The Stepmother (17 page)

‘Apart from you snooping in my private affairs?’ He looked at me. My first thought was how sickeningly handsome he was, despite his scowl; my second was a rare flash of anger.

‘I wasn’t snooping!’ I was vehement. ‘It was just the one email, and it was about me – and…’ I had to bite the bullet again. ‘And you’ve not been honest yourself.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Who did you take with you? To Brussels. Did… did Kaye go?’

‘Kaye?’ He looked at me like I was totally mad. ‘Don’t be so fucking stupid.’

‘I’m not. I saw another passport number…’

‘Yes. Yours.’

‘What?’

‘Yours, I said.’

‘I-It’s not mine,’ I stammered.

He shoved the laptop towards me. ‘Why don’t you check?’

‘I did. Mine ends with a twenty-six, not…’

He opened his briefcase and threw four passports across the table at me. ‘Check it then.’

I picked them up. One of them
was
mine, it seemed.

‘When I booked it, I booked it for all four of us. But it’s all been so fucking awful, I just couldn’t take you too. You knew that.’

‘Sorry,’ I whispered.

‘You should have believed me.’ He slammed the laptop lid.

I didn’t know what to say, but I saw the bottle of whisky and box of Belgian chocolates on the side, very fancy, wrapped in gold ribbons, and I contemplated a joke about my chocolate addiction – anything to ease the tension. Only the look on Matthew’s face suggested jokes would be unwise.

‘Matthew, please. Try and understand. I
had
to look on your computer. I wouldn’t normally have, but I needed to know,’ I pleaded. ‘I feel like someone’s trying to…’

‘Trying to
what
?’

‘Bring me down?’ In for a penny, I supposed. ‘Like – as if someone might be, sort of – trying to come between us?’

‘Don’t be so bloody stupid.’ He looked at me as if we’d never met. ‘You know, Jeanie, I thought you were such a quiet little mouse – such a safe bet – but you’re not at all who I thought you were.’

‘A mouse?’ I repeated dumbly.

‘And if someone actually was trying to come between us,’ he said irritably, ‘which they’re not – well you’ve only yourself to blame. If you’re going to act like a tart, then…’

‘What do you mean a
tart
?’ I was aghast.

‘Well, first the boy at the school. Then entertaining men here.’

‘What do you mean “entertaining men”?’

‘Sylvia told me she caught you with that guy.’

‘Sylvia?’
I had no idea they were such good friends. ‘She caught me with
what
guy?’

‘You tell me, Jean. She texted me, saying sorry to have to tell me, but when she came for coffee yesterday, some guy was getting out of the shower.’

‘Oh, God – Yassine?’ I actually laughed with relief. ‘She means Yassine.’

‘Who the hell’s Yassine?’

‘Kaye’s boyfriend?’

‘You’re fucking joking.’ Matthew stared at me in horror. ‘So now you’re shagging my ex’s new bloke?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Matthew!’ I cried. ‘He dropped off Luke’s football boots when I was gardening, and…’

‘So he got in the shower with you?’ he sneered. ‘Oh come on.’

‘No, of course not! I was cutting back brambles, and he came down the garden to talk to me. He slipped in the mud, so he went in the downstairs loo to have a quick wash. That was it. He was here about five minutes.’

‘Luke’s football boots?’ Matthew interrupted. ‘Why?’

‘He said he had a match. Tonight. He said he’d been told Luke needed them.’

‘First I’ve heard of it.’

‘I’ll get them,’ I said eagerly. ‘I’ll prove it to you.’

I went rushing to the utility room where I’d put the boots on the shoe rack, still in the Sainsbury’s bag they’d been wrapped in when Yassine delivered them.

But they weren’t there. I searched everywhere, but of course they weren’t there.

I
didn’t want
to fall in love with Matthew. I didn’t want his money. In fact I asked him to stay away, soon after we met.

It was very much Matthew who pursued me, not the other way around.

I let him take me out to dinner once, to a fancy Lebanese place in Mayfair. We had a nice night, but I felt shy and awkward with a man of his looks and expensive confidence. I didn’t see what I had to offer – apart from myself.

