The Stepmother(23)
This time it is inside the house.
Panicking, I run upstairs, thinking I’ll replace it – and then of course I realise I can’t. If I leave it there, he’ll see it eventually and…
Obviously I need to get rid of it – but before I can think, I hear a car in the drive. I find the key to the dresser in my make-up box and shove the envelope into the drawer, along with the other mail that Miss Trunchbull gave me and the first card.
Out of breath, I lean against the dressing table as if that will stop the nightmare from starting again.
Someone here knows what happened last year.
‘Hi!’ Matthew shouts up the stairs. ‘Where’s my gorgeous girl?’
For a moment, I think he must mean Scarlett.
‘Jeanie?’
It’s with something like relief I realise he means me.
‘Up here, sweetie.’ I go out to greet him. I’ll get rid of the evidence later. For now I’ll just enjoy my husband’s company.
‘The trains are up the spout because of the snow, so my meeting’s cancelled,’ he says. ‘I’ll just work from home.’ But he doesn’t look like work’s on his mind as he kisses me and leads me back to bed.
That’s all right, isn’t it? It’s all right just to be with him – to keep the world out, for a tiny while longer at least.
Afterwards he holds me in his arms, and I find that I am crying. ‘What’s up?’ He looks worried.
I wipe my eyes and say, ‘Nothing.’ It is overwhelming, this feeling of love I have for him.
It terrifies me.
* * *
When I take a shower later in the spare bathroom, I run it so hot it burns my skin.
The bathroom is misty from the heat when I get out. As I stand dripping in front of the basin – circumspect about the taps really being off this time – condensation bobbles like strange wet growth on the mirror before me, obscuring my reflection.
And as I squint at myself, words form slowly in front of me, materialising out of the steam.
I blink at them: once, twice.
Go home, they seem to say, followed by another word I can’t read.
But it’s nothing, really, I think. Just old words that someone’s written here in this unused bathroom. Still, I’m disquieted as I wipe them off.
It’s nothing.
Nine
Jeanie
17 January 2015
2.30 p.m.
* * *
I’m studying job-application forms that threaten to overwhelm me. But I must act. I’m also overwhelmed – after a lifetime of supporting Frankie and myself – by becoming what I can only describe as a kept woman.
I’m getting organised. I registered with a doctor two days ago, now I need to find a dentist for me and Frank, and then that’s us – all settled. As if it’s really home.
Like noticing a quiet scratching at the door, I start to become aware of something in the next room. I realise it’s Matthew’s voice, rising querulously – on the phone, I guess. It’s hard not to listen, though I do try not to – but he’s getting louder.
‘For f*ck’s sake,’ he’s saying.
Furious. He sounds furious. Perhaps it’s work?
‘You can’t keep doing this – it’s just impossible,’ I hear him say, and I put the radio on loudly so I can’t hear any more, because I feel like I’m snooping – though honestly I’d quite like to hear too.
I have a suspicion it’s Kaye on the other end of the line.
Originally I’d suggested – having read it in my book – that we all met, for civility’s sake. So we could all be cordial for the children.
But I wonder now if I’ll ever meet her, and I’m not sure I want to any more.
Half an hour later Scarlett arrives on the doorstep, angrier than I’ve ever seen her.
‘I don’t want to be here,’ I hear her say to Matthew. ‘I just want to go home.’
‘This is your home,’ he’s saying as he carries her overnight bag up to the top of the house. Up to her princess-in-the-tower room, where she has everything she’ll ever need: a flat-screen TV, an iMac, a walk-in wardrobe – albeit a small one – and more, I expect, because her father’s so frightened she won’t come back if she’s not happy. ‘You’ve got two homes, you lucky thing.’