Her Last Secret

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  The next room was equally neat and tidy. A large wooden desk, with red leather writing pad, sat beneath the window; the executive leather swivel chair facing towards the door. Beside a laptop, an empty low-ball glass sat on the desk. Ogundele hovered over it and sniffed. Years of experience at crime scenes had long ago counteracted the instinct to pick up such things. He could smell whisky. Expensive, good-quality Scotch, from the smoothness of the aroma. In a wastepaper basket lay what looked to be an expensive watch. Everything was perfectly tidy, like a film set rather than a home. Ogundele got a tingling sensation. Even if he hadn’t been called here because shots were fired, he would have known, instinctively, that something wasn’t right in this house.

  Where was everyone? And what had happened here?

  Twenty-Seven

  SUNDAY 19 DECEMBER

  SIX DAYS TO GO

  Ruby’s bedroom door was open, but she held the doorknob like her life depended on it. Leaning out at an almost forty-five-degree angle, she tried to get closer to the stairs so she could listen more easily, but refused to let go of the handle, in case she had to bolt back inside her room.

  Despite it being ridiculously early on a Sunday – nine a.m. – she was wide awake and fully dressed.

  Her parents were below, hissing snakes having an argument that they thought their children weren’t aware of. They did that a lot, as though whispered words hurt less than ones that were screamed. In Ruby’s experience, whether the ugly words were quiet or loud, whether people let you down easy or stuck the knife in, it still hurt the same. Even if the pain wasn’t immediate, it would slowly spread through the body to immobilise, if you waited long enough.

  Generally, she didn’t care what her parents rowed about. This time she had a vested interest – Mum and Dad were supposed to be going out today. She needed them to. They were supposed to be going shooting together, with some stuck-up businessman that Dad wanted to impress. As usual he was trying to trot the family out like some kind of prize, all shiny, bright, perfect. Screw that. It was a load of fakery that Ruby didn’t want anything to do with.

  Luckily, Dad didn’t like her and Mouse going shooting, said they were too young. So, Ruby was meant to be babysitting Mouse while Dad showed off his trophy wife. Result.

  But now it looked like her stupid parents were about to scupper her plans. She frowned, listening hard to make out the words among the sibilance.

  ‘Please stop your stressing. I’m too tired to go out today. I was busy decorating the house all day yesterday – not that you’ve noticed.’

  Unbelievable. Mum had spent an entire day wafting around making sure glass baubles were in the perfect position, and was offended because no one cared? Ruby had assumed she’d done it for her own gratification; she had certainly seemed happy enough, humming along to Aled Jones singing carols, then switching to Band Aid’s ‘Feed the World’.

  Dad’s reply was a grunt. ‘Christmas is your thing. I’ve more important things to think about than if you’ve tied the perfect bow,’ he spat. ‘Such as landing this deal so that I can keep this very expensive roof over our heads, pay for the presents under the tree, the new carpets, everything that you take for granted. That iPhone for Mouse wasn’t cheap—’

  Ruby stiffened when she heard about the expensive gift her sister would be receiving.

  ‘Come off it, you do it for yourself, Benjamin. You do it because you love business. You love it more than you love me, or the kids, or anything else in this world.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, your only job is to look after the kids and keep the house going, sweetheart. But you’d rather hang out with your mate, Fiona, and get drunk. Not exactly parent-of-the-year material yourself, are you?’

  ‘Be careful, Benjamin. You’re on thin ice. And nothing you’re saying is improving my headache or making me more inclined to go shooting with you.’

  ‘Fine.’ Ruby could imagine her dad throwing his arms up in the air, like a child, the way he always did when he knew he was losing. ‘I’m going. I don’t know what time I’ll be back.’

  Ruby crept back into her bedroom and slowly, quietly, eased the door closed so that she wouldn’t be heard.

