Little Secrets

by Anna Snoekstra

  “I guess,” she said, shrugging and making sure her foot didn’t move at all on the keg.

  “Oh,” he said, “that reminds me. I wanted to ask you something. Hang on.”

  He disappeared back into his room. Even the way he moved was different from the other guys in town; he didn’t have the same heaviness to him. Those guys looked like they had a weight permanently strapped across their shoulders. She peered around to see if she could peek into his room. She couldn’t, and she wasn’t taking her foot off the keg. If he saw the squished rat he’d think Eamon’s, and probably Rose herself, was disgusting. She wouldn’t blame him. But for some reason she didn’t want him thinking that.

  He came back out holding a copy of the Star.

  “Do you read that shit?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “Not usually, but it seemed to be all anyone was talking about today.”

  “Who?” she asked. “Your family?”

  He began flicking through the pages until he came to her article. “Did you write this?”

  She shrugged, not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed. She tried to go for nonchalant. “Yeah.”

  He looked at her, more carefully now. “Is it true?”

  “What?”

  “Are the police really thinking that?”

  “That it’s a pedophile?” she asked, and he seemed to wince at the word. “Why do you care?”

  He cocked his head. “Why don’t you answer my question first.”

  She flinched. The warmth was gone from his tone and he was looking at her dead in the eye. All she wanted to do was tell him to fuck off and walk away, but then the keg might move and he’d see the rat.

  “Why don’t you ask them yourself,” she said. “This place is always full of them.”

  “I’m asking you,” he said.

  “I don’t know!” she said, irritated now. “That’s what the rumor is.”

  He nodded.

  “Well, thanks for the inquisition, but if you don’t need anything—” she let her voice drip with contempt “—then I have work to do.”

  “Nope, don’t need anything,” he said, smiling again. “Thanks for checking though.” And he withdrew back into his room and shut the door.

  * * *

  As the sky darkened and the humdrum of the evening began—Jean in the office, Mia reading star signs aloud and talking to her about everything and nothing, the regular punters trickling in—it occurred to Rose that something was off. She didn’t identify it straightaway, but then when she did it was obvious. It was Frank. He always sat in the same chair. But tonight he wasn’t in his usual spot. At first she thought that maybe he hadn’t turned up for his usual piss-up. But no, he was there after all. He was sitting with his back to her. Frank never sat with his back to her. He’d always sit in the same seat, the one with the best view to watch her while she worked. She hated it. It was like having an audience. But somehow, tonight, the back of his head felt even more intrusive.

  She felt bad. He’d been kind to both her and Laura when he’d come over to collect the doll. Still, maybe his anger over the article would mean he’d stop staring at her. She hoped he’d realize that she didn’t invite the attention he gave her. But she also wanted him to know she hadn’t meant it to be malicious. He was a customer, after all, and she didn’t like the idea of the tension going on longer than it needed to.

  She’d have to say something. Clear the air.

  But now she actually wanted to catch him alone, she realized how difficult that would be.

  “Do you think he even notices?” Rose leaned on the bar next to Mia to watch the men.

  “Notices what?”

  “That he’s the center of his little group,” Rose told her, as Mia leaned on her shoulder. “Baz hangs on his every word. Sorry, but he does.”

  Mia shrugged.

  “And look at the way Steve looks at no one else. It’s Frank he smiles and nods to. Even Jonesy.”

  “Dickhead Jonesy.”

  “Yeah. But he’s such a dickhead that it’s only Frank he thinks is worth making an effort around.”

  They watched them. Rose couldn’t believe she had never noticed it before.

  “Even Father,” Mia added. “It’s always Frank he’s trying to give his advice to.”

  Rose nodded, watching the way they all looked at him.

  “You were right,” she said eventually. “He’s really angry with me.”

  “I know.”

  “What do I do?”

  Mia nudged her with her shoulder. “Two words... First one is I’m...”

  “But I’m not sorry.”

  “So what? It’s just something you say so everyone feels better.”

  Rose groaned. Guilt didn’t sit well with her.

  “Fine.” She grabbed a dish towel and flung it over her shoulder. If she waited to get him alone she’d be waiting all night. Worrying about Frank was only making her shift drag even slower.

  “Go on,” Mia said, flicking the rag at Rose as she walked away.

  When Rose approached, cringing inwardly, the chatter at the table stopped. She began stacking their empty pints. The clang of glass on glass sounding obnoxious in the stilted silence. Frank avoided her eye.

  “So I guess you’re pissed at me?” she said.

  He looked up at her, but not in the way she’d been expecting. He didn’t look hurt; he just looked annoyed. It made her feel small.

  “Yes” was all he said.

  “I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t think—”

  But he’d already looked away, back to the table of men who were all trying hard not to meet her gaze.

  Rose brought the glasses up to the sink. She washed them angrily, soapsuds flicking onto her singlet, leaving dark pinpricks on the cotton. He had no right to make her feel bad. What was with the men tonight? Between him and Will she was really starting to feel like crap.

