The Stepmother (27 page)

“I'll come with you.”

“You're not going anywhere.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Stay here, enjoy your party. Dance with your fabulous fiancé. We'll get her home to yours, don't worry.”

But I was worried, and my feet were hurting, and I wasn't sure I had another dance in me. “Can't I just come home with you?” I said quietly.

Ben kissed my forehead. “Not in this lifetime, my friend.”

 

B
EN AND
I
MADE SURE
the coast was clear, and got Caspar and his now-sleeping prize down to the street, hidden under my coat. Ben belted Amber into the back of the cab. I grabbed Caspar's arm. “You promise me you didn't get a bit carried away and tear the dress—I would understand. Sometimes things can happen more quickly than you want them to—”

“I'd swear on my life, Tessa, but I don't know if that would make a difference right now.”

“Of course it would. But if it wasn't you, then who did rip her dress?”

“And call her a slut,” said Caspar, with pained bemusement.

“Who would do that, Caspar?” I waited.

“You swear you won't tell?”

“Caspar!”

He took a deep breath. “I think it was Mrs. Kent.”

“What? You
think
?”

“I know it sounds far-fetched—”

“It's ridiculous. Amber didn't even see Bea this evening. She was at…” My voice trailed off.

“She went home to get the words for the song. She didn't tell you because it was a surprise. I'm telling you, something happened between Amber and her mother.”

“No, Caspar. Sorry. She's spinning you a line.”

Caspar grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the way of a weaving gaggle of girls.

“She hasn't told me anything. She wouldn't. She loves her mother too much.”

“So what gives you the idea that—”

Caspar interrupted me. “The other day when she left your flat after the video thing, she came to my house and stayed the night. A friend of hers rang up and pretended to be Bea. Mum believed us.”

“I don't want to know—”

“She told me her mother was out, and she didn't want to be alone. I believed her. She obviously didn't feel very welcome at yours.”

I ignored his pointed comment.

“The next day I was at her house and heard Amber tell her mother she'd come home the previous evening, but because Mrs. Kent was asleep on the sofa, Amber just went to bed. Well, obviously I knew that wasn't true. She'd been at
our
house. Mrs. Kent was in all along.”

“So we know Amber doesn't have a problem telling a lie.”

“That's not the point.”

“It should be,” I said, getting angry.

“Hello, lovely,” leered some paralytic imbecile in a suit. “Wanna drink?”

“No, thanks,” I replied. He looked as though he was going to be a pest, but Caspar put his arm around me.

“Tessa, think about it. Mrs. Kent didn't know whether Amber had come home or not.”

The drunk sidestepped away.

“That's just not possible.”

“Unless?”

I put my hands on my hips. “What are you saying?”

“She was too drunk to remember.”

Ben put his head out of the taxi. “Come on, stop gassing! They're missing me on the dance floor. By the way, what's the babysitter called?”

Continuing to watch Caspar for signs of deceit, I replied, “Magda. The girls went home ages ago. I'll phone and let her know you're coming.”

“I can stay with Amber,” said Caspar.

“No.”

“I'll drop him home and come back,” said Ben.

Caspar looked at me. “You still think I did it?”

I didn't know what to think. “James wouldn't like it. I'm trying to protect you.” He opened his mouth to protest. “Listen to me, Amber told him you did it, so go with me on this one.”

He nodded forlornly.

I watched him pull the door behind him and carefully place Amber's head on his shoulder. I was baffled. Was this just a pubescent drunken drama or something I really had to worry about? I mean, Bea drunk was one thing, she was entitled on her night off, but ripping Amber's dress, calling her a slut, not knowing if she was home? No way. Not the Bea I'd been told about. That was as unlikely as, well, Caspar forcing himself on Amber.

Ben leaned out of the window as the taxi pulled off. “Ah, young love…Remember that?”

They did a U-turn and were gone. “Like it was yesterday,” I replied, and walked back into my engagement party.

 

I
FOUND
J
AMES AND TOLD
him Ben had taken Amber home. Before he could start quizzing me, we were joined by my parents.

“Darling, there you are. We're off, I think. I'm all danced out,” said Dad.

“What a swell party it was, Tessa,” sang my mother. “Dad and Peter are going fishing together. In Scotland!”

“What? Dad?”

“You know my motto—never too late to try something new,” he said. A motto he lived by. I can't remember if it was two or three degrees he'd acquired since retiring. You rarely saw him without a book in his hand. At eighty-four, he was going to take up fishing. He was an inspiration.

I smiled, comforted by the familiarity of my family. “You amaze me,” I said. “When are you going?”

“Couple of weeks' time, for five days on the Isle of Skye. Never been.”

I immediately looked at my mother. “I'll be fine,” she said sternly. “Do you go, Honor, on this fishing malarkey?” Honor had approached our gathering.

