The Stepmothers’ Support Group. Sam Baker

eyes met hers. ‘You’re sleeping in Sophie’s room,’ he said. ‘She’s moved in with Hannah for the night. I hope that’s OK?’

      ‘Of course it is,’ Eve said with feeling. ‘I was expecting the sofa.’

      It was gone eight before the stragglers left and Ian disappeared to coerce an exhausted and over-excited Alfie and Sophie into a bath and their beds. Hannah used his vanishing as an opportunity to commandeer the sitting room, and turn on whatever reality show was flavour of this month.

      Feeling like a spare part, Eve went to see if she was needed in the kitchen.

      ‘Ghastly,’ said Ian’s father, as he staggered in with a plastic sack full of rubbish. ‘Not all it’s cracked up to be, entertaining.’ Tying a knot in the top of the sack, he said, ‘People descend like locusts, eat the place bare, then leave their rubbish all over the lawn and push off, leaving me to clear up. Remind me why we do it?’

      Elaine patted his arm as he passed. ‘The pleasure of seeing the people you love enjoy themselves, perchance,’ she said, smiling. ‘Your eldest granddaughter’s birthday, maybe?’

      He pulled a face and went to get another bag.

      ‘Can I persuade you to dry?’ Elaine asked Eve, who was loitering awkwardly by the doorway.

      ‘Of course. I was just about to offer.’ Eve was conscious how pathetic that sounded. As soon as Elaine shut the door, then headed not for the sink but the fridge, where she liberated a half-full bottle of Chablis and two glasses, Eve realized she’d been had. It was a trap.

      Should she start washing up anyway?

      The elderly woman read her mind. ‘Sit down, my dear,’ she said. ‘Keep me company while I put my feet up and have a drink I actually taste.’

      Eve knew the feeling. She felt much the same about food. She hadn’t tasted a thing all day, even though she’d eaten like it was going out of fashion.

      Taking a chair, Eve perched on its edge and hoped she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.

      Elaine filled two glasses and pushed one towards Eve. And then, having raised her glass in silent salute, she said, ‘I hope you don’t mind, but there are a couple of things I’d like to say.’

      It wasn’t a question, so Eve picked up her glass too; more for something to do with her hands than anything else, and made herself sit back in the chair.

      Ian’s mother took another sip, longer and slower, and closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were steely, almost as if someone else was suddenly in residence.

      ‘I hope you understand what you’re taking on,’ she said. ‘Ian’s not just their father, he’s both parents in one. I don’t know what sort of deal you and he have, but you need to understand that those children must be part of it. Will always be part of it. He wouldn’t let it be any other way. And nor, I assure you, would I.’

      Eve held Ian’s mother’s gaze for a few seconds, then looked down at her own glass. Condensation was dripping onto her fingers.

      ‘Those children have been through a lot. And Hannah more so than the others.’

      Although Elaine held up a hand to stop Eve speaking, Eve had no intention of uttering a word. ‘I’m sure she’s not easy. Any fool can see that. But what I am saying is it’s up to you to make it work. You’re the adult in this equation. Hannah’s the child, whatever she likes to pretend otherwise. And she misses her mother terribly.’

      Eve nodded, slowly. She was listening with every nerve in her body, but she hadn’t a clue what Elaine expected her to say.

      ‘However scared you are, her fear is far greater. Remember that.’

      ‘I will,’ Eve managed.

      ‘I watched my son go through a lot,’ Elaine said. ‘Far more than any mother wants to see her child suffer. Caroline’s death was awful, just awful. And why she had to write that damn column I don’t know. Ian hated it, we all did. But then I suppose he’s told you that. All we can do is hope they never make the film.’

      Eve felt her eyes bulge in horror, and buried her face in her glass before Elaine could see her shock.

       What bloody film?

      She forced herself to push the question to the back of her mind. Save it, she urged herself. Don’t let her see you don’t know.

      She would ask Ian later—if she ever got him on his own.

      ‘Caro was no saint, you know,’ Elaine was saying. ‘I’m sure he’s told you that, too. If he hasn’t—out of respect for her memory, or some such—I’m telling you now. No matter what you’ve read in the papers, she wasn’t some heroine. Oh she was brave, braver in public than in private, is my understanding, but who isn’t? But ill or not, courageous or not, Caro wasn’t perfect. Mind you, I don’t doubt that Ian is less than perfect when you’re not his mother.’

      Elaine smiled, her eyes were softer now. ‘Now,’ she said. ‘I want my son to be happy. And if you make him happy—and you must, or he wouldn’t have invited you here—that’s good enough for his father and me. But I’m telling you it won’t be easy. In fact, prepare yourself for it being very, very hard. But you will have me on your side, that I promise you. While you are on Ian’s side, Tom and I will always be firmly on yours.’

      She reached across the table, and placed a thin hand over Eve’s own. Despite its papery skin, her grip was strong.

      ‘You are the first, you realize that?’

      Eve nodded. She hadn’t been sure before this weekend, but now it was obvious. Oh, she was certain there had been women before her; one-nighters, maybe two, but they hadn’t mattered enough for Ian to let them into his and his children’s life. Or, for that matter, his parents’.

      ‘Good. That’s clear then.’ The old woman was reaching the end of her speech. ‘But if you hurt him or my grandchildren…I assure you, my dear, I may be old, but I’m tougher than I look. You won’t know what hit you.’

      ‘I won’t,’ Eve said, finding her voice in the face of the older woman’s resolve. ‘Hurt them, I mean. I love Ian, Mrs Newsome…’

      ‘Eve?’ The kitchen door opened and Ian’s head appeared around it. He took in the table, the wine, the two glasses and the ghost of a hastily withdrawn hand. ‘Mum? What’s going on?’

      Pushing back her chair, Elaine climbed to her feet. ‘Nothing dear. Eve and I were just having a little chat.’

      ‘Eve?’

      Eve drained her glass in one. She felt as if a tsunami had washed over her and she had come out the other side. Alive, just barely, and clinging to a tree.

      ‘Uh-huh. Like your mother said. Just a little chat.’

       NINE

      ‘Wake up, wake up, wake up!’

      Hammering, loud, long and very, very hard. Eve wasn’t sure if it was inside her head or outside, but she knew it hurt. A lot. Surely she hadn’t drunk that much? Mentally she tried to tot up the Pimm’s, the glasses of rosé, then there was a bottle of beer and that final glass of Chablis…

      ‘Wake UP!’

      No, definitely outside her head, but now inside the room. Inside the room, on her bed and, if she didn’t open her eyes in the next few seconds, she imagined it would be on her head.

      ‘Alfie, stop!’ came Ian’s voice. ‘What bit of “Let’s take Eve a cup of tea and wake her up gently” didn’t you understand?’

      Eve opened one eye and found herself