Her Last Secret

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  And her mum was such a pushover. She let Dad get away with anything. What a doormat. She barely seemed with it these days, with her watery, pink eyes and distracted looks.

  If no one was going to protect her, she would protect herself. She would make everyone pay. She would lay waste to them.

  Fifty-Eight

  The sign glared back at Dom: Ruby’s Room, Keep Out. It even had a pair of beetling eyebrows drawn over the two ‘o’s in ‘room’, which had been made into eyes. She tried one last time, knowing it was futile even before she tapped on the door.

  Ruby was such a drama queen. ‘I don’t ever want to speak to you again,’ she had said.

  Dominique remembered telling her own mum that a couple of times, but not with the regularity of her eldest daughter. Still, it was just a teenage temper tantrum. She was probably making up for skipping the terrible twos everyone always went on about. Dom had thought she’d got the perfect child back then, little Ruby always laughing and coming out with the funniest things. She had such a gorgeous smile; why didn’t she show it?

  Dominique got the sudden urge to hold her little girl again. She pressed her face to the crack of the door, lips kissing varnished wood as she spoke.

  ‘Ruby? Come on, talk to me. Hey, maybe you, me and Mouse could go shopping together later, eh? You might even get an early present, if I’m feeling generous…’

  Silence.

  She’d have to find out what was wrong with Ruby, but she suspected she knew what this morning’s little performance was about. No doubt she had a protest speech prepared about the unfairness of being banned from seeing her boyfriend at Christmas, and was frustrated she and Benjamin hadn’t made time to listen. While Dom had a certain amount of sympathy, it didn’t change that her daughter was far too wrapped up in that Harry boy. If anything, her behaviour this morning proved that.

  Ever the diplomat, Dom had tried to step in between her daughter and husband to prevent an explosion. The mood Benjamin was in, he’d have erupted if Ruby pushed things any further. Dom had wanted to avoid a row over breakfast, but Ruby being Ruby, that wasn’t good enough. Everything had to be her way all the time, or she lost her temper. She was so furious all the time, her face a constant scowl, her mouth drawn small and mean. Smashing things was not a new trick, it was a boring old one, and Dom was sick of it.

  ‘Ruby?’ she tried one last time.

  What else could she do? Nothing. If Ruby chose to get angry instead of communicating, that wasn’t her mum’s fault. Actually, it was her grandfather’s. Benjamin’s father’s temper had been the stuff of many whispered conversations between herself and his sister Krystal when they were kids at school. Gordon Thomas had never been violent, he had not needed to be, the imminent threat was enough. Dominique had hated going around to her friend’s house because of the brooding atmosphere of control. Gordon had died when Benjamin was seventeen, and was mourned only briefly by his wife, who had made the most of her new freedom by moving to Spain as soon as her youngest hit eighteen. Benjamin spoke rarely about him, but Krystal had got tipsy one year and described to Dominique how every Christmas Gordon would make her and Benjamin line up in front of him so he could critique their gifts. No matter what Benjamin gave him, from a drawing when he was four to the gold tiepin that was the final gift, he was always singled out for particular criticism.

  The thought of Ruby taking after that man was depressing.

  Dom decided to leave her to calm down and see sense, then she would try again later. But right now, Dom had other things to worry about: whether she was a danger to her family, for example; especially after yet another vivid nightmare last night; whether she should leave Benjamin and destroy the family for ever (which she knew was actually Benjamin’s fault, and yet somehow, she felt guilty about. So much for her being an ice queen). But most pressing right at that moment was: what on earth was she going to cook for this bloody meal tonight?

  She had tried to persuade Benjamin to cancel the meal but he was adamant. Dominique got the feeling there was more to it than a simple get together, but Benjamin had only said he was trying to pull together a new business deal and it would be good to have James onside.

  With a heavy sigh, she trudged down the stairs.

