The Stepmother (25 page)

“Jimmy. We were wondering what had happened to you.”

“Um, well, um, got married, had two children, um…I still run our business.”

“Wow, a business.” I felt the judgment cut through me. Don't ask, please don't ask what I do. “What business?”

“What about you?”

We had both spoken at the same time. I refused to answer her question. “So you and your husband run a business?” I said, cutting her off a second time.

“Well, um…” Her friend touched her hand. “Actually, my husband, um…He died last year.”

I crouched down, the last fifteen years forgotten, and took her hand in mine. “Oh, my God, Suzie, I'm so sorry—”

“Look, um, this is going to sound very rude, but I don't know who you are. I can't remember—were we at school together?”

I pulled my hand away. “It's Bea. Bea Frazier, Bea Kent…Jimmy and Bea.”

Her jaw dropped two inches, and I saw the truth in that second before she had time to hide it.

“Bea, Jesus, I'm so sorry, I didn't recognize you…Your hair has…um, changed. You look great. It used to be a—”

“A black bob,” I said, tucking my black bob behind my ear.

“It's been a long time,” said Suzie, sounding defeated. “So, how's Jimmy? You had a son?”

“Three daughters.”

“Wow. I'm so sorry I didn't recognize you, I'm not really myself yet.”

I didn't want her to apologize. I was unrecognizable. I'd just forgotten it. “Anyway, I'll let you get back to your…” I tried to smile. “I'm so sorry about your husband.”

“I'm glad you've still got Jimmy. He was always a great catch. Look, I'm sorry, Bea, really…Let's do this properly some time. Have you got a card?” I shook my head. Nondescript mothers don't have cards. “Take mine, call me. It would be lovely to catch up and see Jimmy again.”

I walked back to Carmen. Actually, it felt more like a limp. The embossed stiff card bit into my palm.

“How was that?”

“Carmen, I'm so sorry—I'd completely forgotten. The bloody plumber's coming…He's outside the house. I've got to go.” I picked up my bag and rushed out. “I'll call you later, sorry.” Carmen held up my fork. “What about your breakfast?”

“No time,” I replied, backing away.

“Look after yourself, Bea.”

Look after myself? I spent my days looking after people. Looking after myself was just another chore. It's so much more
refreshing
to let it all go. Sometimes on my weekends alone I didn't get dressed, I didn't brush my teeth or wash. In fact, I didn't do anything but drink my calorific quota until I was sick, then delight in watching it come up again. Puking rendered me calorie-neutral and I loved it. That was looking after myself. For some reason, I could never make myself be sick when I'd binged on food, but white wine and vodka was a different matter. Liquid, it seemed, was fine. The freedom of total irresponsibility. The joy of stumbling chaos, that was how I liked to look after myself. My reward scheme. “I will,” I said. “I promise.”

 

T
HERE WAS NO PLUMBER
. O
BVIOUSLY
. I'd just needed to get away. Then again, two of the three deliveries I had organized for that day didn't turn up either. My mother popped in to gloat. The Insinkerator ate a spoon. And the fuse box blew. I know these things aren't the end of the world, but everything takes time to organize, and it's dull and repetitive and then you have to go and do it all over again. Yesterday I might have coped better. But today something had happened that I couldn't ignore.

I had been kidding myself. A far greater distance existed between me and my old self than I had let myself believe. A single stone was nothing compared to how far I had to travel. I had seen myself in Suzie's eyes. I was a fat woman full of failed potential. It was all the excuse I needed. I was stronger than I had been a few weeks ago, but not that strong. The children were miles from harm. I wanted to fall into the abyss. Calorie-neutral, here I come.

 

I
CAME AROUND IN THE
kitchen at three minutes past four in the morning. The following day I felt too shocking to speak. Which was fine, since I had no one to speak to. I only went out to get some healthy food to redress the balance. Organic mush in a cardboard box and a smoothie called a detox from a nice café in Kentish Town. I walked there. To clear my head.

“Bea?”

I turned and peered through my dark glasses.

“I thought it was you.”

I was being slow on the uptake.

“Nick. Caspar's dad.”

“Oh, hi, sorry. Miles away.”

“Hangover?” He was smiling.

“That obvious?”

“It's not sunny and the detox smoothie kind of gives it away.”

“Hm” was all I managed.

“Very brave of you to do it twice in a row.”

“Hm?” was all I managed again.

“The big shindig tonight. The Amber and Caspar show. Though I don't think James and Tessa know that yet.”

He couldn't see that I was frowning, because my glasses were so big. But I was. He was a bit familiar, wasn't he? And since when was Caspar going to the engagement party?

