by Sophie King
‘Are you allowed to wear make-up for school, Nattie?’ asked Evie, frowning at the heavy black eye pencil round her step-daughter’s eyes. She hadn’t looked like that at breakfast, she was sure. Not that Evie had eaten anything – too fattening – but she always made sure the children had their muesli and yoghurt. She sure as hell wasn’t going to have their mother on the phone, demanding to know why she hadn’t fed them properly during her absence.
Natalie smirked. ‘Yes, I am. Just like you’re allowed to wear that disgusting perfume. It’s a non-uniform day today. And my name is Natalie. To you. Open the window, can you? Your smell makes me feel sick.’
Evie turned back so that the girl couldn’t see her face. She didn’t want another row, not when they were all trapped in the car for the next half an hour. Illogically, the bit about the name hurt more than the rudeness. Everyone called her Nattie – everyone who was her friend, that is. But Natalie had made it clear from the minute they had been introduced that Evie would never rise to that category. She was a fool to let it hurt still, but it did, and there was nothing she could do about it except carry on in this so-you-both-hate-me-but-I-don’t-care manner. Just as she had done as a child at school when the other kids had loathed her.
‘Got your prep, Leonora?’ she said, forcing her voice to sound even.
Her other step-daughter – older by twenty minutes – scowled, reminding her, with a nasty jolt, of Robin’s face when she had left the house a few minutes ago. ‘If you mean my homework, yes. And, by the way, we need a quid each. We have to pay for non-uniform days.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s for charity. Mum told you. It would have been on her list.’
Evie gritted her teeth. ‘She didn’t send one actually. I just got a barrage of commands over the phone. And next time please make sure both of you have made your beds before you leave the house. It’s not fair to expect me to do everything. I made mine when I was your age.’
I made mine when I was your age.
Evie didn’t need to look in the rear-view mirror to see the girls mimicking her. Sometimes it was best to ignore them and only get cross about the big things, as that step-parent guide suggested.
‘Pick your battles,’ the author had advised. ‘You can’t win every fight so ignore the things that don’t matter and make a stand for the ones that do.’
The cover had declared the author to be a successful stepmother of five, but as a seasoned magazine journalist Evie could decode a publicity blurb. On closer reading, it transpired that the five step-kids were now grown-up and out of the author’s way, which meant she could look back with rose-coloured contact lenses on what it had really been like. Evie couldn’t wait for the two in the back to grow up and go as far away as possible, leaving her and Robin with the remote hope of some quality adult time with Jack. Even though the girls didn’t live full-time with them, they were near enough to be with their father at weekends and holidays, and during term-time when Rachel was away. Their constantly morose and critical presence meant she couldn’t enjoy the precious few moments she had with Jack after work. But if the girls weren’t with them, Robin fretted. Either way, she couldn’t win.
‘Did Mum tell you we’re going out on Friday night?’
‘No, Leonora, she didn’t. Where are you going?’
‘Bar Med. It’s a party.’
‘But you have to be eighteen to get in there.’
‘We’ve got fake IDs.’
‘You’ve what? Where did you get them from?’
‘The Internet. They cost ten quid. You just send off for them.’
Despite herself, Evie couldn’t help feeling impressed.
‘Show them you understand what it was like to be young,’ the step-parent book had urged.
‘I wouldn’t mind a fake ID to say I’m eighteen,’ she said lightly.
‘In your dreams,’ muttered Natalie. ‘More like fifty.’
‘I’m sorry you can’t take a joke, Natalie. Well, you’re not going to any club, fake ID or no fake ID. And that’s my last word.’
No one, thought Evie, can say I don’t try. Seething silently, she kicked off her black, stick-heeled designer shoes, slipped into her flat red loafers and checked that her iPhone was in her Zara bag. Right. She was ready to meet the day, arguments or no arguments. ‘Off we go, then,’ she said brightly, smiling at herself in the mirror to prove to the girls that she didn’t care. Then she swung the Discovery, with its resident’s permit sticker on the windscreen, into the street.
