Read Online The Stepmother by Claire Seeber - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Claire Seeber
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Use the spare bathroom for now.’
----
‘ W hat exactly did happen to that puppy?’ I asked Matthew tentatively later, half watching a boring costume drama.
‘What puppy?’ He was half asleep, drowsy with food and wine.
‘The one Miss Trunchbull complained about.’
‘Oh. It got out. It got run over.’
‘How awful.’ I thought of Smudge and how distraught I was when he died. ‘Did you get a new one?’
‘No.’ He reached over for the wine. ‘That’s the only pet they ever had. That and Luke’s hamster he had aged six, who lasted about two weeks. Two animal tragedies was enough.’
----
11 a.m.
----
I call the plumber about the leaking shower, and then I lug the Christmas box into the spare room that isn’t locked, trailing tinsel behind me.
As I drop the box onto the bed, I see an earring on the carpet – a big silver hoop. It must be one of Scarlett’s, because it’s definitely not mine.
I sit for a minute to catch my breath, and it’s then that I spot the handwritten envelope with my name on it, leaning against the dresser mirror. Jeanie…
Matthew , I think joyfully. A love letter? He’s surprisingly romantic for a businessman. Tickets for something maybe, judging by the size and padding of the envelope. I remember my surprise on our third date – tickets to see Kings of Leon, after an early, expensive supper at Mark Hix’s place in Soho. I’d never heard of Mark Hix before, but I’d gathered this was a place you got taken if your partner wanted to impress you.
Am I meant to open the letter now?
I struggled with presents as a small child – probably because they were so rare. I got walloped if I got caught squeezing packages, and it wasn’t long before I learnt they were always disappointing. Something cheap and plastic, something out of hock, something that got stolen back or broken.
I hate surprises now – that’s the truth.
I pick the earring up and put it on the dresser, staring at the envelope.
I can’t resist it.
I take the envelope downstairs to the kitchen and switch the kettle on.
Feeling like George Smiley, I steam it open, grinning to myself. After I’ve read it, I’ll reseal it and pretend I never saw it.
Unfolding the A4 sheet, I see it’s a photocopy of something. A picture, a clue? I turn it over.
It’s a bad, grainy copy of…
Oh Christ.
I sit heavily on a kitchen stool, hands shaking.
It can’t be from Matthew.
I could make a guess at who it was from, except…
This time it is inside the house.
Panicking, I run upstairs, thinking I’ll replace it – and then of course I realise I can’t. If I leave it there, he’ll see it eventually and…
Obviously I need to get rid of it – but before I can think, I hear a car in the drive. I find the key to the dresser in my make-up box and shove the envelope into the drawer, along with the other mail that Miss Trunchbull gave me and the first card.
Out of breath, I lean against the dressing table as if that will stop the nightmare from starting again.
Someone here knows what happened last year.
‘Hi!’ Matthew shouts up the stairs. ‘Where’s my gorgeous girl?’
For a moment, I think he must mean Scarlett.
‘Jeanie?’
It’s with something like relief I realise he means me.
‘Up here, sweetie.’ I go out to greet him. I’ll get rid of the evidence later. For now I’ll just enjoy my husband’s company.
‘The trains are up the spout because of the snow, so my meeting’s cancelled,’ he says. ‘I’ll just work from home.’ But he doesn’t look like work’s on his mind as he kisses me and leads me back to bed.
That’s all right, isn’t it? It’s all right just to be with him – to keep the world out, for a tiny while longer at least.
Afterwards he holds me in his arms, and I find that I am crying. ‘What’s up?’ He looks worried.
I wipe my eyes and say, ‘Nothing.’ It is overwhelming, this feeling of love I have for him.
It terrifies me.
----
W hen I take a shower
----
‘ W hat exactly did happen to that puppy?’ I asked Matthew tentatively later, half watching a boring costume drama.
‘What puppy?’ He was half asleep, drowsy with food and wine.
‘The one Miss Trunchbull complained about.’
‘Oh. It got out. It got run over.’
‘How awful.’ I thought of Smudge and how distraught I was when he died. ‘Did you get a new one?’
‘No.’ He reached over for the wine. ‘That’s the only pet they ever had. That and Luke’s hamster he had aged six, who lasted about two weeks. Two animal tragedies was enough.’
----
11 a.m.
----
I call the plumber about the leaking shower, and then I lug the Christmas box into the spare room that isn’t locked, trailing tinsel behind me.
As I drop the box onto the bed, I see an earring on the carpet – a big silver hoop. It must be one of Scarlett’s, because it’s definitely not mine.
I sit for a minute to catch my breath, and it’s then that I spot the handwritten envelope with my name on it, leaning against the dresser mirror. Jeanie…
Matthew , I think joyfully. A love letter? He’s surprisingly romantic for a businessman. Tickets for something maybe, judging by the size and padding of the envelope. I remember my surprise on our third date – tickets to see Kings of Leon, after an early, expensive supper at Mark Hix’s place in Soho. I’d never heard of Mark Hix before, but I’d gathered this was a place you got taken if your partner wanted to impress you.
Am I meant to open the letter now?
I struggled with presents as a small child – probably because they were so rare. I got walloped if I got caught squeezing packages, and it wasn’t long before I learnt they were always disappointing. Something cheap and plastic, something out of hock, something that got stolen back or broken.
I hate surprises now – that’s the truth.
I pick the earring up and put it on the dresser, staring at the envelope.
I can’t resist it.
I take the envelope downstairs to the kitchen and switch the kettle on.
Feeling like George Smiley, I steam it open, grinning to myself. After I’ve read it, I’ll reseal it and pretend I never saw it.
Unfolding the A4 sheet, I see it’s a photocopy of something. A picture, a clue? I turn it over.
It’s a bad, grainy copy of…
Oh Christ.
I sit heavily on a kitchen stool, hands shaking.
It can’t be from Matthew.
I could make a guess at who it was from, except…
This time it is inside the house.
Panicking, I run upstairs, thinking I’ll replace it – and then of course I realise I can’t. If I leave it there, he’ll see it eventually and…
Obviously I need to get rid of it – but before I can think, I hear a car in the drive. I find the key to the dresser in my make-up box and shove the envelope into the drawer, along with the other mail that Miss Trunchbull gave me and the first card.
Out of breath, I lean against the dressing table as if that will stop the nightmare from starting again.
Someone here knows what happened last year.
‘Hi!’ Matthew shouts up the stairs. ‘Where’s my gorgeous girl?’
For a moment, I think he must mean Scarlett.
‘Jeanie?’
It’s with something like relief I realise he means me.
‘Up here, sweetie.’ I go out to greet him. I’ll get rid of the evidence later. For now I’ll just enjoy my husband’s company.
‘The trains are up the spout because of the snow, so my meeting’s cancelled,’ he says. ‘I’ll just work from home.’ But he doesn’t look like work’s on his mind as he kisses me and leads me back to bed.
That’s all right, isn’t it? It’s all right just to be with him – to keep the world out, for a tiny while longer at least.
Afterwards he holds me in his arms, and I find that I am crying. ‘What’s up?’ He looks worried.
I wipe my eyes and say, ‘Nothing.’ It is overwhelming, this feeling of love I have for him.
It terrifies me.
----
W hen I take a shower
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