Shaking the broken shards of glass away, I hurry back downstairs with it.
It is our wedding photograph, I realise in the daylight, my heart sinking. Only a month old, in an elegant silver frame that the children had bought us – and it is completely smashed.
I look down at my stupidly smiling face, gazing at the camera with all the hope in the world, Matthew’s arms around me on the happiest day of my life.
The last time I saw this photograph – last night probably, before the party – it had been safely on the dressing table in our bedroom.
Hands trembling, I clean up the glass on the stairs as quickly as I can. Then I drink a pint of water with a couple of aspirin, hoping I’ll feel more human soon, and realise from a single drop of ruby blood on the white worktop that I’ve cut my finger on a shard of glass.
Sucking the blood away, it strikes me once again this marriage might not be as welcome to all as it was to me.
* * *
As I am flipping the first batch of pancakes about ten minutes later, Scarlett appears. In her baby blue tracksuit and matching beanie, mascara smudged below her eyes, she looks her real age again. It is odd how that happens, the years fading away – and I find her rudeness more forgivable when I remember she’s only a child. A rather lost one, at that.
‘Morning!’ I don’t want to show anyone I am rattled. ‘Sleep well? How do you want your eggs?’
‘I hate eggs.’ She swipes her phone. ‘Disgusting chicken mess.’
‘Oh.’ I keep smiling. ‘Well there’s pancakes, American style. Do you like them? Frankie says maple syrup and bacon’s the best; I like blueberries. What do you reckon?’ Nothing. ‘You could flip some if you fancy?’
‘I don’t want anything,’ she says dully. ‘Mum’s picking me up now.’
I feel it viscerally.
‘She’s not actually.’ Matthew comes in, yawning, looking slightly the worse for wear. ‘She just messaged to say her car’s got a flat. I’ll give you a lift in a minute.’
‘I want to go now. Where’s Luke?’
‘Gone to play football with Michael and Joe.’ Matthew sifts through the fridge, gulping orange juice straight from the carton.
‘Matt!’ I reprove with a smile. ‘Do you want a glass?’
‘Too much cheap champagne.’ He winks at me. ‘And not enough sleep, eh, honey?’
I blush, thinking of last night, after everyone had gone and he’d taken me to bed.
‘Can we go now?’ Scarlett mutters, texting again, and I wait for him to say, Yes, after breakfast, but he doesn’t.
He says, ‘Have you seen my car keys, love?’ as he rifles through stuff on the side.
I look at all the food, the piping coffee, the stack of pancakes glistening with syrup, and for the first time since I’ve lived here, since I’ve been confronted with Scarlett’s obvious hostility, I feel a small flame of anger.
I bite my lip. Good girl, Jean. ‘By the recipe books?’ I suggest. ‘In the Piglet bowl?’
‘Aha!’ He holds up his keys triumphantly. ‘Come on, tiger.’ He ruffles Scarlett’s hair. ‘Stick mine in the oven, would you, Jeanie? Won’t be long.’
‘Sure.’ I smile brightly. ‘No problem. Bye, Scarlett! Have a good day.’
Scarlett doesn’t look back as she leaves the room; she doesn’t say goodbye, still glued to her phone.
‘Matt,’ I say quietly, as he waits for her to get her bag. ‘Our wedding photo – the one in the bedroom…’
‘What about it?’
‘Did you move it?’ I can’t remember if I saw it there yesterday, during all the party hullabaloo. ‘It seems to have got broken…’ I couldn’t say, Someone seems to have thrown it down the stairs, could I?
‘Oh, hon! It’s fine if you broke it, really! We can get the glass replaced, no sweat.’
‘No, but I didn’t—’
‘Dad!’ Scarlett commands from the front door.
‘Coming!’ he practically salutes.
When I put the pancakes in the oven to keep them warm, I bang the door very, very hard a few times, so that Frankie, sloping in wearing last night’s clothes, holds his head dramatically.
‘Blimey, Mum. Hold it down, would you?’
It couldn’t be helped, I suppose, as I think about Matthew driving over to Kaye’s new place. The amazing Kaye. Matthew has to put his children first – that is the right thing to do, I know. But the thought of Kaye galls me this morning.
About a month before I moved in, before I brought Frankie here to live – when I was unsettled still, trying to get my bearings – when Matthew was out one morning, I took the opportunity to seek out his past a bit.