The Secrets Sisters Keep: A heartwarming, funny and emotional novel (The Devlin Sisters Book 2)

by Sinéad Moriarty

  ‘Can you meet me for lunch later so I can tell you how it went?’

  ‘Sorry. I’ve got a day of meetings about a new computer program we’re working on that could really help to speed up internal communication.’

  I stifled a yawn. After fifteen years of marriage I still had no idea what Harry did. I knew he was a computer programmer, but after that it got a bit hazy. I’d thought he might give up work when he inherited the money from his aunt but he said he wanted to keep working. I was glad because, with the golf club and all of the fund-manager chat, Harry needed something of his old life to keep his feet on the ground.

  ‘OK. I’ll tell you all about it tonight.’ I was disappointed he couldn’t meet me. I had already rung Sophie, Louise and Marian to see if any of them were free for lunch, but none of them was. Everyone was so busy all the time. Everyone except me.

  ‘I’m not around tonight. I’m meeting Donald McGreegan for dinner at the club.’

  ‘Again?’ I was exasperated: it was the eighth time Harry had met Donald or one of his other golf cronies for dinner that month. I didn’t like the sound of Donald McGreegan. From what Harry had told me about him, he sounded like a pompous old git, but Harry was mesmerized by him and his success in business. He hung on Donald’s every word. It was Donald who had persuaded Harry to send the boys to Castle Academy – he had been a pupil there.

  Another night in by myself, then. I was fed up with Harry ditching me for his new friends. I seemed to have been on my own all the time recently.

  Harry set off for work and I stomped down to the kitchen to get the boys ready for school. As I opened the door I heard, ‘Run for your life.’ The triplets tore out of the back door into the garden. I surveyed the scene. The two chocolate roulades I had spent ages making the night before were in tatters on the table. They both had big chunks cut out of them. Not content with eating lumps from one, they had attacked the other, too.

  Tom was sitting in the middle of the chaos with a spoon in his hand and crumbs all over his face.

  ‘What the HELL is going on?’ I shouted.

  Tom blinked. ‘Sorry, Mummy. The boys said we were allowed to eat cake for breakfast for a special treat.’

  I charged outside. The triplets were hiding in their tree-house. ‘How could you do that?’ I roared. ‘I spent ages making those bloody cakes for your stupid school cake sale and now they’re ruined. Why do you always have to make a mess of everything?’ My voice shook. I had really wanted to make a good impression. I’d placed the roulades on my best plates, surrounded by fresh berries. I knew none of the other mothers was remotely interested in me, but I was pleased that at least my cakes would impress people.

  But now everything was ruined and I didn’t have time to make anything else. The triplets climbed down and shuffled into the kitchen, where Tom was trying to stick bits of cake back together.

  ‘Look, Mummy, I fixed this one,’ he said, pointing to a mound of mushed cake.

  ‘Thanks, Tom, but it’s ruined.’

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ Leo said.

  ‘We only meant to take a bit, but it was really delicious,’ Liam added.

  ‘Your best cake ever,’ Luke said, ‘like, by miles. We just couldn’t stop eating it.’

  ‘It was soooooooooo yum.’ Leo was trying to get round me.

  ‘I feel sick,’ Tom moaned, and threw up all over my trousers.

  I tried not to cry as I changed into a pair of jeans and a plain blue jumper. What was the point in trying to impress the other mothers? I was just boring old Julie. Expensive clothes weren’t going to make me fit in. The triplets would always be in trouble and no one would ever want to invite them or me to their house. I might as well give up now.

  I dropped Tom to school. After vomiting all the cake he had eaten, he felt much better. Then I headed for Castle Academy. I stopped at a garage on the way and bought a coffee cake.

  ‘Well, thanks to you three, all the other mums are going to think I made no effort at all,’ I huffed.

  ‘We said sorry,’ Leo reminded me.

  ‘I’ll tell them that we ate the cakes,’ Luke offered.

  ‘Why don’t you take that cake out and put it on a plate and pretend you made it?’ Liam pointed to the box.

  ‘Because it’s too late for that. I just wish that once in a while you could be good. Really good, like Jess and Clara and Tom.’

  ‘What? Tom just puked all over you, remember?’ Liam was incredulous.