  “It’s all right. Deep breaths,” said Mia, smiling at her.

  “I don’t know why he’s angry at me—I’m just reporting what happened.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t care.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Seems like you do.”

  Rose looked up at Mia, catching the teasing tone. “Come on. You know it’s not that.”

  “Come on, yourself. I’m just saying it seems like little Frankie might have had more of an effect than you think.”

  “Little Frankie?” Rose scoffed, but Mia just raised her eyebrows and grinned that annoying knowing grin even though she didn’t know shit.

  They stopped talking as Will walked past and out the front doors.

  “Where do you think he’s going?” Rose asked.

  Mia leaned forward, whispering. “Probably sick of Jean’s cooking.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not like there are many other options.” The only food around that wasn’t sticky takeaway was at Milly’s Café, but that was over thirty minutes’ walk without a car.

  Rose wanted to follow him. To run out the front door, just to see where he went. If the place hadn’t been full she might have. It wasn’t just that she wanted to see where he was going, but she was feeling so restless. She needed something, anything, to make this shift go faster so she could get back home and turn on her computer and write. And so she didn’t have to stare at the back of Frank’s angry head, or need to think about the ache in the arches of her feet, the stiffness in her back, the tiredness that was always one step away.

  “Have you cleaned his room yet?” she asked Mia, despite knowing the answer.

  “Nope. Do Not Disturb is plastered on his door, which is awesome.”

  “Aren’t you curious about him?”

  “Not curious enough to want to clean the skid
marks off his toilet bowl.”

  “Yuck.” Rose pushed her. “Hey, want to do something?”

  “Oh, no. I know that look.”

  “I’m just going to have a little peek.”

  “What, right now?”

  “Yep. Got to get the scoop!”

  Mia looked at the door. “What if he comes back?”

  “You’ll be my lookout.” She smiled at Mia and patted her on the shoulder.

  “Wait—hang on,” Mia started, but Rose had already slipped the spare keys off the hook and begun walking toward the back rooms. Something about Will didn’t add up, and she was going to find out what it was. She was going to find out why he had been so rude to her before and make him see that even though she had a shitty job he couldn’t treat her like she was beneath him. All the giddiness from her success with the Star was pumping through her again, making her feel invincible.

  The guy was acting weird, hiding something, and she was going to find out what it was. She checked the silent corridor, trying not to look at the still-damp patch of concrete where the rat had exploded, then slid the key into the lock, metal clicking against metal.

  The light to the room was off. Rose stood in the dark, seeing the ghost of the bed and cabinet, the black abyss of the television screen. Closing her eyes, she breathed in slowly through her nose. The room didn’t smell like the rest of Eamon’s anymore. It now had that same slightly musky man smell that had made the hairs on her arms stand up that day at the council building—it was all around.

  She flicked the light on. The room looked more normal lit up, but it made her feel exposed. The idea of Will coming in, busting her in this small space, the bed between them, made her shudder, but not out of fear. In fact, she almost wished he would.

  Rose had been inside this room so many times, but Will’s things made the familiar space look different. She sat down on his unmade bed. The scent of his body was stronger there. On the nightstand was a hardback copy of Birdsong as well as a pair of black-framed reading glasses. She tried them on, staring at the rest of the room through the warping lenses. His suitcase was on top of the drawers next to the old television; three crumpled T-shirts lay on top of it. She saw the distorted edge of the case, a newspaper on top of it, and something poking out from inside. She could just see it, catching the light.

  Blond hair. Shit.

  Getting up, she put the glasses on top of her head and reached over to the suitcase. Her heart was in her mouth now. She felt sick. She wanted to run for it, to go get the cops, to get out of here. But she was frozen, staring at that centimeter of blond hair poking out of the case’s open zipper. An image of a child stuffed inside in her head. She could call out; Frank would be here in an instant regardless of being pissed off. No. She took a breath, tried to steady herself. She was meant to be a journalist. Being a journalist meant investigating. Her hand flashed out in front of her and she flicked open the suitcase, stepping back away from it as she did.

  She could have laughed. It was a teddy bear. Just a teddy bear. A big red bow around its neck and long soft yellow fur. Almost as quickly as it appeared, the smile slid off her face. The laugh evaporated. What was he doing with a toy? Was it his? Or was it a lure? This was way too weird. Next to the suitcase was the Star, still open to her article. Oh, God. It was starting to make sense. He wasn’t grilling her about her sources because he was trying to put her down. He was trying to find out if they were onto him.

  “Rose.”

  Shit. She jumped, her body lurching. Frank, not Will, was standing in the doorway, staring at her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. Just cleaning. This is my job, remember?”

  Usually she was a better liar. His eyes flicked up. Will’s glasses were still on her head. She pulled them off.

  “You’re lying,” he said. She didn’t like his tone. It scared her. Her heart hammered loudly against her ribs.

  She put the glasses back on the bedside table and went to step past him. Frank didn’t move.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to arrest you.” His eyes were dark.