Still, he pursued me, driving down to Hove a few weekends later, where we walked along the coast path, chatting, for hours. I told him I was flattered, but I wasn’t interested, despite my growing attraction to him.

I knew I didn’t trust love. I couldn’t do it again after the wreckage from Simon. It suited me to be on my own with Frank. It was safer.

I didn’t trust love one little bit – but I didn’t follow my instinct. I let Matthew drag me in.

Now look.

It’s like someone’s pulling out my heart; I’m being hauled into the sausage maker, and once I’ve been chewed up, I’m going to be spat out.

A
fter I’d hunted
high and low for the stupid football boots, Matthew phoned Kaye and asked her if she’d sent her boyfriend round with them. She said no.

I sat on the stairs, and I tried to think:
where
could they be? Had I moved them without remembering? I didn’t think so, but…

And then I heard them. They were on the telephone,
laughing
about me. I was the joke.

‘Maybe she’s going a little mad,’ Matthew was muttering, ‘or got early onset – but she swore blind he brought them…’

Was
I mad?

Possibly.

I went upstairs.

Frankie came back at some point and stuck his head round my bedroom door, but I pretended I was asleep. I was terrified my sanity
was
actually slipping away.

I remembered Frankie talking about Jenna earlier, and I thought:
I’ll be so happy if he manages to find love
. Still, I had to admit something I was ashamed of: I was a little jealous. Because I didn’t feel like that any more, and I knew Matthew didn’t either.

Such a quiet little mouse.

The ground was increasingly unsafe.

For once I was glad Frankie was leaving soon – getting out of this mess.

Things were falling apart fast.

M
atthew gets up
, barely speaking to me. Then he comes back in and reiterates that no one had asked Yassine to bring the boots round – the missing boots.

‘Are you
really
all right?’ he asks.
‘Perhaps’—he stares down at me—‘you need some help?’

‘What kind of help? I’m fine, Matthew, really.’

‘Well that’s good, because Alison and Sean are coming to dinner tonight. If you can hold it together that long.’

‘Oh right,’ I say slowly. Had I forgotten that too? ‘Shall I cook something nice?’

Matthew does his tie up in the mirror. He looks tired, I notice, and his shirt is slightly tighter than it was four weeks ago. He definitely seems more distracted recently. ‘If that’s okay,’ he says gruffly, ‘I’d appreciate it.’

‘Of course.’ I feel more enthused than I have done in days – in weeks. The kitchen is my domain; I’ll prove I’m not as useless as he obviously thinks. ‘I’ll get my Delia out.’

‘I prefer Nigella,’ he says, and he actually smiles. ‘Better tits.’ Then he leans over the bed and kisses my forehead. He smells nice. ‘I need it to go well, Jeanie. Sean’s been a great help recently. I need to say thanks.’

B
efore I go shopping
I knock on Sylvia Jones’s door.

She doesn’t answer, so I go back home and sit in my little car in the drive. I just sit there, waiting and watching.

About an hour later, just when I am going to give up, just when I am so cold I am getting cramp, Sylvia walks round the corner, her little dog in a matching coat, heading towards the woods.

My hands icy from sitting, my legs bloodless, I run across the road to confront her.

She actually flinches when she sees me.

‘Why did you text Matthew?’ I demand. ‘Why didn’t you talk to me first?’

‘I hope you’re not threatening me.’ She squares her shoulders in her horrid pink Puffa jacket. ‘I thought he deserved to know.’

Oh how blind I’ve been
! I think.
She’s
jealous.
Of course! A widow, around Matthew’s age, looking for her ‘own Patrick Swayze’. And then I come along and snaffle him. She’s really annoyed.

We’re all just looking for love.

‘Deserved to know
what
though?’ I stare at her pretty, saggy face. ‘There was nothing to tell. Why are you meddling in our business?’

‘I’ll call the police’—Sylvia’s voice is shrill—‘if you don’t go away.’

‘Gladly.’ I am shaking with anger. ‘But I’d like you to keep out of my marriage.’

‘I’m not the least bit interested in your marriage,’ she retorts.

