Next door the low murmur from the television died. Eve could hear movement as Ian turned off the lights and headed for bed, just as he had pretty much every night since she’d moved in.
Things had been better this evening. Or so she’d thought. She’d even dared hope…
The expected sound of his feet on the stairs didn’t come. Instead, the kitchen door opened and Ian stuck his head through the gap.
“Can I come in?”
He looked tired, but his skin, usually pallid from exhaustion and lack of sun, was flushed pink with the last of the Rioja and the warmth of the house. The tension that had been etched across his face twenty-four hours a day for weeks had eased. Eve realized she’d almost forgotten what he looked like without the worry lines threading his forehead.
“It’s your…” Eve stopped herself.
The reminder that it was his house, his kitchen not hers, was on the tip of her tongue, but to her surprise she realized it wasn’t true, not really. Not anymore. Since that first time she’d sought sanctuary here, sitting late into the night, drinking coffee and fiddling with her laptop, she’d felt increasingly comfortable. Fleetingly, stupidly, Eve wondered if Caroline had, too.
“Of course,” she said, closing down her laptop. “I was just finishing.”
“You work too hard.”
“Pot, kettle.”
He shrugged. “Not really.” He stopped. “May I?” he inclined his head toward the bench beside her. “I don’t want to interrupt if you’re busy.”
Shaking her head, Eve scooted up. Why was he being so formal? It was making her nervous. Did he know about thereluctantstepmother.com after all? No, he couldn’t, that was the guilt playing tricks on her.
“Eve…I just wanted to say thank you.” Ian squeezed her knee through her jeans.
“What for?” She grinned. It was mainly relief. “You were the head chef, as usual. All I did was buy the most fattening, unhealthy pudding I could find. According to instructions, I might add. And then only just got it home before it collapsed.”
“Alfie and Sophie didn’t seem to mind,” Ian said. “But that’s not what I meant and you know it.”
With his thigh resting against hers, Eve felt a familiar pang of longing. Familiar, but distant. It had been too long; not since they’d had sex—they’d gone through the motions plenty of times since the row, although neither of their hearts had been in it, and Eve still felt discomfited by Caroline’s presence. No, it had been too long since she’d felt that surge of passion for him. Life had been too hard. Her work, his work. Both of them creeping around each other’s feelings and expectations; the school runs and bath times, ballet and riding lessons, and dietary requirements; with Eve constantly resisting the urge to hide in Alfie’s bedroom playing with him for fear of being charged with the favoritism she knew she felt.
All of that trying not to do or say the wrong thing to Caroline’s children under their mother’s ever-present, stylized, black-and-white eye had left her too drained to think about herself and Ian as a couple, let alone lovers. She knew the same went for him.
“I mean thanks for this,” said Ian. “For taking us on. I know it hasn’t been easy.”
Eve opened her mouth, but Ian shook his head, then touched one finger to his lips. He was looking at her intently, his blue-gray eyes holding hers. For once, being silenced didn’t anger Eve. “Let me finish,” he said. “I have things I need to say.”
There it was again. The pang of longing, mixed with an under-tow, growing stronger now, of fear. Grow up, Eve thought. This isn’t some sixth-form romance. It’s not like he can just dump you.
“It’s been tough,” Ian interrupted her thoughts. “It still is. And there’s a long way to go, I’m not fooling myself otherwise.” Ian was watching her. “But Eve, I’m incredibly lucky. We all are…the girls, Alfie and I, despite any appearances to the contrary, to have you in our lives.” He stared at her, his eyes earnest. “Can you forgive me?”
“Forgive you?” Eve asked. “What for?”
“For thinking about myself, not you. For rushing things, for not giving you time, for expecting too much too soon, for asking you to live in this house and not realizing how hard it would be for you. For not…” He paused. “For not supporting you as much as I should. For allowing there to be sides at all.”
