‘Son? Come here.’
Harry turned and crept from the flat, clamping down on his lip to distract from the prickling threat of tears. Closed the door slowly, silently, then ran, his guilt lending him wings so that he could get far, far away. He couldn’t cope with looking after his mum. Not right now. The thought of having to get a damp cloth to wipe the drool from her chin, or clean up the vomit that would almost inevitably follow… He pumped his arms harder, drove his legs faster, sent the pushers and bikers scattering around him.
He only slowed when Ruby called his mobile.
Forty-Four
For once, neither Ruby nor Mouse found anything to argue about, which was a minor miracle. Benjamin and Ruby left the house at the same time, and Dominique breathed a sigh of relief when she got home after the school run with Amber and was finally alone.
It took a few minutes to search out her old address book and find the number she needed. Dr Madden’s secretary answered almost immediately, and expertly fielded Dominique’s request to speak with him.
‘I can pass on a message and he can call you back, if necessary,’ she said smoothly. ‘Or I can make an appointment for you to see him. There is a three-month waiting list at present.’
Three months? She couldn’t possibly wait that long.
‘I’m a previous client of Dr Madden’s. Please ask him to call me as a matter of urgency, as I’m having a recurrence of my previous problem.’
‘Which was?’
‘He’ll know.’ Dominique could be equally smooth, when required.
For the rest of the morning she rearranged the Christmas decorations to kill time while waiting for the phone to ring, and hoping it did so before she had to go to Mouse’s nativity play. Several cold callers got short shrift, Dominique taking her disappointment that it wasn’t Dr Madden out on them. It was particularly maddening when she was up a ladder, balancing precariously in order to hang the heavy swags of greenery and berries up around the rooms. She raced down as the phone rang out; breathlessly, answered it.
‘May I speak with Dominique?’ asked a familiar voice with the faintest Liverpudlian lilt.
Instantly, she was transported back twenty-five years to when she was nineteen. To the time when she had woken from yet another night terror, but the blood hadn’t disappeared as her eyes opened. The warm liquid running down her arms, dripping down her fingers, and pooling by her feet, as Fiona wrestled the carving knife away from her and screamed and screamed and screamed...
Her dream had turned into a waking nightmare. She couldn’t risk that ever happening again. Luckily, Dr Madden agreed she was an urgent case.
‘I’m closing the practice over the festive period for a few days,’ he explained. ‘But in light of the seriousness of your previous episodes, I’d like to see you on Thursday for an emergency appointment. Hopefully, we can get some coping mechanisms in place to tide you over until we can start proper sessions in the new year.’
‘That would be wonderful,’ sighed Dominique, letting out a long slow breath of relief.
‘In the meantime, try to adhere to good “sleep hygiene”, which will help prevent the sleep deprivation that can bring on nightmares in adults. Be calm and avoid stress,’ he advised. ‘Go to bed at a regular time, and maybe try some yoga and meditation; both can be helpful. Also, be cautious about the use of alcohol, caffeine and nicotine – they can remain in your system for up to twelve hours after consumption and disrupt sleep patterns.’
‘Yes, gosh, yes. I’ve got into bad habits over the years, but I’ll start your suggestions again straight away.’
‘Excellent. Until Thursday, then, Dominique. Take care.’
As the line went dead, she couldn’t help thinking his departing comment sounded more like a dire warning than a fond farewell.
Forty-Five
‘James, you old bugger. How are you? You still shooting?’
Benjamin put his feet on his desk as he chatted. He felt loads better than he had first thing – because he’d had another idea. This was the solution. How could he not have come up with it earlier?
‘Good to hear from you. It’s been a few months since I last went, actually. Why, you fancy getting together?’ replied James.
‘We went on Sunday. That’s what made me think of you. Dominique and I were saying how long it’s been since we saw you and your charming wife.’
Good old James. Benjamin could imagine his piggy blue eyes crinkling with a smile, those ruddy cheeks of his pinking in delight at hearing from him.
Benjamin rolled the pen between his palms as he talked. Threw it up into the air and caught it. Laughed in all the right places, only half-listening, as his old rugby pal yattered on about some big business deal he had just landed.
James was a good man. They had met when they both attended London Metropolitan University, and had a lot of great connections. He also wasn’t averse to lending a friend a whole stack of cash, and had once bailed out a pal who would have had to pay an exorbitant fee on a bridging loan when buying a new café for his chain.
‘Well, listen, listen, we don’t need to do all our catching up now. I’m calling with an ulterior motive, of course, James. We wondered if you and Heidi would like to come over for dinner on Wednesday? I know it’s short notice, but between you and me, Dominique is planning to experiment on the two of you – yeah, she’s got some recipe or other she wants to give a dry run on before Christmas.’
‘Sounds great. I’ll have to run it past Heidi first.’
‘Of course, mate. Drop me a text.’
‘Will do. Lovely to hear from you.’
As soon as the phone went dead, Benjamin pumped his fist.
Forty-Six
Bookcase, sofa, coffee table. Turn. Coffee table, sofa, bookcase. Turn. Bookcase…
The furniture blurred past the side of Kendra’s eye as she paced in her living room. Round and round she went, mimicking her thoughts.
