The Stepmother (7 page)

I sighed.

“What happened, Bea? Amber thinks you fainted.”

I put my hand up to my heart. The pounding hadn't lessened much. “I think I had a panic attack.” I couldn't recall the sensation of being unable to breathe, but I could still see myself in the mirror, screaming in silent panic because I couldn't. I shuddered.

My ex-husband put his arm around me and I let myself lean into him. “What did she do this time?”

“Amber's been lovely.”

“Your mother.”

“Nothing. It wasn't that.”

“Bea, it's always that.”

My mother. The convenient excuse we both used. “I'm just like her. I don't do anything of value.”

“You couldn't be more different.”

“I don't work.”

“You're doing the most valuable job in the world.”

I scoffed. “Hardly.”

“You're developing the next generation. Somebody needs to. And you do it effortlessly, generously, imaginatively. Brilliantly, in fact.”

“I don't feel very brilliant. In fact, right now I feel pretty repugnant. The three-way mirror didn't help.”

“Ssh, you're beautiful.”

“No, Jimmy. I'm not.”

“You are. To us.”

“I'm a fat cow.”

“Stop it. God, Bea, okay, so you've a few extra pounds—”

I laughed harshly.

“It's because you take on so much. If you didn't eat, you wouldn't be able to stand, let alone look after our children, help everybody all the time, and pick up my slack.”

I nearly protested, but changed my mind.

“Which I know you do, so don't protest.”

I exhaled shakily.

“It's not important enough for this,” said Jimmy. “Pounds you can lose—”

“But not my sanity?”

“It's not worth it.”

My rational self knew that, of course it did, but the monster would rear up, roar, and awaken all my insecurities. And I would feed it. It was the most demanding of all my babies and the one I had never been able to get into a routine.

“You know, Bea, you can get fit again, if you want to. It's bloody boring but you could.” I must have looked pained, because he added, “You don't have to. You look great as you are.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe not right now.”

I laughed weakly.

“But when you smile you do.”

I tried to remember what it felt like to smile. Really smile, I mean, rather than out of politeness. I couldn't.

“I, for one, would like to see more of that smile.”

What was he saying? “I've become so dull, haven't I?”

“We can change that. There was a time when you were up for anything.”

“A long time ago.” I paused. To hell with it, what did I have to lose? “When I had you.”

Jimmy tightened his grip around me. “No, Bea, you never needed me for support. It was always the other way around.”

Here I was, seminaked on a changing-room floor, confessing things I didn't realize I felt to the man I had divorced. “I do now.”

“That's why I'm here. And I always will be.”

Desire threw a grenade into my gut and the vice around my chest lessened its grip. “I wish we'd had chats like this when we were married,” I said.

Jimmy was quiet for a while and I was afraid I'd overstepped the mark. “We did. In the beginning.”

I exhaled a long breath, and was grateful when the inhalation followed. Breathing. What a strange thing to be so conscious of. What a foolish thing to take for granted.

“Do you think you can manage to get up?” he asked.

I nodded, though I was reluctant to leave his hold.

“All right. Well, let's stick your mother in a cab and I'll drive you guys home.”

“Thanks, sweet pea,” I said. It was only when he looked at the floor that I realized I'd called him by the old term of endearment, the one I reserved for my children, the one that wasn't appropriate anymore…maybe it could become appropriate again.

 

H
E PUT HIS ARM AROUND
my shoulder defensively, manhandled my mother into a cab—that was enough reason to love the man—then got into the driver's seat of my car and drove us home. At a red light, I looked at my ex-husband, then back at our three girls, and took my first easy breath since I'd been left with my reflection in the changing room. That was when it hit me. What had been very bad had seemed only half as bad the moment Jimmy had arrived. And the shitty drive back through rush-hour traffic with Amber playing the latest inappropriate girl-band CD at full volume, teaching Maddy and Lulu inappropriate words, didn't seem bad at all. Usually it got me baring my teeth.

“‘Waving me tush smack at ya!'” chorused the little ones. Jimmy and I laughed.

 

I
NSTEAD OF LEAVING JUST BEFORE
the girls reared up at the homework-reading-teeth-cleaning triple jump, which I alone had to coax them over every night, Jimmy stayed. Again. More than that, he put me in front of the telly with a glass of wine and took over. So this was what it felt like to be supported. When all was quiet on the western front, he made me a delicious, nutritious Slim-A-Soup with extra crudités.

