The Art of Friendship. Erin Kaye
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snorted. ‘It’s not my job to do the cleaning. That’s what you stay-at-home mums are for, isn’t it? Cleaning up everybody’s…sh…’ She stopped, thought better of it, and finished the sentence with, ‘mess.’
Clare closed her eyes and counted to ten while bright flashes of colour throbbed behind her eyelids. She would not rise to Izzy’s bait. The child was no doubt repeating her mother’s sentiments, but that knowledge did not make the remarks any less offensive.
Clare opened her eyes and, determined to ignore Izzy’s last remark, glanced at the clock. A wave of panic washed over her. She had to clean up the mess in the kitchen, bath both children and put them to bed, plus get herself ready to go out. Of all nights, why did Liam have to be late tonight? He simply had no idea how stressful home life could be, especially when complicated by the addition of Izzy with her attitude and raging hormones in tow.
How was she ever going to carve out the time to paint?
‘Do you fancy giving me a hand with Rachel and Josh tonight, Izzy?’ asked Clare, knowing how much Izzy loved to play with the children, especially when Clare wasn’t around. ‘If you could get them washed, it’d give me a chance to clean up down here. You know how they love it when you bath them.’
‘Sorry, I have to do my homework,’ said Izzy with a sly sideways glance, the end of the pencil back in her mouth. Clare could’ve swung for her. She’d sat at the table for a full forty minutes and not written a thing. Now that Clare was under pressure she was refusing to help, and cutting her nose off to spite her face, simply to get at her stepmother.
‘Right,’ said Clare. She picked up the melamine bowl and threw it forcefully in the stainless steel sink. ‘You do that then.’ Her voice came out cold and brittle like thin ice. She found a cloth under the sink and started to wipe down the wall.
‘Where’s Dad?’ said Izzy sharply, after a few minutes had passed. Her voice was accusing. As though it were Clare’s fault that Liam wasn’t here.
‘You know he’s been held up at work, Izzy,’ said Clare irritably from a crouched position under the table, panting with the exertion of wiping the chair legs. ‘You know he would be here if he could.’
‘What’s the point of me coming on a Wednesday if he can’t even be bothered to be here? The whole point is so that we can spend some time together.’
‘And see your brother and sister.’
‘They’re not my brother and sister.’
‘Alright, stepbrother and -sister then,’ said Clare, seething. She added sharply, ‘I thought you said you had homework to do?’
Izzy did not reply. Instead she smiled to herself, inserted the iPod earpieces in her ears and, miraculously, started to write in her jotter. Clare glared at her, but Izzy was now entirely engaged in scribbling furiously away. She had allowed Izzy to rattle her cage and Izzy knew it. One-nil to Izzy.
By the time Zoe rang the doorbell at eight o’clock, Clare was standing in the bedroom in her underwear – bra, pants and pair of black knee-socks. Both Rachel and Josh were settled in bed and Clare had managed to shower, wash and dry her hair and apply make-up. She heard the front door open and close and then Zoe’s sharp voice drifted up the stairs. ‘What? He’s not home yet? Have you been sitting down here all on your own?’
Clare came out of the bedroom and stood on the landing, out of sight, listening.
‘Yes,’ said Izzy, sounding sorry for herself. ‘Clare took Rachel and Josh upstairs just after six and she hasn’t come down yet. I was left downstairs on my own watching TV.’
‘Get your coat. I’m taking you home.’
Clare wasn’t going to let Izzy get away with that. She ran back into the bedroom, grabbed the first dressing gown that came to hand and pulled it on. The belt was missing but there was no time to change. She wrapped the gown around her body, held it in place with her hands and marched down the stairs.
Zoe stood at the bottom, scowling, her lips pursed up like a prune. When she saw Clare coming, she folded her arms aggressively. She was dressed entirely in designer black with polished high-heeled boots and a bold silver necklace resting on a fine cashmere polo. Her long blonde hair flowed over an open black leather jacket. As usual, she looked skinny and stunning and successful. Which she was – Zoe owned three boutiques in as many towns. Izzy, looking sheepish, pulled a coat on over her slight shoulders.
‘Izzy decided not to help with bathtime tonight,’ said Clare by way of greeting, pulling herself up to her full height in what she hoped was an assertive manner. And then, giving her stepdaughter a hard stare, she added, ‘She had homework to do. Didn’t you, Izzy?’
Izzy looked at the floor and, though she said nothing, at least she had the grace to blush. Not that Zoe was watching. She was too busy staring at Clare – her cold, critical gaze took in the entire length of her body from head to toe and back again in three seconds flat.
‘And hello to you too, Clare,’ she said pointedly.
‘I’m getting ready to go out,’ said Clare, suddenly feeling at a disadvantage. She pulled the gown closer to her body and, looking down at herself, realised what a sight she was. A white toe sporting an unpainted yellow nail poked through a hole in the sock on her right foot. She curled her toes in embarrassment. The dressing gown was an old grey flannel one of Liam’s. She remembered now that Josh had ripped the belt off by swinging on it. Clare kept meaning to sew it back on but had somehow never got round to it. She pulled the gown closer and felt her face go red.
‘Somewhere nice?’ said Zoe.
‘Just No.11 with some girlfriends.’
‘Well’ Zoe.’s pale blue eyes narrowed. ‘I hope you’re not relying on Liam to babysit. God knows when he’ll be home. Used to do it to me all the time.’
Clare’s anger was now directed at Liam as much as Zoe and Izzy. Not only had he left her with both of the little ones to put to bed when he knew she was due to go out, but he had placed her in this mortifying situation with Zoe. He should be here to deal with his ex-wife and he should’ve been here for Izzy.
Just then the front door opened, letting in an icy blast of dry air, and Zoe said, clearly enjoying herself, ‘Speak of the devil.’
Liam stepped into the hallway, his overcoat opened to reveal a top shirt button undone and his tie askew. His briefcase hit the floor with a heavy thud and he slammed the door closed. He rubbed his hands together, blew into them and looked at the faces of the three females in the hall, each one, for different reasons, glowering at him.
‘Oh, Izzy,’ he said and went to put his arms around her. She stiffened and pulled back.
‘Where were you, Dad?’ she said, sounding pained.
‘I’m so sorry, babes,’ said Liam, and his arms dropped to his sides. His boyish face was lined and tired-looking. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly and gave Izzy a crooked smile. Clare was torn between being angry with him and wanting to hug him. ‘You’ll never believe what happened,’ he said animatedly. ‘I was in the car park just about to get in the car when this spaceship landed right next to me and guess who stepped out?’
‘Dad…’ said Izzy warningly, without a hint of a smile.
‘Okay,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I couldn’t get away. I tried, but this thing in work blew up and…well, I just couldn’t leave.’
‘Couldn’t you?’ said Zoe, her voice laden with scorn. ‘You only have Izzy one night a week, Liam. Is it too much to ask that you organise your diary around that?’
‘It’s not always that simple, Zoe,’ Liam muttered. ‘Sometimes it’s complicated. You know that.’
‘It’s not rocket science either,’ snapped Zoe.
Clare had to bite her lip. How dare Zoe speak to him like