Can I Give My Stepkids Back?

by Aurelie Tramier

Genres: Animals; Family Life; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

"A wonderful story. I laughed - and cried - a lot! You have to read this." *****Anne-Christine, Amazon customer" Bitter sweet!" *****Amazon reviewer"A wonderful read full of depth and emotion"****Morgan, Netgalley reviewer As a childcare centre director, Morgan has to deal with kids every day but would much rather run her own boarding kennel. Snoopy - Morgan's beagle - is indeed the only living being she has considered family these past few years. When her sister and brother-in-law die in a terrible car crash, she has no choice but to adopt their two children. The unexpected addition to her household is clearly unlikely to get her closer to her canine goals. And as if this wasn't enough, she seems to be getting it all wrong with her "stepkids", ordering bedding her new son Elliot finds terribly childish, and forgetting to bake a cake for school on Lea's birthday. Grandma Catherine is convinced she'd do a much better job... When Snoopy sprains his leg, the kids are swept off their feet by the handsome single vet who's nursing him back to health. They're convinced he and Morgan would be a match made in heaven. Now they only need to convince Morgan...

Release date: February 25, 2021

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 288

Sample

10
Morgan

Saturday is finally here. My mother was a great help but let’s be honest, I’m not sad to see her go. We did our best to avoid each other all week. We haven’t seen eye to eye for so long now. During her visit, once the children were in bed, I would pretend I had urgent work to do and shut myself in my room. It’s still too painful for us to talk about Emily’s death. Any discussion about it would have inevitably ended badly.

Elliot is standing by the front door looking tearful. He insisted on accompanying Grandma Cat to the station. At least that way Snoopy will get a walk.

He hugs his grandma tightly on the platform. He can’t see her tears behind her big dark glasses as he whispers, “I’m really going to miss you Grandma Cat.”

“And I’m going to miss you both too, my darlings,” she answers. “Why don’t you come to Marseille for the half term holiday? I’m sure Morgan would pay for your train tickets.”

“Yes, what a great idea!” I say, trying to feign enthusiasm.

That’s my mother all over. I’m cornered. How can I say no now? Though quite frankly, I’m dying to have some time to myself. It will feel like an eternity until the next school holidays. But she should have asked me first. If I say no now, they’ll see me as the wicked auntie, worse than the wicked stepmother in fairy tales. And of course she’ll be seen as the doting, loving grandmother.

The train is about to depart, emotions are running high. Snoopy starts to bark and pull on the platform, Lea holds him back with all her might. I breathe a sigh of relief as the carriages pull slowly away. I can see a big tear rolling down Elliot’s cheek and I pretend that I haven’t noticed, to spare his pride. We enter the underground in silence, with Snoopy at our heels, and get off at La Fourche. We head towards the office supplies store to buy the items on our list. The place looks like Aladdin’s cave, festooned with glittery school bags and pencil cases. When I was small, I used to love choosing my pens and books, unwrapping them and lining them up ready for the big day. I remember breathing in the chemical fragrance of the crisp new white pages of my exercise books and greedily sniffing the Pritt Stick. In contrast, my mother dreaded buying stuff for the new term after the summer. She would moan that the shop was overcrowded, the stationery overpriced and the weather too hot.

Lea tugs my sleeve, dragging me back to reality. I pick up two large baskets. We dive headfirst into a tide of parents and children looking for the best textbook protective covers. The treasure hunt is on.

I pull out two lists as long as my arm. I can’t do this alone. “Come on Elliot, it would help if you could choose your own book covers and folders, and I’ll take care of Lea’s things.”

I hand him his list, having taken a photo of it first with my phone, and put a basket on his arm. I then set off down the aisle with Lea. Elliot says he’ll race us. The one who gets everything in the basket first is the winner. Ready, steady go!

Easier said than done. The day before school starts back, the office supplies store is about as much fun as a commuter station in rush hour. To top it all, the list is never ending: three HB pencils for Lea, four for Elliot. Of course, they only sell them in packs of five. In that case, we’ll have to take ten. Done! Ticked off. Three “large” glue sticks for Lea. What does that mean? They clearly state that it mustn’t be fancy-coloured glue. Four small tubes for Elliot.

Lea interrupts me, saying, “Morgan, look at this ballet shoe rubber.”

Damn, I’ve lost count. How many small tubes of glue again? How many large ones? Oh yes, four and three.

Lea repeats herself, “Morgan have you seen this rubber?”

“Lea, please, I’m looking for something! How many did I say of each?”

Too late: a tall lanky woman snatches the last packet right under my nose. I grab a special offer pack containing five large and five small tubes, one of which is pink and one purple, but never mind. If the teacher isn’t happy, then I’ll tell her to give me a list that doesn’t resemble an encyclopaedia next time!

“Morgan, can I have this ballet shoe rubber? Say yes, please, say yes!” Lea is insisting now.

