The Stepmother by Claire Seeber

not, but—’
    ‘Can we drop it now please?’ He grabs my arm and pulls me to him. ‘Let’s talk about something else. Like how nice you look in that blouse…’
    I glance down. It’s totally unlike anything I’d normally wear – all fussy and lacy – but it was a Christmas present, and Scarlett helped him choose it (so he said). I felt I should wear it at least once.
    ‘Thanks.’ I’m ramrod stiff; I can’t relax in his embrace at all.
    ‘It’s very sexy,’ he murmurs into my hair, which normally would make my tummy go to jelly but this time has little effect. ‘Mrs Schoolteacher, you might have to reprimand me…’
    ‘What?’ I pull back. ‘Why say that?’
    ‘That’s what you remind me of, with your hair pulled back and that outfit. Very tempting!’
    My chest tightens, and I have to stand. ‘I’ll get you another beer.’ I head to the door.
    ‘I’m fine.’ He looks puzzled. ‘What have I said wrong?’
    He holds a hand out, and reluctantly I let him pull me down again, thoughts of him and Kaye buzzing in my brain like angry wasps. Kirstie’s saying goodbye now on the screen as Matthew nuzzles into my neck.
    ‘When was all this, Matthew?’
    ‘What?’ His breathing has quickened.
    ‘When exactly did you split up?’
    He stops. ‘Early this year.’
    ‘What?’ I pull right back from him.
    ‘I mean last year. Just after Christmas really, in 2013.’
    ‘Oh,’ I repeat like a stupid parrot. Shit. ‘I see.’ But I still don’t see. ‘I’m sure you said it was longer ago than that…’
    ‘It was, in spirit.’ He moves away irritably. ‘In body it was last year. Now can you drop it?’
    We spend the rest of the evening watching a terrible film about a prison break in Siberia, but I can’t concentrate. And for the first time when we go to bed, I turn over and away from him, listening as his breathing changes and he slips quickly into sleep.
    I’m still awake when Frankie comes back a bit later and bashes around in the kitchen – leaving all the pots out no doubt – before going to bed himself.
    I’m still awake when the old grandfather clock on the landing chimes midnight, then one, then two.
    It has come home, properly, that I’ve married a man I hardly know. My own secrets seem far darker at this time of night. I didn’t even get near telling him anything I meant to.
    How could I when he was already so annoyed?
    I stare into the darkness, and I hear the walls begin to whisper again. What exactly is it in this house that’s being hidden?
    Get a grip, babe, Marlena would say, and get on with it.
    Tomorrow we need to drag it all out in the open, every last bit of it – and then we will be all right.
    I get up and sit on the side of the bath in our en suite. I text Marlena, but she doesn’t answer. Eventually I rummage round the medicine cabinet, take a headache pill and go back to bed.
    Finally I sleep.

Twelve
    Marlena
    R eally , Jeanie?
    This is starting to alarm me a little now.

Thirteen
    Jeanie
1 February 2015
    8.30 a.m.
----
    M atthew brings me tea in bed this morning. I overslept and was woken by my phone pinging.
    Marlena:
    You were up late. Or should I say early? What gives?
    I call her.
    ‘So are you coming to stay? I’ve got a lovely spare room with its own bathroom and all.’ I stretch luxuriously, but I don’t feel very luxurious actually. I’m starting to hate this house; the whispering walls feel less than benign now. I don’t belong. I am an impostor – as that word might have said.
    Might.
    Yesterday I was sure I heard voices on the stairs again – a sort of muttering in the ether. I tore open the small door and shone the light up there – but the staircase was empty. Of course it was. But I didn’t relax for the rest of the day.
    ‘And everything’s okay, is it?’ Marlena asks suspiciously.
    ‘Yeah of course, it’s great.’ Why do I feel like I’m lying?
    ‘I mean – you’ve told him?’
    I don’t speak.
    ‘Jean! For Christ’s sake