2
EVIE
‘This is Capital Radio and it’s nearly seven a.m. on a lovely bright summer morning. I’m Sarah Smith with an update on the traffic. Long queues are . . .’
‘Don’t turn that off, Robin. It was the traffic report . . . Yes, I
do
need to listen. I’ve got to get your kids to school and then I’m seeing Bulmer at nine . . . True – one third of the kids
is
mine. I gave birth to him so I’m hardly likely to forget. But if Rachel hadn’t suddenly decided to land your lot on us this week, it would have made my life a lot easier . . . All right, all right, it’s not easy for them either. No, they can’t go with Martine because there isn’t a spare seat belt while their Rover’s in the garage. And don’t put that in the dishwasher – I haven’t unloaded it yet . . . Yes, I
am
aware you’ve got another interview and I
would
have wished you luck if you’d given me time. Your suit’s in the dry-cleaning bag. And remember to pick up the kids . . . No, I
can’t
. I’ve got that video conference with the States. Remember? Dinner’s in the freezer. Lasagne. Seven minutes on full power . . . No,
seven
. It’s on the packet. And don’t forget to put the girls’ sports kits in the washing machine . . . For crying out loud, Robin, if we can’t cope during the term, what are we going to do next week when it’s the holidays?’
‘We’re coming up to eight a.m. and it’s nearly time for the news. This is Capital Radio . . .’
‘OK, everyone, strapped in?’
Evie, who’d been buffing her naturally almond-shaped nails while she waited, turned round to check. If she smiled brightly, they might just smile back. Reflective grimacing, just like reflective listening, thought Evie, wryly. It might be funny if it weren’t for the circumstances. Trying to look happier than she felt, she surveyed the occupants of the back seat, which was satisfyingly upholstered in cream leather to her own exacting standards. Pity she couldn’t impose her own specifications on the girls. The fourteen-year-old twins, Natalie and Leonora, stared back stonily while Jack beamed at her from his toddler seat. Thank God for Jack. Her heart melted at the sight of his sweet little face, which shone in contrast to those of his half-sisters.
‘Are you allowed to wear make-up for school, Nattie?’ asked Evie, frowning at the heavy black eye pencil round her step-daughter’s eyes. She hadn’t looked like that at breakfast, she was sure. Not that Evie had eaten anything – too fattening – but she always made sure the children had their muesli and yoghurt. She sure as hell wasn’t going to have their mother on the phone, demanding to know why she hadn’t fed them properly during her absence.
Natalie smirked. ‘Yes, I am. Just like you’re allowed to wear that disgusting perfume. It’s a non-uniform day today. And my name is Natalie. To you. Open the window, can you? Your smell makes me feel sick.’
Evie turned back so that the girl couldn’t see her face. She didn’t want another row, not when they were all trapped in the car for the next half an hour. Illogically, the bit about the name hurt more than the rudeness. Everyone called her Nattie – everyone who was her friend, that is. But Natalie had made it clear from the minute they had been introduced that Evie would never rise to that category. She was a fool to let it hurt still, but it did, and there was nothing she could do about it except carry on in this so-you-both-hate-me-but-I-don’t-care manner. Just as she had done as a child at school when the other kids had loathed her.
‘Got your prep, Leonora?’ she said, forcing her voice to sound even.
Her other step-daughter – older by twenty minutes – scowled, reminding her, with a nasty jolt, of Robin’s face when she had left the house a few minutes ago. ‘If you mean my homework, yes. And, by the way, we need a quid each. We have to pay for non-uniform days.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s for charity. Mum told you. It would have been on her list.’
Evie gritted her teeth. ‘She didn’t send one actually. I just got a barrage of commands over the phone. And next time please make sure both of you have made your beds before you leave the house. It’s not fair to expect me to do everything. I made mine when I was your age.’
I made mine when I was your age
.
Evie didn’t need to look in the rear-view mirror to see the girls mimicking her. Sometimes it was best to ignore them and only get cross about the big things, as that step-parent guide suggested.
