Her Last Secret

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  Shoulders back, he strutted out of the bathroom, naked, dick swinging like a pendulum between his legs. Dominique wasn’t there to see his act, though, so he let his posture slump. He could hear her arguing with their teenage daughter, Ruby. He ground his teeth and he yanked on a pair of boxers, then trousers, as the conversation grew louder.

  ‘I hate you,’ Ruby shouted.

  Right, he wasn’t putting up with that. He would have respect in this house. Not bothering to do himself up, he flung the bedroom door open and glared down the landing at the frozen tableau.

  Ruby glowering. Jaw set, fists clenched as she leaned forward. Dom glancing at him apologetically. Hands open in a gesture of peace towards her daughter.

  ‘What the hell is all this racket?’ he growled.

  ‘It’s nothing. Ruby and I were discussing what she should wear to school today. It’s sorted now.’

  Ruby looked from one parent to the other, then flung up her hands.

  ‘Fine.’ With a huff, she shut the door so swiftly that she almost, but not quite, slammed it – close enough that Benjamin took a step out of his own doorway to tell her off.

  ‘Leave it. Please,’ begged Dom. ‘It’s too early to have a row.’

  He didn’t want to give in. It showed weakness, and he already felt fragile enough in the rest of his life. But he had other things he needed his energy for. With a dismissive wave of a hand, he too closed his door.

  He was turning into his own dad, he knew. Being a complete boorish arse. It made him hate himself even more. He’d try to make it up with Ruby later, if he had time. But not right now. If he did it immediately, he’d look feeble.

  Three

  The last thing Ruby wanted was to have breakfast with that bunch of hypocrites. But if she didn’t, World War Three would break out, and it totally wasn’t worth it. Dad was such a control freak.

  It was Mouse’s fault. If she hadn’t darted in front of her as Ruby was about to go downstairs, she wouldn’t have had to sidestep suddenly and catch her top on the nail that stuck out near Mouse’s bedroom door. It had pulled a hole. And Mum had no sympathy. Of course. It wasn’t fair. If it had been something of Mouse’s, she’d have been all over the kid. But Ruby was, what, supposed to just take it? Just do like Mum and quietly accept everything? No way.

  It was a new top, too. And now she couldn’t wear it to school, not with a massive great hole in it.

  She threw herself onto her bed and hot angry tears spilled, making the dove grey walls blur and the members of My Chemical Romance bleed into each other on the poster over her headboard. It was so unfair. Life totally had it in for her, and no one understood. No one, except Harry.

  Thinking about him cheered her up. And made her dry her face and start getting ready for school. Actually, the top didn’t look too bad. The hole looked kind of cool after she’d pulled at it a bit more to make it bigger, and caused several runs up the knitted fabric. Yeah, nice. If Dad saw it, he’d have a fit and never let her out of the house, but she could hide it under her coat easy enough.

  * * *

  She traipsed through the streets, dragging her feet through clumps of sodden, rusty brown leaves that stuck together like congealed blood. Kicked them into the air and listened to the soft splat they made. Trying to kill time because she absolutely would rather die than go to school.

  Her parents were determined to get her into a better one, closer to home, as soon as possible. At the time, though, they had just been glad that any school managed to squeeze her in in September – she had been a last-minute applicant after an incident got her booted out of the last. Now her parents were lobbying to get her into a different place again for the following academic year. Whatever. Ruby had every intention of dropping out as soon as she was legally allowed – if not sooner.

  Clouds glowered from a metallic sky. Moisture in the heavy air plastered her dark blonde hair to her face as she walked. Her coat only covered her to mid-thigh, so from there downwards her damp skirt clung to her chapped legs, making her shiver despite her thick tights.

  She should have gone to Blackheath station really; that was closer to her house. But the longer walk was worth it because Westcombe Park was on a different line. On this line, she got to meet up with Harry. As soon as she jumped on the train, in her usual carriage, she sat in her usual seat, then dug out her make-up bag in preparation. Caked foundation on her pale skin, blotted out freckles and imperfections, then drew on thick black eyeliner. Done.

