Big Bear and the wicked step daughter - part one

My step daughter Toni (never trust a girl with a boy's name) decided to come for the weekend despite several attempts to put her off. 'There's no room', I protested 'Why don't you come after Easter?', 'Ned's got nits', 'NO, YOU CAN'T BRING YOUR BOYFRIEND'. I even asked Dickie to tell her not to come - he invited her a day early with Bradley, her beau of the mo, and told her she could stay indefinitely. 'She is my daughter Lulu, our house is her house...'

I tried to look cheery as Dickie went to super human lengths to tidy the house, cook her favourite food and put on a fresh shirt. Oh the guilty gestures of an absent father, why didn't he make this much effort for me?

There are several reasons why Toni and I can never be friends. Toni has a knack of pointing out everything that's wrong with our relationship (normally what's wrong with me), of siding with her father at any given opportunity and constantly talking about his wonderful ex girlfriends. On top of that she is only a couple of years younger than me, miles thinner, taller and has a cracking job as a financial advisor in the city. She is very into London. And working. And the gym. Of course, I am into these things too, if only I had the time.

'I bet you're glad you didn't give away Big Bear now aren't you' smirked Dickie 'Toni will be so pleased when she sees how much the boys love him'. Bugger. Big bear. A huge, monstrous, purple, polystyrene bear Toni had given Ned for his second birthday. It snored if you moved it to the left and growled if you moved it to the right - what can I say? The boys loved him. Dickie thought it showed how much Toni loved her new baby brothers, but deep down I knew it was out to get me.  He had to go. If I couldn't get rid of the step daughter, I was damn well going to get rid of the bear.

At first I simply put him out with the rubbish, Ned burst into tears and went running to Dickie. 'Oh I was only worried about the polystyrene' I said defensively. Next I gave him to our neighbour Penny for the Cadcove tombola, she returned him several hours later saying she couldn't sell him and break Ned's heart.  I argued that he had to learn about loss at some point - Father Christmas, melting snowmen, teenage girls and she looked aghast. When we finally moved Ned into his own room he would wake screaming in the night, refusing to sleep until Big Bear was placed in the bed next to him. Big Bear had become more important than me.

And finally last week, I took Big Bear to Oxfam and finding the door shut, left him outside in the pouring rain. Ned cried all night, but I told him I'd buy him a hamster if he didn't tell Daddy, 'But I want Big Bear' he sobbed. 'A hamster is better, they move quickly and they can bite - hard' I said. 'I want Big Bear' screamed Ned.  'I want Big Bear'

I told Dickie and Toni I'd taken him to the dry cleaners - 'Specially for your visit Toni' and ran to Oxfam pleading to save the revolting creature, they didn't have it. Even Oxfam didn't want Big Bear. Sodden and smelly they had thrown him out the back.  I trawled through the bins, but couldn't find him, it was belting down and I stank of trash. I sank to the floor and began to cry. Toni would hate me for ever, Dickie would blame me for Ned's bear-less misery and I would have to grovel to the evil step daughter for the rest of my life.

But there she was, my very own guardian angel.  Moll. Wonderful, beautiful Moll, poking her head from around the bins 'I saw you go into Oxfam and wondered who you were meeting out here' she said with a wink, but then seeing my tears she added, 'Can I help?' For three hours Moll helped me climb into the various skips of trash in the icy rain and recovered a sad half drowned Bear who had literally had the stuffing knocked out of him. Bear and me both.

Ned thought his return was marvellous. And Toni looked smug. She suggested going to the pub alone with Daddy and Bradley - so they could get to know each other. 'You won't mind babysitting will you Lulu?' I said it was a lovely idea but completely impossible as I had invited Moll and her family for dinner... Big Bear sat at the head of the table and no one said a word.

When your husband's away...

Dickie announced at 6.30am yesterday that he was off to see about a job and would not be back until Friday. He tried to look, earnest, exhausted and the-whole-world-is-weighing-on-my-shoulders (and oh what shoulders!) about it, but he couldn't quite keep the glint out of his eye. I flirted with the idea of being all angsty about the situation, but any neurosis was quickly replaced with one word which rang loud and clear in my mind FREEDOM. I quickly texted Charlotte, the nanny-with-wings, and she agreed to take the kids till 4pm.

Dickie had taken me to get my passport picture taken the day before. He smirked in front of me as the down to earth camera woman, one of those awful 'this is not about how you look, this is for a passport' women, preceded to place me under a neon light and shoot from below. You can imagine the result. Dickie couldn't see what all the fuss was about, but then again, he is the one off on 'a job all night'. I was horrified. I looked middle aged, knackered and kind of pasty. This would never have happened in London. But now with my new found freedom I scoured the internet and found a private photographer in Truro who promised he could rectify the situation and no one would know.

Charles. Mid fifties, wearing sandals, surrounded by lots of buddhas and bean bags, had 'worked in the industry for forty years' greeted me, snapped away and put the still middle aged, knackered pictures into a magic machine which ironed out the wrinkles, bags and so on. Bingo - I looked fantastic. I jumped into my new black gangster rural Land Rover (ooh Dickie has brought me rather a lot of presents recently) and headed for the post office. Looking all smug, smiley and clean I pushed past the farmers wives and travellers and presented my passport application with the new hot hot hot photos. I call it Cornish jealousy, but the check out girl refused to accept my photographs on the ground that I looked too 'pouty' and besides she boomed 'this is an out of date picture, you have to have one that was taken in the last five years'. The travellers giggled. The farmers wives gave a tut and a pitying glare and I was forced to hand over the miserable jaded pictures from the day before. Devastating. For the next 12 years my passport will be a document of shame. Dickie found the whole thing terribly amusing, before his phone was cut off...

Time to hit the shops. It's amazing how in a town like Truro, where there really is very little to buy that you can still spend a fortune. I updated my Wellingtons, brought the boys various books and sought out the only Lancome counter in town - hidden deep in the back of Boots. The chirpy sales girl loaded me up with lots of freebies, but the thing I really wanted - the lush new fruity collection 'guaranteed to make you feel fruity fresh' would not be in Cornwall for three months. Three Months. 'After all' she giggled in a strong Cornish accent 'we don't even have electricity down here'. She explained that it was  already in the flagship store Selfridges and then spent the next ten minutes explaining to me  -slowly and in great detail, what Selfridges was. I didn't interrupt her.

I headed home for the Cadcove Jubilee committee meeting, and informed the group that I wouldn't be getting involved as I was heading to the Royal Borough for the big event. Apparently this is not the case as I had agreed to organise the children's jubilee activities several weeks ago. Susan Marksfield - head of the committee -has a way of making you do things. 'And where's that hubby of yours?' she asked as I made a swift exit, pretending not to hear.

And where was he indeed? I put the boys to bed and sat down to watch TV. TV that I wanted, no sport, no Nat Geo, no history channel, when the door bell rang. Moll was standing at the door. Pushing her way in saying 'I thought I would come and keep you company as Dickie's away, he said you wouldn't mind'...