The Stepmother (38 page)

“It wasn't like that. Everything I did was for her.” James was stricken. “Sorry.”

“No. It's okay. But if that's true why didn't it work out?”

He ran his hands through his hair. “The one thing she wanted was to get out of her mother's financial grip. The only thing that has ever upset Bea is her mother's snobbery. I worked like a dog to give Bea her freedom, then got blamed for being away.”

“You said you stayed away.”

“I don't think a man can be blamed for not rushing home for the babies' bath time every night after another god-awful day in the office,” he said crossly. “We're not saints. We need a moment, too, you know. And when all you get is a frosty reception, it's even harder. I'm not saying these things about your mother because it doesn't suit me that she's ill. If it was my parents, we'd be having the same conversation. I'm thinking about
her
. She
is
an independent woman. And the last thing in the world she'd want is you giving up your life to nanny her. Don't patronize her. Ask her what she wants to do.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Just because I don't automatically agree with you, it doesn't mean I'm some selfish, dumb wanker who just wants an easy life.”

“I'm sorry.” I stood on tiptoes and kissed him.

He opened his mouth.

“No, you're right,” I said, before he could speak. “I'm sorry. Mum needs our support, not me riding roughshod over her.”

“Look, Tessa, I realize now that I've sometimes been too quick to abdicate responsibility, but sometimes you're too slow to. Bringing up children is easier on everyone if you don't worry about all the little details. I'd never notice if my daughters went to school wearing mismatching socks. I don't mean color. I mean pattern. And if that evokes a patronizing laugh from you, then you're right, we're probably heading to a bad place. I'm sorry, but those details go over my head.”

I put my hand to my heart. “I promise not to care about mismatched socks too.”

“Thank you.” He pulled me toward him. “There's something else you have to do for me.”

I thought he was going to suggest something smutty, since my loins were already waking to the look in his eye. But he surprised me. “You have to want to be happy,” he said.

Sometimes “I love you” isn't enough. I pulled James to me and kissed his mouth. It opened and his tongue felt hot against my cold lips. I wanted more. More heat. More softness. More hardness. Leaves lay where they'd fallen the previous winter, preserved in the still, cool air under the trees. The recent sun had dried the upper layers, and when I lay down, the ground was soft under my back. James lay on top of me. I could hear the leaves crackling and breaking under my weight. I combed my fingers through his gorgeous salt-and-pepper hair and pressed his face harder to mine.

I opened my eyes and looked at the bright sky through the black silhouette of a thousand branches. Heaven, I thought. It was too cold to lie like a starfish naked on the ground, but I was pretty sure I knew another way to feel boundless. I reached down and unbuckled James's belt without taking my mouth away from his. By the feel of him, the cold wasn't going to put him off. I lifted my hips and we pulled down my jeans and pants. Not far, but far enough. We barely moved as he pushed inside me. Couldn't. The clothes stopped any large gestures. I groaned as I filled up with him, love, lust. I arched and rocked against him, slow, slight movements. We rubbed away the sadness and got lost in the incredible power you feel when you stare into the eyes of someone you love who loves you back.

My parents' relationship had begun on the bank of a river. Now so would ours. But this time it would be a real one. With ups and downs, crevasses and peaks, and somehow we would find the equipment we needed to climb out of the lows and come down safely from the highs. My whole body shuddered and I cried out. We lay there, panting, among the fallen leaves. James stroked my hair and continued to stare at me and I thought how lucky I was to know how this felt. How very lucky. And it made me cry. James brushed away the rogue tears.

“Your dad had a wonderful life,” he said, smiling down at me. I put my hand to his cheek. I wasn't crying about my father. “And we'll work something out with your mum.” I wasn't crying about her either. “I love you,” he said. I had a sudden, terrible moment of clarity. The secret that had destroyed James's first marriage could destroy his second, since in these moments of near-bliss I would always have to ask myself, would we be here if he knew? James helped me up and with our arms wrapped around each other we made our way home. I couldn't speak. James, I am sure, believed he knew why I kept my own counsel, but, of course, he didn't. Only I knew, and that was no way to walk into marriage.

