Her Last Secret

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  ‘Freedom of speech, man,’ Harry added.

  The officer folded his arms across his neon vest. ‘Okay. Well, we received a report that someone was being aggressive, so we’ve responded to that. It doesn’t help the situation to hear immature, petty comments from you, stirring it up. If you have an issue, if you have a complaint, I can tell you who my inspector is and you can make that complaint through the proper channels.’

  ‘You’re arresting him for no reason,’ Ruby repeated.

  ‘He’s drunk.’

  ‘Oh, now he’s drunk?’

  As if on cue, the bemused homeless man vomited a Technicolor rainbow. The only reason he stayed upright was the firm grip of the other police officers.

  ‘Well, I’d be drunk if I had to sleep on the streets,’ Ruby rallied.

  ‘Here’s some advice, kids: grow up, okay?’

  ‘Grow up? You grow up,’ Harry laughed. He grabbed Ruby’s hand and ran from the building before the officer could say any more.

  As they raced down the street, Ruby’s blood was pumping. She kept laughing, wanting to leap. She felt alive.

  ‘The system is screwed, man. What’s the point of following rules that are meaningless and corrupt? If you want something, take it and screw everyone else. That’s the only law that matters. Don’t ever let anyone get in your way,’ ranted Harry.

  ‘Take the law into your own hands.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Yeah!’

  The thought was exhilarating, liberating, like a thousand small explosions going off beneath the surface of Ruby’s skin.

  ‘World would be a better place if all the idiots died. Someone should kill them all,’ she shouted.

  ‘Everyone who has ever been awful to us. Anarchy!’

  Harry’s grin was so wide that Ruby couldn’t resist. She stopped short, pulling Harry towards her. Snogged him, right there, right then. He drew her even closer, ignoring the tutting passers-by who barged into them on the crammed pavement.

  Inside her pocket, her phone vibrated.

  Harry pulled away. Gave her a penetrating look, serious brown eyes framed by the brilliant green of his glasses, which brought out the fire flecks around his pupils. She held her breath. Hoping, praying that he hadn’t felt the buzz. That he wouldn’t want to check her phone.

  ‘I’m gonna have a whizz down this alley, yeah? Won’t be a minute,’ he said.

  She tried not to show her relief. Simply nodded.

  As Harry walked away, she turned her back and slipped her mobile from her inside pocket. Slid a finger across the screen to unlock it… as Harry snatched the phone from her fingers.

  ‘What the hell? I thought this was over,’ he shouted.

  Her secret was out – and Harry was furious.

  Thirty-Three

  Benjamin and Vladimir Tarkovsky stood side by side on the rough grass. The weather was turning. What had been an overcast and mild day had begun to weep at Benjamin’s attempts to woo the Russian businessman. Under the too-warm coat, he was sweating, but he couldn’t take it off because then he’d get soaked. This was not a good impression to make on Tarkovsky, who appeared to be coated in Teflon from the efficient way his lightweight waterproof and flat cap dealt with the damp air.

  ‘You both have your own guns?’ asked one of the staff at the gun club. They nodded.

  ‘Fibre or plas wads?’

  Benjamin nodded. ‘Yep, definitely.’

  ‘Which?’

  ‘Eight or nine. Twelve?’ He couldn’t remember. Had no idea if it mattered.

  The man looked confused. ‘Are you talking about shot sizes? Maximum size here is six, sir. We’ll sort you out with some fibre wads, if you’re not sure whether you want plas or fibre. Let’s just go over some basics…’

  What was a wad? Was it the same as a cartridge? It didn’t matter, Benjamin itched to have a proper go at shooting, and listened impatiently as the man assigned to look after him went through the safety instructions. He was being shown up needlessly in front of his business prospect. He knew he’d be good at this. He had good hand-eye coordination thanks to his sporting days – and how hard could it be, anyway?

  A year earlier, Benjamin had had the idea of going shooting, in the hopes of making some business contacts. Several of his old school pals were members of gun clubs. The idea of blasting something to smithereens appealed. It was manly, wasn’t it? Guns, ammo, destruction.

