The Stepmother (9 page)

‘You don’t mind, do you? I thought it was important to show them that you’re not bothered by seeing their mum. You’re not, are you?’

‘Course not,’ I say with some relief. ‘It’s fine.’

‘After all’—he hugs me—‘it’s you I love, hon.’

Through the open door, I see Luke making barfing noises at Scarlett, and I grin.

‘Thanks, darlin’.’

I
go
up early to have a bath, leaving them arguing about whether to watch
Bridesmaids
or
Poltergeist
.

As I pull the curtains and flop into bed, all the lights flicker and then go off entirely.

‘Hello?’ I call urgently. Someone must have pushed the switch outside in the hallway accidentally.

I don’t like the dark much – not much at all. There was the methamphetamine phase just before we went to live with Nan, when our distraught mother found the tiny cupboard under the stairs a useful tool for misbehaving daughters. It was small and dark and…

‘Hello?’ My voice sounds pathetically tremulous.

Whispering. Walls whispering – indistinct voices.

But no answer.

‘Hello?’ I repeat, swinging my legs out of the bed. ‘Who is it?’

A door slams somewhere nearby – along the landing possibly. I hear laughing, high-pitched giggling…

I fumble my way to the door, stubbing my toe horribly on the bed: it is agony.

As I grope along the wall, the lights come back on.

I debate going back down, but I don’t want to disturb them. So I go back to bed, but I don’t turn my bedside light off all night. Even when Matthew comes up later and switches it off, I wait till he’s asleep and then I switch it back on.

T
he next morning
, when I go down to put the kettle on, the little dog seems very lethargic. Trying to coax him out of his new bed, I see he’s been sick; there seems to be blood in the bed too.

He won’t eat or even take any water. We ring the emergency vet, and Matthew rushes him down there with the twins.

They come back without the puppy.

‘It’s your fault!’ Scarlett screams when I ask how he is, her blue eyes narrowed and furious.

‘Scarlett!’ her father warns but without much conviction.

‘How can it be
my
fault?’ I’m shaken. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘You said it was okay to take him out.’ The girl glares at me.

‘I didn’t,’ I say, although of course it
was
me that suggested the walk – before I knew any of them were coming of course.

‘He hadn’t had his full vaccinations apparently. They don’t think he’ll make it; he’s too young,’ Matthew says quietly. ‘The vet says he probably picked up a virus in the woods. You weren’t to know.’

‘But…’ I start – and then I think it’s not gracious to argue now, and they are so upset and angry they won’t hear what I say anyway.

All morning I pray that the little dog will pull through – but at lunchtime the house phone rings. It’s not good news.

Scarlett is inconsolable, throwing herself into her father’s arms, sobbing in his lap until I have to go and sit upstairs, I feel so awful.

M
atthew drives the twins home
. Kaye is coming back early, apparently, from wherever she was spending the weekend. Luke comes to say a muted goodbye, but Scarlett won’t talk to me at all, even though I try to apologise. She won’t even look at me, stomping out to the car, tears wet on her flushed cheeks.

I go upstairs to busy myself doing nothing, feeling wretched. Maybe I’ll change the beds, I think, even though Matthew’s cleaner normally does it – which makes me uncomfortable anyway.

Fetching sheets, I glance out of the landing window by the airing cupboard and see a man in the back garden, mowing the lawn.

I move slowly out of the window’s sight line and peer down. He has his back to me as he cuts a straight line up the lawn – all dirty blonde hair, khaki trousers, headphones on. He reminds me of someone.

I’m too tired to do the sheets now; I decide I’ll do it later.

I lie on our bed until Matthew gets back.

J
eanie hates strangers
; she always did when we were kids. I was the boringly extrovert one; she was the one who watched those Government warnings:
don’t talk to strangers; don’t get in strangers’ cars.

Even if the old woman in the corner shop offered us a free lolly, Jeanie wouldn’t take it. Boringly paranoid, my sister. Or careful, my Nan would have said. Sensible. Unlike me.

Me? I’ll take anything for nothing.

As I’ve since paid the price for.

But Jeanie was the one who fell in love: so hard, too fast, no sense of judgement. It was after Frankie was born – he was about seven or eight at the time.

That bastard. He nearly brought her down for good.

I
dream of the devil
. I am running, and he is after me and I reach a door in the wall, but the door won’t open, and I fumble with the catch, and when I get through it, the devil is on my heels, the heat of his stinking breath on the back of my neck. Sobbing, I can’t shut the door after me, though I desperately try. Desperately I try.

