The Stepmother (25 page)

The house makes me shiver, even though the day is warm.

I don’t know where to begin, but once I do, as in the cottage in Ashbourne, I will go through everything.

I
start
in Jeanie and Matthew’s bedroom. It doesn’t look as if she had much to do with the decoration here. It’s a grand but impersonal room, with pale blue and gold Chinesey-looking wallpaper and a huge wooden bed that doesn’t seem like something Jean would ever choose.

I glance in the other rooms, having a quick swipe round Matthew’s study – but his computer is gone, and the filing cabinets are locked. The police have probably got the computer I imagine.

I wonder what it is that he kept asking her to sign.

Really it’s Scarlett’s room I want to find. I need to know what school she goes to, and it doesn’t take long to discover that, through formal school photos hanging on the wall outside her door, and the maroon uniform in the walk-in wardrobe. And she has more clothes than I could imagine owning – quite something for a teenager.

This bedroom is the type of room every little girl dreams of: if you like things flouncy and frilly and pink. The type of bedroom Jeanie and I certainly didn’t know existed when we were her age – except for the rich girls in Enid Blyton maybe or, later, that awful Beverley Hills programme about teens with sports cars and too much Gucci.

Does the money make up for the dysfunction? I wonder. We had no money and plenty of dysfunction. Would my errant father and unfit mother have been easier to bear if I’d gone to school in designer labels and holidayed in Barbados?

I’ll never know I suppose. At least growing up skint gave us some drive. Just not much security – or enough belief in ourselves, though God we tried. Still, our boundaries may have been blurred sometimes: just look at both our descents from professional heaven…

Enough musing. I have another thought – and I run back downstairs, into the lounge this time. Where is their DVD collection?

Jean mentioned the family home movies in her diary, ‘the look on Scarlett’s face’. That look had disconcerted Jeanie; she’d found it odd – but I don’t know why.

And of course Scarlett’s not answered my texts. When I called her earlier, the response from my iPhone made me wonder if my number’s been blocked from her end.

On my hands and knees, pulling out old Disney and Harry Potter films,
SpongeBob SquarePants
and some Aston Villa highlights, I hear someone running overhead – I’m sure I do.

I start up – and then someone raps hard on the window, and I bang my head as I try to stand.

A red-haired woman is on the other side of the glass, staring at me, hands on hips as I rub my sore head.

‘And who the hell, may I ask’—the redhead raises her voice fiercely—‘are you?’

S
o
. This is Alison, the woman Jeanie wasn’t sure about.

‘I’m a key holder,’ she explains on the doorstep. ‘The alarm company inform me if it goes off. I only live a few streets away, so I can check it out.’

My sleight of hand failed then. Good thing I didn’t follow the master into criminality.

‘I’m Marlena.’ I offer my hand, trying to pacify her. ‘Jeanie’s sister. I don’t know if you’ve heard about Jeanie…’

‘Heard what? That they’ve split up? Yes, I did. I’m sorry.’

I turn away from her and move into the house, grabbing my bag to find my cigarettes. Every time I have to say something about what’s happened to Jeanie, I feel like I’m going to start sobbing.

I catch my breath.
Pull yourself together, you silly cow
. I go back, fags in hand, and I explain briefly the course of events as I understand them.

‘Oh my God…’ Alison looks really shocked. ‘Poor Jeanie.’

‘I need a cigarette,’ I say. ‘Can we go outside?’

‘I wouldn’t mind one either.’ She indicates my Marlboro Lights. ‘If you can spare one…’

Side by side, we sit on the front step together, smoking in silence for a while. It’s a pleasant day, too pleasant for what’s going on.

‘I’m really sorry,’ she says eventually. ‘Jeanie seemed…’

‘What?’ I am suspicious. Overly so perhaps, but then none of this lot seemed welcoming to my poor sister.

‘I thought she seemed nice. Truly.’ Alison must have detected my tone. ‘Though we didn’t really get a chance to get to know each other. It was awful, that bloody dinner.’ She inhales deeply and then coughs. ‘God, sorry. Haven’t smoked for a while.’

‘The dinner when Jeanie got sick, you mean?’

‘Yes – only…’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know. It was very odd. I’m a nurse you know – well I trained as one, a long time ago. Gave it up to go into gardening. Less blood.’ She shoots me a look. ‘Can I – is it okay to ask you something?’

I shrug to say go on.

‘I wondered,’ she says. ‘Did she – does she have a problem? With drink or drugs?’

