“Don’t push it,” I say.
“This might seem a really obvious point,” Nicky butts in, looking up from the chapter notes, “but speaking in my limited capacity as a guy, why on earth did you go to all this trouble rather than just talking to my brother?”
When Mads and I have recovered sufficiently from laughing at such a crazy notion Nicky adds, with all the wisdom of someone who’s been an adult for about fifteen minutes, “What you two need to know about blokes is that we’re not actually very complicated. There’s no subtext. Just ask us and we’ll tell you what you need to know.”
“That,” says Maddy sternly while I gnaw my thumbnail, “has to be the worst advice I’ve ever heard. If Katy had asked Ollie whether he’s boffing Carolyn, then he’d think she doesn’t trust him.”
“Well she doesn’t, does she?” remarks Nicky. “Not if she thinks he’d cheat. Next?”
Mads is stumped and I search for an answer. I mean, I do trust Ollie. Of course I do. It’s just that he’s been a bit weird lately. And I certainly don’t trust Carolyn. Why all the phone calls and late meetings and now even Saturday mornings in school?
“On the other hand,” Nicky adds, considering me through narrowed eyes, “I’d say that what you did this morning, Katy, is classic of a passive-aggressive female pattern of behaviour and even maybe borders on the psychotic. Have you ever seen a shrink?”
I lay my head on the table and groan. “Are you trying to make me feel even worse? And anyway, it wasn’t my idea: it was Maddy’s!”
He laughs. “Then you definitely need to see a shrink for listening to anything she says!”
“Oi, watch it, squirt,” Mads warns. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be in school?”
“Free lesson,” says Nicky quickly. I strongly suspect this is a fib but I feel way too exhausted to push it. Besides, he’s doing a sterling job of knocking my latest chapter into shape.
“I’m only kidding,” Nicky says. “You don’t need a shrink, Katy. You’re just a typical complicated woman. Why ask my brother if he’s shagging somebody else – which he isn’t by the way – when you can go to all the effort of spying on him while he’s at work? For fuck’s sake! Just talk to him. Work it out. Communicate. Relationships are all about communication.”
“Are you the next Jeremy Kyle?” Mads asks. “What’s next? A lie-detector test? Or a DNA revelation? DNA! Now that’s a thought! That could prove everything.”
“Don’t even go there,” I warn. “Step away from my mess.”
“Spoilsport,” sighs Maddy, rising from the kitchen table and putting the kettle on. “I’m a vicar’s wife, remember? I have to get my fun somewhere.”
“What will I tell Ollie if he asks about today?” I wonder.
“Crazy notion, but how about the truth?” suggests Nicky. “Why don’t you ’fess up about this bloody book for a start? It’s not good to keep secrets.”
You’re telling me it isn’t, but own up about this book? Now I’ve seen first-hand just how weird they are at St Jude’s there’s no way I can burden Ollie with the knowledge that I’m writing for Throb. Apart from the fact that I’ve already given most of my advance to the local sparky and couldn’t pay it back even if I wanted to, I had a little peek at the contract earlier on and it didn’t make good reading. Although I’m no lawyer, it looks to me as though there’s a nasty little clause in it that suggests they can sue my ass should I back out. We struggle to pay the council tax, so we’d never afford a lawsuit. It’s official. I’m stuffed.
So, I can’t tell Ollie the truth – not when I know how much his career means to him. I’ll just have to carry on writing the book in secret. Or as much in secret as I can now that just about everyone else I know is in on it.
Besides, Ollie’s not been one hundred percent truthful with me either, has he? I had no idea he was off to Burrington Hall today and I still have a nagging feeling that there’s more he’s hiding. His mobile phone even has a PIN on it these days, and I guess I didn’t really need to call the psychic hotline to be told that this is a very bad sign indeed. To be honest I shouldn’t be calling the telephone psychics anyway, but they’re cheaper than counselling and, unlike my best friend, they don’t persuade me into pursuing ridiculous so-called master plans. So all in all, premium-rate phone charges aside, I’d say they’re excellent value for money.
While Maddy makes tea, I sink back into my chair and continue to chew my fingernails. Nicky taps away at the laptop, occasionally asking me for my opinion. To be honest I’m not really paying much attention, and before long he and Mads are having an in-depth discussion about washing lines versus duct tape, while I occupy myself with trying to find a way to ask Ollie exactly what’s going on. I’m so lost in thought that even when the top half of the kitchen door swings open and Britain’s favourite WAG pops her head through, I barely notice.
“Is this the house of sin and ill repute?” grins Tansy Topham, letting herself in and sashaying across the kitchen. Today her long extensions are piled high on her head like a blonde pineapple. She’s wearing sprayed-on skinny jeans and spike-heeled boots, and her famous chest is spilling out of a very tight vest top. When she bends over to kiss me, Nicky almost falls off his chair.
“More like the house of darkness and despair. But enough of me. What are you doing in Tregowan? You do know this isn’t the city?”