  Typical. Usually, her mum was utterly pathetic. She always went along with anything and everything that Dad wanted. Ruby often despaired at her lack of backbone and wondered what the explosive consequences would be if she ever stood up to him. Finally, today of all days, she had decided to make a stand. Not a very honest stand, though. The truth was, her mum hated shooting, even though it was only clay pigeons, not actual living things. But, of course, she didn’t have the guts to tell Dad that.

  Mum’s newly grown courage was totally annoying, though. Ruby needed both of her parents out of the house. She had arranged to sneak out and meet up with Harry. Yeah, she was supposed to be babysitting Mouse, but the kid could look after herself; all she ever did was find places to hide so she could read in peace. That and spy on people.

  Now all Ruby’s plans had been slashed to pieces because of her stupid parents. Was there a way she could breathe life into them? She really wanted to see Harry. She needed to see him. She was ready now; had put her black skinny jeans on, cute pixie boots, and a black cropped jumper that showed off a glimpse of her flat stomach – she’d inherited her mum’s figure, thank goodness. The jeans were high-waisted enough to hide the thin scars criss-crossing the skin below her belly button.

  She really, really wanted to see Harry. Despite the ban.

  Screw it, she’d go anyway. Her mum might come up and check on her, find out, but what was she going to do? She never shouted, never did anything.

  Throwing open her bedroom window, Ruby hung out, looked down the trellis. They had only moved into the house in June, and although Mouse had quickly discovered this alternate route into the bedrooms, Ruby herself hadn’t tried it yet. It couldn’t be that hard if the squirt used it, though. She chucked her Puffa jacket down to the ground first, then hauled herself over the sill. Balanced on the ledge, which was wide enough for her to stand on, on tiptoes, then felt blindly with one foot for the solid wooden trellis that would act like a ladder. There it was. It was a little awkward, but she was soon down on the concrete slabs of their patio. No sign of her mum. She nipped around the side and was out of the gate in seconds as she pulled on her coat, on her way to her date.

  Twenty-Eight

  Dominique wasn’t sure that she had convinced Benjamin her headache was real, but she was equally unsure she cared. She didn’t feel like being the trophy wife, looking the right way, saying the right things. She hated shooting, anyway. Even with ear defenders on, it might actually set off one of her buzzing headaches. Benjamin had started shooting a year earlier, and it had been a relief when he’d quickly bored of it. But apparently it had been resurrected.

  As soon as she heard Benjamin’s car pull away, she went to check on the children. Mouse was curled up on her bed with Ted, reading. She barely glanced up when her mum entered the room.

  ‘You okay there? Do you want anything to drink? Or eat?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ A flash of a grin, then Mouse’s eyes buried themselves back in The Worst Witch. She had won it in pass the parcel on Friday, and been so proud showing it off. Dominique spotted something else…

  ‘Have you been helping yourself to the mince pies, Amber?’ Her mouth twitched into a smile.

  ‘No, Mummy.’ Mouse looked horrified. The drift of crumbs and icing sugar down her top told a different story.

  Dominique backed out, closing the door behind her. As she turned to Ruby’s room, she felt a tug at her jumper. Damn. With a gentle tut, she unhooked her cashmere and silk garment carefully from the nail beside the door. Eased at the fibres until the slight hole it had stretched disappeared. She would have to speak with Benjamin about getting rid of it. She would do it herself, but she knew he would only complain about the tiny hole it would leave in the wood… She sighed, shaking her head. She had learned a long time ago that life was easier if Benjamin g
ot his own way.

  She hesitated outside Ruby’s room, then knocked. There was no reply. Another knock.

  ‘Ruby? Are you okay? May I come in?’

  No reply. Of course. Dominique already knew what she’d find before she opened the door, but she still felt her stomach sink when she took in the empty room.

  ‘I’ll kill her.’

