The Stepmother(14)
I was happy, despite Scarlett scowling her way through the ceremony, chewing gum then drinking her one glass of champagne too fast at the French restaurant, meaning she felt so sick she had to sit outside with Matthew for a good twenty minutes. And Luke spent most of his time texting – his mother, he said, when I asked. When Matthew returned with Scarlett, dropping a kiss on my head, it was quite obvious she’d been crying.
Inside Frankie had just told me he was dropping out of Hull, that art wasn’t for him. He’d reapply to do music production the following September. It was for the best, he kept saying, and I found myself downing my own champagne pretty fast too.
Despite all of that, I kept telling myself it would be okay. It wasn’t just the two of us any more; it was all of us. And it’d be fine.
How wrong could I be?
* * *
10 p.m.
* * *
By ten o’clock – a bit tipsy, as Nan would have said – I’ve managed to dash away any thoughts of being recognised. Matthew, chatting to his golf mates, grins at me, as Sylvia Jones from the cul-de-sac, pink cheeked from too much Prosecco, asks if I fancy a stab at Nordic walking. ‘Scandi stuff is what it’s all about! I do love IKEA, don’t you?’
I am relieved at how relaxed Frank seems, joking nearby with his mate George, whom he met recently at a local gig. They’ve chosen their playlist together carefully, no doubt frustrated by the limitations of old fogies who prefer Coldplay to Kurt Cobain. I look at him, and I think: It will be all right.
Before I can go and say hello to them, the caterer signals from the kitchen door.
‘A delivery just came,’ she tells me. ‘The man said sorry it’s so late – the traffic was bad. I think it’s more fireworks.’
‘Oh they’ll be Matthew’s.’ I peer over her shoulder. ‘Just leave them with the other boxes, by the back doors. Thanks.’
‘Of course. Actually, though, it’s in your name…’
I feel eyes on me and am distracted by Scarlett’s cold stare. She is talking to a red-haired, eye-patched pirate, an awful lot of eyeliner on the visible eye, regarding me with a look I can’t read.
Bravely I go over.
‘Hello,’ I toast them with my half-full glass. ‘Are you from Peter Pan?’
The pirate peers down at herself as if she is surprised to see her costume. ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’
‘I went for Wizard of Oz, myself, which isn’t strictly fairy tale, of course,’ I confide. ‘But I didn’t think anyone would mind.’
‘It’s not fairy tale at all, is it – Oz? But it is your party.’ The woman is very serious. ‘So you can do what you like.’
Her tone throws me a little. I wait for Scarlett to introduce us, and when I realise she isn’t going to, I stick out my hand. ‘I’m Jeanie—’ I was going to say Jeanie Randall, but of course I’m not any more, and saying Jeanie King, especially standing next to Scarlett, still seems presumptuous. So I say, ‘I hope you’re enjoying yourself…?’
Nothing.
‘Sorry,’ I flounder on. ‘I don’t know your name…’
‘Alison.’ Finally the woman takes my hand, gingerly, as if it alarms her. ‘Alison Day.’
‘Very nice to meet you, Alison. I’m enjoying meeting all Matt’s friends at the moment.’ Another pause. I feel myself start to sweat slightly – but I plunge on anyway. ‘How do you know—?’
‘Through Kaye. And how’s Luke?’ Alison pulls a sad face at Scarlett. ‘Is he better?’
‘Better?’ Scarlett swings back on her giant heels, eyes darting round the room. ‘Er, yeah. He’s fine – he’s over there.’
‘I bet your mum’s missing you, if you’re both here.’
I take an involuntary step back.
‘Not really.’ Scarlett shrugs. ‘She’s out with Yass tonight.’
‘Typical Kaye.’ Alison’s single eye fixes on me. ‘Always the life and soul, eh? She loves a party herself, doesn’t she?’
‘Yeah, s’pose.’ Scarlett twiddles her glass round by the stem. ‘But Dad didn’t really go in for this sort of thing then, did he?’
‘Oh I don’t know,’ Alison says. ‘Your mum certainly knows how to throw a party.’
Scarlett shoots her some kind of look, and she stops.
I don’t look down, but I know my chest will be flushing horribly.