The Stepmother (27 page)

‘The graves?’ I remember Jeanie’s entry about the garden, that day she wrote about Yassine’s visit.

‘All the pets kept on dying, Daisy said. She was freaked out. They said there was a ghost too. A lady what hung herself.’

‘Hung herself?’

‘That’s right. Up in that bloody turret.’

‘I’m sorry.’ I shake my head, thinking of Jeanie’s own terror. ‘Was there ever a gardener she mentioned, by the way?’

‘Not that I remember. Just her, as it were, on the staff. Oh and some cleaner I think.’

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘I’m so glad Daisy’s getting better.’

He blows his nose loudly.

‘One more question,’ I say, as we walk to the pub door together. Comedy Gold is on the television in the corner; an episode of
Some Mothers Do ’Ave ’Em
by the look of things.

Some of us have mothers we’d rather not have.

‘Did she live there then? With the family?’

‘Oh yeah. She had her own room you know. Very fancy. En suite and all.’

The room Jeanie smashed up?

Peter Bedford pulls open the door with a huge wrench. ‘She was so proud of ’erself, you know, when she got that job. Good family like that. Wanted her independence you know. Well kids do, don’t they?’

I nod my agreement.

‘But my God, I wish she’d stayed working for me in the shop.’ His eyes are glassy with tears. ‘She’d still be okay then, wouldn’t she? She’d not be walking with a limp for the rest of ’er life. She’d not be looking over her shoulder or having them terrible dreams.’

There’s not much I can say to that.

A
s I’m heading back
to my room, exhausted but strangely exhilarated – ever closer to the truth, I feel – my phone rings again.

And it’s Frankie.

It’s reality.

This isn’t a case I have to remind myself. This is my sister. This is life and death – and I’m on it too late. If I’d got involved before…

‘I’ll ring you back in two minutes, Frank,’ I say, because I find myself so choked up, I have to prepare myself. ‘From the landline.’

I smoke a fag out of the window of my room, like a schoolkid, and then I call him back.

I have to tell him what’s happened, where Jeanie is, and he’s beyond devastated of course.

And that puts any exhilaration I’m feeling right out of the picture of course.

‘I’ll get the train tomorrow morning,’ he says, voice quivering.

I say, ‘Get a flight. I’ll pay.’ I give him my credit-card details, and I can sense him trying not to cry as he asks where she is and what airport is nearest.

‘Can I ring her?’ he asks.

And I have to say, ‘Well – she’s not really talking at the moment, Frankie, not yet.’

And then he does cry.

‘Frankie.’ I swallow my own grief and fear as best I can. ‘She’s going to be all right you know.’

‘No, I don’t know,’ he mutters, and I hear the confusion and the anger in his voice. ‘I don’t know that, and it doesn’t sound like you do either, Marlena.’

‘Jeanie’s really strong,’ I tell him. ‘She’s a fighter.’

Which is true, has been true – up to now. She was always so strong, for me. Look what she did – how she cared.

‘But if that’s true, then why did she do it? And how…’ I hear the little boy that he is. His heart is breaking; I can hear it actually happening. ‘How could she leave me?’

Oh Christ.

I can’t answer that for her, but I have an idea that, if she did do it on purpose, well, she just couldn’t take any more pain, because she loves him so much, she’d never have chosen to go…

And yet, did she do it? Did she try and kill herself?

Or was she pushed?

‘She didn’t want to leave you, darlin’,’ I say, ‘but she wasn’t doing so well. And…’ I breathe really, really hard so I don’t start sobbing. ‘I’m here, Frank. I know it’s not the same, but I am here for you.’

‘Thanks,’ he mumbles, and my own heart clutches painfully.

‘You don’t need to thank me, you silly sod.’ God, he doesn’t need to ever thank
me
. ‘I’m not going anywhere, I promise you that.’

And I mean it. It’s time to stop running.

I
sleep fitfully all night
, when I sleep at all.

I dream of children running around a big field, screaming, running from someone, a figure in the corner – and I can’t tell if the screaming is in pain or pleasure.

When I wake up around 6 a.m., drenched in sweat, I can’t think where the hell I am, and then I remember.

I switch on the little kettle on the tea tray and lie back on the pillows, thinking.

I can’t go to the house yet – but that’s my only plan. There’s nothing left to say or do apart from confront this messed-up family and put the blame squarely at their door. All of their doors. I’ve failed to get hold of Scarlett, and I have no more answers.

