The Stepmother(86)
‘I – well the fact is I missed you.’ Most unlike Matthew. ‘I thought we should talk – in person. Can I come in?’
My immediate reaction is to not let him through the door. Once he is in my space, that will be it. His mark will be left indelibly, however short a time he is here for.
‘I tell you what, let’s go to the café down in the square,’ I suggest. ‘They do great cake. My cupboards are bare I’m afraid.’
‘Fine.’ He shrugs. ‘These are for you by the way.’ Seemingly abashed, he pushes the roses at me, rather like a schoolboy might.
‘Thank you.’ Overwhelmed, I bury my nose in the beautiful red blooms. They feel like velvet against my skin – but there is no scent at all. ‘I won’t be a sec.’
I put the bike in the hall and the roses in the kitchen. I look quickly in the mirror – and then I think, Who cares?
Together we walk back down to The Deli on the square.
Over a pot of tea and scones we make polite conversation. I ask about the twins, and he says they are okay. He doesn’t ask about Frankie – but I tell him he’s fine anyway, last time I heard.
‘He’s picking grapes like mad,’ I say, imagining my son, straw hatted and ruddy cheeked beneath a southern sun. And I wait for Matthew to say why he’s come – but he doesn’t.
So I ask him why he’s here.
‘Because…’ He shrugs for the second time. ‘Us, I suppose.’
Is there an ‘us’ any more though? And if there is, is it right for there to be? I’m not so sure.
The last month has given me space to breathe.
I wait for him to say more – but he doesn’t. He just looks awkward and asks for the bill.
‘So is there a pub around here?’
‘There’s a pub around everywhere, isn’t there? But aren’t you driving?’ I insist on paying my share of the bill although he tries to wave me off. ‘You don’t want to do a long drive after beer, do you?’
‘Who said I was going to do a long drive?’ He grins, and I see a glimpse of the charming man I fell in love with.
‘Where are you staying then?’ I am disingenuous, and he grins again.
‘Come on. I’ll buy you a pint.’
‘I don’t drink pints,’ I say. ‘You know that.’ Does he though? Does he really know anything about me at all?
‘Half of cider then,’ he says, holding out a hand. I don’t take it, but I walk next to him, feeling the heat from his body – and I feel a small flutter of something. I let him lead me across the square, into The George and Dragon on the corner. He orders at the bar and then brings the drinks to the high table I’m perched at.
‘You look beautiful today.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, Jeanie. I was very – hasty. I was horrible. Work’s been hard. I’ve been – stressed. I can see it’s been hard for you…’
I flush hotly as I take the glass of golden fizzy liquid from him.
‘I miss you, Jeanie,’ he says again quietly, and I say nothing.
We sit in the window and watch the world go by.
Does he think I am so easily bought?
* * *
I don’t let Matthew stay; I don’t even let him come into the cottage. And I am so proud of myself.
He walks me home, and then he leaves again.
It takes some strength of will – but I let him kiss my cheek, and then I close the door and lean on it, feeling like I’ve done something bad in rejecting him. But it is the right thing.
After he’s gone, I try to do some marking, but it is half-hearted, and the cider has made me blurry round the edges. I’ve hardly drunk since that awful dinner with Alison and Sean.
I take a long bath, despite the balmy temperature. I need to think, but I must drift off, because the next thing I know…
Someone is battering at the door.
Fifty-Eight
Marlena
So yeah, okay, I was still trying and totally failing to tie up the Nasreen case. There was literally no trace of her, and that was really unsatisfactory. I was pissed off the bloody police weren’t all that bothered (‘Just another silly little Muslim cow getting her priorities all wrong,’ the old-school DSI had said when he finally agreed to meet me.) I’d had another meeting with the far more sympathetic DI Stevens about interviewing Nasreen’s family again, but I was taking matters into my own hands now.