The Art of Keeping Secrets

by Rachael Johns

  Flick laughed. ‘But that look on your face when we told you, that was priceless.’

  ‘We should have taken a photo,’ Neve agreed.

  Emma sighed and leaned her head against the back seat as their driver climbed into the front. ‘Thank you, guys. I think I really needed this. I was dreading this week at home without the kids.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re coming with us,’ Neve said as Flick took Emma’s hand and squeezed it.

  ‘We’re gonna be so busy living it up, you’ll barely have a chance to think of them, never mind miss them,’ she said.

  ‘That sounds good, but I should send them a message to let them know where I am. Just in case there’s an emergency or something. Call me childish, but I wish I could see Max’s face when he finds out I’m not sitting at home alone feeling sorry for myself.’

  They laughed and then Neve said, ‘Yeah, I’m going to give Will a call and make sure he’s up for rowing practice. Don’t want Mum having to nag him.’

  Flick decided she too should probably message her family. She dug her mobile out of her handbag and switched it back on. Once it had located a network, she punched out a group message for Zoe, Toby and Seb. Arrived safe, heading to hotel now.

  While Neve chatted to Will and then her mother and Emma sent a thankyou message to Patrick, Flick watched The City That Never Sleeps roll by through the taxi window. They were on some sort of big highway, with huge American cars flying past them, many with their windows down and music blaring. She couldn’t help but notice the number of dents in the panel work of the vehicles. Seb would be appalled—he treated his Jeep like a fifth member of their family.

  Not wanting to think about Seb, she shook her head and instead turned her attention on the television in front of her. It took her two seconds to realise her mistake. It was screening a series about Caitlyn Jenner and her transformation. Good God! Was there no escape? On the plane, she’d opened the in-flight magazine straight to an article about a group of Sydney teens lobbying to change their school’s uniform policy so that boys could wear the girls’ uniform if they wanted to.

  It was like when you wanted to get pregnant and suddenly started seeing glowing mums-to-be with their burgeoning bumps everywhere you went.

  ‘Excuse me?’ She called to the driver. ‘Can you turn these TVs off?’

  He didn’t seem to hear but Emma looked up from her mobile. ‘You okay?’

  Flick forced a smile. ‘Fine. Just getting a little carsick.’

  ‘It is a bit stuffy in here,’ Neve said, winding down her window a little.

  Exhausted from their journey, the friends took in the passing sights in relative silence—with only the occasional remark when they saw something familiar like the New York Times building and Grand Central Station. Flick might never have been to New York before but you’d have to have been living on another planet not to recognise the massive billboards of Times Square, flashing advertisements for shows and brands like Coca-Cola. It wasn’t quite six o’clock at night but there were people and vehicles everywhere when they finally arrived at their hotel.

  ‘This is my kind of place,’ Neve said, her head almost out the window as she looked on in awe.

  Flick wasn’t sure she agreed—it was all a little too neon and flashy for her liking—but all the glitz and glamour was about as far away from her life in Western Australia as she could get and that was all that mattered right now.

  ‘There’s the sign for Mamma Mia!’ Emma noted as she pointed past Neve out the window. ‘It’s so close to our hotel.’

  Neve groaned.

  ‘Marriot Times Square,’ announced the driver.

  Flick glanced up at the massive hotel as the cab slowed to turn into the drop-off zone. She couldn’t wait to get out of her travelling clothes into comfy pyjamas, climb into a big fluffy hotel bed and order room service.

  Usually the most reticent of all of them, Emma took control when it came to tipping the driver.

  Flick and Neve were grateful. ‘The whole idea of tipping makes me nervous,’ Flick admitted as they climbed out of the taxi.

  ‘Me too,’ Neve agreed.

  ‘It’s easy when you get the hang of it,’ Emma said, smiling her thanks at the driver as he lifted the last of their bags from the boot.

  A smartly dressed African-American porter rushed over to assist. ‘How y’all doing ladies?’ he asked, dipping his hat to greet them. He had the most adorable accent. Flick could have listened to him for days.

  ‘We’re dead on our feet,’ Neve said.

