The Secrets Women Keep

by Fanny Blake

‘To Dan,’ Rose echoed. ‘And the fine mess he’s got us into.’

  ‘You don’t mean Jess and Anna? Can’t they see there’s a world where they’re not at its centre?’

  ‘That’s not fair. You know that Jess blames herself for his death, thinks that if they hadn’t argued he’d still be here.’ Rose moved the remains of her food to one side of her plate and placed her knife and fork together beside it, perfectly aligned.

  ‘That’s crazy. Finished with these?’ Eve stretched across and helped herself to a couple of Rose’s discarded chips.

  ‘I know, I know. And she’s devastated that she wasn’t there. But whatever I say doesn’t make a difference. So she’s working incredibly hard to make herself worthy of him. She wants me to keep the hotels so she can run them for him, eventually.’

  ‘And Anna?’

  ‘With immaculate timing, she’s found the “ideal” property for her garden centre and is desperate for me to sell and release some cash to her.’ She paused as she sipped her wine. ‘I honestly haven’t a clue what to do.’

  ‘Do nothing,’ said Eve firmly. ‘One day you’ll wake up and you’ll know what’s right.’

  ‘At the moment I feel as if I’m being blown about by the wind. So I hope you’re right.’

  Some time later, Eve having dashed off to catch the train back home to Cambridge, Rose let herself into a silent house. Her only welcome was the hall light that she’d left on. Hanging up her coat, she shivered in the bitter draught of air that had entered the house with her. The corridor and stairs were shrouded in shadow that disappeared as she twisted the dimmer switch. She rubbed her hands together, then opened the kitchen door, half expecting Daniel to be waiting for her.

  Alone, she had no one with whom to discuss the mildy amusing play she had insisted on going to. Friends had rallied round excessively in the months after the funeral, but now they had backed off, as if they felt she should be back leading an ordinary life. Such a thing felt impossible, but she had to try. Would she ever get used to Daniel’s absence?

  She went through the motions of making a mug of tea before realising that she didn’t really want one. That was something they did together when Dan was alive. They would take their tea to bed sometimes, last thing at night, or just sit here and talk about their evening until one of them made the first move upstairs. That was never going to happen again.

  She tore off a bit of kitchen roll and blew her nose, then sat at the table. Exhausted. Alone. Burying her head in her hands, she sobbed.

  When she had finally run out of tears, she looked up. Everything was so familiar and yet curiously unfamiliar at the same time; different without Daniel to give it meaning. She pulled a brown ceramic vase towards her and removed the dead roses. The buds had never opened; just flopped over in the warmth and hung forlornly. It cost her all the energy she had to cross the kitchen and bin them. Returning to the table, she picked up the vase, turning it in her hand, letting the light catch the richness of the glaze. She remembered how, years ago, towards the end of a trip around Morocco, she and Dan had caught the bus from Marrakesh to Safi. Somehow this vase had made it back home with them intact. The small shop where they’d found it was thick with cooking smells wafting through from the back. When they’d commented on them, they’d been invited to stay to eat. Buying the vase was their thanks. Life had been so simple then. They could go where they wanted, when they wanted. But then they’d had Anna, their much-wanted first child, and shortly afterwards inherited Trevarrick. Rose and Terry’s parents had died in quick succession only months apart, surprisingly, as if her mother couldn’t live without her father. And then Jess came along.

  She returned the vase to its place in the centre of the table. The digital clock on the oven flicked to 12.30. Getting late. But she didn’t want to go to bed. Lying awake in the middle of the night, waiting for the hours to pass, was when everything became unbearable. Then, Daniel’s death and its consequences seemed insurmountable. Lying on her back, as if in her own coffin, next to the cold space beside her that Dan had once filled, her nights were long and sleepless. But what was the alternative? The doctor had given her sleeping pills immediately after she’d eventually returned to England with Dan’s body, but after a couple of months she had stopped taking them. They did their job, knocking her out at night, but every morning she had woken unable to function properly until almost midday. In those early days of grieving, she had found a certain comfort in their shared bed.