This was not what she’d expected. If she’d allowed herself to think of it at all (and she hadn’t), Eve would have decided that tonight was make or break. That Ian was giving her one last chance. If she didn’t perform this time it would be her or them. And, unlike Bella, she would have been the one who was out. Because, God knows, the kids had nowhere else to go. Not that she did, right now.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Kidding?” Confusion was written all over his face.
“I’m the one who’s lucky,” Eve said. “I’m not saying it’s been easy. It’s been beyond hard. Beyond what I could have imagined, if I’d thought about it properly, which I didn’t. Thank goodness, because if I had…”
“You wouldn’t have done it?” Pain flickered in his eyes.
“I don’t know…. No. Yes. I mean…we rushed into this headlong…” She stopped. “Didn’t we?”
Silence.
She could tell from Ian’s face that it hadn’t been like that for him. He had thought about it. Eve was coming to realize that he never made a single move, a single call, without thinking about it long and hard first. The lone father of three children, he didn’t have the luxury of rushing headlong anywhere. All spontaneity had vanished the moment he’d become a widower. It had died with Caro.
Eve felt sick at her own stupidity. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we did it,” she said. “I’m so glad you asked me to marry you, to move in, and I’m even happier I said yes.”
“Really?” The hope in Ian’s voice made her want to hold him, or cry, or both.
“Really,” she said, her heart pounding now. “I fell in love with you, Ian. Pretty much the first moment I met you. I love you. I love Alfie…” She paused, lacing her fingers through his. “OK, so it’s hard, but I don’t regret this for a minute. We can make it work. I know we can.”
He slid his free hand up her leg, and his eyes did that thing they’d always been able to do. Since the first time he’d pulled out a chair for her, he had only ever had to look at her to make the pit of longing in her stomach slide downwards. To make her want to rip off his clothes where he stood; in the tiny hall of her apartment, in its kitchen, in her living room…something they hadn’t done once since she’d moved in here. How could they, with three children around?
“I love you,” he said. “I love you so much. I can’t believe I nearly fucked it up.”
“You didn’t,” she whispered. “I did.”
And then he was kissing her, his tongue in her mouth, one hand tangled in her curls, holding her face tightly as if he couldn’t get close enough, his other inside her shirt, and then fumbling at her zipper.
“Bed…,” she gasped through their kisses. “Ian…the children…we should…”
“Fuck that,” he said.
Twenty
I know it’s none of my business, but…”
There she went again.
Melanie looked up from checking the digital images of that day’s new stock before it was uploaded to the site. She put her face into neutral before answering Grace. “You’re right, it’s not.”
“Well, actually, I think it is.”
Melanie spun her seat around and faced her office manager. “How so?”
“Vince’s company runs our systems. With you and he not on speaking terms, it’s affecting the quality of support we’re receiving.”
“Are you suggesting Vince would be so unprofessional as to…?”
“No,” Grace stood firm. “I’m suggesting that while you and Vince were together he provided our systems’ support personally. Now that he’s trying to avoid you, we don’t get special treatment anymore. We have t
o make do with the twenty-four-hour helpline like everyone else. Call me corrupt, but I preferred the old system.”
Melanie felt her shoulders sag. The attrition was wearing her down.
“What makes you think he wants to speak to me?” she asked, using the same petulant tone she found herself adopting with her mother on the rare occasions guilt made her call Boston. “If Vince wanted to talk to me he could pick up the phone.”
“Perhaps Vince feels you should call him.”
“Perhaps Vince feels? You know how he feels, don’t you? Grace! You’ve been talking to him behind my back, haven’t you?”
Grace shrugged, as if to say, So what if I have? But her fingers went to tuck her short dark hair behind her ears when she’d already done so less than a minute earlier. “His company provides our systems’ support. Of course I’ve spoken to him. Anyway, what if I have? It’s my own business who I’m friends with in my own time.”
Melanie stared at her.