  Fifty-Nine

  Apart from a couple of sexy text messages in reply to over-the-top lovey ones she had sent after a few too many, Kendra hadn’t heard from Ben in the three days since he’d come over on Sunday. He didn’t even know that she had saved his daughter’s bacon by stopping Jayne Seward from reporting her to the police. She wanted to tell him face to face, so she could enjoy his look of relief and gratitude. And the incredible ‘thank you’ sex that was bound to follow.

  When he’d visited, he’d said nothing about her confronting Dominique and, as far as she knew, he was still clueless about her conversation with his wife.

  Perhaps she should tell him herself?

  She wasn’t sure she had the courage.

  She was certain – certain-ish – that once Dominique confronted him, he would let her know – for good or ill. So what the hell was going on? It had been five days since she’d dropped her adulterous bombshell. Why hadn’t Ben’s wife confronted him yet? Why hadn’t she torn a strip off him? No wonder he sought passion elsewhere, Dominique was a doormat. There was no fire in her belly; she must be awful in bed.

  Fine. In that case, Kendra would have to take things up a notch. She wasn’t going to be second fiddle any more. She didn’t want to be a mistress. She wanted to be the wife.

  She clicked a perfect shellac nail against her front teeth as she pondered.

  Time for the next phase in her plan. It was a gamble. But, to quote Ben, if you didn’t bet big, you didn’t win big.

  His positive attitude was one of the things she adored about him. He was always so flash. She loved the sharp, expensive suits, the designer shades he insisted on wearing most of the time outdoors. When she had spotted the brochure for Bentleys in his Mercedes the other week, she had felt so turned on. Not by the material things, although obviously that was an attraction and she wasn’t going to be fake enough to deny it; no, it was the power that went with those material things. Her man had the status to take on his competitors and destroy them – and the car, the sunglasses, the suits, were the outward trappings of that. The proof of his power. He was a gladiator, slaying business deals rather than lions.

  Come on, what woman wouldn’t get turned on by that?

  The telltale tingle between her legs made Kendra stop her pacing and sit on the edge of the sofa.

  She and Ben were made for each other. That was why she had confronted Dominique. Kendra had imagined the wife would break down in front of her; perhaps Kendra ending up putting her arm around her and comforting her. One day in the future, after the inevitable anger and betrayal had faded, Dominique would remember how kind Kendra had been in her victory, and that would become the seed from which forgiveness and eventual harmony would blossom.

  Kendra let herself dream about the day when Ruby was all straightened out, and she and Amber would run to Kendra when they visited for weekends, giving her a huge hug. She and Dominique would talk in friendly fashion – she wasn’t silly enough to imagine they would ever be best friends, but they would be able to like each other. Ben would be so happy with Kendra that she wouldn’t view Dominique as a threat. Besides, Dominique would have found herself the right man by then, thus realising that things had all worked out for the best. She wouldn’t blame Ben and Kendra for falling in love, because everyone was happy, whereas before, no one had been.

  Kendra smiled as she imagined the scene. She and Dominique air-kissing either cheek, just like Dominique did with her friend, Fiona. Yes, it was time to drive home the killer blow to Ben’s marriage with the final part of her plan.

  She picked up her phone and sent a text to her lover.

  Sixty

  The ‘Book of Hate’ was filling up nicely. Ruby poured all her emotions into it. It didn’t quite
shut properly any more, the ink had seeped into the pages, making them swell, so that when she touched them she was touching her own fury given physical form.

  All the people who had hurt her and betrayed her. Every slight she had received; each sidelong glance that stung and brought tears to her eyes; every shouted insult; every time she had been pushed around, or something of hers stolen, and each time her parents had failed her. It was all contained in the thick notebook, with its spiky title. Bits of paper had been stuck into it, too, making it a scrapbook of pain, in order to accommodate all her words. She needed a new one really, but she was starting to think there would be no point in purchasing one. She’d stick with this to the end.

  The last entry glared out at her.

  I’ll make them pay.