‘Pick your battles,’ the author had advised. ‘You can’t win every fight so ignore the things that don’t matter and make a stand for the ones that do.’
The cover had declared the author to be a successful stepmother of five, but as a seasoned magazine journalist Evie could decode a publicity blurb. On closer reading, it transpired that the five step-kids were now grown-up and out of the author’s way, which meant she could look back with rose-coloured contact lenses on what it had really been like. Evie couldn’t wait for the two in the back to grow up and go as far away as possible, leaving her and Robin with the remote hope of some quality adult time with Jack. Even though the girls didn’t live full-time with them, they were near enough to be with their father at weekends and holidays, and during term-time when Rachel was away. Their constantly morose and critical presence meant she couldn’t enjoy the precious few moments she had with Jack after work. But if the girls weren’t with them, Robin fretted. Either way, she couldn’t win.
‘Did Mum tell you we’re going out on Friday night?’
‘No, Leonora, she didn’t. Where are you going?’
‘Bar Med. It’s a party.’
‘But you have to be eighteen to get in there.’
‘We’ve got fake IDs.’
‘You’ve what? Where did you get them from?’
‘The Internet. They cost ten quid. You just send off for them.’
Despite herself, Evie couldn’t help feeling impressed.
‘Show them you understand what it was like to be young,’ the step-parent book had urged.
‘I wouldn’t mind a fake ID to say I’m eighteen,’ she said lightly.
‘In your dreams,’ muttered Natalie. ‘More like fifty.’
‘I’m sorry you can’t take a joke, Natalie. Well, you’re not going to any club, fake ID or no fake ID. And that’s my last word.’
No one, thought Evie, can say I don’t try. Seething silently, she kicked off her black, stick-heeled designer shoes, slipped into her flat red loafers and checked that her iPhone was in her Zara bag. Right. She was ready to meet the day, arguments or no arguments. ‘Off we go, then,’ she said brightly, smiling at herself in the mirror to prove to the girls that she didn’t care. Then she swung the Discovery, with its resident’s permit sticker on the windscreen, into the street.
Think positive. That was the trick. So what if she was working and Robin was unemployed? Hundreds of other couples were in the same position –
Express Woman
had run a feature on it the other day under the headline ‘WHY WOMEN ARE THE BREADWINNERS WHILE DAD STAYS AT HOME’. Evie would have considered running something similar in the magazine if it hadn’t been too close to the bone.
‘Traffic’s building up again near Wimbledon Common and Bo’s mum has just rung in to warn of an accident on Balham high street. Thanks, Bo’s mum, and do continue with your calls, everyone. If it’s safe and legal, we’d like to hear from you.’
‘For God’s sake, turn that off,’ groaned Natalie. ‘It’s so uncool. Can’t we have Filth? Mum always lets us.’
Evie was tempted to retort that since Mum wasn’t here it wasn’t relevant. Bloody woman! Rachel was with her current lover, Chris, on a yacht in the Med. When she rang the girls, it was always when they were all having dinner and phone calls were normally forbidden. But, of course, Evie was overruled when Rachel was expected to ring and the resulting excited telephone conversation would neatly scupper the meal. At least when that happened Evie could get up and clear the table. But here, in the car, they were trapped.
‘Sorry,’ said Evie brightly. ‘Out of Filth CDs at the moment and do you mind not saying “God” in front of Jack.’
‘Well, you say “Christ” enough,’ retorted Natalie.
‘You’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t.’ Evie mentally patted herself on the back. Good one. Parents should occasionally admit when they’re wrong – even step-parents. It showed kids they weren’t the only ones. They’d just run a feature in the magazine on adult role models called ‘Do What I Don’t and Not What I Do’.
For a while they drove along in silence, punctuated by bleeps as the girls texted their friends (they seemed unable to amuse themselves unless they had a mobile in their hands) and Jack’s occasional comments. ‘Look! Dog!’ he cooed, pointing to a car next to them at the lights, with a Border collie in the back.
‘Clever boy,’ said Natalie, and cuddled him.
