The Stepmothers’ Support Group. Sam Baker

Alfie seemed satisfied. ‘What’s for lunch?’

      ‘What would you like?’ From the way Ian asked, Eve gathered he already knew the answer.

      ‘Pizza!’ Alfie yelled and galloped from the room, leading his imaginary army in search of a takeaway menu, which, apparently, was in his bedroom.

      ‘Red wine? White wine? Beer? Tea?’ Ian asked, as he led Eve back into the hallway. At some point its original black and white Victorian floor tiles had been lovingly restored. Eve tried not to wonder by whom.

      ‘White please, if you’ve got one open.’

      ‘What do you think?’ he asked, pushing open the door to the kitchen. Sun poured through a large bay, bouncing off the white walls and giving the scrubbed pine table and cupboards a golden glow. ‘Like it?’

      ‘What’s not to like?’ she gasped. Eve couldn’t imagine owning a place like this. You could fit her flat twice into the kitchen alone. ‘It’s beautiful.’

      Throwing a glance over his shoulder before he pushed the door to, Ian slid his arms around her. ‘So are you,’ he said and kissed her.

      ‘Daddeee!’ a wail came from halfway up the stairs and Ian rolled his eyes. ‘Talk about timing. Take a seat,’ he nodded at the old pews that lined either side of the table. ‘While I go and sort that out.’

      ‘Ian? Where’s Hannah?’ Eve asked when Ian reappeared. It was less than a minute later but enough time for Eve to analyse every inch of the room’s polished terracotta floor, clean white walls and minimalist white china. If it hadn’t been for Sophie’s drawings stuck to the fridge and a muddy lattice of paw prints on the kitchen window the room would have been just a little too immaculate.

      ‘Oh, around somewhere. In her room probably.’ Ian shrugged and stuck his head in the fridge. ‘Pinot Grigio all right?’ But his body language was nowhere near as casual as his words, and Eve felt her confidence dim a little.

      An hour sped past. Eve and Ian laid the table, washed salad leaves and mixed olive oil and vinegar to make dressing, while Alfie and Sophie skittered in and out. From Sophie, Eve learnt the paw prints outside the window belonged to next door’s cat. From Alfie, she learnt that Spiderman beat Venom every time.

      As Ian chatted, about photographing some up-and-coming artist, about Alfie’s school, about his occasional problems with Inge, the new au pair, Eve dared to let herself hope there might be other Saturday lunchtimes like this.

      Sunday lunchtimes as well. Maybe a Saturday night in the middle, too.

      ‘So, what d’you fancy?’ Ian asked, shoving Alfie’s tattered takeaway menu into her hand and interrupting a reverie that had included Ian, shirt undone, jeans, bare feet, making fresh coffee and toast some Sunday morning.

      ‘Oh,’ Eve jumped, feeling caught out. ‘Anything. Really. Just get what you usually would.’

      ‘Now that’s reckless.’ He grinned. ‘In this house that could mean tuna with bacon bits and pineapple…I’d better go see what Hannah wants. It changes from week to week.’

      Letting her hand drop, he pulled open the kitchen door. ‘Oh!’ he said, but recovered quickly. ‘Hannah. How long have you…I mean, I didn’t realize you were there.’

      When Hannah stepped into the room Eve resisted the urge to shiver; she could have sworn the sunshine dimmed and the temperature dropped a degree or two. The girl’s long fair hair hung loose and the white shirt she wore over her jeans looked vintage, but more granny’s attic—or even grandpa’s—than charity shop.

      ‘Not long,’ Hannah said, glancing at Eve. Eve saw the girl give her outfit a cursory one-two. ‘I was coming to say hello but I wasn’t sure if it was OK to interrupt.’

      ‘There’s nothing to interrupt,’ Ian said levelly. ‘You remember Eve, of course.’

      ‘Hi Hannah,’ Eve said. ‘I love your shirt.’

      ‘This?’ Hannah shrugged. ‘It was grandpa’s.’

      ‘It’s lovely,’ Eve said, meaning it, but the girl had already turned away.

      ‘I hope you haven’t phoned yet,’ she said to her father. ‘I want to change my usual order.’

      The pizzas were from Domino’s, the ice cream was Ben & Jerry’s, the washing up was virtually zero and, somehow, the kitchen still looked as if a hurricane had hit it. Hurricane Alfie. The polar opposite of Hannah, who perched at the far end of the table, in the opposite pew, speaking only when spoken to; she was like a cold front that hadn’t quite decided whether or not it was going to blow in.

      And even though she had changed her pizza order three times—the last after Ian had placed the order—Eve couldn’t help but notice Hannah ate almost nothing.

      None of your business, Eve told herself. And since no one else seemed to notice, let alone comment, she helped herself to another slice of vegetarian supreme with jalapeños, sipped her Pinot Grigio and watched Ian juggle Sophie and Alfie’s constant demands. She’d never seen this side of him before—this side of any man, come to that, since in her thirty-two years she’d never before dated a man with children, and the only other man in her life, her father, just wasn’t that kind of dad.

      ‘Alfie, drink your juice. No, no cola, you know you’re not allowed cola.

      ‘Makes him even more hyper than usual.’ This as an aside to Eve.

      ‘Sophie, wipe the tomato sauce off your hands before taking pudding. Chocolate or vanilla ice cream? No, we don’t have strawberry…Because you said chocolate when I did the order.’

      It was an endless litany and Eve was surprised to find she loved it. And if she looked up occasionally to see Hannah watching her from under her hair, well, that was only to be expected, wasn’t it?

      ‘Well, I think we can call that a success, don’t you?’ Ian said, when the pizza boxes were in the recycling bin, the plates were in the dishwasher, Alfie and Sophie were in front of a DVD, and Hannah was wherever Hannah went doing whatever Hannah did. He emptied the remnants of the bottle into Eve’s glass.

      ‘Really?’

      Ian slid onto the pew beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and leaning back against the wall. He looked as exhausted as she felt. ‘You don’t think so?’

      Eve wasn’t sure how truthful she could be. ‘We-ell,’ she said. ‘I was glad just to survive, to be honest.’

      ‘You did more than survive,’ Ian said pulling her towards him. ‘You were brilliant. They really like you.’

      Eve leant into him and closed her eyes. He was right, of course. It had gone much better than she’d feared; give or take Hannah’s silence, although even that could have been worse. But still Eve was knackered. She’d only been there three hours and didn’t think she’d ever been so emotionally drained. How anyone did it full-time—even with ‘help’—she couldn’t begin to imagine. Maybe it was different if the children were your own; maybe some switch in the brain was automatically flicked. That was what Clare always said. But Eve wasn’t convinced.

      When she opened her eyes Ian was gazing right at her, as if trying to decipher her thoughts. He looked almost shy.

      ‘Do you think you could survive longer?’ he asked.

      Instinctively, Eve glanced at her watch. ‘Why not? I haven’t got anywhere else to go.’

      ‘I didn’t mean that.’ He paused, his nerves getting the better of him. ‘I meant, could you survive longer than a Saturday afternoon…a week, maybe? Or just a few days if a week’s too long? It’s just we’re going to my parents’ place in Cornwall for a couple of weeks in August, and I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to spend more time with the kids. And me, of course.’

      He