Her Last Secret

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  When they had decided to share a cab to the tube station, both had known it wouldn’t be the train they would be riding that night.

  The sex had been explosive. Ben was fit for a man in his forties. She should have been suspicious, of course, when he made regretful excuses about not being able to spend the night. Something about having to get up early for work the next day.

  ‘Besides, I need to go so I can contact my lawyer about that compensation claim against you,’ he joked, giving her a lingering kiss.

  It had been the first of many excuses. By the time he had told her the truth, that he was married, she was too much in love to walk away.

  Sometimes she considered it, though. At moments like this, when she was left alone after they had made love, she felt so empty and rejected. Just when she should have felt closest to him, they were at their most distant. The emotional hurt so complete that it created a permanent physical pain in her solar plexus.

  She ached with longing for the man who knew her inside out, who understood her and listened to her. But the last few months Ben had grown so distant, closing her off.

  She was losing him. At the thought, she curled in on herself more tightly, trying to protect herself from the truth, the pillow a shield as much as a comfort. She had tried everything, everything to keep Ben interested.

  There had to be something more she could do. But what?

  She thought of what desperation had driven her to previously and guilt churned her stomach until bile burned her oesophagus.

  But no. Why the hell should she feel guilty? She wasn’t the one clinging to a dead relationship, sticking it out in a loveless marriage because she was blind to the truth. She was in love. No one should ever feel bad about that. All’s fair in love and war, her old gran had always told her.

  In which case, perhaps she should declare war. She sat up at the thought, the pillow dropping from her grasp.

  Yes, it was time to step things up. This would be the last Christmas she spent alone, the last time she saw in New Year’s Eve watching Jools Holland’s sodding Hootenanny and crying into a glass of Prosecco, then pretending to be fine when she got a quick call from Ben from the toilets of some restaurant or other where he was with his wife. No more trying not to sound as though her nose was thick with tears; instead she would be kissing the New Year in with her man.

  Spurred by the thought, she jumped from bed and quickly got dressed. Before she could change her mind, she was out the door.

  Nine

  Despite the knitted hat, Kendra’s waist-length hair swirled around her as traffic breezed by, but she barely noticed it, her vision filled with the building she stared at. She glared past the red awning with its cream writing swirled across it. Past the window she couldn’t see into because the low winter sun reflected on it blindingly. All she saw was the scene she imagined playing out inside. It blocked out the reality of people scurrying along the streets that then opened into twin lanes pulling away from each other to form the wedge of Blackheath village’s hub. Heads down, hands in pockets, hunched against the cold, faces hidden by hats, leaving a contrail of breath, they swarmed by, taking as little notice of her as she took of them.

  Her own cheeks felt as if someone pinched them, it was so cold. She didn’t walk away, though, only tugged her scarf and coat collar higher around her neck, pulled the woollen hat closer down around her head.

  Someone was coming out of the door. She twitched, one foot sliding forward on the pavement. No, it was a tall, thin man with a balding head and a full beard, pulling on his beanie hat. Definitely not her quarry.

  She glanced at her watch. Ben’s wife was running late; she was usually out of the restaurant by now. What was keeping her?

  Kendra had been with Ben for about a year the first time she had set eyes on his wife. He had got into a routine of seeing her on a Friday afternoon, but hadn’t been able to on that occasion. She had tortured herself that he was spending time with his wife, not in a business meeting as he claimed, and so she had slunk to his house like an urban fox sniffing around a bin. There had been no sign of her lover’s car, only some vile yellow Smart car that must have been Dominique’s. Then she had appeared, tall, slender, and elegant; she was one of those annoying people with natural grace. Bitch. Kendra’s heart had sunk, buoyed only slightly when she noticed her rival walked with her feet slightly turned out, like Mary Poppins. It was good to know at least she had one flaw, though Kendra wondered if she had studied ballet as a youngster.