“Fran's having her hair done and, of course, the girls wanted in on the act, so they've got dresses too. It was a brilliant idea of yours. Cora, our two, your two all in matching fairy dresses. Can't wait.”

Fran? Cora? Who were all these bloody people?

“Her godchild on the guitar, her stepchild-to-be on the mic—it's going to be one hell of a party. I've never seen Tessa so happy. I'm so glad too. She deserves it.”

“She does,” I said. Why did I say that? I don't even know the bloody woman. Lady-child. She-thing. “Godchild?”

“Caspar. Best godmother in the world is Tessa King. She'll be a great stepmother too. Amber is so happy that you like her. Makes it all easier. Anyway, gotta go. I strongly suggest a sleep for you. And I'll see you later at the ball.”

I made a thumbs-up sign, because I didn't dare speak. Caspar? Caspar was Tessa's godson? My daughter and her future step-god-brother, and everyone was okay with this! And Amber, pretending Tessa and I were bosom buddies so she could be with Caspar? There I'd been, thinking it was because she was trying to protect me. This wasn't about me. I was just a hindrance. A bore. Wouldn't it be so much easier if they could all dance into the sunset without having to deal with the ex. No one gave a shit about me. I was not only unrecognizable, I was replaceable. No, that wasn't even it. I'd already been replaced. Sleep, Nick, you drippy romantic bore? Sleep? I needed more than fucking sleep!

“One detox smoothie to go,” called the boy behind the counter.

Too darn late.

“W
HO'S GOT THE HAIR DRYER
?”

“Can I borrow someone's mascara?”

“Shit, I've got a run in my stocking. Tessa! You got any spares?”

I stood up. Fran, my best friend from university and Caspar's mum, walked into our room wearing her underwear and a single thigh-high stocking. The other lay limply, like Peter Pan's shadow, across her palm. She stopped. “Bloody hell! You look phenomenal!”

Claudia followed her in, holding her head. “Help, my hair's gone frizzy! Shit, Tessa, you look like a film star.”

Billie came out of the shower room. “Masca—” The word got lost in a long wolf-whistle.

I smiled.

“I've always wanted to be able to do that,” said Fran.

“Give us a twirl,” said Billie. I did. I had decided to go for a very bridal red. Scarlet, actually. The dress was pure silk and I was sure it wouldn't survive the night. But, hell, wedding dresses aren't supposed to. I knew this wasn't my actual wedding dress, since that was going
to be a white cotton kaftan (don't be fooled, I wasn't talking a fifteen-pound job from Portobello market: it would be Heidi Klein's finest, with expert beading, sequins, and pearls, suggestively see-through with a matching white bikini), but somehow the red evening gown had begun to feel like that. Now that everyone was here, running around in a state of semi-undress, reminding me of a million nights in our youth, I was glad Bea had made us mark the event. We'd thought we were doing it for the girls, but here, with my friends, I knew it was as much for me and James.

“Is it just me or is it strange that I have James's ex-wife to thank for tonight?”

“Is she coming?” asked Billie.

“We didn't ask her,” I said, pulling a face. “She and I haven't actually met. But I kind of wish we'd shown her the same magnanimity she's shown us and invited her.”

“Nick's met her,” said Fran. “Says she's great. Quite liberal, too. She let Amber stay over at ours.”

“I didn't know that,” I said.

“I think a mutually respectful distance is probably better than becoming bosom buddies. You don't want to find out too much,” said Claudia.

I threw a pair of knickers at her. “There's nothing to find out.”

“Gross! Are those yours?”

“Yes! I'm going commando. There isn't room for pants in this dress.” It was strapless, cut low at the back and with a plunging sweetheart neckline that, courtesy of industrial scaffolding, kept the bosoms up. The bodice was cinched so tightly I could breathe only in gasps. The skirt fell to the floor, and a slit up the back let me move and, more important, hinted at long pins beneath. It was completely over the top. But if I couldn't be over the top tonight, when could I? And, anyway, you hadn't seen my future stepdaughter's dress. My hair had been coiffed forties'-style, my lips were scarlet, my skin pale, and my eyes lined with liquid black eyeliner. Ava Gardner was what I was going for, and, by the look on my friends' faces, it was working. We giggled. Maddy and Lulu were right. Dressing up was fun.

Talking of the girls…“Hey, you lot, how are you getting on?”

