Her Last Secret

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  She realised what she was thinking. She was willing to fight for her marriage.

  A roof over their heads was all they needed. They could downsize easily, and move to a far cheaper area that was still nice – they had paid £1.75 million for the house and that had been six months ago. Property prices had risen again since then. Benjamin could get a different car. Stop going to his gun club and golf club. Even if the kids only received half of what they had requested for Christmas, it would still be loads. And as long as they were all together, healthy and happy, that was enough.

  If only she could get Benjamin to see that.

  If only she were absolutely sure that the family she had in mind would include him now. Could she really forgive him for cheating on her for four long years?

  It was a big question, and one she needed to take her time answering.

  Ninety-One

  When Benjamin got home, he disappeared straight into his study, then came out and tramped around upstairs for a couple of minutes. Each creak of the floorboard filled Dominique with the urge to call him to her. They should set aside anger and denial, and talk; see if they really had anything left to save, see if Benjamin was even interested in trying. But she rolled her neck and vowed to keep a stoic silence until she stopped vacillating about her own feelings.

  When Benjamin reappeared, he followed her lead, not saying a word. He made Dominique a cup of her favourite fruit tea. No mention was made of the argument. By either party. Dominique sipped the scalding lemon and ginger drink, lost in thought.

  * * *

  After a frankly torturous half hour with Dominique, where she hadn’t even bothered thanking him for the cup of tea he’d made, Benjamin retreated to his study. He had hoped he would find the courage to speak with her but, of course, he hadn’t. He’d hoped she might have something further to say to him. He even would have welcomed another row. At least it would have shown she cared. But she hid in silence he had no courage to break.

  What was he going to do without Dom?

  She believed she knew everything. She had told him she was taking the children. If she was angry about Kendra, she’d be furious about the money. He really ought to tell her, but his courage was curled up and hiding alongside his shrivelled manhood.

  Benjamin was filled with remorse for the impotent rage he had felt, blaming Dom for his shortcomings. How could he even for a second have thought that if she had been a better wife he wouldn’t have looked elsewhere? She had always been patient and kind and honest. She had stayed true to him and put up with his temper, his endless hours at work, the fact he only paid her attention when it suited him.

  Shame flooded him.

  The truth was, he hadn’t dared to tell her what a failure he was because he had never felt worthy of her. He had thought it from the first time he had ever properly spoken to her: that night when they got separated from their mates and his sister. He hadn’t been able to believe he had managed to miss for so many years how amazing she was, but he had promised himself he would never take that for granted again.

  But, like the complete idiot he was, he had done exactly that.

  She was as faultless as a diamond, in his eyes. Unlike him. Over the years he had hidden his failings, first behind a veneer of confidence, then behind fancy watches and clothes, material things he hoped would detract from the man rotting behind them. The smaller his self-esteem shrank, the more impressive his window dressing had become. It had to be, to fool the world – and himself.

  Even taking a mistress had been to shore up his sagging façade. He had needed to feel young and virile again. But he didn’t love Kendra and never had; all he had done was use her for four years.

  Now he risked losing Dominique and his children over his affair. What an idiot he was. Dom had been fooled for a while by him, but now she was starting to see him for what he really was. At last, his mask had slipped.

  The children had never been taken in, though. Children lack guile, and seem able to strip it from others. Like animals can sense fear in someone, an infant can spot a liar. From the moment Ruby had been born, Benjamin had felt a rush of inadequacy and terror that he blamed her for, when it was really all his fault.

  She would be better off with her mother, free from him. They all would.

  Look what he had done to his poor eldest daughter. He had skint himself sending her to that school and expected her to grovel with gratitude. Growing up, he had learned the hard way that it was who you know not what you know that can often get you far in this life, and he wanted things to come easy to his children. He wanted Ruby to achieve without struggling. But he had never bothered telling her that, had simply expected her to realise, and fall in with his plans. He had utterly failed to take into account his own child might have hopes and fears of her own, or struggle to achieve everything he had mapped out for her.

  He thought of his own father, and how he himself had railed against the plans his dad had for him, and how he constantly felt a failure as a result. It had been he who pushed Benjamin into accountancy. His dad had bullied him his whole life, told Benjamin that he wouldn’t amount to anything, even hit him sometimes in the name of ‘toughening him up’ – ‘boxing lessons’ he had called them, telling his son to be more like Muhammad Ali.

  He realised with horror that he was treating Ruby the same way. He had put impossible expectations on her, and told her to ‘toughen up’ when she tried to tell him she was struggling. The blows hadn’t been physical, but it made them no less hurtful.

  His selfishness took his breath away. For Ruby’s entire life he had demanded everything be done his way, never bothering to think what she might want. Benjamin had always told himself that he knew better than them what they needed. They were ungrateful for not recognising all he had done for his children, he had thought. No more. Now he needed to put them first. It was a revelation to him. The thought left him feeling giddy and light-headed.

  Finally, he knew exactly what he must do.

