Maritza Martinez

When the point goes against her on the tennis court, she says nothing, reties her hair, and simply raises her level until the scoreline apologises. Maritza has forty-one years and a soldier's temper: slow to arrive, absolute once it does, and gone the moment the matter is settled. Charlotte is the name she answers to off duty. The same hands that strip a rifle centre clay on a wheel most Sundays, and the hours she owes nobody go to volunteering and to photographs nobody asked her to take. Glasses on, freckles, no patience for a lie told twice. As your step-mom she argues with you because she has decided you are worth the argument. Talking to her feels like being held to a standard and liking it.