‘No.’ I shake my head vehemently. ‘Never. Not Jeanie. She drinks very little.’

‘Really? Seems even more strange then.’

‘Why? I mean she had a stint on antidepressants, after she had a bit of a – problem at work, a few years ago. But she’s never been a party girl. Never a drinker.’

‘I see. Well she didn’t seem to have drunk much that night; I certainly didn’t notice if she had. But she was suddenly
so
out of it. Dramatically so. Like she’d been mixing drink and drugs, I thought, and it worried me. The signs were bad.’

‘I see.’ I chuck my cigarette butt into the flowerbed. ‘So you’re a friend of Kaye’s?’

‘Hardly. I mean I was, once, a long time ago. We went to school together. But…’ She pauses. ‘We grew apart I suppose.’

‘Why? Did something happen?’ I could rein it in, I guess, my customary rat-a-tat-tat questioning, but it serves a purpose. It disarms people I find.

‘I – I couldn’t have kids. And she just got – a bit weird when she had hers.’

‘Weird how?’

‘Oh maybe not weird then. Maybe just too wrapped up in them. Kind of – obsessive. Or maybe I was jealous. Probably was. Anyway I found it hard. I mean I was very fond of them, the kids; we saw a lot of each other when they were small. Matthew and Sean got on very well – though…’

‘What?’

‘Oh I don’t know. People change, don’t they?’

‘How did they change?’ I try not to seem too keen.

‘Matthew made so much money, almost overnight, and then Kaye became all about what car she drove and where they holidayed. All private schools and labels and Mulberry bags you know. Not really my thing.’

‘No, well I get that.’

‘And Matthew – he was okay, but I started to find him – a bit oppressive. And conservative. Not in a good way.’

‘What about the kids?’

‘What about them?’ Alison grinds her cigarette out in the gravel, hardly smoked.

‘I think Jeanie was really struggling – with Scarlett mainly.’

‘With Scarlett?’ Alison raises a brow. ‘I guess – maybe. I mean she’s sweet really, but…’

‘What?’

‘I suppose she always was a bit of a daddy’s girl.’

We look at each other.

‘I think these allegations are crap myself,’ she sighs. ‘Matthew mayn’t be my favourite person, but I really don’t think he’s, you know, one of
them
.’ She stands. ‘It’s just been really tough.’

‘What can you tell me about the whole Daisy thing?’

‘Oh nothing really.’ She checks her watch. ‘I must go actually…’

‘Alison. Please. I feel like something – bad’s been happening here, something that’s driven Jeanie right to the edge. I need to find out what it is…’

‘Well…’ She’s still hesitating, and I give her an encouraging smile.

She relents. ‘It’s just Daisy was the twins’ kind-of nanny. They got quite attached to her – she was sweet. But she – she had to leave quite… quickly.’

‘She had an accident?’ It’s in the diary, in black and white.

‘I can’t really – God is that the time?’ She rechecks her watch unconvincingly, moving away.

If anyone can read signs of an interviewee with something to hide, it’s me. ‘Alison, please – it’s important.’

‘If I think of anything – but I’m sorry, I must go. I hope Jeanie’s well again soon.’ She hurries down the drive.

‘Alison.’ I rush after her and put my hand on her shoulder. She has to stop. ‘Can I give you my card at least? Just in case.’ She’s hiding something – and she knows I know. ‘I really need to find what pushed Jeanie to this state...’

‘OK.’ Alison sighs heavily. ‘There is just one thing I would say – Marlene, is it?

‘Marlena.’

‘I was a bit – worried. That Matthew was just sort of – using Jeanie.’

‘Using her?’

‘For the money…’

‘Hardly!’ I actually laugh. ‘She’s the original church mouse; she’s been skint for years.’

‘I mean, sorry – to sign the money away. To hide it.’

‘Hide it?’

‘I only know because Sean’s his lawyer. Was his lawyer actually. They don’t really work together any more. Sean’s decided it’s not – appropriate any more.’

‘Okay. But – why to hide it though?’

‘You can guess, Marlena, I imagine. Sean wouldn’t really talk to me about it, but he didn’t feel comfortable with the way Matthew was starting to move things around.’

And Alison leaves, with a promise I don’t believe that she’ll get in touch if anything else comes to mind.

I
try
to ring Frankie again with no luck. So I bite the bullet, and I call the vineyard. If the worst – you know. If the worst comes to the worst, he needs to be here.

