Her Last Secret

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  Her father shouted at her for what she wore, of course. He was such a loser. As for her mother, she was predictably mute as a statue. If Ruby stabbed her, she wouldn’t be surprised if the blade broke on her stone exterior.

  Now Ruby’s parents wanted to ban her from seeing the only person in the world who understood her, and who cared about her. Why were they so determined to do everything in their power to make her life a misery? She wished they could leave her alone, disappear without a trace. They expected her to play happy families when it suited them, but they despised her.

  And she loathed them.

  That was why she had stayed in her room all day while the decorations were put up. She’d used to love that, until she had been sidelined and forgotten by her own family.

  A yell came from downstairs. Mouse was calling her name.

  Across the other side of the room, Ruby’s phone vibrated angrily. She had received a message. She stood, gave a resigned sigh, wiped on her jumper the sweat that had suddenly bloomed on her palms. Then read the text.

  ‘You’re dead meat.’

  Twenty-Three

  ‘Ruby, do you want to help me switch the lights on?’ called Mouse at the top of her voice.

  She stood on the bottom step of the staircase and swung on the bannister as she waited for a reply.

  ‘Ruby? Come on!’

  She counted to ten, but got no reaction. She ran back towards the living room, deliberately skidding along the hallway first.

  ‘She doesn’t want to join in, Mummy.’

  ‘Okay, well, it’s the two of us, then. Ready?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’ Mouse put her hand on the switch, Mummy put a hand on hers, then she put her other one on top of that and Mummy’s hand last of all. Layers of hands like a sandwich.

  ‘Ten,’ called Mummy.

  ‘Nine,’ grinned Mouse.

  ‘Eight.’

  ‘Seven.’

  Mouse spotted Ruby lurking just outside the room, arms folded. She looked like she wanted to join in but didn’t dare, and Mouse didn’t understand why. She didn’t mind sharing the moment with her big sister – though she definitely wanted to be the one who actually did the switching on. She remembered last Christmas, when she had fallen over and scabbed her knee when she fell off her new bike. It had still been hurting that night when she went to bed, and Ruby had found her crying. So, Ruby had grabbed a balloon from downstairs, then rubbed it over her hair. The sight of her big sister with her hair standing on end had had Mouse in fits of giggles. She’d soon forgotten all about the aching knee. She’d begged to have a go herself, and Ruby had obliged, then carried Mouse to the mirror so she could see the halo effect.

  If she hurt herself now, would her big sister still comfort her, she wondered.

  ‘One… Lift off! Woo hoo!’

  The tree lit up so sparkly and bright that it was impossible not to feel filled up with the lightness of it. Mouse felt it spread out to her fingers and toes until they tingled and her whole body seemed to be smiling.

  She grinned and turned to the doorway. But Ruby had gone. Oh, well. Instead, she looked at her mummy.

  ‘What shall we play now?’

  ‘Oh. Umm, I don’t know. What do you want to play? I thought you might like to spend some time watching television.’

  ‘Not in the mood. Let’s play Spot the Difference.’

  She ran and grabbed her pens and some sheets of paper from her room, pausing only to do more skids along the hallway. She loved sliding. The bottoms of her sheepskin slippers had worn glass smooth, and were perfect for skidding on the shiny wooden floor, although Mummy got annoyed when she caught her.

  Deciding she didn’t want to push her luck, she skipped quickly into the room, before Mummy could guess what she had been doing, and carefully drew two pictures while Mummy watched. She spent ages making sure the Christmas tree was good and spiky. Getting the details right was very important in Spot the Difference.

  ‘What’s the difference?’ Mouse asked, finally.

  ‘Umm, oh, I know. The tinsel goes around the opposite way in that one.’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘And the bucket under the tree is different.’

  ‘That’s not a difference.’

  ‘Isn’t it? It looks like one.’

  ‘No, that’s just my rubbishy drawing,’ Mouse giggled.

  Twenty-Four

  ‘Ta-da!’ Kendra held up the bottle of white wine and grinned as the door opened. ‘Fancy a drink?’