Think positive. That was the trick. So what if she was working and Robin was unemployed? Hundreds of other couples were in the same position – Express Woman had run a feature on it the other day under the headline ‘WHY WOMEN ARE THE BREADWINNERS WHILE DAD STAYS AT HOME’. Evie would have considered running something similar in the magazine if it hadn’t been too close to the bone.
‘Traffic’s building up again near Wimbledon Common and Bo’s mum has just rung in to warn of an accident on Balham high street. Thanks, Bo’s mum, and do continue with your calls, everyone. If it’s safe and legal, we’d like to hear from you.’
‘For God’s sake, turn that off,’ groaned Natalie. ‘It’s so uncool. Can’t we have Filth? Mum always lets us.’
Evie was tempted to retort that since Mum wasn’t here it wasn’t relevant. Bloody woman! Rachel was with her current lover, Chris, on a yacht in the Med. When she rang the girls, it was always when they were all having dinner and phone calls were normally forbidden. But, of course, Evie was overruled when Rachel was expected to ring and the resulting excited telephone conversation would neatly scupper the meal. At least when that happened Evie could get up and clear the table. But here, in the car, they were trapped.
‘Sorry,’ said Evie brightly. ‘Out of Filth CDs at the moment and do you mind not saying “God” in front of Jack.’
‘Well, you say “Christ” enough,’ retorted Natalie.
‘You’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t.’ Evie mentally patted herself on the back. Good one. Parents should occasionally admit when they’re wrong – even step-parents. It showed kids they weren’t the only ones. They’d just run a feature in the magazine on adult role models called ‘Do What I Don’t and Not What I Do’.
For a while they drove along in silence, punctuated by bleeps as the girls texted their friends (they seemed unable to amuse themselves unless they had a mobile in their hands) and Jack’s occasional comments. ‘Look! Dog!’ he cooed, pointing to a car next to them at the lights, with a Border collie in the back.
‘Clever boy,’ said Natalie, and cuddled him.
Even the girls loved him. Two was such a sweet age, thought Evie wistfully. At times, she resented Robin for having that precious time with Jack at home – time that her own relentlessly busy schedule refused her. She yawned. That meeting last night – on a Sunday, for heaven’s sake! – had gone on so late that it was still buzzing round her head. No wonder she found it hard to focus on the road. She wound down the window, bracing herself for the cool morning air that would wake her up, unlike the dull air conditioning.
‘Shut the window,’ groaned Natalie.
‘No, keep it open,’ giggled Leonora.
‘Bloody hell – who’s farted?’ asked Natalie admiringly.
‘Pooh. He who smelt it dealt it!’
‘Shut up.’
Evie frowned, trying not to breathe in as the stench invaded the car. ‘Can’t you put those phones down for a minute? Why do you need to text your friends when you’re seeing them any second? And please don’t say “shut up” in front of Jack.’
At the sound of his name, Jack leaned forward. ‘Flowers!’ he said, pointing to a bunch tied to a lamp post at the corner of Acacia Road.
‘Why did someone put them there?’ asked Leonora.
‘Because someone was killed at that spot, dumbo,’ snapped Natalie. ‘Just like Mum says we’ll be killed one day if Evie doesn’t stop driving so fast.’
‘What?’ Evie glance
d furiously over her shoulder, and turned back just in time to stop as the car in front slowed. ‘Say that again.’
‘Nothing,’ mumbled Natalie.
Evie could feel herself sweating underneath her cool, well-pressed Stella McCartney suit. ‘Well, you can tell your mother that I don’t drive fast. I drive very carefully. And if she’s worried she’d better come and talk to me about it or drive you to school herself. Got it?’
For a few moments, there was silence in the back, punctuated by the odd titter from the girls, who had clearly enjoyed the effect they’d had on their step-mother. Evie promised herself a showdown with Robin over this one. Bloody cheek! How dare Rachel talk like that behind her back? Just because she didn’t hang around in the traffic – you couldn’t afford to when you were battling to make Registration – didn’t mean she was unsafe. She knew when it was OK to take risks, just like that red Fiesta with the dog in the back was doing now, sailing through an amber light.