Even the girls loved him. Two was such a sweet age, thought Evie wistfully. At times, she resented Robin for having that precious time with Jack at home – time that her own relentlessly busy schedule refused her. She yawned. That meeting last night – on a Sunday, for heaven’s sake! – had gone on so late that it was still buzzing round her head. No wonder she found it hard to focus on the road. She wound down the window, bracing herself for the cool morning air that would wake her up, unlike the dull air conditioning.
‘Shut the window,’ groaned Natalie.
‘No, keep it open,’ giggled Leonora.
‘Bloody hell – who’s farted?’ asked Natalie admiringly.
‘Pooh. He who smelt it dealt it!’
‘Shut up.’
Evie frowned, trying not to breathe in as the stench invaded the car. ‘Can’t you put those phones down for a minute? Why do you need to text your friends when you’re seeing them any second? And please don’t say “shut up” in front of Jack.’
At the sound of his name, Jack leaned forward. ‘Flowers!’ he said, pointing to a bunch tied to a lamp post at the corner of Acacia Road.
‘Why did someone put them there?’ asked Leonora.
‘Because someone was killed at that spot, dumbo,’ snapped Natalie. ‘Just like Mum says we’ll be killed one day if Evie doesn’t stop driving so fast.’
‘What?’ Evie glanced furiously over her shoulder, and turned back just in time to stop as the car in front slowed. ‘Say that again.’
‘Nothing,’ mumbled Natalie.
Evie could feel herself sweating underneath her cool, well-pressed Stella McCartney suit. ‘Well, you can tell your mother that I
don’t
drive fast. I drive very carefully. And if she’s worried she’d better come and talk to me about it or drive you to school herself. Got it?’
For a few moments, there was silence in the back, punctuated by the odd titter from the girls, who had clearly enjoyed the effect they’d had on their step-mother. Evie promised herself a showdown with Robin over this one. Bloody cheek! How dare Rachel talk like that behind her back? Just because she didn’t hang around in the traffic – you couldn’t afford to when you were battling to make Registration – didn’t mean she was unsafe. She knew when it was OK to take risks, just like that red Fiesta with the dog in the back was doing now, sailing through an amber light.
In fact, she prided herself on her skill with the school run, which was pure unadulterated chaos. You needed sharp instincts plus a finely tuned sense of distance to avoid car doors that opened in your path or idiots who forgot to indicate when pulling out from the school dropping-off bay and who would – if Evie hadn’t reacted sharply – have been recuperating at the bodyshop by now.
‘Badron, badron, badron,’ chanted Jack.
‘Not again,’ moaned Leonora. ‘That’s getting on my nerves.
Where’s he picked it up?’
‘Probably a child at nursery who’s upsetting him,’ said Natalie. ‘Never mind, Jack. You tell this Ron kid that we’ll sort him out for you.’
They loved Jack far more than they could ever like her, thought Evie, grimly. Thank heavens they were nearly at school. Now all she had to do was park. Good, a Volvo was about to move off. She honked to indicate she was in a rush. The driver – a skinny blonde in sunglasses – gave her a filthy look, put down a mobile phone and pulled out, only just missing her left wing mirror. Lethal. If that woman had had a ‘How am I driving?’ notice in her back window, Evie would have reported her. She wasn’t sure about Martine either, and wondered how Rachel could trust her to share a regular run.
‘OK, out, everyone,’ she instructed, and slid into the tight space, which was partially over a double yellow. ‘Don’t forget your PE stuff in the boot. And peel that chewing gum off the seat.’
She shuddered. When she had been a child, her father’s beat-up Cortina, which he drove at weekends when he was not in the cab, had been festooned with garage freebies like Tiger Tails and always reeked of fags. That was why Evie kept an air freshener in hers and a Gucci carrier bag in which she deposited illicit sweet packets. When she’d first started doing the school run, she had forbidden eating in the car but the girls had complained to Robin and he had pointed out to Evie that he wanted them to feel at home when they were with him. Reluctantly she had given in but it didn’t stop her feeling furious when they treated the Discovery with the disdain they normally reserved for her.