Of all the scenarios she had run through over her torturous weekend, the only one that hadn’t entered her head was the very one that was now playing out. Dominique had clearly said nothing to Ben.
The selfish, cold, calculating cow.
What was Kendra supposed to do now? She had thought that Ben and Dominique would have split as a result of her revelation. At the least, she had hoped her own torture would be over. Instead, it just went on and on and on.
She should have known. She knew her lover’s wife well enough by now to realise she was a cold fish, but Kendra had massively underestimated how far the permafrost penetrated.
Curiosity had started Kendra down the road of stalking. Like any red-blooded woman, she had wanted to check out her competition as soon as she had found out that Ben was married.
She’d taken a sneaky peek on Facebook, pouring over the photographs of Ben with his glamorous wife. Snorting in derision because Dom was the same age as Ben, so Kendra had youth on her side. But intimidated by her beauty. Dominique looked like an older version of the Duchess of Cambridge, for goodness’ sake, though with olive skin and slightly (and only slightly) more meat on her bones. Her hair (or should that be ‘magnificent mane’) was the colour of mahogany, the sort of glossy shade only achieved in an expensive salon, and never from a home dye kit. Not that that had stopped Kendra from experimenting. She had wound up with hair that looked like a sunset, her blonde locks too pale for the dye, resulting in a strange pinkish orange hue that had taken several weeks to fade. Ben had thought it hilarious, although he had refused to be seen in public with her.
Those had been the days when he used to laugh. He never laughed now.
He had clearly laughed with his family back then, too. There were photos on their Facebook page of the smiling parents sitting on a log, grinning at each other, while the children gambolled (it was the only word for it, even though it made Kendra shudder). They gleefully threw golden leaves into the air, fingers outstretched, their faces upturned in delight at the soft sunshine slanting through tree trunk
s.
The perfection of the snap was, frankly, stomach-churning.
It was a scab Kendra couldn’t help picking at though, luxuriating in the pain it caused her. She eagerly hoovered up every titbit of information she could from the social media site. Ultimately, though, she had discovered little about the family’s actual day-to-day lives, or what their relationship was like. Either Dominique only posted around once a year, or her privacy settings were tight; but either way, there wasn’t much for Kendra to glean.
Still, that had been enough to satisfy her. Why torture herself with what Ben’s family was like when he clearly wasn’t happy with them – if he were he wouldn’t have taken up with her, would he? And she and Ben were perfect together in those first years.
When he had grown tired of not being able to see her because of her late nights as a barmaid, he had insisted on renting her a nice little flat in Charlton that was fairly close to his office and home. But far enough away that he felt comfortable. He had taken on all of her outgoings, in fact, so she had given up work.
‘You don’t need to worry about money when you’re with me, I’ll take care of you. I don’t want anything taking away my time with you, nothing getting in the way of us being together,’ Ben had said. She had felt so special.
Being a kept woman was a wonderful feeling, luxurious.
It wasn’t only the practicalities Ben took care of either. He lavished her with expensive jewellery.
‘I’ve got to buy you beautiful things because everything looks dowdy compared to you,’ he used to say.
Once, he had even jetted her to New York for a long weekend, and bought her a necklace from Tiffany’s. He had taken a snap of her outside the famous jewellers, striking an Audrey Hepburn pose. It was now in a frame by her bed. She had never been able to share it on Facebook or tell friends about it because then she would have had to field awkward questions about who she had gone with.
So much of her life was secret, she thought with a sad sigh, slowing the manic pacing slightly. Friends she had once been close to had drifted away, either tired of her secrecy or judgemental of the life she chose to lead as a kept mistress. Her family knew nothing of her lifestyle and all thought she was terminally single.
‘I don’t understand it. You’re a beautiful lass,’ her mum constantly told her.
She couldn’t wait for the day she could finally show her man off to the world. But over the past twelve months Ben’s interest had waned. He was distant and distracted. When she spoke, he nodded and made the right noises, but she could tell he hadn’t been listening.
She was terrified he was going to end things with her. That he had finally made his decision over who he loved more – and she had come a poor second.
At first, she had fought back by going to the gym more, losing the weight she had put on with all the meals they had together. Jogging, free weights, swimming, and yoga. There wasn’t a bit of her that didn’t ache every single day, but it had paid off. By their fourth anniversary at the end of July, she looked great.
Ben had lamented the loss of her curves. That was the only comment he had made about it. Said he liked having something to grab hold of. She had smiled a bright, shiny smile, then turned away to blink back the tears tickling to break through, while cutting herself a large slice of the cake she had bought for them from Patisserie Valerie, and viciously shoving a strawberry into her champagne flute.
That had also been the first time Ben had forgotten their anniversary. To make up for it, the next day he had presented her with one-carat diamond stud earrings in a platinum claw setting. She had been warring with herself ever since over whether to be mollified by the beautiful earrings (she had looked online to see how much they cost) or to be infuriated that he thought he could get around her simply by throwing money at the problem.
In the end, she had kept quiet because she didn’t want to rock the boat too much. Not when her grip on him was slipping, and without him she felt she would drown.