  She’d get another lecture off the teachers, of course. That put a smile on her face. It grew bigger when Harry jumped on.

  It was weird to think that the first time she’d seen him, almost four months ago, she’d thought he was kind of funny-looking, with his braces, the green-framed spectacles, which stood out so bright against his dark skin, and crazily curly hair. They were what you saw before looking properly and seeing the real Harry.

  At the time, she’d been stuffing her bag into the locker she had been allocated minutes earlier by some teacher who smelled strongly of onions. Ruby had been trying to decide if it was fried food or body odour that was causing it, when she’d received a tap on the shoulder and a cheerful ‘hello’ from this weird boy.

  ‘All right? I’m Harry. Harry Porter – get your jokes in now. What’s your name? You’re new here, aren’t you? Where you from?’

  She screwed up her face at the barrage of questions, and decided he was taking the mick, because she hadn’t made friends yet. But she had high hopes, and didn’t want this geek ruining her chances. He looked the type who wasn’t in with the in-crowd.

  ‘Yeah? Well, my name’s Voldemort, so sod off.’

  ‘No, seriously. My mum was, like, a massive Harry Potter fan, so named me after him. She reckoned it was brilliant. I reckon it’s awful, man,’ he explained, with the patience of someone used to saying the same thing again and again to people. ‘You named after anyone?’

  His thumbs were stuck behind his rucksack straps, and he swung from side to side a bit as he spoke. But at least he was actually talking to her, which was a step up from what she was used to. He actually looked interested in making conversation. Ruby had found herself softening.

  ‘No, think Mum just liked the name Ruby. Don’t know where she got it from. Then when she had my little sister, she didn’t have the imagination to come up with anything original and decided to name us both after precious stones, so called her Amber.’ She rolled her eyes for emphasis. Harry chuckled.

  ‘So how comes you’ve joined this school? You moved round here?’

  ‘I got expelled from my last school.’

  His friendly eyes widened. Impressed. ‘Why?’

  ‘I got drunk. Downed half a bottle of vodka. When the teacher found me, I vomited so badly I thought I’d bring up my guts.’

  Ruby laughed at the memory, and Harry joined in so that they almost butted heads. Which made them laugh harder.

  ‘My dad went, like, monu-mental when he heard. But I got my own way and came here.’ Telling Harry about it, it sounded funny and impressive, and like she was master of her own destiny.

  The two teenagers had drifted to class together and sat side by side. Ruby hadn’t been able to believe her luck at making a friend already. That lunchtime, they shared headphones to listen to music, nodding in time to Royal Blood, Bad Religion, and NOFX, with some Arctic Monkeys and David Bowie thrown in for good measure. It was the perfect eclectic mix. Ruby felt close to him. The closest she had felt to anyone in as long as she could remember.

  Within days they had become inseparable. Three-and-a-half months on, that still hadn’t changed.

  Now, she undid her coat and showed him the holes in her jumper.

  ‘What do you think? Too much?’

  ‘It looks wicked sik,’ he smiled.

  By the time she hopped off the train a few minutes later, she had gone the whole hog and torn a couple of holes in her tights, too. She got some funny looks when she got to school. Let them look
.

  * * *

  As she pulled a book from her locker, Ruby’s phone vibrated. Her hand clapped over it before she could stop herself. She glanced at Harry. The light reflected on his glasses so that she couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew he would have noticed.

  A blush crept over her cheeks in spite of herself.

  ‘Who is it?’ Harry asked, his voice insistent. ‘What do they say? Show me.’

  ‘Come on, we’ll be late for class.’

  ‘Show me. Now.’

  ‘Ruby Thomas.’ A voice rang out, loud, clear and indignant. ‘What on earth do you think you’re wearing? Come with me.’

  The teenager closed her locker, threw Harry a shrug, then trailed after Mrs Simpkiss, the geography teacher. A lecture and a new pair of tights no doubt awaited her.

  When she glanced back, Harry looked seriously annoyed. She mustn’t forget to delete the message after reading it.

