by Sky Sommers
When the young gentleman is done moving his bowels, we do the hand-washing and teeth-brushing routine. He drags an upended small wooden crate to the sink, stands on it and together we wet the brush, dip it into the tub of home-made toothpaste and rummage around in his mouth.
Thank goodness this dimension had toothbrushes and toothpastes before we arrived! Otherwise, I would have had to introduce them somehow. Not the plastic ones, of course, but wooden things.
Most of the things here are wooden. There is a whole lot of forest and not a lot of people.
Like the stairs we are taking down to the kitchen.
Henry goes to play with utensils and I stir the beef stew on the stove.
Funnily, it didn’t take long to get used to no smart phones, no TV and no electrical gadgets. Gadget-less life in the Magic Kingdom is not half bad.
In fact, it’s rather peaceful. You’d be amazed, how much time we have freed up from the time-sucks like phones and TV. And still I have none to spare.
Sure, we have to deliver our messages in person or pay village children as runners.
But our meal-times are full of conversation and real human emotions rather than everyone staring at their phones and wolfing stuff down without a second glance.
Well, they used to be. In the beginning. Now I’m too tired to hold up conversations and it’s been months since I have seen everyone sit down for dinner at once.
Henry bangs a wooden spoon against a metal pot to get my attention, ‘Polidge!’ he says and points at the giant pot on the stove above him.
I smile, ‘No, button, that’s dinner. Porridge mama will have to make, just you wait.’
He nods sagely and goes to sit at the table, his favourite spoon in hand.
‘Good boy, mama will make the porridge real quick,’ I promise.
I have quick-n-easy oatmeal, thanks to black market days with the Warriors, a mysterious military tribe who keep themselves to themselves. And themselves behind iron-gated walls.
The porridge should be ready in just a few minutes. I take a clean metal pot and another wooden spoon.
I take a dollop of butter and stir the beef.
Mustn’t burn dinner.
Hans comes in and ogles the pot. Without a word, I put a plate in front of him and sigh.
In the months that Hans and Greta have lived with us, our expenses have doubled.
Three grown-ups and one tiny munchkin plus two twelve-year-olds and they have doubled.
I sigh again.
There was never an issue of NOT taking them in.
Quite the contrary, I made a promise and I’m going to honour it.
Four kids it is.
The three of them not wanted by their own mother.
Then not wanted by their Godmother.
Two actually wanted by Grizelda, but for a carnivorous purpose.
I glance at Henry. Knowing how I got him and how I almost didn’t get to keep him, I’m loathe to let him out of my sight. How did Hans’ and Greta’s mother miss they had gone deep into the wood all by themselves?
I add a little strawberry jam to the steaming plate the way Henry likes it and voila!
‘Porridge!’ I say. ‘Careful, button, it’s hot!’
‘Polidge, hot,’ he nods and digs in. So does Hans at triple the speed.
With expenses doubling, I might need to build and sell another invention to Belle.
I remember the time when cutting down on my own expenses - make-up, food, wine, clothes - was only a question of necessity when I was still living in London and wanted to save up to travel.
Nobody said living on borrowed time was going to be easy-breezy.
The door bangs and in walk Peter and Ella.
‘Ella wanted to know if her friend Simon can come by tonight,’ Peter asks.
Simon? What happened to John who was helping her with geography?
‘A second boy in less than two weeks?’ I ask both of them.
‘Ella can bring any of her friends to meet us, so we can also meet them,’ Peter says and turns to Ella, ‘BEFORE they turn into proper suitors.’
Clever girly, pitting one parent against the other.
‘Very well, if you want to be the talk of the village, keep parading the boys to your door and up to your room to get the rumour-mill started,’ I shrug.
‘I don’t parade them!’ Ella huffs. ‘They are helping me study. And two is not hordes…’
‘Two is one too many in terms of landing a husband,’ I remind both of them.
But I guess better knowing than not knowing.
I sigh as Ella looks hopeful. ‘I’m glad that school finished early. You can help me at the restaurant tonight.’
She shoots me a contemptuous look mentally telegraphing that school and chores are for losers and asks, turning to Peter, ‘Can Simon stay the night? He’s helping me with….um…arithmancy and he lives far away…’ Ella rushes on, ‘Simon will also help with the serving, if I ask him nicely, and after we close it’ll be too late for him to wander back through the woods anyway…’
An aristo will help you serve? Really?
He must be besotted to lower himself like this…in front of his peers, no less.
‘I promised to disguise him a bit, of course.’
‘Stay the night? What do you mean, stay the night?’ Peter blinks. ‘Stay where? You know that we don’t have a guest bedroom…’
‘He can stay in my room,’ Ella says with bravado. ‘On the floor.’
Great! We’ve come to teenage sleepovers with boys under parents’ noses.
And, by the looks of it, to paying our hired servers in kind.
I hear a sharp intake of breath.
The girls from my school who talked the most about sex and boys, making it sound they were so experienced when, in fact, they turned out to be virgins.
With all her bravado and boys, Ella might still be a virgin.
Might.
Although I have grave doubts.