‘Did you send him an email too? A very
helpful
email?’

‘No, I did not,’ she spits. ‘I have better things to do than get involved with your sordid life. Poor man.’

‘Poor man?’

‘First that dreadful Kaye, spending all his money – and then that girl – and now you.’

‘There’s nothing “poor” about Matthew,’ I retort. ‘He’s fine, thanks very much. As long as you stay away.’

Then I go to the high street, frozen and shaken, and buy all the ingredients for dinner, along with some flowers and some candles.

What girl?

At home, I start to make a casserole, but I find it hard to concentrate. On the radio they are talking about a new production of
Macbeth
in the West End.

What girl?

Something wicked this way comes.

A
lison and Sean
are coming at seven forty-five apparently. I’m running out of time as I finish the food; I still need to get changed myself, and Luke has turned up for the night. Kaye and Scarlett are both ill with some sick bug, so he’s hiding out here.

Frankie and Luke are playing FIFA in the lounge.

‘Are you all right, Mum?’ Frank looks concerned when he comes to get himself and Luke a drink.

‘Of course,’ I say breezily, but I’m not; I keep forgetting to add things to the sauce and finding them on the side. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘What were you doing earlier? I heard you banging around upstairs this afternoon, didn’t I?’

‘I don’t think so.’ I move the bread. I’m getting quite good at lying.

‘Oh.’ He looks confused. ‘Must have been next door then.’

‘Must have been.’

‘Marlena texted.’ He’s trying to read my face. ‘Said to keep an eye on you for some reason.’

‘Oh she did, did she?’ I try to smile. I wish she’d get back to me about the bloody emails. I wish I didn’t feel so – discombobulated. So seasick, with all this debris floating around.

Frank skulks off when Matthew comes in. They’re still barely talking.

‘Something smells good.’ Matthew opens some red wine to breathe, gets a beer, checks the temperature of the champagne in the fridge. ‘I thought we should use the dining room, as it’s a special occasion.’

We never use it – not since I’ve lived here anyway.

‘Whatever you think.’

‘I’ll get Luke to lay the table,’ Matthew says.

I’m going to ask him about the girl, about Sylvia’s assertion – but Luke comes in, moaning, corralled into making place names. He helps his dad get out the best silver and places the jugs of lemon water, candles, napkins and side plates on the table.

Then he returns to FIFA with Frank, pizza and ice cream.

I look at Matthew, and I think about this afternoon.

After I’d confronted Sylvia, gone shopping and returned to start the casserole, I’d gone upstairs to our room and had passed the locked door to the spare room.

So many secrets in this house. Instinctively I’d tried the handle; it had become a reflex, a habit.

Still locked. I’d bent to peer through the keyhole, but still I hadn’t really been able to see anything: the edge of a bed maybe. The door was solid and wooden – but the lock was old.

Frankie had been ensconced in his room, probably asleep, despite the hour, so I’d gone out to the garage and rooted around the toolboxes until I found some galvanised wire, which I’d twisted into the shape I’d needed.

Standing in front of the impenetrable door, hands on hips, I’d seen myself aged ten. I’d done this throughout our childhood, when we were locked in. It’s not hard if you know how, slotting the pick into the lock. Although, this particular one had been very stiff.

At some point, as I’d rocked back on my heels, Frankie had stumbled down the landing to use the bathroom, hair on end.

‘I’m going to miss you when you’re gone,’ I’d told his departing back. ‘Specially looking like that.’

But it’s good,
I’d told myself again.
I’m glad he’s off on Sunday. Off to safety.

He’d gone back to bed.

The door had opened, and I’d been in.

It hadn’t been what I’d expected: oh no, not at all.

T
he vegetables are
all ready to go in their pans, the French onion soup’s bubbling, cheese grated, croutons cut – and the casserole’s in.

‘Is it a special occasion?’ I ask, as I take my apron off to rush up and change.

‘New deal with Transregions.’ Matt checks the champagne again; he’s already on his second beer, keyed up and excited. ‘Sean’s given me free advice. There’s some papers to sign actually.’