  But how? She thought of the Columbine shootings that Harry had told her about and wished she had the courage to do the same thing. The looks on everyone’s faces if she marched into school and blasted them all to hell. She’d leave Jayne for last, so her rival could see the trouble she had caused. Jayne could watch her cronies suffer, and feel the terror of inevitability building inside her as Ruby got closer and closer with her gun, until… BOOM… she fell backwards like a straw doll, arms windmilling like they always did in Hollywood films. Her stupid mouth sagging open in shock and awe, eyes begging as she realised she had made a terrible mistake in underestimating Ruby.

  But that wasn’t really an option currently. For starters, school had broken up until next term.

  Besides, right now, it was Ruby’s family she was most angry with. They had totally betrayed her.

  All Dad cared about was making money and what other people thought. He hadn’t even tried to listen to her. Ha, he’d be mortified if he knew people thought his daughter was a prostitute and were offering to have sex with her. Maybe that’s what she should have led with when she’d tried to open up to him: that his own reputation was in peril. That would have made him sit up and listen.

  Well, screw him. She wasn’t going to help him out. Let people write all the vile comments they wanted about her. As long as she had Harry, she could face anything.

  Almost anything. When Harry was there, she was strong enough to stay away from social media. Without him, she was weak. Unable to stop her compulsion to know exactly what was happening. She put her ‘Book of Hate’ to one side and got out her phone. Checked ASKfm, Facebook, Twitter. She was called an ugly C-U-Next-Tuesday by someone every single day. Today was no different. The texts had piled up, too.

  ‘Ugly’

  ‘Stupid’

  ‘Smelly’

  She knew the words were true. Even Harry’s love didn’t change her own self-loathing.

  Ruby opened her bedside cabinet drawer and stared at the hairdressing scissors she kept there for emergencies. She opened them up as wide as they would go. Pulled up her skirt, yanked down her red-and-black striped tights, and pressed the blade to her flesh. The pale skin went paper-white under the pressure. She held it and held it… a jerk of her wrist and the scissors were free. A satisfying line of blood formed, held, spilled.

  She rolled her head back. Gave a deep sigh of release. That was better. So much better. But it wasn’t enough, and now she had an idea that would make her feel loads better, and also really infuriate her parents. A win-win situation.

  Ruby looked herself square in the eye as she held a safety pin against the outside of her nostril. Her self-loathing burned through her as she counted down.

  Three, two, one…

  She shoved it through her flesh. The pain made her glare harder, but she didn’t cry out, didn’t shed a tear. Instead, she twisted the pin slightly, grimacing, to make sure it was all the way through and the hole was big enough. Her nostril distorted as she pulled it out with a meaty tug.

  Smearing the haematic flow away to find the hole created, she eased in place a large silver stud, shaped like a rivet, that stood proud from her skin. Blood flowed down to the crease of her mouth and she licked at it experimentally. It tasted gross, but she did it again, to prove a point. Then grabbed a handful of loo roll and dabbed at herself until she was no longer bleeding. She stared at the wad of scarlet paper. Wiped it down her T-shirt, leaving a smear on the picture of the upside-down cross that adorned it.

  She couldn’t wait for the guests to arrive for Dad’s dinner party.

  Sixty-One

  Benjamin pulled into the drive at 6.30 p.m.; earlier than necessary due to nerves about the night’s dinner party with James and Heidi. If he was there he could oversee things, make sure it all went smoothly and Dominique didn’t forget anything. Not that she ever did. Always fabulous at this sort of thing, she knew just the right tone to hit; whether to be more relaxed or more formal.

  As soon as Benjamin got through the door a heady aroma of herbs and spices caressed his senses and made his mouth water. Instantly he calmed. He was worrying over nothing; everything would be fine.

  Down the hall, Dom was in the kitchen, already changed into a stunning grey jersey dress with elegant scooped back. Simple but classy, it showed her figure off to perfection. It was complemented with one-carat diamond stud earrings in a platinum claw setting, and matching necklace he had bought her in July, to celebrate their move to the house.