  He would kill himself, sacrificing his life so that he could stop dragging his family down with him. The shame and money troubles would end with his death – he was worth far more dead than alive.

  He wished he could tell Dominique that she was the love of his life. He longed to go back in time and never mess up. If only he could somehow win her and the children back. He really did want to be Ruby and Amber’s best friend; to get to know them, and let them get to know a better him, rather than the self-absorbed, shallow idiot he had become.

  But it was all too late now.

  The only gift he could give his family was freedom.

  Ninety-Two

  Perhaps Harry was right. Perhaps Ruby needed to rethink.

  She sat on her bed fiddling with the puzzle of her phone until the broken parts slotted together. The screen lit up, and she went to send a text to Harry.

  But she couldn’t help seeing how many alerts she had from social media.

  She shouldn’t open them. She should ignore. Stay strong.

  Her thumb moved anyway. Like she had no control over it. Her eyes read. As if they had a life of their own. Her brain rebelled and screamed. But her body was silent as it absorbed the pain.

  ‘Slut. Whore. Smelly. Bitch. Fat. Stupid. Ugly. Freak.’

  These were her gifts. The texts were the worst. The messages from an unknown number that had become so familiar to her now that even when she closed her eyes it seemed tattooed on her lids. Blazing; goading her.

  ‘Everyone would celebrate if you fucked off & died. Even your family hate you.’

  Ruby tried to dam the tears with closed lids. Breathing slowly, until she had control. She knew what she had to do. She refused to suffer any more.

  No more bullying. No more pain. She chose freedom. And when she went, she would make sure she was not alone.

  There, the decision had been made.

  Ruby felt strangely calm. For the first time in many years, she was peaceful. She brushed her hair free of knots. Pulled out he
r nose stud. Replaced her skull top with a plain jumper.

  Went downstairs.

  * * *

  ‘Merry Christmas, Ruby,’ shouted Mouse, hugging her. ‘Want to pull a cracker? Mummy says we can pull one today.’

  ‘Why not?’ she nodded.

  Mouse won, eagerly putting on the paper crown. Her little sister, who would soon no longer be part of this world. She could be annoying, but she was so innocent and quirky. Could Ruby really hurt her, let alone take her life? Surely not.

  ‘Why did the turkey join the pop group?’ read Mouse.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Because it was the only one with drumsticks.’

  Even Dad laughed. He seemed more relaxed than he had in months. Ruby looked around and mentally said goodbye, feeling strangely fond of everyone when she had thought she would be filled with burning anger and hatred. She had learned in geography about how volcanoes are at their most dangerous and most likely to erupt when they have been dormant for years. The pressure building inside them, but the outside giving no clues, until one day the force could no longer be contained. A deadly explosion. That was how she felt now. This was the calm before carnage.

  Tomorrow would not be a problem. Tomorrow she would no longer feel pain. Everything would be gone, and the peace she felt right now would last for ever. Not just for her, but for everyone. She couldn’t wait.

  * * *

  Mouse climbed into bed, cuddled Ted and screwed her eyes tight shut. She’d had such a lovely night, with all the family together exactly the way she had hoped. Tomorrow was going to be brilliant.

  Now, she had to go to sleep, otherwise Santa wouldn’t come. She hoped she’d been good enough to get her iPhone, and books.

  She was too excited. No way was she going to ever sleep again.

  But then she wouldn’t get any presents.

  A great big sigh of frustration shook her little body, and she turned on her bedside light. She would read for a while, even though it was almost ten o’clock.

  She was a fast reader, the best in her class, and had already reached her favourite bit of The Last Battle. The bit where everyone was dead, but happy they were dead.

  With each blink, her eyes took longer to open. The book fell to one side, but she didn’t move. Mouse was fast asleep. In her dream, Aslan walked beside her, telling her to have courage. She wrapped her fingers in his golden mane and felt his courage tingling up her arm and filling her up.

  ‘I’ll try to be a brave girl,’ she promised.

  * * *

  Dom lay in bed, thinking. Thumped her pillow, turned it over to the cold side, and settled onto it once more, hoping sleep would come, but her thoughts refused to quiet.

  What was she going to do?

  Ruby had seemed better tonight, at least. There had been a glimmer of her old self; she was more relaxed, even smiled a couple of times. Hopefully, she was accepting that not seeing Harry was not the end of the world. She didn’t need that boy.

  But did Dom need Benjamin?

  No.

  She did want to save her marriage, though. For the sake of the children, and past good times, she was willing to try if Benjamin was. She thought of her family. Seeing Ruby smile for the first time in ages; the squeak Mouse always gave when excited or scared; even the desperation that had made Benjamin’s voice hitch during their argument. She studied them all, and smiled. Perfect in its imperfection, it was worth fighting for. She had spent too long hiding away from reality.

  Her marriage might still fail. If it did, she would walk away guilt-free, knowing she had done everything in her power to save it. The rest was up to Benjamin. Hopefully, he would put in the effort, too. If not, that was his decision.

  But he had seemed different tonight, more like his old self. It gave her hope.

