The Stepmother(32)

 

Am I wrong to mind?

 

When eventually in one sequence she begins to turn faultless cartwheels on a tropical beach straight from a Bounty ad, I stand up.

 

‘Burgers and wedges okay for tea?’ I ask, and they chorus approval, their eyes firmly on Kaye’s perfect behind flipping up, over and around, Scarlett following faithfully in her mother’s tracks.

 

In the kitchen, alone, I bend double, trying to slow my breathing. In and out, in and out…

 

Luke comes in, looking for water for the puppy.

 

‘Are you all right?’ He looks concerned. ‘Are you ill?’

 

‘I’m fine, love,’ I say. ‘Just – feeling a bit tired.’

 

Matthew comes in for more wine as Luke leaves.

 

‘Where’s the bottle?’ Matthew glances at me. ‘Are you okay, hon?’

 

‘Yeah, fine,’ I say, and he kisses my forehead.

 

‘You don’t mind, do you? I thought it was important to show them that you’re not bothered by seeing their mum. You’re not, are you?’

 

‘Course not,’ I say with some relief. ‘It’s fine.’

 

‘After all’—he hugs me—‘it’s you I love, hon.’

 

Through the open door, I see Luke making barfing noises at Scarlett, and I grin.

 

‘Thanks, darlin’.’

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

I go up early to have a bath, leaving them arguing about whether to watch Bridesmaids or Poltergeist.

 

As I pull the curtains and flop into bed, all the lights flicker and then go off entirely.

 

‘Hello?’ I call urgently. Someone must have pushed the switch outside in the hallway accidentally.

 

I don’t like the dark much – not much at all. There was the methamphetamine phase just before we went to live with Nan, when our distraught mother found the tiny cupboard under the stairs a useful tool for misbehaving daughters. It was small and dark and…

 

‘Hello?’ My voice sounds pathetically tremulous.

 

Whispering. Walls whispering – indistinct voices.

 

But no answer.

 

‘Hello?’ I repeat, swinging my legs out of the bed. ‘Who is it?’

 

A door slams somewhere nearby – along the landing possibly. I hear laughing, high-pitched giggling…

 

I fumble my way to the door, stubbing my toe horribly on the bed: it is agony.

 

As I grope along the wall, the lights come back on.

 

I debate going back down, but I don’t want to disturb them. So I go back to bed, but I don’t turn my bedside light off all night. Even when Matthew comes up later and switches it off, I wait till he’s asleep and then I switch it back on.

 

 

 

 

 

Sixteen

 

 

 

 

 

Jeanie

 

 

 

 

 

2 FEBRUARY 2015

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The next morning, when I go down to put the kettle on, the little dog seems very lethargic. Trying to coax him out of his new bed, I see he’s been sick; there seems to be blood in the bed too.

 

He won’t eat or even take any water. We ring the emergency vet, and Matthew rushes him down there with the twins.

 

They come back without the puppy.

 

‘It’s your fault!’ Scarlett screams when I ask how he is, her blue eyes narrowed and furious.

 

‘Scarlett!’ her father warns but without much conviction.

 

‘How can it be my fault?’ I’m shaken. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

 

‘You said it was okay to take him out.’ The girl glares at me.

 

‘I didn’t,’ I say, although of course it was me that suggested the walk – before I knew any of them were coming of course.

 

‘He hadn’t had his full vaccinations apparently. They don’t think he’ll make it; he’s too young,’ Matthew says quietly. ‘The vet says he probably picked up a virus in the woods. You weren’t to know.’

 

‘But…’ I start – and then I think it’s not gracious to argue now, and they are so upset and angry they won’t hear what I say anyway.

 

All morning I pray that the little dog will pull through – but at lunchtime the house phone rings. It’s not good news.