  After a largely sleepless night, and a day of once again checking her phone every five minutes, and not daring to leave the flat in case Ben turned up – which he hadn’t – she was going out of her mind. So, she had sent a text to her neighbour, Dawn, and arranged to pop over for a Saturday night together.

  ‘I’ve already got one chilling,’ laughed Dawn. ‘Come in, come in. The kids are in bed and Jayne’s hiding in her room pretending to do homework, but probably texting people she shouldn’t, or whatever it is she does on that bloody phone.’

  Dawn closed the door behind Kendra, who automatically went straight through to the living room without having to be shown. ‘If she says she’s doing homework on a Saturday night then she’s almost certainly texting people she shouldn’t,’ Kendra giggled over her shoulder.

  ‘Hey, well, she can do what she wants this weekend, cos you’ll never guess what happened to her.’

  Dawn sounded so outraged that Kendra stopped in her tracks and turned to face her friend. ‘Sounds serious.’

  ‘Some little bugger punched her. Honest, I thought her nose had been broken when I first saw it.’

  ‘It was that bad? Who was it? What happened? A mugging?’

  Dawn shook her head and chivvied her on towards the kitchen. Clearly booze was called for to finish the story. ‘It happened at school.’

  ‘No. Right, where’s your corkscrew?’ asked Kendra.

  ‘Like you don’t know. Anyway, I get a call from the head saying our Jayne’s been hit and can I come straight away. I had to run out on the ward mid-shift; that took some organising to cover, I can tell you, but that’s a different story. So, of course, all sorts are going through my head, and when I get there… well, she looked almost as bad as I’d been imagining.’

  Kendra gasped to show her appreciation of a good story. ‘Was it one of the other kids, then? She being bullied?’

  Dawn nodded, lips a grim line.

  ‘Some jumped-up little rich girl who started there in September. She’s been giving Jayne loads of trouble; thinks she’s too good to be at an academy cos she used to attend some private school until she got chucked out.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ asked Kendra, premonition prickling.

  ‘Hmm, Ruby Thomas is her name. Now poor Jayne is probably hiding in her room because her nose is purple. She’s lucky not to have a couple of black eyes.’

  ‘Have you been to the police?’

  ‘I want to, but Jayne’s refusing to say who did it to her—’

  ‘But you just said—’

  ‘Oh, I know who did it, believe me. But Jayne’s staying quiet, and so are all the other kids. You know what it’s like at that age, no one wants to be a grass. Everyone went temporarily blind when she got hit. But Jayne’s mentioned this girl before, and I’m sure it’s her. Jayne should get the mad cow locked up for attacking her. Ooh, come here, I can open that faster,’ added Dawn, snatching the bottle away impatiently.

  Kendra didn’t argue. She was too busy trying to process what her lover’s daughter may have done. There was no way she was going to tell Dawn who the thug was; it could impact on their friendship – and goodness knew, Kendra didn’t have many friends close by. She just thanked her lucky stars she’d been discreet enough to never mention Ben’s surname, or named his children. Paranoia had always made her careful with facts that could identify her lover.

  When Dawn Seward had moved in across the hall from Kendra the previous year, Kendra had been in a good place emotiona
lly. She had felt secure in her position as Ben’s true love.

  She and Dawn had bumped into each other as each was carrying groaning bags of groceries up the stairs. Despite their lives being so different, they had clicked. Dawn was bright, bubbly and kind. Kendra had liked her instantly, so invited Dawn inside for a cuppa.

  Not only was Dawn trying to recover from heartbreak, she was also coming to terms with being a single mum to her three children, Jayne, fifteen, Faye, thirteen, and Oliver, ten.

  ‘Can’t be easy starting again,’ Kendra had soothed, popping the kettle on. ‘I’ve been through my own share of bad break-ups, a fresh start was one of the reasons I moved down here, so I feel for you. If you ever need to talk…’

  She had felt rather smug that her own love life was so perfect.

  Soon, though, it hadn’t been her helping Dawn, but Dawn giving her a shoulder to cry on. The mistress and the single mum had become unlikely but firm friends. Dawn never judged Kendra because her own marriage had crumbled after her husband discovered she had had a drunken one-night stand with his brother. Messy, but meant she was on morally shaky ground if she tried to look down her nose at Kendra.

