The Darkest Secret

by Alex Marwood

  We barely talk until we’re almost back at Arundel. But it’s a different sort of not-talking from on the way up. We’ve cried ourselves out for the time being, and an odd sense of peace has descended. Or perhaps it’s exhaustion as much as peace. I’ve noticed that crying – really big, wild crying – can give you a sort of high. Endorphins, I guess. Or God’s little joke.

  But we have changed. Over the course of four days, my whole life has changed. In dying, in losing the control he’d exerted over his darkest secret, my father has renewed my life and given me a sister. The true story of Coco’s fate has done nothing to change the way I’ve learned to feel about Ruby. All it’s given me is a determination to protect her from it.

  We try music for a bit, but west of the M25 my radio never seems to pick up anything other than Radio Two and phone-ins about incest. When we find that three stations back to back are playing Simply Red, I hit the off switch and she doesn’t object. Just settles back, folds her arms and falls what seems like instantly asleep, her head against the window and her braces glinting in the light from the dying sun. Ruby, my little sister. I promise I’ll look out for you. Take care and protect you. Because of you, I am becoming a better person.

  And a tired one. A worn-out, wrung-out, fatherless child. My life will never be the same again. And though I know there will be bitter regrets about how I judged him, all the lost time and the wasted opportunities, I’m grateful that, in dying, he’s given me at last the chance to love him. Life is a strange collage of greys. No wonder I’ve had such difficulty appreciating it, when all I’ve been looking for is black and white.

  As soon as the road signs for Arundel get down into single digits, she pops awake, stretches, gives me the big eyes and says, ‘Macky D’s.’ Interweaves her fingers in prayer position and looks at me like a starving puppy.

  ‘My God,’ I say. ‘Are you psychic or something?’

  ‘My last Big Mac till term starts,’ she says.

  ‘Term?’

  ‘Oh, please. You don’t think I let her make me do more school than any other teenager, do you?’

  She waits. Sees the sign for the services come up and presses her knuckles to her chin. ‘Pleease,’ she says, ‘pleasepleasepleaseplease please.’

  ‘Christ.’ I put out my blinker and turn off the road towards the golden arches. I swear I’ll never go near the place again, after just this one last time. Those fries must contain kiddy smack.

  We take it in turns going to the loo and changing out of our funeral gear while the other one queues, and I give her my wallet when it’s my go. When I come back out in jeans and tank top, she’s already sitting at a table with the lid off her milkshake. ‘I got chocolate this time,’ she says. ‘You should try it.’

  ‘Never,’ I say, ‘in a million years.’

  Ruby shrugs, and grins. ‘You’ll see. One of these days, when you least expect it.’

  ‘Please. Hypnotist now, are you?’

  She shrugs again and applies herself to dunking.

  ‘Are you looking forward to seeing your mum?’

  She nods, and eats.

  ‘I’ll bet she’s missed you.’

  ‘Of course she has.’ She waggles her head. It’s so amazing, the way a fifteen-year-old can vacillate from twentysomething to eight in the course of a few hours. ‘She larves me.’

  ‘Would you like to go to school, Rubes?’

  ‘Oh, God, would I? I’m turning into the freak on the hill.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t go quite that far.’

  ‘Yes, but,’ she says.

  ‘This weekend must help,’ I say. ‘You’ve been so amazing. I don’t think she could possibly think you wouldn’t cope if she’d seen you.’

  ‘Yeah, but she didn’t, did she?’

  I wrinkle my nose. ‘I’ll tell her,’ I say. I’m staying the night at Downside. I’m so tired I think I’d be dangerous driving back to London tonight.

  She grunts and eats another chip. ‘Mila?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Will you come back? To see me?’

  ‘You want me to?’

  Her hand stills. ‘If you want to, yes.’

  ‘Okay, then,’ I say. ‘I’ll try and make some time in my busy schedule every now and then.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ she says. In a good way.

  And so we go home. Through the dark, rain flickering in the headlights. Mills Barton is all shut up for the night, glinting light through paned windows so twee I want to stop and lob a brick. Ruby is sitting forward now, tense with anticipation, peering through the windscreen as though the trees will pass more quickly if she counts them off. ‘D’you think she’s been okay?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you,’ I reply. I mean, how do I know? I’ve seen enough madness this weekend that I’m not predicting anything. But you know – suddenly Claire seems the least unbalanced of the lot of them. I’m actually looking forward to seeing her. Who would have thought?

  I pull up at the gate and she jumps out to open it. The rain is coming down full pelt now and she’s got her head wrapped in her coat. Swings on the gate as I pass through then runs back, laughing. ‘Welcome to the seaside!’ she says. ‘We get the best winds up here.’

