The Stepmother (23 page)

I forced my eyes to concentrate on the road ahead and my voice to stay steady. “And you can. And I won't get cross or upset ever again.”

“Even if we draw on the walls?” said Lulu, sensing an opening.

“No, you monkey, house rules still apply. And if you run across a road without looking, I will smack you. We're talking about Tessa and Daddy here, that's all. You can tell me whatever you like.”

“Does that mean we're allowed to be excited about the wedding?” asked Maddy.

“Yes.”

“And we're allowed to show you pictures of our dresses?” asked Lulu.

“Yes.”

“And Amber won't have to put you to bed?”

My head shot around, then back again. “What?”

Maddy looked scared. Maddy, my light sleeper. My night vision.

“No,” I said quickly, to soothe her. “No. She won't.”

Lulu and Maddy smiled at each other. I moved the rearview mirror away so they couldn't see my face scrunch up to keep the bloody tears at bay. No, I swore silently to myself, she would never have to do that again. And this time I meant it.

“Mummy?”

“Hmm?”

“Does that mean we can love Tessa too?”

It was Maddy's voice. I sucked in beams of light through the windscreen and forced it into mine. I turned briefly to my daughters. “I think you should,” I said, smiling.

Maddy seemed satisfied. “So do I,” she said.

“Me too,” said Lulu.

They were the children I wanted them to be, and more. Now I had to be the mother they deserved.

 

T
HUMPING MUSIC GREETED US, BUT
I was determined to keep it friendly. I had been warned. I walked up the stairs and knocked on Amber's door. I got no answer, so I opened it.

“We're home—Oh! Sorry! I didn't know you had company.”

The boy was on his feet. Which I liked. He looked terrified, too, which I didn't completely dislike.

“Hello? I'm Amber's mother.”

He lurched forward and stuck out his hand. “Caspar,” he said, then went to the stereo and pressed a button. Much better.

“You should have told me you had someone coming over,” I said, trying to hold on to those feelings of peace and love.

“
You
should have knocked.”

“I did.”

“How do you do?” said Caspar. “It's very nice to meet you.”

“And you. Amber, we need to talk.”

“Nothing to talk about.”

“But last night—”

“I didn't want to stay at Dad's.” She couldn't quite look me in the eye, so I assumed she was lying, but then I wasn't so sure. “You were asleep on the sofa. I didn't want to wake you.”

Caspar looked anywhere but at me. I felt the ground shift beneath my feet.

“No one was here when I woke up. I figured you'd gone to pick up Maddy and Lulu.”

I had thought about putting the clean clothes away in the girls' rooms this morning but, to be honest, I'd been feeling too ropy and had drowned myself in tea instead. I'd gone to Faith's early to escape the temptation of toast. I had no idea whether Amber was telling the truth or not.

“Are you staying for lunch, Caspar?”

Amber glanced at her watch and pushed herself out of the beanbag she'd been partially filling. “We're going to the park to play football with some friends.”

Since when had my fourteen-year-old started telling me what she was doing and not asking? Since she'd started putting me to bed. “Let me at least make you a sandwich.”

Caspar looked keen. Oh, the bottomless appetite of the teenager.

Five minutes later, I called up to them. I heard the floorboards shift and knew I'd been heard. Amber and Caspar came thundering down the stairs. An oval plate stacked high with sandwiches sat in the middle of the table. Caspar placed a guitar case up against the wall and sat down. I called the girls in. “So, you play the guitar?” I asked.

“He's brilliant, and he's only been playing a year,” said Amber, momentarily forgetting she was ignoring me. Caspar blushed.

“You must be the person helping Amber with her best-man song, then.”

“She doesn't need any help.”

She giggled and prodded him playfully. “Yes, I do.”

“No, you don't.”

“Yes, I do.”

“By the sound of it, she'd like your help.”

“Doesn't matter anyway,” said Amber. “It's not going to happen.”

“Of course it is, darling,” I said. “Tessa and Daddy are going to be fine. Nothing happened last night that can't be resolved. You know what Friday nights are like, everyone tired and crotchety. You will be the very best man ever, and I think singing the speech is a brilliant idea.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

Amber looked a bit unsure. A bit confused. I didn't blame her. Living with me recently must have been like living with Dr. Jekyll. When the nights came in, the unknown came out. But I was determined to reassure her that all that was behind us.