  “What do you mean?” she yelped, then realized that he was joking. He smiled at her and the warmth came back into his face. She felt relieved and also slightly mortified.

  “You shouldn’t be snooping through your guest’s things,” he said, his face serious again. “That’s not right.”

  “I know,” she said, meaning it. He looked at her again, anger still in his face, but he took a step out of the doorway to let her pass.

  Rose followed him, closing and locking the door. Looking up, she could see he was still staring at her, his face full of conflicting emotions.

  “Look, I’m sorry if I made trouble for you.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said. She looked at him carefully, not sure if he was still just joking.

  “I am!” she protested.

  He waved a hand. “Rose, you drive me crazy, but you know I won’t stay mad at you for too long.” He smiled a little sadly. “Just don’t go stirring up shit you can’t control.”

  She watched his back as he left, her face reddening and her skin feeling prickly and sensitive from the panic.

  Coming back to the bar, she saw Mia picking at the dry skin around her fingernails.

  “Great lookout,” she said.

  “Huh? He’s not back yet. I’ve been watching the door.”

  “Yeah, but Frank busted me.”

  Mia shrugged. “Did you find anything?”

  Rose rubbed her arms. She still had goose bumps. She looked around to make sure no one was listening, then took a step forward and began to whisper.

  * * *

  Later on, when the last of the punters had finally left, Mia bleached the countertops, the smell stinging Rose’s nostrils as she swept the floor. It was amazing how dirty it got every single day. Thick gray dust, soil and lots of loose strands of hair. Some of the cops must be balding at an alarming rate. By the end of the night there was always a scatter of moth carcasses near the door, attracted by the neon lights, or stuck to the bottom of shoes. Some of them still fluttered slightly as she swept them up. Usually, Rose would stare at them, the endless debate going on in her mind over whether they might live if she scooped them up and put them outside. It seemed horrible to just treat something living the same way as you treated a fluff ball or a piece of rubbish. Tonight though, her mind was whizzing. She was too distracted to feel depressed by the moths’ pointless twitches. Rob was up to something, but she had no clue as to what it was, and no idea on how to figure it out. And Will. Maybe, just maybe, her article hadn’t been an exaggeration at all. Maybe the dolls really were the work of someone with an unhealthy interest in kids. And as soon as she was done here she’d have to go home and write about it. The thought made her feel unsettled.

  The front door opened and Will came through, the night air clinging to him. She could feel her insides lurching when he looked at her, like seeing a figure from a dream. He smiled at her.

  “Sorry,” he said and took a half leap over the little mountain of waste she’d made near the door.

  She and Mia watched him go back to his room.

  * * *

  Rose didn’t talk as Mia drove her home. There was too much to worry about; she could hardly even think straight. Mia pulled in outside Rose’s house and turned off the ignition.

  “Okay,” she said, “spit it out.”

  “What?”

  “You’re being weird. Is it just Will that’s worrying you, or is there more?”

  She was right. Rose swallowed, not sure if she wanted to talk about it. She desperately hoped Rob was up to something dodgy, that he was fooling around with another woman or slacking off from work. It might mean her mother would divorce him, which was what Rose wanted more than anythin
g. But looking at her house now, at the dark rooms of her sleeping family, she didn’t know what to think. Rob was her siblings’ father. As much as she hated him, he was always kind to them and she knew they loved him. She didn’t want to mess that up for them.

  “It’s probably got nothing to do with anything,” she said, “but didn’t you think it was weird what Mr. Hane said about my stepdad?”

  “I was wondering when you’d ask. I’ve been thinking about it too.”

  “It seemed like a slip. Like he really had seen Rob the night before. I went to the pub today and asked, and the guy was really weird about it.” Rose looked at her.

  “So, what? You think he’s been planting the dolls? Pretending to be out of town as an alibi?”

  This wasn’t what she’d wanted Mia to say. The idea of Rob being involved with the dolls was too weird, too potentially disgusting, for her to even think about.

  “It’s not possible. Why would he give one to Laura?” Rose reasoned, “She’s his own daughter.”

  “Maybe because he thinks that would make him even less of a suspect.”

  “This is fucked,” Rose said.

  Journalist Uncovers Own Stepfather Is Source of Town’s Terror. It was a good headline, that was for sure. But if Rob really was involved, Rose didn’t want to think of the implications. Already, the disgust was there in the back of her throat. The same sensation she experienced when watching someone puke.

  “Well, there’s an easy way to find out if he was working or not.”

  “How?”

  Mia pulled out her phone. “It’s Hudson’s he works for, right? And they’re twenty-four hour?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I thought you were meant to be the journalist?”

  Rose looked at Mia, who was smiling broadly, eyes dancing.

  “Hello there. How are you?” Mia said into the phone, her friendliness dialed up to saccharine.

  “Oh, that’s great, darl. Now, I don’t want to be a bother. I have a quick question for you—do you have a moment?”