I panic when I see how full my basket is. How much is all this going to cost? And how many of these pencils will go astray in the first week? Honestly, I don’t know how parents afford it. Plus my mother has just added the cost of three round trips to Marseille onto my bill, bang in the middle of the peak school holiday season.

Elliot appears, dragging his heavily laden basket. A bottomless pit of stationery. “I won!” he says. He is dripping with sweat and smiling proudly.

“Are you sure you need all that?” I ask.

“I have everything except the pink book protective cover and the 4 cm thick plastic pocket! I would rather die than have a pink book! So I took a black one instead,” he replies.

Lea continues whining at me to buy her that rubber. I can’t take it any longer. “Lea, honestly, I think that’s enough don’t you?” I snap.

She stubbornly brandishes the rubber under my nose. “Don’t you think it’s pretty? It’s only four euros!”

“Four euros for a rubber! It’s out of the question.”

“Morgan!”

“Lea, I said no!” I holler.

I just can’t get out of this store quickly enough; it’s a gigantic oven full of rabid parents battling over glue sticks and crayons. I just want to get home and curl up on my sofa with a good book and a cup of tea, in silence, and daydream about how my life was before the kids came along.

Lea won’t back down and stands there in the middle of the aisle, scowling with her arms folded. “No!” she says.

“No what?” I ask.

“No! I want this rubber. Mum would have said yes, I know she would. And so would Grandma Cat!”

A shopper turns round and stares at us unabashedly. This is not the Lea I know, normally so sweet that butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. I don’t give in to her pleading. Besides, I’m not a bottomless money pit. I try to remain calm without backing down. “Maybe they would Lea, but from now on, I’m the one who decides, and the answer is no. Come on, we’re going home!”

Lea stamps her feet and starts crying. She’s no longer listening to me and starts shouting and screaming in the middle of the aisle. She then rolls on the floor; I still don’t give in. I’m so ashamed. I close my eyes and let the basket fall to the floor. If only I could just disappear into a hole in the ground and never emerge.

“Please, Morgan, pleease!” she screams.

I hadn’t even noticed that Elliot had sneaked off. Suddenly the tears turn into cries of joy. “Thank you! Thank you, Elliot! You’re the best brother in the world. How did you pay for it?”

“Remember Oma Annett gave us some money? You bought sweets and cards with yours. Well I had some left over.”

I open my eyes to see Elliot hugging his little sister, with a small plastic bag in his hand. Talk about taking the wind out of my sails. Elliot is the king of the castle, Lea the queen, and I’m the prize fool. I desperately rack my brains wondering how I can get my authority back. “Elliot, Lea, we’re going to the grocery store. I want to get Snoopy some chocolate. The poor dog has been waiting outside for an hour!”

Lea asks if they can have some too. I tell her no, it’s not good to snack between meals.

That’s the best I could come up with: chocolate for the dog and not for them. It was clearly worthwhile all that time spent studying Françoise Dolto and child psychology. Plus you can’t even give dogs chocolate. Elliot glares at me but doesn’t dare get his money out. I finally hoist my two baskets onto the checkout and prepare for the damage. I can just about make out three figures on the receipt. Hopefully it’s upside down and the zeros are before and not after the one. We finally leave the shop and Lea rushes up to Snoopy to show him her new rubber.

Elliot is delighted at having outwitted me. On the way home, he jabbers away, “Morgan did you know that sharks grow teeth throughout their whole lifetime?’’

“No, great. Come along, it’s going to rain,” I answer.

“Did you know that octopuses have three hearts and nine

brains? Crazy isn’t it?”

“Yes, especially when you see how stupid an octopus is . . .”

“And did you know that owls can turn their heads 360 degrees? I read it in a magazine that Grandma Cat bought me.”

“Incredible,” I mumble.

I feel like I’m being interviewed for some wildlife documentary. We climb up the five flights of stairs while Elliot lists the many talents of the fire salamander. Exhausted, I dump my bags down and lock myself in the toilet. Elliot continues his banter from behind the toilet door. “Hey Morgan, the weirdest of all is the chameleon. It can see from all sides at the same time. Imagine that?”

“Amazing,” I say, feeling sorry for myself. ‘‘My kingdom for a horse . . .’’ Or rather a book, tea, peace and quiet, or maybe some music. I go to the kitchen to switch on the kettle and listen to the rain outside. I go into the children’s room to get my pile of records from the bookcase. Elliot is sitting on his bed reading his favourite magazine about strange wildlife facts.

“What are you doing Auntie?” asks Lea.

“I’m going to listen to some music.”

“On that black thing?” she asks.

She wants to know how it works. “Ah, it’s so funny. Is that a record? Can I choose one?” she asks.

I reluctantly show her the pile of records. She picks one out, humming to herself. “This one!”

“You know it?” I ask.

