The Secrets We Keep

by Nova Weetman

  Maggie hurries out into the late afternoon, leaving me at the bottom of the stairs.

  I don’t quite know what’s just happened, but I think I just got a job! I run through the stairwell to our flat to tell Dad the good news.

  Chapter 16

  For some crazy reason, the next morning I get to school early. There is hardly anyone around and my portable is still locked so I sit on the steps outside and turn my earrings around and around in my ears. Being here feels different today. Like my real life is happening somewhere else and this is just a strange dream that I’ve stumbled into.

  ‘You’re early.’ Tam’s walking towards me. She’s wearing yet another fancy tracksuit and her long hair is up in a perfect ponytail.

  ‘Yeah,’ I answer, because what else is there to say?

  She sits down on the step next to me. ‘Ellie’s mum died last night.’

  ‘Oh.’

  She looks at me, her eyes bloodshot with dark rings around them.

  ‘So Ellie won’t be at school. All week. And she wants you to go to the funeral.’

  ‘Me?’ I breathe in sharply.

  Tam nods like she doesn’t believe it either. ‘Yep. You. She messaged me to tell you. So consider yourself told.’

  ‘When is it?’

  ‘Probably Thursday. Don’t know yet.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You get a day off school,’ she says, like she believes that’s the only reason I’d go. ‘Apparently you two bonded. Over something. She won’t tell me what. She just said you understand. Maybe that means I don’t.’ Tam sounds more confused than sour. Then she asks, ‘What did you bond over?’

  I shrug, wanting this conversation to go away. Fast.

  ‘You aren’t going to tell me either. Nice. Thanks.’

  I stay silent. I’m already in the middle of something I don’t want to be and, if I say anything else, it’s just going to get worse.

  ‘We’ve been best friends our whole lives,’ says Tam. ‘You’ve only known her a few days. This sucks.’

  Tam stands up and walks away from me, like I’m the reason Ellie’s mum died.

  ‘My mum died, too,’ I say loudly, catching Tam before she enters the yard. A metallic taste floods my mouth and I want to run to the taps and drink water to clear it away.

  She spins around. ‘Really?’

  I nod, wishing I could swallow the words back down, but knowing that now they were out, there was nothing I could do.

  ‘And Ellie thinks you understand?’

  Do I?

  ‘Maybe,’ I tell her, looking down at the ground. A line of soldier ants makes its way towards my shoe. I wonder what the ants will do if I don’t move my foot. Will they march up my leg and under my leggings?

  ‘So I’m out of the club?’

  Looking up, I see Tam towering over me like I’m an ant on the ground. Her face is flushed. I shouldn’t have told her. It hasn’t helped.

  I stand up straight, wanting to be as tall as possible. Of course it doesn’t really work, but at least now I come up to her shoulders.

  ‘There is no club,’ I reply.

  ‘Ellie obviously seems to think there is,’ says Tam, her voice tight. ‘A “kids-without-mothers” club.’ She clenches and unclenches her fists.

  ‘I don’t know what Ellie thinks,’ I say, wanting Tam to back off. ‘You’re her best friend.’

  ‘Yeah, well now it’s all Clem this and Clem that. Just because your mum’s dead.’

  My stomach starts to churn. What can I say? Tam’s right. Ellie did latch on super fast. And it was just because she needed someone else to understand what it was going to feel like when her mum left, too. If only I’d known. I would never have said anything.

  Sometimes there’s nothing you can say. Sometimes you just need to run away.

  So I do. I run away from Tam back to the school gate. Actually I make it through the gate and onto the road. I would have kept going, except then I thought, what am I going to do? I can’t go home. Dad would be devastated if he found out I’d skipped school. I hear the bell ring behind me, signalling the start of classes. I stand still for a while, watching everyone dash around me, before I finally turn around and head back in.

  After a long day at school hiding from Tam, I’m almost grateful to go back to the flat. And it’s as if Maggie’s waiting for me to get home. She runs down the stairs just as I’m unlocking our front door.