“Lord, no. I'm going on a retreat, actually.”

“Right, let me get you a taxi,” said James.

Honor turned back to my mother. “I go to a naturist reserve and get back to basics.”

“How wonderful. I love camping,” said Dad, who was a little hard of hearing.

I clamped my jaw shut. Naturist? My God, is no one what they seem?

“Any animals?” asked my father.

My mother smiled at Honor. “Plenty, I should imagine.”

“They're pretty tame and tend to keep to themselves.”

“Sounds lovely,” said my mother.

“Well, you could always join me. Good for the soul to try something new.”

“That's what I say,” observed Dad happily.

“Let me sleep on it. I'll call you.”

My God, they'd exchanged numbers. Our four parents, still together after an aggregate of nearly a hundred years of marriage, left together. It gave me hope. Dad was right. Hope was what we all needed. James and I went down in the lift with them to the street and waved them off.

“You didn't tell me your mother likes to dance around naked.”

“I'm told it's more sedate than that.”

“Anything else you're not telling me?” I asked, watching him.

“Like?”

“I don't know…That your ex-wife likes a drink?”

“Bea!” He laughed. “A drinker!” He laughed again. “She was a party girl in her time but now retired. Ever tried looking after children on a hangover?”

I shook my head.

“Impossible.”

But what if you didn't have to look after the children all the time? What if you had Every Other Weekend off? What if you came out of retirement, then found it hard to go back? No. I dismissed the thoughts. Something else was going on. Something I couldn't see. We were back at the entrance to the club. James put out his hand to open the door. Suddenly, I grabbed it.

“Can we go?” I said urgently.

“You sure?”

“Very.”

“Home it is, then,” said James.

But I didn't want to go home. I wanted to be alone with James. “I was thinking maybe that all-night kebab shop we found.”

“That's what I like—a girl with brains and a good appetite.”

“You don't by any chance have some sneakers on you?”

He patted his pockets. “Feet hurting?” I nodded. “I think I can sort something out, Ms. King.” Then, with no warning, he lifted me off the ground, like a hero in the movies, and swept me up into his arms. “Let's not say good-bye to anyone.”

“No,” I replied, resting my head on his chest. “Let's not.”

B
Y THE TIME
I
WAS AWAKE
, J
AMES HAD TAKEN THE GIRLS BACK TO
Bea's, picked up breakfast, and returned home. There was no point in bringing up the subject of the blue dress—if I did, I risked boxing myself into the corner I'd been pushed into the night before. To ease my moral dilemma, I had given my word to Caspar that I wouldn't say anything, but I knew I was using that oath as a shield. Asking James to believe Caspar's side of the story was asking him to admit his daughter had lied and his ex-wife drank. That a sex-crazed teenager had tried to have his way with his daughter and was heroically defeated, was easier to accept. But the sex-crazed teenager was Caspar, and I didn't think him capable of it. Then again, who knew what a rampant male virgin was capable of? But if Caspar had done what Amber had told James he had, she wouldn't have allowed herself to be swept up in his arms—would she? Then again…It was no good. I was going around and around in circles and was none the wiser.

I understood why I hadn't mentioned it, but what I was less clear about was why he hadn't brought it up with me. Was each of us hiding
something from the other? Was that how it all began? Did protecting the individual mean damaging the couple? If only, I thought for the hundredth time, I could pick up the phone and call Bea, we could sort it out in moments. But that wasn't going to happen.

 

M
ARCH CREPT ON TOWARD
E
ASTER
, and I saw the girls only a couple of times. Amber started attending an after-school drama club on Wednesdays, so I saw even less of her. I felt she was avoiding me, but I kept my suspicions to myself. I heard from Fran that Amber was a regular visitor to her house, but no one mentioned Caspar's name, so I didn't either. I missed one weekend with them all, because I went to stay with my godsons in Norwich. It was their second birthday. Their mother was my friend Helen, who had died when they were very small, so I had to go.

When I did see the girls, it was all very polite and well mannered, which made me more nervous. Amber was perfectly nice but strangely absent. Every time I tried to get close, I was politely rebuffed. Even the younger two seemed quieter, and I worried we were losing them, but when I brought up the subject, James dismissed it with the assurance that everything was simply getting back to mundane normality. But that felt too remote for my liking. I wanted to find a way through the polite barrier that had been erected. Then Fate showed me one.

 

I
KNOCKED ON
L
INDA'S DOOR
and opened it. She was barking into her headpiece but summoned me in with a clawed hand. She pointed to the coffee machine, then her mug. Linda drank way too much strong black coffee. She had so much caffeine in her system she hummed. Her foot tapped out a tattoo under the table. I poured some, sat down, and waited.

