‘What,’ thundered Tabitha, ‘are you doing to my Daddy?’
‘I’m trying to keep him warm,’ replied Cameron through gritted teeth.
Things went from bad to worse the next day. Rupert went off to see his constituency secretary. Tab vanished to the stables and, despite Cameron sending repeated messages, didn’t return for lunch. Grimly setting out to collect her, Cameron found Tabitha, watched by an idling trio of grooms, jumping the new pony, which ground to a halt each time it came up to a large wall.
‘This pony don’t jump,’ yelled Tabitha.
‘Think of something really nasty before take-off, and then give him a good whack,’ advised one of the grooms.
Tab rode towards the wall with great determination: ‘I’m going to think of CAMERON,’ she howled, bringing her whip down on Biscuit’s quarters. The grooms screamed with laughter, and then cheered as Biscuit cleared the wall by a foot. Tabitha leapt off the pony, cuddling him and stuffing him with pony nuts. ‘Good boy, good boy.’
‘Lunch, Tabitha,’ said Cameron icily.
Even Tabitha looked faintly sheepish and ran on ahead back to the house.
There are a million children in England living with replacement parents, in fact one in seven is a stepchild, thought Cameron furiously, as she stalked back to the house. They can’t all be awful. Just fantasy. You’re doing research for a documentary on the in-coming stepmother, she told herself.
‘Where’s Daddy?’ demanded Tab as Cameron went into the kitchen.
‘Not coming back till later this afternoon.’
‘I don’t want any lunch till he gets back.’
‘Sit
down
,’ ordered Cameron.
‘I will if you sit down first,’ said Tab with a giggle.
Not looking behind her, Cameron collapsed heavily on to a whoopee cushion which Tab had slipped on to her chair, and which let out a succession of noisy farts. Tab screamed with laughter; even Marcus grinned. For Cameron the noise was too embarrassingly reminiscent of her encounter with their father on the balcony of her Madrid hotel.
‘You bloody children, stop winding me up.’
‘Don’t speak to us like that,’ said Tab coldly. ‘You’re not our mother.’
Cameron walked out of the kitchen and went and swam twenty lengths in the pool to work off her rage. Going upstairs, she discovered Tabitha must have changed at least four times that day and used the carpet of Rupert’s bedroom as a dirty clothes’ basket.
‘Tab,’ she bellowed.
‘Yes.’ Tab appeared from the television room, eating a Mars bar.
‘Pick up your clothes, OK?’
‘Mrs Bodkin picks them up.’
‘Mrs Bodkin is not here. Pick them
up.
’
‘Bloody shan’t.’
Cameron moved towards her.
‘Don’t you touch me,’ hissed Tab, her little face a mask of spite. ‘Because of child molesters like you, I’m learning karate at school,’ and, clenching her fist in a black-power salute, she shot under Cameron’s arm, downstairs and back to the stables.
A blinding headache nudged Cameron’s skull. What was the name of that silent order Charles Fairburn disappeared to the day the franchise applications went in? She took a Valium and went down to the kitchen where she found Marcus trying to clear up lunch.
He had put the roasting pan undrained in the sink so the grease floated thick and yellow on the top of the water.
‘I’m sorry about Tab,’ he mumbled.
‘You make up for it,’ Cameron said, hugging him.
‘It’s not all her fault,’ said Marcus, fairly. ‘She’s used to Daddy’s total attention when she’s here, and Mrs Bodkin fussing over her. She looked after Tab when she was a baby, you see. When Tab says she wants lunch she’s given it, and if she doesn’t like it when it arrives that doesn’t matter much either. She’s just not used to a stranger saying, “Do this, don’t do that”.’
Cameron gazed at the sea of fat, feeling reproved. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It isn’t your fault,’ said Marcus, busily sloshing water all over the surfaces as he wiped them down with a dripping dishcloth.
‘I’m not around kids that much. How d’you relate to Malise?’
‘OK. He’s strict, but he’s fair. He’s very old. His grandchildren are older than me.’
‘Would you like your parents to get married again?’
Marcus went green. ‘No, absolutely not.’
‘Tab would.’
‘Oh, Tab gets on much better with Daddy than I do,’ said Marcus bitterly. ‘And if she was here she could ride all the time.
As Rupert probably wouldn’t have eaten at lunchtime, Cameron decided to make him a nice dinner. Just the two of them; the kids could go to bed early. Marcus chatted to her while she cooked and, when she’d finished, offered to play the piano for her. He was just playing a Chopin impromptu quite magically when Tab charged in with Wham full blast on the wireless.