  ‘Clem!’ she exclaims.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, still a bit nervous around her.

  ‘I cut you a key. I’ve just found out I’ll be away this weekend so would it be okay to feed my fish?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She steps really close, holding out a key attached to an ice-cream key ring. ‘You okay?’ she asks gently.

  Where do I start? The fire? Ellie’s mum? Tam and the things she said to me?

  Instead I shrug and say, ‘Yeah, just tired.’

  She doesn’t look convinced. ‘Come up and I’ll show you where I keep the fish food.’

  I follow her upstairs, relieved to have some company. Her front door is wide open and I can smell something yeasty. My tummy starts rumbling. It must be loud because Maggie asks, ‘Are you hungry?’

  I nod and watch Maggie stick her hand into a bright orange mitt, open the oven and pull out a steaming loaf of bread. It’s the fattest, most swollen loaf I’ve ever seen. She slides the tray onto a wooden chopping block.

  ‘I’ve been practising making sourdough. It’s a tricky thing to bake. Shall we try some?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  She smiles and passes me a bread knife, a jar of jam and some butter.

  ‘Hot chocolate or a cup of tea?’

  ‘Um, tea please.’

  ‘English Breakfast or Earl Grey?’

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  I place the jam, the butter and the knife onto the table. There’s a huge bowl of oranges right in the middle and I have this strange urge to juggle them. It’s even stranger to think that Maggie probably wouldn’t care if I did.

  ‘So how’s school going? I bet you have lots of friends at school.’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  I watch her pour boiling water into the teapot and then scoop in three large spoons of tea-leaves. Dad would be impressed. He can never be bothered making real tea.

  ‘Eat as much as you like,’ says Maggie, sliding the crusty golden loaf towards me. ‘I love baking, but I can never quite eat it all.’

  I don’t want to cut the bread. I want Maggie to do it. So I just sit and wait for her to bring over the teapot, cups and milk jug. By the time everything’s made it to the table, it looks like a real tea party.

  Maggie turns the teapot around three times to the left and three times to the right. Then she grabs the breadknife and slices a big chunk from the end.

  ‘You took too long, Clem. Now I’ll have to eat the crust!’

  She’s obviously a bit like my dad and doesn’t want to do things for me, so I hold the loaf of bread steady with one hand and cut into it with the knife in the other. It’s so hot it almost burns my palm, but I like the feeling. As I spread the butter along the soft dough, it melts and disappears, leaving a golden trail. I bite into a corner and can’t believe how delicious it is.

  ‘Yum!’ I say, through a mouthful.

  ‘Bread always tastes better when it’s fresh!’

  I watch Maggie pour two cups of tea, not bothering to strain the leaves. I add two sugars to mine and heaps of milk.

  Our neighbour Jack made me a cup of tea while the firemen tried to save our house. I remember how sweet it was and how warm it felt as it went down. A police officer wrapped a blanket around me as I sat waiting for my dad to be questioned by a detective. I remember there were so many firefighters rushing back and forth, their uniforms a b
lur of colour. And I remember everything was wet. The ground. My feet. The house. There was water everywhere.

  ‘Are you liking your new home?’ asks Maggie.

  I cut another slice of bread and this time cover it in raspberry jam.

  ‘Kinda,’ I reply.

  ‘Yeah. I know what you mean. I’ve been here for a few years and you do get used to it.’

  ‘Compared to our old house it’s …’ I start, but then stop.

  Maggie just nods like she understands even though I don’t finish my sentence, and I think I could probably sit here every afternoon with her and eat hot bread and drink warm tea. I drain my cup and try to avoid swallowing the leaves at the bottom. Maggie laughs as I pick a leaf from my teeth.

  ‘Sorry. I never strain the tea,’ she says, taking my cup. She swills it around, looking at the bottom. ‘My mother used to read leaves. And tarot cards. Very mysterious she was. I can’t read either very well, but I do think yours say things are looking up.’

  I manage a small smile and whisper, ‘Unlikely.’

  ‘The leaves don’t lie, Clem. Come on, I’ll show you where the fish food is.’

