‘The teacher saw everything,’ Mrs McBride told us. ‘She was in the middle of reading out a passage from a book and Freya got up, walked right over to Rosie and jabbed at her face with a pencil, narrowly missing her eye. The school nurse attended to her and recommended that she be taken to A & E in case she needed stitches or a tetanus shot.’
‘Oh, Freya,’ I’d said, but she refused to look at me. ‘Why would you do such a thing, and to one of your nice friends? Rosie’s been round to play.’ All I’d got from her was a shrug before she looked at Mark, her big eyes swollen with tears.
‘Mrs McBride, I can assure you that Freya is the kindest, most gentle girl I know. I can’t ever imagine her doing anything like this, not without a very good reason.’ Of course, in my mind I was scrambling about for motives, for justification, for anything to explain why my daughter would attack a classmate unprovoked. But really, I knew – knew how it’s entirely possible to do something dangerous, reckless and life-changing for no reason whatsoever. Not consciously, anyway.
I start the engine and drive off, allowing the traffic to swallow me, not switching lanes or taking short cuts or doing anything to hasten the journey to work. When I’ve parked, my feet feel heavy as I head to the clinic, my skin prickling with shame as Sandy looks up from reception. She doesn’t say anything until after I’ve signed in.
‘Lorna, your face…’ She half stands up, wanting to help in some way.
‘It’s not been a great morning,’ I say, raising my hand to let her know I don’t want to talk about it.
‘Is Freya OK? Her school called several times and… well, I thought you were taking her to the hospital?’ When I don’t reply, she says, ‘Do you want me to put off your next appointment?’
‘No, no thanks. That’s OK,’ I say, going straight to the staff toilets. Thankfully, no one is in here as I dump my bag beside the basin, pulling out my make-up bag and hairbrush. In the mirror I see a woman I don’t recognise, not least because of the angry welt on my lip. I touch it, wincing, before wetting a paper towel and dabbing at the dried blood. I reapply my make-up, getting rid of the mascara streaks under my eyes, and brush my hair. The mud on the side of my skirt has dried in crusty streaks so I wipe at it with another dampened paper towel. I look just about presentable enough for clients.
I lean on the sink, closing my eyes, but there’s no escape – my mind consumed by thoughts that don’t make sense – past and present knotted into a tangled mess. I don’t understand any of it; don’t understand what’s real and what’s made up. Don’t understand anything any more.
I pack my stuff away but my bag tumbles off the ledge and onto the floor, my phone spilling out onto the tiles. It’s not broken but when I see more Double Take alerts on the screen, I just want to stamp on it, tell Mark it was stolen and get another phone with a different number entirely. But something forces me to pick it up, to check. I see my hand reach out – even though it doesn’t look like my hand. I’m watching as an unknown woman logs in. Two new messages. Two new messages from Andy_jag.
But, before I can even read them, I lunge over the basin, my free hand pulling back my hair as my stomach clenches and tightens, not letting up until everything inside me has come up.
‘So how have things been this last week?’ I ask my first client of the afternoon, Carla, a quietly spoken woman a little older than me. She seems to have lost even more weight, which she can ill afford to do. My lip smarts as I talk. I’m forcing myself to be present for her, to listen to her fully, but it’s taking all my effort.
After she’s gone, after I’ve cleared away her tissues and put out clean glasses and more water, plumping up the sofa cushions, I flop down in my desk chair, staring at my phone.
So sorry about this morning, Abbi. Something annoying came up. Tell me when you’re free next. I want to meet you. Your pics look divine xx
Something annoying came up? He’s told Abbi that he couldn’t meet her because something annoying came up?
That something was me.
Is this what he used to tell her, his lodger, when he left the house for those snatched afternoons with me last year? That I was an annoyance? I rest my head down on the desk.
‘Oh God, Joe!’ I jump up, knocking over my glass of water. ‘Sorry… I mean, Joe, come in.’ I drop back down into my chair again, mopping up the mess with a tissue.