  Beside her were the shelves filled with books and a row of family photos. His was in the centre, one he’d once had taken for a hotel brochure, and surrounded by photos of Anna, Jess and Dylan. He’d brought it home to her, pleased with how distinguished he looked.

  ‘Oh Dan, I need you to tell me what to do,’ she whispered.

  He looked back at her, his enigmatic half-smile undercutting the gravity of his gaze. He was dressed in a grey suit, hair short and smart. But this wasn’t the man she wanted to remember. She took the photo and laid it face down on the shelf, then brought to the front an old photo of the two of them skiing. They stood, arms around one another, sun goggles pushed back on their heads, laughing at a joke. Then she remembered those words. Miss. Love. Come back.

  ‘Bastard.’ She slipped the photo to the back of the collection after all. Who was she? What would have happened to us if you’d lived? This time she didn’t speak the words aloud, but they were as loud in her head as if she had.

  Those were the questions that she’d asked herself over and over again since that day. She was no nearer finding an answer than she had been then. She had tried to follow Eve’s repeated advice to put the existence of this other woman out of her mind. Of course she was right. There was no point in dwelling on her. Whatever Daniel and ‘S’ had had together was over. When his life ended, Daniel had been where he belonged – with Rose and his family. But even when she did succeed in blocking this woman from her thoughts, it was never for long. Within hours she was back, with her perfect body, her sultry eyes and lips, her scarlet nails, the letter S hissing from her mouth before she threw her head back and laughed at Rose. She hated this stereotyped cinematic image that she’d manufactured, but with nothing to go on, this was the siren who haunted her. Knowing that she still existed somewhere was like a slow water torture – a constant drip drip drip that wouldn’t go away. She had been through every one of Dan’s suits, his wallet, his briefcase, the forgotten contents of drawers, everything. There was no note, no hotel receipt, no clue of any kind. Even his diary, kept in the most peremptory way, full of hieroglyphic-like scribbles, held nothing. She had kept it on her desk, occasionally trying to decipher his writing and cancelling arrangements when she could. To begin with, it was as though she was keeping him alive, in her own and other people’s minds, but now his notes had almost run out.

  ‘Don’t torture yourself,’ Eve had insisted, when Rose had asked her what she thought an entry said. ‘Whatever it was is over. You’ve got to concentrate on the here and now.’

  But she couldn’t obliterate the last moments they’d had together, regretting the row, wondering how she could have handled it differently, persuaded him to explain.

  Forcing herself to face the inevitable, she went upstairs, taking each step as slowly as if it was her last. She must try to get some sleep, ready for the arrival of the girls the next day. Opening the bedroom door, she experienced that same sense of expectation that she had felt going into the kitchen. But the room was empty, the bed smoothly made, her chair draped with a couple of jumpers. She had left one of his where he had last put it, unused. She ran her hand over the rough Aran wool, remembering. These feelings were her companions now, and she almost welcomed them. She undressed, then opened the wardrobe, where she hung her clothes next to his. His familiar smell still lingered there. She took the sleeve of one of his favourite jackets, deep blue wool, and put it to her face, then dropped it.

  Preparing for bed was one of those small daily routines that had kept her going th
rough the darkest times; done on autopilot but, nonetheless, keeping her grounded. In the bathroom, his shaving kit and toothbrush had been left untouched. Getting rid of his things seemed so irredeemably final. Perhaps once the memorial was over, she would be able to begin to let go.

  13

  Surrounded by friends, family and well-wishers, Rose looked up to the wooden-timbered roof of the church. Were churches built deliberately to make you feel like a speck in God’s eye? She certainly felt very insignificant and alone right now, despite the fantastic turnout. Beside her sat a portly and asthmatic cousin of Daniel’s with his family. When he had squeezed the five of them into one of the four family pews, wheezing his sympathies to Rose, nobody had the heart to ask him to move in order for Anna and Jess to take their rightful place beside her. Instead, her ousted daughters were across the aisle. Whenever she glanced over to see how they were faring, Rose caught the basilisk glares Anna was shooting in his direction.

