Homecoming (39 page)

‘You’ve got to think about your Leaving Cert…’ was the gloomy start to many sentences.

Which was why the fifth years had happily idled away the whole year. When they were sixth years, they could panic, they told her. But for now…whatever.

Connie gave it one last try: ‘The summer exams will determine if you can stay in honours history or pass next year,’ she said loudly.

Again, nobody was too pushed. That was in September, months away. Who knew what would have happened by then. They might have been spotted by Robert Pattinson across a crowded street and been whisked away to a life of movie-star excitement…

‘There’s a fair chance that an essay question on the signing of the Declaration of Independence will come up in the exam,’ Connie said. Seeing as how she’d set the exam, she should know. ‘It might be worth everyone’s while to sit and revise that section.’

Pay dirt. The history exam was on Wednesday. Too close for comfort. Robert Pattinson wasn’t due in Dublin any time soon. The fifth years sat down and pulled out their books.

‘The whole of chapter twenty-four is important,’ Connie went on in a slightly cajoling tone. She sometimes wondered if she’d chosen wrongly when she plumped for being the sort of friendly-not-shouty teacher. The ones who instilled fear in the students certainly could make people sit in their seats at will, but it must be so exhausting keeping the level of tension up. No, Connie decided, she’d never be able to be one of the tough teachers. Being likeable and friendly was who she was.

Pages shuffled as everyone settled to read chapter twenty-four and peace reigned. Connie was able to sit back and think.

All she could think about were Ella and Steve. Now that the widower and his ten-year-old daughter were in her life, she couldn’t get them out of her head. When she read her romances, she imagined she was the heroine and Steve was the man wrapping his muscular arms around her, saving her from pirates/highwaymen/whatever. Flicking through magazines, she kept finding articles about stepfamilies.

Normally, she’d have turned those pages at high speed, but now she read avidly.

What to do when your children and his have to get on as one big family?
Nope. Not an issue. All Ella would have to get on with were Connie’s things. Still, she scanned that paragraph in case it was useful.

The only absolutely relevant article was a case history of a woman who’d married a man with two young daughters.
Don’t
was her message. Connie read on glumly.

Rows, plenty of screaming fits ending with
‘you’re not my mother
!’ and a painful break-up ensued. ‘I’d never get involved with a man with children again!’ said the woman.

Connie stared blankly down at the mostly silent students in front of her and tried to imagine what it must be like for a child in Ella’s situation to suddenly have someone interested in her father. Up till now, apart from the predatory Daniellas of this world, Ella had had him to herself. And Steve didn’t appear too interested in getting involved again.

What was she thinking of, anyway? Steve liked her purely because she was kind to Ella, that was all. He’d never once looked at her in a romantic way or brushed against her accidentally. And now she knew that she longed for him to.

It was five when she got home and she did her best to peer unobtrusively into Steve and Ella’s basement apartment before she took the steps up to her one. It didn’t look as if anyone was home.

Her own apartment felt lonely now, especially knowing that Eleanor was away with Megan. She’d loved having Megan staying upstairs with Eleanor: it had given her a reason to pop round in the evening, bringing shopping for them or checking up to see that they were both OK.

Perhaps it was time to get that cat, Connie thought morosely as she wandered around, not able to settle at anything. She had no homework to correct: it wasn’t fair to give the girls homework when they were meant to be revising. She made herself tea and somehow ended up perched by the front window with a book when Steve Calman’s pick-up truck arrived. Moments later, a sky-blue sports car drew up and Danielle, Petal’s mother, got out, cute as a button in purple velour this time. She seemed to have had Ella quite a lot after school recently. And didn’t seem to mind bringing the girl all the way home. In the past week, Connie had seen a lot of the distinctive sky-blue sports car as Danielle dropped Ella home every evening. Danielle always looked so
perky
, Connie thought with unaccustomed venom. Petal and Ella struggled to get out of the back seat themselves. Danielle was too busy chatting with Steve to bother moving the seat for them.

Flicking her blonde ponytail at him was one thing, but not even bothering to get poor Ella out of the car: now
that
was totally unacceptable. Connie stopped thinking rationally. She stormed downstairs and out of the front door, only just grabbing her keys on the way, and marched out on to the street.

‘Connie!’ Ella called from the car. ‘You’re home! Can I come and play?’

‘Of course,’ said Connie, helping her out. ‘Is that OK, Steve?’

