Sam Baker - The Stepmothers’ Support Group

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 to find the tomato sauce in here!’

Eve flushed. Embarrassed.

‘I’m showing Evie our room,’ Alfie said, saving Eve from having to choose between confessing to being a snoop or grassing up a five-year-old.

Ian’s 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?’