The Stepmother by Claire Seeber Page A

– what are you on?’
    ‘Okay, okay! Look – if you come up one of next few weekends, I swear it’ll all be sorted by then.’
    ‘Okay – deal. I could do with twenty-four hours in the country. It’s mental in London right now,’ Marlena says, followed by a snappy: ‘Watch out mate!’ I hear the frantic beeping of traffic around her. ‘Gotta go. Gotta see a man about a dog. Get on with it, Jeanie. I’ll text you a date.’
    Matt comes in as I hang up. He’s been working out downstairs, and looking at his tousled hair and his muscular arms in his white V-neck, I feel the familiar, addictive wash of emotion – a surge of what Marlena would no doubt call lust.
    Last night’s demons disintegrate in the weak morning light.
    ‘Is it okay if my sister comes to stay?’ I ask as he goes to take a shower – now all fixed. He frowns.
    ‘You don’t need to ask. This is your home too.’
    I don’t say I’ve already semi-arranged it, because frankly Marlena is less than reliable with social arrangements. I’m so pleased she’s finally agreed to come: I want Matthew to meet her properly, to get to know her like I do.
    They’ve only met a few times, briefly; she took us out for lunch in London the week after the wedding she missed. She drank quite a lot and was funny and bitchy about celebrities. I wasn’t sure what Matthew made of her, but he laughed at all her jokes.
    I’m sure they’ll get on famously when she comes to stay.

Fourteen
    Marlena
    N o comment .

Fifteen
    Jeanie
1 February 2015
    10 a.m.
----
    I listen to the shower as I drink my tea, watching the finches in the bare branches of the apple tree as they pick at the pale lichen.
    I have nothing to feel guilty about, I must remember that; I just have to be honest with Matthew. I have to trust he knows me well enough by now, loves me deeply enough, to understand.
    And he hasn’t told me everything either, I remind myself, thinking of last night’s uncomfortable conversation.
    I feel both relief and terror about what I must do, still chastising myself for not having told him before. It’s so stupid, I see that clearly now – but it wasn’t so clear before.
    Matthew emerges, wrapped in a towel. His physique is good for a man of nearly fifty: toned and fit. Again I feel a wave of…
    ‘What are these, Jeanie?’ He’s holding something in his hand that I can’t make out.
    ‘What?’
    ‘These pills?’ He extends the packet. ‘Xanax?’
    ‘Xanax? They’re not mine,’ I say quickly, seeing his face. ‘Where did you find them?’
    ‘They must be yours. They were in our bathroom cabinet, and they are most definitely not mine.’
    I get out of bed and pluck them out his hand, turning the packet over.
    ‘See, they don’t even have my name on.’ I study the label. Then I lay my hand on his bare chest. ‘Why don’t you come back to bed for a bit? I wanted to talk to you…’
    ‘I can’t. It’s already late.’ He frowns again, pulling away to get dressed. ‘I need to check my emails.’
    ‘Just for five minutes?’ I plead. It’ll only take five.
    ‘I’m waiting to hear from Tokyo.’ He has that bullish look that I’m starting to recognise as stress. ‘It’s important.’
    ‘Sorry,’ I say, as he pulls on his jeans. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to annoy you.’
    His face is inscrutable.
    ‘I’ll be down soon.’ I try to smile, but I feel oddly like crying. When he leaves the room, I sit on the edge of the bed, pills in hand. I look out at the bare apple tree. There was a pair of blackbirds, but they’ve gone. All the birds have flown off, scared by something nearby. A cat? A fox.
    The foxes are always prowling here.
    I stare out. I can’t shake my feeling of unease.
----
    D ownstairs Matthew’s on the computer.
    I make some toast and then, nervously, I suggest a walk when he’s finished, to the nice café near the woods. I’d rather be out in the open when I tell him. Neutral territory: isn’t that what they always advise