Secret Keeping for Beginners

by Maggie Alderson

  It was Joy who picked up. Lucky.

  ‘The Chenery residence,’ she said.

  Simon couldn’t help laughing at her formality.

  ‘Really?’ he said. ‘But I was hoping to speak to Mrs Younger …’

  ‘Hello, Simon,’ she said.

  ‘How did you know it was me?’

  Because I’ve been expecting you to call, thought Joy. The final secret. ‘I recognised your voice,’ she said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m very well, thanks. How are you? Is your hip still mending well? And how’s Natasha?’

  Joy paused for a moment.

  ‘I’m very well, thank you, getting better all the time and I’m happy to say Natasha is pretty good, too. Did Rachel tell you she was over?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Simon. ‘She told me the range had been cancelled unexpectedly … Dreadful news.’

  ‘Yes, it was a terrible shock for Natasha. I’m glad she’s here.’

  ‘Best place she could be,’ said Simon. ‘Anyway, well, I bet you’re wondering why I’ve called out of the blue … and the thing is, Joy, I would really like to talk to you about something. You’ve already done so much for me, I can never thank you enough for how you helped me with, er, that thing and I don’t want to be a pest, but I think you’re the only person who can help me with something else, if it’s …’

  ‘How about Monday?’ said Joy. ‘I’m coming up to London to see somebody and I could meet up with you first. Noon would be good, somewhere near the British Museum.’

  ‘How about the café at the London Review Bookshop?’ said Simon. ‘It’s in Bury Place, just off Great Russell Street.’

  ‘I’ll find it, Simon,’ said Joy. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you.’

  She hung up and Simon sat looking down at his phone for a moment. If he wasn’t going to go ahead with this, he had until Monday to come up with another reason for asking to see Joy.

  Sydney Street

  Rachel was half-gutted, half-super-relieved when Simon didn’t come into work on Friday. The breakfast meeting with Passementerie de Paris had gone brilliantly and they’d signed a one-year contract, so she was desperate to tell him the good news.

  She’d also decided on her way in that she was definitely going to ask him to have that coffee with her. In their café. Partly because she wanted to tell him the whole story about Natasha, to get his take on the business side of it – but mainly to test her instincts, to see whether she’d imagined those unspoken feelings between them by her front door the night before.

  She kept going backwards and forwards about it in her head. One moment she was convinced it had happened, the next she told herself to forget it, she’d just been in a heightened emotional state after the Natasha/Mattie moment.

  But she wasn’t imagining how much she missed his presence in the building. Every time she walked past his office, she slowed down, wanting to string out the moment of feeling connected to him. She found herself stroking the name ‘Rathbone & Associates’ on the pile of letterhead in her desk drawer.

  She really had gone doolally.

  It was a relief as the time finally wound round to three, when she could leave, collect the girls from school and try to forget this nonsense, for a couple of days at least. Michael was having the kids that weekend and for once she was happy she’d be staying home alone.

  The estate agent had been to value her house and it was going on the market on Sunday – the key day, apparently – she needed to make sure it was perfect for viewings.

  Deciding to go the long way to the Tube, so she could check out the Conran Shop windows, Rachel was looking longingly at the florist stand inside the entrance – and reminding herself she would have to make do with flowers from Lidl for the house showings – when her phone rang.

  ‘Hi, Rachie,’ said Natasha’s voice, sounding very cheerful.

  ‘Hi, Tashie,’ said Rachel, feeling a surge of love for her little sister. How could they have fallen out like that?’

  ‘Are you still at work? Can you talk?’

  ‘I’m on my way home,’ said Rachel, ‘my boss is letting me leave early until I sort out my childcare …’

  Damn. She didn’t mean that the way it must have sounded. ‘Sorry, Tash, I didn’t say that to get at you, it’s just the new nanny has left.’

  ‘I know,’ said Natasha, ‘that’s partly why I’m ringing. Mum told me about that and I have a suggestion to make.’

