The Stepmother(26)

 

‘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.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

9 p.m.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘Matthew?’ 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.’