Instead, she had got her curves back – which had been disturbingly easy – and splashed out on Agent Provocateur lingerie in order to spice things up in the bedroom. They had never had any problems in that department, but lately Ben had problems rising to the occasion. He often blamed her and it caused rows. Her already fragile self-esteem chipped away further. He fancied his wife more than her, clearly.
That was when Kendra had moved from checking out Dominique on Facebook to following her in real life. She had remembered that Friday years before, when she had followed Dominique to the hairdresser’s and then lunch, and wondered if she still went there. On the off-chance, she had tried – and there Dominique was, in all her slender, expensive perfection.
Following her was a one-off, Kendra told herself. But it’s amazing how quickly a one-off can slide into a habit. And habit was only one step away from addiction.
Kendra often sat beside Dominique, and the stupid woman had no idea her rival was within touching distance of her. Instead, she sat gossiping with her friend, while Kendra listened in, unmolested. It had given her such a thrill of excitement knowing that, at least, in some ways, she had the upper hand over Dominique.
She often pretended to read a book as she ate alone, while all the time listening in on the pair’s conversations. She had learned an awful lot about Fiona’s love life and her intense dislike of Ben – which had almost made Kendra slap the annoying, loud-mouthed bitch. She made herself stay still, clenching her thighs together to keep them in place, fighting the urge to march to their table, swallowing down the words that leapt into her mouth to defend poor Ben.
It had been worth it. Dominique was discreet, but she dropped enough hints to show she was unhappy in her marriage – and that she knew Ben was, too.
That titbit had been enough to keep Kendra going and make her heart soar. It had been the sustenance that had fed her strength, keeping her going when she had doubts about whether or not she was doing the right thing. She was so close to getting what she wanted that to give up now would be ridiculous.
It was always darkest before the dawn, her old gran had always told her, and so she knew that the toughest moments were immediately before the breakthrough occurred. She was at her darkest moment, and felt ashamed of what desperation was driving her to. But she would keep on, and soon she would be in the light; she and Ben would no longer have to be a deep, dark secret. What she was doing was for the greater good, so how could there possibly be any harm in that?
She tapped at her teeth, deep in thought, and started pacing again.
Bookcase, sofa, coffee table. Turn. Coffee table, sofa, bookcase. Turn. Bookcase…
Forty-Seven
The small school hall was full of parents, smartphones held aloft to video their darlings in their acting debuts. Dominique was no different. She always looked forward to the school’s show, and every time her daughter came on stage she leaned forward in her seat, pride shining, trying to get a better shot for the video.
Not that Mouse was on stage often. Amber did not like to be the centre of attention, hence her nickname. But she stood patiently with the rest of the children, at one point dressed as a cloud, though Dominique wasn’t entirely sure why.
The storyline seemed to be something to do with a talent show. From what Dominique could glean, the judging panel comprised King Herod, a wise king, and Darcey Bussell. It was slightly confusing, but definitely entertaining and everyone got their lines right. One of the younger ones, who must have been only five, believed in shouting the words rather than singing, which made everyone giggle. Guilty parents hid their smiles behind hands and fake coughs.
Finally, it was Mouse’s big moment. She stepped forward with her schoolmates and started to line dance, jigging around in perfect timing. Dominique was impressed; it was certainly a whole lot slicker than when she had been practising in the kitchen over and over again.
Finally, another child wearing a cloud costume floated into the middle of the stage.
‘The end,
’ he announced, in an incredibly loud voice.
The place erupted. Everyone stood, clapping wildly. The children mainly beamed, a couple looked bewildered and blinked rapidly, and one of the little ones burst into tears and had to be swept off stage by her father because she had wet herself. On the whole, it was a resounding success.
Mouse ran over to her mum and launched herself into her arms. They hugged each other tight.
‘You were brilliant,’ whispered Dom. ‘The best one there by far.’
‘Really?’ Mouse’s eyes were wide with amazement. ‘I’m just glad it’s over.’
‘Well, I could watch you all over again,’ Dom decided. Then laughed at the look of horror on her daughter’s face.
It was true, though. The fact was, Mouse was growing up fast, and all too soon she would be in big school. Dom knew she must cherish these moments, before they disappeared for ever.
‘Hi, Dom. I haven’t missed it, have I?’ called a voice.
‘Aunty Fiona,’ cried Mouse, throwing herself at the lawyer.
‘This is a surprise,’ smiled Dominique.
‘Surprise? You asked me if I wanted to come, remember?’ replied Fiona.
Dominique didn’t, but forced a laugh. ‘Of course I do. But I must have got the time muddled up, sorry.’
As the three of them walked home, Dominique wondered if she was losing her mind.
* * *
Benjamin reached for his phone the second it beeped with a message.
‘Looking forward to being your gourmet guinea pigs on Wednesday. Best, James.’
Yes!
Right, he’d better let Dominique know she would be catering for guests in two days’ time.
* * *
Ruby and Harry sat in the crowded fast food joint once again. Even though it was well past lunch, a constant storm of people flurried past them and piled up in a drift at the counter.
Her Last Secret Page 15