  Four

  ‘Leave him.’

  Fiona’s red face was caused by the passion of her venom more than the few sips of complimentary wine she and Dominique had drunk. She stared straight ahead, talking to Dominique’s reflection as they sat side by side at their hairdresser’s.

  ‘You deserve better than him, Dom, you know you do. He’s so cocky – he thinks he’s Mr Big, but he’d be lost without you. You’re worth ten times that man.’

  ‘Thanks. Why not tell the whole world?’ Dominique hissed.

  She and Fiona had been friends since school. They had gone from sharing Sindy dolls, to Revlon lipsticks, to Louis Vuitton suitcases as their lives had experienced an upward trajectory. Fiona’s had come thanks to a career as a successful divorce lawyer with the sort of celebrity clients she wasn’t allowed to name; Dominique’s courtesy of her marriage to Benjamin.

  Fiona’s vehement dislike of Benjamin could be traced back to a brief crush she had for him back when she was twelve and she had sent him a valentine he hadn’t acknowledged. She denied it, of course, but from that moment Fiona had bristled every time he walked into a room. Which had been often, because they were friends with his younger sister, Krystal.

  So, her urging Dom to walk out on Benjamin didn’t come as a shock, but Dom would have preferred it if she weren’t so loud about it.

  ‘You worry too much about what other people think. No one’s taking any notice. Are you?’ Fiona asked Saul, the skinny man in skinny jeans and T-shirt, floating like a butterfly around her hair, primping it to perfection.

  ‘Hmm? Sorry, I was a world away. What did you say, my love?’ he asked with exaggerated care, putting his hands on her shoulders and leaning down to make a big show of listening intently.

  ‘See, far too discreet here,’ Fiona smiled, turning her head now. ‘It’s one of the reasons why we pay so much to come here.’

  ‘And I thought it was because of their incredible ability to make my thin, mousey hair look thick and lustrous.’ Dominique laughed in spite of herself.

  ‘Look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards? Go to John Robertelli and you’ll be red-carpet ready in minutes.’

  ‘Probably closer to four hours, once you’ve had the head massage, the deep conditioning treatment, the blow-dry…’

  ‘Hmm, don’t forget the massage chair. I love having my hair washed while that chair works its magic.’

  ‘Ooh, get you two. You sound like an advert for us,’ sighed Saul. ‘Can I give you two ladies a top up before Samantha starts on your manicure?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Fiona – as Dominique said, ‘No, thanks.’

  Saul looked from one to the other. Dominique caved first, removing her hand from over her glass. Fiona smiled her approval.

  ‘Perfect. You only live once, and you know this is my big treat to myself.’

  Dominique knew Fiona had a point. She worked all hours, thought nothing of working until midnight, then being up at four in the morning, when there was a big case on. Dominique didn’t know how she did it. It made the stay-at-home-mum feel inadequate, even though she knew her oldest friend would laugh if she were to tell her. It said a hell of a lot about their friendship that no matter what occurred in Fiona’s life, she almost always made time to keep this weekly appointment they shared at the hairdresser’s for a pamper, followed by lunch. Fiona often worked all the way through the weekend, so this truly was precious time to the lawyer.

  When Dominique was younger she had wanted to be a West End star. She’d dreamed of being pampered constantly, of being the centre of attention. Weekly blow-dries were the closest she was ever going to get now. Besides, Benjamin wanted her to look good for him, and her hair was, she knew, her crowning glory. She multitasked by having a manicure too, so it was efficient use of time.

  As Saul sashayed away, Dominique breathed a sigh of relief that his suggestion of more wine had stopped the conversation in its tracks. Gazing out of the window, she saw that the rain had turned to snow, tiny flakes gently zigzagging down to the ground on the breeze. She opened her mouth to point it out—

  ‘Right, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by your paranoia: you should leave Benjamin.’

  She should have known Fiona wouldn’t be so easily distracted from her train of thought. Typical lawyer.

  ‘I haven’t even told you what he’s done yet.’

  ‘Don’t need to. I can tell you’re upset.’

