The Art of Keeping Secrets

by Rachael Johns

  ‘Dammit.’ Neve kicked her car tyre in frustration. She’d felt better just at the prospect of talking to her friends but that feeling was short-lived.

  I’m working all day on a shoot tomorrow, she typed and then racked her brain for another solution.

  Before she could think of one, Emma sent another message. What about Friday night? It’s Max’s mum’s birthday so he’s taking the kids for the night.

  Sounds good to me, Flick replied.

  That worked for Neve—Will had said something that morning about going to see a movie with Stacey on Friday night, but… What about date night? She typed back, knowing how much Flick hated the term. Whatever you called it, every second Friday Seb and Flick went out to dinner or a show together, and Neve didn’t want to ruin their special night.

  We’ll do Saturday instead. Not a big deal. Seb won’t care. And if either of you call it ‘date night’ again, I will kill you.

  Neve smiled at Flick’s reply, grateful she had friends who were willing to change their plans when she needed them. Thankfully she had a busy week scheduled so wouldn’t have too much alone time to dwell on everything before she saw them.

  Excellent. Why don’t you two come to my place and I’ll throw something together for dinner? Her place was safer than a restaurant or bar where their conversation might be overheard.

  One could never be too careful with secrets.

  Chapter Seven

  Felicity

  After the message exchange with Neve and Emma, Flick popped her phone into her handbag and turned back to Zoe, who was pirouetting in front of the massive mirrors of the bridal boutique. She’d lost count of the number of wedding dresses her daughter had modelled in the last couple of hours while she and Seb sat on the plush, white leather couches and sipped sparkling wine. All the gowns were blurring into one. There’d been meringue styles, A-lines, fishtail something or others, some with ultra dramatic high necklines and others so low she feared the guests would cop an eyeful of Zoe’s pert young chest. So far Zoe had tried on a few dusty blue gowns, one ice-pink and even a gold dress. Capelets were also a thing—a half jacket that covered one’s shoulders but left the arms bare. Flick herself had worn a simple A-line gown when she and Seb got married, but it appeared today’s brides were all about lace, ruffles and colour.

  ‘Who were you messaging?’ Seb whispered, as their darling daughter stepped back into the fitting room to try on dress number one zillion and three.

  ‘Neve and Emma.’ Flick frowned. ‘Something’s going on with Neve. She wanted to meet for lunch, but Em and I couldn’t so we’ve arranged to see her on Friday night. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Seb smiled and squeezed her hand. ‘We can go out Saturday instead.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘Mum? Dad? What do you think of this one?’ Zoe appeared again in a new gown, having mastered the art of the quick change.

  Flick couldn’t help but gasp. ‘Holy shit, isn’t there any more of it?’ Made of some kind of sheer fabric and lace, the figure-hugging number left nothing to the imagination. ‘Do you want the whole church to see your nipples?’

  Seb, as usual, was far more diplomatic. ‘Honey, you always look gorgeous, but is that really the tone you want to set for your big day?’

  Most dads would be mortified by the sight in front of them now—unsure where to look—but then again, most dads would rather take up scrapbooking as a hobby than go dress shopping with their wife and daughter.

  Zoe turned from left to right, examining herself in the mirrors. She skimmed her hands over her hips and Flick held her breath, praying she’d see what a ghastly mistake a dress like this would be.

  The sales assistant beamed at Zoe. ‘This style is very in right now and you definitely have the body for it. All brides want to look sexy on their wedding day.’

  Flick couldn’t help herself. ‘I’m not sure they want to look like prostitutes though.’

  The sales assistant smiled tightly and kind of chuckled; she seemed to think Flick was joking.

  ‘It’s all right, Mum,’ Zoe said, grinning over at Flick. ‘I just had to try it. Can you imagine what Granny would say if I walked down the aisle in this?’

  Flick let out a sigh of relief and Seb laughed—his mum was not only prim and proper, but extremely religious.

  ‘So, are we any closer to a decision?’ Flick asked, her stomach reminding her it was nearly lunchtime.

  Zoe rubbed her lips one over the other in the way she always did when she was thinking. ‘Can I try the third dress again?’ she finally asked the sales assistant.

