Little Secrets

by Anna Snoekstra

  He watched Rose work, then saw her look up and smile. A smile he’d never seen on her face before. Sensual and open. Will, who’d just sat down at a table, was smiling back. They were looking at each other like they shared some fucking secret.

  Frank pounded back his beer, not even tasting it. This wasn’t how it was meant to go. He’d taken her out, put his best shirt on, paid for her burger. Now she was meant to be waiting for his call. She was meant to be gagging for a second date, where he’d take her out to some nice restaurant, ask her back for a coffee and then fuck her brains out. That was how this went. She couldn’t just go out with him and then act as if it never happened. You couldn’t go on a date with someone one day, then humiliate and betray them the next. No. That just wasn’t how it worked.

  He went up to the bar, slamming his empty glass down. She took it from him without even looking up. Mia began pouring him another.

  “So how about a second date?” he said to her back, unable to hide the aggression in his voice.

  She turned and scoffed. Actually scoffed, “Not likely.”

  Bitch. She really was a fucking bitch.

  “Just give her some time, Frank,” Mia said softly.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  He took his beer back to his seat, knowing they’d be exchanging a look behind his back right now. Laughing at him. He would drink this beer quick and get the hell out of here. He should be home, not hanging out in this shit hole. There was still half a bottle of bourbon on his nightstand, so there was no point even being here.

  * * *

  For the first five minutes after Rose heard the voice mail, she told no one. Jean flicked the lock on the front door, and finally, the cops were gone. Rose tried to think while she washed glasses. Mia was collecting them from the tables, bringing stacked towers to the sink. Rose had on the pink rubber gloves. Her hands moved like a factory worker. Emptying dregs into the sink, three pushes into the detergent and then into the glass washer. There was a pint glass in each of her hands at every moment, but she never, ever had dropped one. Mia was singing along softly to “Dancing in the Dark”; Jean was keying sums into a calculator. For Rose, the words on her voice mail were spinning around and around in her head.

  “Hi, it’s Damien from Sage. Sorry it’s taken me a while to get back to you. The video is still trending and I just had a chance to read your new article. It’s great. That note... Wow.”

  And then the last thing he said, the thing that she was sure she must have imagined: “Once all that crazy doll shit wraps up in Colmstock, we want you here. You’re not really qualified, but I’ve pulled some strings and we’d like to offer you a cadetship. We’re only meant to do one a year, but they’ve allowed me to make an exception. Call me back, all right?”

  “What?” Jean said. Rose’s head was now in her hand, warm soapy water slipping down her forehead.

  “Is it Frank? Be careful with him, Rose,” Jean told her. “It’s good to be direct, but you’ve got to be kind as well. I don’t think he’s the type to handle rejection well.”

  “No, it’s not that,” she said. She didn’t have time to worry about Frank and his bullshit ego trip. Her head was looping with the message. There wasn’t room for anything else. Her future was right there, being held out to her on a silver platter. She had been all set to tell them to pull the article. But now...now that she could have it all, that she could get out of here... Start again. Have the future she’d always wanted. It felt different. At the same time, the first article had created such a mess. Telling them not to run it was the right thing to do, she was sure.

  “They left a voice mail,” she said. “Sage. They offered me that cadetship.”

  “Really?” squealed Mia, turning now. Looking at her properly for the first time that night.

  “And?” Jean prompted. “You’ll take it of course?”

  Rose looked between them.

  “Yeah. I mean, I guess so.”

  Mia began to scream. Loudly, almost hysterically, right in Rose’s face. Jean put three shot glasses on the bar and filled them with Bundy. Rose stared into Mia’s gaping mouth and couldn’t help smiling. She picked up one of the shot glasses.

  “Cheers,” Jean said and the three of them clinked their shot glasses together, and Rose downed her drink. It burned her throat in just the right way.

  Jean looked at her proudly. “You deserve it.”

  Mia rolled her empty shot glass between her thumb and forefinger. She looked up at Rose again and said, “I’m sorry.”

  Rose was about to retort that she should be sorry, she’d been a really shitty friend, when Jean’s face lit up. “Good. You girls need to work this out.”

  She put the bottle of Bundy between them. “Here’s a going-away present, Rose.”

  * * *

  Now was not the time for Bruce Springsteen. Instead, Mia decided on Divinyls and flicked the volume knob way up. She danced, the rum in her blood now. She kicked up her legs and Rose laughed at her, spinning in a circle.

  “I’m leaving now!” Jean yelled, her bag on her shoulder.

  “What?” they called.

  “Don’t make a mess!”

  “We won’t!”

  They danced quick steps up on their tiptoes, around and around, arms in the air, singing all the words they knew about being tired and wired and desperate and low. The beer signs were glowing. They looked beautiful. Everything in this place was looking so glittery and beautiful. She grabbed Rose’s hand and spun her and they laughed and giggled and went to sit on a chair but it slipped to one side and they rolled onto the freshly mopped floor.

  They lay there. Staring at each other. Panting.

  “What am I going to do without you?”

  “Nothing. You’re going to come with me.”

