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Authors: Claire Seeber
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later in the spare bathroom, I run it so hot it burns my skin.
The bathroom is misty from the heat when I get out. As I stand dripping in front of the basin – circumspect about the taps really being off this time – condensation bobbles like strange wet growth on the mirror before me, obscuring my reflection.
And as I squint at myself, words form slowly in front of me, materialising out of the steam.
I blink at them: once, twice.
Go home , they seem to say, followed by another word I can’t read.
But it’s nothing, really, I think. Just old words that someone’s written here in this unused bathroom. Still, I’m disquieted as I wipe them off.
It’s nothing.
Nine
Jeanie
17 January 2015
2.30 p.m.
----
I ’m studying job-application forms that threaten to overwhelm me. But I must act. I’m also overwhelmed – after a lifetime of supporting Frankie and myself – by becoming what I can only describe as a kept woman.
I’m getting organised. I registered with a doctor two days ago, now I need to find a dentist for me and Frank, and then that’s us – all settled. As if it’s really home.
Like noticing a quiet scratching at the door, I start to become aware of something in the next room. I realise it’s Matthew’s voice, rising querulously – on the phone, I guess. It’s hard not to listen, though I do try not to – but he’s getting louder.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ he’s saying.
Furious . He sounds furious. Perhaps it’s work?
‘You can’t keep doing this – it’s just impossible,’ I hear him say, and I put the radio on loudly so I can’t hear any more, because I feel like I’m snooping – though honestly I’d quite like to hear too.
I have a suspicion it’s Kaye on the other end of the line.
Originally I’d suggested – having read it in my book – that we all met, for civility’s sake. So we could all be cordial for the children.
But I wonder now if I’ll ever meet her, and I’m not sure I want to any more.
Half an hour later Scarlett arrives on the doorstep, angrier than I’ve ever seen her.
‘I don’t want to be here,’ I hear her say to Matthew. ‘I just want to go home.’
‘This is your home,’ he’s saying as he carries her overnight bag up to the top of the house. Up to her princess-in-the-tower room, where she has everything she’ll ever need: a flat-screen TV, an iMac, a walk-in wardrobe – albeit a small one – and more, I expect, because her father’s so frightened she won’t come back if she’s not happy. ‘You’ve got two homes, you lucky thing.’
‘I don’t want two homes,’ she says angrily as they turn the bend on the landing. ‘Why can’t you and Mum stop arguing and just make it up?’
‘Ask your mother that,’ I hear Matthew say levelly.
My stomach plummets as they disappear. I am left, mouth open, staring into the void.
Does he wish he was still with her then?
It is a shock. I’d never suspected that before, not really. I thought their marriage was long over, done and dusted. But – does this mean there’s something unresolved? Matthew’s quite reserved when it comes to talking about Kaye and his past. It’s a man thing, I remind myself; most men don’t reveal emotions easily or encourage discussion of their past.
Still, I don’t know enough, I realise now, with a thud.
Neither of us knows the first thing about each other: that is becoming evident.
I wipe my clammy palms on my jeans.
I remember the writing on the steamed-up mirror.
Impostor , I think that last word might have been.
----
4 p.m.
----
M atthew and Scarlett haven’t come down yet, and I can’t concentrate on the silly application I’ve half answered, so I go up, sticking my head round the bend on the stairs to look up at her room.
Scarlett’s door is almost closed, but I can see from their feet that they’re both sitting on the bed.
‘Hi,’ I call brightly. ‘Shall we have tea soon?’
Matthew jumps up and opens the door. He looks
The bathroom is misty from the heat when I get out. As I stand dripping in front of the basin – circumspect about the taps really being off this time – condensation bobbles like strange wet growth on the mirror before me, obscuring my reflection.
And as I squint at myself, words form slowly in front of me, materialising out of the steam.
I blink at them: once, twice.
Go home , they seem to say, followed by another word I can’t read.
But it’s nothing, really, I think. Just old words that someone’s written here in this unused bathroom. Still, I’m disquieted as I wipe them off.
It’s nothing.
Nine
Jeanie
17 January 2015
2.30 p.m.
----
I ’m studying job-application forms that threaten to overwhelm me. But I must act. I’m also overwhelmed – after a lifetime of supporting Frankie and myself – by becoming what I can only describe as a kept woman.
I’m getting organised. I registered with a doctor two days ago, now I need to find a dentist for me and Frank, and then that’s us – all settled. As if it’s really home.
Like noticing a quiet scratching at the door, I start to become aware of something in the next room. I realise it’s Matthew’s voice, rising querulously – on the phone, I guess. It’s hard not to listen, though I do try not to – but he’s getting louder.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ he’s saying.
Furious . He sounds furious. Perhaps it’s work?
‘You can’t keep doing this – it’s just impossible,’ I hear him say, and I put the radio on loudly so I can’t hear any more, because I feel like I’m snooping – though honestly I’d quite like to hear too.
I have a suspicion it’s Kaye on the other end of the line.
Originally I’d suggested – having read it in my book – that we all met, for civility’s sake. So we could all be cordial for the children.
But I wonder now if I’ll ever meet her, and I’m not sure I want to any more.
Half an hour later Scarlett arrives on the doorstep, angrier than I’ve ever seen her.
‘I don’t want to be here,’ I hear her say to Matthew. ‘I just want to go home.’
‘This is your home,’ he’s saying as he carries her overnight bag up to the top of the house. Up to her princess-in-the-tower room, where she has everything she’ll ever need: a flat-screen TV, an iMac, a walk-in wardrobe – albeit a small one – and more, I expect, because her father’s so frightened she won’t come back if she’s not happy. ‘You’ve got two homes, you lucky thing.’
‘I don’t want two homes,’ she says angrily as they turn the bend on the landing. ‘Why can’t you and Mum stop arguing and just make it up?’
‘Ask your mother that,’ I hear Matthew say levelly.
My stomach plummets as they disappear. I am left, mouth open, staring into the void.
Does he wish he was still with her then?
It is a shock. I’d never suspected that before, not really. I thought their marriage was long over, done and dusted. But – does this mean there’s something unresolved? Matthew’s quite reserved when it comes to talking about Kaye and his past. It’s a man thing, I remind myself; most men don’t reveal emotions easily or encourage discussion of their past.
Still, I don’t know enough, I realise now, with a thud.
Neither of us knows the first thing about each other: that is becoming evident.
I wipe my clammy palms on my jeans.
I remember the writing on the steamed-up mirror.
Impostor , I think that last word might have been.
----
4 p.m.
----
M atthew and Scarlett haven’t come down yet, and I can’t concentrate on the silly application I’ve half answered, so I go up, sticking my head round the bend on the stairs to look up at her room.
Scarlett’s door is almost closed, but I can see from their feet that they’re both sitting on the bed.
‘Hi,’ I call brightly. ‘Shall we have tea soon?’
Matthew jumps up and opens the door. He looks
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