 

I
STOOD FOR A LONG
time on the threshold of the slightly moldy guest bathroom, catching the odd word between my mother and the vicar downstairs and listening to James slosh water over himself. Twice I walked to the top of the staircase, but stopped. Going downstairs wasn't going to make this go away, so, with a gentle knock, I turned the handle of the bathroom door and went in.

“Hey gorgeous,” he said. James's knees stuck out through the bubbles, as did his chest. He was too big for the bath.

“Hey,” I closed the door behind me.

“No tea?”

“The vicar's drunk it all.” He smiled at me. “James, I need to talk to you.”

He pointed to the loo. “Take a seat.”

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets.

“What is it? What's wrong?” he asked, sitting up. I could preamble for hours, I could lay cushions all around him, but nothing would lessen the blow.

“Bea didn't have an affair.”

James cocked his head to one side. “Why are we talking about her again?”

“She was never unfaithful to you, James. She didn't fall out of love with you and run off with someone else. She always loved you. She just got very, very confused for a while. I'm fairly sure it was some long-term postnatal depression, but who knows?”

He squinted at me. “Affair, one-night stand, what's the difference? I
lost her long before she had the abortion…” He closed his eyes for a second and rubbed his forehead.

Women are not alone in thinking up scenarios that have never happened or are unlikely ever to happen. James must have tortured himself with images of his wife with another man, but he had never considered the possibility that the child had been his.

“No. I mean she never slept with another man. Ever. There was only you.” My words floated over the bathroom and settled around him.

He sat in them. Motionless, for a moment. Then he looked at me again, to check that it was me, to check the words, to try to understand their meaning. He saw in my face the confirmation he wanted to shy away from. “No,” he said.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered. “It's been killing her ever since.”

“How do you know this?”

“Women talk.”

“Faith? She knew and didn't—”

“No, James. Bea told me. Here. The night I caught her trying to steal the sherry.”

“What?”

I hadn't got around to telling him that bit. So much had happened. “You've always told me your wife left you because she didn't love you anymore. I don't think that's true. But you need to hear it from her.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

I looked at him sitting in the bath, hugging his knees, his hair swept back off his high forehead. “Because I love you.” His face creased, and I stood up. “I'll give you a moment,” I said, and closed the door behind me.

 

J
AMES WAS DRESSED, CLEAN-SHAVEN, AND
smelling of limes when he walked into the sitting room. I put down the book I was pretending to read.

“Thank you,” he said. “That couldn't have been easy.”

I smiled at him. “It's not supposed to be easy.”

He brushed an imaginary bit of fluff off his nose. “Amazing how one piece of information can make sense of so much chaos.”

“You need to see her,” I said.

“What about you?”

“You can't do anything here.”

“But Tessa—”

I didn't want him to beg me to let him stay, because I'd give in too easily. Today I felt I had my father's support. Tomorrow I might not. I was really trying to do the right thing here. But it wasn't easy.

“You think the eating and drinking hinge on her mother,” I said. “I'm not so sure. She needs to get better for everybody's sake, and she can't do that without your forgiveness.”

He swallowed. Maybe it was too soon to ask him to forgive. I reached up and took his hand. I could see the muscle in his jaw and squeezed hard.

“Was I such a bad husband?”

I didn't try to answer. “I know you want to stay here for me, but I think you should go.” There was a lump in my throat.

“Your dad taught you how to slay the dragon, didn't he?”

“Yes he did,” I answered. “I was very lucky.”

“Tessa King, you're an amazing woman.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Then come back to me.”

“I will.”

I walked him to the front door. We kissed good-bye and I felt sadness well up inside me.

He held me hard, his chin resting on my head. “One day we'll laugh about all of this,” he said.

“I sure hope so.”

“We will.”

“Go, before I start crying.”

“Too late,” he said, wiping away a tear. He held my face in his hands and kissed me again. “I love you so much,” he said.

“I know,” I said sadly. I knew, too, that James had always loved Bea. Back in another time. But I had thrown open the doorway to the past, and now that time was here again. Loving me might not be enough.

My mother joined me as I waved him off. “I know it's a cliché but sometimes you have to love people enough to let them go.”

I put my head on her shoulder. “And hope they love you enough to come back?”

