The Stepmother(63)

 

‘I’ll put these on outside.’ Yassine makes me jump again as he comes up silently behind me, his own shoes in hand. ‘Don’t want any more mess.’

 

‘Can I offer you anything?’ I just want him to go. ‘A cup of tea in gratitude?’

 

‘Thanks, but I’d better do one,’ he says. ‘Got a client at four.’

 

‘Okay. Well – thanks, again.’

 

‘No worries. See you around.’ He winks, and he’s gone.

 

God knows what he sees in Kaye – though of course that’s disingenuous. I can well imagine what he sees in her. Legs, hair, boobs, big car. Sparkling intellect maybe? Or sparkling diamonds maybe; I’m sure I saw one or two on her skinny fingers…

 

And then I think nothing more of him until later in the weekend.

 

 

 

 

 

Forty-Two

 

 

 

 

 

Jeanie

 

 

 

 

 

5 April 2015

 

 

 

 

 

7 a.m.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

A strange text from Matthew wakes me.

 

What’s going on at home?

 

 

 

 

 

it says. That’s it – no kiss, no ‘how are you?’ etc. Just a bald question.

 

Not much I text back. Just missing you. Xx.

 

 

 

 

 

Who’s been round there? he texts back. Someone has!

 

 

 

 

 

What? I text back. Don’t understand the question?

 

 

 

 

 

No reply.

 

I ring him. The phone goes straight to voicemail. I feel extremely uneasy. What does he mean?

 

The only person who’s been here at all is Yassine. Is that what he means? I try and call again to explain.

 

Still no answer.

 

I go downstairs, past the locked spare room. Then I walk back, and I try the handle.

 

Nearby Matthew’s laptop is there, like a reproving silver toad.

 

I grab it before I can change my mind.

 

Downstairs, I open it and sit, looking at the black screen – and then I lean over and switch it on.

 

It needs a password to get in. I try our names, the address. I try his birthday, my birthday. Then I try the twins’ birthday: it works.

 

Feeling curiously proud of myself as I watch the twirling icon on the wakening screen, I think, I’m in!

 

Then I remember why I’m trying to get in, and I feel less proud.

 

I am only looking for one email, I remind myself: I’m not looking at all of his correspondence. That’s his business, not mine.

 

I skim through the inbox. I see a few from Kaye; I don’t read them. I see a few from Scarlett, but I don’t read them either, though I can’t help seeing the header: BIG BIRTHDAY KISSES.

 

Resolutely I keep going until I get to the one that says: JEANIE RANDALL – BEWARE!!!

 

Beware. Like I’m a contagious disease or something.

 

Feeling sick, I look at the address. It’s from [email protected].

 

I open it. It’s just what I might have expected. A single line:

 

Thought you should see this…

 

 

 

 

 

And a link to the article.

 

Helpful? Malicious, more like. I am flushed, my cheeks burning with anger.

 

Who the hell is ‘Helpful2001xav’, and why are they making it their business to alert my husband to my misdemeanours?

 

As I go to shut the computer down, the cursor passes over a minimised document: KING FAMILY, BELGIUM TRIP. I click on it.

 

There are four passport numbers.

 

 

 

 

 

Forty-Three

 

 

 

 

 

Jeanie

 

 

 

 

 

5 April 2015

 

 

 

 

 

There, in black and white in front of me, is a passport number that I’m pretty sure isn’t mine. Mine ends in twenty-six; I always remember, because it’s the same as my birthday.