“But since we’re on the subject,” Grace said crossly, “here’s what I think. This has gone on long enough. It was a small—and, dare I say, alcohol-fueled—row that has gotten way out of hand. You have to call him either way before it starts affecting the business. If you want him back, call him. If you don’t, call him anyway. Call him and say he’s right. You’re not over Simeon. You can’t give Vince what he wants. It’s too much, too soon; it’s not him, it’s you. Use every cliché in the book if you want, just sort it out.”
Turning on her heel, Grace slammed out of Melanie’s office.
Melanie wanted to yell after her. Bawl her out for speaking to her like that. After all, Melanie was the boss here. Who did Grace think she was? But Melanie didn’t, because the worst of it was, she knew her office manager was right.
“All right, have it your way!” Melanie yelled at the shut door, adding under her breath, “who do you think you are, my mother? If I wanted this kind of shit, I could phone home.”
And then she picked up the phone.
“So, Melanie’s not coming?” Lily asked.
“Looks that way.” Eve sipped her Americano and replayed Melanie’s call in her head. There wasn’t much to replay, other than the fact that she’d called. First off, it was unlike Melanie to phone. Second, she’d sounded odd, like there had been someone in the room with her and she hadn’t been able to talk.
“How many strikes does she get before she’s out?” Clare asked. “Two, or shall we let her have three?”
“I don’t think it’s written in stone,” Lily said, but she was smiling. “Three, I guess?”
Eve nodded. “Three. But I hope not. I’ll miss her if she stops coming.”
“What did she say?” Mandy asked.
“Nothing much. Something had come up and she couldn’t get out of it. She’d try to get here, but she’d definitely be late, if she made it at all.”
“How did she sound?”
“Odd. Not her usual self at all.”
“Vince,” the others said in unison.
Eve shrugged. “Guess so. But that was weeks ago. Surely they’ve sorted it out by now, if they’re going to?”
Mandy gave an involuntary snort.
“I thought you’d never call.”
Melanie smiled as she sat down, but she didn’t answer. What was she supposed to say? Nor did I? She could imagine how that would go down.
“Hi, Vince.”
“It’s good to see you. You look…you look great.” Vince smiled, but he didn’t get up. Melanie recognized it for the small gesture of resistance it was. He clearly intended to make her work for this. Even if only a little.
“You too,” she said. Vince didn’t. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for several weeks. His salt-and-pepper hair stood in tufts, which wasn’t unusual. He needed a shave, and his clothes could have done with being reacquainted with an iron. As for the bags under his eyes…Suitcases more like.
Melanie felt a surge of concern. “Have you been ill? Is Ellie OK?”
Forcing a grin, Vince shook his head. “Nothing like that. Just the small matter of being dumped by this great woman I thought I had something good going with. Other than that, everything’s hunky-dory.”
“Oh.”
What was she supposed to say?
Playing for time, Melanie scanned the room and waved the waiter over. “Diet Coke,” she ordered when he appeared. “Vince, d’you want anything?”
“Same again.” He waved an empty Peroni bottle at the waiter.
“Vince…I’m sorry…. Really sorry, but I didn’t dump you.” Melanie stared at the back of the receding waiter. “You left me. Sitting in a limousine in the middle of Marble Arch roundabout. You walked away and didn’t look back.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Technically it’s true.”
“But it’s still not fair.”
He was right. It wasn’t fair, but Melanie wasn’t going to admit that right now. They could talk about it, analyze the argument to death, play the blame game…who was most at fault. Who’d drunk the most. Who’d behaved worst. Who’d hurt whom most. But Melanie didn’t want to. That night, all the following nights she’d lain awake thinking about Vince but hadn’t called…Her rage about Simeon and Poppy, the following day’s tabloids, gossip pages emblazoned with her picture. The wronged woman. Melanie’s tense smile, defiant, but not reaching her eyes. The happy couple glowing and gorgeous. In love. Fertile.
Melanie didn’t want to talk about any of it. She wanted to put it behind her, where it belonged.