  Flick had no idea what dress number three was but the assistant nodded, her high blonde ponytail swishing behind her. ‘You take that gown off and I’ll bring the other one in for you.’

  As Zoe disappeared through the fancy velvet curtains, the assistant went over to a rack on the wall that looked as if it might collapse any minute under the weight of all the gowns Zoe had tried and rejected. Within seconds she selected a dress and turned around.

  ‘This is the one. What do you think, Mother and Father of the Bride?’ asked the sales assistant, fluttering her eyelashes in Seb’s direction. The dress was a classic strapless bodice with tiny crystals embroidered across the front in the shape of flowers and a beautiful full skirt, ruffled from just below the hip to the floor. This had been Flick’s favourite by far of all the gowns Zoe had tried on.

  ‘I love it,’ she said, relieved her daughter had good taste after all. She glanced at Seb and saw his eyes were glistening. He’d always been far more emotional than her. She took his hand and smiled at him. ‘Can you believe our little girl is getting married?’

  He sniffed. ‘Not really. I hope Beau realises how lucky he is.’

  Flick opened her mouth but the sales assistant got in first. ‘No boy is ever good enough for Daddy’s little girl. You must be very close—we don’t get many men in here.’

  Seb nodded and smiled back but Flick saw the pulse in his Adam’s apple. He and Zoe had always been close, but supporting his daughter wasn’t the only reason he was here today and Flick knew it.

  ‘I’m ready,’ Zoe called from inside the fitting room and the assistant stepped in to give her the gown.

  ‘Got Mr Visa ready?’ Flick asked Seb.

  He grimaced. ‘What’s the wedding tally so far? Do we need to take out a second mortgage?’

  ‘Not yet—just be thankful we only have one daughter.’

  ‘I thought the done thing these days was for the bride and groom to share the costs,’ Seb said. ‘Aren’t the days of the bride’s family paying for everything long gone?’

  Flick shrugged. ‘Maybe if the bride and groom have been working and living together for a few years, but our daughter and her fiancé are practically children.’

  ‘I heard that,’ Zoe yelled. Seconds later the assistant peeled the curtain back and she stepped into their midst once again.

  This time Flick gasped for entirely different reasons. This gown was about as far removed from the scanty piece of chiffon she’d tried on before as you could get. ‘Oh my darling, you look …’ Her throat choked up. So much for not being emotional.

  ‘I think what Mum’s trying to say,’ Seb offered, ‘is that you make a beautiful bride. We’re speechless. That dress is quite frankly the most amazing gown I’ve ever seen.’

  Coming from Seb that was something, Flick thought, as she dug a tissue out of her pocket.

  ‘Really?’ Zoe whirled around like the ballerina she’d wanted to be when she was five. The ruffles flared as the skirt ballooned around her. ‘Do you think this is it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Flick and Seb exclaimed in unison.

  ‘It is something special,’ agreed the sales assistant, ‘and between you and me, it suits you far better than the others. Shall we discuss fittings and finance?’

  ‘Yes, let’s.’ Flick didn’t want Zoe to change her mind. She couldn’t bear the thought of going through
all this again.

  Zoe changed, Flick jotted down their next appointment in her diary and Seb handed over his credit card with a bigger smile on his face than most dads in this situation would have. He’d never had a problem forking out for fashion. And then the three of them stepped outside into the busy Subiaco street.

  Flick breathed in the fresh air and the alluring smells wafting from the nearby cafés. ‘Where shall we go for lunch?’

  ‘Let’s go to The Witches Cauldron,’ Zoe suggested and since this was her day, they did exactly that. As they walked in the direction of the restaurant, she linked her arm through Seb’s and looked adoringly up at him.

  ‘Thanks for coming today, Dad. I really appreciate it. It can’t be easy being the only guy in a place like that. I’m so lucky to have such a supportive father.’ And then she stretched up and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,’ Seb said, his cheeks turning crimson from his little girl’s praise.

  Flick couldn’t help feeling a bitter jab to her heart.

  What about her? Where was her thanks for sitting through hour after hour, dress after dress? Would Zoe be so quick to praise her dad if she knew that being in a bridal dress shop was pretty much his idea of heaven?