When Matt wakes me, I realise I must have fallen asleep, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m so groggy that he seems a little… frosty.

‘All right?’ he says. ‘You sounded like you were having a bad dream.’

‘I’m okay,’ I say, but my heart is racing still.

‘Have you seen my grey tracksuit?’ He’s pulling stuff out of drawers like a child.

‘Second drawer down?’ When he turns back, I try to focus on his handsome face. ‘Surely, Matt,
you
don’t think it was my fault?’

‘No.’ He rubs his eyes tiredly.

I haul myself up to sit. ‘I mean how was I meant to know about his vaccinations? I don’t know the first thing about dog care.’ I sound a bit like a teenager myself. ‘Their mother should have made sure they knew the facts if he wasn’t meant to go out.’

It’s the first time I’ve ever criticised Kaye, I think later.

‘No, I don’t think it’s your fault,’ he sighs, but he seems remote: blank somehow. ‘Not really.’

‘Not really?’ I feel a bubble of anger in my stomach. ‘What do you mean –
not really
?’

‘Look I just don’t want to give Kaye any ammunition against me, that’s all.’ He pulls blue shorts on, changes his top. ‘We’ve got the solicitors’ meeting coming up…’

‘What meeting?’ I wish he’d confide in me more. What a bittersweet irony that wish is.

‘To resettle the alimony payments. I don’t want to wind her up.’ He drops a kiss on the top of my head. ‘Go back to sleep. I’m going to play squash with Sean. I’ll eat at the club.’

F
rankie comes home just
after Matthew leaves and, oh God, I’m pleased to see my lovely boy. I miss him as he forges his own life – but I’m increasingly relieved he has so much wherewithal.

Frankie has been at George’s all weekend, but he senses something’s wrong immediately. I tell him about the puppy – but I don’t say that people seem to be blaming me for its death. What’s the point?

I put tea on a tray, and we sit in front of the fire. The garden is empty again: I’ve checked and rechecked. The gardener’s gone.

‘So was Scarlett as moody as ever?’ Frank asks, turning on an old episode of
Sherlock
. The twins love it; own the whole series on DVD. ‘She’s such a little madam.’

‘She was okay, actually, at first,’ I stare at the screen absently. I seem to be doing a bit of that recently. ‘She was thawing out a bit. Until the poor dog died.’

‘Don’t take it personally, Mum.’ He helps himself to a stack of chocolate digestives. I can’t be bothered to tell him off. ‘Her not liking you. Jenna says that it’s very common for girls to hate the women their fathers date. Or even their own mothers. It’s called the electric complex apparently.’

‘Electra, you mean?’ I feel so leaden my smile is muted.

‘Yeah, that’s the bird. Girls who hate women who like their fathers. Something like that.’ He loses interest in what he’s saying as a pretty woman knocks on Sherlock’s door.

‘I see.’ I do grin now. ‘And who is this extremely knowledgeable young lady? I’m guessing she’s a young lady anyway.’

‘Jenna? Just a mate of George’s.’ Frankie turns a faint pink. ‘From the pub. She’s studying psychology.’

‘And why were you talking about Electra complexes?’

‘Because.’ Frankie shrugs. ‘I have noticed that Scarlett’s not being exactly – friendly. It’s hard not to. Notice, I mean.’

‘Yeah,’ I admit. ‘She’s not really. But she’ll come round.’

I think about her furious little face; her screwed-up eyes, blue and hard as sapphires, as she looked at me earlier like she hated my guts. I’m not as convinced as I was a month ago that we’ll ever be able to bond.

I think of her lying in her father’s lap. Of them shut in her bedroom. I push away my discomfort.

‘I suppose it’s hard for her to accept the changes.’

Dr Watson is saying something silly and Sherlock is saying something clever. Frankie’s distracted again. Then he turns to me. ‘Well I do know it’s hard to make transitions…’

‘Oh-ho!’ I’m amused, despite myself. ‘Is that something the lovely Jenna says too?’

‘Perhaps. But, it’s just – I want you to be happy, Mum. You deserve it. After…’ Frankie pauses. ‘After everything.’

We never talk about ‘it’, about ‘everything’ – we have both been so glad to put it behind us, I think, since we came here.