  She must have sneaked out to see Harry. If Benjamin found out, Dominique dreaded to think what his reaction would be. At the very least, Ruby would be grounded for the foreseeable future. Which guaranteed a grumpy Christmas for everyone, despite Dom’s own efforts to make this last one together special. She prayed Ruby would be home before Benjamin, then perhaps she could give her daughter a talking to herself, make her see the error of her ways. The thought cheered her. A calm conversation was bound to have more impact than Benjamin’s favoured ‘ton of bricks’ approach – plus, it would make her feel better over his criticism of her own parenting. That comment of his that she ‘wasn’t exactly parent-of-the-year material’ had stung.

  Everything seemed to be piling up around her, a mist she could find no way through.

  Resisting the temptation to sink to the floor and curl up in a ball, Dominique meandered downstairs, grabbed the landline and dialled.

  ‘Ruby Thomas, call me as soon as you get this message. At least have the courtesy to let me know where you are and that you’re safe – and what time you’ll be home.’ She hesitated. Wanted to tell her daughter she loved her. But knew she would look weak. ‘I mean it,’ was all she said before hanging up.

  Exhaustion really was giving her a pounding headache. She didn’t know what to do with herself. She loaded the dishwasher. Then went upstairs to grab a book.

  There was a knife on her pillow.

  Who on earth had put that there? Mouse wouldn’t… which left only herself.

  She had wanted one last night, but knew better than to give in to that urge. She knew first-hand the damage a blade did sliding effortlessly into flesh.

  Yet there it was, shining in the winter sun angling through the large sash window. She must have put it on her pillow.

  A low whimper escaped her lips as she edged towards it, head pounding in time with the beat of her heart. She didn’t remember taking it upstairs. But she must have done. Picking it up gingerly between forefinger and thumb, she held it in front of her as she took it downstairs.

  After putting it away, she tried to make herself forget by reading her novel. She didn’t take in a single word.

  She checked her emails. Lots of offers from different shops, but nothing interesting. She was even so desperate she nipped onto Facebook, but didn’t stay on for long. It really wasn’t her thing at all; she rarely posted because she couldn’t imagine anyone being interested in her life.

  After an hour, she was bored stupid with only having the gentle gurgle of the central heating and the glow of the gas fire for company. She kept thinking about finding the knife. She kept thinking about waking in the hallway. Worrying about the implications. Rubbing at the scar on her arm, as if trying to erase it.

  She knew that she needed to talk to somebody. Last time, Fiona had been there for her every step of the way. Benjamin hadn’t been on the scene back then; she had been away at university – until forced to give it up after the incident…

  When she and Benjamin had got together, she had confessed everything. Although he had been supportive, he hadn’t really understood because he hadn’t seen it himself and it was all in the past.

  Now it was spilling into the present again.

  Dominique knew that if she didn’t speak to somebody then danger lay ahead for her and her loved ones.

  There was only one person in the world she truly trusted right now with her deepest fears. Fiona. She quickly called her best friend.

  ‘It’s happening again,’ she said.

  ‘What’s happening again?’ Fiona’s voice was confused but sharp.

  ‘You know.’

  ‘What?’ An intake of breath. ‘The sleepwalking?’

  ‘Yes, the sleepwalking.’ As soon as she said it she burst into tears.

  ‘Okay, hey, it’s all right. You’re sure this is happening?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’

  ‘Has, has anyone been hurt?’

  ‘No, no. Not yet.’

  Twenty-Nine

  Not yet. The phrase hung in the air, teasing Dominique with how quickly that situation could change.

  She swallowed down the fear blocking her words, and forced herself to continue.

  ‘I woke Friday night and I was in the hallway and I didn’t know how I’d got there. Last night I had another nightmare.’

  She stopped short of confessing to finding a knife on her pillow. She didn’t want to sound completely mad. Exhaustion and worry was playing tricks on her.

  ‘Okay.’ Fiona’s voice was gentle but probing, persistent. Her solicitor’s hat was on, and Dominique was soothed by her calm approach.

  ‘Can you remember the dream that led you to sleepwalk?’

  Dominique gave an involuntary shudder. ‘Yes, I… Oh, but there’s something that you need to know first, Fiona. A woman came up to me on Friday, after you and I had enjoyed our lunch, and she said that she’s having an affair with Benjamin.’