“Promise me you won't skip meals again.”

I nodded.

“You scared me,” he said.

“I scared myself.”

“How are you feeling now?”

“This is helping.” I was pretty certain he knew I didn't mean the soup. “Thank you.”

He smiled at me. “You seem to have got some color in your cheeks at least.”

We were definitely not talking about food.

I
COULDN'T GET HIM OUT OF MY HEAD
. E
VERY MORNING
I
WOKE UP
and knew I'd been thinking about him in my sleep. I stared at the place where he used to lie and wondered where on earth he'd gone. I tried to tell myself the diet was making me feel so light on my toes, but I knew it was something else. I denied it was happening at first, because it was (a) so ridiculous and (b) so quick. But the fact of the matter was that Jimmy consumed my every waking thought. I took mundane chores in my stride, since they were perfect opportunities to daydream. He called me every few days to see how I was doing, and we'd have lovely friendly conversations. I had to remind myself not to get too flirty.

A couple of days before Luke's party, I was making and freezing a zillion cheese straws when the doorbell rang. It was 11:32 a.m. I nearly didn't open it, because 11:32 meant carpetbaggers, chuggers, Hari Krishnas, or bailiffs. But I was finding it easier to look on the bright side of life, so I went to the door.

A courier in a big black helmet stood squeaking in leathers on my doorstep. I would have been alarmed, except he seemed to be offering
me a large Harrods bag. Stapled to it was a white envelope with my name on it. I signed. I had recognized the handwriting immediately. Was one of my increasingly erotic fantasies going to play out? The one with the evening dress and the invite to dinner and me playing the dish? Didn't matter how my fantasies began, they ended the same. Me shuddering with the feel of a man entering me. I'm sorry if it sounds perverse but, my God, this was something I needed. And not just any man. My man. Jimmy. My stomach lurched with wanton desire. No wonder the pounds were falling off me. How could I eat when I had a swarm of butterflies in my belly?

I took the bag through to the sitting room and pulled off the envelope. With a shaking hand, I drew out the note.

I held up the Diane von Furstenberg dress. It was a midnight blue silk jersey knee-length wrap dress with a swirling ivory pattern. It looked tiny. I sighed. It would have to stretch some to cover me. I returned to my cheese straws, reluctant to ruin my happy mood with another disastrous trying-on session.

But eventually curiosity got the better of me and I took the dress upstairs. I put my best bra on, took off my knickers—nothing like seeing elastic cut a ravine through flesh to get a girl running to the fridge—and slipped it on. I couldn't believe how well it suited me. The wrap hid a multitude of sins, the cleavage distracted from the rest, and the material floated over my bottom in a way that made me think more of “Jell-O on springs” Marilyn Monroe and less of Harvey Fierstein. I ran to the loo. The top half looked okay. I jumped up and down to get a better look. It was no good. I needed full-length satisfaction.

Scraping back a mound of dirty clothes, I prized open Amber's bedroom door and, having slipped on some very high heels, opened her wardrobe. The color was perfect. It made my hair look blacker and my eyes more blue. But it was more than the color. It was the cut. The shape. The fit. Actually, it was even more than that. It was me. I looked…I caught my reflection in the mirror and smiled. I looked…okay. I looked okay! I turned to look at my bum. The swirling pattern confused the eye so much even that didn't look too bad. I turned back grinning and did a celebratory jump. Oh, my God…I really looked okay!

I tried to ring Jimmy, but he was in a meeting, so I sent him a text. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. X.” A couple of hours later I got one back. “You're welcome. Glad you like it. See you Saturday. XX.” Two kisses. Two kisses! What was happening here?

After that it was easy not to eat, and by Saturday night the dress looked even better than okay.

When I came down the stairs, I was greeted by shocked silence. It saddened me that I'd allowed myself to look so shitty for so long that my daughters were rendered speechless by my improved appearance, and made me happy that I was finding my way back. I had the fire of a recent convert in my belly, and knew that, as sure as sugar lows follow chocolate highs, trans-animal fats would never pass my lips again. Finally Amber spoke: “Wow, Mum, you look
superlative
!”

