The Stepmother (7 page)

I
n the morning Luke
, who has been at football camp, is dropped off, and Matthew appears in the kitchen in a waxy Barbour and a flat cap, announcing that he and the twins are going to shoot some clay pigeons. I can’t decide if his new look’s sexy or just silly.

‘If you fancy a lesson, I’ll let you touch my gun.’ He winks.

Marlena and I used to party in Peckham in clubs where people sometimes shot each other when they were pissed off. Not my idea of a good time, recreational shooting.

‘I’ll touch your gun later,’ I murmur and flush at my own daring. It’s good for him and the kids to hang out without me, the book says. ‘I’m going to take Frank shopping. He needs new jeans. You have fun.’

‘Okay.’ Matthew selects a set of keys from the drawer, kisses me on the lips and clomps out to the garage.

I wave them off from the lounge window about ten minutes later and wonder what it is that Scarlett’s holding as she climbs into the back of Matthew’s big car.

I squint over the dead palm I was trying to save, its leaves reaching into the room like dead men’s fingers.

The thing she holds in her right hand is a shotgun apparently, the metal glinting as she pulls it in with her – and it’s almost the same size as her.

I
haven’t told
Matthew about the job interview – I want to wait and see if I get it. I really want him to be proud of me.

And it’s Friday thank God! I always look forward to the weekend with Matthew, to having some proper adult company for a few days. Frank’s on his way back from Hull, where he went to collect his stuff, but when he’s at home, he’s not really – he’s out most of the time, working at the bistro in town.

I definitely miss company in the week, rattling round here on my own – but today Matthew came home early, with Luke in tow.

They’re just finishing a game of FIFA on the Xbox when I walk in, about to get on their way to Luke’s football match. I debate going along to show my support, but I think it’s good for them to have time on their own. Scarlett takes up a lot of Matthew’s energy when they’re all together, so it’s nice for Luke to have his dad to himself.

I’m pottering upstairs when the doorbell rings. Peering down from the window, my heart sinks – it’s the red-haired pirate from the party: Kaye’s friend – Alison, I think.

But maybe this is a chance to set my mind at rest.

Running to open the door, I’m shocked by a loud explosion from the direction of the kitchen.

Confused, I don’t know what to do first.

‘Hang on!’ I shout, rushing into the kitchen. I can smell burning, and the lights on the stairs start to flicker on and off.

It takes me a minute to understand that the baked potatoes I’ve put in the microwave have exploded. There’s a fizzing and banging and the lick of actual flames behind the glass door. The smoke alarm is beeping frantically by now.

I unplug the microwave, and then I open its door and chuck a glass of water inside.

It’s a stinking, potatoey mess that I start to clean up as best I can. When I’ve chucked the potatoes away, I realise there’s something wedged in the back of the microwave. A metal fork has slipped down behind the glass plate, along with a piece of soaking-wet, folded wax paper.

In all the drama, I’ve forgotten all about the knock at the front door.

When I return to open it, the woman has gone.

I
’m worried – especially
after the overflowing shower the other day. Did I really leave a fork in the microwave? How stupid. But I hardly ever use it, anyway.

Frank breezes in and breezes out again as I finish wiping up.

‘You didn’t leave this in the microwave, did you?’ I indicate the bent fork and the wax paper on the side. ‘It could have been a disaster.’ I shudder to think what would have happened if the whole thing had caught fire. It’s almost like someone put the stuff there deliberately.

‘Er, no.’ He ruffles his hair in the mirror. ‘It’s much more likely to have been you, Mum.’

‘It isn’t,’ I protest, and he grins widely.

‘Yeah and the rest. You’re getting worse in your old age.’

‘Oh.’ I’m taken aback. ‘Thanks very much.’

But – maybe I did forget then.

I offer Matthew a beer when he returns.

Leafing through his post, he doesn’t answer.

‘Everything all right?’ I sidle up to him. ‘How was the football? Did Luke score?’

‘It was just training.’ He chucks the post down and gives me a hard peck, throwing me off balance rather. ‘Why didn’t you answer the door to Alison?’ He opens the fridge.

‘What?’ I’m distracted by the oven timer beeping. Too much beeping. My head’s throbbing as I turn it off.

‘She texted me to say she knew you were here, but you refused to answer the door. Bit weird, no?’

The microwave looms in the corner.

‘I was upstairs. I didn’t hear her at first,’ I lie. If he’s already in a mood, I don’t want him to think I’m really incompetent. ‘She’d gone by the time I’d got down.’

‘Seems a bit rude, don’t you think?’ He slams the fridge. ‘I’d really rather not wind her up, you know.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean it to be, I was just…’

‘What?’ he snaps. He’s getting more riled, not less.