  ‘Right. I see. How are you doing? Bloody stupid question. You’re not doing well, clearly. Why didn’t you tell me?’ There was no hint of ‘I told you so’ in her tone.

  ‘I was too embarrassed, and I needed to try and process it myself.’

  ‘The thing is though, Dom, you’re clearly not processing it, are you? You’re not dealing with it, otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation about you sleepwalking again.’

  Dominique rubbed at her forehead and closed her eyes. ‘I know. That’s why I’m calling you now,’ she offered to her friend. And she told Fiona all about the horrible confrontation with Kendra.

  ‘The stupid thing is, I think I’ve sort of suspected for a while now. But when I was confronted by his mistress, it was still a shock. I’ve spent a long time imagining what my rival might look like, but I wasn’t prepared at all. I was just so shocked by how young she was. She doesn’t even look thirty.’

  ‘What a cliché. He’s a fool, I’ve always said that. What did she look like, anyway?’

  ‘Pretty. Dirty blonde. Big boobs and a tiny waist. Your basic nightmare. She’s so different from me – I mean, I’m straight up and down—’

  ‘Er, you’ve got an amazing figure,’ Fiona interrupted. ‘You’ve had two kids and your stomach’s flat as a pancake. Bitch.’

  ‘Not enough, though, is it? Maybe I should stop with all the yoga and jogging and dieting, and try to get myself some curves.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Anyway, what did you do? Did you slap her one? As your solicitor, I’d advise against it; as your friend, I actively encourage it.’

  ‘I should have done. Or walk away with some dignity. But I was so shocked I found myself wondering if she’d got the right person. Oh, Fiona, I started asking her questions; I even asked what Benjamin’s date of birth was. I think I was hoping that she’d give the wrong answer and then realise I wasn’t married to her Benjamin Thomas. I’m such an idiot.’

  ‘I bet she had no idea you felt like an idiot. I bet she thought you were an absolute ice maiden, so super cool. I’ve seen you in action, remember? You always come across as in control, though I know the truth of it. You shut down, don’t you, love?’

  ‘I do. I wish I didn’t but I do.’

  ‘Hard shell on the outside, mushy slush on the inside.’

  ‘Yes, sometimes I think all my strength is pretend. I just wish some of it were real. When I got home I couldn’t even confront Benjamin. I don’t know what to say to him yet. How can I have a go at him when I don’t even know what I want from the conversation? I don’t know whether I want to end it; I don’t know if I want us to try to fix things; I don’t know if I want to bloody kill him for wha
t he’s done. Or if I want to say to him “I still love you”.’

  ‘And do you still love him?’

  ‘I don’t know! But it’s Christmas, so I have to pretend for the kids’ sake.’ Dominique groaned, kneading at her temples with the knuckles of her balled hands. Trying to figure out the answer. Talking about things seemed to be making everything worse rather than better.

  Fiona gave a small sigh down the phone.

  ‘All of this stress is causing the sleepwalking now, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’re right. I should have spoken to you or Benjamin or somebody, or I should have done something. But instead I’ve done my usual thing and just locked it away in a box, hidden it inside me rather than dealing with it. Now it’s triggered my old problem. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to end up in court like before.’

  ‘So tell me about the dream.’

  ‘Oh, God, it was horrible. It was the children… oh God, the children.’ Dominique’s voice was a frightened whisper. ‘Someone had broken into the house, and they were coming for my babies. They wanted to hurt them. To tear my family apart. I picked up Benjamin’s gun, ran downstairs, and it was only as I heard the noise and shot blindly into the dark that I woke up, terrified, this horrible sick feeling in my stomach.’

  Dom clutched at her belly, the memory bringing the feeling back. ‘My heart was pounding. When I looked at my hands I couldn’t understand where the gun had gone – and then I thought I might be awake, but because I was in the hallway I wasn’t sure.