  Her daughters barely looked like sisters. One so waif-like, her hair falling from a messy bun; the other attractive in a more classic way, her face and figure fuller thanks to the baby weight she had yet to lose, her hair neatly pulled back in a chignon. Rose tried not to compare her daughters, but it was impossible not to notice the difference between them. Anna had made no concession to the occasion, despite Jess’s loud objections that morning, but remained true to herself, dressing the way her dad would have expected. In wild contrast to Jess’s formal grey suit, black tights and heels, Anna wore thick leopardskin-patterned tights, her biker boots, and a short turquoise dress with strings of tiny coloured beads round her neck. Rose could imagine Dan’s objections to her get-up being thoroughly ignored. That was indeed what he would have expected.

  What he would have been more surprised by were the flowers. Rose had asked Anna to do them, while Jess looked after the catering. Anna had done her dad proud. In two large black urns at the front of the church and one at the entrance were stunning loose arrangements of early spring flowers: catkins, budding magnolia, purple irises, daffodils, mimosa and Dan’s favourite scented white narcissi. They were perfect.

  As the vicar asked them to stand, Rose gazed down at the order of service. On the front was a photo taken by her at Casa Rosa. Dan was sitting at the table under the walnut tree, tanned and smiling, raising his glass in a toast, a plate of cheese in front of him. That was how she wanted everyone to remember him: as a man who loved company and the good things in life, and as the man who loved her. She remembered the anniversary they were celebrating when the photo was taken, and could hear him saying as clearly as if he were sitting beside her, ‘To my dearest Rose, and to our next twenty-nine years. May they be as happy.’ They had just returned to Casa Rosa in time for supper, having spent a wonderful couple of days in the Val d’Orcia, mooching around Pienza and Montalcino. He had opened one of the bottles of fruity red Brunello they had bought, while she had cut them thin slices from a wheel of pecorino.

  If only she could travel back in time. How she longed to exchange her memories for Daniel himself. The music came to an end. She looked up, and at a gesture from the vicar, left the pew to light a candle in Dan’s memory before the service began.

  As the service progressed, she couldn’t help reflecting how much Dan would have approved. To remember him, she had chosen some of his favourite music, including Mahalia Jackson’s ‘Come Sunday’. Ella Fitzgerald’s ‘Every Time We Say Goodbye’ produced the first flutter of handkerchiefs. That was followed by the asthmatic cousin squeezing out to read a snippet from Joyce Grenfell: ‘Weep if you must; Parting is hell. But life goes on, so sing as well.’ Then the recording of Dan playing his guitar and singing ‘Blowin’ in the Wind’, laughing when he got the words muddled. Rose had heard it so many times that she remained quite calm, separating herself from the sniffs and sobs she could hear behind her, remembering.

  The smell of roasting chicken brought her back to the service. At first almost undetectable, it was getting stronger all the time. The vicar had warned her that on Wednesdays, the crypt of the church was used as a kitchen for the homeless. She hadn’t considered that the consequence would be the smells wafting up into every corner of the church. Occasionally the clash of kitchen pans punctuated the music. She smiled. Daniel would have seen the funny side.

  The second reading was Betjeman’s ‘Trebetherick’, chosen especially to evoke Cornwall and the happy years they had bringing up the children there. She had asked for the tributes to be kept short. A childhood friend spoke about Dan’s mile-wide competitive streak and his popularity at school. The manager of the Canonford recalled his skills as an hotelier and colleague, while Terry recollected their long friendship and business partnership, coming close to breaking down as he neared the end. As he returned to his seat behind her, Rose turned to see Eve’s hand reach for his as he sat down, her other on his arm.

  Finally it was the turn of Jess and Anna. Rose had a lump in her throat as she watched her two daughters, so proud of them as they took it in turns to remember their father. As they talked, Daniel the loving father and family man emerged. Anna recalled his dangerous love of DIY that meant little was thrown away – ‘Might be useful one day,’ he’d say; Jess – the patience with which he taught her to play a few chords on the guitar; Anna – the swimming lessons in the sea in the rain; Jess – the lover of jazz; Anna – the lover of the outdoors. At that point there was an unscripted pause. Jess looked panic-stricken. Rose froze, praying they would reach the end. Anna picked up the baton to tell a story about Daniel’s renowned lack of skill in the kitchen, while Jess gave her a tear-stricken glare before she took her turn again. They didn’t look at each other once as they returned to their seats.