  ‘Australians?’ He cocked his head to one side and gave them a wide grin.

  They nodded.

  ‘That’s a long trip. Let’s get you inside.’

  The lovely man took their luggage and their names, and then directed them up eight floors to reception. Now they were actually here, the jet lag hit them with a vengeance. Somehow they checked in and found the way to the thirty-sixth floor without really registering anything except how fast the elevator was and how high up they were.

  ‘Lucky none of us are scared of heights,’ Emma mused, looking out their window when they finally let themselves into their room.

  Neve joined her to admire the view but Flick flopped down onto one of the two double beds and toed off her shoes. There’d be time enough later to check out the view.

  ‘I’ll take the sofa bed,’ Emma said, turning around to inspect their room.

  From her position on the bed, Flick had to admit it’d be a nice place to spend the week. The beds were comfy, the sheets soft and even with three of them sharing, there’d be ample room.

  She forced herself into a sitting position. ‘We thought we could take turns sleeping on the sofa bed.’

  Emma gave her a dirty look. ‘Don’t be silly. Since I’m not contributing financially, the sofa bed is all mine.’ She perched down on the edge of it and bounced a little. ‘It actually feels comfier than my bed back home.’

  Before they could argue over the arrangements, the buzzer on the door announced the arrival of the concierge. Neve let him in and once he’d deposited their luggage, Emma gave him a tip and Flick raised her hand in a wave of thanks as he departed.

  ‘Ready to order room service?’ Neve asked. She picked up the menu and leant back against the desk.

  ‘Definitely.’ Flick needed food, a shower and bed, and right now, her body didn’t care in what order.

  Standing beside Neve, Emma looked over her shoulder. ‘Ooh, look, you can create your own salad, burgers, pizza or pasta.’

  ‘What’s the point in that?’ Neve said. ‘If I’m paying for food, I want someone else to do all the work.’

  ‘Fair point,’ Emma agreed. ‘I think I’ll have the halibut with a side of sweet potato fries then.’

  ‘The toasted chicken cob salad sounds good.’

  Flick screwed up her nose. ‘I’m not going to waste my holiday eating salad.’

  ‘But it’s got bacon and blue cheese in it,’ Neve countered.

  ‘Anything with the word salad in it is rabbit food,’ Flick said. ‘Here, let me have a look.’

  She passed the menu to Flick and she decided on a burger with potato chips, which would hopefully satisfy her hangover/jet lag craving.

  Neve called down to order, thanked the person on the other end of the line and disconnected. ‘Food will be here in half an hour. Do you mind if I have the first shower?’

  Flick lay back against the pillows. ‘If I fall asleep, wake me up when the meals arrive,’ she told Emma as Neve disappeared into the bathroom.

  ‘No worries.’ Emma went over to her handbag and retrieved a packet of painkillers.

  Flick frowned, trying to recall how many Emma had already taken since they’d left Perth. ‘Are you still getting those headaches?’ she asked, as Emma downed two without water. ‘Did you end up seeing a doctor?’

  ‘I was going to book an appointment this week but then two crazy women abducted me and now here I am.’ Smiling, she gestured aroun
d the room as if she were a real-estate agent delivering her sales spiel. ‘Which happens to be better than winning the lottery. Thank you again.’

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ Flick said, still concerned about her friend’s persistent headaches. ‘How long have you been having them now?’

  Emma shrugged as she flopped down onto the sofa bed. ‘Maybe a month or so. I think I might be going through early menopause.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. As well as the headaches, I’ve been so damn moody. I remember my mum experienced the change younger than most and she was hell to live with at the time.’

  Flick thought about this a moment. ‘I suppose there are advantages. You’ll never have to worry about contraception again.’

  Emma laughed and hugged a pillow to her chest. ‘That’s the least of my concerns. I’d have to find a man first.’

  ‘What about Patrick?’

  Emma’s eyes widened. ‘My boss?’

  When Flick nodded, Emma blushed. ‘Plenty of people hook up with their bosses. And Patrick seems like a really great guy.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘We met to discuss secret New York business, remember? And he spoke very highly of you.’ Flick grinned. ‘I didn’t notice a wedding band.’