“Mrs. Kent—”

“Bea…please.” Maybe it was time to revert to my maiden name. We didn't need too many Mrs. Kents on the block.

“Um, it's my mate's seventeenth tonight. I was wondering if I could take Amber to the party.”

“Seventeenth?”

“It's not far, Mum. Tufnell Park. It's at a bowling alley. His mum and dad will be there.”

“Um…” Was Caspar seventeen too? Wasn't that a bit old? Wasn't Amber a bit young? I wanted to say no, but my white flag was so fresh out of the box that putting it back would cause more damage.

“I'll have to come and pick you up at ten.”

“Yes!” said Caspar. “Great!”

“Wouldn't it be easier if I got a minicab?” asked Amber. “At that time?”

“No. They're dangerous.” But I knew what she was thinking.

“Who will watch Maddy and Lulu?”

Oh, yes. Hadn't thought of that. I was entering new territory. Again. That's the thing with kids: just when you've got a handle on them, they grow a year and start a whole new phase.

“I could bring her home, Mrs. Kent. There's a bus that goes direct to the high street.”

“Bea,” I repeated. “I'm not sure about that. Amber's only fourteen. Maybe Dad can pick you up. He's not far.”

They exchanged a brief look.

“Honestly, Amber, everything's fine with Dad, I promise you. But he might be with Tessa, so let me think about it. Polly from next door might be able to watch the kids while I come and get you.”

“Thanks, Mum.” Amber beamed.

“It's a maybe.”

“Maybe's better than no,” she said. I would have agreed to anything just to see a smile replace the concern that had taken hold of my daughter's flawless face. Since I had put it there, it was up to me to take it away.

 

T
HE SOLUTION, IT TURNED OUT
, was Caspar's dad. He rang and offered to pick the pair up from mine and drop Amber home again. He took my address and assured me Amber would be back by ten. Trying to sound like the rational woman I used to be, I told him ten-thirty would be fine. He sounded nice.

With the younger two in bed and Amber dressed for her first boy-girl party, I kissed her good-bye and waved them off. Amber asked if I'd prefer her to stay at home and keep me company. If I had needed any more telling, that would have been it. But I didn't. I had been told. This time I was going to listen. I tried to convey to my child that I would be fine, absolutely fine, but she had no reason to trust me and I knew that it wouldn't be my words that convinced her otherwise. I had a date, too, one I needed to be alone for.

I shut the door and went to the freezer. The first thing I was going to retrieve was the vodka. But it wasn't there. I opened the fridge. The wine was missing too. I went to the cupboard high above the fridge, which the kids couldn't reach, where I kept the spares, but the spirits had been spirited away.

Normally, I would wonder whether I had done a bit of a Winnie-the-Pooh and forgotten how much honey I'd consumed, but I'd gone to the supermarket and knew I replaced the empty bottles. Just in case I had guests. My first thought was amnesia. My second was thief. Turned out I was wrong on both counts.

I found the vodka bottle in a Jimmy Choo shoebox at the back of Amber's closet. It was the Jimmy Choo box that caught my eye, since I knew she couldn't possess such an item. I never found the open bottle of wine, but the six spares were under her bed. The Bailey's, gin, and whisky (left over from Jimmy days) were behind her oversize, old-fashioned stereo, which she had begged me to replace. I carried them downstairs and placed them, side by side, on the kitchen counter.

Neither amnesia nor a thief but the guardian angel who put me to
bed on nights when I could no longer walk. She was not the enemy. Nor was Tessa. The enemy was me and the crap in those bottles. It was the hole I tried to fill. It was what had been before the hole.

I unscrewed the vodka first, took a long, hard sniff, and emptied it into the sink. Glug. Glug. Glug. It belched out of the big, cheap store-brand bottle. Glug. Glug. Glug. I didn't open my eyes until all I heard was a few intermittent drips. Alcohol filled the air. The whisky, Bailey's, and gin followed suit. They were easier to dispose of. By the time I drank those, I couldn't taste them and I wouldn't miss what I couldn't taste. The wine I couldn't throw away. I put the six bottles into a box and carried them next door.

