Little Secrets

by Anna Snoekstra

  “Come on! I almost died for you last night.”

  “I know. I’ve got scars on my arm from your fingernails.”

  “Please! Pleasy, weasy, weasy...”

  Rose could only just make out what Mia was saying. Sophie and Scott’s argument was reaching a fever pitch. Her head was starting to pound.

  “Pleasy, weasy with sugar on top,” Mia continued. Rose groaned.

  “Fine. I’ll think about it! Okay?”

  “Think about what?” Laura asked from between her knees.

  “Best friend ever!” Mia squealed down the phone line.

  “I know,” Rose grumbled; she was already regretting it. Reaching out, she hit Refresh on her email. A new one appeared. From the Star.

  “Gotta go,” she said, hanging up and almost dropping the phone in her haste to open the email. For three torturous seconds she waited for the email to load.

  “Muuuummm!” screamed Scott.

  “Mummmmmmm!” wailed Sophie.

  Rose’s face changed as she read the first few lines.

  “‘Not macabre enough,’” she read out aloud.

  “What’s that mean?” asked Laura.

  “It means they said no,” she said, not sure if she wanted to cry or hit something, but knowing that the pain in her stomach was as real as if someone had cut her. “They think I’m just rehashing what I already wrote.”

  “Who?”

  The Star was basically a tabloid. If she couldn’t even get a second article published there, what chance did she ever have of being a real journalist? She should just give up.

  There was a knock on Rose’s open door. It was her mum. The twins must have woken her up. She looked tired beyond tired and Rose already knew what she was about to say.

  “Rob’s back tomorrow.”

  Rose put her hands over Laura’s ears. “Mum. I think Rob is doing something you don’t know about... Something illegal.”

  She waited for her mother’s shock; she’d been imagining it all night. She hated to admit it, but this had the potential to work out well for her. Her mother would kick Rob out, and she could stay here to pick up the pieces. She’d tell him that she wouldn’t dob him in to the cops, as long as he kept paying generous child support.

  Her mum’s mouth tightened slightly, but apart from that her face didn’t change. “You haven’t packed.”

  Rose stared at her in disbelief, her hands falling from Laura’s ears.

  “Rose!” Her mother was now visibly upset. “You’ve had months to get this sorted. Don’t you have anywhere lined up?”

  “Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

  Her mother just looked at her, then down to Laura and walked away down the hall. Rose carefully picked up Laura’s hand and put it onto the back of her head to hold the braid in place.

  “I’ve just got to talk to Mum for one sec,” she said. “Don’t move or it’ll fall out, okay?”

  Laura nodded solemnly. Rose got up to follow her mother.

  She’d gone back to her room, which was next to Rose’s. She pushed the door open. Her mum was sitting on the bed, her head down. Rose sat down next to her.

  “He got laid off six months ago,” Rose said quietly. “He’s bringing drugs into town.”

  “That’s not true,” her mum said, not looking at her.

  “It is.”

  Her mum looked up at her. Rose hadn’t been so close to her mum in a long time. Most of their conversations these days happened through walls or across rooms. She looked old.

  “I love Rob, Rose,” she said. “He’s the man of this house now, and we all have to respect that.”

  “Aren’t you hearing me?”

  “Posey!” they heard Laura call from the other room. “Are you coming back?”

  Her mother looked away again. “We made a deal, Rose. You’d be out when he got home from work. Don’t put me in the middle of this. You’re an adult now, and you need to get your act together.”

  Rose stood. She was mute with anger.

  Going back into her room, she resumed Laura’s braid. She heard her mother sigh. The walls were paper-thin. She’d learned that when Rob and her mother had first started dating. Every night, she’d had to sleep with headphones in so she wouldn’t have to hear her mother’s simpering whimpers, Rob’s grunts, flesh slapping against flesh. She’d thought it was the worst thing she could overhear from that room. It wasn’t.

  It was years ago now. She’d been in bed late one morning. Her shift at Eamon’s had been busy, so she’d slept longer than usual. Her mother must have thought she’d gone out. Their low conversation filtered into her dream. Then she heard her name.

  “And he was Rose’s father?”

  Her ears had pricked up.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you ever tell him?”

  “About Rose?”

  “Mmm.”

  She had held her breath.

  “I did, yeah. When I first found out I was pregnant.”

  “And?”

  “He gave me two hundred bucks to get rid of it.”

  Rose’s breath came out, her head swirling.

  “But you didn’t do it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You were so young. Why not?”

  The sound of shifting weight, one of them rolling over.

  “Two hundred isn’t enough for an abortion.”

  They’d laughed, and Rose had wanted to die.

  “Rose! Stop it!” Laura yelled from between her knees. “You’re pulling too hard.”

  “Sorry,” she said.

  15

  “Pluto, the dark knight, has entered your zone, bringing mysterious fortunes.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Dunno,” said Rose, peering at the astrology section of the Star. “‘Fortunes’ sounds great though.”

