The Stepmother(78)
His words don’t even shock me any more. ‘But you know I’ve been looking for a job. I think I might have—’
‘I wouldn’t bother. I mean with your past, it’s hardly surprising you’ve not found one, is it?’ He slams the kettle on. Then he changes his mind and opens the fridge, pulling a bottle of beer out and slamming the door so hard everything rattles. ‘You’re almost as bad as Kaye.’
‘That’s not fair,’ I protest, reeling slightly from the savagery of his attack. Kaye had never worked properly from what I understood – or at least I vaguely recalled there was a brief stint as some kind of TV extra or catalogue modelling: something like that. But really she just produced children and shopping and went to the gym.
‘Fair? Fair?’ Matthew’s going puce again. ‘Whoever said life was fair?’
‘Matthew,’ I say quietly, ‘I’m not one of the twins. Please don’t speak to me like that.’
‘I don’t actually.’ He glares at me. ‘I wouldn’t talk to my kids like that, because they don’t need it. And you…’ I sense him deciding whether to say it.
‘What?’
‘I don’t think you should be near my kids at the moment.’
As soon as it’s out, he looks abashed – but he obviously needed to say it.
‘Is that really what you think?’ I’m wounded, but I’m also not thinking straight. I’m not sure what to say.
‘I don’t know what I think any more.’ He’s quieter now, and he looks terrible suddenly. ‘I’m sorry, Jeanie. It just feels – horrible.’
‘I want to ask two things, if I may, Matt.’ I place my hands flat on the table to steady myself. ‘One – why keep Kaye’s room like that? And two – who is Lisa Bedford?’ I look at him squarely.
‘Who?’
‘Lisa Daisy Bedford.’
Unusually for him, colour stains his face. ‘Daisy?’
‘Yes, Daisy. You let me think she was a pet dog.’
He looks embarrassed. ‘Well – it – was just easier.’
‘Why?’
‘I just – I didn’t need any more complications.’
‘So who is she?’
‘She’s a – family friend. She looked after the kids for a bit when Kaye and I first split. I mean I employed her.’
‘I see.’ I try to absorb this. ‘Was she good with the kids?’
‘Yeah, she was absolutely great. They loved her – she was a natural – unlike some…’
‘Please, Matt, don’t say anything you’ll regret.’
‘Who are you, f*cking Oprah Winfrey?’ he yells at me. ‘Don’t be so paranoid. And f*ck knows if I mean it. I don’t know what I mean any more…’
‘Well don’t say it then.’ I do sound like a teacher. Like the teacher I am. Or was anyway.
‘Oh why don’t you just f*ck off!’ Without warning he lobs the beer bottle; it smashes on the wall behind me. Beer froths and trickles down the tiles, drip-drip-dripping onto the floor.
I’ve been holding on so hard for these past few weeks, but it’s like our marriage has a life of its own now; a horrible being in its own right – an ugly little beast, scuttling around, scratching at everything, not satisfied by anything…
The truth is I’m not sure I even want to hold on to it right now.
‘Sorry.’ Matthew stares at the mess. ‘That was daft. But I just – I don’t know what I think right now.’ The earlier colour has drained from his face, leaving him pale. ‘You’ve got to admit this is pretty crap.’
‘Yeah.’ I stare blindly at the wet wall. ‘It’s pretty crap.’
He rummages in the cupboard for a dustpan and brush, and I get up and step over the mess and walk out of the room.
‘Jeanie,’ he says. But he doesn’t try to stop me going.
* * *
A while later I hear him come up the stairs – and then I hear his bellow of rage.
‘Jeanie! What the hell have you done now? Jeanie!’
I took the axe to the pain.
And I felt a little better afterwards, a little calmer for a while.
Now I’ve locked myself away from him – for the first time ever I’ve locked the door.
I don’t come out until he leaves for work the following morning.