Chapter 26
‘Babe, I need your help.’ Finn sounded stressed.
Cassie was sitting propped up on her bed on Sunday evening – not her favourite time of the week – preparing for next day’s classes and feeling a dread that had no particular centre.
‘Babe, guess what, I’m here doing your ex-wife’s work that she’s still getting paid for, despite not turning up half the time, so how’re you doing?’
There was a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the phone. She felt a pang of guilt.
‘Sorry, that was mean. Don’t mind me. I’m like a bitch, I’m pre-menstrual.’
‘I’m sorry, Cass, I really am. I’ve just got a request to cover nights next week and I’m stuck for Tuesday. I hate to ask you but .?.?.’
‘It’s fine, honestly, I’d really like to see them again. I sort of promised.’
‘Er .?.?. Just to give you a heads-up, you’ll have Samantha this time.’
She baulked. The younger children were a pleasure, but a raging teenager .?.?. well, it’d be an experience. Surely teenagers couldn’t have changed that much in .?.?. what, twenty years? She realised with a jolt that she still thought of herself as reasonably young and trendy, but to someone who genuinely was young, she’d seem exactly what she was, an almost middle-aged woman. That was something she’d managed to avoid facing up to now.
Aside from that, he’d made no mention of Marisha copping on about their relationship. It was possible that she’d so much else going on in her life that she didn’t really care.
‘Thank you, you’ve no idea what that means to me,’ he murmured in a voice that caused a glow of heat to rise from deep inside her. ‘I’ll make it all up to you, Cass, I promise.’
‘I can’t wait, babe, one of these days there’s going to be a bonanza .?.?.’
She heard him breathe a laugh. ‘Trust me .?.?.’
She really wanted to – she really wanted him – but there was no escaping the fact that most of it was out of her hands.
‘Babe, I’ve got to go.’
‘Yeah. Night night.’
Deep in thought after her call with Finn, Cassie padded into the kitchen to find Ramona in her off-duty, flat-hair persona. Her bruises had all but disappeared, but she was definitely hitting a slump. Cassie made a mug of tea and sat down at the table opposite her. There was a half-eaten pepperoni pizza in a box – nothing like Ramona’s usual high-protein diet.
‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing.’
Cassie sighed. Ramona could turn into an overgrown teenager sometimes.
‘Maybe this is just an opportunity for a rethink.’
‘Thanks, Cass, if I wanted a pep talk I’d have looked on TikTok.’
‘Your shoulder will heal, then you can go back to dancing.’
Ramona swung around and fixed her with a glare through her long, bleached fringe.
‘To take the sort of strain the pole puts on it, we’re talking months.’
Privately, Cassie reflected that this mightn’t be the worst thing in the world.
‘If I don’t have my lifestyle, I don’t have my followers. If I do nothing but buy groceries and do laundry and shit or just putter out to a normal-ass job – no offence – then nobody gives a rat’s ass. I’m just a basic bitch like everyone else.’
Cassie was tempted to say ‘Welcome to my world,’ with just the smallest hint of schadenfreude, but she recognised underneath Ramona’s arrogance just how fragile she really was. She knew better than to make any further helpful suggestions; Ramona would have to feel that way until she didn’t have to feel it anymore.
*?*?*
Cassie arrived at Finn’s apartment on Tuesday evening, hoping at least for a chance to pick up from where she’d left off with the younger children. To her disappointment, Cici only smiled vaguely and Con barely acknowledged her at all, which left her crestfallen. Come on, she chided herself, did she seriously expect them to remember her and make a fuss? Kid-time was different to adult-time. It was weeks since the evening when she’d turned up to the apartment in that disastrous outfit – this time she wore her green suede Doc Martens and a summer dress.
Finn had filled the fridge and explained all about their food choices, as if she didn’t remember.
‘Are they OK? They seem a little .?.?. subdued.’
Cassie noticed him flinch at her words.
‘Kids pick up on an atmosphere. I think they’re worried. Cici’s missing spending time with her mum and Con is obsessed that there’s something seriously wrong. I tried to reassure him, but you know, he gets fixations. And as for Sam .?.?.’ He made a gesture of resignation as he pulled on his jacket.
She gave a reassuring smile. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
He went to kiss her but remembered himself just in time. ‘Good luck,’ he said pointedly.
Samantha was due home at six, after hockey, and in the meantime, Con spread his homework books out on the table. He was finishing Fifth Class and had a surprising amount of work to do. Cici was in Senior Infants but was very self-important about her little tasks. She plonked herself right next to Con’s elbow and he pushed her away roughly.
‘I can hear you snorting like a pig,’ he growled, making her little face crumple into tears.
‘That’s enough, now, I’m going to sit between the two of you,’ Cassie exclaimed.
She felt herself quite comfortable with the children; it was hard to imagine the anxious rookie she’d been only a few months previously. She recognised Cici’s books from school – her little bit of homework involved a few sums, a passage of ‘fill in the missing word’ and finally drawing a picture. Rather a lot for a six-year-old, Cassie reflected. Nonetheless, Cici was revelling in her tasks and laid everything out in straight lines, which she proudly called ‘organdising’. It was striking to see, even in a young child, how the basic qualities that would characterise a life were clearly visible. Don’t rush it, thought Cassie, none of it’s as much fun for real.
The door buzzer went off like a fire alarm. How could someone’s attitude communicate itself through an electronic device? The door swung open and a tall, dark- haired girl glowered at her. She would’ve been pretty if her expression hadn’t been quite so hostile. Could this be a teenage version of Marisha?
