Just before twelve, Matthew makes a charming speech, welcoming Frankie and me to the family. He kisses my lips as the crowd toasts us; I flush as scarlet as my stepdaughter’s name, to Frankie and George’s whoops. Luke’s shy hug delights me. Maybe this is it now.
I look around for Scarlett to share the moment with us – but she is nowhere to be seen.
They are about to set off rockets to mark the New Year; George is making a big hash of fixing the fireworks into the flowerpots set out for them. Perhaps Scarlett is out there too?
But she isn’t.
I search all the rooms downstairs. No Scarlett.
Perhaps the alcohol has taken its toll. Perhaps she’s conked out somewhere.
I have a duty of care now, don’t I? I want to forge this relationship properly, to look out for her. And I’ve already ignored her possible drinking once…
I find Scarlett sitting on her bed in her pink turret room, which is still decorated for a much younger child. The girl is sprawled on her frilly double bed, all eyes and legs, glued to her phone.
She doesn’t look up – but she knows I am there.
‘Hi, lovey.’ I stay in the doorway, feeling suddenly shy. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ she asks, staring at her screen. The fluffy bathrobe over her little dress seems both babyish and incongruous as I look away from the silver frames of Kaye and Scarlett hugging on the beach in Ibiza, on a hill in the Lake District, on a boat somewhere with a very blue sky.
Of Kaye and Matthew, kissing on a sunlounger.
‘Well you weren’t there when Daddy—’
‘My dad, you mean?’ She does look up now, her eyes narrowed.
‘Er, yes. Your dad. When – when Matthew made a little toast.’
‘I heard it.’ Scarlett’s voice is flat. ‘Then I came up here.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘To get away actually.’ She couldn’t be more pointed if she tried.
‘Oh I see.’ I am well used to dealing with teenagers, but she makes me feel anxious. Still, in for a penny, etc. ‘Luke’s downstairs, having a whale of a time. And I just thought – well it’d be nice for us all to be together, don’t you…?’
Do I sound like I’m telling her off? I take a small step into the room, and she looks at me like I’ve just violated something.
‘No one comes in here. Apart from…’ Her eyes are huge, her eyeliner melting below them. ‘Apart from me – and Luke – and Daddy.’
Outside her small window, a golden firework explodes in the dark velvet sky. Together we watch the brilliant sparks falling back to earth.
‘Happy New Year!’ I muster as much enthusiasm as I can. ‘I love that picture, by the way. Did you do it?’
I point at the small, framed painting of an old window, surrounded by snow, a red rose growing around the ebony frame. There is a dash of blood in the snow on the sill.
‘It’s total shit,’ Scarlett says flatly, without looking at either the picture or me. ‘I did it in Year 7. Can you tell my dad I want him?’
‘Oh – why?’ I can’t help myself.
She looks up at me again. ‘I just do.’ We stare at each other for a moment until she begins to pout. ‘To come and tuck me in of course.’
Really? Then I think, She’s just being silly. Childish. She is a child.
‘All right.’ I back away. ‘I’ll tell him. And I’ll… I’ll say goodnight myself then.’
‘Night.’ She is fixated on her phone again. I am sure I’ve glimpsed a packet of Silk Cut in her dressing-gown pocket – but I leave it. Enough for one night.
On the way back downstairs, feeling rattled, I catch my reflection in the horrible gilt mirror.
Don’t be ridiculous. She’s just a little girl, Jeanie, I tell myself. She’s not a threat.
Still, I don’t dare rock the boat any more tonight. I am tired and a bit drunk; she is suddenly cross about something. Or rather more cross.
I don’t tell Matthew about the cigarettes – or the tucking up, because when I get downstairs, Frankie is looking for me.
‘You missed the fireworks,’ he says, and he is frowning, ‘and there’s something odd about one of them.’
‘What?’ I feel exhausted, my feet aching in the rarely worn high heels.
He walks into the kitchen. People are starting to leave, which relieves me, because I’ve had enough excitement for one day, enough smiling at strangers. I don’t really like parties.
‘This one.’ Frankie kneels by a box. ‘It’s called a time bomb apparently.’
‘Oh yes?’ I plonk myself down on a stool and ease my heels off. He shoves the box towards me. Amongst sawdust nestles what looks like old-fashioned sticks of dynamite with a handwritten tag attached.
‘Yeah.’ Frankie pulls it out. ‘Only it’s not a firework at all. I think it’s real.’
‘Real?’ I am confused. ‘Real fireworks?’