  ‘Go on, then,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Can Mattie and I come and stay with you for a while?’ said Natasha. ‘I want to spend some proper time in London, I need a break from New York after what’s happened and the thing is Mattie shares a house with four other people, one bathroom, one loo … I can’t do it. And I thought, if we could stay with you, we’d be together, we’d be with you – and I could see my beautiful nieces every single day.’

  Rachel heard a catch in her voice as she said it, which made her own eyes fill with tears. ‘I can’t think of anything I’d like more,’ she said.

  ‘And we’ll get them from school every day and look after them until you get home, so you won’t have to leave work early,’ said Natasha, sounding excited.

  Rachel laughed. ‘Well, there’s only three more days of school before they break up for the holidays, but that would be a help.’

  ‘Even better then,’ said Natasha, ‘we’ll look after them in the holidays. Well, I’ll do it on my own, when Mattie goes to work. I’m taking some time off, Rachel. A few weeks, before the shows all kick in again. I need to get my head clear.’

  ‘That would be amazing,’ said Rachel. ‘Just having you around for a while will be wonderful. You two can have the nanny’s room, with its own bathroom. When are you going to come up?’

  ‘This evening?’ said Natasha.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Rachel. ‘I’ll see you there.’

  And after she rang off, it was all she could do not to skip up Pelham Street to the station.

  Monday, 21 July

  Bury Place, London WC1

  Simon got to the café fifteen minutes early and moved tables three times before he found one that felt bearable. The woman behind the counter was giving him funny looks. He felt like pulling a face at her. What he had to say to Joy was so torturously personal, he really didn’t want anyone listening in. He wished he’d suggested somewhere bigger, with dark corners. What if she told him to back off from Rachel? That he’d done enough damage with her oldest daughter and he could forget sniffing around the middle one as well?

  For a moment he decided to call the whole thing off, it had been a mad idea, but then he remembered she was a woman in her mid-seventies and even if she had a mobile phone, he didn’t know the number. He couldn’t just stand her up.

  He was still working on ideas for other reasons he could pretend he’d wanted to speak to her when Joy walked in, supporting herself on one stick. A glance at his phone showed him it was twelve noon on the dot and he felt a bell should start tolling.

  He stood up.

  ‘Joy, lovely to see you,’ he said, pulling out a chair and kissing her on both cheeks, ‘do sit down, let me get you something, the cakes are very good here.’

  ‘I’d like some mint tea, please,’ said Joy, looking rather amused, ‘and if you are having some cake, get an extra fork for me.’

  The lady behind the counter was smiling at him now. See? he felt like saying, I was just choosing the best table for my slightly disabled elderly friend. My possible future mother-in-law … Ohgodohgodohgod.

  After he got back to the table he kept busy unloading teapots and cups from the tray, fussing with teaspoons, milk jugs, the slice of coffee and walnut cake which was making him feel nauseous … anything to put off the moment when Joy asked him what he wanted to talk to her about.

  She said nothing, just sat with her hands folded in her lap as he farted about like an idiot with the tea strainers, rabbiting on, asking her about her hip and how the journey up had been and how beautiful
he imagined the countryside must be looking …

  When sugar and milk had been offered – milk in mint tea? very good, Simon – the spare cake fork proffered and there was really nothing else he could say or do to fill the enormous vacuum of the unspoken between them, he gave in and took a sip of his tea.

  ‘So how long have you been in love with Rachel?’ asked Joy.

  Simon nearly spat his tea back into the cup, but just managed to swallow it as he let out a mighty bark of laughter.

  ‘How the hell did you know?’

  Joy smiled. ‘I just had a little inkling,’ she said.

  Back when you were very concerned that she never found out about you and Tessa, but it wasn’t the time to remind him of that. Yet.

  ‘So I’m right?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Simon, ‘a hundred times yes. I think I’ve been a little bit in love with her from the first moment I saw her, but as I’ve got to know her better and to respect her attitude to work and the way she copes with bringing up the girls on her own and just having her around in the office … it’s just grown and grown.’

  It felt so good to say it out loud, he wanted to run round the room kissing everyone in it.

  ‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ said Joy. ‘I think you and Rachel would be wonderful together.’

  ‘But …?’ said Simon.

  ‘Well, I’m assuming the “but” is the reason you wanted to talk to me,’ said Joy, ‘because otherwise there’s nothing stopping you. You’re both single, so what is the “but”, Simon?’

  ‘Buts, plural,’ he said. ‘There’s more than one. Well, the first one you know about – the thing with Tessa. That’s odd by any standard and I feel I would have to tell Rachel about it first, because when I’m with her, all I want to do is kiss her. My whole body is screaming at me to do it and I’m beginning to think she might want me to, but then my head kicks in remembering the Tessa weirdness and I can’t let myself. Like last Thursday night, after I looked after the girls …’

  Joy reached over and put her hand on his. ‘You looked after the girls?’ she said.

  Simon nodded. ‘She had to go down to see Natasha, and there was no one else she could ask.’

  ‘You’re a good man, Simon Rathbone,’ said Joy, squeezing his hand. ‘A very good man. Do you understand that?’

  Simon’s eyes dropped down for a moment. If Joy didn’t know he was the last man on earth to let it show, she thought he might be close to tears.

  ‘I do my best, Joy,’ he said, almost whispering.

  She kept her hand on his, turning it over and holding it in both of hers.

  ‘Tell me what it is, Simon,’ she said, ‘the sadness you carry around, the secret you have locked away. I know it’s another thing that’s holding you back from Rachel, so you might as well tell me.’

  Simon’s head came up and he looked straight into her eyes.

  ‘It’s my family,’ he said, his voice quite croaky. Not because he was about to blub, but because his vocal cords didn’t know how to get out the words to tell anyone about this stuff.

  ‘What about your family?’ asked Joy, very gently, as though she were talking to a frightened toddler.

  ‘I killed my brother,’ said Simon, his gaze not leaving hers, ‘and my other brother is as good as dead, but isn’t. It might be better if he was. I broke my father’s heart.’

  Joy didn’t let her eyes move from his.

  ‘What do you mean you killed your brother?’ she asked in the same low voice as before.

  ‘Car crash. Dark country lane. One brother dead, the other brain damaged. I was driving.’

  ‘Was it your fault?’ asked Joy.

  ‘Not really,’ said Simon. ‘No. The bloke who crashed into us was drunk. Very drunk. He went to prison. I didn’t go to official prison, but I’ve been in a prison of my own ever since.’

  ‘A prison of guilt?’ said Joy.

  Simon nodded his head.

  ‘Even though you know it wasn’t your fault?’

  ‘Well, it’s more a prison of my parents’ resentment. They both blame me – my mother less so, but still a bit. It’s not rational, I know that, but it doesn’t make it any easier to live with.’

  Joy said nothing, just carried on holding his hand in hers and stroking the top of it. Some of the tension had left him, since he’d told her, but there was still a lot there.

  ‘Do you see them often?’

  ‘Every weekend,’ said Simon. ‘That’s where I go. Half my staff think I’ve got a husband in the Cotswolds, but I’m really in Herefordshire helping my parents look after my brother who’s forty-five years old and can’t feed himself.’

  ‘How old was he when the accident happened?’ asked Joy, finding it hard to get the words out herself.

  ‘Twenty,’ said Simon. ‘I was twenty-two and the brother who died was twenty-four. He’d just finished at Sandhurst.’

  They sat for a moment, the cruelty of the lives destroyed so young just hanging in the air between them. Two lives destroyed in one moment, thought Simon. Three lives wrecked so young, thought Joy. And him another middle child, like Rachel.

  ‘Does your younger brother live at home with them?’ asked Joy tentatively.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Simon, ‘they’ve always refused to let him be in a care home. The two main reception rooms of the house have been converted for him. They have carers all week, but at the weekend I go and help.’

  ‘Because you want to?’ asked Joy.