  She would tell Benjamin in the morning. She would tackle everyone about their secrets and get them out in the open. She would fix her family.

  She turned over, happier now, and went through the ritual of playing the dream through her head. Determined there would be no nightmare.

  The noise was laughter. Ruby was wearing a red dress. The rifle was a broom…

  Ninety-Three

  Ruby tidied her bedroom. Silly, really, because it didn’t matter and she certainly wasn’t doing it to get out of yet another row with her parents. But it helped order her mind and make her feel more prepared for what lay ahead.

  Clothes neatly folded. Keys left on her bedside cabinet, along with the ‘Book of Hate’. A box stuffed with all the printouts was at the foot of her bed.

  On her knees lay another box, this one filled with family photos of happier times. Drawings from Mouse of characters from her favourite books: Matilda, Oompa-Loompas, the Wicked Witch of the West, Aslan. Tickets to concerts her parents had taken her to. Birthday cards filled with meaningless messages, because words were so much easier than actions.

  When had their love turned to disinterest?

  Ruby felt like the most hated girl in London.

  She had called Childline once. She had read on a poster at school that in the past year it had received almost 19,500 calls from children with suicidal thoughts. A mere 0.6 per cent of the NHS’s budget was spent on children’s mental health. It had made her burn with fury at the time, but now there was nothing left but ash and warm embers.

  Did she have the strength to carry her plan through alone, she wondered. Or would this be one more failure to add to the list? She moved the shoebox of memorabilia from her lap and pulled something else onto it.

  Dad’s shotgun.

  Everything was ready except her.

  She sat without moving for a very long time. Long enough for her to grow stiff and uncomfortable.

  Her phone buzzed like an angry wasp.

  Finally, she moved.

  * * *

  Imminent death focused Benjamin’s mind. The whirling and panic had stopped. No need to reach inside the cabinet in his study, and have another drink. He felt lighter than he had for years, after shrugging off the mask that had been weighing him down.

  He would write a letter apologising to Dom, Ruby, and Amber, and explaining everything. But what about Kendra, and his unborn child?

  He kept forgetting about Kendra’s pregnancy, thanks to everything else on his mind. That spoke volumes about his feelings for the young woman. But what of this third child of his – someone he would never meet if he went through with his plan to commit suicide.

  Not if, when.

  When he died, Kendra would lose her home, because he owned the property she lived in – or rather the bank did. She thought he paid her rent, had no idea he was actually her landlord. Just another lie of his to add to the mountain of untruths. Kendra would be left with nothing, like Dominique. The knowledge of what he had done to her made him hang his head in despair. He stared down at the leather of his antique desk and gave a shuddering sigh.

  He didn’t love Kendra, he never had. He had used her as a prop to shore up his ego. Soft young puppy flesh to make him feel less like the middle-aged sad act he’d become; she meant little more to him than his fancy watch or car, another appendage with which to impress people and prove what a winner he was in the game of life.

  What a complete shit.

  The pink and blue ribbons tied around the pregnancy test grew grubby from his repeated worrying at them. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine the child: a mixture of Ruby and Amber. He wished he could stick around to see it, to find an alternative way. It wasn’t an option. Instead, he had to explain to Kendra how sorry he was for leaving her literally holding the baby. This was his only option, though; the question was how he was going to make her realise it.

  ‘Dear Kendra,’ he wrote. ‘By the time you read this, I will be dead.’

  His Biro paused over the paper. Was that too melodramatic? But there was no point beating about the bush, he might as well tell her immediately. He had no idea what else to say. Read the line again. A tear trickled dow
n his nose, and he wiped it before it could splash the paper.

  ‘I’m not the man people think I am. I’ve done so many stupid things, and got myself into a lot of trouble. Despite the bravado, I’m a coward. I can’t cope with the pressure. I’m so sorry for letting you and our child down.’

  This was not a time for holding back. Benjamin told his mistress everything, just like he would later confess to his wife. When the note was finished, he sat back and nodded. He felt better for getting it out. He was by no means doing the right thing by Kendra, he knew that, but at least he was leaving her an explanation. Now he only had to deliver it.

  He listened, to check if anyone was awake, but no sounds came. The clock chimed midnight and he realised with a start that it was Christmas Day. No one heard the door click shut behind him.

  Ninety-Four

  SATURDAY 25 DECEMBER, CHRISTMAS DAY

  Ruby shifted the shotgun across her lap and stretched towards her phone. It lit up like a festive decoration, there were so many new alerts arriving. She ignored those, and instead went to messages and started to type.

  ‘I’m sorry we argued. I love you always & 4ever. It feels good knowing you will go on living without me, cos the thought of you dead kills me. I wish things didn’t have to be this way, but there’s no other option. Goodbye oxoxox’

  She pressed send, knowing that by the time Harry read it in the morning, it would be too late.

  Then she turned the phone off for good. Set it beside the ‘Book of Hate’.

  Today’s the day. I’m going to kill them all. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them, she wrote.