“Yes.”

“High risk,” I said.

“Most things worth fighting for are.”

It was then that the tears came. Tears for my father, for my mother, for James and Bea and the son they might have had, and for myself. And when I had finished, I sat down to wait.

I
DROVE PAST THE BAR THREE TIMES BEFORE
I
PLUCKED UP THE COURAGE
to park. I sat quietly behind the steering wheel and counted to ten. My grand total is a hundred and seventy. But it never seems so desperate in factors of ten.

My heart ceased its war cry and settled into an even flutter. I slipped two pound coins into the meter. I couldn't envisage staying for more than an hour. My heels clicked on the paving slabs. It had only been a few weeks, but I had traveled so far since I had met them last. I wondered if they would see it. Did I want them to? I looked down at my feet. The heels said a lot. I was wearing them, but it would take a discerning eye to notice I was not as steady on them as I seemed.

“Bea! Over here.” Carmen rose from her chair. “What do you want?”

“I'll go to the bar. Anybody want anything?”

She hugged me. “My God, you've shrunk.”

“Wow, Bea,” said Angie. “You've lost masses of weight.”

“Have I?”

“Come, you, you must know,” said our resident fitness queen, Lee.

In all the commotion of these last days, I had forgotten to weigh myself. “I threw away the scales. They were driving me mad.” Stick close to the truth and you may get away with the lie.

“Well, you look fabulous. Congratulations,” said Carmen. “Sit down, Bea, it's my round. What do you want?”

I looked nervously around the table. Lee had a glass of red wine. Angie had vodka and tonic. Holly, too. Carmen was on champagne. I took a deep breath. “Lime and soda, please.”

“With a chaser on the side?” asked Carmen, smiling.

“I'm driving,” I said.

“One won't hurt,” she said.

I didn't reply.

“I'll have another. I've been looking forward to this all day,” said Angie.

“Whoever made this plan is brilliant. We miss supper and bath time and you get to sneak out of work early,” said Holly. “Everybody gains.”

“You sure you don't want a proper drink?” asked Carmen, backing toward the bar.

“Sure,” I said.

“No wonder you've lost so much weight. That's the trouble with my diet. I can't survive without a drink at the end of the day,” said Angie. “Honestly, I'd rather skip supper.”

“Me too,” said Holly. “I envy your willpower.”

I smiled politely. “So, how's everyone been?”

“Great,” said Lee. “It's lovely having the kids at home.”

“Yeah, really good,” said Holly.

“I find the holidays a bit hard,” said Angie, “but they're all so social now, they don't seem to mind me going to work as much as they did when they were younger. We're off to Sardinia for the last week of the holidays, so they're not too fed up with me. What about you, Bea?”

“Jimmy's parents have the girls at the moment. I needed a bit of time to sort a few things out.”

“Like?”

“Oh, you know, the house…” I scraped the barrel and came up empty. The women nodded sympathetically, but I wasn't sure what
they thought they were nodding about. It was a non sequitur. So I filled the gap. “Jimmy's getting married.”

“What?”

“Shit! Carmen get back here,” hollered Angie. “Jimmy's getting married.”

Carmen came over with a tray of drinks. “I don't believe it. Since when?”

“How old is she?”

“How long has he known her?”

I held up my hands. Carmen sat down and passed around the drinks. “Are you okay?”

I nodded.

They exchanged a look.

“Is she pregnant?”

I laughed, remembering my own reaction to Jimmy's news. The same assumptions. The same prejudices. Do all second wives walk into such a lion's den? “Actually, she's a pretty spectacular girl,” I said. Truthfully.

My words were misinterpreted. I hadn't thought I'd sounded sarcastic.

“All tits and arse and tight—”

“Carmen!” Lee hit her.

“Sorry.”

“No, I mean it. She's a bright, nice-looking, insightful, generous person.”

“Well, Jimmy always had good taste in women,” said Angie, touching my shoulder. “I just never thought he was over you.”

“He follows you around like a puppy,” said Holly, agreeing.

“We've always thought it a little unfair that your ex-husband paid you more attention than our husbands paid us,” said Lee.

“Speak for yourself! My husband pays me plenty,” said Carmen.