  Eamon’s was quiet that night and not because the usual crowd wasn’t there. The cops were there all right, but for once, they were talking quietly, heads together. The pain of the rejection had settled in Rose’s stomach now. The feeling of disappointment had been a permanent fixture in Rose’s psyche for so long that she’d become used to it. The short respite from the sense of hopelessness had been dreamlike—more exquisite than she had imagined.

  She needed that feeling back. She had to know what the cops were talking about.

  “Do you know what’s happened?” she asked Mia.

  “Nope. You should go find out.”

  Rose tried to walk very quietly over to the long table. But as soon as she was in earshot they stopped talking immediately. She picked up the empty glasses, peering over to see what they were looking at. Frank snapped closed a folder, but for a split second Rose saw what was inside—a photograph of a little blonde girl and an identical blonde doll.

  “Don’t stop on my account.”

  “Gotta keep a lid on things around you now,” Frank said, smiling. She raised an eyebrow and took the stack of empty beer glasses back to the bar. When she got back, Mia was staring up at the photograph of the Eamons.

  “What was it all about?” she asked, still looking at the picture.

  “More dolls.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  Rose started stacking the glasses into the dishwasher while Mia continued staring at the picture.

  “Mr. Eamon was sort of hot.”

  “Didn’t he murder his wife?”

  “I dunno. You know, I was reading this thing online about haunted places. It said walls and rooms remember things. Not just what happened in the past, but the future. They keep the trauma inside—it’s like the walls exist outside of time. They carry the ghosts of all the trauma that has happened
and will happen.”

  Rose tried very hard to look interested. She wanted Mia to trust herself a little more. She was always underconfident, putting everyone’s needs and opinions before her own, and Rose hated that. But Mia knew her too well.

  “You think it’s stupid.”

  “No, no. It’s just...” How could she put it? “I always think in a practical way, I suppose. If you’re interested in tarot, that’s cool. You can use it to make some cash. But all the hocus-pocus stuff... I mean, what’s the point? Where’s it going to get you?”

  “Nowhere, I guess. I just think it’s interesting.”

  Rose felt guilty already. “You’re right. It is interesting.”

  “No, you’re right.”

  Rose wished she hadn’t said anything.

  “Order up,” Jean called, and Mia went to collect the black steaks that some idiot had been hungry or stupid enough to order.

  She watched Mia deliver them to a table, and saw that tight-shouldered, defensive way that Mia walked when she was feeling hurt. Rose couldn’t help feeling slightly infuriated. Mia was way too sensitive; it was frustrating. The way she spoke, it was like she couldn’t see her way out of this town. Like somehow, she’d told bullshit ghost stories about Eamon’s one too many times and now she thought they were true. Mia had absolutely no ambition; she was always so ready to accept things as they were even if she knew they weren’t right. The bitchy part of Rose’s brain told her that Mia was a bit pathetic.

  Then Mia snapped back into focus. Her Mia. Who was smart and funny and so, so nice, and suddenly the guilt of thinking such a nasty thing overpowered her. Mia was upset, and it was Rose’s fault for being so harsh.

  There was one way she could make her feel better, she knew. The double date with Frank and Bazza. She looked over at Frank, and he raised an eyebrow back at her. He wasn’t gagging for her anymore, which was great, but she knew he still fancied her. Mia had said she should just give him a chance. Maybe she was right. It could just be once-off. Mia would be happy and Frank would know she’d at least tried. She always felt like she had two options, joining the fossickers or working at the poultry factory. But really there was a third, and that was Frank. It would be giving up, but maybe it was time she did just that.

  * * *

  At closing time Frank was still at Eamon’s. He was sitting up on a stool at the bar, not even trying to hide his staring. The Father was sitting next to him, but the two had stopped speaking a while ago. Vaguely, he was aware that his mouth was open slightly and so he closed it. Sipping his beer, which he could barely taste anymore, he spun back and forth on the chair. Rose was cleaning the taps, really putting her shoulders into it. The crimson lights only made her look more perfect. His eyes traced her, taking her in. The curve of her legs, a spray of freckles above each knee. The faint pucker in her singlet over her ribs, where her bra was pushing against her flesh underneath. Her hair looked so soft, brushing against the bare skin on her shoulder. Her skin so perfect and unblemished against the black ink of her tattoo. Her lips were so supple. He wondered how they would feel around his cock.

  “You’re so pretty.” His words sounded a bit funny, like he was hearing them on speaker rather than saying them out loud. “I don’t know why you won’t let me take you out.”

  Was it because of the paunch that had begun to form around his middle? He was almost certain it was. He should be going on runs or something; there was no way in hell she would go for him now that he was starting to look so damn middle-aged. He noticed Mia clear her throat in a strange way and shoot a look at Rose. He sipped more of his beer, spilling a little on his chin.

  “You know, the tavern is closed on Tuesdays,” Rose said to him.

  “I know, I know. I have things to do, people to see.” He wasn’t going to let her think he was pathetic. Frank had friends. To be fair, most of them were on the force, but still.

  “So you’re busy Tuesday night?”

  “So busy!”

  She had no idea. He might have a date. Just because she didn’t fancy him didn’t mean no one else would.

  “Pity.”

  “Huh?”

  “Wrong answer,” Father said from next to him.