  ‘Mostly,’ said Simon. ‘He’s still my brother, the only brother I have now. The three of us were really close – like your girls – now there’s just me and him. He hasn’t been able to speak since the accident, but he stills knows me and I still love him. I can’t just abandon him.’

  ‘You said your brother was “mostly” the reason you go. What’s the rest of it?’

  ‘My mother. My father’s not an easy man. He has very particular standards for life and people and I just don’t measure up to them. My brothers were both in the army, as he used to be, and he can’t understand why I didn’t join the “family firm” as well. He loathed me studying art history at university and despises what I do, even though my income helps pay for the carers. Actually, I think he resents me even more for that. He’s never actually said it, but I know he wishes it was me who died.’

  Joy said nothing, in case he had anything else to get out. She wanted to tell him she thought he was being very harsh on himself – and his father – and that he was projecting all his self-loathing back on to himself, and filtering everything his father said and did through that belief system, in a perpetuating negative cycle of guilt and shame, but she knew when to keep her trap shut. Maybe one day she’d find a way to suggest those ideas to him, but she knew this wasn’t it.

  When she was sure he had nothing else to say about his father, she spoke.

  ‘But your mother doesn’t blame you so much?’ she said.

  ‘No,’ said Simon, ‘my mum is lovely. She’s always pleased to see me. She’s lost two of her boys and she has to live with my grumpy dad all week, so I think the least I can do is go and see her at the weekends, to try to bring some nice things into her life.’

  ‘Not many people wouldn’t make that sacrifice, Simon,’ said Joy.

  ‘Most people don’t find themselves in this kind of situation,’ said Simon. ‘They don’t know how they’d react.’

  ‘But why do you keep it so secret? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I think it’s wonderful what you do. You should be proud of it.’

  ‘I just find it easier to deal with keeping it in a separate compartment from the rest of my life,’ said Simon. ‘I don’t want to have to talk to people about it, answer sympathetic questions, explain it. And one of the reasons I’ve never married, or even had a proper serious girlfriend, is that I haven’t met anyone who I trusted enough to tell them about it. Until Rachel. I know I could tell her and she wouldn’t judge me, but at the same time, I don’t want to burden her with my s
ob story and have her feel sorry for me.’

  ‘Rachel has never told me how she feels about you,’ said Joy. ‘Or given any indication that there might be more between you than the work relationship – but that’s normal for her, it doesn’t mean anything. But this I can tell you, if she does return your feelings, this won’t put her off, it will just make her like you more.’

  ‘Really?’ said Simon. ‘Isn’t it all a bit Mr Rochester? The angry dad and the crippled brother in the attic?’

  Joy shook her head, smiling.

  ‘No. You’ve seen what a close family we are – your loyalty to yours will really touch her. As it has me. I’ve known you were a good man since I first met you and this is more proof. So, does that get rid of that “but”?’

  ‘Yes, I think it does. Thank you, Joy. But what about the Tessa issue? Do I have to tell Rachel about that before I can kiss her? I soooo want to …’

  He wriggled around in his seat like a schoolboy desperate to go outside to play.

  Joy laughed. ‘Kiss her then, you silly! Kiss her first and tell her about Tessa later. I don’t think she’ll mind if you tell her it was something that happened twenty-five years ago. You don’t need to go into that odd re-connection thing that happened. I’ve thought about that long and hard, and I’ve decided it was a weird blip. A combination of you projecting your feelings for Rachel back onto Tessa and Tessa feeling very alienated from Tom, while he was in his TV thing, all mixed up with the poignancy of nostalgia – remembering youth in middle age and all that. It was a kind of perfect storm of emotions and I don’t think it would be dishonest not to go into the full details of it with Rachel.’

  ‘Do I need to tell Tessa I want to kiss Rachel?’ asked Simon.

  Joy shook her head, resisting a strong urge to chuck his cheeks.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ she said. ‘You and Tessa have laid your past to rest, leave it there. Let me know when the time is right and I’ll tell Tessa for you. I think she’ll be delighted. She knows how lovely you are in the present tense, as a friend, and I know she’d like to see Rachel with a good man, as much as I would.’