We pretended to block our ears. Carmen was prone to going into detail.

“'Least we understand the diet now. To be honest, we were getting a little worried about you,” said Angie.

“You were?”

“Well, you haven't been yourself recently.”

“Yourself” meaning the silent suffering mistress of school scrunchies or the “yourself” that predated that? The fun, happy, sexy woman I was before child rearing ate me alive? The former, of course. They'd never known the latter. I was the woman who'd scoop up their children at a moment's notice when they couldn't get out of work or their nannies were held up. I was the woman who ferried their children to and from parties, because I had nothing better to do. I was the woman who could be called upon to organize outings, fairs, shows, picnics, sports days…Maybe it was no bad thing not to be that “yourself” anymore.

“Hey, Bea, what's wrong?” Carmen leaned forward and took my hand.

It was only then that I realized my cheeks were wet. “Sorry,” I said.

“What on earth are you apologizing for?”

I brushed the next tear away, but I'd sprung a leak. I laughed stupidly. A self-deprecating titter wasn't going to nullify the fact that I was sitting in a bar with tears streaming down my face at five-thirty in the afternoon.

“Let me get you a proper drink,” said Angie.

“No!” I yelled. They froze. “Oh, to hell with it! I'm sorry, I seem to be in the grip of a nervous breakdown.” It was meant to sound funny, but it didn't. I brushed aside another fast-rolling tear. “And, yes, I'd love a drink. I'd love one more than Carmen would love the latest Balenciaga bag. But I can't. Because when I do, I can't stop.”

I watched the women I had called my friends take the audio equivalent of a double take. Yes. You heard right. I have a problem with drink. I had thought they were my lifeline. In fact, they were just a bunch of women with children the same age at the same school. They didn't know me at all. It wasn't their fault. What had I given them to go on? Nothing but an overriding need to bend over backward. Yes, I had been taken advantage of, but only because I'd let them. If I help you enough, maybe you'll ask me to stay.

Lee was the first to move. She leaned over the table and took my hand. “Oh, Bea, you poor thing.”

“Brilliant diet…black coffee and booze.”

She stared at my hand, rubbing it gently with her thumb.

“Fucking stupid, eh?”

“No more stupid than ruining your insides with laxative abuse,” she said.

I blinked, not understanding. “You? But you're so healthy and fit.”

“On the outside. But if I go near an egg, it's home-enema time for me. I've completely buggered my intestines. That's why I'm so conscious about what I eat. Trust me, I understand black coffee and booze. I was in college in the States at the time and had no money. Laxatives were cheaper.”

“So, what are you going to do? Cut down?” asked Angie.

I shook my head. “Cut it out completely. It's not just a couple too many and I pass out. I become angry and mean, and poor Amber gets the brunt of it. I can't risk it. She's been through enough.”

“Oh, sweetie,” said Carmen, “why didn't you tell us?”

“Not an easy thing to tell, right?” said Lee, answering for me.

“When did it all start?” asked Angie.

“Good question,” I said. “A long time ago, except it wasn't drink in the beginning.”

Four faces frowned at me.

“It was food. I used to binge. Nothing like a refined-sugar high to get you through another lonely night.”

Holly shook her head. “And there was I, always thinking how incredibly sorted you were.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“You kidding? It's a relief.”

“Yeah. Superwoman makes everyone else feel like shit,” said Angie.

“Me—Superwoman? You're the one who holds down an amazing job, brings up three kids, is still married, and somehow manages to make school concerts.”

“I have a secret twin,” said Angie. “She's called Chronic Exhaustion. My husband calls her Stroppy Bitch for short.”

“It's weird,” said Holly. “I've sometimes envied you your situation, time off every other weekend. Free to bring up children without interference.”

“Or support,” I pointed out.

“Take off the rose-tinted spectacles, sweetie. We all do it single-
handedly,” said Carmen. “Sure, the men swan in for a kiss and a story, if you're lucky, but the hard graft is down to us.”

“It's true,” said Angie. “Rob and I both work, but when I get home, I do supper, homework, bath, and bed. Rob opens a beer and puts on the telly. I organize the shopping, the holidays, the weekends, our evenings out…Everything. Drives me mad.”