Tansy’s surgery-perfect nose crinkles. “Like, duh. I’ve just had to walk miles from the car park to get here, and in my Louboutins. Will the Lotus be safe parked there?”
I nod. “It’ll be covered in seagull crap but, yes, it’ll still have four wheels.”
“That’s the main thing. Tommy can always wash it or have it resprayed.” Tansy sits at the table, her heavily laden charm bracelet chinking on her twiggy arms. “Anyway, I had to come. You weren’t answering your phone.”
Ah yes. That’ll be the phone I switched off in order to avoid the irate calls from the supply agency. Looks like my change of career is coming faster than I’d anticipated.
“Katy’s had a rough morning,” Maddy explains, setting a mug of hot water and lemon in front of Tansy. Everyone knows Tansy doesn’t do caffeine.
“Yeah, she looks like shit,” Tansy agrees with her usual tact. Turning to me she says, “Babes, I’m afraid things might be about to get a whole lot worse. I’m a bit worried I may have put my foot in it.”
When Tansy says she may have done something there’s usually no may about it. I’m instantly alarmed.
“Tansy,” I say, “what have you done?”
She fiddles nervously with her bracelet. “I might have accidentally mentioned to a journalist that I don’t write my own books.”
Is that all? I mean, this is hardly going to come as a surprise to the general public. Still, I don’t want to hurt her feelings so I say gently, “I think people have already guessed that.”
“Really?”
“Really,” I promise.
“Phew,” says Tansy. “So if I’d said an English teacher from Tregowan wrote my books instead of me it wouldn’t be a problem?”
“I can’t imagine so. I’m not that exciting.”
“What about school?” Maddy asks.
“Tregowan Comp already know about the books,” I say slowly. “They’re not thrilled but it’ll be no surprise to them. Ollie’s school might not be too impressed, but since it’s my writing not his I really don’t think it’s going to be an issue.”
Tansy claps her hands. “That’s such a relief. I’d hate to drop you in it.”
“No, I think I’m more than capable of doing that myself,” I say bleakly.
While we drink tea and Nicky continues to stare at my visitor in disbelief, the conversation turns to BBs, Tansy’s new catering business – which she’s very excited about for a girl who seldom eats. Still deep in thought about what may or may not be going on with Ollie, I tune in and out of the conversation, letting it wash over me just like the waves washing up the beach beyond the harbour
wall. Mads is nodding absently and Nicky’s asking whether there would be any part-time work for him. I can’t say that I’ve ever imagined him as a waiter, but anything that gets him out of bed and away from extorting funds from me can only be a good thing. Tansy certainly seems to think this is a possibility and takes his number.
“If either of you ever want to book with us I’ll give you a huge discount too,” Tansy is saying now. “I think you’ll love what we do.”
“Maybe Katy could book you for her next book launch?” says Maddy, grinning at me.
Very funny. I’m actually planning to be very far away indeed when Kitchen of Correction hits the shops. I hear the Mars mission might have spaces?
“I mean it,” insists Tansy. “Big discounts all around. Tell your friends!”
Tansy is nothing if not generous. Take the old beach bag she gave me last year, for instance. It only turned out to be a Louis Vuitton and worth more than our car. I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of her kindness, but it could be handy having a catering contact. My brain’s whirring already. Ollie’s mum is celebrating her sixtieth birthday later on this year and has been threatening – err, I mean talking about – spending it in Tregowan. Ann Burrows is very proper and I can’t help suspecting she thinks Ollie could have done better for himself. His wine-buff father, Geoff, is much easier to get along with, although I do wish he’d just drink the stuff rather than pontificating about it. He even described my father’s nettle wine as having a bouquet of “wild thyme and ambrosia”, which delighted Dad because most people think it smells like wee. It certainly looks like it.
Hey! If I throw Ann a wonderful surprise birthday party it will really impress her and it’ll be one less thing for Ollie to worry about. I know he’s been racking his brains for what to do for her. Maybe I can pay for it with the remainder of my advance from Throb? That way at least some good might come from my having written this secret book. I know we need to get our roof fixed as well at some point, but there’ll be another two novels in the series to help cover that.
Hugely cheered by the notion of doing something nice with my guilty money, I don’t take a lot of persuading to go to the pub for lunch. By the time I return to the cottage, a few glasses of wine down, I’m feeling far more mellow. Tansy and her seagull-crap speckled Lotus have roared back to Plymouth, Mads has gone to collect the twins from school and Nicky’s sloped off somewhere. All is quiet in the cottage. All is still. I can get on with my work in peace, make a bit of money, retire from writing mummy porn and all will be well. Ollie and I will be the way we always have been and life will go back to normal.
Of course it will.
I scoop my laptop from the kitchen table and relocate to the living room, followed closely by Sasha. Then I position myself on the sofa and flex my fingers over the keyboard. Right Alexi and Lucinda. Where were you?
Oh.
Oh my goodness!
They can’t do that!
Can they?
I slam the lid shut and fan my flaming cheeks. That is the last time I am letting Maddy and Nicky loose on this novel. Even Throb have limits. There has to be another way I can earn money. Do I really need both kidneys?