  That day, so long ago now, Kendra had followed Dominique at a safe distance, unsure of what she was doing, or how it would end. Would Dominique turn on her suddenly, demanding to know who she was and what she was doing following her? Would she call the police? Worse, would she mention to her husband that she had been trailed by a mad woman, and when she described her stalker he would know instantly who it was?

  Was it bad that she thought Ben knowing was worse than the police being called on her?

  Ignoring the disturbing thoughts, Kendra had followed Dominique to the hairdresser’s, and discovered the weekly routine.

  Rather than being sated by that look at her rival, Kendra’s curiosity had grown. The following week, she had her own locks cut and blow-dried at John Robertelli’s Hair Designs. The eye-watering bill had meant it was a one-off that could never be repeated even for a special occasion. Then she had followed Dominique and her friend to this restaurant, where they lunched.

  As Kendra now stood across the road, she could picture exactly what would be happening in the interior. She knew that Dominique was sitting at her usual table tucked near the back of the restaurant, with her lawyer friend, Fiona.

  Kendra glanced at her watch again. Only a minute had passed since the last time she’d looked. The pair must be getting the bill now, surely. Her legs trembled with the adrenaline singing through her bloodstream. She was so keyed up, she barely felt the cold slapping her as if trying to get sense into her head.

  There.

  Dominique appeared, swathed in a full-length camel-coloured coat, and pulling on her brown leather gloves. Her friend gave her a kiss on either cheek then walked away, turning to give one last cheery wave. Dominique grinned as she waved back, her cheeks glowing with wine and the sharp chill in the air.

  Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, Dominique started back towards home, a spring in her step. Kendra self-consciously stroked her own slightly wild waist-length mane into place, then stepped out in front of her.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  Kendra cursed her trembling voice as she spoke to her lover’s wife.

  Dominique managed to both frown and give a smile at the same time, treading the line between wary and friendly.

  ‘Yes? Are you lost?’

  She must have picked up on Kendra’s Edinburgh accent and taken the hesitation as shyness. Kendra almost nodded in relief at being given an out. But she shook her head and ploughed on.

  ‘Are you married to Ben Thomas?’

  ‘Yes? Why?’ The smile disappeared.

  ‘I’m Kendra; his mistress.’

  It sounded so dramatic putting it like that. But Kendra didn’t know how else to describe herself. She was lover, friend, confidante, partner, so much more than any single word conveyed, but mistress would do as shorthand for now. It had the desired effect, Dominique taking a step back, clearly horrified by what she had heard.

  But then she pulled herself up, crossed her arms, and looked down her nose at Kendra.

  ‘Really? When do you see my husband, exactly?’

  ‘Umm, well, all the time,’ Kendra flustered. ‘Friday afternoons, I see him a lot.’

  ‘Are you sure we’re talking about the same Ben Thomas?’ asked Dominique. ‘Describe him for me.’

  ‘Well, he’s, he’s, erm, five feet eleven. Dark hair. Stocky build. Handsome. Blue eyes, you know. Bit of a wonky nose because of the rugby—’

  ‘What’s his date of birth?’

  ‘His birthday is 27
August. He’s forty-eight.’

  ‘Well, it seems we are talking about the same person.’ Dominique gave a cold toss of her head, freshly curled hair bouncing. ‘What exactly do you want?’

  Kendra hadn’t expected to be questioned. To have to prove she was telling the truth. This wasn’t how it went in films. She had expected disbelief, sure, and even braced for a slap across the face. But a cold and calculating questioning? That was just weird. She found herself shrugging, hands open.

  ‘What do I want? Well, to tell you… that – that I’m seeing your husband. We celebrated our fourth anniversary a couple of months ago. He wants to leave you and the kids, but he hasn’t got the courage to tell you, not yet. But it’s only a matter of time.’

  The other woman blinked rapidly, twice; the only sign she gave of being hurt. ‘You thought you’d give him a helping hand out of the door, is that it?’

  ‘Continuing the charade isn’t going to help anyone. You need to let him go.’