“And then they start coming home late…” said Carmen, and picked up her glass. “And you wonder, did it all count for nothing?”

There was a lengthy pause.

“But your husband's amazing,” said Lee. “You guys are always so happy.”

I watched disbelief pass across Carmen's face. “That's what I thought.” She was silent for a time. “Oh, shit, there's a young woman at his work…I don't know but I don't think anything's happened yet. I've no proof he even likes her.” She stuck her fingers into her solar plexus. “Except in here. I feel sick. He's pulling away from me and nothing I do seems to stop it.”

“Oh, Carmen, it'll be okay. You've just got to hang on in there,” said Holly. “We all go through tough times. Alex and I went for counseling after our third was born, because I was so resentful.”

“And?”

“We're still together.”

“Talk to him,” I said.

“I feel so stupid, though. I hate feeling so insecure.”

“Tough. Make him realize what he's jeopardizing,” I said. “Make him understand that you need him. I'm not the only Superwoman at this table. We all do it—pretend we can take everything on the chin. Bring it on—what else can you throw at me? We all say men need to be needed, as if it's something pathetic, but you know what? Why aren't we allowed to need a man? What's so wrong with that? Isn't that what a partnership is? My advice, go on holiday. Immediately. Just the two of you. He loves you. If his head's been turned, turn it back.”

“Sorry, Bea, I didn't mean to commandeer the conversation.”

“Angie's right,” said Lee, “it's a relief to hear your perfect marriage is just like everyone else's.”

“Well, fuck it,” said Holly. “While we're on the subject, my eldest
daughter and I haven't managed a civil word to one another since the beginning of the year. She hates me.”

“But you said you were having a great holiday,” I said, perplexed.

“I lied,” she replied unapologetically. “It's been hell.”

 

I
STAYED LONGER THAN AN
hour, forgot about the meter, and got a ticket. But it didn't matter, because for the cheap price of fifty pounds I had discovered something priceless. Those women were great, and I was lucky to call them friends. I offered to drive Lee and Carmen home. It was out of my way but they both accepted. They were using me, and that was okay. A little weakness went a long way. It made us each feel stronger, and a strong team was what you needed around you when you were shaky and unsure. We discussed Holly's daughter, Carmen's husband's crush, imagined or otherwise, and, to lighten the atmosphere, we dissected Lee's sluggish bowels. We shared our insecurities and felt more secure for it.

I dropped Lee home first. She got out, then tapped on the window. I opened it. “Joking aside,” she said, “it took me a long time to stop taking laxatives. I tried and failed many times before I succeeded…You'll probably think this is too American, but therapy helped.” She reached through the open window and took my arm. “I'm just saying, you fall off the wagon, you darn well tell us, Bea.”

“And if you go anywhere near a laxative?”

“I'll tell you.”

“Deal,” I said. Carmen and I waved and I pulled out into the traffic.

“I feel better after two hours' chatting to you lot than I have in ages,” said Carmen.

“Ditto.”

“I've been driving myself mad about that woman in the office.”

“Easy to do,” I said.

“Why don't you come to mine? I think I've got some virgin piñacolada mix. We can pretend, and if you want, you can tell me why you started binge-eating in the first place.”

“It's quite a story.”

“Don't worry, sweetie,” she smiled, “it's enlightened self-interest. I've got one for you.”

I glanced briefly at Carmen, then peered through the windshield. For the first time in ages I could see the road ahead. It was then that it dawned on me that a spiral goes both ways.

 

W
HEN
I
GOT HOME
, I called Honor and arranged to collect my children the following day. Amber was visiting Caspar, but I expected her home soon. I could do soup and sobriety in the pleasure of my own company, but it wasn't my life. It wasn't real. I had to battle with Lulu over reading, then stay sober…That was the test. I had to hear about bridesmaids' dresses and not sink my teeth into a Bakewell tart. I had to see a baby boy in the park and not want to swallow a razor blade. It helped to know I had friends I could call, but maybe Lee was right. Maybe professional help would be better. I thought about looking up Alcoholics Anonymous in the Yellow Pages, then decided to put on a load of washing first.