In fact, she prided herself on her skill with the school run, which was pure unadulterated chaos. You needed sharp instincts plus a finely tuned sense of distance to avoid car doors that opened in your path or idiots who forgot to indicate when pulling out from the school dropping-off bay and who would – if Evie hadn’t reacted sharply – have been recuperating at the bodyshop by now.
‘Badron, badron, badron,’ chanted Jack.
‘Not again,’ moaned Leonora. ‘That’s getting on my nerves.
Where’s he picked it up?’
‘Probably a child at nursery who’s upsetting him,’ said Natalie. ‘Never mind, Jack. You tell this Ron kid that we’ll sort him out for you.’
They loved Jack far more than they could ever like her, thought Evie, grimly. Thank heavens they were nearly at school. Now all she had to do was park. Good, a Volvo was about to move off. She honked to indicate she was in a rush. The driver – a skinny blonde in sunglasses – gave her a filthy look, put down a mobile phone and pulled out, only just missing her left wing mirror. Lethal. If that woman had had a ‘How am I driving?’ notice in her back window, Evie would have reported her. She wasn’t sure about Martine either, and wondered how Rachel could trust her to share a regular run.
‘OK, out, everyone,’ she instructed, and slid into the tight space, which was partially over a double yellow. ‘Don’t forget your PE stuff in the boot. And peel that chewing gum off the seat.’
She shuddered. When she had been a child, her father’s beat-up Cortina, which he drove at weekends when he was not in the cab, had been festooned with garage freebies like Tiger Tails and always reeked of fags. That was why Evie kept an air freshener in hers and a Gucci carrier bag in which she deposited illicit sweet packets. When she’d first started doing the school run, she had forbidden eating in the car but the girls had complained to Robin and he had pointed out to Evie that he wanted them to feel at home when they were with him. Reluctantly she had given in but it didn’t stop her feeling furious when they treated the Discovery with the disdain they normally reserved for her.
Natalie swung her long legs out of the back and stood up, tossing back her hair, then sauntered off without a goodbye.
‘Bye-bye.’ Jack flapped his chubby little fist.
Leonora looked back and leaned into the car to plant a kiss on his soft cheek. As she did so, she glanced guiltily at Evie. ‘She didn’t mean it.’ Leonora was the softer of the two, if there was such a thing. ‘She didn’t mean to tell you Mum said you were a dangerous driver. And I don’t think Mum meant it either.’
‘Well, she shouldn’t have said it.’ To her horror, Evie felt her eyes prickle with tears. She looked away hastily, so that Leonora couldn’t see, and watched the Fiesta squeeze past her, almost scraping the Discovery’s side. ‘That’s what you call dangerous driving,’ she said angrily. ‘Not mine. Well, go on, then, aren’t you going to be late?’
Leonora hesitated. ‘Mrs Foster wants to see Mum. This morning. She was meant to come in last week but she didn’t. Mrs Foster says that if she doesn’t see her this morning, she’s going to write to Dad and . . .’
Evie sighed. This wasn’t the first time it had happened but Robin usually sorted out these problems. ‘What have you been doing now?’
‘Nothing. I just called this girl something I shouldn’t because she said something nasty to me and then I hit her so she hit me and . . . Oh, God, Evie, I’m really in trouble this time. Please help me. I didn’t dare tell Dad.’
Evie was torn between anger and pleasure that Leonora had chosen to confide in her. Despite herself, she also felt sorry for her. The anxiety on Leonora’s face reminded her of the problems she’d had at school. Not that the girls would understand that.
She looked coldly at her step-daughter, who was waiting for an answer. ‘I can’t come in now. I’m on a double yellow.’
‘Please, Evie. I’m really going to be in the shit if you don’t.’
