The house is a small, three-bed semi in Emerson Valley, one of the nicer areas of Milton Keynes. It’s a modern estate, but built before the squeeze on land so the streets are tree-lined, the gardens more than handkerchief-sized and Joe’s house backs onto some lovely parkland. Inside, it’s very much a family home, a bit unkempt and much-loved. The hall is filled with discarded shoes and smells slightly of teenage boy’s trainers. Joe says he’s going to try to keep it on until they’re at least eighteen, if he can afford it by himself, as this has been the kids’ only home and moving them would be a trauma too far.
My relationship with Daisy has improved a lot. She’s more relaxed with me and nestles nonchalantly against my side as we sit together. We have found some common ground in fairy wings and unicorns, it appears. Who’d have thought? The momentary appearance of Goth Daisy has been forgotten and she’s back in head-to-toe pink. Earlier she let me paint her fingernails for her and I passed muster in that department too. At her suggestion, she put my mobile number into her phone so that she can text me. Progress indeed. I feel as if it’s a series of tests that I have to complete to win her affections. Yet it seems to be working, in a small way.
Can’t say the same about Tom, though. I’ve no idea how to reach out to him. You can’t exactly throw a few unicorns at a fifteen-year-old boy and hope they’ll stick. Although we’re next to each other on the sofa, he sits as far away from me as humanly possible, making sure there is clear air, and sends regular death-stares in my direction. I do nothing but respond politely and kindly. He’s a kid and he’s hurting. I get that. But he’s so sullen and hostile that it’s bloody hard.
We like to think that children aren’t affected by divorce, that they bounce back and cope with everything we adults throw at them. And they do. To a point. Yet who wouldn’t be damaged by their mum walking out on them, no matter how many times that they’re reassured that they’re still loved? He sees me as a threat, obviously. Perhaps he thinks that I’m the one who is preventing Gina from coming home again, but that’s far from the truth. They don’t talk about their mum’s new partner and I wonder if they’re putting him through agonies too or are they more accepting of him.
It seems as if Gina is taking her responsibilities lightly in the face of finding new love. The kids are supposed to see her every other weekend and one night in the week, but Joe tells me that she often cancels at the last minute – leaving Daisy heartbroken and Tom angry.
I’m trying not to take sides or get too involved in their family dynamics. I take my hat off to anyone who can be a stepmum though and I do wonder if I’ll ever manage to be fully part of their lives. However, I don’t just want to see Joe away from his home as that’s not real, is it? If I’m going to be part of his life, then we can’t keep it all separate. Despite the comedy antics on the screen and the lovely, buttery bowl of popcorn to comfort me, my mood is quite low. If I’m perfectly honest with you, I like the feeling I get when I’m with them all. I’ve never done snuggling up with a family before – not since I was a kid myself, anyway – and I’m surprised how much I’ve enjoyed it. I want to do more of this. If only both of the kids would like me.
When the film finishes, Joe goes to make a cup of tea and Daisy troops after him to help. I’m left alone with Tom on the sofa. As he’s finished his popcorn, I push my bowl between us. Miraculously, there’s quite a bit left in there. ‘Help yourself.’
He dips in, making absolutely sure that our hands aren’t reaching in at the same time. Even that, it seems, would be a traitorous act against his mum.
I smile at him. ‘That was a great film. I can see why you all like it.’
‘It was mum’s favourite,’ he says pointedly.
‘She has great taste.’
Then he looks at me squarely. ‘You’ll never replace her.’
‘I’m not trying to, Tom. But I like your dad and he likes me. He’s been through a difficult time too. Doesn’t he deserve to have a little happiness?’
He doesn’t answer me. Then Joe and Daisy come back and the moment is lost.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Two weeks later, Charlie and I are standing against the barriers outside a theatre in London. We are very squashed as the weight of a couple of hundred hysterical middle-aged ladies is pressing at our backs. It’s the opening night of The Barlowmeister’s latest musical and we are hoping to catch a glimpse of him and the boys arriving. Charlie is wearing her favourite T-shirt with ‘Call me Mrs Barlow’ emblazoned across her chest.
We have been here for hours. And hours. And hours. My feet are numb and I need a wee. I can’t, however, go for a wee as the nearest loos are miles away and I’ll lose the place I’ve been guarding with my life. I try to content myself with jiggling instead. It’s not really working.
‘Stop fidgeting,’ Charlie says, ‘or I’ll have to kill you.’
‘We’ve been here for ever,’ I point out. ‘How much longer?’
She checks her watch. ‘The show starts in about half an hour, so he’ll be arriving very soon.’
‘Good. I can’t last much longer.’
‘Can I point out that some ladies have been camping out here on the pavement under the stars – or streetlamps – for three days to get the best spot on this barrier?’
‘Three days! That’s madness.’ As much as I am coming to love Gary Barlow, I don’t think I’ll ever love him that much. Three hours, I think, is probably the limit of my adoration. I like the comfort of my own bed too much. Even now, I’m wishing I’d brought sandwiches.
Nice Paul is right here on the barrier next to her. He’s been here for a long time too. We’re going to have a meal together after we’ve seen Gary and Co. head inside. Then we’re going to wait outside again afterwards until they come out at the end of the show. I think I might give the last bit a miss, if Charlie doesn’t mind going home with the other fans rather than me. I don’t think my dedication quite matches theirs yet.
‘How’s it going with Joe?’
‘OK,’ I tell her. ‘One of his kids likes me now. Daisy’s on side. She messages me regularly.’ Silly little things from Snapchat mainly, but that’s enough. ‘I’ve still yet to win Tom over, but I’m prepared to keep trying.’ I’ve done my best. Joe took me to watch him rehearsing for a music concert as he’s a talented guitarist, but he studiously ignored me from the stage and when we met him afterwards. I wasn’t allowed to go to the real concert as his mum would be there – though she did actually turn up for this one. Last Saturday morning, I also stood at the side of the road in the rain and cheered him along as he ran the Costa del Keynes half-marathon. He high-fived his dad and ran straight past me. I clearly have a lot of work to do yet.
‘Shagger was asking about you.’
‘I haven’t seen him for ages,’ I tell her. ‘Last time we spoke, he wanted me to go to his club with him and I told him I wasn’t interested. I’m not sure if he can cope with that. He’s probably used to women falling at his Ted Baker-shod feet.’
‘He seems pretty keen,’ she says. ‘He’d normally have moved on by now.’
‘I suspect it’s only because we haven’t had any new waitresses for a while.’