Linda leaned forward, plopped two fat saccharine tablets into the tar, and stirred it with her pen. “Look, you got yourself into this situation, you solve it. I need an answer by four.” She pressed a button and flicked back the microphone, like an airline pilot. “Fucking Americans,” she said. “What can I do for you, my precious? Need a good lawyer yet?”

“Ha-ha.”

“You will.”

“No, actually, I need a favor.”

“Christ, I hate those. I don't have any sway with that boarding school anymore, if that's it.”

“No, that's not it.”

“Trust me, you'll come around to the boarding-school idea. So what have you gone and promised the little brat this time?”

“Nothing. I want it to be a surprise. Are we still keeping the studio free next week for the Belles to sort out their differences?”

“Yeah. But I'm expecting them back sooner rather than later,” said Linda, with a glint in her eye.

“Do you think I could take Amber down there? I've got the girls for a weekend on my own—”

“Christ!”

“James is going to L.A. for a work junket, and it's the perfect opportunity for me to earn Amber's trust—”

“Buy her trust, you mean.”

“No, earn it. I'm looking for an honorable draw, not an underhanded victory.”

“Fool. Look, I'd help you if I could but it's a closed set, sweetie. You know perfectly well they can't sing.”

“Oh, I don't want them to
be
there. I want Amber to sing.”

“I'm not fucking reading you.”

“Amber has written this song for her father and I'd like to record it for a wedding present from the girls to their dad.”

“Still getting married, then?”

I didn't answer.

“You're not going to try and get me to sign her, are you?”

“No way. I'm trying to kill the beast, not create another.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Can I? We'll be paying for the day anyway.”

“If it's okay with Ca—”

“He said if it's okay with you, then fine.”

“Well, fine, then. But just for the record, I think you're fucking nuts.”

I laughed and walked to the door. She dismissed me with a wave and picked up the phone, ready to break someone else.

 

T
HE FOLLOWING
S
UNDAY
, J
AMES AND
his brother went to play in a charity football match. Faith called me up and asked me to have lunch with her, since Charlie was spending the day with his cousins. I nearly refused, having envisaged a hot bath and a good couple of hours with my foot-scraper, but now I was becoming part of a family, foot fetishes had to be put aside for the greater good. My instinct had been to like Faith, but I knew she and Bea were close, so it was with apprehension that I walked into the pub on Hammersmith Grove.

Faith was at a table, reading.

“Lucy is coming to join us. I hope you don't mind.” Faith folded the paper.

I immediately relaxed. I liked Lucy a lot. She was one of the few in James's family who didn't seem wedded to Bea. “Not at all,” I said.

“I hear you're having the girls to stay while Jimmy's away.”

“You think I'm mad?”

“Brave,” she replied.

“Hi!” said a voice behind me. It was Lucy. She leaned over and gave me a kiss. I appreciated the familiarity.

“When did Jimmy last play football? Is he going to have a heart attack?”

“He's pretty fit,” I said.

“We've heard,” said Lucy, cackling.

“Ignore her,” said Faith.

I shifted my chair to make room for Lucy. These two women were to become my sisters-in-law. I'd never had sisters before. I was suddenly quite moved. I wanted to like them. I really wanted them to like me.

The waiter came over and asked for our orders. Faith, who knew the place well, went for a Cobb salad. Lucy and I copied her.

“Chips with that, ladies?”

I nodded and shrugged simultaneously.

“Just to soak up the wine,” said Faith. “Bottle of house white, please.”

“And a jug of tap water,” said Lucy. She leaned forward on her elbows. “So, how's everything with Amber? Given you an apple-pie bed yet? Spat in your coffee?”

“Probably.”

“Come on, Lucy, she's not that bad,” said Faith, tearing into a baguette.

“I adore her, just wouldn't necessarily want to become her stepmother. She's always had Jimmy wrapped around her little finger.”

Faith looked at me. “You're no worse off with Amber than my other friends who've become stepparents. Everyone finds it hard.”

“Yeah, but Amber's had sole charge of Jimmy for the last four years and the first four he had sole charge of her. This is more than your average father-daughter thing. It drives Bea mad—”

“Lucy.”

“What?”

A small, uncomfortable silence followed.

I broke it. “James told me how he worked around Amber when she was a baby. It's very sweet.”

The waiter arrived with our drinks, and Faith and Lucy busied themselves pouring out wine and water, an operation they seemed more intent on than the job required.

“What did I say? You don't think it was sweet?”

Faith couldn't quite look me in the eye. “He didn't really work around her…” Her voice trailed off.

I frowned. “You mean Amber was dragged from pillar to post?”

“Oh, no, he was very disciplined about her routine, obsessively so, almost. No, he just didn't work.”

“That's not true Faith. He always had things in—”

“Development,” interrupted Faith. “Come on! That's what drove Bea mad.” She looked compromised. Again. “Obviously he got a job eventually. When Maddy was born.”