  And she does. She shows me the slow, sinking pellets that feed the bottom feeders, and the floating pellets that feed the fish that prefer to hang out near the top. She shows me how to carefully lift the glass lid and drop the pellets in along the length of the tank. And then she tells me she’ll pay me an extra dollar a day if I can come back at night to turn off the light so the catfish can party in the dark.

  I agree. We shake hands and her silver rings rub against my skin.

  ‘I’ll be gone super early tomorrow and back Sunday night, Clem. Grab the mail Friday afternoon for me and just bring it in and leave it on the table. Would you like money in advance?’

  ‘No. Afterwards is fine.’

  ‘Let’s call it twenty dollars. That okay?’

  I nod, amazed she’d pay me twenty dollars for about five minutes of work.

  Maggie gives me the rest of the bread for Dad because she’ll be leaving early in the morning and it will go stale otherwise. And then she shows me how to unlock her front door and give it a sharp kick if it gets stuck.

  ‘Come anytime, Clem,’ she says. ‘I don’t mind if you sit up here and watch the fish. It can be good therapy.’

  I leave her flat and make my way back downstairs cradling the warm bread wrapped in a clean tea towel like a baby against my chest.

  Chapter 17

  ‘Clem, honey, you’re going to be late,’ says Dad, knocking gently on my door.

  I was really hoping he’d head to work early again so I could take my time this morning, but he hasn’t. So now I have to get up and face Tam at school. And Ellie isn’t even there. I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling today.

  Wiping the crusty sleep from the corners of my eyes, I walk into the kitchen. Dad’s made me toast from some of Maggie’s bread, and when I see how much of the loaf has gone, a rush of heat floods my head. It was special bread. Not eat-quickly bread.

  ‘I’m going to be a bit late tonight,’ says Dad, buttering his toast.

  ‘Why?’

  He looks up at me but doesn’t answer straightaway. Then he finally says, ‘I’m meeting the detective again.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Um … I’m not sure.’

  ‘Not sure or not telling?’ As soon as I’ve said it, I wish I could take the words back. Dad has a broken look on his face, like I’ve hurt his heart.

  ‘I don’t think that’s fair, Clem. I’ve tried to talk to you about things.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumble as I pick up my toast and put it in my mouth so nothing mean can come out again.

  He walks around to give me a kiss on the head. I smell his earthy jacket and I wish I could wrap my arms around him, but they seem frozen to my sides.

  ‘See you tonight, kiddo.’

  I manage a nod. Dad has this incredible talent of letting go. Even when Mum was at her worst, Dad never seemed to take it on. I know I must upset him, but he doesn’t hold a grudge.

  ‘Have a good day, Dad.’

  My day is anything but good. My drink bottle leaked onto my peanut-butter sandwiches so they were all soggy, and I had nothing else to eat. But at least Tam stayed away from me.

  Now I’m running home after school, starving, and, even though my legs feel heavy and weak like they do sometimes after a long training session, I soon get into a regular rhythm. I must be getting fitter because when I make it to the concrete stairwell I don’t double over gasping for breath. Today, instead of stopping and sliding my key into our flat door I keep going up the stairs. I know I’m too early to turn out the tank light, but I’d rather be in Maggie’s colourful flat than downstairs in our brown one.

  The door opens easily without me having to kick the bottom, which I take as a sign that I’ve made the right choice. ‘Hello? Maggie?’ I call, just in case Maggie hasn’t left yet. It feels strange being in someone else’s flat without them, and I struggle to breathe normally.

  Her flat still smells like bread and I wonder if she baked again after I left last night.

  I edge in a little further and shut the door quietly behind me. I have to keep reminding myself that Maggie gave me a key, so I‘m not really doing anything wrong, even if I am here a few hours earlier than I should be.

  On the kitchen bench I spot a white piece of paper. I assume it’s a note for me and pick it up to read, noticing that Maggie’s cursive handwriting is much neater than Mum’s.