  ‘You know I love you to bits but… can we change the subject, please? Benjamin is working really hard at the moment and I’m feeling a bit neglected, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, you know I’m here for you, no matter what.’ Fiona reached across and squeezed Dominique’s arm. ‘We’re the two musketeers, right? And I know something’s wrong; I just wish you’d tell me what. Besides, you know I’ll give you a mega discount if you do ever divorce him. I could take him to the cleaners for you.’

  ‘Fiona!’

  They giggled as Saul made his way back, brandishing the bottle of white wine.

  Dominique wasn’t going to tell Fiona that her husband no longer fancied her. She would pretend that everything was fine – and hope that eventually, it would be.

  ‘So, how’s your love life, anyway?’ she asked, as the manicurist got to work, putting the first stripe of varnish onto the nail, and pausing for a moment until Dominique gave a single incline of the head to show she liked the deep berry colour.

  ‘Ha, what love life?’

  ‘I thought you went on a date on Wednesday night?’

  ‘Disaster. Complete and utter disaster.’ Fiona took a sip of wine, settling back to enjoy herself, the great raconteur. ‘I met him straight after work, at that restaurant across the river from Tate Modern. You know the one? From the start, he didn’t seem quite as entertaining as I remembered. Where were the amusing stories? Where was the man who had me laughing all night? Then I realised… I was the one who had been cracking all the jokes. I’d been so off my trolley that I’d thought he was funny, but it was me.’

  They turned at the same time, to give each other the same awkward look they had been pulling since they were kids and had loved Dame Edna Everage. Lips skewed, perfect scarlet lipstick exaggerating the expression.

  ‘You can take the girls out of Essex, but you can’t take Essex out of the girls,’ giggled Dominique.

  But even as she laughed, Dominique felt a veil of sadness and panic settle over her. She didn’t want to go back to the single life, and going on disastrous dates with strangers. Not after twenty-two years of partnership.

  Fiona sighed. ‘I don’t know… I’m not sure I’ll ever meet someone. And to be honest, I’m kind of fine with that. No, really, I’m not playing the sympathy card. Look at my life: I earn great money, I have an active social life, I love my job, I have a lovely home. Someone to share it with would be a bonus, but it’s not the be all and end all, you know? My only regret is… well, you know my regret.’

  Dominique nodded. Fiona had always wanted children, but had never found someone to se
ttle down with. She had considered a sperm donor a few years ago, but had eventually decided against it.

  ‘If I became a single mum by falling pregnant accidentally, that would be one thing, but to actively make that decision… It’s too massive,’ she had confessed at the time.

  ‘Well, if anything ever happens to Benjamin and me, you get the kids,’ Dominique had joked. But Fiona had filled up, and what had started as a flippant remark had ended with a legal document being drawn up. It was now official; in case of some catastrophic happening, Fiona would become the children’s legal guardian.

  It was such a shame Fiona had never met Mr Right, because she would have been a great mum. While her nails dried, Dominique tried to imagine what her life would be like if she hadn’t become a mother. She couldn’t. As a child, she had dreamed of a career on the stage and screen, hitting the big time to become a star. Instead, she was a full-time mum; without her children, she was nothing.

  Without her husband, what was she?

  * * *

  She still pondered this as she and Fiona linked arms, and left the hairdresser’s to have a late lunch in their favourite restaurant nearby. One of the many things Dominique loved about living in Blackheath village was the plethora of vibrant independent shops and restaurants huddled around a triangle of roads that hugged the open heath. Living near such an expanse of green space, which virtually ran into Greenwich Park, was a gift.

  Blackheath didn’t feel like London, despite being a stone’s throw from the Thames, and a hop away from the O2 Arena. The capital’s marathon started in the village every year, and Dominique loved to watch everyone streaming by; it made her feel proud. But Blackheath had a unique personality apart from the city’s hustle: from the expanse of green, where in summer families flew kites, to the pretty church which stood proud on the heath. In its shadow, the shops and restaurants began, spreading out to the pubs that edged the heath. Blackheath was unique.