Polly was a little surprised to see me.

“A gift,” I said, holding out the box.

She smiled, bemused. “For what?”

“For watching the kids when I need to be somewhere else, signing for parcels—”

“Don't be ridiculous. You're the one who does that for me.”

“Please take them. I'm on a strict diet and can't cope with the temptation.”

“Now you're speaking my language. Tell you what, I'll keep them and when you're at your target weight we'll drink them together.”

“They'll have corked by then,” I said.

“Rubbish. Keep it up, girl, you're looking so much better.”

I returned home and, feeling empowered, got out the cleaner and went at the kitchen like a surgical cleaning team. I ate a tangerine, an apple, and some celery. I drank peppermint tea a few degrees off boiling point, and cleaned and cleaned and cleaned while I sang to the radio. Amber wasn't the only one in the family with a voice. I had acted and sung at university. I had been a backing singer in some crappy college bands. I could hold a tune in a karaoke bar and loved nothing better than a good old sing-along. It was time to reclaim that person. It was time to let go. It was time to forgive myself, for my children's sake. It was time to dry out.

At ten twenty-five I heard the key in the lock. It was stealthy, tentative, nervous.

“No, it's okay, you don't have to wait,” said Amber. Only I could hear
the worry in her voice. Only I knew why it was there. Amber might have hidden the booze, but she still didn't know what she was going to find inside. She didn't want Caspar seeing what she had seen too many times.

I raced to the door to put her out of her misery.

“Mum!”

I was still wearing an apron. “Sorry, catching up on some housework. Hi.” Caspar was on the path. A car was parked on the other side of our little gate. As soon as the man inside saw me, he got out and walked up the path toward me.

“Thank you so much for bringing Amber home,” I said, with the diction of Dame Maggie Smith. I put my arm around Amber so that she could smell I was sober. I looked at her. “Did you have fun?” She nodded, too startled to talk.

“Hi, I'm Nick. Caspar's dad.” We shook hands.

“Bea.” He looked about twelve and just like Caspar. Handsome.

“It's very nice to meet you. Amber's been a delight, as usual.”

“As has Caspar.”

“In which case would you like to keep him?”

“Dad!”

“We could swap,” I suggested.

“Mum!”

“Perfect,” said Nick.

“Can I stay?” asked Caspar hopefully.

“No!” exclaimed Nick and I in unison, which made us laugh—at ourselves, though I don't think the kids realized that.

“Maybe another time,” I said, squeezing Amber. “Thank you again. Good night.” I turned to go.

“Mum,” whispered Amber, turning out of my grip.

“What? It's cold.”

She glared at me.

“Oh, sorry. 'Night, Caspar, see you soon, no doubt.”

Amber rolled her eyes, which made Nick and me smile at each other again.

I went back into the house but left the door open a fraction, and Nick went to his car but kept the engine running. The message was
clear. There would be no heavy petting tonight. I could hear the soft murmur of their voices from the other side of the door. I could see their distorted selves through the glass. They moved closer. The voices dropped to an inaudible whisper, then stopped altogether. Then, suddenly, Amber was inside, the door was shut, she was giving me a huge hug and belting up the stairs to bed. To be alone. With Caspar. In her head.

About twenty minutes later, I took up two cups of chamomile tea and knocked on her door. She was in bed in her Snoopy pajamas, her face illuminated by the phosphorescent light of her mobile phone. She was smiling. Texting. The modern-day love letter.

“Thanks, Mum,” she said, finishing a lengthy reply.

“So, was the party good?”

She grinned.

“It wouldn't have mattered if you were in a traffic jam on the M25, right?”

She shook her head. “He's nice, isn't he?”

I sipped my tea. “Very nice. I liked his dad too.”

“They were only twenty when Caspar was born.”

That explained the cherubic face. Nick was a child himself.

“They've been together since the first day of university practically. They're always cuddling. It's sweet. Nick's a very romantic man.”