So her asking is either signalling that this is a serious boyfriend or she’s daring him to perform over the fear of everyone listening in and them being caught in flagrante. Or she wants us to catch them and make him marry her. Or she’s daring us to say ‘no’ or it’s something else entirely.
Sometimes, they don’t know what it is they are asking for and then it’s best to give them what they want so they can find out it’s not what they wanted at all.
Technically, I’m not her parent and I can’t be sure they haven’t already ‘done it’.
Ella keeps smiling, but I see it’s forced.
I sigh and decide to spell it all out for those involved, ‘You mean to ask us if Simon can come and sleep with you in your room tonight while we are all at home?’ I clarify as Peter pales.
I place a hand on his back. It can’t be easy, getting used to dealing with teenage problems only three years after becoming a father for the first time.
‘Only if he’ll be sleeping on the floor,’ Peter says. ‘And the door remains open.’
Oh, poor guy.
As if the boy wouldn’t be off the floor and under Ella’s covers as soon as we all fall asleep.
Ella flushes as if she heard me.
‘And he doesn’t need to be our server. I’m home,’ Peter adds, taking a deep breath.
‘No, he’ll serve. The more tired he is by the end of the day, the better. Your father has had a hard day. He deserves a break,’ I say.
‘And we don’t? We’ve been at school all day…’ Ella protests.
‘And for this privilege we pay a considerable sum,’ I cut her off.
Ella stares me down.
I could say no, except Peter has already said yes.
If I contradict and embarrass him, I’ll have a grumpy Peter in my bed later, not per
forming. When it comes to choosing my interests over Ella’s, this time, I decide to put me first.
‘This Simon, he’s a serious boyfriend, yes?’ Peter asks.
Ella shrugs. ‘He’s good marriage material…if that’s what you mean.’
‘It doesn’t mean he gets to do what he wants to do,’ Peter says.
‘He will be here to TUTOR me. In ARITHMANCY! Geesh, you go jumping straight to the wrong conclusions! It’s not enough that I suffer at school, now my grades will have to suffer as well!’
So, she COULD still be a virgin, daring a boy to come around and maybe try it on or do nothing so she could get rid of him as not alpha enough.
Female psychology.
Anywhere not just in our kingdom.
Then what she said registers. ‘You’ve already invited him before asking us?’ I point out, lowering my voice just a little.
She stares at me under her perfectly drawn eyebrows, ‘No, I kind of said I’d ask, but it’s an invite already, isn’t it?’
I don’t know which one is worse.
‘So, you’ve basically offered yourself to him by telling him you’ll ask your parents if he could stay the night?’ I ask, trying to maintain my composure.
‘You are NOT my parent!’ Ella says.
‘Unfortunately, your parent agrees with Grace in this instance,’ Peter says.
The clinking of pots and pans in the corner has stopped. Something in my and Peter’s tone made Henry go quiet. I look about and see him crouched in the corner, eyes huge. I smile and wave, ‘Mama and dada are not mad at you. Mama and dada are mad at Ella.’
I stare her down as Henry waddles over to me and climbs into my lap, quiet as a mouse.
‘I. INVITED. HIM. AS. A. TUTOR.’ Ella bites off.
‘Don’t you raise your voice at me, young lady,’ I snap back.
‘Do you know how many girls there are in this kingdom per each eligible bachelor?’ Ella spits out. ‘Three!’ She stomps her foot. ‘I have to compete with two other girls for the affections of any boy within one hundred mile radius! And if you discount the…the…’ she struggles.
‘You meant to say the poor, dear,’ I suggest.
‘…ones without a title,’ she finishes, ‘then it’s ten girls per one aristocrat and I have to compete with nine girls!’
‘So, it’s not about tutoring. It’s about landing an aristo boy, is it?’ I ask as Ella stares me down.
I sigh, ‘Have you ever thought that the ones they ‘get’ aren’t the ones that they marry later?’
‘Of course they do, they have to!’ she says with defiance
‘No, they don’t,’ Peter intervenes.
Of course, he dated before we met and his last experience was with a woman who tried to trap him with sex. Sex and a baby.
‘Sex without love is just…fulfilling your animal needs. Humans have more needs than that. A need for conversation. A need for loyalty….’ Peter dwindles.
I take over, ‘Purity, amongst other things. Do you really know anyone who later married the girl they were having sex with while at school? Any of your classmates? Anybody who has already graduated? Anyone at all?’ I ask, hoping the light will dawn.
All I see in front of me is a mutinous mule.
‘So, I will have to tell Simon he’s uninvited? Do you know what that means? You’ll just be short a pair of hands serving, but I’m the one who has to break up with him!’ she yowls.
‘So, he IS a suitor, not just a tutor after all…and you shouldn’t have enticed him then.’ I point out.
And also, maybe this would work for you dearie? No giving away freebies, no reputation damage, especially if you dump the son of an aristocrat? After this, more men are likely to be after you.
Ella seems to have reached the same conclusion. She huffs, but isn’t crying.
So, she didn’t want it that much, then. This Simon, whoever he is, was just a means to an end.
Ella hooks her cup to the washing machine.