  ‘Yeah, he spewed on you,’ Leo agreed, warming to the theme.

  ‘It was, like, alien vomit,’ Luke said.

  ‘It came flying out like –’

  ‘STOP!’ I shouted. ‘That’s enough.’

  ‘All Jess does is play on her phone and Clara just reads and talks about boring birds. What’s so great about that?’ Leo demanded.

  ‘And Tom’s Mr Perfect. You always say he’s great and we’re terrible,’ Luke said.

  ‘Yeah, Tom’s never in trouble. You never shout at him and get all red in the face with crazy eyes.’ Liam imitated my eyes bulging.

  ‘That is because he doesn’t break things and answer back and get into trouble at school. If you behaved properly, I wouldn’t have to give out to you and my eyes wouldn’t bulge and we’d all be a lot happier and calmer. I’m begging you to be good this term. I do not want the headmaster to call me. If you get into trouble again, I’m going to give your Ronaldo football tops to the kids in Africa.’

  The triplets were clearly shocked. ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ Leo said.

  ‘She would.’ Liam knew me better than his brother.

  ‘Dad wouldn’t let you,’ Luke said.

  ‘I’ll do it while he’s at work.’ I had all the angles covered.

  ‘You’re mean,’ Leo said.

  ‘No, I’m not. If I was mean, you’d be in boarding-school.’

  ‘I’d love to go to Hogwarts,’ Liam said.

  ‘Duh, it’s a made-up school in a book,’ Luke told him. ‘You’re such a dork.’

  ‘You’re a moron,’ Liam retorted.

  Luke hit him. Liam thumped him back. A fight ensued, just as I was pulling into the gates of Castle Academy.

  ‘STOP IT!’ I roared, trying to park as Luke’s foot smacked the side of my head.

  I narrowly missed crashing into Victoria’s Porsche. She got out of it and glared at me. She was wearing a camel-coloured wrap dress with an amazing gold necklace and nude stiletto court shoes, and she was carrying a cake that looked as if it had been made by the Queen of England’s baker. It had two tiers, for goodness’ sake!

  We clambered out of the car and I tucked my garage-bought cake under my arm.

  ‘Hey, Sebastian,’ Leo called.

  Sebastian looked terrified. ‘Hi,’ he said, giving the boys a shaky wave.

  Ignoring me, Victoria hissed at the triplets, ‘If you ever upset my son again, I will have you expelled from this school. The headmaster is a very good friend of Sebastian’s father, and he’s watching you three.’

  ‘Good morning, Victoria.’ I moved to stand between her and the boys. Much as I would have loved to shove her perfectly made-up face into her cake, I decided to take the higher ground. Besides, I didn’t want the boys to see or hear me being rude. ‘The boys apologized to Sebastian and it’s all in the past now. We don’t need to rehash it.’

  She flushed. She clearly wasn’t used to being stood up to. Spotting my cake, she asked, ‘Is that your contribution?’

  I had two options: be embarrassed, which I was, or ballsy, which I pretended to be.

  ‘Yes. I just picked it up in the Texaco garage.’

  ‘The mothers are supposed to make the cakes,’ Victoria drawled.

  ‘So you’re telling me you made that.’ I pointed to her elaborate cake.

  ‘Of course I did. I make one every year. It’s the headmaster’s favourite.’

  ‘Does he really need two tiers?’

  She smirked. ‘Well, I’ve surpassed myself this time. The
second tier is new.’

  Another mother came over, carrying a large tray of perfectly symmetrical cupcakes with different-coloured icing. ‘Oh, Victoria, that’s not a cake, it’s a work of art,’ she brayed.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Liam reach over and stick his finger into the side of Victoria’s cake. As he pulled his finger out, covered with cream and sponge, the second tier wobbled. I held my breath and prayed it wouldn’t fall. Thankfully, Victoria was so busy basking in praise that she was oblivious to the potential disaster. By some miracle the cake didn’t collapse and I was able to grab Liam and drag him away before he made a second raid.

  With the boys in class, we volunteer mums went into the main hall and set up the cake stands. As head of the parents’ association, Victoria was in charge, and she proceeded to boss everyone around. I was the only mother who hadn’t baked her cake or buns. Well, I was the only one admitting it. One or two of the cakes seemed a little too perfect to me. I was sure they were also shop-bought, but no one was going to admit it and lose face.