  Emma sighed. ‘That’s because he’s gay.’

  Flick shook her head, unable to hide her shock. ‘No way. Are you sure? He didn’t give off that vibe at all.’

  Emma nodded. ‘That’s what everyone says and I’ve never seen anything to the contrary. Besides, aren’t all the good men already taken or gay?’

  Flick ignored this question, much more intrigued by the gleam in Emma’s eye when Patrick’s name was mentioned. ‘But what if he’s not? Would you be interested then?’

  Emma hesitated and for a second Flick saw the truth in her eyes, but then she shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t want to jeopardise my job.’

  Before Flick could grill her any further, the bathroom door opened and Neve emerged.

  ‘Shower’s all free,’ she said, raking her hands through her short wet hair.

  ‘You want to go next?’ Flick asked Emma.

  ‘No, you go.’

  In dire need of a hot shower, Flick didn’t argue and by the time she’d finished their room service had arrived.

  ‘Sorry, we didn’t wait for you,’ Emma said, gesturing to her half-eaten dinner, ‘but I thought it best I eat mine, so I can shower and then we can all get some rest.’

  ‘Good plan,’ Flick said as she crossed over to the room service trolley, picked up the remaining silver dish and lifted the lid. ‘Is it any good?’

  Neve moaned through a mouthful of food. ‘My salad is to die for.’

  ‘Yep.’ Emma nodded. ‘The halibut’s great too.’

  ‘They gave me crisps,’ Flick exclaimed, staring down at her dinner as if it were roadkill. ‘I wanted hot bloody chips, not crisps.’

  Neve and Emma thought this was hilarious but Flick felt like crying. Granted it was a ridiculous thing to cry about but after the few weeks she’d had and so little sleep in the last forty hours, her emotions were all over the place. Maybe I’m going through early menopause too.

  ‘Oh well,’ she said, hoping her voice didn’t give away how close she was to tears. ‘At least the burger smells good.’

  They devoured their meals in record time and Flick had already climbed into bed by the time Emma headed into the bathroom for her shower. She snuggled down under the lovely clean covers, inhaling the fresh smell of the sheets, and hoped that she would feel more like herself after a good night’s sleep.

  ‘Night, Neve,’ she said, turning over to face the wall. ‘Sleep well.’

  ‘I’ll be lucky if I get any sleep at all.’

  Although Flick knew the right thing to do would be to roll over again and try to soothe her friend’s nerves, she pretended not to hear, pretended she was already asleep. She was far too exhausted for such a conversation.

  Yet despite her body beginning to shut down now that she was finally horizontal, she wasn’t sure she’d get much rest either. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone to sleep without Seb beside her. She shivered and pulled the covers tighter. Was this something she would have to get used to?

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Genevieve

  Neve woke up in a strange bed in a strange place. It took five seconds to orientate herself. She was in Manhattan, and the flashing lights from Times Square had crept in through the curtains, interrupting her sleep for half the night.

  Then she remembered the other reason her slumber had been restless; the reason she and her two best friends had come to New York in the first place, and her heart threatened to leap out of her body and toss itself out the window.

  She sat up in bed, clutching the covers to her chest as she looked over at Emma sleeping peacefully on the sofa bed and Flick dead to the world in the other bed. Daylight blared through those gaps in the curtains but she had no idea what time it was. Trying to be quiet so as not to wake the others, Neve stretched over to grab her mobile from the bedside table.

  Eight o’clock. The time most normal people would be rousing for breakfast, but she didn’t have any appetite. Her stomach had been churning non-stop ever since they’d left Perth and she doubted she’d be able to keep any food down.

  It was D-day, or rather J-day, and she suddenly wondered why the hell she’d listened to Flick and Emma when they’d suggested going to confront him in person.

  ‘Neve? You okay?’ Emma’s sleep-soaked voice jolted her from her thoughts and she looked back to her friend.

  She opened her mouth to lie—to tell Emma she was fine, excited even about a day of shopping and exploring the Empire State—but the truth spilled out instead. ‘Not really. I need a drink.’