‘Turn it off,’ said Cameron sharply.
‘Why should I?’
‘Turn it
off
,’ yelled Marcus, but he stopped playing and shut the piano.
Immediately Tab grinned and turned off the wireless.
‘I’ve never been so bored in my life,’ she said moodily.
Cameron’s suggestion that she could unload the dishwasher was met once again with the cold blue stare.
‘I’m starving. What’s for supper?’
‘Spaghetti hoops.’
‘Yuk. What’s that cooking in the oven?’
‘Boeuf Provençal.’
‘My favourite thing. And there are kiwi fruits in the larder. That’s also my favourite thing.’
‘As you haven’t eaten anything I’ve cooked for you yet,’ said Cameron coolly, ‘you’re going to have spaghetti hoops cooked by Mr Heinz, and then you’re going to bed early. I want to spend some time with your father – alone.’
Rupert came home around half past seven, and amazed Cameron by backing her up. ‘Go up to bed both of you. Cameron’s looked after you all day and she needs a break. You can watch “Howard’s Way”.’
‘Tab’s been insupportable all day,’ Cameron was appalled to find herself saying as soon as the children went out of the room.
Later Rupert went upstairs and Cameron toured wearily round the house, picking up kids’ clothes. If she put a wash on tonight she could iron them first thing in the morning.
Rupert found Tab curled up in bed in a blue nightie, looking through a photograph album of when Helen and Rupert were married: ‘Wasn’t I a sweet little baby? Look at me riding on Badger’s back.’
Rupert was not to be deflected. ‘Why have you been so bloody to Cameron?’ he said, sitting down on the bed. ‘I told you to be nice to her.’
‘I hate her,’ said Tab calmly, ‘and all the grooms hate her, and they say Mr and Mrs Bodkin hate her because she’s so bossy. Even Beaver and Blue hate her.’
‘Rubbish! Beaver and Blue adore her.’
‘Shows how thick they are, then.’
‘I told you to be nice to her,’ repeated Rupert sternly.
‘It’s all God’s fault,’ said Tab, petulantly pulling the duvet up to her chin. ‘I prayed specially hard to him this morning to make me really nice to Cameron, and he did absolutely nothing about it.’
Rupert thought it so funny he had to go straight off and tell Cameron. He found her in the drawing-room, rigid with anger.
‘What was this doing on my side of the bed?’ She handed Rupert a prayer book bound in ivory. ‘Look inside,’ she said shrilly.
‘
To my own darling Rupert
,’ read Rupert slowly. ‘
All my love, Helen. All other things to their destruction draw, only our love hath no decay.
’ He grinned at Cameron. ‘Well, Helen certainly goofed on that one, didn’t she?’
‘Tab must have put it there,’ hissed Cameron.
‘Don’t be fucking stupid. She wouldn’t understand words like decay and destruction.’
‘Bullshit,’ screamed Cameron. ‘She’s the most destructive kid I’ve ever met, and she certainly understands “To my own darling Rupert, All my love, Helen”.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ protested Rupert. ‘Most children do want their mothers and fathers to love each other. Didn’t you?’
‘She’s insanely spoilt.’ Cameron could hear the obsessive rattle in her voice. ‘Can’t you see how she fawns all over you and freezes out everyone else? Your whole relationship with her is overly symbiotic.’
‘I don’t know what symbiotic means.’ Rupert’s voice was suddenly brutally icy. ‘But it’s fuck all to do with you how I handle my children. I suggest you read this prayer book yourself. It might teach you a little Christianity.’
‘Where are you going?’ she said as he went towards the door.
‘To bed. I don’t want any dinner. And you can bloody well sleep in the spare room.’
A minute later she heard the front door open and the dogs barking. Terrified Rupert had stormed out, she ran into the hall to find Mr and Mrs Bodkin blinking in the light, clutching their suitcases and looking sheepish.
‘I hope you didn’t mind us coming home a day early,’ muttered Mrs Bodkin, ‘but we wanted to see the children, and I thought you might need a bit of help with their meals and their washing. Mrs Gordon likes everything back in good order.’
Cameron was never so pleased to see anyone. ‘Sure, it’s OK,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have made you have the weekend off. We’ve all missed you. There’s some supper in the oven if you’re hungry.’
The next moment she was sent flying by Tabitha tearing downstairs and throwing herself into Mrs Bodkin’s arms. ‘Oh, Mrs B,’ she said in a choked voice, ‘I’m so glad you’re home. It’s so horrid when you’re not here.’