“Only because his snob of a mother-in-law shamed him into it. Poor Jimmy, it sucked out his soul. Something Bea never understood.”

“She'd carried that family for seven years, Lucy, had three kids. She was entitled to a break. If Jimmy had got off his arse sooner, she wouldn't have been too shattered to take the
Financial Times
job.”

“She didn't want it. She wanted to play house.”

“Lucy, you're so sure about what you do that you don't understand some people oscillate between choices. I know I do. When work's slow
I feel really guilty about not being at home with Charlie, and when it's frantic and exciting I feel stretched and guilty about not staying late with the rest of the team. Can't win. Bea wanted some time at home, but once you're home it's different. Bloody hard work for a start and no one says thank-you. I bet part of her misses the cut-and-thrust of the editorial room. She was brilliant at her job and now she spends her life cutting up carrot sticks.” Suddenly, Faith looked at me. “Sorry, I'm sure you don't want to talk about this.”

Are you kidding? I was on the edge of my seat. I had momentarily forgotten we were talking about my Salt-and-pepper Man and his first wife. Instead we were talking about a couple called Jimmy and Bea, and, frankly, they sounded fascinating. I can happily sit in a pub with a friend and dissect the life of a person I've never met and be absolutely gripped. Not only gripped, but comment, too. We do it every day, Brad and Ange, Madge and Guy. I wanted more on Jimmy and Bea.

“The party was great,” said Faith, unsubtly changing the subject. “I thought what your dad said was so sweet. I can't believe he delivered you. You're obviously very close.”

“At least that makes it easier to understand Jimmy and Amber, I suppose,” said Lucy.

“It hasn't,” I said honestly. “She was quite stroppy in the beginning, but now she just doesn't seem herself.”

“I know what I said about her, but she's all right. Puberty isn't fun, is it?” Lucy grimaced.

“Do you think it's that?” I asked.

“She's fourteen—it must be,” said Lucy. “It's not you. She loves her dad in a good way—she wants him to be happy. You make him happy. She's a good kid, really.”

“They all are. Bea's done a great job with them.”

“Faith! Jimmy's done it too, you know, not just Bea.”

“With Amber, maybe, but the other two…He was completely absent. You're like Amber, you've never been able to see his faults.”

“And you're so discerning about Luke,” said Lucy, loaded with sarcasm. “He's a lazy bastard. You do everything for him, then thank him for it. It's crazy.”

Faith turned to me again. “Sorry. Families. You're probably not used to this.”

I was saved from answering. “They're a nightmare,” said Lucy.

“I suppose there are some advantages to being a one and only,” I laughed.

“We love each other, really,” she said.

“Of course you do. I didn't mean—”

“Don't be daft, I know you didn't,” Lucy retorted.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Faith was looking at me carefully.

“I don't promise to answer it truthfully,” I replied. I was trying to be funny. I couldn't work out whether this was going well or not. How personal was she going to get?

“Did you miss not having siblings?”

“Oh, so you don't want to know how many people I've slept with?”

“Lots, I hope.”

I tapped my nose. She turned serious again. “It's just Charlie…”

“No. I didn't. Friends fill the space. Plus Charlie has something I never had. Cousins who adore him. The girls talk about him like he's their brother.”

“That's what Bea says.” I adopted my benign, we're-talking-about-Bea-again silence and smiled. Faith stood up. “I need a pee.” She disappeared around the bar.

“That was nice of you,” said Lucy. “Faith tried so hard for a second. She likes to be reassured it was okay to give up. She had a horrible time. Both of them did.”

“Both of them?”

“Bea and Faith,” clarified Lucy. “That's one of the reasons they're so close.”

“Getting pregnant was a problem for Bea?” I was confused. Unless I was imagining things, I was looking at a trio of stepdaughters.

“For Faith it was. Bea's problem was keeping them.”

“Between Amber and Lulu, you mean?”

Lucy scrunched up her face. “Poor thing had five miscarriages. Jimmy begged her to stop, Amber was enough, but she wanted a big family. Safety in numbers, I've always thought. Protect her from her mother…”

I swallowed some wine. I felt bad for Bea. I knew what a miscarriage looked like. I'd seen one. “Poor Bea.”

“Lulu was born at last and it was all worth it, and less than a year later out popped Maddy. God knows where she came from.”

I knew Lulu and Maddy were close in age. I'd done the math. Lulu would have been only a couple of weeks old when Maddy was conceived. Obviously, I found that hard to swallow since it meant James and Bea were back at it bloody quickly, which didn't tally with my preconceived ideas about marriage failure, inhospitable deserts, and poor, neglected James. My mind had always got stuck on the image of a lithe, nubile, hormonally flushed Bea and proud-father James gleefully jumping back into bed without even waiting for the six-week checkup. I wasn't thinking about the consequences. I was thinking about where I fitted in.