Cora, Maddy and Lulu, and Katie and Ella, Fran's daughters, had set up camp in their tiny room. Lulu was chief hairdresser, although Amber was supposed to be overseeing her. James had been banished to Faith and Luke's house in Acton, along with Caspar. James's flat in Hampstead had temporarily been designated a Red Tent, a sanctuary reserved for women. You couldn't see the floor for tulle. Fran, Billie, Claudia, and I crowded into the doorway to watch the girls pull up one another's zippers, brush their hair, and twirl around until we felt dizzy. We three women watched the five and shared a silent prayer of thanks for our luck, the love in our lives, and one another. I took Claudia's hand and squeezed it, knowing she was thinking of the daughter she'd lost. All happy events forever after, however sweet, would be tinged with sourness. There would always be someone missing from our party.

“This calls for a drink,” I said. I heard no dissenting voices.

Down in the kitchen, I popped a cork and poured foam into four glasses. Then I poured a fifth. For Amber. She was a woman too now. Certainly a woman in the making.

“Amber! Champagne!” I called up the stairs.

“I'm so glad you're getting on better now,” said Claudia.

“Oh, my God, the difference is amazing. She's been delightful these past few weeks.” I looked at Fran. “I thank your son. My number-one fan.”

“Not anymore, I'm afraid. That boy's bananas about her.”

“Where is she?” asked Billie. “I can't wait to see her dress.”

“Probably in the bathroom,” I said, handing out drinks. I raised a glass. “To absent friends,” I said.

“To Helen,” said Billie.

We all drank.

“I'm not going to make a speech later,” I said to Billie, Claudia, and Fran, “but there is something I'd like to say to you three. Thank you for all your support and advice over the years. Thank you for forgiving me when I didn't listen, and encouraging me when I did. Thank you for sharing your lives with me,” I looked at Fran and Billie, “and your children. I want you to know that the only reason why I'm contemplating getting married is because I know I have you three watching my back. And I know that I can tell you anything, and I won't be judged. And I know if I start cocking it
up, you'll tell me off, and if James is a pain in the arse, you'll back me up. There's no way I'd do this without you. It's too darn hard.”

“Very sensible,” said Fran, who knew a thing or two about marriage.

“Don't cry, Tessa. Your makeup will run.” Billie handed me a piece of paper towel.

“To us!” said Claudia.

“To us!” we chorused.

A door slammed. Footsteps took the stairs two at a time. Another door slammed. We lowered our glasses. Everyone looked at me.

“Amber?” asked Fran.

“When did she go out?” I asked, worried. Losing James's precious jewel would set us back a bit.

“You'd better go up,” said Fran, mother to all.

“Me?”

“Who else, sweetie?”

“Can't you do it?”

“You said things were better.”

“They are,” I whispered, “but I still feel like a fraud. Please go. She really likes you.”

“No!”

“Stairs aren't easy in this dress—” She pointed to them. Okay, okay, I'll go. “Give me that glass,” I said.

I knocked on Amber's door.

“Go away,” came Amber's voice. “Please.”

It was the “please” that struck me.

“You all right?”

She didn't answer.

“Amber?” I turned the handle. Suddenly it pushed back against me. “Go away! I said go away! What's wrong with you?”

“What's happened? Everything all right with Caspar?”

She didn't reply.

“What's he done?”

“Who?”

Oh, God, we were back to that. “I have a glass of champagne for you,” I said. Trying another tack.

Silence.

“You don't want it?”

More silence.

“Okay. Well, we're leaving in about ten minutes.” I turned to go, then turned back, trying to remember what big events had done to me at her age. “Listen, Amber, if you're worried about your dress, I want you to know that you look absolutely beautiful in it. Your dad will be so proud. We both will…” I waited for a reply. But all I got was a blast of music through the door. Angry guitar music. I guess I had Caspar to thank for that. Where were the Bonne Belles when you needed them? I walked back into the kitchen.

“What's going on?”

I shrugged.

“Where did she go?”

I threw up my hands. My friends looked at me, disappointed. “What? It's like getting blood out of a stone. She won't talk to me.”

“Well, something's happened,” said Claudia. “She was so excited earlier.”

“I'll ring Caspar,” said Fran. “Maybe they've had a fight over the song.”

“Song?”

Fran raised an eyebrow. “Oops.”

“What bloody song?”

“It's a secret,” said Fran.

“Not anymore. Spill.”

“Caspar and Amber have been working on a best-man song.”

Talk about the missing pieces falling into place. “No wonder there was such a bloody fuss about the band. You've no idea how many favors I had to pull in to get decent live music at such short notice. Why didn't anyone tell me?”

“It was a surprise.”