“And you look stunning yourself,” I replied. “All three of you do. I simply don't know how I made three such brilliant, clever, wonderful daughters. Now, let's show them how to party!”

One of the best bits of the evening was sitting in the black cab heading back to Bush Hall. Amber took out of her handbag an old compact of mine and we all checked our reflections, then touched up our lipstick. Even Maddy had been allowed to wear a little clear lip gloss, and I thought, again, how lucky I was to have daughters with whom I could share the wonders of womanhood. I know girls are tricky and complex, conniving and multifaceted, but, hey, I wouldn't have it any other way. It's why we're the interesting, contradictory creatures we are. And I, for one, felt like celebrating that. Neurotic? Damn right we're neurotic! It means we're thinking.

I skipped up the steps to the hall with my daughters behind me and knew, for the first time in a long time, that the appraising, admiring glances were not reserved entirely for them. As a group, we looked good, my redheaded daughters and I. There was only one thing missing, and we'd have looked perfect.

Almost half of the guests were already there, and we were bang on time. A nod to Luke and Faith. They're a lovely couple who, despite having had their fair share of troubles, work like machines, raise a child, and always have time for everyone else. They make it seem easy. And I know it ain't. Faith rocked in a white-leather skintight trouser suit that made me think of Pattie Boyd. Charlie, their five-year-old son, was in jeans and a baseball jacket with “Daddy” and “40” sewn on the back. As soon as the girls saw him, they were off, ushering him around like a miniature prizefighter.

Forty minutes later and two glasses of champagne down, Jimmy hadn't arrived. My youngest ex-sister-in-law, Lucy—the woman who allegedly sees auras and spends her life puncturing the depressed with needles—touched my arm. “Don't worry, he's coming. I was going to pick him up, but he said a meeting had overrun.”

“On Saturday?” I asked.

She shrugged. “You look the best I've seen you look in ages,” she said.

“It was about time.”

“I wasn't saying that. Have you met someone?”

“Lucy!”

“What? It's been four years since you separated. You are allowed, you know.”

“I haven't.”

“Well, you're going to soon, looking like that. Mark my words.” Lucy laughed. Hope so, I thought, scanning the room again. “Oh, look, there's Mum and Dad,” she said. “And, hey, Jimmy's with them.”

My heart did a little cha cha cha, then went off like a Catherine wheel. He was here. He walked up the stairs behind his parents, patting down some tufts of wet hair that weren't behaving. He was untucked, disheveled, and pink in the face. He'd been running. Hopeless creature. Did I care? No. I loved him more because he hadn't changed a bit and
that was the way I wanted him to be. My Jimmy. The man I'd been with for nearly twenty years. Minus the last four. But what was that? A drop in the ocean. The blink of an eye. A second in time. But how did it feel to him?

Honor and Peter embraced me warmly and told me how well I looked and that the girls were stunning. I smiled, but I wanted to get past them to Jimmy. He grabbed a couple of drinks for his parents, then passed one to me. An electric shock went through my hand as he touched it. I was sure he'd felt it too. We smiled coyly at each other. I knew I should eat something before having another drink. After three weeks' abstinence, the champagne had gone straight to my head, but it tasted so good I couldn't resist.

“You're beautiful, Bea,” he said.

“Thanks to you. I don't know how you did it.”

“Did what?” asked Honor. She may have been dressed for polite society, but her ears remained naked, always.

“Jimmy chose this dress for me,” I said.

Honor looked from me to her son. “Did he?”

“Well, Bea kind of had her hands full, and I work right next to the shop.” I knew he was covering up, protecting his mother from worry. But she didn't have to worry. Not this time.

“Why are you so out of breath?” said Honor.

“Squash,” said Jimmy.

I frowned. “Lucy said you were in a meeting.”

“Then squash. That's why I'm so late. More drinks, anyone?” We shook our heads. Our glasses were full.

As Jimmy went off in search of a drinks tray, I heard silver on glass.