“No, but I like the cover.”

“It’s Barbara, one of my favourite singers,” I say proudly.

“You mean like Babar the elephant?”

Lea watches me put the record on, amazed at this antique contraption. I can see in her face that she thinks I’m a hundred years old. I drift off to Barbara’s dulcet tones, a cup of tea in my hand. I curl up in my armchair, grab a cushion and pick up the book beside me. I haven’t even read one page in the last ten days. Normally I read one or two books a week. But with all the things I need to buy for the kids, I can already see my book budget disappearing, melting away like ice cream left out in the sun. Barbara’s voice vibrates through me, as I savour her wonderful lyrics.

 

One day,

Or maybe one night,

Near a lake I had fallen asleep,

When suddenly seemingly tearing the sky apart,

And coming from nowhere,

Appeared a black eagle.

 

Peace, at last. I close my eyes. Lea is sat on a cushion chewing the ends of her plaits. Barbara’s warm voice lulls me. My mind wanders and my thoughts turn to Emily. Emily, who could never understand why I loved this song so much. I submerge myself in each and every word, let my heart fill with the music.

“This song’s rubbish.”

I am jolted out of my reverie by Lea.

“This song’s rubbish,” she says again. “I don’t understand any of it. And her voice is all sad and wobbly.”

“No Lea, it’s just that . . . well, it’s a song for grown-ups,” I reply.

“She’s right, this song is well depressing!” shouts Elliot, from behind the wall.

Lea asks me to read her a story instead. Here I am, in my own apartment, not allowed to listen to my music. Okay. Hint taken. I abandon my book and put the record away. Welcome to my new life! Lea is already jumping around with a book in her hand. It’s Tom Thumb. I’m not enamoured by her choice.

“Really? It’s a grim story,” I say.

She nods with a huge grin across her face. I begin to read:

‘‘Once upon a time there lived a woodcutter and his wife; they had seven children, all boys. The eldest was but ten years old, and the youngest only seven. People were astonished that the woodcutter had had so many children in such a short time, but his wife was very fond of children, and never had less than two at a time.’’

“Ten and seven! Just like us! Hey Morgan, I’m going to be seven in September!” says Lea.

I nod and carry on reading. What a sordid tale. I had actually forgotten just what a chauvinist Charles Perrault was. In his fairy tales, all women are portrayed as silly wenches, witches, or just plain fools, and they all faint at the drop of a hat. Though I guess you would faint on discovering that your ogre of a husband has just slain your seven daughters. I slam the book shut.

“Lea, this is a gruesome story. Are you sure you want me to read it to you?”

“Yes!” she whines.

“It’ll give you nightmares! Plus the author hates women; he does nothing but criticize the ogre’s wife and treats all the women in the story as if they’re idiots. I don’t like it.”

I close the book. Elliot says he’ll read to her. He snatches it from me and says that I never like anything. His remarks are hurtful and humiliating. I don’t retaliate. He’s just a kid after all. Lea comes to my rescue, saying, “She does, she likes Snoopy!”

Some consolation! I get up from the sofa. Tom Thumb has stuck in my throat. It’s seven o’clock. I’d better start making dinner.

I hear the end of the story from the kitchen. Elliot patiently explains the difficult words to his sister. “The ‘moral’ of the story is the end, Lea. There’s always a lesson at the end of a fairy tale, which helps you to understand the story.”

Lea is mesmerized.

 

‘‘It is no affliction to have many children,

if they all are good looking, courteous and strong,

but if one is sickly or slow-witted,

he will be scorned, ridiculed, and despised.

However, it is often this little urchin

who brings good fortune to the entire family.’’

And they think Barbara is depressing! Time to serve our gourmet dinner: fishfingers and peas. Thank heavens for frozen food.

Only one day to go till school starts.

11
Elliot

Dear Mum,

 

It felt strange going back to school without you. You were always here for us on the first day of term to hear how it went. I liked that. So I’m going to tell you all about it now. Luckily, I like writing, as it’s going to take a while.

On the first day back, Morgan took us. She picked us up at six o’clock too. She said she would pick us up every day but sometimes she may have to take us back to the nursery with her, if she has a lot of work. The nursery is not far on the underground. Lea likes going because of the babies. She would love to play with them. There is a nice lady there called Viviane. Lea helps her put away the cuddly toys and straighten the duvets on the little beds. She loves helping.

 

Right. Now it’s my turn. A lot has happened this week. You will be a bit angry with me because I got into a fight with a boy at the new school and was told off afterwards. I won’t do it again, promise!

