The Stepmother(24)

 

‘I don’t want two homes,’ she says angrily as they turn the bend on the landing. ‘Why can’t you and Mum stop arguing and just make it up?’

 

‘Ask your mother that,’ I hear Matthew say levelly.

 

My stomach plummets as they disappear. I am left, mouth open, staring into the void.

 

Does he wish he was still with her then?

 

It is a shock. I’d never suspected that before, not really. I thought their marriage was long over, done and dusted. But – does this mean there’s something unresolved? Matthew’s quite reserved when it comes to talking about Kaye and his past. It’s a man thing, I remind myself; most men don’t reveal emotions easily or encourage discussion of their past.

 

Still, I don’t know enough, I realise now, with a thud.

 

Neither of us knows the first thing about each other: that is becoming evident.

 

I wipe my clammy palms on my jeans.

 

I remember the writing on the steamed-up mirror.

 

Impostor, I think that last word might have been.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

4 p.m.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Matthew and Scarlett haven’t come down yet, and I can’t concentrate on the silly application I’ve half answered, so I go up, sticking my head round the bend on the stairs to look up at her room.

 

Scarlett’s door is almost closed, but I can see from their feet that they’re both sitting on the bed.

 

‘Hi,’ I call brightly. ‘Shall we have tea soon?’

 

Matthew jumps up and opens the door. He looks unusually flushed. It’s very hot in the house, I suppose, the heating on full blast as ever.

 

‘Just coming,’ he says. ‘Thanks, love.’

 

I walk down alone.

 

When they arrive in the kitchen five minutes later, I suggest cheese toasties in front of Doctor Who.

 

Scarlett looks at me as if I have small green antennae growing out of my head. No – worse. As if I have dog mess smeared all over my face.

 

‘I hate Doctor Who,’ she says flatly. ‘It’s for geeks and babies.’

 

Matthew kisses my forehead and rolls his eyes at me, opening the fridge for beer.

 

The kiss inspires me. ‘Fair enough,’ I say. ‘How about an episode of The Voice on catch up?’

 

‘I watch The Voice with my mum.’ Scarlett just stops herself at ‘you idiot’.

 

‘Okay. Well I’ll make the toasties then.’

 

‘I’m not hungry—’ she starts, and her father interrupts with a low warning.

 

‘Scarlett, you’ll be polite, thank you.’

 

She glares at us both, about to stomp back up to her room, when the front door opens and Frankie bundles in, bringing the chill with him.

 

‘Afternoon all,’ he says, and I am filled with love and gratitude for his generally cheerful demeanour. ‘What’s for tea? I’m Lee Marvin.’

 

‘You’re what?’ Matthew’s confused.

 

‘Starving!’

 

‘Cheese and ham toasties and banana smoothies?’ I suggest. ‘Or vanilla milkshakes?’

 

Frankie grins. ‘Are we back at nursery again?’ He winks at Scarlett. ‘She’s such a softie, my mum. That’s why I love her so. You’re not sliding off, are you?’

 

So Scarlett comes back down and eats a toastie with us and thaws out a little. Once or twice she even smiles at Frankie’s jokes.

 

But not at mine. Still. It’s a start.

 

The letter to ‘Jeanie’ crosses my mind, and then I manage to cast it out again.

 

 

 

 

 

Ten

 

 

 

 

 

Jeanie

 

 

 

 

 

18 January 2015

 

 

 

 

 

In 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.