  Welcome Clem! There’s cake in the tin near the stove if you want to watch the fish after you feed them. X M

  I can’t help but grin. It’s almost like Maggie knew I’d need an escape and reassurance that I wasn’t doing anything wrong by being here now. Although I’m not sure Dad would see it that way.

  The cake tin is a round Tupperware one with a green lid. It reminds me of the one Mum used to have. I pull the lid off and the waft of sweet chocolate hits my nose. It’s even iced. Once upon a time, Mum used to bake me cakes or biscuits to eat when I came home from school. The thought makes my skin prickle so I close the lid and take up a spot on the red velvet couch in front of the fish tank.

  Most of the fish are still hiding, but I spot Put Put beside the treasure chest doing what he does best: picking up stones and spitting them out again. I lie down and curl up on the couch to watch Put Put and listen to the filter burbling as it cleans the water.

  Suddenly I wake up. It’s really dark and for a second I don’t know where I am. But then I see a long, dragon-like black fish sliding along the front of the tank on its stomach and I realise I’m still at Maggie’s. I must have fallen asleep.

  Panicking, I quickly switch off the light like Maggie showed me so the catfish can have his nightly party. Then I grab my bag and run for the stairwell, taking the stairs two at a time. I don’t bother finding my key, I just bang on our door and Dad opens it before I’ve knocked twice.

  He grabs me, wrapping me in a super tight hug.

  ‘Where have you been, Clem?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I fell asleep upstairs.’

  ‘You what?’

  He pushes me away to look into my eyes. His eyes are fixed and staring and his face is red. I guess he was really worried.

  ‘I was feeding Maggie’s fish,’ I say, ‘and I just fell asleep on the couch.’

  I move past him and walk inside the flat. Something smells burnt and I wonder if it’s dinner. I hope not because I’m starving.

  ‘Clem you can’t do that. It’s after eight. I was about to call the police.’

  The door slams behind me.

  I toss my schoolbag onto the floor. For some reason the fact that Dad’s worried and angry, now, when he never is makes my body tingle. I hate admitting that I’ve done anything wrong.

  ‘I th
ought you were going to be late because of your meeting with the detective,’ I say, sounding cold.

  ‘Clem,’ warns Dad.

  ‘What?’ I reply. ‘I didn’t know it was so late.’

  Dad looks down at me but I can’t hold his gaze. Instead my eyes flit around the room trying to find a reason not to look at him.

  ‘Honey, I know you’re angry about everything. But maybe it would help if we sat down together and wrote a list of all the things we lost in the fire. For when the insurance comes through.’

  Finally I look at him. ‘We’re insured?’ I gasp.

  He smiles slowly. ‘The police have ruled that the fire may have been an accident because it’s impossible to prove either way. So I’m hoping that—’

  My whole body deflates like a balloon. ‘But you don’t know for sure? The insurance company could still say no.’

  ‘Yes. But we have a much better chance now.’

  I walk over to the couch and throw myself down, wishing it were soft and comfy like our old one.

  ‘So they still don’t know for sure that it wasn’t deliberately lit?’ I say in a voice that sounds like it belongs to a mouse.

  Dad sits down next to me. ‘No, honey. The arson chemist can’t prove anything either way.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, blinking back tears.

  Chapter 18

  It’s Thursday morning and I haven’t decided if I’m going to go to Ellie’s mum’s funeral or not. I don’t actually know where it is because Tam hasn’t told me and Ellie’s been away all week. I know Tam’s hoping I don’t turn up because she hates me, but I feel like I owe Ellie. It’s probably as simple as looking up the details in the paper. If I asked Dad to help me he would, but I’m still not sure.

  Last night, after Dad made two long lists of everything we needed to replace, he managed to steam Bridge’s mum’s dumplings for dinner. We didn’t have any soy sauce or sweet chilli sauce, so they weren’t quite as delicious as usual, but I think Dad was happy he didn’t have to make dinner again after he burnt the spag bol.

  After I went to bed, I heard him crying on the couch. I think he’d had a nightmare. Maybe it was because he was so worried about me after I fell asleep at Maggie’s.