How will my teenage stepdaughter react to seeing her dad disappearing into my bedroom? (2024)

My new stepdaughter is sulking because the shampoo in my bathroom has made her hair greasy. “You won’t need to bring any stuff for your hair, it’s fine!” her father had told her when they were packing for the week-long trip to London. Little did Jon know that a family of curly-haired women has quite different moisturising requirements to a teenager with sleek, straight tresses.

Now Amy* faces the prospect of seeing Taylor Swift “looking like a skank”.

Jon is my Canadian boyfriend, and Amy, 15, is his only child. Amy is beside herself with excitement at seeing Tay-Tay in London, the downside being she will have to spend the week with me. It is the first time we have met.

I’m writing this article anonymously and changing Amy’s name because: well, if you were a 15-year-old girl, would you want to be written about by your father’s new girlfriend? But this domestic situation is an increasingly common one, and some people reading this article might relate.

“Blended families” as they now call them, are on the increase. As divorce rates rise, more people starting new relationships already have children. The 2022 Office of National Statistics figures reveal that over 32 per cent of marriages include at least one partner who is remarrying. There are lots of wicked stepmothers, nasty stepfathers and mean step-siblings out there. Although, as Jon and I are both in our 50s, there won’t be any new children coming along to join the party.

Jon and I met at a writers’ event three years ago. He was at the end of his marriage and I was already divorced. Our connection was instant: we had so much in common and fell in love so absolutely, it was unthinkable that we wouldn’t be together. Despite having an ocean between us, Jon and I have spent much of the intervening period in one another’s company, our flexible work patterns allowing us to move our relationship firmly beyond “holiday romance”.

As soon as we realised things were likely to be permanent between us, I introduced Jon to my university-age children, who took to him immediately. But we decided to delay my meeting with Amy. Jon and his ex are on good terms, which makes life easier, but the distance and Amy’s age made us wait. Now, the coincidence of Amy’s school holidays, plus a UK visit from her pop star heroine meant that this was to be the week.

I knew of course that this trip would not be easy for Amy. That West/East transatlantic jet-lag is gruelling, especially if you aren’t used to the switch. Amy had never left North America beyond holidays to Florida, and was coming to the strange house of an unknown family who spoke like Downton Abbey, where she could meet a brutal end simply looking the wrong way while crossing the street.

But mostly, of course, how would Amy cope with seeing her father disappearing into a bedroom with a woman who was not her mum?

Bearing all this in mind, I spoke to Sheri Jacobson, a psychotherapist. “This is the most nervous and awkward it’s going to be,” she says. “Treat your stepdaughter as you would any friend coming to stay. Work out how to make her feel comfortable and find some common ground. Be non-judgmental, warm and empathetic. Build trust and match her pace: don’t try to run too far ahead and don’t feel the need to fill every second with conversation.”

On the other hand, says Jacobson, do not be a doormat. “You do not have to cater to her every whim. If she’s being messy or noisy for example, set some boundaries.”

Three days into the trip there is no need for boundaries. Amy has erected defences the height of the Berlin Wall and has barely said a word to me.

I’ve tried so hard to make things nice. I’ve bought Hobnobs and Doritos and have put One Direction on the playlist. I’ve even taken down the photos of Jon and I together so this new relationship is less “in her face”.

When I picked them up at the airport, I wasn’t expecting hugs and certainly felt it too premature to dish them out. However, Amy barely met my eye, and I’m not entirely sure I even heard a “hello”. I decided philosophically to let this go. “I’m the adult here,” I reminded myself, as I will have to, several times throughout the week.

The next lunchtime, Amy and Jon have booked to see a matinee. When he tries to get her out of bed, it sounds like he’s wrestling with a cat, so astonishing is the cacophony of squealing.

After they leave for the day, I go into my daughter’s room, where Amy is staying. The curtains are closed, the bed unmade. Should I fix them, or is this intruding? I sort them out the first morning, for the rest of the week, I will leave them as they are: it’s her “space”. Then I spy that Amy has carelessly thrown her blanket over my daughter’s teddy bear, so that poor Eddie is lying there, asphyxiated. This upsets me more than it should.

The next few days I do what I can. I offer tea. I buy fish and chips. I chat about the royals and teach Amy the names of George, Charlotte and Louis. We discuss Taylor Swift, and it transpires I know about an ex that Amy hadn’t heard of (DJ Calvin Harris, seeing as you ask). This wins me some points: a chink appears in the armour.

Amy is still spending a lot of time in her room. I don’t take this personally: I remind myself that 15-year-olds largely don’t want to be around any adults, let alone their parents, and certainly not their parent’s new girlfriends. But when we do get her out of there, Amy is glued to her mobile – and you might think a person would put down their phone when seeing Buckingham Palace for the first time.

I discover how different families have different conventions. When Amy goes to bed she never says “goodnight”. When leaving the house, she just shuts the door without saying “goodbye”. This annoys me: my parents brought us up to do these things and I see them as basic manners. I may be the adult here, but after a few days of this, Lady Monosyllable is seriously starting to annoy me.

I challenge Jon on this: he tells me that, in his former household, none of these niceties were required. But he understands why they matter to me. He later has a quiet word with Amy: the “goodnights” and the “goodbyes” commence: begrudgingly, at first.

Halfway through the week, I decide to treat Amy like a cat. I’m not going to push myself on her, but if she wants to come to me – well, here I am.

The turning point I think is a flying visit from my children, swooping in before heading off on backpacking adventures. Amy seems impressed by my daughter’s charity-shop chic and my son’s easy laugh. We go out to a tapas bar and have a lot of fun. Maybe Amy is starting to realise that I don’t want to replace her mum: I’m already someone else’s mum. I just want to be her friend. The next day I buy her a manicure so she looks glamorous for Taylor Swift.

On Friday night, I peek into Amy’s room. It’s been tidied to perfection – her jumpers stacked in neat little piles. I take this as a sign.

The final few days see more change. Our unseasonal cold spell ends, and the sun comes out. The concert is a huge hit: the next day, the three of us drive out to the country, singing Taylor songs together. We go for an early drink in the pub and Amy shows us the card games she plays at summer camp: I am hopeless at them. There is joking and Mickey-taking and well – it’s all rather wonderful. I realise that this is what a “step” relationship is all about: small acts of acceptance, rather than grand announcements or gestures.

Most of all, I come to the conclusion I like Amy. She’s witty in an understated way and has a nice line in sarcasm. She’s also brave, hopping onto Lime bikes and weaving her way through the city traffic with her dad in a way I would never dare. But then: why shouldn’t I like her? She’s her father’s daughter, after all.

The night before they leave, Jon and I are sitting watching TV. From Amy’s room comes the perfectly normal sound of a teenager chatting and giggling away to her friends back home. This gives me more pleasure than I can express.

On Monday, we said goodbye at the station. Hugs were given on both sides. I told Amy that her hair smelled nice (Superdrug came to the rescue in the end); she thanked me, with feeling. And so ended a week that has been tricky at times, and certainly exhausting. But it has also heralded the start of a brand new family relationship. How rare and precious is that?

*Names have been changed

How will my teenage stepdaughter react to seeing her dad disappearing into my bedroom? (2024)
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