‘Lorna, are you sure you’re OK?’ he asks, coming right in, looming over me.
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m absolutely fine, thanks,’ I say, forcing a smile, thinking that’s probably my biggest lie yet.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Lorna
Freya’s not going to her swimming lesson tonight. She was disappointed, and I promised her we’d go next week, but the thought of sitting in the poolside café waiting with the other mums from school, knowing they’ll have been gossiping about me and my violent daughter, fills me with dread. I imagine them scooping up their kids, dragging them away from us in case Freya lashes out again. After the day I’ve had, all I want to do is curl up, hide away from the world. Mark has been understanding – more understanding than I deserve – and he’s cooking dinner for Freya and Jack, while I told him I needed to catch up with some paperwork I missed doing this morning.
In the top-floor study I open up my laptop, logging into Double Take. I don’t have enough guilt left to feel bad any more. It’s a compulsion.
A green dot sits beside his profile picture. I type fast.
Abbi74: Don’t worry about this morning. Hope all OK and was nothing serious?
He replies straight away.
Andy_jag: Bit of a mess actually but nothing I couldn’t deal with.
So. I was annoying and a mess.
Abbi74: You sound the capable type… I like that in a man.
My fingers tremble as I type, making me have to go back and correct my words.
Andy_jag: I am capable. But sensitive too. I believe in honesty and integrity. Don’t you?
Abbi74: Of course I believe in honesty.
I swallow down the bitter taste.
Andy_jag: What’s the worst lie you’ve ever told?
Abbi74: Ha ha you’re funny.
Andy_jag: I’m serious.
Abbi74: I’d have to think about that…
How can I tell him that he’s my worst lie?
Abbi74: Have you met any nice women on this site?
Andy_jag: That would be telling ;-). And you’re changing the subject.
Abbi74: You married or in a relationship? Seems many guys are on here.
That’s true, at least. My inbox is stuffed with men wanting illicit hook-ups, others telling me their wives don’t understand, or that they want a threesome.
Andy_jag: A bit mistrusting, aren’t you?
Abbi74: A girl has to be careful. So I’ll take that to mean you’re in a relationship.
Andy_jag: There’s a woman. But it’s not what you think.
Abbi74: That’s what they all say ;-).
Nothing for a few minutes.
Abbi74: Why are you on here if there’s a woman in your life?
Andy_jag: It’s complicated.
Abbi74: Try me.
Andy_jag: We were in love.
Tears sting my eyes.
Abbi74: Sounds like you’ve been hurt?
I daren’t push too hard. There’s no reply for a while, making me wonder if he’s figured out who I am. ‘Come on, come on,’ I whisper under my breath, tapping my fingers on the desk. But then I hear someone coming up the stairs, making me quickly switch screens to a work document.
‘Hi, love,’ I say as Mark pops his head round the door. He stares at me for a moment, giving me a look. ‘You OK?’
‘Yeah,’ he says, rubbing his hands over his face. ‘Frey and Jack are eating. She’s very subdued.’
‘Did she talk about what happened at school?’
‘We had a chat,’ Mark says. ‘She said Rosie deserved it. Said she was teasing her about… well, about coming h
ere and seeing your mum and dad. Rosie’s started rumours. You know what kids are like.’
‘Oh God,’ I say, flashing a quick look at my screen. ‘Poor Frey. It was when Mum turned up unannounced. With Dad.’
Mark rolls his eyes. I don’t need to say any more. ‘What shall I cook for us?’ he says, sighing, looking tired. ‘And do we have any more fabric conditioner? No one’s got any clean clothes, so I thought I’d put a load of washing on.’
Mark’s never been one for gender-specific roles in our house, but it’s always been me who does the laundry. Little by little, the things I always kept in order are slipping from reach. My fast-spinning plates are slowing, wobbling, falling to the ground.