“For James. Not me.” I shook my head. “Call Caspar. I can't deal with a bloody scene tonight. Prima bloody donnas.” I poured myself another drink. “Maybe the lighting isn't right at the venue and Amber's decided not to go on.”

“Oi, Tessa, put the broomstick down,” said Claudia.

“You don't know what it's like,” I pleaded.

“Nor do you,” she replied, “to have some siren move in and cast a spell on your dad.”

“
I
'm the siren here?” I lowered my voice. “Did you see that dress? It cost the same as mine!”

Fran came back into the kitchen. “Caspar says he hasn't seen her since this afternoon at the rehearsal and it went brilliantly. He's going to call her and call us back.”

I rolled my eyes, Amber-style. “She's going to ruin it, I just know it.”

“Something might have actually happened. Where's Bea? Are you sure she's okay with all of this?”

“It was her idea! She's not the problem. It's Amber. She's having one of her hissy fits. I'll tell you how this plays out. I'll have to get James, he'll spend half an hour with her, coaxing her out of her room, and when maximum damage has been caused, she'll put on a brave face, get over whatever imagined drama took place, put on that dress, and steal the bloody limelight. Just like the other night, when she stormed out, having demanded a taxi first. What happened to smacking them and sending them to their room?”

“They get bigger than you,” said Fran.

“And they made it illegal,” said Billie.

“Really? Pity. You know, once she's calmed down, James will be so proud that she managed to pull herself together and get over her nerves, or whatever this bollocks is. Oh, please don't look at me like that.” I wagged a finger at them. “Just you wait,” I said knowingly, “Amber Kent is tricksy.”

“How old are you? Thirteen? Don't you remember what it was like?”

Oh, shut up, Claudia. I take back everything I just said about you.

“It's true, Tessa. You were very forgiving of Caspar and his hideous moods.”

“Why is Amber so different?”

What I said about all of you—turncoats! I dug myself in. Because, because, because…she holds James's heart in the palm of her hand and only lends it to me when she returns to her mother's. “I was only asking for one night,” I said petulantly.

“I thought you were doing this for the girls?” said Billie. “All of them.”

“All right, all right, I'm a wicked witch,” I growled at them. Which made them laugh. “But it's so hard sharing him.”

“It could be worse. He could be like Christophe and not give a shit.” Billie was right. Cora's dad had all but vanished.

“Okay, okay, I'll get James,” I said, giving in. Everyone nodded.

 

W
E ENDED UP GOING ON
ahead with the tulle fairies in a vast people-carrier. I poured champagne onto the bile and hoped the acids would neutralize each other. By about the fifth glass, it was working.

There were so many friends at Century, the bar James had hired for the party, that I started to forget my fiancé was still at home with the mini-bride. Okay, it wasn't completely working, but I was having fun. Then Mum and Dad turned up, with Ben and Sasha, and my group was cemented. It was fun introducing my future family to my old friends. I liked Faith. Honor, I knew I could love. And Peter and Dad hit it off in an instant. Who knew fishing could be so funny? I could feel a new hobby coming on to add to the hundreds of others Dad had acquired since he'd retired a quarter of a century ago. I went up and hugged him. No girl could be more proud of her father than I was of Dad.

Mum looked great too. She had one of her walking sticks. One was good. Two was less good. The walking frame was bad. She only used her chair as a last resort. Lucy the hippie and Billie the Slavic gypsy seemed to be finding something utterly fascinating in each other, and later I saw them working the room like a couple of pros. I've always known there was something special about Billie, something mystical and unique, and my estimation of Lucy rose: she'd had the insight to see beyond the awkward exterior and plumb the depths.

Finally, I saw James. Drunk with love, I ran up to him and threw my arms around him. “I thought you were going to stand me up.”

“Never,” he said.

“Everything all right?”

“Well, we're here,” he said.

Amber disappeared into the shadows. She wasn't wearing the blue dress. “What happened to her dress?”

A storm crossed James's face. “Don't ask.”

“All that money—”

“Tessa?”

“Sorry.”

“I need a drink.”

He didn't have to say it twice.

 

T
HE DRINKS FLOWED AND THE
noise level increased. I got so many compliments that I started to feel like Ava Gardner herself. Halfway through some defamatory story about an ex-boy-band member, which Matt, my assistant, was telling, there was a loud squawk through the speakers. We jumped.

Dad was on the mic. A stagehand moved him away from the amplifier and the noise died away. “Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry to interrupt the revelries, but I would like it very much if you would forgive an old man and allow him to say a few words about his daughter. The bride-to-be. As you all know, James and Tessa have decided to bugger off to the beach to get married and, for some inexplicable reason, have decided not to take us all along.”