Faith had climbed onto a chair and was persistently tapping her glass with a spoon, pleading for hush. A ripple of applause and quiet cheers went through the room. “I was going to do this later, when everyone was sitting down and eating, but I can feel myself getting too pissed too quickly, and no one wants a drunk woman rambling on about how blessed she feels to have the man she does, the son she does, and the life she does. It would just get embarrassing as I howled about how much Luke means to me, all the tiny things he does for me that make me love him more every day. And who would believe it, coming from an
inebriated mess? So I stand before you now, semi-sober, to raise a glass, which will be followed by many more, to Luke—my beloved husband. Happy birthday, my darling. I hope you know as you look around this room how very loved you are, and how very loved you deserve to be. You are a great, great guy and, not to dis the weaker sex, there aren't many of you out there.”

There was a moan of disapproval from the gentlemen in the room, but it was lighthearted: everyone knew Faith.

She held up her hand. “Present company excepted.” She laughed, then put her hand on her heart. “I love you, and not just for taking an old lady off the shelf.”

Luke stepped up to her, lifted her down, and kissed her. It wasn't very passionate, because they were both laughing, but it was wonderful to see. Charlie ran up and squeezed between their legs, wanting in on the action, but he was kept waiting. Sometimes you had to put your other half before your offspring. Faith and Luke were good at that. I looked at Jimmy, who was watching his brother with a beatific smile.

As if sensing my stare, he turned to me. The smile fell away. It's okay, I wanted to shout. I'm going to make it all better. I promise. You'll see.

 

I
WAS DELIGHTED TO SEE
my food disappearing within minutes of being brought out by the serving staff. And when dinner was announced, no one rushed off in search of sustenance. Which meant the bar area remained packed with nicely pissed happy people. It was only when the champagne ran out that people trickled downstairs to where food and wine were being served.

Honor stood resplendent behind the table—she had covered her beautiful purple velvet trouser suit with an apron of a busty naked wench in garters. “What—this old thing?” she kept saying, with a wicked smile, to anyone who mentioned it.

Peter's apron depicted a buttoned-up member of the Household Cavalry. He winked at me as he handed me a plate of food. Later they swapped aprons. Another clue, I thought. The ability to laugh at each other without causing offense. A very tricky thing to do.

Dinner was a relaxed, sit-where-you-like affair. The girls and I had been at the hall in the afternoon, decorating the table with twists of ivy
from Honor and Peter's garden and tea lights bought en masse from IKEA. Maddy and Lulu had suggested hurling glitter over the waxy green leaves, and now, in the candlelight, the tables looked as if fairies had danced on them. But the best was yet to come.

Emboldened by weight loss and alcohol, I put my plate next to Jimmy's and sat down. I was about to ask him if he wanted to join us some time over the weekend and do something as a family, when Faith appeared. She'd been working the room and sticking to her promise to consume nothing but champagne (she obviously had a secret stash, which I made a mental note to raid) and was in flying form. She was followed by Lucy.

“Hey, Jimbean, do you know what a superstar Bea's been? The food, the tables, keeping me sane…I tell you, the woman could be an MP the number of plates she spins. And you turn up late, looking like you've been dragged through a hedge, without so much as a gift!”

“But clean at least,” he said. “And the gift is a surprise.”

“I'll bet. Where have you been recently? We haven't seen you for months.”

“Working,” he replied. “Loved your speech.”

“Whatever you do, don't let me near the mic, even if you have to rip it out of my hands. I feel a terrible gush coming on. Isn't he amazing, though?” Faith was grinning inanely.

“Amazing,” mimicked Lucy. “We've always congratulated ourselves on how lucky we are to have such an amazing brother.”

Luke joined us. “Quite right too.” He kissed Jimmy. “All right, mate?”

“Couldn't be better. A great party.”

“A great party? You guys are all huddled up with family. Shouldn't you be circulating?”

“With a family as good as this one, why go anywhere else?” I said.

“Hear, hear,” said Faith.

“Except you did,” said Lucy.

“Lucy!” exclaimed Jimmy.

“Didn't get very far, though, did I?” I said, laughing it off. Lucy had always been the most ardent defender of the clan. I didn't see Jimmy give her a stern look, but I guessed he had, because Lucy didn't say any
more. Not that it usually put her off. Spoke her mind, did our Lucy, regardless of consequence. It was admirable directed at others, and extremely uncomfortable directed at me. But tonight was not a night for discomfort. Tonight was a night to dance.