‘Hi, I’m Cassie.’
‘The babysitter, yeah, I know .?.?. like, I’m fourteen, I don’t know what you’re even doing here, I don’t need a babysitter.’
Yikes. When in doubt, be nice, she reminded herself.
‘I know, but your brother and sister do, and I’m sure you don’t want the job of looking after them.’
Her lip curled with disdain. ‘No fuckin’ way,’ she muttered, flinging her bag on the ground and flouncing into the kitchen.
Cassie was taken aback at the upfront cursing at an adult, but reminded herself, She’s testing you .
‘Sammie, do you want to see my drawing?’ wheedled Cici, to whom her big sister was clearly a goddess.
Samantha barely grunted and flopped down on the sofa, eyes fixed on her phone.
‘When’s dinner?’
Did all teenagers speak to their parents like servants?
‘Ten minutes. You must be starving.’
No reply of any kind.
She finished preparing the children’s dinners: mashed potato with butter, chicken and the de rigueur mashed turnip – everything separate, of course, for Con’s benefit. Finn had warned her against anything too colourful, especially red, and absolutely nothing spicy.
When, finally, they all sat down to eat, Samantha kept her phone propped up against the fruit bowl, scrolling and texting throughout.
‘Sammie, Mummy says you’re not allowed,’ whined Cici.
‘ Shut up! ’ roared Con, his hands covering as much of his head as he could manage.
‘Well, go and phone Mum, then, squirt,’ said Samantha, causing Cici to telegraph an anguished plea for help. Cassie shrugged. It wasn’t her job to police a teenager and it was likely that any attempt was liable to cause an eruption.
By the time dinner was cleared away, Cici was watching her half hour of screen time that Cassie suspected only her dad, rather than her mum, allowed. Predictably, Samantha flounced away from the table, slamming the door of Finn’s old room behind her and leaving the air behind her fizzing with animosity. Still, at least it left the rest of them in peace.
Cici sat curled on the sofa with St Teresa of Avila on her lap, still watching a cartoon of Cinderella, when the door swung open and Samantha strode into the room, an unnerving expression on her face.
‘Cassie, there’s something I’m curious about .?.?. If you’re the babysitter, how come you’re so old ?’
Cici looked alarmed and Cassie felt blindsided. She’d been prepared for moodiness, but this full-on confrontation was on another level.
‘Well .?.?. you can be a babysitter at any age.’ Cassie was deflecting but the teenager was moving in for a direct attack.
‘Are you my dad’s girlfriend? And if you are, do you know what that makes her, Cici?’
The marmalade kitten with the big, trusting eyes shook her head.
‘It makes her the wicked stepmother.’
The eyes swivelled back round to Cassie in shock.
‘Is that true?’ she whispered.
‘Of course not. Samantha’s only joking, aren’t you? Now, come on, time to get ready for bed.’
Over Cici’s head she shot a stern look to Samantha, who met her gaze defiantly.
Cici seemed to have accepted Cassie’s explanation and had moved on to her bedtime routine. Tucking St Teresa into bed, she confided that the doll had a new job: looking after her mummy, who went to bed in the afternoons and didn’t like eating chicken curry anymore.
Con was crouched awkwardly on the edge of the sofa bed, clearly uncomfortable at the change of furniture as he played his game, which seemed to involve jaw-dropping co-ordination skills. She’d learned from their previous encounter not to try and engage Con in real-life conversation, though he could be approached through the medium of fantasy. She sat beside him for a few minutes.
‘It’s called Starfield ,’ he volunteered. ‘You have to do up your own spaceship and you have all these options to customise it.’ He flicked up a list of properties on the screen.
Cassie was struck by the contrast between the anxious, pale boy he was in normal life and the confident gamer he transformed into with the controller in his hand.
They sat together companionably as he blasted other ships to bits and appeared occasionally as his avatar, a muscled figure in futuristic armour.
‘Do you think my mum’s going to be OK? I mean, is she going to die or anything?’ he blurted out. He didn’t even try to look at her.
‘No, Con, absolutely not. Put that thought right out of your head.’
He barely reacted but nodded his head and carried on. It was painfully obvious how much turmoil he was in underneath the unreadable surface. At eight thirty, give or take, he went to bed, after a lengthy session of tapping, counting and checking.
Cassie had finally slumped down on the sofa with a relaxing mug of tea when the door swung open. Samantha perched on the arm of the sofa, staring down at her.
‘I was being serious earlier. Are you?’
Oh crap, this really wasn’t her call, but outright lying just didn’t feel right.
‘Yes.’
‘Knew it. Are they getting divorced?’
Despite the bravado, there was an underlying fear in her voice.
‘I honestly don’t know, Samantha, you’d have to ask your dad.’
Samantha picked at her shoelace distractedly. ‘Where’d you get your boots?’
‘London.’
‘A girl in my class has a pair of shoes that cost a thousand euros.’
‘Bet she’s lying,’ said Cassie.
‘That’s what I said. She lies about everything anyway.’
Cassie really wanted to reach out and tell this kid that she understood what a confusing, shitty situation this was, but feared anything she said was going to come across horribly wrong. Following the least empty silence she could remember, Samantha stood up to leave, and as she reached the door, she swung round. ‘You’re a schemer. The little ones mightn’t see it, but I do. Don’t think you can take our dad away from us.’
She slammed the door behind her, leaving Cassie winded. The problem wasn’t what she did, it was how she was seen. The wicked stepmother.