On Sunday night before school started, I could see that Lea didn’t want to go. When I asked her if she was okay, she said she was sad her friends would not be there and that she didn’t like that school with its horrible scary paintings on the walls. So I had an idea. I let her choose her clothes for the next day, like you used to Mum. She is SUCH a girl. We took everything out of the wardrobe, and she chose her blue dress, the one with the big bows on the shoulders. She said you liked it and it’s the one she wanted to wear. Then she asked Morgan if she could plait her hair for her in the morning. Morgan agreed, as long as we got up really early. Actually, Morgan is rubbish at doing plaits, but Lea doesn’t tell her, as she doesn’t want to hurt her feelings.

We got our school bags ready the night before, and I put our snack bars in. You always used to ask me to do it, remember? This time I did it on my own. Oma Annett called us just before we went to bed to wish us luck for the next day. So did Grandma Cat. But she calls us every day anyway.

 

When Monday morning came, we got up before the alarm went off. We stood in front of the school gates watching the other kids play and Lea whispered how happy the other kids looked. We just looked miserable standing there with our auntie.

You know, Morgan’s skin is so white you can almost see through it in the sun. When she took Lea’s hand, I could see that she had bitten her nails right down. Grandma Cat must have told her when she was small that nail biting is bad.

The other children started looking at us and so did the teachers. I don’t like being stared at like that. But don’t worry, we’ll be okay. I like being the big kid at school, especially when I see the small ones in Year One who look like tiny beetles with their huge backpacks. It’s a funny sight. Hey, you should see the amazing Harry Potter schoolbag Grandma Cat bought me; you would never have got me one like that!

 

At breaktime on the first day back, I found a surprise in my schoolbag. Lea had put a kiss bar in it, like you used to when I was small. A strip of paper with little hearts on, which you pull off one by one and hold when you feel sad. I pulled off a heart and squeezed it tightly in my pocket. Lea is so sweet, and never stops laughing, I don’t know how she does it. When I asked her whether she felt sad sometimes, she told me that Snow White and Cinderella had no parents but were happy, so we could be happy too.

 

And now you are going to be mad at me because I got into a fight with a boy called Alex in Year Five. Thank God he’s not in my class. He keeps bugging Lea because we’re new. He pulls her plaits and steals her snack at breaktime, and on Thursday, just before lunch, he said something to Lea that really annoyed me. I don’t know why really because what he said was more stupid than mean. He thought Morgan was our mum and said to Lea that she was so white, she looked like a panda in her black dress! I told him she wasn’t our mum and that his mum was so fat she looked like a pig. Alex then called me a son of a bitch, so I punched him right in the face. It’s the first time I have ever hit anyone, and it made his nose bleed. I called him an idiot and said that you were dead and that if he ever said it again I would smash his whole head in.

The beanpole (a.k.a. the headmistress) quickly came and took me into her office. I thought she was going to suspend me, but she was actually quite nice. She gave me a gingerbread biscuit and looked me straight in the eye saying that this must never happen again and that she didn’t want any violence in her school. She said she knew I was going through a very difficult time, and that she would smooth everything out with Alex’s parents and we would say no more about it.

 

That evening in bed, Lea gave me a big hug and she even sang your lullaby to me. I’m so lucky to have a baby sister like her. I would hate to be here on my own.

I’m sorry Mum. Hugs and kisses to you and Dad. Love you . . .

 

Elliot

12
Morgan

“Good evening everyone, I’m Morgan Mercier, I look after my niece Lea and my nephew Elliot, who is in Year Five.”

Phew, it’s over. I flop back down into my chair trying not to make eye contact with anyone, which isn’t difficult as I deliberately took a front row seat. I can feel twenty-two pairs of eyes piercing my back. Running a marathon in mid-winter in a bikini would have been preferable to this parents’ evening. I just don’t fit in here. The chair is ridiculously small. I don’t know how the other parents are managing to sit still for more than ten minutes. There’s a father behind me who would have been better off taking two chairs for his oversized backside.

I can feel Emily and Niko’s presence. The other parents know full well why I am here tonight instead of them. The teacher thanks me with a nod of her head and adds a touch of Disney-style charm to my speech. “Lea has just joined our school. I ask you all to give her your full support and kindness. Don’t hesitate to invite her to your children’s birthday parties; that girl is a pure ray of sunshine. I can see from her records that she will be seven years old in a few days’ time. Would any of you like to bake a cake for the occasion? We shall be celebrating birthdays on the last Friday of the month and may I remind you that everything must be from the authorized list. So, no chocolate, no fruit tarts, no nuts, and of course, no sweets or fizzy drinks.”

And this is meant to be a birthday? That’s a joke. What does that actually leave, celery? Baking a cake for school appears to be incredibly complicated. I let the kids eat homemade chocolate cake at the nursery all the time. I mentally note to check on what date the last Friday of the month falls. Woe betide me if I forget the date, though I imagine Lea will remind me. I quickly glance behind me, managing not to catch anyone’s eye. Lea and Elliot are busy playing in the book corner with another child whose parents couldn’t get a babysitter. Good as gold.

 

I emerge . . .