  But the people he met had not been businessmen on the whole. Nor had they been particularly macho. In fact, they seemed to dislike any gung-ho comments he made. Which was a bugger, because he’d bought all the kit by then. Right down to a shotgun and bullets, or whatever.

  After attending gun club a handful of times, Benjamin had grown bored. The gun languished in the corner of his study untouched for months on end, looking like a rather cool ornament thanks to some pretty metalwork on its side. According to the terms of his firearms certificate it was supposed to be kept in the secure cabinet he’d had to buy specially, but he wouldn’t have been able to see it then. He would never have admitted it, but the engraved metal had been the reason why he had bought it. It looked fancy.

  Benjamin had a bad feeling that the staff at the club were realising how little he knew about his gun. Vladimir looked completely at home with his own shotgun broken over his arm as he stood casually to one side while Benjamin was shown the ropes.

  Just point and shoot, right, how hard could it be?

  ‘Yep, yep, got it,’ he nodded, the movement so curt it was almost a karate chop. He slid the ear defenders in place.

  ‘Pull,’ came the shout.

  The clay pigeon flew free.

  Bang!

  Benjamin was almost overwhelmed with disappointment. He’d missed it – by a country mile.

  ‘Damn gun must be shooting wonky or something,’ he muttered. His right shoulder throbbed from the kickback.

  ‘Don’t worry. Most untrained users aren’t accurate with firearms. Particularly if they’ve never held one or used one before,’ his helper said. Bastard. ‘So, that scene in films where the utterly untrained user picks up a pistol and puts a blooming rose right between the eyes of the assailant fifty yards away – that’s lottery-winner lucky.’

  A deep chuckle came from beside him.

  ‘Pull,’ came the heavily accented instruction. A blast, and the target shattered. Vladimir was a perfect shot.

  ‘Great. Well done.’ Benjamin smiled through slightly clenched teeth. He felt a useless idiot, but at least the Russian was going to have fun… laughing at his expense.

  But that was okay, because Benjamin would have the last laugh.

  Thirty-Four

  Harry’s yell of fury ricocheted off the buildings as he glared at Ruby’s phone. Ruby couldn’t look at him, eyes glued to the floor in shame. She couldn’t believe how stupid she had been, letting him get hold of it. There would be no more hiding, the truth would come out and that was the last thing she wanted. She couldn’t handle the shame.

  She risked a glance up. Several people hurrying by looked their way, but no one slowed down, no one wanted to get involved in a domestic.

  Harry thrust the phone at her, the message leering at her.

  ‘I can see your rolls of fat in that outfit. Ugly bitch.’

  The words made her flinch, check over her shoulder…

  ‘Is this Jayne?’ Harry demanded. Looked around, expecting to see the bully lurking a few feet away, or across the road.

  ‘I don’t know who it is. Not for sure.’

  ‘Yeah, right. We both know who’s responsible. How long has this been going on?’

  She shrugged. ‘Ever since we got beat on.’

  ‘Man.’ He hung his head. Looked like he wanted to throw her phone away. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Ruby? I thought people had got bored of all that. I knew you’d been given a hard time initially, but thought it had all died down. You’ve been so weird about your phone, though, I kinda started suspecting something
was happening. That, and you punching Jayne’s lights out. It’s why I tricked you – sorry.’

  It was her turn to hang her head. She toe-kicked at a piece of chewing gum stuck to the pavement. ‘I didn’t want you to think I was a loser…’

  ‘Never.’ He took her face in his hands and stared into her soul. ‘I love you, Rubes. Love the bones of you. It’s me and you against the world, right? Thought you knew that.’

  ‘You and me against the world. No matter what.’

  Harry pushed one side of her mouth up into a wonky smile. She fought to keep the miserable look on her face, but Harry’s giggling made her laugh, too.

  ‘Prat,’ she sniggered.

  ‘Too right – but I’m your prat. Now let’s go somewhere quiet and you can tell me all about the text and stuff. You hear me?’

  Under Harry’s arm, Ruby felt safe and protected as they walked along. No one could ever hurt her, not truly, while she was with him.