‘To be honest, I’m not really hungry,’ I say. Mark stares at me, a sad look in his eyes. ‘I’ll get some more conditioner tomorrow. Just do it without for now.’ I hate that my voice is dismissive, uncaring, but I just want him to go, which he does but then he stops, turning back, his arms braced in the doorway.
‘Lorn, are you really OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ I reply, sick of people asking me.
He gives a little nod. ‘You just don’t seem… like you,’ he says. ‘And you’re always up here working these days.’
I force a smile, making my split lip hurt. ‘Really, I’m fine, love. Worried about Freya, of course, but I’ll be down soon, and we can have a proper chat.’
Mark gives another small nod, a tentative smile and leaves. Only when I hear him back in the kitchen clattering the plates into the dishwasher do I switch back to the dating site.
Andy_jag: I was hurt. It was tough. Still is.
Abbi74: Sorry to hear that.
Andy_jag: She was the love of my life.
Then the strange, dizzy feeling sweeps through me again, making me grab hold of the desk. I close my eyes, tipping back my head, before replying.
Abbi74: I understand that. I pause, thinking what to type next. So are you after a rebound relationship?
It’s my pathetic hope, of course, that he’s just trawling to see how many unsuitable women there are out there for him, that no one could possibly live up to me, to us, to what we had. Even though we can never have it.
Andy_jag: No. I’m not here for that.
Abbi74: So, what are you here for?
My heart beats faster, praying he’ll say what I want to hear. What I need to hear.
Andy_jag: That would be telling…
And then the green dot disappears, and he goes offline.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lorna
It’s Good Friday but nothing much feels good about it. I should get up and go for a run, but it’s the last thing I feel like doing. Apart from running away.
Mum is meant to be coming over on Sunday for Easter lunch, but I’ve not checked arrangements with her or if she’ll be bringing Dad, let alone thought about stocking the fridge for the weekend. If I’m honest, I’m worried about the effect her visit might have on Freya. I haven’t firmed up Mum’s GP appointment yet either, or booked for someone to fix her conservatory roof or clean out the guttering, and she doesn’t like the home help I found, so I need to search for someone else to come in several times a week. With Dad unable to do any of these things, it puts the pressure on me, making me feel like a terrible daughter, wife, mother.
But even with all these distractions, all of this normal, real-life stuff going on, my mind still snaps back to him, all the space he takes up in my head. I reach out to the bedside table for my phone, feeling around for it. It’s not there.
‘You looking for this?’ Mark comes into the bedroom carrying two mugs of coffee with one hand. He tosses something onto the duvet. It lands on my stomach.
My phone.
At first I think he’s throwing it at me – his face is stern and tense. But then he comes round to my side of the bed and puts the coffee down, giving me a kiss on the head. ‘Morning,’ he says cheerfully.
‘Oh thanks, love,’ I say, grabbing it. ‘Where was it?’
‘You left it in the kitchen.’ He takes off his robe, his eyes fixed on me, and climbs back into bed, pulling the duvet up high.
‘Did I? I thought I brought it up last night.’ My cheeks burn.
‘Nope,’ he says. ‘It was on the kitchen table. I thought you might want it.’ He takes a sip, staring at me. ‘Seeing as you’re glued to it these days.’
‘Am I?’ I say, scalding my mouth on a large sip of coffee. I turn away, propping myself on my side with my elbow, looking at my screen, shielding it from Mark. At least I’d turned off all notifications, so it wouldn’t light up or ping in the night.
My eyes go wide, taking a moment to focus on all the alerts on my home screen. How can that be possible? Mark would only have had to press the main button to see them all. We’ve always known each other’s passcodes, but I changed mine a few days ago, telling myself I’d reset it once I’ve got my life back on track. In order. Tight and in control again, just how it was. Perhaps he’s seen me entering my new code, figured it out over a few sly glances the last couple of evenings. I know how observant he is.