‘I just – I burnt something actually and…’ Ridiculously there’s a lump in my throat now. ‘I was embarrassed.’

Matthew gazes at me as if I’m a stranger for a moment, and then he seems to come to.

‘No,
I’m
sorry, love.’ He softens. ‘It’s just I
really
need Sean on my side at the moment. I know she can be a bit of a tricky customer. We should ask them round for a meal. Sweeten them up.’

‘If you like,’ I say brightly. I thought he hated her – but whatever he wants.

‘Shout when dinner’s ready.’ He drops a kiss on my head.

I haul the battered fish out of the oven.
I
feel battered. I drink a beer, which normally I wouldn’t touch: I drink it in about four gulps.

It’s time Matthew and I got some things out into the open.

It’s time to bite the bullet.

‘
M
atthew
?’ I ask as we curl up on the big leather sofa later. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Yep.’ He starts flicking through the channels.

‘And then I’ll tell
you
something…’ I’m a bit tanked up. Now seems as safe as it’s going to get; he’s relaxing again…

‘If you must.’ He grins.

‘I’m not entirely sure you’ll want to discuss it.’ I trace a pattern on the palm of his hand.

‘Well don’t ask then.’ His smile isn’t as wide now.

‘It’s just – I feel I know so little.’ I draw his initials then mine.

‘About what?’

‘About you. Your past really, I suppose.’ And it’s true. Things happened very quickly between us. Once I’d given in, he’d swept me off my proverbial.

Why wait?
he’d said, back then.
We’re not getting any younger.
So I’d listened; I’d done something rash for the first time ever.

Well. The second time ever, if you like.

I plough on. ‘I mean, I don’t even
really
know why you and Kaye split up? You said you’d had enough of the marriage but, apart from that…’

‘Do we really have to talk about this now?’ He pulls his hand away. ‘I’m knackered. Work’s crap, and the markets are in bloody turmoil. Can we just chill out tonight please?’

‘It’s good to talk,’ I say lightly, mimicking the old BT advert, but he’s definitely not smiling now. ‘It’s just…’

‘What?’ He fixes on a channel, although I’m fairly sure he’s not interested in whatever it is Kirstie Allsopp’s about to make with a load of old cotton reels and some pipe cleaners.

I gaze at the screen absently. ‘It’s just…’
Shall I go on?
He’s obviously uptight – but I’m just the wrong side of drunk, and I can’t stop; I need to know. So I press on. ‘It’s just you’ve never told me exactly why it wasn’t working, I don’t think. And it just – it seems odd not to…’

‘I kicked her out, okay?’ Matthew stares at the presenter’s slightly smug expression.
Here’s one I prepared earlier
. His words sound harsh. They
are
harsh.

‘Oh I see.’ I don’t see. ‘So – why?’

‘If you really want to know…’ He stops.

‘Yes, I do, please, Matthew.’

‘I kicked her out because she was shagging her personal trainer. Her
twenty-four-year-old
personal trainer.’

‘Oh, God,’ I stare at Kirstie too; I can’t bear to look at Matthew’s expression. ‘That’s awful.’

‘Yeah well.’ He finishes his beer. ‘It was only once or twice I think, but when I caught them at it…’

‘Caught them?’

‘Yeah. Came home early, that old chestnut, and found him upstairs. And afterwards she said she wanted a new life – as well as a new body.’

I feel sick.

‘Not my body anyway. So I told her to choose.’ He bangs the bottle down and looks at me. Is it a challenge? ‘And she did. She chose freedom.’

‘Oh.’ The word seems – discordant. Freedom. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ He stares at me for a moment. ‘Glad you asked now?’

‘It – it must have been very hard for you,’ I stutter. ‘I’m sorry to have, you know… opened a wound up.’

‘Oh, God, don’t be silly.’ Remorse creeps in apparently. He edges towards me. ‘I’m sorry, hon. I could have told you before, I suppose. But I also think it doesn’t have much to do with us and our future. It’s you I love, Jean.’

‘Were you gutted then?’ I have to know.

He sighs heavily. ‘Not really. I was pissed off, of course. But we hadn’t been getting on for a long time. She’d changed. I reckon she was just waiting till I got my next promotion. Holding out for a better settlement.’

‘Blimey.’ I laugh, but there’s not much humour to my tone. ‘You really think she’s that mercenary?’

‘Kaye? Bloody hell, yeah.’ His own laugh is hollow. ‘I
know
she is.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat.

‘Stop saying sorry.’ Like the tide, his irritation ebbs and flows. ‘It’s not your fault, is it?’

‘No, of course not, but—’

‘Can we drop it now please?’ He grabs my arm and pulls me to him. ‘Let’s talk about something else. Like how nice you look in that blouse…’

I glance down. It’s totally unlike anything I’d normally wear – all fussy and lacy – but it was a Christmas present, and Scarlett helped him choose it (so he said). I felt I should wear it at least once.

