Secret Keeping for Beginners

by Maggie Alderson

‘Oh, the gloss soon goes off that,’ she started to say, but stopped abruptly, realising that 6.00 a.m. wake-up calls from excited little girls were a sweet problem her thirty-seven-year-old, very single younger sister might never have.

  That thought gave her a pang. It would be very hard-hearted of her to deny Natasha some cuddly love from Ari and laughs with Daisy. But what about her needs? They mattered too. What to do? She opted to play for time.

  ‘I’ll text Michael, right now,’ she said. ‘He can be a pain about arrangement changes, because his life is so micro-planned, but the girls would hate to miss you too. In fact, they’d kill me. They were furious enough when they heard I was coming down here today, because I might see their adored boy cousins without them and when they find out you were here too, I’ll really get it in the neck.’

  Natasha was grinning. It meant so much that Daisy and Ariadne didn’t forget her between their way too rare meetings. Her fridge in New York was covered with their drawings and she bought them funny little trinkets and souvenirs wherever she went for work.

  She was particularly looking forward to giving Daisy the present she’d found her on her last location job in Rajasthan; a backpack made from a woven plastic fertiliser sack with a picture of a pig and the words ‘Big Pig Brand’ on it. For Ariadne, she had a doll in a pink sari.

  Seeing the broad smile on her sister’s face at the prospect of spending time with her nieces, Rachel knew, with a sinking feeling, that she’d have to do the right thing.

  ‘There isn’t a very good signal out here,’ she said, glancing down at her phone. ‘I’ll go back to the house and call Michael now, get this sorted.’

  The signal was actually fine in the garden, but she needed some space to get her head round this. She was fairly sure Michael would capitulate about arrangements, as his belief in the importance of ‘family’ was just about the only thing which would override his phobic distrust of spontaneity, but she’d have to listen to some irritating complaining first.

  Rachel sighed as she scrolled down to his number, hoping he wouldn’t use this situation to lay on one of his full guilt-trips and to air, yet again, his disbelief at her decision to break up their cosy little family unit the way she had, but if he did, she’d deal with it the way she always did: not listening.

  She was more concerned about how she was going to tell the other person whose weekend arrangements were about to be wrecked by this change of plan. That would be quite another kind of phone call.

  One that needed to be made in private.

  Joy sent a prayer of thanks up to the Higher Power. To be sitting at this table drinking tea with all three of her precious daughters was the greatest blessing she could think of. She looked around at them, smiling and chatting, so at ease with each other, and relished their beautiful differences.

  The oldest, Tessa, with her dark hair and green eyes. The Celtic colouring, which was about the one good thing she’d inherited from her own parents, and the fey Irish temperament to go with it, which she’d figured out came from her maternal great-grandmother.

  She remembered hearing her aunt whispering to her mother about it once, when her father wasn’t around. ‘The sight …’ she’d said. ‘Granny O’Reilly had the sight.’

  Joy had tried to ask her mother about it later, but her mother had got angry and told her that she’d heard nothing of the kind. And if she ever mentioned it again, she’d tell her father and she knew what that would mean. Young Joy, or Elsie as she was then, knew only too well and had kept quiet.

  It wasn’t until years later, when she was introduced to tarot cards, pendulums and the I Ching by someone she’d met through the food co-op, that she’d finally allowed herself to explore such things, although she still never talked openly about it. The girls teased her about being ‘woo woo’ but that was as far as it went. Just Mum’s funny little ways.

  But she’d long suspected Tessa also had the gift – she even looked like the old picture of Granny O’Reilly she remembered on her mother’s chest of drawers – but she’d never brought it up with her. The unseen was often better left unsaid.

  Joy’s gaze moved over to Rachel. Her bright and sharp-witted middle daughter. So like her late father with her blonde hair and merry eyes. Always at the centre of whatever was happening, always the one to get things done. Even as a child she’d bossed her big sister about. It was a shame Robert hadn’t lived to see her grow up, so like him, with her quick brain and quicker tongue.