But sitting across a table, in a dimly lit bar, gazing at Vince’s scruffy hair and the tiny lines around his eyes, the battered Converses on his feet, jeans so grubby you could mistake him for a mechanic, Melanie was surprised to find she wanted to hold him. This was why she hadn’t let herself feel. Because if she had, what she’d have felt was that she wanted him back.
God, she’d missed him.
“So, where do we go from here?” he asked once the waiter deposited a beer and a glass of Diet Coke with ice and lemon on their table and retreated once more.
“What do you mean?”
“Just that.”
The way he was looking at her, as if he expected her to slap him, made Melanie feel sick. Was she so awful? Had she hurt him that much? He deserved better. “That depends on you.” She swallowed hard.
His expression was a mixture of hope and confusion. “In what way?”
“On whether you’ll give me another chance.”
They were draining their mugs when Melanie whirled through the door, rain blowing in behind her, trench coat so wet it had changed from beige to dark gray. Water poured from her umbrella, her bag and her hair. The taxi she’d hailed had goten caught up in traffic and she’d had to jump out and run the rest of the way to stand any chance of catching the group meeting before they called it a night.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she said, unintentionally shaking water onto a couple sitting next to them, then turning to shower apologies on them too. “I thought I’d missed you. I’m not too late, am I? Have you got time for one more?”
“Too late for me,” Mandy said, pulling on her coat. “I promised I’d be back by nine.”
It took all of Clare’s willpower not to add, Says who?
“So?” Eve asked, barely waiting for Melanie to ensconce herself in the seat Mandy had just vacated. “News?”
“Nothing much to report,” Melanie said. Her grin betrayed her, but she couldn’t help it. A warm glow of contentment had curled up inside her, like a cat hogging the fire. She was here, with her friends. Women she looked forward to seeing, and saw because she wanted to, not because it was what she should be seen to do. Women who had her best interests at heart. Suddenly, everything felt very right. “I’m back with Vince.”
Melanie couldn’t help noticing Eve throw a triumphant grin in Clare’s direction. See, it seemed to say, told you so.
“That’s great news,” Eve said, leaning forward to squeeze
Melanie’s hand briefly. “When did it happen?”
Melanie glanced at her watch. “About forty-five minutes ago.”
Eve choked on her peppermint tea and Clare burst out laughing. “You win,” she said to Eve. “Forty-five minutes?” This was directed at Melanie.
“I know, I know. What took us so long? Or what took me so long, more like.” Melanie shrugged. “The answer is, I don’t know. To be honest, I don’t know what was stopping me. I just couldn’t make myself pick up the phone. I could think of a dozen reasons why not; but I couldn’t see what was staring me in the face, which was that I just wanted to, and that was reason enough. That’s why I didn’t come last time. I knew I should…see you, talk to Vince…but I just couldn’t. I wasn’t ready.”
“But you have now,” Lily said, “and that’s what matters. What happened?”
So Melanie told them. All about the fight with Grace and finally getting it together to call Vince, and him saying if she wanted to meet it was tonight or never. So she’d called Eve to say she might not make it to tonight’s meeting even though she’d been afraid that if she missed two meetings they might kick her out. How she’d hated having to choose between losing Vince and losing them. How that had made her realize she couldn’t bear to lose either.
“As if!” Lily said, throwing a sideways glance at Clare. “What kind of people do you think we are?”
“I know,” Melanie said. “Ridiculous, huh?”
“Yes,” Lily said pointedly. “Totally ridiculous. So, it’s all systems go?”
“More or less. I mean, Vince wasn’t thrilled when I said I was coming on here. He wants me to go back to his place after this, but I think we need to take it slowly, so I’m taking him out for dinner tomorrow night and”—Melanie mimed a drum roll—“I’ve agreed to meet Ellie! He’s going to run it by her over the weekend, and then bring her around to personalshopper one evening next week. That way, it’s no big deal. Ellie’s just coming to one of the places he works; that just happens to be a warehouse full of accessories and shoes. I’m thinking Ellie and I can have a big, girly dress-up session!”
The Other Mothers' Club Page 20