  Emma chuckled sleepily. ‘I think it’s a little early.’

  ‘I meant water.’ Neve reached a hand up to her throat. ‘My mouth is so dry I feel like my throat is closing up.’

  Emma threw back her covers and climbed out of bed. She crossed to the minibar and retrieved a bottle of Evian. ‘Classic symptoms of anxiety,’ she said, unscrewing the lid and offering the bottle to Neve. ‘Have a drink and then take a few deep breaths. It’s going to be okay.’

  Neve slurped a couple of desperate gulps and then wiped her mouth. ‘Thanks. For the water. And for coming. I know you don’t—’

  Emma cut her off before she could finish her sentence. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of a cow about your … your situation. I’m not trying to make excuses but I haven’t exactly been myself lately. As I told Flick last night, I think I might be going through The Change. You know? Early menopause.’

  Neve shuddered, forgetting her own worries for a moment. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’

  Emma snorted. ‘Flick thought it could be a good thing.’

  ‘How so?’

  There was an odd groaning sound from Flick’s bed. ‘What did I think?’ she asked, her words slurred.

  ‘That there were benefits to early menopause.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Slowly, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. ‘Is it really morning already?’

  ‘Yep,’ Emma said. ‘Rise and shine, princess. If we’re going to get through that shopping list from Zoe and Toby, we can’t lounge around all day in bed. Do you want to have breakfast in the hotel or find a café somewhere?’

  Flick glared at Emma. ‘Are you always this cheery in the morning?’

  ‘Only when I wake up in a luxurious hotel with no kids and no ex-husband in sight. In fact, I reckon I could get used to this.’

  ‘How you feeling about tonight?’ Flick looked to Neve, ignoring Emma’s question about breakfast.

  Neve’s insides quivered again. ‘Can we talk about something else?’

  She saw Flick and Emma exchange an anxious glance and then Flick finally answered Emma. ‘I think hotel breakfasts are pretty much the same worldwide. I reckon we go out and start exploring and find somewhere to ea
t along the way.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Neve said, hoping she sounded more enthusiastic than she felt. She grabbed her toiletries bag and escaped into the bathroom. Maybe if her friends stopped reminding her about tonight, she’d get through the day without hyperventilating.

  Yet Neve could think of nothing else as they navigated the grid-like streets on foot, although Flick and Emma made a concerted effort to avoid talking about the main reason for their trip. Why couldn’t James have lived and worked somewhere else? He was spoiling New York for her. They stopped to eat breakfast at the Magnolia Bakery on Sixth Avenue and then walked on to explore the designer stores on Fifth, but no matter how hard she tried, she simply couldn’t relax and enjoy the experience.

  Strolling in and out of Prada, Louis Vuitton and Swarovksi should have been one of the highlights of Neve’s life but as the others oohed and ahhed over handbags with price tags three times their weekly pay packets, it was all she could do to stop herself from hurling up her miniscule breakfast onto the sidewalk.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Emma exclaimed, pointing to a simple but elegant pale blue travel tote in a store window. ‘I wonder how much that is? Bet my first car cost less.’

  ‘I think one of the mums at Dayton has that one in pink,’ Flick said, ‘but you know what? I picked one up in Target that looks exactly the same.’

  Neve tried to contribute to the conversation, but she simply couldn’t get excited about handbags—designer, bargain or otherwise.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ Emma said, turning away from the window.

  ‘Yes,’ Flick agreed. ‘Are you sure you still don’t want to talk about it?’

  Perhaps expressing how terrified she was about seeing James again would be better than keeping it all bundled up inside her. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, but maybe I should.’

  ‘Come on.’ Emma wrapped an arm around Neve’s shoulder. ‘Let’s go to Macy’s for lunch—when I messaged Patrick yesterday, he said we should go there. Apparently it’s got a really good restaurant, so we’ll blame him if it’s not.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Flick linked her arm through Neve’s. ‘You can have a glass of wine to calm your nerves and tell us exactly how you’re feeling and then we can look at stuff we might actually be able to afford.’