’re not stupid. Certainly not Hannah. The little ones might take you at face value, for now, but Hannah? Twelve going on twenty, as you put it? No way.’

Eve took a gulp of her wine. How could she have been so naive?

‘To be honest,’ Clare said. ‘I’m surprised Ian was dumb enough to think she’d fall for it. Lou wouldn’t, and nor would any of her friends.’

Eve could have kicked herself. It had seemed such a good plan, but with the benefit of hindsight, its flaws were glaring.

‘Still, at least he tried. I’ve told you about Lily’s boyfriend, Liam?’

Lily was Clare’s sister. Nine years younger and a lot closer to Louisa in looks than she was to Clare. Eve hadn’t seen her for years.

‘The divorced one? Sports reporter?’

‘Not-quite divorced. But yes, that one. He just threw Lily in at the deep end. Her and the kid, and his ex. I don’t know who was more traumatized. If that wasn’t bad enough, a couple of months later, she has to field his kid for an entire afternoon by herself.’

‘God,’ said Eve. ‘Why?’

‘His shift changed and he had to cover the FA Cup.’ Clare mimed inverted commas around the ‘had’. ‘He didn’t even ring his ex to explain. She only found out he wasn’t going to be there when she delivered Rosie, and Lily opened the door. I had Lily on the phone almost hysterical. Didn’t have the first clue what to do. Didn’t know what to feed her, anything…I mean,’ Clare asked, ‘would you?’ Her voice rose.

Clare had never been much of a drinker, but when she got drunk, she got drunk. Eve was familiar with the signs.

‘I should probably go,’ she said.

‘Not yet.’

Eve waited.

‘I’ve had a brainwave! You could meet up with Lily. Compare notes.’

‘Clare…’

‘I’m serious.’ Standing up from the table Clare found the cups and put the kettle back on. ‘Have to be instant,’ she said. ‘And I think I’m out of digestives.’

‘I know. You haven’t done a shop.’

Eve hated Nescafé, but wouldn’t dream of saying so. Fresh coffee was a luxury Clare only allowed herself once a month, on payday. And when the packet was empty, it was back to instant again. Occasionally, Eve would bring coffee herself, only she’d been too strung out by meeting Ian’s kids to bring anything, apart from her problems.

If she was honest, that was something of a pattern. Eve arrived with something for Louisa, a bottle of wine for Clare, and her problems. In return, Clare listened, although rarely without comment. That was the price of access to Clare’s shoulder.

‘It’s a good idea,’ Clare insisted. ‘You know it is. If you’re going to do this…’ She looked at her friend. ‘And I assume you haven’t fallen at the first hurdle?’

Eve shook her head. Of course she hadn’t. How pathetic did Clare think she was?

‘Then you’re going to need all the moral support you can get. And who’s going to understand better than Lily, who’s in the same predicament?’