  Another point in her favour was she had as little social life as Kendra. The pair were constantly popping over the hallway to have a chat over a cuppa, or something a bit stronger. It meant that Dawn could stay in with her kids while still socialising with a pal, and Kendra could have fun too, while still being available to drop everything if Ben texted to say he wanted to come round. All she had to do was nip across the hall and get herself ready for him. Perfect, everyone was happy with the arrangement.

  Dawn filled a large wine glass almost to the brim.

  ‘I can’t drink all that,’ Kendra gasped.

  ‘I need it after yesterday. And it sounds like you do, too, from the tone of your text. So, what’s the latest?’

  Kendra’s eyes filled with tears, so she looked at the floor to hide it. ‘There is no latest. I know Ben will be with me eventually… I must be the only woman in the world who has had an affair and the man hasn’t left his wife for her. What’s wrong with me?’

  ‘Hey, there’s nothing wrong with you. And if he can’t choose then maybe it’s crunch time.’

  ‘That’s why I went to see his wife. But nothing seems to have changed,’ Kendra wailed, telling the whole sorry story.

  Dawn listened, sipping wine and not interrupting. When Kendra finished, her pal looked thoughtful, opened her mouth, then jumped.

  ‘Bugger. The food; it’ll be sticking to the bottom,’ she said, stirring at a pan furiously.

  ‘So, what are we having for dinner? Smells good.’

  ‘Just spag bol. Hope you don’t mind, but I’m too knackered to do anything fancy. I’m not like you, don’t get time to MasterChef it up in the kitchen.’

  Kendra laughed through her tears. ‘Well, I have all the time in the world, that’s the only reason I do it.’

  Without a job to distract her, it killed the hours when she was rattling around her flat alone, feeling as though she was going out of her mind with boredom. Ben was always impressed with her culinary efforts – it made her feel as though she was really looking after him, and gave her a feeling that she was better than her rival at something.

  See, I could look after you like this every single day, that was the subliminal message she was trying to convey through her cookery.

  ‘Caught it just in time,’ said Dawn, stopping her stirring and turning to Kendra once more. ‘Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but how long are you going to put your life on hold for Ben? I mean, don’t you want marriage yourself? Kids of your own?’

  Kendra blushed. She hadn’t wanted kids. When younger, she had announced to anyone who would listen that children were an expensive way to ruin her figure, and she was too selfish for them. On meeting Ben, she had thought that eventually becoming a stepmum to his children was the perfect compromise; that way, she could be maternal when she wanted, but hand them back when any real problems arose.

  But lately second thoughts had crept in. A desire grew inside her, one she had never expected to experience.

  ‘I want to have Ben’s child,’ she admitted, taking only the smallest sip of wine. The sharp, crisp liquid tasted good. ‘Which is why I’ve done something a bit sneaky. I’ve come off the pill without telling him.’

  ‘Blimey, Kendra. Are you sure? What if you get pregnant and he still doesn’t leave his wife? What then?’

  She gave a small shrug.

  ‘He will leave her, because he loves me.’ Her voice was as diminutive as the shrug. ‘He’ll choose me and the baby that will come along, eventually, I’m sure of it.’

  Fairly sure of it.

  Hopeful, at the very least.

  It was all part of her Big Plan to give Ben a push in the right direction. But she wasn’t going to tell anyone the details of that plan. Not even Dawn would understand if she knew the truth.

  ‘Anyway, are you all set for Christmas?’ she asked, desperate to change the subject.

  ‘Eurgh, don’t ask. It’s Tony’s turn to have the kids this year, so I’m dreading it.’

  ‘What will you do?’ Kendra was genuinely curious, and not only for her friend’s sake. She was trying to imagine what Dominique’s life would one day be like. ‘Maybe you could go to a spa, treat yourself.’

  Yes, that would be the kind of thing the soon-to-be ex-Mrs Thomas would do, probably with that friend of hers she always spent so much time with.