‘Don’t use words like that.’ Evie glanced around to see if there were any traffic wardens. If she was quick, she could explain to Mrs Foster that Rachel would come in to sort this out when she got home.
‘Stay there,’ she instructed Jack. ‘Don’t move. I won’t be a second.’
She didn’t like leaving him but Jack was getting too heavy to carry and his dawdling would slow her down. ‘Come on, then. Quick.’
They walked briskly past a child in a scruffy black blazer.
‘But it’s non-uniform day,’ he was saying, into his mobile. ‘Please bring in my jeans, Mum, or I’ll be the only one like this.’
Poor boy, thought Evie. Kids hated being different – like many an adult. To her relief, Mrs Foster was in the staffroom.
Evie explained the situation, awkwardly conscious that Leonora was near enough to hear. ‘My step-daughter’s mother is away at the moment but she’ll come in as soon as she’s back. I’d be really grateful if you could make allowances. Leonora has been through a difficult time recently.’ She gave the woman a warm smile, the kind that said, ‘I know your job’s difficult but it’s bloody hard work being a step-mother too.’
Mrs Foster nodded. ‘Leave it to me, Mrs Brookes. I know what girls are like. I’ve got three of my own. Now, Leonora, why don’t you show your mother – I mean step-mother – the way out?’ She smiled again. ‘This place is like a rabbit warren if you don’t know it.’
Wordlessly, Leonora led the way, her face red with the embarrassment of having an external adult next to her while her classmates walked past.
‘Don’t worry,’ whispered Evie.
‘I’m not,’ retorted Leonora.
Evie’s heart sank and her new confidence evaporated. The brief intimacy had passed and she felt punctured. Why should it bother her that Leonora no longer needed her protection? But it did. How pathetic was that?
She put on her sunglasses (easier to observe the world than allow it to observe her) and walked briskly out of the school towards the car, checking the expensive watch that Robin shouldn’t – in view of his redundancy – have bought her last Christmas. Blast. That Mrs Foster hiccup had made her late for Jack’s nursery, and if the traffic was bad she’d be late for the meeting with Bulmer about circulation figures. Of all the appointments in her day, that was the one she couldn’t be late for. Over the last three months, Gareth Bulmer had been unfairly critical of her circulation figures, which were improving at a time when magazines were grappling with production costs and readers who were defecting from the glossies to affordable weeklies. Evie had to be on the ball for this morning’s meeting. She had to -
Christ! What was that noise? It sounded like the car alarm. Evie ran towards the Discovery, and saw, with a stab of fear, that the back seat was empty.
Calm down. Jack must have unstrapped himself again and would be playing in the front. She zapped the car door and turned the handle. Locked! She must have left it open so Jack had let himself out . . .
‘Jack!’ she screamed. She unlocked the door and looked under the seats in case he was hidi
ng. Then she opened her mouth to scream again but nothing came out. Even worse, she felt wet between her legs; wet with fear because she must have (oh, God, no!) peed herself just as she had at school when things went wrong. Her legs paralysed, she looked wildly up and down the street. No one, apart from a few straggling mums, chatting outside their cars.
Jack had gone. Jack had gone.
Then the scream came, louder and shriller than any car alarm. So loud that Evie didn’t know she was doing it until the other mothers turned and looked at her, eyes wide, mouths open.
‘Jack! Jack! Where are you?’
Find out what happens next in The School Run, available now exclusively as an ebook.
Sophie King's much loved best-seller is published in a brand new ebook edition. Now a Number 1 best-seller in ebook format.
Meet Harriet, Pippa, Evie, Nick, Kitty and Martine as they battle the daily school run. Share their ups and downs during one life-changing week, as they face relationship dilemmas, family dramas, secrets and lies. . . all leading to surprise events which cause their lives to collide.
'There is a lot for women to relate to here.' Katie Fforde
Harriet doesn't know whether she'll still have a marriage by the end of the week. But as she waits for her husband's decision about their relationship, does Harriet have more choices of her own than she realised?