The Stepmother (19 page)

“What thing? Bea, you're not making sense.”

“The portable phone. Anyway, I've got to get on.”

“It's half-past ten on Sunday night.”

“Name tags,” I said. “Are we still going out for a drink on Wednesday?”

“Actually, sorry, Bea, I double-booked.”

“Don't worry. A friend of mine's going to the cinema that night, so…”

“Okay, great. Another time, then.”

Yes. And another evening home alone.

“And, Bea, it's great about the diet. It'll really help.”

“Thanks.”

Patronizing cow. I put the portable phone I had supposedly lost on the table next to the bottle of wine I supposedly hadn't drunk and drained the glass. It was a ridiculous diet, since it seemed to be nine-tenths liquid. It was working, though. The pounds were falling away and I liked the constant feeling of hunger. It was a close companion. And I was in need of one of those.

 

I
WOKE UP TO THE
alarm bleating in my brain. I swiped at it. It fell from the bedside table with a clatter and went on bleating. I peered at my watch to see whether I could lie in for a few minutes but the footfalls on the landing told me otherwise. So did the time. I must have put the alarm on wrong. It was already twenty past seven.

I leaped out of bed and immediately regretted it. I rubbed my throbbing forehead. I'd forgotten to open the window again. I always get a headache if I sleep without the window open. My clothes were piled neatly on the chair next to my dressing table. But I noticed my pajama buttons were done up wrong. Funny that. I must have been so tired by the time I went to bed. I don't even remember putting them on. I looked at my neatly folded clothes again. I had a thought, like a diminishing dream. Before it was fully formed, it had vanished, and I couldn't grasp what it might have been. Except that it was uncomfortable.

I put my clothes on quickly, no time to choose different ones, splashed a lot of cold water on my face, brushed my teeth, and left my room. I wondered whether I was coming down with something. The girls were dressed and already in the kitchen. Amber was pouring bowls of cereal when I got there. Special K. Thankfully, they liked it. The dreaded Crunchy Nut had not passed the threshold. I could be proud of that much. I went to kiss the girls good morning.

“You smell funny, Mummy,” said Maddy. “Ow! Amber kicked me.”

“Did not!”

“Did!”

“Enough! I've got a headache.”

I put in a round of toast and mashed some banana. The toast burned. Bloody dial. I think there might be a poltergeist in my house. I put in another round.

“What about the honey and yogurt?” asked Lulu.

“Give me a chance!” I retorted.

“I'll do it,” said Amber, reaching out to the fridge.

“Don't lean back like that, Amber. You'll fall.”

She was trying to be nice, no doubt feeling guilty about her surly behavior the night before. Well, I'm sorry I can't be as cool as Tessa and give you free CDs and tickets to concerts, and I'm sorry I have to be the one who is continually telling you not to lean back in the chair but someone bloody has to.

“Mum! The toast!”

Black smoke billowed out of the old machine.

“Bloody hell!” I swore. “What's wrong with this thing?”

“You've turned it too high.”

“I haven't,” I replied petulantly. “I just turned it down.”

“That's the wrong way,” said Amber.

It's very annoying to be put in your place by your child. “I just turned it—” I glanced at the toaster. The red dot sat under max. “If this is your idea of a joke, it's not funny. It's a waste of food.”

“You'd still eat it. Even if it had been on the floor.”

“Amber Kent! That's a terrible thing to say.”

She glared at me. Fury in her eyes. Or was it something else? My anger was replaced by fear. “What is it, Amber? What's going on?” The little ones stared wide-eyed at me, then at their sister. A muscle twitched in Amber's cheek. Her father's the same. They're so unbelievably similar, those two. She was about to say something, I know it, but then she looked at Lulu and Maddy, dug her spoon into her cereal, and jerked it into her mouth. She must have chewed that mouthful a hundred times. By thirty, I knew I wasn't going to get anything else out of her. Finally, I got the bread toasted, the banana mashed, the yogurt smeared on top, and a drizzle of honey in the shape of a heart. But it was too late for anyone to eat it. We'd run out of time. I scooped the soggy mess into a Tupperware box, grabbed a pile of book bags, and hustled them out of the house.