  Rose turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.

  “I can’t believe this isn’t going to be our life anymore.”

  Mia stared at Rose’s profile. It was better this way. Better that Rose left. Extending her hand, she reached toward Rose’s bare arm. She stroked downward, her fingertips millimeters from Rose’s skin. She could feel the warmth radiating off her.

  Rose turned to her. Mia pulled her hand away.

  “Is your head spinning?”

  Mia wasn’t ready for this night to end. “Not yet. Time for another shot.”

  She heaved herself to her feet.

  33

  That morning, Frank and Mia woke in much the same way. Both curled toward the side of the bed, worried they might be sick. Their bodies both stank of sweaty liquor and unbrushed teeth. The night before began to open up to both of them. Both winced. Frank, at how he’d acted at the tavern. Mia, at the memory that she had driven home. Together, they wished that they hadn’t had that last drink. Together, they wished there was someone in their bed with them, someone who was there to hug them and tell them that it would be okay. Someone to make them feel less desperately alone.

  Then they both had the same exact thought. It made them pull the sheet over their heads in their respective rooms, the lounge room in Mia’s case, and wish to go back to sleep. Wish to disappear completely.

  They both thought, I’ve really lost her now.

  34

  Rose woke up in Will’s bed. She felt bleary and hungover. She pressed up closer to his warm body, their sweaty skin sticking together, and stroked her fingers over his sparse black chest hair absentmindedly.

  “Morning, sleepyhead,” he said.

  Usually that kind of cutesiness would make her groan, but she could feel a goofy smile spread over her face.

  “How drunk was I when I came in last night?” she asked, her memory wobbling.

  “A little—you basically bashed my door holding an empty bottle of rum and asked if I wanted to shar
e it with you.”

  “Oh, God,” she said, though secretly she was glad that was the worst of it. She was afraid to think of the things she might have said: that it was her behind the notes or, perhaps worse, that she was worried she might be falling in love with him.

  “Did I tell you I got a cadetship with the Sage Review?”

  “Yep,” he said and kissed her on the edge of her nose, “and I’m thrilled.”

  “I’m not leaving straightaway,” she said. “I’ll make sure we find her before I go.”

  He squeezed her closer. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll figure it out.”

  She pressed her face into his chest. He was being nice but it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She wanted him to need her.

  “I should get going,” she said, rolling off him.

  “No, just a bit longer.” He pulled her back to where she had been. “Stay.”

  “Fine. Five minutes,” she said and let herself relax, listening to his heartbeat. She was too hungover to rush around today. Soon, she’d be gone and Will would stay here until he’d found his kid, and who knew how long that would take.

  Instead of slowing, she noticed his heart rate was actually quickening.

  “Rose?” he said, just as she was about to ask him if he was okay.

  “Yeah?”

  “When you go...” He paused to swallow.

  “I really don’t want this to end.” He breathed the words more than said them, making her hair flutter.

  “Neither do I,” she said. “Not at all.”

  He breathed in, then shuffled over to look at her. “Good.”

  “I’ve got to go now though.”

  “Stay.”

  “Nah, I’ve got heaps to do.” She got up, put a hand over her chest as she looked for her top. She’d slept in just her underwear and had an awful memory of doing a drunken, and wholly-unattractive, striptease for Will.

  “My article is coming out today,” she said, as she picked up her T-shirt. Guilt washed over her; all those parents were going to feel sick when they read it.

  Will pushed her back into the bed, and she pulled the sheet over herself.

  “I think you are going to be a very successful newspaperwoman,” he said, rubbing his hand over her hair. He pushed the sheet off, so her breasts were exposed. He ran his hand over them, his thumb stroking her nipple.

  “Thank you.” She tried to keep the gasp out of her voice, the guilt evaporating with his touch.

  “I knew it the first time I met you, when you told me that bullshit story.”

  “It’s not all bullshit.”

  He just looked at her, eyebrows raised.

  “There really was a family that lived here called the Eamons.”

  “But they are alive?” he asked, pulling her underwear back off.

  “I doubt it,” she said, feeling exposed. “It was like eighty years ago.”

  He was fully dressed now and she was totally naked.

  “I’ve got to go.” It came out a whisper.

  He ran a hand down her breasts again, and she arched her back toward him.

  “I’m not stopping you,” he said and put her knees up over his shoulders. He dipped three fingers between her legs. She wanted to scream.

  “Off you go, then,” he said. He moved them, in and out, inch by inch. He pressed his other palm down onto her stomach, feeling it spasm.

  “Go on,” he said and leaned down. He put his mouth down in between her legs, hot and wet and slippery. His finger moved in and out of her. His tongue licked her, sucked on her, and it was too much. Too much to bear. Finally, she did scream. She couldn’t help it. Her whole body jerked as she came and came again. Every muscle clenched and released, and she never, ever wanted him to stop.

  Finally, she pushed him away, exhausted. Her whole body was slick with sweat and she felt like she was underwater. Every muscle heavy and slack.