‘Oh?’ I check the temperature of the sauce. ‘That’s good then?’

‘Should be.’ He kisses me again and pats my bottom. ‘Should be a whole turn of fortunes. Put that nice red dress on, hon. It’s really sexy.’

I feel galvanised for the first time in weeks.

When I come down, there’s a glass of fizz on the side for me and The Killers on the stereo. Matthew’s outside, checking the garden lights. I should be excited, but the memory of Alison’s hostility at the party makes me nervous. I’ve never even met Sean. They are Kaye’s friends.

I cast away the image of what’s behind the spare-room door.

Quickly I drink my champagne and check the dining table. It looks nice, classy – the room dimly lit, snow-white roses as a centrepiece, our home-made place names. It’s almost like a restaurant.

The doorbell rings; Matthew answers it. I hear laughter, the rise and fall of voices.

The drink seems to have gone straight to my head. I straighten the napkins, feeling a little woozy. I drink some water.

‘Hello.’ I smile, coming into the hall. Sean is a small, wiry man with slicked-back grey hair. Alison looks completely different out of her pirate costume. Her curly red hair is tied back, and she wears a severe black dress.

Sean kisses me hello; Alison hands me chocolates from Rococo.

‘Can’t go wrong with truffles,’ she says rather stiffly.

‘No, you can’t. I love all chocolate! Thanks so much.’

Frank and Luke say hello and trudge upstairs. I feel Matthew tense slightly as he watches his son chattering to mine, but I’m glad they’re together.

‘They get on then?’ Alison asks. ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

I tense, waiting for Matthew to correct her, but he doesn’t. He’s very buoyed up about something.

‘Champagne?’ He propels us all into the lounge, where we sit and chat until I have to check the food.

When I come back, the men are looking at some papers and Alison is leafing through a copy of
House & Garden
from the coffee table. It must be one of Kaye’s old subscriptions.

She looks out into the garden.

‘You’ve had outdoor lights put in,’ she says. ‘It’s such a lovely big space, isn’t it? You could do so much with it.’

‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘I’d like to get into gardening actually. I don’t know much about plants though. I’ve never really had a garden of my own.’

‘I could help you, if you liked,’ Alison says, and I try to hide my surprise. ‘I had my own business for a bit when I retrained.’

‘Oh thanks. That’d be really kind. We’ve got a gardener who comes once in a while…’

‘Yes, he’s very handy.’ Matthew comes over, papers in his hand, and kisses my head fondly. ‘New guy, since old Bill broke his hip – Simon something,’ He takes a pen from his pocket. ‘Hired him a few months ago. Hon, can you—’

‘Simon?’ My skin feels suddenly icy. ‘Are you sure? Do you know his surname?’

‘Not off the top of my head. Now shall we crack on?’ I hear irritation creeping into Matthew’s voice. ‘Can you just sign this please?’

‘Of course.’ I force a smile.

Matthew points at places in the documents marked with an X, and I take the pen he offers.

‘Signing my life away,’ I joke, and I sense Alison stiffen beside me.

Sean laughs and says, ‘Signing up for life, more like,’ and I look at Matthew, who seems so jolly tonight. I think,
Everything might be all right – if we can overcome what I know now.

What lay behind the door.

My timer goes off, and we all go through to the dining room. The soup is very salty, and I apologise, but no one else seems to really notice. They chatter on about this and that: Matthew’s kids, their godchildren, holidays yachting and skiing. I mostly just listen. I’ve never been on a ski in my life.

Quiet little mouse. A safe bet.

I feel very thirsty as I clear away, and I wheel the hostess trolley in with the casserole and the new potatoes, feeling like the impostor someone said I was, didn’t they? But I feel quite woozy.

At some point during the main course, I start to feel really very odd, as if my head is too heavy for my neck and my eyelids are weighted down.

I stop eating and just watch the others, almost falling asleep, and then I hear Alison mention Kaye, and I say loudly, ‘Oh, Kaye, the amazing Kaye of the unmoving face – she’s wonderful, isn’t she?’

‘Jeanie, really.’ Matthew frowns. ‘Not now.’