“Are you sure you should drive?” said Amber, helping the girls into the car.

“What are you talking about?”

“You said you had a headache.”

I was wrong-footed. “I'll be fine. Thank you for your concern.”

She shrugged and squeezed into the back with her sisters. Normally, she sits up front with me. I knew what this meant: Tessa was winning and I was losing. Well, I would, wouldn't I? She didn't have to lay down rules, get three kids up and dressed every morning, fed, watered, supervised, educated. She didn't have to force civility on beasts that would rather run wild. She got to swan about in fancy clothes with pink pubic hair and spoil my children with endless pizzas and presents. It was obscene. Skinny cow probably only picked at the raisins—

Amber screamed. “Stop!”

I braked hard.

“What?”

She pointed. A woman and two small children were halfway across the pedestrian crossing. The bonnet of the car was inches from the children's skulls. The woman glared at me, terrified. I raised my hand apologetically. Where the hell had they come from? Bloody Tessa King. Pervading my thoughts. Ruining my life. I edged forward slowly and drove the rest of the way like a milk float. We were late. Well, I thought, waiting for the secretary to come out of her office and open the already locked door, there's a first time for everything.

 

I
SAT IN THE CAR
for a long time before I started the engine, breathing slowly. The adrenaline that had been released into my system the moment Amber had shouted was like detergent through grease. It cut a clear line through my brain and I saw everything perfectly. I'd seen the empties in the bin and I knew I hadn't put them there. This had to stop. All of it. Right now. Before any damage was done. Before anyone got hurt. If I could put the fork down, I could put the glass down. It hadn't been long. Miso soup would do just as well. Nearly. I didn't need to drink. It just made the hunger go away. I could stop. A couple of glasses a night did not an alcoholic make. It wasn't as if I was pouring it on my cereal. I'd fallen asleep on the sofa before. But I could always remember putting myself to bed. That was the difference. And the mornings…they were getting harder. I was grouchy, I knew it. It was because I was hungry. That was the problem. I wasn't eating enough, so, of course,
the wine went to my head. Well, I wasn't going to start eating again. Everyone said I was looking better. Especially Jimmy. I'd just have to lay off the wine in the evenings. Have some extra salad. Easy. I knew I could do it.

I stuck to my resolve until teatime. But the fear of fish fingers and peas overwhelmed me. My stomach juices growled inside their tripy cage; I needed to tame them. One shot of vodka is only ninety calories, which is quite a lot. I could have two apples for that, but vodka's appetite-suppressing qualities are equal to none. It was just one, after all. I wouldn't have any wine later. Enough to kill the beast. Or quiet it until the plates were empty and the leftovers had been masticated by the metal teeth of the waste-disposal unit. I didn't trust myself to scrape them into the bin anymore. I had discovered that that was not enough to stop me returning to them later and stuffing them into my mouth when no one was looking. Strange that when I was standing up and eating alone, I could convince myself that the calories didn't count. “Waste not, want not,” my mother used to say. Her steely words had the opposite effect on me. Waste not, want even more. Amber was right. I had eaten off the floor. Cramming crumbs into my mouth. Always, always trying to fill the hole.

 

I
WAS CLEANING THE OVEN
when the phone rang. I peeled off my gloves and answered it.

“Mrs. Kent, so sorry to bother you, it's Mrs. Hitchens.”

The ballet teacher? “Hello, how's exhibition day going?”

“Good, thank you, so far, except Lulu doesn't seem to have her kit here.”

“She's like her father. It's on her peg.”

“Well, actually we sent them home with their uniforms on Friday and—”

So, perfect Tessa King wasn't so perfect, after all. “I know what's happened. She was at her father's this weekend. Let me see what I can do.”

“Can I tell her it will be here by this afternoon? I'm afraid there have been some tears.”

Well, life's tough, honey, get used to it.

“Of course.”

“That's wonderful, Mrs. Kent, thank you. Lulu has worked so hard on this performance.” Good grief, it was a nine-year-olds' ballet class, not fucking Covent Garden. By the way, that's the “First Mrs. Kent” to you. Didn't you know. There's a second coming. “Let me see what I can do,” I said gaily.