Steve looked pleased to see her but Connie noted that Danielle did not. Tough bananas, Connie thought. You can have Steve if you want, but don’t be mean to Ella.

‘Can I come too!’ asked Petal plaintively, sliding out after Ella.

‘Yes, go on,’ said Danielle, not even looking.

Connie wasn’t sure why she felt she’d won the lottery when she went back upstairs with the two little girls chattering with her.

‘And Connie’s got a bedroom like a princess and profiteroles,’ Ella explained excitedly to Petal.

‘My mummy says profiteroles make you fat. Cream is bad for you,’ Petal informed them.

‘Really?’ Connie let them into her flat. She could just imagine Danielle crossly telling Petal that in a flurry of irritation after Connie had left with Ella that first day. There was no doubt about it: Danielle was mad for Steve Calman. Connie knew she couldn’t compete with someone like Danielle. Connie wouldn’t get one leg into Danielle’s cutesy little velour track pants and even if she trained for hours in front of the mirror, she’d never be able to do that ponytail-flicking thing. She simply wasn’t the seductress type.

No, she was the funny friend person. And she was a person that darling Ella loved being with. That was enough for Connie; more than enough.

At least half an hour went by before her doorbell rang.

‘It’s Steve,’ he said into the intercom, sounding a little strained. ‘Danielle has to drop Petal with her gran because she has to go to pilates.’

Bet she does, Connie thought. Stomach muscles don’t get that taut just from avoiding profiteroles. ‘On my way down,’ she called cheerily.

Neither Danielle nor Steve looked as happy as two people who’d just been afforded some privacy should. Steve’s face was pale under his tan and it looked as if he’d been tugging on his tie to stop it being so close to his throat; either that, or Danielle had been pulling at it, but Connie didn’t like to dwell on that. It was one thing to know Danielle was more Steve’s type than she was, another entirely to think about the logistics of it all.

‘Come on, Petal,’ snapped Danielle. ‘Oh, thank you, Connie.’

‘Bye, Petal,’ said Connie. ‘See you, Danielle.’

The ponytail didn’t twitch.

Danielle shoved the passenger seat down at high speed, this time to let her daughter in, and then drove off with a squeal of rubber.

Connie bent to give Ella a hug. ‘See you soon,’ she said.

‘When?’ demanded Ella.

Connie was lost. ‘How about Saturday night?’ she said. ‘I can make dinner. Or if you’re going out, I can babysit Ella,’ she added to Steve.

‘I owe you dinner after your helping us out,’ he remarked. He was beginning to look more like his normal self now. Unconsciously, he reached a hand up and loosened the knot on his tie, pulling it off completely. Then he swiftly opened the top two buttons. ‘That’s better,’ he said.

Yeah, much better, thought Connie with a gulp, looking away. Drooling always looked bad.

‘Oh, Dad, let’s go to Connie’s, pleeease,’ begged Ella. ‘You’re always cooking, it’s boring eating your food. I like Connie’s food. Like Indian.’

‘We won’t try that again,’ Connie said. ‘You didn’t eat any of it. I’ll cook,’ she added rashly. Cooking and taking care of children sort of went together.

‘That’s too much trouble,’ said Steve.

‘Nonsense,’ declared Connie, not looking at him. ‘I love cooking! Saturday evening then, at six?’

‘It’s in our diary,’ said Ella gravely, and both adults laughed.

Feeling as if she was floating on air, Connie went home.

‘Gaynor, what’s a simple thing to cook for a dinner party where the guests are a neighbour and his little girl?’

In the excitement of the whole event, Connie had neglected to think about the actual food until the wee small hours of Friday night.

‘I’m fine thank you, Connie, and no you didn’t wake me early on a Saturday morning, and how are you?’ asked Gaynor.

‘I don’t have time for that! I’m desperate. Besides, you’re always telling me you’re up at the crack of dawn on Saturdays,’ Connie added. ‘Football, ballet, hockey…’

‘Touché,’ said Gaynor. ‘When is this grand and important dinner party?’

‘Tonight.’

Connie waited till Gaynor had stopped laughing hysterically. ‘That’s why I always phone you when I’m in trouble,’ she said. ‘You’re so sympathetic, so kind.’

‘You can’t cook.’

‘And this is news? I know I can’t cook, but you can and you’re going to help me.’

