Chapter Thirteen
JESS
‘Constance … ? Do you think you could … um … stop bouncing on the sofa?’ I ask, standing in the doorway of the spacious living room in my father’s house.
My half-sister is quickly joined by her twin and, within nanoseconds, all eight girls are jumping up and down on Lola’s new corner sofa and cushions go flying this way and that.
I think of the table in the dining room, where slices of pizza lay haphazardly on plates, hardly eaten.
It was probably a mistake giving them the orange fizzy stuff that came free with the pizza delivery but it’s too late to do anything about that now.
Rookie mistake, I bet. If Lola hadn’t had to shoot off and leave me in charge for half an hour, there’s no way this would be happening, but it was as if, the moment the front door slammed behind her, they all turned feral.
I check the time on my phone. She’s only been gone ten minutes.
It feels like at least an hour. And I’ve been instructed to make sure the girls eat a bit of salad too.
Fat chance. I couldn’t even get them to finish their slices of pizza before they started jumping up from their seats and running about the house like tiny demons.
‘Constance!’ I yell, as my other half-sister climbs on one of her friend’s shoulders. I heard someone dare her – Jamilla, I think. Or possibly Evie – to dive from there onto one of the two large beanbags the twins like to sprawl across while watching TV.
Constance just shoots me a winning smile and launches herself from the other girl’s shoulders, then lands bottom-first on one of the beanbags. There is a horrible ripping sound and tiny polystyrene balls shoot out over the floor.
The other girls squeal in delight and, before I can stop them, they’re taking it in turns to jump from the sofa onto the beanbag, spraying the filling out until it’s snowing in my father’s living room.
I battle my way through them and manage to grab hold of the loop on top of the beanbag and pull it off the floor.
Charity tries to pull the bag away from me, but I’ve got a good grip and my anger is building.
Small white balls dribble from the gash in the side of the beanbag, which is now twice the size it was a minute ago.
My phone rings. I don’t want to answer it because I feel that these little minxes will take any opportunity if I’m distracted to continue their chaos.
There are moans of disappointment as I turn and stride from the living room, through the hallway and up the stairs.
The only place I can think to secure the beanbag is in the old-fashioned wardrobe in the spare room.
I throw it inside, lock the door, then slip the key into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out my phone.
I’m hoping it’s Lola telling me she’s on her way back from the supermarket.
One of the girls is allergic to nuts, but it seems that message got lost somewhere along the way and Lola had to shove the gorgeous custom-made cake she’d ordered back into its box and go in search of a contaminant-free alternative so the girls can have cake before their karaoke session.
The good news? It is my stepmother. The bad news? The first supermarket she went to didn’t have any nut-free cakes left. They do them, but those slots on the shelf are empty, and she’s going to have to try Waitrose, which is another ten minutes away.
My heart sinks. That means at least another half an hour on my own with these children and I’m not sure the house will be standing if Lola gets stuck in traffic and doesn’t come back within that time.
However, I pick myself up and race back downstairs, the girls have just finished setting up the remaining beanbag as their alternative trampoline and Charity is priming herself to leap from the sofa.
I snatch it up as my sister becomes airborne and she lands on the rug instead, executing a perfect roll to bring herself back up to standing.
She plants her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes. ‘Hey!’
I don’t get a chance to reply, because there’s a knock at the door. I point a finger at the twins, each in turn, letting them know I am not finished with them, and dart into the hallway. Thank God. Maybe Lola found an allergy-free cake at Tesco after all!
But when I yank the door open, I am not prepared for who I see standing there. ‘L-Luke!’
He grins at me.
‘What are you doing here?’
He frowns but doesn’t answer my question. ‘Why are you holding a beanbag?’
I glance down at my hand and realize that, in my desperation, I must have dragged it up the hallway with me. I hope I didn’t take out any of Lola’s treasured ornaments along the way. ‘Long story,’ I mutter.
‘I thought maybe if you couldn’t come out to celebrate, we could at least spend the evening together. Maybe we can go out once it’s finished.’
‘I really—’ A crash from the back of the house stops me from telling him I don’t have the time for this. I drop the beanbag and sprint back down the hall into the dining room, hoping I’m not going to be met by the sight of blood when I get there.
Eight pairs of wide childish eyes greet me. All of them are standing as far away from an upturned plant pot as possible.
‘Don’t any of you move!’ I warn them, but it falls on deaf ears. The girls start nudging each other and bouncing. They all start whispering and pointing fingers at each other. ‘It was you!’
‘No, it was you!’
They begin jumping around the room, giggling and pulling faces at each other. I’m just about to lose my rag completely when an unearthly hush falls upon the room. I turn to see what they’re staring at and find Luke towering in the doorway and taking in the aftermath of the polystyrene blizzard.
‘Luke!’ the twins yell in unison.
They’re about to race towards him, but he holds up his hand and says, very calmly, ‘Stop.’ To my surprise, every small body in the room freezes. He looks at them seriously.
‘I’ll deal with the casualty,’ I say, nodding at the plant on the floor, ‘if you can deal with the entertainment.’
He instantly spots the karaoke machine Lola hired. ‘Let’s move this into the dining room so you can clean up in peace.’ Then he picks up the machine and heads into the other room. ‘Who knows how to get this thing going?’ he asks the girls as they trail after him.
I vacuum the living room floor three times over to make sure I get every last possible bit of beanbag and return the peace lily to its pot.
By the time I’ve put the vacuum cleaner away in the understairs cupboard, the strains of ‘Shake It Off’ by Taylor Swift are blaring from the dining room.