  ‘You’re very brave bringing that,’ Emily whispered to me, as she placed her chocolate cake on the table. It was decorated with little red icing flowers.

  ‘I actually made two roulades last night, but the boys ate them for breakfast.’

  ‘Oh, no. Poor you.’ Emily looked genuinely upset for me.

  ‘It’s fine. Your cake’s amazing.’

  She smiled proudly. ‘It took me ages, but I’m really pleased with how it turned out.’

  ‘Victoria must have been up all night making hers.’ I jerked a thumb at Victoria’s creation.

  Emily didn’t reply. She was normally so eager to compliment Victoria that I was surprised.

  ‘Do you think it’s over the top?’ I prodded her for a reaction.

  Emily began to fold paper napkins. ‘No it’s just … well … I just think that … I …’

  ‘Spit it out,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve seen it before,’ she whispered.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In Le Beau Gâteau.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A very fancy patisserie in town. I went there yesterday to buy ingredients for my cake and I saw Victoria’s on the counter.’

  Yeeeesss! Victoria was the lying, conniving cow I’d had her pegged to be. ‘Did you say anything to her?’

  ‘No!’ Emily looked shocked.

  ‘Are you sure it’s the same one?’

  Emily nodded. ‘It had a card on it with Victoria’s name and it said, “For collection at seven p.m.”’

  Before I had time to whoop and cheer, Victoria sashayed over to us, followed by one of her fans, a looky-likey called Heidi. ‘Nice cake, Emily,’ Victoria said, adjusting its position slightly. ‘It’s so nice to see that almost all of the mums made such an effort to bake for today.’

  ‘You’re probably very busy with the triplets,’ Carol said, looking at my coffee cake, still in its box.

  ‘We’re all busy,’ Victoria snapped. ‘It’s about prioritizing. I was up until three a.m. finishing mine. I literally had to drag myself out of bed this morning.’

  ‘Wow, you don’t look tired at all.’ I beamed at her.

  ‘Crème de la Mer and good genes,’ she lied.

  ‘Speaking of cakes, do any of you know Le Beau Gâteau?’

  Victoria’s eyes widened. It was almost imperceptible, but I noticed. Emily froze. Only Carol answered: ‘No – is it good?’

  ‘It’s amazing. You know it, don’t you, Victoria?’ I stared at her. She looked away. ‘They do cakes almost identical to yours. Isn’t that strange? In fact, if I didn’t know you’d been up all night slaving away, I’d actually wonder if your cake wasn’t the one I saw in Le Beau Gâteau yesterday.’

  Victoria’s face went bright red, although I’m not sure if it was from shame or rage. She sneered at me: ‘I would think that someone who turned up to a cake sale with a cheap, nasty cake would refrain from commenting on anyone else’s.’ She turned on her fabulous heels and walked off, with Heidi at her shoulder.

  Emily grabbed my arm. ‘I can’t believe you did that!’ she gasped. ‘Why would you antagonize her?’

  I shrugged. ‘Because she’s full of shit and a complete phoney.’

  ‘But, Julie, don’t you get it? If Victoria hates you, she’ll turn everyone else against you.’

  ‘Come on, Emily – what are we? Twelve? I’m a forty-four-year-old mother of four boys. I’m not going to be intimidated by some fake idiot.’

  ‘Well, I just want to get on with everyone. I don’t need any hassle in my life. I want to arrive into the playground and not feel any tension.’ Emily walked away from me and went to where all the other mothers had gathered around Victoria and her cake.

  She was obviously telling them what a bitch I was. I heard an audible gasp and they all turned to stare at me. My bravado vanished. It was like being twelve again: I was the class outsider, the loser, the one no one wanted to be friends with.

  All my life I’d had lots of friends and never had a problem getting on with people. I was considered easy-going and friendly. But now I was an outcast and it did not feel good. It felt very lonely.

  Two long hours later, the cake sale was over. I ended up buying my own cake because no one else wanted it. As I was tidying my table, I heard Victoria inviting the other six mums back to her house for coffee. She didn’t ask me. I was embarrassed in front of the others. I finished cleaning up, then sprinted out of the hall, back to the safety of my car, and drove away from the tense, uncomfortable environment. I was now officially a pariah among these women.