  Then her baby, Natasha. So different looking from the other two with her father’s height, straight dark hair and high cheekbones. Tony had always made Joy think of a Native American chief with his strong jawline and deep-set dark eyes. Natasha was the feminine version, with a swan neck and those long loose limbs, although with this new haircut, cropped at the back and sides like the men of Joy’s youth, she looked rather boyish. Anima and animus. The two energies in one. Very powerful.

  Joy tuned back into the conversation and picked up that Rachel was telling a story about getting to work and finding she had two different shoes on, which was making the other two roar with laughter.

  So like Rachel, thought Joy. She had that brain like a Swiss clock, never forgot anything, but was pathologically late and always looked a bit untidy. She had a big brown stain on the front of her white shirt now, Joy noticed, smiling to herself. As a little girl she’d go off to school as neat as a pin and come back looking like a compost heap.

  Tessa, on the other hand, had always returned looking as immaculate as when she’d set off and she still looked exquisite whatever she put on. So calm on the outside, but, unlike Rachel, she’d never been able to concentrate on more than one thing at a time. Not in a stupid way, she just thought about each thing very intensely, one after another, whereas Rachel could keep a multitude of ideas tumbling in her head at once like a juggler.

  And Natasha? She was a bit of both. She had Tessa’s ability to concentrate, mixed with Rachel’s energy and flexible brain. She was always on time, perfectly turned out and full of bright ideas when she got there. It was a dynamic combination.

  How interesting children were, thought Joy. And soon her grandsons would be home from school. She saw them a lot and so enjoyed noticing the minute daily progressions of their development, and she’d be seeing her granddaughters the next day too, what a bounty.

  ‘Hey, Mumsie,’ Rachel was saying. ‘Ground Control to Planet Joy, can you read me? Over …’

  ‘Yes, darling,’ said Joy, smiling at her, always so cheeky. ‘I was just counting my blessings.’

  ‘Well, this blessing has to go, my taxi’s just arrived, but I’ll be back tomorrow, and so will the girls.’

  ‘I can’t think of anything nicer than having all my family together, thank you so much for making it happen, Natasha darling.’

  Natasha darling? thought Tessa. Really? All she’d had to do was get on a business-class flight over from New York and then swan down to the country. I’m the one providing beds and food for the five thousand, in between enduring an intrusive photographic shoot in my home. I think I’m doing my bit too.

  If only you all knew what I was giving up to be here this weekend, thought Rachel.

  If I hadn’t chosen to live on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean we could all meet like this every weekend, thought Natasha. It’s my fault this is such a big deal. Normal families see each other all the time.

  Rachel got up from the table and everyone went out into the hall to see her off. She kissed them all, with a special hug for Natasha.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m going to see you again tomorrow, Tash,’ she said. ‘What a treat. I’ll try to get off work early so I can bring the girls down straight after school. My boss owes me a favour.’

  Tessa had just started towards the front door to let her out, when it opened and Tom walked in.

  ‘Blimey,’ he said, ‘what a welcoming committee. A hall full of beautiful women. Hey, Natasha, I didn’t know you were coming today.’

&nbs
p; He gave her a warm hug and Natasha felt oddly shy. She always forgot how charismatic her brother-in-law was when she hadn’t seen him for a while. No wonder he was so successful on TV.

  He wasn’t super good-looking – and she was used to being around stratospherically beautiful people, for heaven’s sake – he just had something about him. Not flashy, or smooth, just an inner confidence that was very attractive. Tessa was a lucky woman.

  ‘Well, I’m just off to the station, Timmy dear,’ said Rachel, pecking Tom on the cheek, ‘but you’ll be lucky enough to see me again tomorrow night. Bye all.’

  Rachel settled into the back of the taxi and fished out her phone. Who should she ring first? she wondered, as she tapped to check her Instagram. A hundred and five Likes on the hammock, not bad. Two hundred and thirty-seven on the egg chair – excellent – and some very useful feedback in the comments. So far the edgier pieces were getting a stronger reaction. Interesting. She’d write them up for Simon and the clients, a bit of free market research. Another little credit towards confirming her job.