‘Everything OK?’ he says, touching my shoulder.
‘Yeah,’ I say, putting my phone face down on the bedside table. ‘Everything’s fine.’ And I turn over, giving him a tender kiss, thanking my lucky stars when he responds, pulling me down under the covers and kissing me back.
But half an hour later, when Mark’s in the shower, I grab it again, my hand shaking. It’s what I have to do. What I need to do in the hope of making things better. This has all got to stop.
‘Not hungry, mate?’ Mark asks, watching as Jack pushes bacon around his plate. ‘Lorna went to a lot of trouble cooking that.’
Jack watches me as I grab more toast from the toaster, juggling it as I bring it to the table, dropping it in the rack with the rest. I can’t tell if he despises me or pities me. ‘Have we got everything?’ I say, grabbing the ketchup and putting it in front of Freya. ‘There you go, sauce-monster.’ But her expression stays neutral, her eyes down.
‘We’ve got a right miserable pair here this morning,’ Mark says, winking at me. I just want us to be a team again, even though he doesn’t know we’re not.
‘C’mon, you two. It’s a weekend full of chocolate, adventure movies and two weeks off school and college,’ I say. ‘Oh, and Mark, Cath’s invited me to a last-minute spa day tomorrow,’ I tell him, praying he won’t mind. ‘Her sister was going but can’t make it now. Is that OK with you? It’ll only be for a few hours.’
He looks at me, tiny crease lines forming around his eyes as he smiles. ‘Sounds perfect,’ he says, touching my arm. ‘Just what you need.’ Then his hand slips down to my tummy and he gives me a look, his fingers crossing over.
‘Thanks, love,’ I say. It’s all arranged. And tomorrow afternoon is just what I need. The perfect chance to sort out my head once and for all.
‘Eat up, then, you two,’ Mark says to the kids, tucking into his food.
Jack makes a noise and starts to eat, though he doesn’t look up. I try to forgive him these moody moments – on the whole, he’s a good lad, and he works hard at college, determined to get a place studying IT at university. While I’m trying to be the mother he lost, it’s easy to forget that he’s dealing with being a teenager and all the angst that brings, as well as probably grieving a mum he never knew. It can’t be easy, and I know it still affects him. It’s not like he even has any memories of her to fall back on.
‘Freya, love, aren’t you hungry?’ I say.
She looks up and manages a little smile, picking up her fork and eating a mushroom.
‘Sweetie, we need to have a proper talk, but I want you to know that I got an email from the head yesterday. I only saw it late last night.’ Mark looks up. I hadn’t wanted to bring it up until we could be alone with Freya, but she’s clearly in knots. More knots. ‘Rosie’s parents are being very understanding. They’re not going to ask for any further punishment as her ey
e was fine, thank goodness. It was just a scratch that looked a lot worse than it was.’ I don’t mention the part where the head acknowledged that Rosie is a difficult child, that she likes to tease other kids, that she’s got a track record of bullying. She almost implied she had it coming. ‘But she did ask that you write a letter to her apologising. I think that would be a good idea, don’t you?’ While I agree she has to be held accountable for what she did, I just want to make her feel better. Or is it me who needs to be held accountable?
Freya gives a little nod, looking up from her plate again, a spark of relief in her eyes.
‘Have you got your Easter bonnet all sorted, Frey?’ Mark asks. ‘Can’t have whatshername from Sunday school beating you.’
She looks at him. ‘I don’t want to go to Sunday school,’ she says, tears collecting in her eyes.
‘Why not, darling?’ I ask, though I already know the answer.
She kicks her feet against the chair rung, picking up a piece of bacon with her fingers and nibbling it. She shrugs.
‘Is it because Rosie will be there?’
She tips her head sideways, pulling up her shoulders. Kick… kick… kick…
Jack groans. ‘That’s it,’ he says, scraping his chair back. ‘I’m off out.’
Tell Me A Secret Page 17