Page 28 of I Know How This Ends

“Nothing sad about being a cleaner,” Henry says firmly, coming back into the room, notably minus a vacuum. “Your dad is a

waiter, remember? Very upstanding professions. You know, Margot, as this is your very first session, I thought maybe we could

just use it to show you the flat? Forget the cleaning this one time.”

He winks at me. I try not to grin back but fail miserably.

“Oooh!” Winter jumps up and down. “Start with my bedroom! I want you to see my rock collection so you know how to clean it properly!”

She races off and Henry puts an arm around me. “What are your rates like? Because you don’t seem very well trained.”

“Sod all the way off,” I laugh. “Or I’ll pee on your bed.”

“Come quickly!” Winter yells. “We have a lot to get through.”

“Welcome to my life,” Henry says dryly as we walk toward the room. “You will now be forced to make teddies perform elaborately

staged plays where only my daughter has the script and everything you say is inexplicably wrong.”

It’s extremely strange, how normal this all feels. As if I’ve slotted straight into a place I was supposed to be. I feel weirdly proud: I’ve spent so long avoiding

children, believing I lacked the mum gene , but maybe I’m not as bad as I thought. Granted, Henry’s child thinks I’m staff, but I’ll take the win where I can.

“Daddy!” Winter pokes her head round the door just as Henry whips his arm from my shoulder. “Do you know where I put my stereoscope,

so we can listen to the teddies’ heartbeats?”

“It’s a stethoscope,” Henry says warmly. “And it’s mine, Winnie, as I’ve told you multiple times, but I think it’s under the—”

“I hate you.”

I blink in shock at a completely empty living room: one I don’t recognize at all.

Where the hell am I this time?

A door slams somewhere above me. Turning, I spot a wooden staircase. Lying on the bottom step—stretched out luxuriously—is

the biggest cat I have ever seen. It’s bright orange with giant triangular ears, and it takes up so much space its paws are

up the wall on one side and hanging over the edge on the other.

The cat looks at me, yawns like a tiger and promptly goes back to sleep.

“Winter!” I hear knocking upstairs and Henry’s voice, firm but clearly furious. “Young lady, get your arse downstairs and apologize .”

“No! I won’t!”

“You will or I’m going to ground you until you’re sixty.”

The door opens and I watch in bewilderment as a young woman thunders down the stairs toward me, jumping right over the still-unconscious

cat. Her hair is cut into a jagged bob and she’s wearing a black crop top and baggy jeans. She’s angular, tall, lean, all

elbows and collarbones, and she’s radiating pure rage: directly at me.

“Winter?” I say in bewilderment. In literally thirty seconds, Henry’s little girl has become a teenager. A very, very angry

fifteen-year-old. With a lot of mascara and a pair of blunt scissors at her disposal.

“ What? ” she snaps at me. “What do you want now ?”

I blink as Henry comes down the stairs, also stepping neatly over the cat, who seems totally accustomed to all the drama.

“One of these days you’re going to get stepped on, Cheds.”

Henry looks older too, but it suits him: his hair is now entirely silver, and I feel a sharp, hot pang in my stomach.

“What did I do?” I ask him in amazement.

“You didn’t do anything,” he sighs tiredly. “It’s like having an active volcano in the house. Winter, say sorry to Margot right now!”

“I will not!” She whips round and glares at me. “This is your fault.”

I open my mouth. “I—”

“You’re so embarrassing ,” Winter continues without taking a breath, lava erupting everywhere. “With your stupid costumes and your stupid catchphrases and your stupid cloud . Why did you have to turn up looking like that? I am mortified and I will never, ever recover .”

Um, what costumes? What catchphrases? What cloud? What did I turn up looking like, and where? What have I done to this poor

girl?

“Stop being so dramatic,” Henry tells her sharply. “All Meg has done is pick you up from school at the last minute straight after work. In other words, go out of her way for you. As always.”

“I didn’t ask her to, Dad. She’s not my mum .”

“How dare you?” Henry now fully erupts too. “After everything that— Right. Your big sleepover next weekend? Canceled.”

“Dad—”

“Rosie’s birthday party? You’re not going.”

“ Dad! ”

“In fact, say goodbye to all your parties for the next month. You can’t socialize with other humans until you’ve learned how

to do it at home.”

“Oh my God!” Winter glares at me with pure venom. “Thanks very much, Margot .”

Crushed, I stare at her. “I’m so sorr—”

“Margot? Are you alright?”

I’m standing in the hallway of Henry’s flat again, but it feels like I’ve just been hit by a truck. A teenage-girl truck composed

of hormones and anger and what appears to be roughly nine years of built-up resentment toward me.

Scrap all my hopes of a positive relationship: Winter is going to hate me.

“Oh.” I nod at Henry, totally devastated. “Just a head rush, that’s all.”

“Again?” He frowns in concern. “Is there something going on with your blood pressure? I’m going to have a look. Hang on while

I grab the Hypochondria Kit.”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Just tired.”

That’s the furthest forward I’ve seen, and it’s a lot more draining: it appears to take considerably more energy to jump ahead

that far.

“Look!” The tiny version of Winter appears at the doorway and grabs my hand so she can drag me into her bedroom. “I’ve put them in order of my favorites. This is number one. It’s called amethyst.”

I stare at her neat little box of semi-precious stones as she chatters away, excitedly pointing out what they all are: tiger’s

eye, jasper, agate (she pronounces it a-gate). All of the glow I felt has abruptly disappeared. This sweet, happy little girl

evaporates at some point, but am I the cause of it? The vision indicates that Henry and I are in it for the long run, but

also that I’m going to be the world’s worst stepmother.

Also, in the future I apparently live in a carpeted house and wear “costumes” and use “catchphrases” and do something with

a cloud— technology, maybe? Which proves my Instagram page is doomed. What do I eventually become? Please don’t let forty-five-year-old

me wear an inflatable hot-dog costume and stand on the street spinning an advertising banner, because that would be the cherry

on the humiliating meteorological-career cake.

Plus, we have a cat called Cheds . What kind of stupid name is Cheds ? What is it even short for? Cheddite? Have we named a pet after a French explosive device? I hate cats. What is Future Margot

doing ?

“Hey.” Henry puts a gentle hand on Winter’s fluffy head, watching my expression carefully. “Winnie, I think we might be overwhelming

Margot. Shall we leave the rocks for another time?”

I blink, trying to pull myself together.

I’d begun to hope my visions were accurate, and now I’m suddenly not so sure. Is this what I want? To enter Henry’s life and

destroy Winter’s in the process? Is there not some way I can keep the good bits of the future while erasing the bad bits? Can I not retain some kind of control over what’s going to happen, like an overly expensive pick ’n’ mix? Take out the horrible ones, keep the ones

I like? Lovely ring and lovely Henry: yes, please. Furious stepdaughter who hates me: no, thank you.

With a quick glance at Henry’s gorgeous face—and a quick flashback of last night—I decide that I can at least try .

Slightly desperately, I try to work out how to set this thread straight as fast as physically possible.

How can I make this little girl warm to me?

Reverting to form, I impulsively reach into my pocket and pull out some change.

“Hey,” I say, holding out thirty-five pence in shrapnel. “Do you want money?”

Bribery and corruption: I’ll start there.