‘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 calledStarfield,’ 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.
Chapter 27
Louise’s house was filled with pink and blue balloons for the baby shower. A table was decorated with pink and blue camellias, and laden with finger food and flute glasses for Prosecco. The French windows opened on to the terrace and a pile of beautifully wrapped gifts sat on a side table. The girls were dressed in summer frocks or flowy trousers and silk tops, while Louise wore a soft pink dress that flattered her eight-month bump.
‘I’m on a child-free day so I’ve decided to wear the most stainable clothes possible, just to celebrate,’ announced Bryony, waving a full glass. The handsome Mike had manhandled the garden furniture into a suitable arrangement on the patio and then made himself scarce, but not before planting a brief kiss on Louise’s cheek. They presented the picture of happiness.
‘This place is gorgeous, what a lucky little babe it’s going to be, with a view of the sea and all .?.?.’
The fact that the baby wouldn’t give a shite about a view of the sea wasn’t mentioned by anybody. Cassie was feeling irritable, and fakery in any form was getting right on her nerves. Ramona had been extended an invitation by Louise, who didn’t like to leave anybody out, but she announced that she’d rather have a nipple piercing without pain relief than go to Louise’s baby shower and feel like a freak.