  Thirty-Five

  Ruby’s misery had started from the very moment she had begun at Tennyson’s Exclusive School for Girls. She had always been popular at her junior school, with a gang of friends to choose from. When her father had insisted she attend this expensive private school, she hadn’t minded one way or another. She wouldn’t know anyone there, but then neither would anyone else in her year, so they would all be in the same boat, she reasoned.

  Many of the girls did know each other, though, from their previous private educations. That had come as a bit of a shock. All the other girls there seemed to have so much more money. It was a strange sensation for Ruby to be the ‘poor’ child, and she had struggled to fit in.

  At first Ruby had tried talking to her parents about it. Her mum had made soothing noises, not bothering to actually understand, instead simply offering platitudes. Her father had given her a rousing lecture in bucking up and sticking with things. He had, she realised, wanted her to hang out with all these people so she could become a pawn in his social climbing. She had become more desperate to fit in as those first months passed.

  The bullying was subtle at first. Ruby was never invited to trips to the cinema, parties, or shopping. She often sat on her own in lessons, because everyone else naturally fell in with their friends, and she had none. Not really.

  Her fellow peers were always vying for recognition for having the trendiest clothes, the best holidays, the latest phone. Ruby was made to feel a second-class citizen, but she tried harder to fit in, pushed herself to join conversations. When she spoke, no one seemed to hear her.

  One day a gang of the girls, headed by Poppy Flintock, the most popular girl in the year, were talking about their holiday plans. Lots of them, it seemed, were going to the same place with their families and were arranging to meet up.

  ‘The skiing at Courchevel is wonderful,’ drawled Poppy, flicking her glossy, almost black hair over her shoulder. ‘It will be such fun that we can all hang out together.’

  Everyone agreed. Ruby felt twitchy, desperate to join in the conversation and prove that she was exactly like them.

  ‘It’s such a shame we’re not going this year,’ she said.

  All eyes turned in her direction. Gulp. They all seemed to have heard her this time.

  ‘You’ve been to Courchevel? Really? It’s quite exclusive…’ Poppy gave a cynical laugh.

  ‘Oh, we’ve been a lot. In fact, Father says he’s bored of it, so that’s why we’re not going this winter,’ Ruby bluffed.

  ‘Right… So have you spotted any of the celebrity regulars?’

  Ruby could feel her face getting hot. ‘Um, some, yeah. Who have you spotted?’

  ‘Well, it’s vulgar to name drop, but put it this way: we had a delightful lunch with a lovely couple called William and Kate.’

  ‘Wow.’ It was a collective exhalation of awe. Apart from on Ruby’s part. William and Kate? William and Kate who? Her mind raced through celebrities and discarded them just as quickly. Then… good grief, did she mean Prince William and the Duchess of Cambridge? When Poppy had said the resort was exclusive she hadn’t been kidding. Ruby was starting to regret her little white lie, but it was too late to back out. At eleven years old, she didn’t know any better than to keep going with the fib.

  The minute she was alone – which didn’t take long – she googled the ski resort. Discovered the pretty Alpine village in the Alps was a firm favourite of A-list film stars and celebrities such as Victoria and David Beckham. And William and Kate, of course. She had a bad feeling about her lie, but she was desperate to try anything.

  Still, she stuck to her guns, using the information online to answer Poppy’s and her pals’ repeated questions. Ruby had hoped she might just get away with it. The girls were starting to thaw a little towards her.

  A few days later, Ruby had captained the netball team for the first time. If she could lead the team to victory, she was sure everyone would like her then. Her parents came to watch, and she tried to swallow down her nerves.

  At half-time, her team were ahead, and things were going well. Some team members gave her encouraging smiles. Ruby’s soul soared. As she ran back onto the court, her dad gave her a thumbs-up. But her heart stuttered as Poppy wandered over to her parents.

  She was being silly, worrying over nothing. Poppy chatting to her family was a good sign.

  Still, Ruby felt scared. She hurried over herself, as Poppy called her goodbyes to Benjamin and Dominique over her shoulder – and cast a sly grin at Ruby, raising a knowing eyebrow in her direction as they passed each other.