‘Maybe I can break up with him after he helps out tonight or would that be too cruel?’ she looks up at me from under her eyebrows, biting her lip.
‘If you have to ask, you already know the answer,’ I tell her.
She huffs and stomps up the stairs.
* * *
After I put Henry to bed and we’re busy preparing for the night in the kitchen, I tell Peter, ‘Ella has too much time on her hands if she has time to scheme and run after boys. I can rectify that.’
He sighs, ‘What do you propose?’
I gesture at our kitchen - the overflowing sink, the groceries lining the surfaces, the lot. ‘How about some more help around the house? Maybe I…we could then get to bed earlier, you know?’
‘Maybe if we both do our share, then we can make it before the restaurant opens tonight…’ he offers.
‘But what about tomorrow? It’s been two years, Peter. Two frigging years that she’s been swanning around here like a princess, slacking off whenever she can. There’s just too much to do about the house in addition to running the restaurant. I’ve lost count of mornings when I’ve wandered down at 6AM and seen a sink full of dishes when the dish washer is either a. empty or b. full. Do you know how easy it is to stack stuff into the sink? And leave unloading the dishwasher to the next person who ‘notices’ or the first person who wakes up in the morning aka me? Very. Except they don’t notice. Least of all Ella!’ I complain. ‘When we decided to take in the kids and Mellie sent Ella to live with us, I expected to get a diligent girl. Two years down the line, I can surely say that instead, I got a lazy boy. I don’t have that many requests of her. Since the twins are going to be here permanently now, I need more help from them. From everybody. I can’t take it anymore.’ I exhale. ‘We need structure, we need a roster for chores, something….’
How can stepmothers be taken for granted and their plight go unnoticed?
I do everything a mother does and get zero love and respect in return. Everything I do goes unnoticed - which is to say everything is taken for granted - when it all runs well. A little bit too well. And while I love things that run well, me doing everything for everybody isn’t setting the kids up to be responsible. It is setting them up to be lazy and self-absorbed and, ultimately, ungrateful. Which is why I am the one who has to change out of my comfort zone and be demanding, insisting, reminding, not quite a helicopter-mom, because I have my limits, but…well, somewhat strict.
Someone has to be.
Because as long as I will keep doing things because a pigsty for a house bothers me, then nobody will appreciate clean clothes materialising on their beds and dishes in the cupboards and food on the table and in the pantry. Like it miraculously walked there from the market itself! The trash bin does not empty itself, just like the compost crate does not fill itself either and we have no money to buy charms that help with household duties. Not that they last more than a month anyway.
You know what, maybe in the original fairy-tale Cinderella’s stepmother was simply awfully misunderstood?
‘They’re just kids.’
‘And I’m just one person. When I was a kid, I helped. Didn’t you?’
Peter nods. ‘Sometimes. My parents never expected anything of me, especially during the terrible teens.’
Growing up with my uncle’s family, I was apparently never the typical teenager, helping out at home, in the coffee shop, tutoring at school. My childhood was cut short at the age of twelve when my parents and sister burnt to a crisp in their car, going to my sister’s violin recital.
I bite my lips, ‘But do you agree that Ella and the other kids should help out more?’
‘What do you suggest?’ Peter asks, absent-mindedly, fingering the napkins.
‘Before you lay those out in the restaurant, you need to wipe the tables, dear,’ I tell him and he goes to get a c
loth.
‘I think we need to try ‘appliances as pets’ strategy,’ I say, loading up the dishwasher. ‘We used to do that at my uncle’s place and I thought he was bonkers, because they never had to tell me twice to clean up or help out…unlike their own kids. Anyway… My uncle didn’t let us get any pets. Instead, he made us all pick one home appliance to look after and from then on that one appliance was our responsibility. He said it was way better than practicing on a tamagotchi that were all the rage for awhile. He said that according to scientific research, this helps kids become responsible and more successful adults.’
Peter nods. ‘I love how you still refer to them as appliances, even though we’re no longer in a world where everything works,’ my hubby sighs.
‘Yes, we don’t have electricity here, but we’ve made do,’ I point at the contraption in the corner dipping the cups and plates one after another into a bucket of water and glance outside at the pail going round and round on well number two. You can’t wash your dirty laundry where you drink from. So, two wells.
‘So, how do we do this? Let them pick?’ Peter asks.
‘Well, I suppose it’ll be better received if we let them pick. We tell Ella, Hans and Greta that they can choose an appliance to handle. You and I we will be doing the rest, of course.’
In addition to the donkey-powered dish washer and washing machine outside, we have the coffee pot, the dusting and cleaning, airing and collecting the laundry, the trash bin, the herb garden, sweeping the chimneys and fireplaces, scrubbing the floors…
You get the drift.
Someone else taking care of ONE, just ONE definite thing would make my life so much easier. Maybe I’ll have more time to sleep, although in all fairness, I’d probably still be the first one up and the last one to bed.
Don’t even get me started on cooking and collecting the groceries from all over the village.
Everyone adopting one home appliance would make my life much happier. Seriously.
‘One kid - one appliance’ will mean that when we have no clean dishes then everybody will know who forgot to do their bit.’ I say.