‘Thanks.’ I’m ramrod stiff; I can’t relax in his embrace at all.

‘It’s very sexy,’ he murmurs into my hair, which normally would make my tummy go to jelly but this time has little effect. ‘Mrs Schoolteacher, you might have to reprimand me…’

‘What?’ I pull back. ‘Why say that?’

‘That’s what you remind me of, with your hair pulled back and that outfit. Very tempting!’

My chest tightens, and I have to stand. ‘I’ll get you another beer.’ I head to the door.

‘I’m fine.’ He looks puzzled. ‘What have I said wrong?’

He holds a hand out, and reluctantly I let him pull me down again, thoughts of him and Kaye buzzing in my brain like angry wasps. Kirstie’s saying goodbye now on the screen as Matthew nuzzles into my neck.

‘When was all this, Matthew?’

‘What?’ His breathing has quickened.

‘When exactly did you split up?’

He stops. ‘Early this year.’

‘What?’ I pull right back from him.

‘I mean last year. Just after Christmas really, in 2013.’

‘Oh,’ I repeat like a stupid parrot. Shit. ‘I see.’ But I still don’t see. ‘I’m sure you said it was longer ago than that…’

‘It was, in spirit.’ He moves away irritably. ‘In body it was last year. Now can you drop it?’

We spend the rest of the evening watching a terrible film about a prison break in Siberia, but I can’t concentrate. And for the first time when we go to bed, I turn over and away from him, listening as his breathing changes and he slips quickly into sleep.

I’m still awake when Frankie comes back a bit later and bashes around in the kitchen – leaving all the pots out no doubt – before going to bed himself.

I’m still awake when the old grandfather clock on the landing chimes midnight, then one, then two.

It has come home, properly, that I’ve married a man I hardly know. My own secrets seem far darker at this time of night. I didn’t even get
near
telling him anything I meant to.

How could I when he was already so annoyed?

I stare into the darkness, and I hear the walls begin to whisper again. What exactly is it in this house that’s being hidden?

Get a grip, babe,
Marlena would say,
and get on with it.

Tomorrow we need to drag it all out in the open, every last bit of it – and then we will be all right.

I get up and sit on the side of the bath in our en suite. I text Marlena, but she doesn’t answer. Eventually I rummage round the medicine cabinet, take a headache pill and go back to bed.

Finally I sleep.

R
eally
, Jeanie?

This is starting to alarm me a little now.

M
atthew brings
me tea in bed this morning. I overslept and was woken by my phone pinging.

Marlena:

I call her.

‘So are you coming to stay? I’ve got a lovely spare room with its own bathroom and all.’ I stretch luxuriously, but I don’t feel very luxurious actually. I’m starting to hate this house; the whispering walls feel less than benign now. I don’t belong. I am an impostor – as that word
might
have said.

Might.

Yesterday I was sure I heard voices on the stairs again – a sort of muttering in the ether. I tore open the small door and shone the light up there – but the staircase was empty. Of course it was. But I didn’t relax for the rest of the day.

‘And everything’s okay, is it?’ Marlena asks suspiciously.

‘Yeah of course, it’s great.’ Why do I feel like I’m lying?

‘I mean – you’ve told him?’

I don’t speak.

‘Jean! For Christ’s sake – what are you on?’

‘Okay, okay! Look – if you come up one of next few weekends, I swear it’ll all be sorted by then.’

‘Okay – deal. I could do with twenty-four hours in the country. It’s mental in London right now,’ Marlena says, followed by a snappy: ‘Watch out mate!’ I hear the frantic beeping of traffic around her. ‘Gotta go. Gotta see a man about a dog. Get on with it, Jeanie. I’ll text you a date.’

Matt comes in as I hang up. He’s been working out downstairs, and looking at his tousled hair and his muscular arms in his white V-neck, I feel the familiar, addictive wash of emotion – a surge of what Marlena would no doubt call lust.

Last night’s demons disintegrate in the weak morning light.

‘Is it okay if my sister comes to stay?’ I ask as he goes to take a shower – now all fixed. He frowns.

‘You don’t need to ask. This is your home too.’

I don’t say I’ve already semi-arranged it, because frankly Marlena is less than reliable with social arrangements. I’m so pleased she’s finally agreed to come: I want Matthew to meet her properly, to get to know her like I do.

They’ve only met a few times, briefly; she took us out for lunch in London the week after the wedding she missed. She drank quite a lot and was funny and bitchy about celebrities. I wasn’t sure what Matthew made of her, but he laughed at all her jokes.

I’m sure they’ll get on famously when she comes to stay.