The Stepmother(37)
I swim in the indoor pool. Gazing out at the Cotswold hills all swaddled in mist, I try to feel like this is just what I wanted to do – swim alone; have some time to myself.
Trouble is I have nothing but too much time to myself. Frankie’s out more and more, and soon he’ll go again for good. He’s got a place in Leeds to study music production in the autumn, and before that a job picking grapes in France.
I’m gutted by this, though I try to hide it, and even though he’s already been up in Hull briefly, I’m just not used to him being away. He’s been my be-all and end-all forever it seems. He was what I lived for when Simon left.
At least it gives me an understanding of Matthew’s sombre mood sometimes, when he seems a little – distant, missing his kids daily, although of course he does see them regularly, and it’ll be years before they’ll be off for good.
But when Frankie is away, I spend whole days talking to no one apart from myself – and Matthew when he gets home – often quite late.
At least that’ll change now, thank God, with my new job!
* * *
At dinner Matthew keeps his phone on the table, awaiting a call from Tokyo.
I tell him about my job, and he seems pleased, if a little surprised. ‘You kept that quiet!’
‘I mentioned it the other night,’ I point out. ‘That I had a second interview, remember?’
‘So when do you start?’ He gouges a snail from its shell, sucking the greeny-brown flesh up with vigour.
Poor creature! I shudder. ‘In about four weeks I think.’ I crumble my bread roll, not very hungry suddenly. ‘I’ve got to go for an induction, meet the other staff, stuff like that – but the teacher who’s leaving finishes at the end of term.’
This is the time to tell him about the final piece of the puzzle I’ve kept to myself. I take a big sip of water and promptly choke.
When I recover my breath, the waiter arrives with the champagne Matthew has ordered and a big bunch of red roses.
‘They’re beautiful.’ I am surprised and touched. Can I tell him now? I have to.
I neck my glass of champagne. ‘Matt…’
His phone rings. ‘Sorry,’ he murmurs, glancing down.
I’ve seen the name on the screen.
‘Please.’ I put my hand out to him. ‘I really need to tell you something.’
But he takes it. ‘Might be the kids.’
Even from the other side of the table, I can hear her shouting down the line.
Eventually Matthew stands, walking out to the foyer to talk, pacing up and down.
He comes back tight-lipped. I gather it is more blame about the dog.
‘Couldn’t he have eaten something before he came to ours?’ I say. ‘The poor puppy?’
‘Something like cyanide?’ he snaps. ‘I doubt it very much.’
‘Cyanide?’ I gaze at him. ‘But I thought – I’m sure the vet said rat poison when I spoke to him?’
‘Yeah he did – and now apparently this as well.’
Something about Matt’s face tells me to leave it there.
We finish the rich, heavy dinner in complete silence.
* * *
Despite the lavish room and the draped four-poster bed, we are awkward as we get ready for bed. Matthew is exhausted after a hectic week at work, and I feel shaken again by the puppy and Kaye’s shouting.
Why does she seem to crop up at such inopportune moments?
Lying on my side, watching Matthew descend into deep sleep without touching me, without coming near me at all, I feel ugly and unloved.
The sheer lacy nightie I bought especially for tonight stays forlornly in my case, as one hot tear after another squeezes out of my half-shut eyes.
* * *
In the middle of the night a phone starts to ring in the depths of my dream about trying to cross the river to reach Frankie.
Matthew fumbles for it, knocking his watch and keys off the nightstand with a clatter.
‘Yes?’ His voice is sleep filled and low.
I keep my eyes tightly shut. Calls in the early hours always bode ill.
‘What?’ He sits bolt upright. ‘Jesus f*cking Christ, Kaye! You should have told me earlier…’
Now my eyes are open too; I am wide awake, fingers clutching the sheet.