  So the phone calls … Should it be the ecstatically happy one to the girls? They’d just be home from school about now. Or the other, really disappointing one?

  Well, it would be disappointing for her. It would make it real that she wasn’t going to see him tomorrow night. She shouldn’t make assumptions that Link would feel the same way, but it was only fair to let him know as soon as possible, so he could make other plans for his weekend.

  He answered immediately.

  ‘Hey,’ he said.

  Rachel’s stomach and all areas near it did a somersault. She felt slightly sick.

  ‘Hey,’ she said back.

  ‘Wassup?’ he asked.

  She exhaled, a sort of sigh/harrumph combined noise she hoped conveyed her discontent. Words seemed too banal when she spoke to him. In fact talking to Link on the phone was torture, all she wanted to do was touch him.

  ‘I can’t see you this weekend,’ she said, in a rush.

  He was silent, she could just hear him breathing.

  ‘OK,’ he said eventually.

  ‘It’s such a bore …’ Rachel started, finding her voice, part of her wanting to explain, to give him all the gory details, but really more glad that she didn’t have to. They had been going to get together, now they weren’t. That was it.

  ‘Another time, soon, eh?’ said Link.

  Rachel had an idea.

  ‘What are you doing tonight?’ she asked him.

  There was another moment’s silence from his end.

  ‘When?’ he asked.

  ‘Eight?’ said Rachel.

  ‘I’ll text you,’ said Link.

  ‘Great,’ said Rachel, her heart beating fast. ‘I’ve just got to check something as well, I’ll text you, too. See you later, I hope.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ he said, and then he hung up.

  Rachel checked her calendar. Thursday – was that the night Branko worked in the wine bar? Yes, dammit. She scrolled through B on her contacts, wondering which of her babysitters was still young enough to be available, but not in a big exam year so still allowed out on a school night.

  She was just composing a text to the mother of a fourteen-year-old girl who lived a few doors down when a text came through from Link.

  ‘Not good tonight. Let me know when you can do a weekend. And come by the shop and see me. L x’

  Rachel read it with tears pricking her eyelids. He was right. It was a tacky idea, she wished she’d never suggested it, she’d just been so disappointed to miss out on the weekend and thought it would be better to see him briefly than not see him at all. But what was ‘briefly’? A quick one?

  She stared blankly out of the taxi window at the countryside, beautiful in the late afternoon sun, feeling dirty with self-disgust for a moment and then deciding to get over it.

  Hearing his breathing down the phone had lit her inner pilot light and made her act rashly, that was all. She was a spontaneous person. She couldn’t help that, and suspected it was one of the things Link liked about her. But maybe this was a hint that he wasn’t actually much more spontaneous than Michael. Which was pretty funny, because if you put the two of them in the same room you wouldn’t think they could possibly have anything in common.

  But at least he’d saved her the cash for the babysitter. That would have been at least £40. What was she thinking even considering splashing out cash like that, when she could barely pay the mortgage?

  There she went again, acting on impulse. Where did attractive spontaneity end and rash impetuousness begin? Maybe Michael was right and she was all too often at the wrong end of that range. Rachel closed her eyes tight to make the thought go away. If she let herself think about all that, she might start wondering if she’d been foolishly impulsive when she’d ended her marriage for no more reason than she’d come to find her children’s father boring.

  Even going on a date with Michael in the first place had been something of a dare, when a work colleague had told her about this eligible friend of her fiancé’s: good-looking, sporty, doing well at a big insurance company and very single.

  ‘But he’d be much too straight for you, Rachel,’ Sara had said, adjusting the huge diamond engagement ring her boyfriend had recently given her, and holding out her hand to admire it. ‘I know you only like arty men. Just such a shame they never have any money.’

  Rachel had risen to the bait like a trout. She didn’t like being pigeon-holed. She’d show her she could like a bloke with a proper job and a flashy car just as much as Sara did. But why did she have to show her all the way to the altar and then twice to the maternity unit at St Mary’s?