  As she turned the oven down, he kissed the back of her neck. She twisted round, and he planted his lips on her, long and lingering. It was their first proper kiss in months, he realised. Lately they had become close-mouthed and perfunctory.

  Why had he let things get so bad between them?

  Why was he sleeping with another woman?

  His phone buzzed, making him jump away guiltily from Dominique.

  ‘Better get changed,’ he said, backing away.

  The message was Kendra saying she needed to see him tomorrow. His reply would have to wait.

  * * *

  Upstairs, his wife had laid a suit out on the bed for him. He smiled. She had always done that since they first moved in together. Dom always seemed to know, even without him saying, when an event meant a lot to him. Knew, too, that choosing his clothes when he was like this stressed him out. So, she chose for him.

  For tonight she had picked the trousers of one of his made-to-measure Savile Row suits, the one in blue fabric a shade above navy, which lifted it from sombre to informal. A pale blue shirt lay beside it on the bed, along with a pair of platinum cufflinks that oozed timeless class. He and she would mirror each other without looking too matching.

  His grey brogues were on the floor, and she had chosen a grey leather belt.

  Perfect. Everything was going to be just perfect.

  Hmm, there was always the Ruby factor. He felt bad about their confrontation that morning. Perhaps he should have a quiet word, see what had actually been bothering her. Even if it was that boy, Benjamin ought to make some time for his children. It had been a long time since he had been able to think of anything but getting out of trouble with the taxman, but once James came through for him everything would be fine. He’d be able to spend a bit of quality time with his wife and kids, give them all the attention they deserved.

  And he couldn’t wait to see the look on that smug bastard of a tax inspector’s face when he paid up in full.

  As he stepped into the shower, Benjamin whistled while he lathered shampoo onto his hair, wondering why he hadn’t gone to James in the first place.

  * * *

  Once he was spruced up, he felt really good. Powerful. Confident. The Man.

  Passing Ruby’s bedroom, he slowed. Knocked on her door.

  ‘Are you ready to come down?’ he called.

  ‘In a minute.’

  ‘Okay. Well, the guests will be here soon, so—’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be there.’

  Ah well, hopefully she knew he was sorry about earlier, and they’d get the chance to chat tomorrow or something.

  Sixty-Two

  It was almost seven p.m. Ruby had left it as long as she could; now she stole f
rom her bedroom, fiddled with her nose stud, turning it and enjoying the discomfort. There were only minutes left before the guests arrived, so it was the perfect time to unveil her new look.

  Her smile grew wider with each step down the stairs.

  ‘Ah, good, you’re ready,’ said Dad, who was standing in the hallway.

  Blinked.

  Looked closer.

  Detonated.

  Arms waving, spittle flying from red face. One day he might literally explode, Ruby thought. The veins in his neck bulged, and she watched one particularly large one in fascination as he ranted at her, not hearing a word. It would fill up, getting bigger and bigger, and bigger, until… Kaboom. His head erupted into tiny pieces, the debris flung outwards, covering everything in blood and tiny clots of flesh. Slow-mo, like in films.

  ‘What are you sniggering at? What the hell is wrong with you, young lady?’ he yelled. The vein bulged further.

  ‘You’re going to die soon, if you carry on like this,’ she warned.

  Dad blinked several times, as if punched, then shoved his face further forward as it turned puce.

  ‘Watch what you’re saying. I am sick of your cheek. Right, I’m taking away your presents.’

  ‘Big whoop. I’m not bothered anyway. You’re doing me a favour.’

  ‘Oh! Oh, I’m doing you a favour, am I?’ he spluttered impotently. ‘Well, I’ll have to come up with a better punishment, won’t I?’

  His head was ticking up and down. As if he wanted to punch something. He wanted to punch her.

  ‘How dare you? You little shit,’ he exploded.

  The doorbell rang.