The next day passed without incident until the afternoon. Cameron, who knew she should have disarmed Tab by being sweet, or at least outwardly unmoved, spent the day sulking, thawing out, then sulking again. The children were due to go back to Warwickshire after tea. Rupert had bought the pony, Biscuit, for Tab, and would drive pony and two children back in the trailer.
Mrs Bodkin finished the ironing and packed the children’s cases, while Rupert and the children watched
High Society
on television. Ecstatic about the new pony, Tabitha sprawled on Rupert’s knee, defiantly covering him with kisses. Cameron, determinedly doing the
Guardian
crossword, sat on the sofa as far away from Rupert as possible. They hadn’t spoken since last night. The sight of Cameron’s long smooth brown thighs in the shortest of khaki shorts, however, was finally too much for Rupert. As the credits came up at the end he stretched out, putting a hand on her leg.
‘Don’t touch her,’ screamed Tab. ‘It’s disgusting,’ and, bursting into tears, she fled upstairs. Rupert followed her to find out what was the matter. He came down shaking his head. ‘It’s the same old story. She wants me and Helen to get together again like Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly, so she can live here all the time.’
The following morning Rupert got a letter from Taggie:
Dear Roopurt
, she had written,
thank you for the luvly puppy. He is sweet we called him Clawdeeus becos patrick says it goes with gurtrude. they love eech other now. thank you for the shampain. Sorry we did not come out to dinner. I hope you understand. Yours sincearly Taggie O’Hara.
Rupert wanted to weep.
‘Is that from one of the children?’ said Cameron, reading over his shoulder. ‘They don’t teach them much spelling in class. Christ, it’s from Taggie. She’s completely illiterate. How could Maud and Declan have produced something quite so dumb?’
RIVALS
37
The weekend left Cameron exhausted and with a numb sense of failure. What sort of monster was she to detest an innocent little girl of nine? Desperate for someone to dump on, she was tempted to ask Seb or even Charles Fairburn out to lunch, but decided it was too risky. Tony might easily have bugged their telephones. She longed to talk to Declan. He was so wise and she craved his approval beyond anything, but she didn’t think this was the way to win it. He’d just assume she’d been treating Tab like a Corinium employee. In the end she rang up Janey Lloyd-Foxe who, stuck at home with a new baby and frantically trying to finish a book, was only too happy for any distraction. They met for lunch in London.
Janey rolled up looking stunning and fantastically brown. ‘It’s typing topless in the garden,’ she explained. ‘My bum and legs are as white as blackboard chalk because they’re hidden under the table. I’ve got to finish this bloody book because we’re desperately broke. Billy’s absolutely fed up with the BBC, too. I do hope Venturer get the franchise. D’you think we will?’
‘Hard to tell,’ said Cameron. ‘We ought to on form, but there are so many wild cards in the pack, and Declan and Rupert really aren’t getting on at the moment.’
‘They’re both so tricky and self-willed,’ grumbled Janey. ‘Hello.’ She beamed up at an Italian waiter who was utterly mesmerized by her brown breasts which seemed to squirm in her low-cut pink dress like day-old puppies. ‘Neither of us wants to work this afternoon, so let’s kick off with duo enormo vodkos et tônicos, then we can get wildly drunk and indiscreet. You are lucky not having to worry about schedules and costings any more,’ Janey added, as the waiter floated back to the bar. ‘It must be bliss being supported by Rupert.’
‘He’s not very pleased with me,’ confessed Cameron, pleating the tablecloth. Then she told Janey about the weekend.
‘Darling,’ said Janey, taking a hefty belt of vodka, ‘get one thing straight. It’s not you. I told Helen yonks ago that she never need worry about Rupert marrying again because no one would take on Tab. She’s adorable until she suspects anyone might take Rupert away from her, then she’s Catherine de Medici crossed with all the Borgias! Mind you,’ Janey went on, plunging a cauliflower floret deep into a bowl of mayonnaise, ‘Tab hasn’t had it easy. Helen tries to be fair, but it’s obvious to anyone that Marcus is the Granny Smith of her eye. She’s never got on with Tab.’
‘Marcus is a really nice kid,’ said Cameron. ‘Why’s Rupert so mean to him?’
‘Jealousy. Rupert and Helen were going through one of their many bad patches when Marcus was born. Helen lavished all her affection on Marcus. Rupert started lavishing all his affection on show jumping and other women. It doesn’t help that Marcus looks just like Helen, and Rupert doesn’t want any reminders of her around him any more.’