The Stepmother Read Free Page A

We’re never allowed to go there,” said a girl I didn’t know.
    â€œWhat I wouldn’t do for a plate of chips now,” said a third.
    I smiled. I get a big kick out of the ravenous appetite of the prepubescent girl. I savor it, actually. I have friends with older daughters, and I know it won’t be long before the Special K diet worms its way into my child’s consciousness.
    Amber stood up. “Sorry, guys, gotta go.”
    â€œYou coming tomorrow night?” Emily asked me.
    â€œI’m coming every night. We’ve got the grannies and the aunts tomorrow, too.”
    â€œMayhem,” said Amber dramatically.
    Here we go, I thought, taking her arm gently.
    I managed to scoop up the other two on the way, and the person it was the hardest to prize out of the assembly hall was Jimmy. He left behind a horseshoe of crestfallen women when Maddy pulled him away from his adoring audience. Amber and Jimmy are more alike than I ever realized. Charmers. It makes them attractive to be around, but the trouble with charmers is that they need an audience. Always.
    I climbed into the driver’s seat, Jimmy next to me, and the girls in the back. It was a cold night, and I put on the heater. Winter was stubbornly refusing to move aside for spring. I knew people were desperate for the clocks to go forward, for the season to change, but the cold early evenings suited my life. It was easier to be a hermit in the dark. I had whispered the plan and, having slipped Jimmy thirty quid because he’d spent his last cash getting a cab to the school, drove us to the fast-food place. “Anything for you?” he asked, leaning back through the open door.
    â€œNo, thanks. I’m not hungry.”
    A little later I let us into our small house in Kentish Town and the girls ran ahead to fight over the bucket of cholesterol now sitting in the middle of the pine kitchen table. Jimmy went to the fridge, got himself a beer, found an open bottle of wine, and poured me a generous glass. The five of us sat around dissecting the performance again, as we had in the car, while the kids dipped chips into an assortment of glutinous sauces. As usual, Jimmy had ordered too much, and after a ten-minute eating frenzy, the girls pushed themselves away from the table and groaned.
    â€œBedtime, you lot,” I said.
    For once no one protested. Even Amber stood up without a fuss. “I need to rest for tomorrow. Do you mind if I don’t help clear up?” she said.
    Cunning…I thought. I’d happily throw the rest of the congealing food and the paper plates away if it meant no bedtime tantrums. “Go on up. I’ll put this away.”
    â€œI’m too tired to walk upstairs,” said Maddy, knowing full well how her father would respond. Dutifully, he picked her up, and then Lulu was begging to be carried too. But Jimmy wasn’t as young as he once was—they’d have to take it in turn. It seemed like yesterday he could carry all three.
    â€œDaddy will carry you to bed tomorrow,” I said, sensing a storm brewing.
    Jimmy gave me a look. I had to concentrate on stopping my jaw clamping. I knew what that look meant: he wouldn’t be around tomorrow night to put them to bed. He was going to be “busy” again. I implored him not to say anything. They were too tired, and news that Daddy wouldn’t be home again guaranteed a meltdown. Instead Ipicked up Lulu and carried her up to the room she and Maddy shared, then went downstairs to throw away the leftovers. Well, tidy up, anyway. I found it difficult to throw food away. It seemed such a waste.
    â€œMum! Can you bring some loo paper?” yelled Lulu.
    I swallowed a cold chip. “Coming,” I mumbled.
    I could hear Amber singing in the bathroom as she reluctantly took off her stage makeup. I was relieved to see her emerge barefaced and swamped by Snoopy pajamas. I hugged my eldest child. “I’m so proud of