The Stepmothers’ Support Group. Sam Baker

       ONE

      ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Stop worrying. This is going to be fine.’

      ‘Ian…’

      ‘I mean it. I’ve told the kids to behave. We’re going to Hamley’s afterwards. All you guys have to do is say hello to one another.’ A muffled noise came from the other end. ‘OK?’ Ian said, his tone changing. ‘See you soon…It’s Eve,’ she heard him say to someone. ‘We’ll do that later. I’ve already told you.’

      ‘Oh God, Dad…’

      And then the line went dead.

      The girl’s voice was the last thing she heard. It was young, very English; much more confident than she had been at that age. Hannah? Eve wondered. It sounded too grown-up to be Sophie. She was still wondering when something else hit her.

       I’ve told the kids to behave.

      Why did they need telling? Ian was always saying how sweet and polite they were, all things considered. Maybe the devil was in that last detail.

      This was like taking her driving test, plus getting her A-level results and having a root canal all rolled into one. Maybe throw in a job interview, for good measure. Actually, it felt worse than all of that. Much worse.

      Her stomach was empty, hollowed out and queasy. If she’d eaten anything worth throwing up, she would have done so, right there on Charing Cross Road. An anxiety headache pushed at the edge of her vision; and the first decent spring day of the year would have hurt her eyes, if only it could have found its way past her enormous sunglasses. When she’d tried them on they had given her an air of nonchalance, or so she’d supposed. But now she was horribly afraid they made her look like a bug-eyed, frizzy-haired insect. A Dr Who monster to send small children screaming behind the sofa.

      Come on, Eve,