The Stepmothers’ Support Group. Sam Baker

Is there anything I can do to make myself useful?’

      ‘Well, we’ll need tomato sauce, mayonnaise and mustard from the kitchen. Shall I show you where it is?’ His over-the-shoulder glance to where Rob stood brandishing a lethal-looking metal fork didn’t pass Eve by.

      ‘That would defeat the object,’ she said. ‘There are only so many places it can be.’

      Skirting the crowd in an attempt to steer clear of any more and-what-do-you-do? small talk from guests whose names she’d already forgotten, she passed Hannah, sitting on a wooden bench in the corner of the garden, iPod firmly plugged into her ears in a not remotely subtle attempt to ignore her relatives, neighbours and knee-high cousins. Until now, Eve hadn’t noticed that Hannah was by far the oldest of all the children. No wonder the girl was hiding. One of those family celebrations that’s for the family, not the birthday girl.

      ‘Hi,’ Eve said, waving her fingers so Hannah knew Eve was talking to her. ‘Didn’t see you earlier. Happy Birthday.’

      Hannah reluctantly pulled one bead out of her ear, ‘Oh, hi.’ She was wearing skinny jeans, Havaianas flip-flops and a black waistcoat over a T-shirt. She shrugged. ‘Thanks.’

      That’s it? Eve thought. Oh hi, thanks.

      ‘Cool iPod,’ she said, it was small and silver, the latest design, and definitely not the one Hannah had been carrying the first time they met. ‘Present?’

      ‘Uh-huh, Dad got it for me.’

      Eve tried to conceal her disquiet. Shouldn’t Ian have told her that? There was so much she didn’t know about Ian’s life with his kids. It was like standing at the top of a cliff, with the thinnest of ropes, waiting to jump off. Unless it was like standing at the bottom without any ropes at all—no equipment, just her bare hands—and being expected to climb to the top.

      ‘Um, well, it’s lovely,’ Eve said, certain she looked as pathetic as she sounded. ‘I’m, uh, I’m looking for the kitchen. Can you point me in the right direction?’

      ‘In there.’ Hannah jerked her head towards the nearest window. Her grandmother was clearly visible through the glass. Eve was glad she’d at least tried to make an effort with Hannah. Still, she was none the wiser about how to reach the kitchen.

      ‘Um, thanks,’ Eve said. ‘I’ll let you get back to it.’

      Head down, Eve walked away, and feet first into one of Alfie’s battles.

      ‘Who’s winning?’ she asked, scoobying down.

      ‘Me,’ Alfie said, oblivious to the fact he was the only one playing. Doh he might as well have added.

      ‘Where’s Danny?’ Eve asked.

      ‘His mummy.’ This was clearly explanation enough.

      In that second Eve made her decision. ‘I need to find something,’ she said. ‘Can you help me?’

      He peered up through tufts of hair. ‘Like hide-and-seek?’

      ‘Sort of. I have to get Daddy some ketchup. I thought you might be able to show me where it lives.’

      ‘Tomato sauce?’

      Eve nodded.

      ‘All right.’ Alfie scrambled to his feet and wiped his fingers on his already grubby shorts. ‘This is easy,’ he said and marched off towards the house, ploughing through adults as if they were invisible. ‘It’s in the kitchen. I’ll show you where. But we have to put it back in the right cupboard, with the lid on properly, or Granny gets cross.’

      Eve didn’t know where the kitchen was. But thanks to Hannah she knew one of its windows looked out on the back garden. So when Alfie entered the house through a different door, crossed the hall and made for the stairs, she was sure that wherever he was headed, it wasn’t the kitchen.

      ‘Hey, Alfie,’ she said. ‘Ketchup? Kitchen?’

      ‘I want to show you something,’ he said, already halfway up. ‘Come and see my room.’

      The house was silent, and even with Alfie as her guide, Eve couldn’t shake the feeling she was trespassing. ‘Alfie,’ she repeated, ‘Daddy asked me to get the ketchup.’

      ‘In a minute. Come on!’ the look Alfie gave her was withering: Don’t be such a girl.

      At the landing, the small boy vanished through the first door he came to. His room was tiny, but then so was Alfie. It was also crammed with furniture. Two single beds, two white bedside tables, a not-quite-matching chest of drawers and one of those flat-packed wardrobes with a flowered curtain where a door should be. There was scarcely any floor to see; but what there was, was littered with shoes, discarded clothes and toys. The diamondpaned window above the beds was open; the smell of cooking, and the clink of glasses and chatter and laughter seeped in from below.

      ‘This is my bed,’ Alfie said, flinging himself onto the nearest and disturbing an elderly labrador that was clearly trying to get some peace. ‘And this is Ben, Grandpa’s dog. He’s old,’ Alfie said, shoving his face against Ben’s, so they were nose to nose. The dog didn’t look wildly impressed.

      ‘You can sit on Daddy’s bed.’

      Eve’s smile froze on her face.

       Daddy’s.

      Of course it was.

      Ian hadn’t mentioned the sleeping arrangements. But since, as far as the children were concerned, Ian and Eve were ‘just good friends’ and had done little more than hug in their presence, there was no question of sharing a room, let alone a bed. That was for mummies and daddies. Not daddies and daddies’ friends.

      And what about Tom and Elaine? Ian’s parents knew, didn’t they? That she and Ian…that they were…?

      Of course they did. They weren’t born yesterday.

      A mess of emotion swept through Eve. This was like being a teenager again. Worse, in fact. At least when you were a teenager you knew the rules and did everything in your power to break them. Now everything was flipped on its head. It gave her a headache just to think about it.

      But Eve was impressed, too. It was so very Ian.

      One of the many reasons she’d been so blown away by him. Right from the start, right from their first conversation, he’d made it completely clear the children came first. No matter what. No exceptions. Not for him. Not for anyone. Not even, Eve saw now, for her. This was going to take some getting her head around. And the sooner she managed it, the better.

      ‘It’s a good room, isn’t it?’ said Alfie. He was bouncing up and down on springs that sounded as if they’d last been oiled in 1935. ‘I like sharing with Dad. He won’t let me at home. Says I’m big enough to sleep on my own.’

      ‘It’s a very good room,’ Eve agreed. The dog, now irredeemably disturbed, jumped off, yawned and pushed his way through the slightly open door, in search of a new place to sleep, or food, or both.

      Now she’d had a chance to look around Eve could see all the signs of Ian’s occupation. The coat draped over the top of the wardrobe was big boy’s not small boy’s. The shoes kicked into one corner were a mishmash of Ian’s huge feet and Alfie’s tiny ones. And the books on the bedside table, Roald Dahl and James Lee Burke…Although, thinking about it, both of those could have belonged to Ian. The plastic figures on the floor, though, were most definitely Alfie’s.

      ‘Smile.’ Ian’s voice from the doorway took her by surprise. Her expression as he clicked the shutter was one of confusion, rather than the pleasure she felt when she realized he’d taken a picture of Alfie and her together.

      ‘Two of my favourite people,’ he said, clicking again. ‘But I hate to tell you…unless Alfie has a secret stash—and anything’s possible—you’re not going