  And we trickle through the woods, come out the other side and, as our headlights hit the house, the door opens and light floods out on to the puddles in the drive. Roughage barrels forth, turns circles, dances in the spotlight; huge white teeth flash and his tongue lolls out to catch the rain. Ruby throws the door open and suddenly the car is full of wet dog and she’s crying fit to burst, smothering his muzzle in kisses as he covers my upholstery in mud. And then there’s Claire, standing in the porch, looking out at us, her big cardi wrapped tight around her body, and she’s smiling.

  Epilogue

  2004 | Saturday | Simone

  I’m a little miracle. He said it; he called me a little miracle. It’s not in my imagination. He notices me.

  She dances on air down the harbour road. This is the best night of my life, she thinks. I shall remember it forever. This wonderful dinner, and getting dressed up, and he sat me next to him because I’m special. He doesn’t see it yet, still thinks I’m too young, but underneath, down where you know, he’s already noticed. He said I was pretty. He said I was smart. He said I was a miracle…

  The evening breeze caresses the bare skin on her arms, makes her shiver with pleasure. Everything is perfect. All of it. I see for certain that he doesn’t love her. She’s everything that is wrong in his life. Wonderful Sean Jackson, tied down by a vampire, having his joy sucked out just so she can feel that she’s right.

  Her confidence grown, she does what pleases her most, when she is alone: tests out how her own name sounds attached to his. Simone Jackson. Mrs Simone Jackson. Mrs Sean Jackson. I know I’m too young, still, but it’s not just a dream. He notices me. He does. He sees me.

  All is quiet at Harbour View, but the lights have been left blazing all over the house to make it look as though it is occupied. Simone makes a stop at the downstairs bathroom mirror, combs out her hair and smooths another drop of glosser on to make it shine. Linda has left a browny-pinky lipstick by the basin; Chanel, she sees from the label. She examines it, likes the colour, smears a little on her lips and sees them bloom fuller, darker, and is pleased. She spends a little time practising her poses. Drops her reflection into three-quarter angle so the hair falls across her eyes and looks up through it, curls the corners of her lips up coquettishly. He will see me, she thinks. He’s seen me now, and when she’s gone he’ll see me again. More and more, until he doesn’t remember what there was before me. They think that age gaps are wrong, but they don’t know. It’s not my fault I was born so late, nor his that he was born so early. Love is love is love, and my love will conquer all.

  Time to see to the children. She gives herself one last smile and drops the lipstick into her little evening bag. Linda won’t need it. It doesn’t suit her the way it suits me. Then she go
es to the kitchen and opens the drawer. The pills that Linda used tonight are still in their strip, lying in the fork compartment. She pops out a couple, to be sure, then lifts up the cutlery tray to find the ones she hid beneath. Yes, there they are. Small and white and pointed oval in their little blister pack.

  Simone takes them over to the kettle, fetches a bowl and pops them, one by one, into it, crushes them with the handle of a fork. Puts six spoons of sugar in and dissolves it all in a little boiling water. Tastes it. The sugar is strong, but that is good. It masks the bitterness of the medicine. She dilutes the syrup down to drinking consistency in a little glass, washes up the bowl and the fork, wipes down the countertop. Puts the blister pack into the bag with the lipstick. There’s a bin on the front she can pop it into on the way back to the restaurant.

  The annexe is warm with sleeping bodies. Simone tiptoes in, kneels down beside the Jackson twins. They’re out for the count, top to toe and lying on their backs. She shakes Ruby by the arm first, then shakes her again. Her eyes roll and she begins to stir. Her forehead is warm and her hair is sticking to it. Never mind, thinks Simone. No need to worry now.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ she whispers. ‘Mummy wanted me to give you your medicine.’

  Ruby grizzles and tries to push her away. She lifts the little girl up to a sitting position, puts a hand behind her back. ‘It’s all right,’ she soothes. ‘Come on, darling, just a little drink.’

  Ruby doesn’t even open her eyes as the glass touches her lips; just lets the liquid into her mouth and gulps until half of it has gone. Curls straight back up and is asleep again the moment she does so.

  She crawls up to the other end of the bed, wakes Coco. I’m sorry, she says, inside her head. Sorry, little girls. But you’re making him so very, very unhappy. You won’t even know about it. Just drift away and never wake up, and then he will be free. Nothing to tie him to her then. He said so. If it weren’t for you…

  Coco is easier. She doesn’t even protest, just squeezes her eyes shut tighter as she takes the syrup into her mouth. Simone lays her back down and looks for a moment. Caresses her cheek, gently.

  ‘Night night,’ she whispers. ‘Sleep tight.’