  I went home and poured myself a large glass of wine. It was only midday, but I needed it badly. I knocked it back and felt the alcohol calm me down. Then I decided to call Marian. ‘Are you busy?’

  ‘I’ve just made two sales so I’m due a coffee break. You sound stressed. What’s up?’

  I poured myself another half-glass of wine, settled down on the couch and filled Marian in on the morning’s events. ‘The really stupid thing is that I mind. I didn’t think I’d care about those empty-headed women blanking me, but it was embarrassing and I was upset.’

  ‘That Victoria needs a good slap. The lying bitch. As for Emily, she’s just weak and wants an easy life. I hate people who sit on the fence. Pick a side and get on with it. Don’t sit there trying to please everyone – it’s the coward’s way. Seriously, Julie, don’t waste your energy on these people. They’re pathetic.’

  ‘I know, but I’m probably going to have to deal with them for the next ten years. Their boys are in the triplets’ class. I may have just shot myself in the foot.’

  ‘You can’t please everyone and you don’t want to be friends with those witches anyway. They’re a pack of privileged, shallow losers. If it makes you feel better, most of the mothers in my kids’ school think I’m certifiable. They dive into bushes when they see me coming. Molly had a playdate over the other day, some drippy kid called Rebecca. She was one of those kids who kept saying she was thirsty and hungry and bored, and that Molly’s toys were crap. I could see she was making Molly feel bad. So, eventually I lost it. “Rebecca,” I said, “the only reason you’re here is to entertain Molly and make my life easier. So shut your moany trap, get out of my face and start playing with my daughter.”’

  I burst out laughing. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Nothing. She didn’t open her mouth for the next hour until her mother came to pick her up. So obviously she told her mother about our little chat and the mother rang me.’

  ‘Oh, no, what happened?’ I picked up my wine glass.

  ‘She said her daughter was traumatized and that I was a terrible mother. She told me that Rebecca would never darken my door again. So I said, “I never want your pain-in-the-arse kid in my house again anyway, so you’ll be doing me a favour.”’

  ‘Oh, my God, Marian! You are certifiable.’

  ‘I’m just honest and I speak my mind – and you know what, Ju
lie? If people don’t like it, they can shag off. I’m too old to walk on eggshells. If Molly was behaving badly in someone’s house and the mother gave out to her, I’d have no problem with it. People are so bloody precious about their kids. It’s ridiculous.’

  She had a point. Parents had become very over-protective of their children.

  Marian was on a roll now. ‘I was ten when my dad walked out and my mother had a nervous breakdown. I shopped, cooked, cleaned and raised my brother alone. I didn’t have playdates because my mother didn’t know what day it was. There’s all this bullshit nowadays about talking softly to your kids when they’re behaving like brats. If I didn’t shout, my kids would never put their shoes on, get dressed or do anything.’

  ‘I agree. The boys only ever listen when I shout.’ I took a sip of my wine. Thank God for Marian. I could already feel my shoulders dropping down from my ears as the tension of the day began to loosen.

  ‘I’m sick of these psychologists making us mothers feel guilty. We’re all just trying to get through the day without killing our kids. As for positive affirmation, what does that even mean?’

  ‘It’s saying things like “I know you can learn this poem because you’re a fast learner.”’

  ‘Bullshit. Brian had to learn a six-line poem last night. I swear to you, Julie, I nearly hit him. He wriggled around in the chair, messing and refusing to concentrate for an hour. We went over it and over it. The whole bloody family knew the shagging poem – even Ben could recite it – but not Brian, because he wouldn’t even try. So eventually I lost it. I ripped the poem out of the book and Sellotaped it to his forehead.’

  ‘I might need to try that. Can you imagine what it’s like getting three nine-year-olds to learn a poem at the same time?’

  ‘I always say it, you’re a saint. I don’t know how you do it.’

  ‘Actually, now that we have all this extra space in the new house, I’ve divided and conquered. They all do their homework in different rooms. It works so much better. It’s still a total nightmare getting them to finish it, especially Liam, who has the concentration span of a gnat, but it’s much easier than having them all at the same table, fighting and winding each other up.’