  He looked around at their faces. Why did he feel like they were all laughing at him? Something was going on but he couldn’t figure out what it was. In fact, it was all starting to make him feel a little dizzy. He had an overwhelming urge to get off the stool and sit down on the floor, but then he really would look like a moron. Mia leaned against the bar, a huge smile on her face. She was pretty too.

  “You, Rosie, me, Bazza. Pick us up here at eight.”

  “Really?”

  Frank looked over at Rose, waiting for her to snap a rejection. But she just smiled at him. She was going to go out with him! On Tuesday night he was going to take Rose on a date.

  “Woo-hoo!” Frank raised his glass in the air; a little bit of beer sopped out. Everything looked sparkly and magical. Rose was still smiling. Smiling because of him. Maybe she would let him kiss her. This was amazing.

  The Father put his hand on Frank’s arm and jingled his car keys.

  “Okay, bedtime now, sweetheart.”

  “Who ya calling sweetheart?”

  * * *

  Mia and Rose watched as the Father led Frank out the door. He kept looking back and smiling at them both. When the door banged shut they couldn’t help but laugh.

  “You’re the best.”

  “You owe me.”

  “I know.”

  Mia began lifting the stools up onto the bar. Rose went to get the mop.

  “Hey, don’t worry about giving me a lift tonight,” she said when she got back, the bucket steaming with the smell of detergent. “My mum said she’d pick me up later.”

  “Trying to make up for twenty-five years of bad parenting?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  * * *

  Jean locked up the tavern, the drop of the lock falling into place loud enough in the quiet night to be audible from the bushes. She made her way to her car, the only one left in the tavern’s parking lot. She had almost reached the driver’s-side door, car key wedged between her fingers, when she stopped. She’d heard the sound. The shifting of weight, the snap of a twig. She turned to the shadows of the bushes, like she saw a shape there, then got into her car, moving more quickly than before.

  As Jean’s headlights disappeared into the murky dark, the shape straightened from its hiding place. The streetlight illuminated Rose’s face as she stepped forward toward the tavern. Her heart was still pounding. If Jean had caught her, she had no idea how she could explain hiding in the bushes like a creep.

  Rose took a final look around before unlocking the tavern door. The tavern was like a second home, but being there when she wasn’t meant to be, when it was all closed up and dark, made the place take on a sinister quality. She walked through quickly, her throat feeling tight again.

  She crept down the corridor, trying not to make a noise as she slipped past Will’s room. The light was off. Will must be asleep. She hadn’t seen him at all tonight. If it wasn’t for the Do Not Disturb sign, she might have thought he’d checked out. Without warning, a loud crack echoed down the hallway. Rose gasped, her hand over her mouth, but it was just the photograph that she had knocked down with the keg falling off its nail again. She didn’t pick it up, but went straight into the room adjacent to Will’s and closed the door.

  Bending down, she pulled a bag out from under the bed. She had stashed it there at the beginning of her shift. From within, she took out her toothbrush. Going into the small adjoining bathroom, she brushed her teeth, staring at her own reflection, trying not to wonder how on earth it had come to this. Trying not to cry.

  PART 3

  It is not wanting to wi
n that makes you a winner; it is refusing to fail.

  —Unknown

  16

  It was a pleasant, quiet morning until the woman started screaming. The street had been silent except for the sound of birds chirping in the sky and the distant rumbles of a lawn mower. Ms. Lucie Hoffman had opened her front door to collect the morning edition of the Star. Instead, she found a porcelain doll sitting on top of the paper on her doorstep, staring up at her. It had thick dark hair and glassy green eyes. That was when the screaming started. Her daughter, Nadine, ran toward her. She had no idea why her mother was screaming, but regardless, she started to sob. The noise was loud and her mum was upset, which was more than enough reason for tears.

  The police arrived within the hour. Nadine never even had a chance to play with the doll. It was photographed in its place on the doorstep and then scooped up into a plastic evidence bag. Ms. Hoffman sat on the sofa with her daughter and elderly mother, answering questions from the police and accepting a hot cup of tea. She’d read Rose’s article. Now she wished she hadn’t. Sentences from it swam around and around in her head. She tried not to look at the doll as she answered the questions, wrapped in plastic like that and looking so much like her daughter. She was relieved when Frank took the thing with him as he left. She watched him out the window as he threw it into the trunk of his car.

  Ms. Hoffman wasn’t the only one watching Frank. Mia and Rose were ducking down in the front seats of Mia’s car, stifling laughs. News moved quicker than the wind in Colmstock.

  “You know, I called Lucie when she first got back,” Rose said, her cheek pressed onto her knees, “but she never called me back.”

  Mia smiled from her cramped position. “I spoke to her at church once, but that’s it since she’s been back. This is going to be so weird.”

  They peered over the dashboard as Frank pulled out from the curb and accelerated away from them.

  “Do you think he saw us?”

  “Nah.” Rose straightened up. “C’mon—let’s go. Gotta get the tears while they’re still fresh.”

  Slamming their doors shut, they approached the house. They both knew it well. They’d spent a lot of time there.