  Everyone thought Seb so wonderful—and he was a good father and loving husband—but Flick thought she was a pretty good wife too for putting up with what she did. And sometimes she felt as if she could burst under the pressure of not being able to share this secret with anyone.

  Chapter Eight

  Genevieve

  Neve glanced at the microwave clock and then at the nibbles she’d laid out on the kitchen table. She’d been ravenous while preparing tonight’s meal, but with Flick and Emma’s arrival imminent, her hunger had been replaced by a churning, fluttery feeling in her belly. The longer you kept a secret, the scarier it became. The bigger it grew. And she’d been keeping this one for close to eighteen years. Although she hoped she’d feel better after she’d confided in her friends—a problem shared is a problem solved and all—the thought of putting it out there left her cold.

  She poured herself a glass of wine and lifted it to her lips, but the doorbell rang before she had the chance to take a sip. Inhaling deeply, she straightened her top and hurried down the hallway.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, perhaps a little too exuberantly as she peeled back the front door. She was relieved to see her friends had arrived at the same time.

  ‘So, what’s going on?’ Flick asked, leaning over to kiss Neve’s cheek.

  ‘Yes.’ Emma took her turn to greet Neve. ‘We’re very curious.’

  Neve opened her mouth, about to say that it was nothing serious, but that would be a blatant lie. There was nothing more serious right now, especially to Will. ‘Come inside. I’ll get you some drinks and then I’ll tell you.’

  Emma paused just inside the door and pointed. ‘Is that a new doorstop?’ she asked. ‘I love that it looks like a book. Where’d you get it?’

  Neve shut the door behind them. ‘It is a book. A client gave it to me.’

  ‘You know you’re supposed to read them,’ Flick said, her tone amused.

  Neve shrugged. ‘So I’m told. But ain’t nobody got time for that big a book. You can have it if you like.’

  Her friends laughed and Neve’s anxiety eased a little as she led into the kitchen. She pointed at the wine bottles on the bench. ‘Red or white?’

  Flick dumped her oversized handbag on the floor. ‘White, please.’

  ‘None for me.’ Emma also removed her shoulder bag as she shook her hand at the wine bottles.

  Flick frowned.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Neve asked as she poured Flick’s drink.

  Flick looked to Emma and wriggled her eyebrows. ‘Oh geez, you’re not pregnant, are you?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Emma laughed. ‘It would have to be an immaculate conception. I probably don’t even have time for that. No, I’m just steering clear of the wine for a bit. I must be getting old, can’t seem to handle my grog anymore. Whenever I drink, I end up with a headache for days.’

  ‘Can I get you something else then? Water? Juice? Diet Coke?’

  ‘Just water, but I’ll get it myself.’

  Emma went to fill a glass of water, while Flick pulled back a seat and sat down. ‘You know,’ she began, picking up her wine, ‘hangovers shouldn’t last for days no matter how much you drink. I know you had a fair bit last Friday, but… Well, have you thought about seeing a doctor about these headaches? You seem to be getting them more and more.’

  Neve sucked in a breath. Not that she didn’t care about Emma’s health, but tonight was supposed to be about her problems.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Emma replied, taking her glass of water to the table. ‘I’m just tired and busy, but I promise if I get any more I’ll make an appointment. Besides, we’re not here to talk about me. What’s going on with you, Neve?’

  Suddenly Neve’s bones turned to ice—maybe she would rather talk about Emma after all. She felt the gazes of her friends boring into her.

  ‘Well…’ She clasped the stem of the wine glass as if it were a lifeline. If it was this hard telling her friends, how on earth was she going to tell James? Or Will?

  ‘Yes?’ Flick prompted and then took another sip of wine.

  Neve closed her eyes, opened them again, sighed, then spoke. ‘Will wants to meet his father.’

  ‘Oh,’ Emma said as if she was expecting something a lot more startling.

  ‘Is this really such a big surprise?’ Flick asked. ‘I mean, he’s a normal kid, it makes sense that he wants to know where he comes from.’