  At last it was over. As the congregation filed out to Alan Price’s ‘Don’t Stop the Carnival’, Rose found herself unable to shake off the memory of their last terrible evening together. Her only consolation was that whoever ‘S’ was, she had failed to separate them, and now she never would. Even though Rose was left behind to deal with the fallout from his death, she and Daniel would always be united in everyone’s eyes. No one but her and Eve needed to know what might have happened if he’d lived. She closed her eyes briefly.

  Outside, as the guests streamed from the church into the drizzle, Anna and Jess stood on either side of her, shouldering the outpouring of good wishes. After a few minutes, the three of them drove to the Canonford, where they greeted people again and welcomed them in. As the girls separated from her and melted into the throng, Rose looked around her. The room was full, some familiar faces and some less so, but despite them all being there for her family, she felt on the edge, an outsider, unable to throw herself in. In the past, she would have relied on Daniel being if not at her side, at least in the same room when rescue was needed.

  But this was her future now, and she was going to have to learn to cope. Anna and Jess weren’t always going to be there for her. Perhaps that was as well, given the way they’d been behaving since they’d arrived the night before. They’d clearly had words at some point after Adam and Jess had unpacked: Anna had excused herself without supper because of her early start the following morning, while Jess involved Rose in putting Dylan to bed. She guessed something had been said about the future of the hotels, but they were obviously trying to keep their squabble from her. And something had certainly happened during their tribute, although they hadn’t said what. Rose wasn’t fooled. The tension between them was palpable. She was only grateful they hadn’t let it spoil the service.

  She looked down at the glass of champagne in her hand, the bubbles pricking the surface. Was she here? S? The question came unbidden. There were so many women who might fit the bill. They came up to her with lipsticked smiles, eyes creased in sympathy, shaking her hand, kissing her cheek, touching her arm. She shook her head. Thinking like this would get her nowhere. Everyone had come to share their memories of Daniel and to give her and the girls their support. That was what she must focus on. Taking a deep
breath, she joined the nearest knot of people, a group of staff from the Trevarrick, who welcomed her into their midst.

  Terry parked the car. He and Eve had driven to the hotel in silence, each deep in their own memories of Dan. The kids had gone ahead, piling into Charlie’s old banger. Eve pulled down the sun visor and flicked open its mirror before taking off her dark glasses. Her eyes were pink and circled with smudged mascara. She licked a finger and tried to repair the damage.

  ‘I can’t go in like this. I look awful,’ she complained, feeling the tears coming again.

  ‘No you don’t.’ Terry passed her a Kleenex. ‘You look terrific. And the worst’s over now.’

  ‘Look at my eyes! That “Blowin’ in the Wind” was my undoing. Hearing Dan laugh again . . .’ She blew her nose, then took out her tinted moisturiser and, leaning forward to see what she was doing, dabbed it on the worst-affected areas. She added a slash of lipstick to her mouth. ‘That’s the best I can do.’

  ‘And it’s a great best.’ Terry reached round behind him and took her flat shoes from the back seat. ‘Do you need these?’

  ‘Thanks.’ She removed her heels and dropped them into her tote.

  Terry smiled at her. ‘Women and shoes. What’s the point in having them if you can’t walk in them?’

  Though intended as a joke, Terry’s words misfired.

  ‘Just because you never spend more than fifty pounds on yours.’ Eve slammed the door of his precious fuel-saving hybrid car that must have made more of a dent in their bank account than it had contributed to saving the planet. ‘And it shows.’

  He winced at the sound of the door, laying his hand on the car’s roof as if comforting it, at the same time containing his complaint at its treatment. ‘How much were those?’

  Yes, an argument was hurrying their way.

  ‘Only one hundred and seventy-five pounds.’ If you didn’t count the bag that she’d bought to match and the leather spray that seemed so essential at the time.