Free How to Be a Good Wife by Emma Chapman

full of light and joy. Hector and I, beginning our lives together. Now it’s as if I can see shadows for the first time.

8
    Once I am ready, I go to the kitchen and drink two glasses of white wine as quickly as I can. I wash the glass, dry it and put it back into the cupboard. Hector definitely wouldn’t approve, not with his mother arriving any second.
    At exactly seven thirty, I sit and wait at the top of the stairs. Soon, I hear a car. The headlights beam mistily through the frosted-glass panel in the front door, the car doors open and shut, and there is laughter and clipping heels in the driveway.
    When I hear the doorbell, I stand up, moving slowly, methodically, in my high heels. Holding the handrail with one hand, I feel lightheaded. Steadying myself at the bottom, I glance in the hall mirror, smile, and feel a rush of happiness. Behind the glass across the hallway is the outline of my son’s broad shoulders, his hair darkened in silhouette.
    I open the door, letting the chill of the outside air in. He is standing on the doorstep, his hands in the pockets of a big grey duffle coat I don’t recognize, wearing the red scarf I gave him for Christmas. He still looks like a boy to me, his sandy-brown hair split down the centre, his freckled cheeks, and his kind blue eyes.
    I say his name. He leans in to kiss me on the cheek and there’s the sharp tang of his aftershave, covering up his smell. Pulling him closer, his body feels strange, big, not how I remember.
    Over his shoulder, the blonde girl is standing on the mat, smiling a crooked half-smile at me, wearing her white pyjamas with the pink hearts. I breathe in sharply, clutching Kylan’s arms, the material of his coat thick under my fingers. He puts his hands over mine, gently, trying to lift them off. My heart moves heavily. He holds me at arm’s length, looking at me with darting eyes.
    ‘What’s the matter?’ he says.
    I take a step backwards, into the hallway. Kylan enters, and she starts to follow him. Pushing past Kylan towards the door, I shut it quickly. I hear her make a noise from the other side. I turn to face Kylan, my breath rising quickly, standing between him and her.
    ‘Mum,’ he says. ‘What the hell is going on?’
    ‘She can’t come in here,’ I say.
    ‘She’s come to meet you. We’ve just driven for six hours—’
    ‘That’s not her.’
    ‘You’ve never met her.’
    ‘She can’t come in.’
    Kylan goes to open the door. I stand in his way.
    ‘Mum,’ he says, ‘please. It’s freezing out there.’
    His blue eyes are so like his father’s. Walking around him, I go to the kitchen. I hear Kylan open the door, then shut it; I hear them talking
. I don’t know. I’m sorry.
    Now, Hector is on the stairs. Out of sight, I see his hair is still a little wet from the shower, brushed across his head neatly, like a little boy dressed up uncomfortably for a birthday party. He goes to give her a kiss on the cheek. She colours, and there is an awkward moment when they almost bump noses. She has the same blonde hair, long over her shoulders, the same pale grey eyes, but a different mouth. Her lips are smaller, like a rosebud; her smile is slower, softer. She is wearing a pretty flowered dress. It’s not the girl after all.
    I step forward.
    They all turn to look at me. There is a long moment where no one speaks.
    ‘Mother not here yet?’ Hector says.
    I don’t answer. Hector looks between us.
    ‘Have you met Katya at last?’ he says.
    ‘No,’ I say.
    Hector looks confused. ‘Who let them in, then?’
    ‘I’m sorry, Katya,’ I say, stepping forward. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’
    Both Hector and Kylan stare at me. ‘But I told you—’ Hector says.
    ‘I’m sure we will have enough food to go around,’ I say, smiling.
    ‘It’s lovely to meet you at last, Mrs Bjornstad,’ Katya says finally. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’
    I wonder what she has heard.
    ‘You can call her Marta,’ Hector says.
    I