If they admit it, will that make me feel better?

No policeman’s going to arrest anyone for trying to creep someone else out, are they? No, they’re not. Causing someone to try to end their own life, it’s not a crime. Not a punishable one anyway, though I make a mental note to check on the CPS website. I’m pretty sure inciting suicide isn’t a crime – yet.

Oh sure, I know the kids are probably blameless in this really. I learnt that in my own therapy: we’re only playing out our parents’ patterns. That’s what we learn; that’s what we grow up with; that’s what we are scarred with and what we repeat.

Or in mine and Jeanie’s case, that’s what we try to avoid – so desperately that we make ourselves more unhappy in the meantime, denying ourselves relationships and love.

Levi crosses my mind again, and I’m tempted to text him – but I don’t. After all, he told me what he thought when I finished it between us. He was furious, said I was a coward.

‘If you never let yourself open up, Marlena, you’ll end up old and alone.’ Normally a pretty cool customer, he was angry and hurt, and I tried to laugh his words off, because it’s always easier to do that, isn’t it? But I felt like he was right.

I felt like it was a prophecy likely to come true. Alone forever, if I never let anyone in.

I get up to make myself another coffee.

When I switch my phone on ten minutes later, it’s flashing with new messages.

I read the first text:

Yassine. And he’s talking, I guess, about Kaye. She asked him to lie because of getting too close to Jeanie?

There’s a text from Frank saying he’s booked on to a flight at 2 p.m., direct to Birmingham. He’ll go straight to the Royal Derby Hospital he says. There’s a train from the airport; he’s checked.

I’ll see him there this evening I say. Spend what you need to.

I text three kisses at the end.

I
’m downstairs
, about to go to Malum House, psyching myself up for the confrontation, for the horror of saying what I need to say before I go back up to Derby and wait it out with my family, my only family, the only family that matters – when my phone rings again.

‘Is that Marlena Randall?’ the voice says, a girl – and I realise, with a thumping heart, who it is.

‘Yeah,’ I say, adrenaline coursing through my veins. ‘It is. Is that Scarlett? Are you okay?’

‘Yeah,’ she says, then there’s a pause. ‘Well no, not really. How’s – how’s Jeanie?’

‘She’s – sleeping,’ I say, trying to be kind, though there’s a part of me that wants to yell at her, to scream and shout at her for her part in Jeanie’s downfall. But I don’t want to scare her off. ‘She’s in the hospital, and she’s sleeping still.’

‘Will she be okay?’ she says, and I swallow hard.

‘I hope so. I really hope so. So, Scarlett, what’s going on for you?’

‘Can you meet me?’ she says, and I jump at the idea of course.

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Now?’

‘Yeah.’ I hear the shrug in her voice. ‘Yeah, okay.’

‘Where? Can you come into town?’

‘Not really,’ she says. ‘I’m not meant to go out yet. Can you come near my dad’s?’

‘Yes, of course. Where?’

She describes a café nearby, near the woods, she says, and I think of that poor bloody puppy.

And what did old Bedford say yesterday? What kept happening to the pets…?

‘Scarlett?’ I say. ‘Did you send me Jeanie’s diary?’

She hangs up.

A
t the café
in the woods I wait – but Scarlett’s not there. Lots of dog walkers come in and out, and I look for one in a pink Puffa jacket, but there’s no Scarlett.

I drink two large black coffees, and then I think,
I can’t wait any more.
She’s not answering her phone, and time is running out.

I drive to Malum House. I park up and take a huge breath, and I walk up the drive to knock on the door.

The boy, Luke, answers it.

‘Are your mum and dad here?’

Up close I see that he doesn’t have the looks of his parents – or rather he’s the worst combination of them. ‘My dad is,’ he says, and he looks suspicious. ‘Who shall I say it is?’

But his father has appeared behind him in the hallway, and he knows who I am.

‘Marlena,’ Matthew says, obviously surprised. ‘How’s Jeanie?’

‘Are you bothered?’ I say, and Luke looks like he might cry.

‘Of course I’m bothered.’ Mathew is first taken aback and then angry. ‘I’ve just got off the phone to the hospital. They say she’s stable. They say they may try and wake her later.’

This, I won’t lie, disarms me. But of course he’s next of kin.

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Sure.’ He opens the door to me and leads me to the kitchen. ‘Can I offer you a drink?’