  One perfectly arched eyebrow rose. ‘Oh, I do? Well, thank you for the tip, but I’ll decide what happens in my marriage.’

  With that Dominique swept past her, imperious as an ice queen. Kendra watched her open-mouthed as she disappeared up the right-hand spur of the split road. It was only when Ben’s wife went around the corner that Kendra allowed herself to sag.

  ‘What the hell was that all about?’ she asked herself out loud. The man who had been walking towards her crossed the road to avoid the obvious nutter.

  She shoved her hands into her pockets and stomped off, furious with herself, eager to burn away the anger with a brief but breakneck walk to the train station. Her cosy Charlton flat was calling her.

  Kendra had thought she was pulling the pin in a grenade that would blow Ben’s marriage to smithereens. Now she worried it had badly misfired.

  No; no matter how calm Dominique seemed, she would surely go ballistic once her husband got home. Then, finally, Ben would belong to Kendra and only her.

  Ten

  Dominique kept her head high as she walked away from her husband’s tart, despite her legs feeling weak and strangely jointed. She should turn around and slap that Kendra woman. Give her a mouthful in the street. But she was already running late to collect Mouse. No way would her child suffer because her shit of a husband had been cheating on them all.

  Already temperatures were plummeting as the sun raced towards a horizon hidden behind buildings. The handful of snowflakes that had fallen earlier were frozen in place, twinkling in the late-afternoon light like nature’s jewellery.

  It was cold enough to freeze Dominique’s heart for ever.

  Children streamed from the school building, many wearing paper crowns at jaunty angles. Of course, it had been the school party that afternoon. Mouse shouted goodbye to her friends and bounded over, face pink with excitement.

  ‘Mummy, I’ve had the best day ever.’

  Dom bent down and hugged her daughter tight. She was not the most demonstrative person in the world, struggled sometimes to show her children how much she loved them. But right now, her heart was so full of love it might explode. Her children deserved better than to come from a broken home.

  That Benjamin had betrayed her, when he was all that she knew, hurt like hell, but she could cope with it. That he had betrayed their children was unfathomable.

  Dominique felt a failure.

  Mouse, so articulate and empathetic, would be scarred for ever if her parents split up. Ruby, insecure beneath her veneer of anger, was at such a vulnerable age that she could easily end up doing something silly as a reaction to her father’s treachery.

  Mouse jumped around Dominique as they walked home. Telling her about her day.

  ‘And when the music stopped for the last time, it was me. I was really careful not to tear the paper…’

  But Dom wasn’t listening, too lost in the past…

  Benjamin and she had known each other since they were teenagers; she and his sister, Krystal, had been schoolfriends. Back then, the two of them always had a laugh together, and he was loyal, hard-working, stuck up for his mates, and would do anything for anyone. Still, they hadn’t got together until Dominique was twenty-two. One night a big group of them all, including Krystal and Dominique, had gone out together. Somehow, she and Benjamin had got separated from the crowd and got chatting, and… the rest was history. She had known from the beginning that he was a keeper, their transformation from friends to lovers so easy. And of course, he knew about her past—

  ‘Then guess what, Mummy?’ Mouse interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘Erm, what, sweetheart?’

  She didn’t hear the answer…

  Benjamin had an amazing body back then, sixteen stone of solid muscle. She had cheered him on from the rugby field’s sidelines, watching him tackle people as a prop, and thought he was sex on legs. The two of them hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other, but they had always talked, too. About anything and everything, but mostly about their hopes and dreams. They had shared a vision of the future: he, building a business; she, looking after their family.

  Where had it all started to go wrong? Almost as soon as they married the slow drift apart had seemed to begin, with Benjamin working to provide the life they had envisaged together…

  Mouse danced around her, holding her hand. The tug, tug, tug on her arm made Dominique’s shoulder socket ache as much as her head did. She was jabbering on about the school party, a stream of consciousness with barely a breath between words. Dom rubbed at her temples with her free hand.

  ‘Calm down a bit, eh,’ she said. ‘Mummy has a lot on her mind.’