  ‘I guess.’ Neve felt stupid and naive for not contemplating this possibility before. She’d been like an ostrich and buried her head in the sand, refusing to think about what she now realised had been a time bomb waiting to explode.

  Emma, who’d always been empathetic to other people’s feelings, squeezed Neve’s hand. ‘And how do you feel about it, hon?’

  She swallowed. ‘To be honest, it makes me want to throw up.’

  ‘Aw, Neve.’ Flick reached across the table and took hold of her other hand. ‘Just because he wants to get to know his father, doesn’t mean he’ll love you any less. You and Will have a fabulous relationship.’

  ‘Yes,’ Emma agreed, ‘you really do. Mostly my kids spend all their time holed up in their bedrooms, but Will actually likes hanging out with you.’

  But that relationship is built on a lie.

  Pain shot to Neve’s forehead as if someone had stabbed her; Emma didn’t have the monopoly on headaches.

  ‘The thing is,’ she admitted after a long pause, ‘I haven’t been entirely honest with him about his father. I haven’t been entirely honest with anyone.’

  Both Emma and Flicked frowned at her.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Flick asked.

  Neve sucked in another breath and followed it quickly with a swig of wine. Her friends waited, but she didn’t know where to start. Finally, she spoke again. ‘I haven’t been honest about James.’

  ‘That’s Will’s dad?’ Emma clarified.

  ‘The scumbag bastard who didn’t want to have anything to do with either of you.’ Flick’s tone showed exactly what she thought of him.

  ‘Yes, and no.’ Neve bit her lip as her friends’ expressions grew even more befuddled. ‘James doesn’t even know Will exists.’

  ‘What?’ Flick and Emma said in unison, their mouths dropping open—Neve had never actually seen that happen before, she thought it was just something people wrote in books.

  ‘Much of what you know is true,’ Neve began. ‘James and I met while we were working on a production of Cats in Melbourne. He was assistant producer and I was part of the hair and make-up team. The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he was the one. He was older than me, much more sophisticated than the boys I’d dated up to then. He was so tall, so handsome and so charismatic. I’d never met anyone lik
e him and I fell hard and fast. James felt the same—we’d steal illicit kisses behind the stage and every night after the show we fell into bed. We couldn’t get enough of each other—the sex, oh the sex, you cannot imagine.’ Her spine tingled at the recollection and she squeezed her knees together under the table. ‘Anyway, although I couldn’t get enough of him, I knew it was wrong.’ She paused. ‘He was married.’

  ‘What?’ Flick and Emma asked again as if this was now the only word in their vocabulary. While Flick simply looked shocked, Emma’s eyes narrowed and there was a bitter edge in her voice.

  ‘I know.’ Neve held up her hands in surrender. ‘But you can’t help who you fall in love with. I knew he was married before we started anything and I tried to stay away, I truly did, but … we just couldn’t help ourselves. You don’t understand how explosive the chemistry was.’

  Emma rolled her eyes. ‘Sex is just sex, whatever bow you wrap it up in.’

  ‘If you really think that,’ Neve said, ‘then you’ve either never experienced bad sex or you’ve never experienced out-of-thisworld sex.’

  Emma scowled and crossed her arms.

  ‘So what happened?’ Flick asked.

  ‘When I found out I was pregnant I left Melbourne and came home to Mum and Dad. I said I’d been in a brief relationship with a guy from the theatre but that when I told him about the baby, he ended it. I told them he didn’t want anything to do with it.’

  ‘And is that what happened?’ Emma asked, a glimpse of compassion in her eyes. She knew what it was like to be rejected.

  Neve wished she could say yes but the time for lies was over. She needed to face up to what she’d done. And this was the first step.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘James had two young daughters whom he adored and although he loved me, I knew he’d never leave his wife because of them, so I…’ She took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t tell him that I was pregnant. He still doesn’t know about Will. His name isn’t even on the birth certificate.’

  At the looks of disbelief on her friends’ faces, Neve tried to justify herself. ‘I’ve never said anything bad about him. I’ve barely told Will anything at all. As far as he knows, James just wasn’t the settling down and having a family type. Obviously he doesn’t think too badly of him or he wouldn’t want to meet him, would he?’