‘Is Scarlett here?’ I ask without answering, and he shakes his head. ‘She’s been staying with friends. Since the – incident.’

‘And all the charges have been dropped?’

‘There were no charges…’ He’s angry again. ‘It was malicious rumour.’

‘Do you know who started it?’ I ask.

‘I bloody wish I did.’ Matthew is vehement. ‘But I don’t at the moment. It was a written allegation apparently. The police say it was anonymous. Still.’ He has gained weight since I last saw him, no longer the svelte businessman Jeanie met, but a slightly sweaty, middle-aged guy who looks very dishevelled.

‘And Kaye?’ I keep waiting for her to walk into the room and purr at me, false and proud. ‘Where’s she?’

‘No idea. Why would I know?’ he says distractedly, looking for cups. Everything’s dirty apparently – no handy housekeeping Jeanie any more.

I don’t really want to admit I was poking round the garden yesterday evening, but I’m probably going to have to admit it. As I prepare to make my accusation, Matthew suggests we go into the lounge – ‘It’s tidier’ – and I follow him, annoying plinky jazz playing throughout the house.

‘Sit please,’ Matthew says, but I don’t want to.

I’m about to tell him I’m on to him when a car skids into the drive and pulls up very sharply, just missing the flowerbed.

‘Blimey,’ I say, ‘someone’s in a hurry.’

From the window I can see Kaye getting out – as I expected.

‘News travels fast!’ I raise a brow at Matthew, but to his credit, he looks as surprised as I do. If he has warned her I’m here, he’s a very good actor.

The woman comes storming up the front path in full aerobic gear and Luke, who’s been skulking round in an anxious, hovering sort of way – as if he’s scared he’ll miss something – lets her in.

‘Is Scarlett here?’ Kaye’s straight past her surly son, straight into the room, facing Matthew, hands on Lycra-clad hips.

I deduce from Kaye’s attitude all is
not
all right between these two.

But last time I saw them, they were kissing.

‘No.’ Matthew rubs his face tiredly. ‘She’s at Alison’s, isn’t she? I’m seeing her later.’

‘She’s bloody well not there.’

I step out of the shadows.

‘Oh you! What are
you
doing here?’ She narrows cold blue eyes.

‘This is Marlena, Jeanie’s—’

‘I know who she is.’ Her purr is laced with venom. ‘But what I don’t know is
why
you’re here?’

I might ask her the same thing exactly.

‘I came to talk to my sister’s husband,’ I say politely, though what I’d really like to do is to order her to
Fuck right off, Beaky-face
.

‘Oh.’ She slumps a little. ‘Right.’

‘I’m interested in the campaign of terror waged against my sister since she moved in.’

‘Terror?’ Matthew pulls a face. ‘A campaign? Oh come on!’

‘Oh come on yourself, mate.’ I’m almost laughing at his denial. ‘You didn’t notice someone trying to scare Jeanie out of her wits?’

‘Oh not again.’ Kaye lays a hand on her chest in well-feigned shock and horror. ‘Luke? I think we have something to say, don’t we, Luke?’

I’m taken aback. I wait for an explanation. We’re all waiting: we all look at Luke.

‘Lucas?’ Matthew frowns. ‘What’s your mother on about?’

‘He can’t help it. He’s just being loyal, aren’t you, baby? You’re the one who’s made life so miserable recently, aren’t you, Lukie – because you were so sad.’

‘Oh Jesus.’ Matthew emits a long whistling breath. ‘Oh for Christ’s sake, Lucas.’

Luke just hangs his head and refuses to look at his parents.

‘You knew?’ I ask Matthew and Kaye, incredulous.

‘What is it you’ve done?’ his father asks him urgently. ‘Lucas?’

‘I didn’t mean to,’ Luke mutters to the floor. ‘It was a joke.’

‘Didn’t mean to
what
?’ Matthew’s exasperated.

‘You must have had an idea,’ I interject, ‘and you did nothing. You covered it up, Matthew, like you did with that poor girl, Daisy…’

‘‘But we dealt with that.’ Matthew almost looks relieved – almost, but not quite. ‘It was an accident, truly, and Daisy’s going to be fine…’

‘You “dealt” with it?’ I think of Peter Bedford’s distress. ‘Not what her father thinks.’

‘He didn’t see her,’ Matthew interjects.

‘Look, sorry, but I’m more interested in Jeanie right now. Tell me, Luke, what did you think would happen if you scared her out of her wits?’