  ‘Lovely girl,’ observed Dad. ‘Very polite. Perfect elocution.’

  ‘Er, yeah, so what did she want?’

  ‘She was pointing out some of your friends,’ smiled Dominique. ‘She was saying how a lot of them are going skiing next month, during half-term, and that it’s a shame you’re not going. I couldn’t help laughing. The idea of us going skiing – you know how I hate the cold.’

  ‘S-so you told her we’ve never been skiing.’

  ‘Of course. Are you okay? You’ve gone terribly pale. Perhaps you should sit out this half…’

  Ruby’s mum wittered on, clueless about the damage she had done. That was the turning point; when isolation at school turned to name-calling, until she faced a daily barrage of abuse.

  The people who mattered in her year had decided she was to be shunned at all cost – and so everyone else followed.

  Still Ruby tried to fit in. But the more she tried, the more her bullies spurned her for being a pathetic lying loser.

  If they didn’t like her the way she was, she was willing to change, do whatever it took to make friends. The eleven-year-old altered her hair, styling it the way the other girls wore theirs. They mocked her for trying to be popular. She wore the sort of clothes they wore; they accused her of trying too hard to make herself look cool. She pretended to like the same things as them, researching whatever music, TV series, films – you name it – they were into, so that she could join in their conversations. Ruby was always experimenting to find the tiniest crack in which she could slip into the clique. She became a chameleon, attempting almost on a daily basis to become a version of herself that people would like.

  They never did.

  She started to dread entering a room. When she did, people would shout: ‘There’s Ruby – run!’ and sprint away, giggling. To them it was a game. To Ruby, it was devastating.

  There were times when she felt hope, though. Over the years, new people started at school. They would instantly click with Ruby and her friendly personality. Quickly they twigged that she was a social pariah, though, and that by befriending her they risked not only becoming an outcast themselves, but an active target of the bullies. Eventually, everyone always deserted her.

  Sometimes, though, an olive branch would be extended her way.

  ‘We’ve permission from school to go out tonight for a few hours. Nothing special, just hanging out at a café. Fancy coming?’ Poppy asked one time.

&nb
sp; Poppy’s smile melted Ruby’s fear-frozen heart, making her feel hope.

  ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘We’re all meeting by the bike shed at four p.m. See you there.’

  Brilliant. For the rest of the afternoon, she had felt as though she were floating along, buoyed up with joy.

  Only to be slashed with disappointment when, after waiting for an hour, it became apparent everyone had left without her. Whether they had ever intended for her to join them then changed their minds, or it had been a cruel wind-up from the start, she couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that daring to feel hope then have it crushed hurt more than not having it at all.

  Yet she couldn’t stop herself from trying to fit in.

  Her parents had no idea of what she was going through. For her thirteenth birthday, her mum had offered to throw her a party to celebrate her becoming a teenager.

  ‘It’s a big deal. You can invite all of your friends. They could even sleep over. It’ll be fun.’

  Ruby had panicked then. She hadn’t shared anything of what she had been going through with her parents. Not after the skiing debacle and the platitudes dished out by them. Rather than explaining what was happening, and facing up to the embarrassing emotions of constant rejection, she’d had a tantrum. An explosion of rage the likes of which her parents had never seen before.

  The subject of a party was dropped.

  Ruby’s feelings towards her parents were complex. At first, her decision not to tell them about the bullying was a bid to protect herself from their reaction. Their involvement would, she was convinced, only make things worse. Later, she kept quiet because she wanted to shield them from her nightmare; and shield herself from their disappointment. What if they heard the ugly things thrown at her and started to believe them, too? Everyone else did.

  Finally, the helplessness of her situation had turned to rage. She hated her parents for not realising what was going on. She was stunned they could be fooled by her acting for so long, and didn’t bother peering behind the mask she wore. If they really cared they’d be able to see the truth, but they weren’t bothered enough to try. When her father went back on their deal for her to leave Tennyson’s Exclusive School for Girls, it finished their relationship for good.