“Thank you so much. I'm sure Lulu will appreciate it.”

Well, I haven't been thanked for the thirty-two hundred and eighty-seven times they've gone to school with clean ballet clothes before but, sure as eggs is eggs, she'll remember this one life-shattering moment and dangle it in front of me accusingly every time something goes wrong in her world. Poor Lulu, she had a terrible mother, you know.

Well, damn it, I wasn't taking the rap alone. I hung up and called Jimmy. He was at work, but I caught him just before he went into a meeting. He promised he'd go home, get the kit, and drop it off at the school by two-thirty. I thanked him profusely and ignored the strong sensation that I knew it was never going to happen. I finished the housework and then went to the supermarket. I told myself I may as well stop at the bottle bank. I could have waited for the recycling collection, but since I was going. I averted my eyes until each bottle had shattered inside the giant urn and the boxes were empty. The phone was ringing as I carried through the last of the shopping bags.

“It's not here,” said Jimmy.

“It must be,” I said, placing the bags on the sideboard.

“Bea, it isn't. I've looked everywhere.”

Through a locked jaw, I said, “With all due respect, you're not really very good at—”

“Bea, I'm telling you, it isn't here!”

“Please don't get cross with me. Your daughter didn't call you up in floods of tears. You haven't had the teacher on the phone. They sent her home with it on Friday to be washed.”

“Then Tessa would have washed it, ironed it, and sent it back with the other stuff.”

“Well, she didn't, because I unpacked everything that night. Sorry, Jimmy, it's still with you.”

“It's not her fault, Bea. It's mine. I'm hopeless at keeping up with the girls' things. I'm sorry, it's just not one of—”

“Your fortes?” I said, forcing a laugh. “Jimmy, I think I know that by now.” But if your little au pair isn't up to it, then someone has to take charge. “You'll have to call Tessa and ask her what she's done with it.”

“Isn't there another way we—”

“If there was I wouldn't have called you. Please, it's so important to Lulu. I'll wait on the line.”

“She has this huge meeting today.”

Bully for her, Miss Big Potatoes…“Lulu's been practicing for weeks and you know how she needs all the confidence she can get at the moment.”

I heard him swear under his breath. “You're right, of course. Hang on…Tessa King, please…Yes, I know she's in a meeting, but this is important. It's her fiancé…” I winced. “Yes, hi—James, that's right, yup, thank you so much…I know how important it is, but it's an emergency.”
James,
was he?

I waited in silence as he waited in silence. Another, less acerbic, thought drifted through the bile…This is a really bad idea, my friend, a really, really bad call. Get that person back. Don't interrupt her if it really is important. You know what you should have done? Got your arse to a shop, thrown money at the problem like you do for yourself, bought Lulu new everything, sewn the elastic on yourself, however halfhearted, and delivered it all to school by two-thirty. But you didn't even think of it, did you? And now…

“Hi, Tessa.”

Here we go.

“So sorry to get you out of your…Yes, everyone's fine…No, not your mum, God, no.” I confess I felt a bit bad at this point. What was wrong with Tessa's mother? “It's just, well, it's Lulu's exhibition performance at school…Yes, ballet…I know, but she's very upset…In tears…I'm sorry you feel…I think you're being a little unreasonable…No, I can't just go and buy new…” 'Least she was thinking. “Well, this should be important to you…Tessa, just tell me where the fucking ballet kit is…” Oops. “Tessa? Tessa?”

“What?” I asked. There was no reply. “What? Jimmy, where is it?”

I heard him bring the house receiver up to his ear. “She put the phone down.”

I bit my lip so I wouldn't laugh. “Did you explain it was for our daughter?”

Jimmy sighed heavily. “Yes.”

“Lulu will be devastated,” I said, tweaking the blade.

“I'm so sorry, Bea.”

I had no choice but to fall on my sword. “I'll ring around the mothers, see what I can put together.”

“You're a godsend. Thank you. Please apologize to Lulu for me.”

“You can do that yourself.”

“I will, I will, of course I will.”

“I'll call you back to let you know it's all sorted.”