  Mouse stilled only slightly, kept skipping along. But it gave Dom a tiny respite from the throbbing in her head.

  She remembered Benjamin’s glow of love when he proposed to her. It had been perfect. He’d taken her away for a weekend in Paris, and proposed to her in a restaurant, in front of everyone. When she said yes, the waiters had swept in with champagne. As the restaurant erupted in clapping, Benjamin had wiped tears of joy from his face, embarrassed.

  He had taken that joy and shattered it into a million pieces.

  Mouse’s words distracted her. ‘Do you want to see my prize, Mummy? I’ll show you.’

  ‘Wait until we get home, eh, sweetheart.’

  ‘Okay – then I can show Ruby and Daddy at the same time.’

  Perhaps Fiona was right. Perhaps she should make Benjamin pay. It might be fun to see him squirm. Take him to the cleaners, like Fiona was always joking about; really hit him where it hurt.

  She imagined his face twisted in mea culpa, his body curled up as though beaten and bruised. But even as she saw it, it disintegrated. She could never be one of those people who deliberately hurt someone – not even when that person had hurt her. In fact, burying her emotions had caused Dominique problems in the past. Confrontation never had been her strong suit. But her frozen heart twitched in rebellion, reminding her that perhaps it was time for her to try.

  Eleven

  History, geography, English… all the lessons crawled past Ruby. All the time, she thought of that last text message she had received. The clear, precise instruction. The terror it had instilled.

  The second the bell rang for the end of school, she walked from the classroom as quickly as she could without rousing suspicion. Generally, she hung back and was one of the last to leave, but today was different. Today she had a plan and she was looking forward to putting it into action.

  Weaving through crowds of pupils flurrying around her like snowflakes in a storm, she finally made it to her locker. Harry was already leaning against it, ready and waiting. Smirking, she stalked towards him – and swept by until she reached the girl behind him: Jayne Seward.

  Wham.

  Jayne’s head snapped back, bounced off the locker and lolled forward again. She stumbled, knees almost giving way. Then she straightened, hand to her face. Blood leaked between fingers, like scarlet scarves flowing from a
magician’s sleeve. A scream was Ruby’s applause.

  Ruby’s mouth twisted into a smile of satisfaction. She stepped forward, braced, swung with her whole body not just her fist, like Harry had taught her. Jayne didn’t have time to dodge, too busy looking in horror at her bloodied hands. Ruby’s blow sent her to the floor. No noise escaped this time. She was out cold.

  ‘Finished?’ Harry asked.

  Ruby turned and nodded. He handed her the things from her locker as if it were a normal day, while around them girls screamed. The boys looked on, stunned, not sure if they should get involved in a catfight or if it would somehow lessen their standing.

  ‘Better get moving. Someone’s bound to grass this to a teacher,’ Harry added.

  ‘Good plan. That felt bloody brilliant, by the way,’ Ruby observed. The pair started walking towards the main exit. ‘What do you fancy doing now? Home, or shall we hang out together?’

  As he opened his mouth to reply, a piercing screech rang out.

  ‘Jayne’s come round, then,’ he chuckled.

  ‘Screw her. Screw them all. I’d burn this whole building down and them inside, given half a chance.’

  Harry and Ruby high-fived as they pushed open the doors. Their joy was short-lived, though. A hand landed heavily on Ruby’s shoulder, and she turned to look up into the narrow eyes and pursed, pale lips of the headteacher, Mrs Margaret Dudgeon.

  Twelve

  Benjamin straightened his tie, then ran his hands over his hair. Pulled at his crotch, adjusting his trousers to better accommodate himself. He was still a bit tender after the going over he’d given Kendra. He had to hand it to her, though, she was definitely better at calming his nerves than just a quick hand shandy in the office loos.

  This meeting was a big deal. He needed to land this account. But he could do it. Why? Because he was The Man. Comprendez? He only had to remember Kendra’s desperate cries of ecstasy to know that.