Molly In The Middle Coffee break tale

Which role is more tricky to play – that of the stepchild or the stepmother? Sometimes it’s difficult to tell…

The sound of a plate being scraped stops me in my tracks as I open the kitchen door. “What’s wrong?” It’s clear that nine-year-old Molly has just shovelled her entire untouched supper into the bin.

“I don’t like it.” Molly’s deep brown gaze meets mine unapologetically.

“I thought it was your favourite pizza. That’s why I bought it.”

“It is my favourite pizza. It’s just that you haven’t cooked it like Mum does.”

I swallow the urge to point out that I followed the instructions on the box to the letter, so it would be difficult to cook it any differently; instead I try a smile. “OK. What do you fancy instead?” But Molly’s gone in a flash. I can hear her heading upstairs to the room John and I have decorated specially for her. Once there, it sounds as if she’s moving things around. Lots of things.

“I’m so sorry about this, Susie darling.” Molly’s dad comes into the room and places a comforting hand on my arm. “It’s going to take time.”

“Of course it is, John. I didn’t expect Molly to accept me the moment she came into the house. It can’t be easy to share you with me instead of her mother.”

“She’ll be with her mother for the weekend, so we can relax then.”

“She’ll be fine.” I desperately want to believe what I’m saying.

Later in the evening Molly reappears, dragging a pillow behind her. “I don’t want two of these stupid pillows, so I’d like you to throw this one away.” Her comment is directed at me.

I throw John a warning glance, then take the pillow and reposition my smile back on my face.

“No problem,” I say, “but I don’t think we need to throw it away. I’ll pop it in the airing cupboard in case anyone wants an extra pillow at any time.”

Molly pulls a face but says nothing. Obviously a goodnight kiss is completely out of the question.

To my relief the remainder of the evening and the next few days pass quietly enough even though the atmosphere is heavily strained.

“I don’t think we’re doing too well, Molly and I,” I remark to John over supper-a-deux a few weeks later. Molly hasn’t been awkward or rude, but she leaves the room when I come in and only speaks to me when I ask her a question.

“I like to think we’re making progress,” says John hopefully and I love him even more for the way he’s understanding and gentle about the arrangements with Molly, me and Judy, his ex.

It’s then that I find a note in the kitchen. It’s clearly an essay Molly has written for homework. She’s torn the page out of her rough book and left it for me to see.

It reads, I spend lots of time with Dad and Susie. My dad is the best dad in the world but he doesn’ t love my mum any more. He lives with Susie. Susie is not my mum. My mum is called Judy. I love my mum lots. Some weekends we go out together and see Padding ton Bear or have pizza. Susie does not come with us. I stick the note to the fridge. “Why did you stick up that stuff I wrote?” Molly asks as we’re all putting on our coats ready for a walk.

“Because it’s how you feel and it’s true. I’m glad you can be honest about your feelings, Molly. It’s cool. Now finish getting ready or the afternoon will be over before you and your dad can show me your favourite walk. Would it take in the park and the swings, by any chance?” Molly skips ahead as we walk. “Don’t cross the road without us,” calls John. Molly waits at the kerb. Suddenly I feel her hand in mine as we cross the road. Immediately she’s off again, but I can feel the warmth of her touch for a very long time afterwards.