When I go to check on my charges, Charity and Constance are fighting over who’s going to hold the microphone, and the other six girls are bouncing up and down trying to out-sing them.
I watch Luke as he deftly manages to avoid fights about who goes next and what songs they are going to sing.
There’s an easiness in his manner that I envy.
But what I envy even more is the effortless sense of teamwork between this Luke and this Jess.
It’s as easy as breathing for them. No wonder that, eleven years in the future, the older versions of us are suffocating without it.
It’s absolute chaos for the next hour. I get a couple of frantic texts from Lola, saying that she’ll be back as soon as possible but traffic is bad around the one-way system.
The girls get fed up with karaoke, so in my desperation, I suggest makeovers.
I realize as soon as the words are out of my mouth that it’s a bad idea.
Lola’s not too keen on the girls wearing make-up and has always vetoed the idea before, but now I’ve said it, I can’t go back on it – they’re all leaping around shouting out which colour nail varnish they want.
Thankfully, the guest bedroom here is also still unofficially my bedroom, and I have some a basic make-up kit stashed here for emergencies. I rush upstairs to fetch it while Luke turns a chair around from the dining table for our first willing victim – I mean, subject – to sit on.
‘Right,’ says Luke, as soon as I’ve returned with my cosmetics bag. ‘Get in line!’ He looks at me. ‘I’ll do hair; you can do make-up.’
Hair? I wasn’t planning on doing hair as well!
But now Luke has said it, it’s going to be hard to come back from.
Why didn’t he ask me first? And then I sigh inwardly.
Because I know exactly why Luke didn’t ask me first. Being the oldest of five, and also the one his whole family seems to rely on for both practical and emotional support, he’s used to making decisions fast and putting things into practice without much input from anyone else.
I’m just as independent, but for different reasons, and it’s a constant reason why we butt heads.
It’s just like the situation with my mum on the night of our anniversary party.
He just doesn’t stop to think anyone else might have some useful input or, at times, a valid but alternative point of view.
I’d let myself get all fired up about that again, but I don’t have the luxury.
We have eight fidgety girls to entertain.
‘How are you going to do hair?’ I ask him as he grabs another chair and puts it next to the first.
He grins and gives me a superior look. ‘Used to do Cassie’s hair all the time when I was younger. Piece of cake.’
Yeah. That’s what he thinks. While Cassie, his oldest sibling and only girl in the family, can be a bit full on, I doubt she presented the same challenge as a gaggle of seven-year-olds hyped up on sugar.
And then there’s the fact that the twins have tight ringlets, a hair texture he has absolutely no experience with. He’s in for a rude awakening.
‘I think maybe I should do hair and you should do make-up,’ I counter.
‘Oh, ye of little faith … But I think we’re better off doing it my way.’ He nods at the make-up bag. ‘I have absolutely zero experience with that stuff.’
An idea sneaks into my mind. I press my lips together to prevent myself from smirking and turn to the girls lined up beside the two chairs. ‘Would you like to help Luke out?’
‘How?’ Charity says.
‘Maybe … If Luke hasn’t got much experience of wearing make-up, we should give him the makeover!’
The girls squeal their enthusiasm for this idea at such a pitch that I’m sure my ears are bleeding.
By the time Lola’s key turns in the front door and she arrives panting, with a large supermarket carrier bag full of what I presume is a cake, Luke is colourful and sparkly and glorious.
He’s wearing a unicorn headband, and at least twenty glittery hair clips are jammed into his hair.
Lola takes one look at his clown-like make-up, lets out a scream and drops one of her shopping bags.
‘They got a bit bored,’ I offer by way of explanation.
She picks up the bag at her feet. ‘If beauty was a crime, you would be a free man,’ she says with a glint in her eye.
Luke sighs. ‘I’m guessing it would be a bad idea to look in the mirror?’
Lola chuckles and turns towards the kitchen. ‘I will relieve you from your torture shortly. Please, give me a few moments to get this cake ready.’
Lola makes good on her word. Within five minutes she’s flicking off the lights in the dining room and eight pairs of eyes grow wide as she walks towards them, cake resplendent with lit candles, and both her daughters rush to the table, getting ready to make their birthday wishes.
Once the cake is cut and the girls are busy demolishing their slices, she turns to Luke and me and makes a shooing motion. ‘Go! Be free! I have it from here.’
I try to protest. I know just how difficult it is dealing with that lot single-handed, but Lola stops me.
‘You have been a blessing to me today. And you … ’ She pauses to smile indulgently at my boyfriend, and then gives him a kiss on the cheek, which makes him blush.
‘You are an angel. Go celebrate your anniversary and let me deal with these children.’
We retreat to the far end of the kitchen. ‘It’s not late,’ Luke says to me.
I check the time on the digital clock on the oven. It’s only just past eight.
‘Do you want to go out for a drink, grab a bite to eat?’
I shake my head. ‘It’s a lovely idea, but I’m just …
’ I catch my reflection in the glossy black oven door.
‘I look like the Wicked Witch of the West!’ Although Luke looks as if he’s been mauled by a pack of fairies, I’m not looking much better myself.
My hair is a mess and I’m hot and sticky.
Who knew chasing eight small girls around could be such an effective workout?
He steps towards me, brushes a strand of tangled hair out of my face and kisses the tip of my nose. ‘You look beautiful.’
He’s making it very hard to say no, but what I want more than anything is some elite snacks and a good book. ‘Do you mind if we don’t go out tonight?’
Instead of looking disappointed, Luke’s smile brightens. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’