even a stepmum.’
‘Oh.’ Melanie didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. ‘It’s just that Nancy—your reporter—well, she said…’
‘So I gather. Anyway, to get to the point, I’ve spoken to the others.’
‘The other members?’
‘Like I said, it’s not a club, so there are no members. But I’ve spoken to my friend Clare, and she’s spoken to Lily, who’s her sister, and we’ve decided…’
Melanie sighed. To say this woman sounded reluctant was the understatement of the year. But if she’d learnt anything from her ill-advised marriage to Simeon Jones it was that there was no such thing as a free handbag. If something sounded too good to be true, in Melanie’s experience, it usually was.
She was about to put the woman out of her misery, tell her not to worry, it was all a misunderstanding, when Eve spoke again. ‘We’re meeting Tuesday week at seven. Starbucks on Carnaby Street. Come along if you’re free. You can meet the others and we’ll, you know, see how it goes…’
For several seconds the words didn’t sink in.
‘Unless you don’t want to?’ Eve said, slightly too quickly. Her tone was part-relief, part-irritation.
‘No, no. I do,’ said Melanie. ‘That’s…perfect. Just perfect. I’ll see you then.’
‘You remember Eve?’
The small blonde girl sitting cross-legged on an old rug peered shyly through her fringe. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I finished my book. It was good.’
‘Hello Sophie,’ Eve said. ‘I’m glad you liked it.’
‘Alfie hasn’t read his,’ the girl said, ‘He says it’s Venom’s vehicle.’
Eve smiled inside. Were small girls in some way programmed to tell tales? ‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘It can be whatever Alfie wants it to be. Where is he anyway?’
A thundering on the hall stairs, in no way proportionate to the size of the shoes using it, answered her question. ‘Eeeeve,’ he shouted, launching himself into the room. ‘Have you bought me a present?’
‘Alfie!’ Ian said.
Eve just laughed, there was no way she’d get caught out like that again. Alfie was easy enough to buy presents for, but then she’d have to buy presents for the other two and that meant finding something Hannah wouldn’t reject.
‘No presents this time,’ she said. ‘It’s not a special occasion.’
Alfie cocked his head to one side as he processed the information. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘When is a special occasion?’
‘Christmas,’ Eve said, thinking on her feet. ‘Easter, your birthday, that sort of thing.’
His face crumpled in confusion. ‘But you gave me Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and it wasn’t my…’
Eve looked at Ian in panic.
‘It’s OK,’ Ian said, rumpling Alfie’s hair. ‘That was different. That was a late present because Eve missed Easter.’
‘Oh,’ Alfie seemed satisfied. ‘What’s for lunch?’
‘What would you like?’ From the way Ian asked, Eve gathered he already knew the answer.
‘Pizza!’ Alfie yelled and galloped from the room, leading his imaginary army in search of a takeaway menu, which, apparently, was in his bedroom.
‘Red wine? White wine? Beer? Tea?’ Ian asked, as he led Eve back into the hallway. At some point its original black and white Victorian floor tiles had been lovingly restored. Eve tried not to wonder by whom.
‘White please, if you’ve got one open.’
‘What do you think?’ he asked, pushing open the door to the kitchen. Sun poured through a large bay, bouncing off the white walls and giving the scrubbed pine table and cupboards a golden glow. ‘Like it?’
‘What’s not to like?’ she gasped. Eve couldn’t imagine owning a place like this. You could fit her flat twice into the kitchen alone. ‘It’s beautiful.’
Throwing a glance over his shoulder before he pushed the door to, Ian slid his arms around her. ‘So are you,’ he said and kissed her.
‘Daddeee!’ a wail came from halfway up the stairs and Ian rolled his eyes. ‘Talk about timing. Take a seat,’ he nodded at the old pews that lined either side of the table. ‘While I go and sort that out.’
‘Ian? Where’s Hannah?’ Eve asked when Ian reappeared. It was less than a minute later but enough time for Eve to analyse every inch of the room’s polished terracotta floor, clean white walls and minimalist white china. If it hadn’t been for Sophie’s drawings stuck to the fridge and a muddy lattice of paw prints on the kitchen window the room would have been just a little too immaculate.
‘Oh, around somewhere. In her room probably.’ Ian shrugged and stuck his head in the fridge. ‘Pinot Grigio all right?’ But his body language was nowhere near as casual as his words, and Eve felt her confidence dim a little.
An hour sped past. Eve and Ian laid the table, washed salad leaves and mixed olive oil and vinegar to make dressing, while Alfie and Sophie skittered in and out. From Sophie, Eve learnt the paw prints outside the window belonged to next door’s cat. From Alfie, she learnt that Spiderman beat Venom every time.
As Ian chatted, about photographing some up-and-coming artist, about Alfie’s school, about his occasional problems with Inge, the new au pair, Eve dared to let herself hope there might be other Saturday lunchtimes like this.
Sunday lunchtimes as well. Maybe a Saturday night in the middle, too.
‘So, what d’you fancy?’ Ian asked, shoving Alfie’s tattered takeaway menu into her hand and interrupting a reverie that had included Ian, shirt undone, jeans, bare feet, making fresh coffee and toast some Sunday morning.
‘Oh,’ Eve jumped, feeling caught out. ‘Anything. Really. Just get what you usually would.’
‘Now that’s reckless.’ He grinned. ‘In this house that could mean tuna with bacon bits and pineapple…I’d better go see what Hannah wants. It changes from week to week.’
Letting her hand drop, he pulled open the kitchen door. ‘Oh!’ he said, but recovered quickly. ‘Hannah. How long have you…I mean, I didn’t realize you were there.’
When Hannah stepped into the room Eve resisted the urge to shiver; she could have sworn the sunshine dimmed and the temperature dropped a degree or two. The girl’s long fair hair hung loose and the white shirt she wore over her jeans looked vintage, but more granny’s attic—or even grandpa’s—than charity shop.
