The Stepmother(48)

 

‘Well it’s the truth.’ I meet her slit-eyed gaze. ‘It was nothing to do with me. It was just unfortunate.’

 

‘And you always tell the truth?’

 

‘Yes.’ We look at each other. ‘What makes you say that?’

 

‘I always Google new boyfriends. It pays to know who you’re shagging. Do you think my ex-husband would do the same?’

 

‘I don’t know…’

 

‘Men are such fools, aren’t they?’

 

‘Are they?’ I say with all the dignity I can manage. ‘I’ve never particularly found that.’

 

‘I find girls much easier than boys. Luke’s a pain.’

 

‘Oh he’s a sweet boy,’ I object. ‘Very well meaning and kind.’

 

‘And a tiny little bit of a – dud. Let’s be honest.’ She stares at me.

 

God! Her own son. I am sweating again.

 

‘I’m only joking, silly!’ But her laugh is flat and fake. ‘I’m glad you take step-parenting so seriously.’ She nods at my book on the coffee table. I feel the heat rising up my back in shame. My silly step-parenting manual. Why have I left it out for all to see?

 

Because I thought I was safe here, I suppose.

 

‘He’s nice. Luke. They’re both – nice kids,’ I bluster.

 

‘Oh I know, lovely. I know.’ Kaye pulls out a slim packet of expensive-looking cigarettes. ‘But kids are hard work, aren’t they? Even for kiddie fiddlers, I expect.’

 

Breezily she clamps a baby-pink cigarette between scarlet lips.

 

‘I’ve always enjoyed working with young people.’ I find myself very calm. ‘I like to think I’ve always taken my job very seriously.’

 

‘That’s good.’ Kaye digs around again, producing a gold lighter from her trouser pocket. ‘I suppose they always claim, “It’s not what it seems, officer.” But hey, we weren’t born yesterday, were we, Jeanie? Can I call you Jeanie?’

 

‘Sure.’ If Marlena were here, she’d give me a kick up the arse for being so feeble. Summoning all my courage, I say, ‘It’s no smoking in here actually.’

 

‘Oh?’ The lighter in Kaye’s manicured hand has an inscription on it; I can’t quite read it.

 

‘We don’t like it.’

 

‘We?’ Her thick dark brows – very Cara Delevingne – would have shot up her forehead – if it could actually move.

 

‘Yes – Matthew and I. My husband.’ I warm to my theme. ‘It kills, you know. Smoking. Very nasty.’

 

‘Oh how things change.’ But she drops her hand. Perhaps she doesn’t look quite as confident as a minute before. ‘Matthew was a twenty-a-day man. I must say, you don’t look like his usual type.’

 

‘And what’s that?’ Trembling, I plough on. ‘Tall blondes?’

 

‘Something like that. Skinny women usually. But then he’s had all sorts – hasn’t he said? Sounds like you two have got some catching up to do.’ She gathers her Mulberry bag. ‘That’s the best bit of a new relationship, isn’t it? Finding out stuff about each other. I’ll leave you to it.’

 

‘What does that mean – all sorts?’

 

‘Whatever you want it to.’ She yawns widely. ‘Just be cautious please. My daughter’s my best friend in the world. I’ll protect her against anything. You know how it is.’

 

‘Really?’ I meet her gaze. ‘Do you think that’s a good idea – being best friends, I mean?’ My voice has risen a little now, I realise too late. ‘Kids need boundaries, don’t they? Parents, not friends.’

 

‘The mouse roars, eh?’ She smirks.

 

I see the red blood in the white bathroom.

 

‘To know where they stand. Kaye…’

 

‘Sorry, ladies.’ Matthew reappears. ‘Got distracted by footie results.’ He hands me a mug. ‘I thought you might enjoy a chat.’

 

It is all I can do to not let my mouth drop open in disbelief.

 

‘Yeah, we caught up on the goss, didn’t we, Jeanie? I’d better get off.’ Kaye’s artful stretch reveals a well-toned brown midriff. ‘Appointment with the masseuse. Very stiff at the moment; so much stress.’ She rolls her head, demonstrating stress – probably at whether it was the Atkins or the 5:2 diet this week. ‘Yassine’s got the magic touch – but he’s working with Arsenal today.’

 

My arse, I nearly say, grinning at the thought.

 

‘I’ll walk you out.’ Matthew shoots me an inscrutable look. ‘Finalise the holiday plans.’