  ‘A spa? You’re joking. I’m a single mum, love, I’m permanently boracic.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Kendra frowned in confusion.

  ‘Ah, you poor wee Scots girl, it’s cockney rhyming slang. Boracic lint, skint.’ She gave Kendra a penetrating look over the top of her wine glass, before taking a massive slurp. ‘And if you go ahead with your plan, you might end up like me.’

  ‘Okay, okay, message received and understood.’

  Kendra held her hands up in surrender and smiled despite the niggling annoyance she felt.

  Soon, Dawn was dishing up and the friends carried on talking until Kendra finally called it a night at midnight. Despite her exhaustion when she fell into bed, her mind whirled. Dawn hadn’t approved of what she was doing – if she knew the whole truth, what on earth would her pal make of her then?

  Twenty-Five

  Dominique woke in a panic. She’d gone blind. No, it was just pitch-black in the bedroom. The duvet felt clammy, her body running with sweat. She flung back the covers and welcomed the cooling air that rushed over her skin.

  Another vivid nightmare had chased her rest away. Blood bathing her skin, dripping from the ceiling of her bedroom. It had seemed so real.

  Her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she saw the outline of the lamp and turned it on. No sign of Benjamin. He must be out with his tart. The pair of them were probably laughing at her for being so pathetic and staying quiet. Actually, they were probably too busy planning their wonderful new life together and having oodles of sex to worry much about how Dominique was reacting.

  There was a scraping sound of someone pushing a chair back on the wooden floor of the study downstairs. Dominique gripped the bedsheet in fear. Someone was in the house. She needed a knife, a gun, something to protect herself and her family.

  A familiar cough sounded. Ah, it was Benjamin. In, but not yet come to bed. He must be avoiding her.

  The scars on her arm prickled as she padded to the bathroom, sweat making her nightdress cling. She turned on the shower.

  She was going to have to get help before someone got hurt, like they had last time.

  Twenty-Six

  CHRISTMAS DAY

  Armed police swarmed into the house, shouting at the top of their voices. Shock and awe, that was the name of their game; to visually and aurally overwhelm through a confusion of shouting and lights, as much as through firepower.

  Chief Inspector Ogundele kept his hands firmly in his pockets, to avo
id the temptation to touch anything and contaminate the scene, as he walked through the house, while ahead of him armed officers checked each room. Somewhere inside this home a gun had gone off. Yet no concerned owner had come running at the sound of their door being knocked in. Which meant whoever was inside was dead, injured, or hiding – with a shotgun.

  Despite this, the chief inspector trusted his team to keep him safe as they swept through the building. As he walked through the property, his keen eyes cast around, but spotted nothing out of place downstairs. The large Victorian house boasted many original features. The front door had stained glass in it, and an old-fashioned brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head, formerly framed by a large holly wreath that now lay severely trampled on the ground. The crushed red berries looked like blood. Parquet herringboned across the hallway floor, the lacquer highly polished to reflect the oak bannister running up the staircase. A jumble of coats hung on pegs, shoes placed neatly on a rack below. At the bottom of the hallway Ogundele could see what looked like the dining room, and through it a large kitchen. Before them were two doors to the left.

  The entire ground floor was, apparently, clear.

  The chief inspector liked coming to crime scenes, but climbing the ranks was moving him further away from that. He had never joined the force for the politics and management opportunities, but because he wanted to make the world a better place. Even after everything he had seen during his career, that still held true – although some days were tough. Today was probably going to be a tough one.

  He took the first door on the left.

  No signs of any disturbance sullied the peace of the sitting room, dominated by two large sofas at right angles to each other. The impressive open fireplace looked as though it might be the original mahogany, and had a large mirror integrated above it. Either side of the chimney breast were floor to ceiling bookcases. Beside the bay window stood a Christmas tree, filling the room with the fresh scent of pine, and so tall that the star on top almost scraped the ten-foot-high ceiling. Frosted white baubles bedecked it; it looked like something from the window display of a very expensive department store. Perfectly wrapped presents fixed with white ribbons rested beneath the tree.