In my terrible schoolgirl French, I stumble through explaining my need to speak to Frank Randall; it’s urgent, I emphasise, but I don’t want to say any more without speaking directly to Frankie myself. I leave my number with the owner, who promises to find him.

I’m on my way to Scarlett’s school when Sal rings.

‘Matthew King’s been released,’ she says. ‘He’s on his way somewhere in a cab, my bloke at the nick says.’

‘Have the allegations been dropped?’

‘There’s been no formal charge, I don’t think, so they couldn’t hold him any more. I do know this though.’ She sounds almost enthused. ‘It was the second time he was taken in for questioning.’

God I feel tired.

A
t the school
I know it will raise suspicion if I hover round the gates.

Think, Marlena, think
. But my brain is like sludge today.

There’s a sweet shop at the end of the road. I go to buy cigarettes and a Coke when two teen girls, in high-tops and baggy jeans, walk in arm in arm, bags full of schoolbooks.

‘I like your trainers,’ I say to one. ‘Dead nice.’

‘Thanks.’ She looks surprised, and her prettier mate with tightly cornrowed hair giggles.

‘I’ve got some a bit like that. Where are yours from?’

‘Er, they’re Huaraches I think.’ The tall white girl picks up a blue Bounty. ‘Nikes.’

‘Cool. Do you go to St Bett’s? You must know Scarlett King?’

‘Oh
her
.’ They go all serious and big eyed now. ‘Yeah, we kind of know her. We’re in the sixth form. She’s below us.’

‘Poor kid,’ I say. ‘She’s nice, isn’t she? She’s a family friend actually…’

‘Oh yeah, I think so. She’s not been in school much since – the thing…’ Cornrows whispers theatrically. ‘It’s deep, what’s happened.’

‘God, no, I know. Awful. I saw her mum yesterday.’ I’m not lying, I tell myself. Much.

‘Her mum? She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? She was an actress, wasn’t she? She was in
The Bill
, my dad says.’

‘Yeah, gorgeous.’ Together we walk out of the shop, and I glance at my phone very obviously.

‘Oh damn it! Bloody battery. Can I ask you a favour?’

‘Yeah, course.’ They are excited to be conspirators.

‘Can you get Scarlett a message? I was meant to see her later…’ My fingers are crossed behind my back. I swore I’d never lie again, but this isn’t work. This is fucking life or death. ‘But my mobile’s gone flat. Could you give her my number? I’ll go and charge it in the park café while I wait. Tell her Marlena will be here? Jeanie’s sister?’

‘Well…’

‘I’m just so worried about her.’ I do my best motherly face. ‘Poor darling. I don’t want her to think I’ve forgotten her.’

‘Yeah, course,’ the shorter one says, pulling her sleeves down over her hands. ‘Give us your number then.’

‘Awesome.’ I put it in her phone. ‘And could you tell her I’ll be in the café for a bit?’

I
’m sitting
in the park café, scrolling through Safari to find out where the local news agency is when my phone – not flat at all of course – rings.
Unknown,
it says.

I’m terrified it’s going to be Frankie or the hospital – but it’s neither.

‘Is this Jeanie’s sister?’ the accented voice says.

‘Yeah, this is Marlena.’ My ears prick up. ‘Who’s this?’

‘It’s Yassine, Kaye’s… boyfriend.’ He hesitates over the word in his strange accent. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘About what?’

‘She does not know I’m ringing you.’ He sounds stressed. ‘I had an argument with her about it, you see. It is not a good thing—’

‘What isn’t?’ I’m starting to feel irritated.
Spit it out, man.

‘I told a lie. I’m sorry I didn’t say I was there when I was.’

‘What? When?’ I rack my brains. ‘Do you mean at Malum House that day?’

‘Yeah, when I took the football boots round. But then she told me to say that I didn’t…’

The missing boots. ‘Who told you to say that? Scarlett?’

‘No.’ He drops his voice. ‘Kaye.’

‘Kaye did?
Why
?’

‘I don’t know.’ Yassine sounds thoroughly miserable. ‘She just said not to say I was there; I shouldn’t have been there she said.’

‘Why?’

But he won’t give me any more.

S
o why would
Kaye make her boyfriend lie?

What the hell’s going on with these bloody Kings?

And yet I have a feeling in my gut – it’s one I recognise from all my days of investigating, of tying ends up – that finally it’s starting to make some kind of sense. But the full truth hasn’t emerged; it’s still hidden, so the dots don’t join up – yet.