  Slowly, he pulled her underwear back on. He took her shorts off the floor and put each of her feet into them then slid them back up. The rasp of the denim against her legs was almost too much for her skin to take. She stretched, her arms reaching high above her head, then got up.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, as she clipped on her bra.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I stink. Laundry day is overdue.”

  She leaned down to grab her T-shirt and he pulled her into him and kissed her softly. She pushed him off.

  “Gross.”

  * * *

  She rushed down the street toward her old home, still grinning. She’d meant it when she said she’d try to help Will. She knew everyone in this town; together they’d find this woman and her kid.

  Passing the lake, she smiled. Usually, she would avoid looking at it, hating the way it brought up memories of the relationship she used to have with her mum. But now the memories of what they used to have didn’t feel so tainted. Things would never, ever be like they were again, but perhaps that was okay.

  Rose let her arms stretch out. God, she must stink. There was a wind coming through; it was a hot wind, but still. It blew her hair around her face and, most important, her smell away from her nose.

  Turning onto her street, she noticed something was different about the houses, but she couldn’t put her finger on what. Now that she was really going to be a proper journalist, she’d have to be more observant. Excitement fizzed through her. She was a journalist. Everything was changing. It wasn’t just a maybe. It was a real solid thing. After she’d done her laundry she’d go and find a copy of this morning’s Sage Review, where her words would be printed in the pages.

  Although, there was one issue. Something that almost made her laugh at the irony. She couldn’t leave Colmstock until the case was solved, until the person who wrote the letters was apprehended. Damien had wanted her to follow the story until its conclusion. But, of course, there wouldn’t be a conclusion. No one would be arrested, unless it was Rose herself. The anxiety, which had become all too familiar, stirred inside again, but she tried to dismiss it.

  Maybe she’d write another note, saying that the “Doll Collector” had changed his mind about murdering children for some reason or another. Although, that wouldn’t stop another doll from showing up.

  As she turned down her path, it occurred to her what looked different about all the houses. Stopping in her tracks, she looked up and down the street. Usually, because of the heat, curtains were drawn and windows were open. People often even left their front doors open, with screen doors fastened, of course. But now all the houses were shut down like fortresses. Doors and windows closed, and curtains pulled tight.

  Unlocking her front door, she went straight into the laundry. She emptied her backpack of clothes that stank of sweat and beer and sex into the washing machine and poured in some powder. Snapping the lid shut loudly, she heard the sound of little footsteps.

  “Posey!” Laura almost pushed her over with the force of the hug. “I missed you,” she said, her face in Rose’s stomach.

  “I missed you too.” She stroked Laura’s hair. It was true; she missed little Laura. Leaning down, she kissed the top of her head.

  “You’re moving back in?” Laura asked, and without waiting for an answer, she started jumping up and down and screaming, “Yay! Yay!”

  Rose squatted down to her level. “Not quite, but I’m going to come to visit lots. Okay?”

  Laura stopped bouncing. She glared down at her feet.

  “Okay?” Rose touched Laura’s chin so she’d look up.

  “I don’t like you anymore,” Laura said and ran out of the room.

  Rose groaned and stood up. She pulled her clothes off and tossed them into the cycle she’d already started. Grabbing a towel, she wrapped it around herself and headed to the bathroom.


  She turned the shower on hot and got underneath it. She washed her hair, covered herself in soap, scrubbed everything so it was new and clean. When she came out she wrapped herself back in the towel, took out her hair dryer. She heard the front door slam shut and rolled her eyes. When was Laura going to grow up? She knew that the kid had probably waited for the water of the shower to stop just to make sure Rose would hear it. She turned the hair dryer on.

  When the cycle finished, she threw her clothes in the dryer and pulled on her old dressing gown. Doing up the sash, she walked past Laura’s room.

  “Nice try,” she said through the door, waiting to hear the scuffle of feet as Laura came out from under the bed looking disappointed. But there was no sound at all.

  “I’m going now—come say goodbye,” she said, coming into the room and almost tripping on a toy puppy.

  Rose got down and looked under the bed. There was a toy bunny and some dirty socks, but no Laura.

  35

  “Laura’s gone.”

  That was what Baz had told Mia on the phone, but she still couldn’t believe it. Not really. She didn’t believe it when she ran to her car, jumped in and started the ignition. She didn’t believe it the whole drive over. But when she pulled up to the curb and saw the two police cars outside Rose’s house, when she saw the crime-scene tape, she had to swallow her denial. This was really happening.

  Mia ducked under the yellow plastic perimeter. There was no one out there to stop her. The front door was open, so she walked straight in. Inside, three uniformed police were standing in the doorway to Laura’s room, talking.

  In the lounge room Rose was sitting on the couch with her head down. Sophie and Scott sat on either side of her. Frank and Bazza were questioning them, perched on the coffee table, since there were no other chairs.

  Frank was talking, his voice light for the kids. “So you haven’t seen any funny-looking people hanging around?”

  Sophie and Scott shook their heads.

  “Does Laura have any secret friends?” Baz asked. Mia hung back, knowing this conversation shouldn’t be interrupted.