But it was so bloody awful at the time; we both carry our scars – hidden, maybe, but definitely there. And yet it linked us in a way I couldn’t explain to anyone else. We have a bond, Frank and I, that I share with no one else. And yet I’m realising I’m going to have to sever it soon, when he leaves again. I will have to learn to live without my beloved boy.

‘I
am
happy,’ I insist – but for the first time since I got married, I’m not being entirely honest. I
was
feeling a new happiness. A state that’s fading rather quicker than I’d anticipated.

Something’s not quite right at the moment: something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

‘Did you see the gardener when you got back?’ I glance out of the window, but it’s already nearly dark. He must be long gone. I meant to ask Matthew about him, but I was distracted…

‘Who?’ Frankie’s phone beeps. He glances at it then frowns, chucking it down again without texting back.

‘Everything okay?’ I recognise that belligerent look.

‘Fine,’ he shrugs.

‘Frankie Randall!’ I pause the television. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s just…’ He runs his hand through his hair until it sticks up on end. ‘That bloody girl.’

‘Who?’ I’m confused. ‘Jenna? But I thought you liked her?’

‘Not Jenna, no.’ He grabs for the remote, but I hold it aloft.

‘Frank! What girl?’

‘Scarlett,’ he mutters, and my heart sinks.

‘You’ve been texting?’ This is the last thing we all need.

‘Er, no!’ He gives me what we used to call a ‘Paddington Bear hard stare’. ‘Hardly. She’s been texting me more like.’

‘How did she get your number?’

‘I dunno. Can you just put the telly back on please?’

I do it slowly. ‘Are you sure you didn’t give her your number, Frankie?’

‘Positive.’

‘And – have you answered her?’

‘Once or twice.’ He shrugs again. ‘But not when she texts things like that.’ He nods at the phone.

‘Like what?’ Oh God.

‘Like, “My mate Gemma thinks you’re peng.” ’ He looks disdainful. ‘She’s just a kid.’

‘Peng?’ I’m none the wiser.

‘Like, fit,’ he says – and then he has the good grace to look embarrassed. Our eyes meet, and I can’t help myself: I grin, and then he grins, and then we are both laughing.

‘Oh dear,’ I say when we stop. ‘Maybe best not to say anything to Matt.’

At least she can’t be quite so upset any more, about the dog.

‘Don’t be daft.’ Frankie chews on a nail. ‘As if.’

‘I’ll – try and have a word with her. Try and let her down gently.’ But I think about the state she was in when she left – and I think it’s unlikely she’ll ever heed any advice I give her.

‘Bring Jenna round for dinner, why don’t you?’ I change the subject. ‘Or Sunday lunch. I’d like to meet her. And now explain to me exactly how Sherlock knows that woman’s just been in a first-class train carriage on the way from Dorset?’

I try so hard to enjoy my night with Frank; I mean I
do
enjoy it. But now I am alarmed by this new Scarlett thing.
Please, keep away from Frankie
, I think. That’s all we need.

I
’ve finally told
Matt the truth. I can’t believe it – but it’s out in the open at last!

I told him because I was pretty sure that Scarlett had found out, and that she would tell him before I did. I was convinced that it must have been her poking around in my drawers – and probably her that had left the envelope in the spare room, along with her earring.

So I cooked the best dinner I could, fed Matt a bottle of Bordeaux (from his own wine rack, it must be said – I know nothing about wine) and a rare steak, managing to get his attention off the FT rolling news for long enough to tell him. It was obvious that he hadn’t known – his surprise was evident.

I told him I’ve got a second interview for the college job – and he was pleased – and then I told him I’d been worried about applying to teach again. Deep breath: because of the Seaborne incident.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ He put his hand over mine on the table after I’d finished talking. ‘I’m sorry you went through that.’

The flood of relief washing through me was immense; tears sprang to my eyes.

‘Poor Jeanie. What a nightmare for you, hon.’

Holding back my tears, I asked him if he remembered the email I’d sent to Munich. Fortunately, he did – and that he’d not read it.

‘So – are you okay now?’ He was tentative. ‘It’s all – behind you?’

‘Yes,’ I said, and I felt so relieved, so free and light that I started laughing, topping up my glass and his, wanting to get up and dance.

‘What’s so funny?’ He looked confused.

‘Nothing. Everything. I was just so worried – and I shouldn’t have been. I knew you’d understand.’ I threw my arms round him and kissed him all over his face and neck. ‘Oh I’m so pleased, Matty. I love you so much.’

It took a lot to say those words.