  Rachel sighed. Of course she couldn’t unwish meeting and marrying Michael, she scolded herself, because that would be to unwish her darling girls and no man could have given her more gorgeous treasures than them.

  Which reminded her, she still had that happy call to make. And Daisy’s scream when she heard she was going to spend the weekend with her big boy cousins and her beloved Auntie Tashie banished all other thoughts.

  Sydney Street

  Simon Rathbone was sitting at his desk thinking about Rachel. He had a large unlit cigar in his mouth. It was a nice one, an Ecuadorian habanos he’d picked up in St James after lunch.

  He took it out of his mouth and lifted it to his nose, inhaling the sweet aroma of the tobacco leaves. Mmmm, it was good. A little hint of chocolate in it.

  He really wanted to light the thing, to help himself think. It was his bloody office, no one else was there, or scheduled to come in, he should be able to smoke if he wanted to. But it wasn’t his building and no smoking was a condition of the lease, and he really didn’t fancy losing the six months’ deposit he’d had to pay to secure the space, or the nightmare of having to find somewhere new.

  There was a high price to pay for the prestige of having Sydney Street on his company letterhead and rents were only going one way. Up. Terrifyingly up. A couple of businesses which had been there for years had moved out of the street already that month.

  He gently pressed the cigar between his thumb and forefinger. The perfect combination of smoothness and firmness, with a very slight give. Like the inside of a beautiful woman’s thigh. Uh-oh, Rathbone, don’t go there. So don’t.

  Thinking along those lines really wasn’t going to help him make a rational decision on what to do about Rachel. Too late, he was already imagining what it would feel like to run his fingers down her thighs. Or better, up them.

  God she was attractive. So slender around the middle and then swelling out so pleasingly. That very feminine body shape which seemed to be becoming endangered. Sometimes it took all his willpower not to reach out and run his hand over her hip. Dangerous curves, indeed. But it wasn’t just her figure that was giving him sleepless nights, it was her … her Rachelness.

  Most of his staff were terrified of him, or too stupid to realise they should be. Rachel was properly nervous – and with more good rea
son than she knew – that she wasn’t going to make it past her six-month trial period, but it didn’t make her frightened of him. She still said exactly what she thought. It was so refreshing.

  Especially as it was always worth listening to. He was learning a lot from her about digital media and her brilliant idea for the two press trips and the ideal location for them, plus the final coup of the shoot in You magazine, had definitely won them the Lawn & Stone contract the day before. And it was exactly the kind of new business Rathbone & Associates needed.

  It was all very well representing the elite end of the interiors market, but a lot of his clients were rather elite about paying their bloody bills. Gentlemen’s agreements and all that cock. The upscale arm of a big cashed-up company with a proper accounts department would make such a welcome change – and Rachel had immediately grasped every aspect of what was needed to win the account.

  Everything about her presentation had been spot on, right down to the way she’d directed it at the old duffer. Simon had caught him checking out her rear view as well, the dirty bugger.

  Took one to know one, he reminded himself, running his hands back over his hair. Was it chance or judgement that had made her wear a wickedly fitted skirt for that meeting?

  Every time she’d turned away to look at the PowerPoint display on the boardroom wall, Simon had to pinch his own leg under the table. When she’d dropped the light pointer and bent down to pick it up, he’d completely lost track of what they were talking about.

  Thinking about Rachel bending over again was not helping him clear his head where she was concerned. He’d never felt this way before about one of his staff, which was a good thing, as they were mostly women.

  He had always made a point of keeping his business and private lives completely separate, to the point where he knew there was conjecture among the ranks about whether he was gay. They’d never met a girlfriend, or heard him talk about one, so they made their own assumptions.

  He didn’t give a damn what they thought. In fact he rather enjoyed the sport of it. He made a point of greeting the campest stylists and decorators who came to the office with lavish warmth and then covertly watched his staff exchanging significant glances with each other. Look, he is gay! I told you!