‘I can’t, not today. Any other day, of course I would, but it’s my niece’s wedding today and we have to be out of the house by ten. Go to Marks and Spencer’s and buy something to heat up. That’s what everyone else does.’

‘I want to cook something myself,’ Connie wailed.

‘
Now
she decides she wants to cook!’ groaned Gaynor. ‘Right, do a chicken casserole. Chicken with mushrooms and a little white wine, it never fails. You have some recipe books?’

‘What would I want with recipe books? Wait till I get a pen,’ said Connie.

At six that evening, there was a delicious smell coming from the oven, a very restaurant-y smell, in Connie’s opinion. Cooking wasn’t anywhere near as hard as people made out. Honestly, you just threw chicken, cream, wine, mushrooms and herbs in a pot and let it get on with itself. Simple.

She’d made two casseroles: a big one for her and Steve with wine, and a small one for Ella without wine.

‘I can’t put wine in hers,’ Connie had said to Gaynor on the phone.

‘The wine cooks off,’ Gaynor explained. ‘But you could do a smaller version for her with no wine. I do that all the time.’

‘Oooh yummy smells,’ said Ella when they arrived. She gave Connie a huge hug, dumped her cardigan on the floor and ran off to investigate what they were going to have for dessert.

‘You got profiteroles!’ she roared with delight when she’d scanned the fridge fully. ‘And 7UP too!’

‘I hope that’s all right,’ Connie said to Steve.

He grinned.

He was wearing the sort of fine-knit sweater that Freddie might wear, but on Freddie, a sweater always looked a bit too big, like he’d borrowed it from a larger person. On Steve, the grey knit fitted perfectly and showed off shoulders that could have graced any of the covers of Connie’s romantic novels. She had a sudden vision of him ripping the sweater off and hauling her close, and she had to follow Ella into the kitchen to hide her red face in case he noticed.

‘Just getting a drink of water,’ Connie muttered, and had to grab a glass and fill it clumsily at the tap because Ella was watching her.

‘You must be really thirsty,’ Ella said innocently.

‘Yes, it’s been a warm day,’ said Connie. She stood at the sink until she could feel her colour return to normal. She was behaving like one of the first years on Valentine’s Day. She’d have to limit herself to seeing Ella without Steve.

Ella opened a couple of cupboards and peered in. ‘Boring cereal,’ she said dismissively. ‘If I stay overnight, what would I eat?’

‘You’re too young for sleepovers,’ said her father. ‘You know that.’

‘You could stay too,’ Ella said hopefully.

Connie’s laugh was a bit too high-pitched and hysterical, even to her ears. Steve would think she’d been at the drink before he got there.

‘You’re so funny, Ella,’ she said. ‘You just live next door, you couldn’t really have a sleepover here.’

‘Why not?’ demanded Ella. ‘I do sleepovers at Granny’s house and Nana’s sometimes when Daddy’s away. Can I play with your make-up?’

Connie looked at Steve.

‘If Connie says you can,’ he agreed.

‘Of course,’ Connie said. She turned on the lights in her bedroom. In advance of Ella’s visit, she’d hidden her bodicerippers and put a PD James beside the bed. Not that Ella was going to recognise it, but still, it might sound better if Ella’s breathless report was that Connie was reading a very grown-up book instead of one with a cover of a man who had no shirt on.

‘You’re very kind to her,’ Steve said softly when Connie returned. He was sitting on the couch and looked totally at home there. Connie felt a little flip at the sight of him there, sprawled comfortably. Dinner in the oven, Ella pootling around happily, Steve on the couch. It all felt so
right.

‘She’s wonderful,’ Connie said, and she was being utterly truthful. ‘You’re very lucky.’ Oh no,
what had she said?
Steve’s wife was dead. ‘I mean, you’re very lucky to have Ella, in spite of her mum not being around –’ Blast, this was getting worse. Talk about foot in mouth disease. ‘She told me her mother was dead and…Sorry.’

She stopped pacing anxiously and sat down beside him. ‘I am putting my foot in it. I meant that Ella is a beautiful child. You’re lucky with that.’

‘I know,’ he said gently.

‘I didn’t mean to say the wrong thing. I didn’t know what to say. I tried to imagine what I’d feel like if I’d lost someone and the only plus would be having Ella…’ Connie stopped, wondering if she’d said far too much.

‘I know what you mean,’ Steve said.