And then I have my eureka moment, only without a bath and in the sitting room instead. The answer to everything is right beneath my feet!
Maybe it’s inspiration? Maybe I’m tuning into the spirit of Cecily Greville? Or maybe it’s the wine talking, but I really feel that I’m onto something! And I might not have a crowbar but the fireside poker looks sturdy enough to do the job. I’m not going to wait for Frankie to get his butt in gear. I know I’ve promised to wait until he comes back but it’s been over a month and I’m fast running out of patience.
Patience and cash.
I’m going to do this myself.
Girl power!
I feel energised! I feel like lightning is zinging through me! I feel alive!
Leaping to my feet I shove the coffee table out the way, roll back the carpet and then grab the poker, wielding it in the style of Luke Skywalker with a lightsabre. The treasure is only inches away from me, I can feel it!
“Let’s do this,” I say to Sasha, who raises her head from her paws and regards me with sad brown eyes. “Don’t look so worried. This is going to be great.”
Now. Where to start? How about that floorboard over there? It’s always been a bit loose and squeaky; it’s right by the door too, so it’s easy to access. Yes, it’s the perfect hiding place. I can’t believe I haven’t thought about it before. That’s bound to be where an old lady would hide her life savings.
I ram the poker into the gap between the floorboards and heave with all my weight but the bloody thing doesn’t give an inch. Think, Katy, think! You need to wedge the board up a bit to ease the poker along. Something small and flat should be just the job. I know! Those glittery flip-flops Tansy gave me last summer will be just the thing. OK, so this probably wasn’t quite what Jimmy Choo had in mind, but I think it only proves just how versatile these sandals are and that they were worth every penny. I don’t suppose my Primarni ones would be nearly as good at wedging open gaps in floorboards.
I slide the poker in, lean on it with all my might and pop! Up comes the floorboard. Elated, I shine my iPhone torch into the void and see… nothing.
Oh.
I sit back on my heels feeling totally deflated. I’d been so sure that this was the spot. Maddy’s crystal went bonkers here the other day.
OK. This is not defeat. This is just a minor setback. There’s a whole floor here. I’m in the wrong place, that’s all. Just keep digging!
You know when you have a spot on your face and you think to yourself that you’ll just have a little squeeze? And then that little squeeze turns into a medium squeeze and looks a bit red, so you squeeze just a bit more? And then another pimple catches your attention and before you know it your entire face is under attack? Well, after about twenty minutes our sitting room floor has succumbed to a similar fate. I haven’t lifted all the boards, but I’m going that way – until my torch beam picks up a cobwebby corner of sacking and my heart thuds.
Is this it?
I sit bolt upright, my despair evaporating. I’ve found it! I’ve really found it! Who needs the lottery! I have found Cecily Greville’s treasure!
My fear of spiders has been miraculously overcome as I reach my hand down into the gap. My skin’s tingling and my heart’s racing as my fingers close around the rough fabric. Golly! It’s really heavy. There must be a fortune in here. Gold coins maybe, or jewels or even ingots? To be honest I’m not certain what an ingot is exactly, but I think finding a couple could be very good news for us. Beyond excited, I grit my teeth and heave with all my might. There’s a jolt, then a clanking a bit like Maddy makes when she sneaks a couple of bottles into the vicarage. And finally I fall backwards onto the floor as the loot pops out of the hole in the floorboards.
Success!
Closer inspection reveals my find to be a hessian sack tied up with scraps of lace and ribbon, beautiful fabric remnants that surely must have once belonged to old Miss Greville. This bag has to be where she put her life savings.
“I’ve found it, Sasha,” I breathe. The dog barks excitedly and bounds around the room, leaping the holes in the floor with canine ease and waving her plumy tail in delight. I feel like doing exactly the same and if I had a tail it’d be wagging for sure because this is it! I’ve found the treasure!
Feeling as though I’m about to pass out with anticipation, I unknot the ribbon with trembling fingers and then peer into the bag.
What?
This doesn’t look much like treasure to me. More like the recycling.
Six dusty old bottles with 1805 embossed on the dark glass? Seriously? This can’t be right! I thought I’d dug up treasure, not Cecily Greville’s trash.
I place the bottles on the floor, very carefully because surprisingly they seem to still be full. Then I shake the bag hopefully, but there’s nothing except
for a cloud of dust and a rather disgruntled spider.
I slump back against the sofa, deflated. This isn’t what I was expecting. Not at all.
I’m contemplating heading to the fridge and pouring myself an enormous glass of wine before beginning Operation Fix the Floor when I hear the kitchen door slam.
“Katy! I’m home.”
Shit! Ollie doesn’t usually get home before at least seven and it’s only five now. If he sees the state of this room he’ll flip! I’d hoped the treasure would have smoothed things over but unless he wants a glass of ancient home-made plonk I’m in big trouble.
“I’m in the sitting room,” I call back, jumping to my feet and doing my best to push the floorboards back into place. But will the bloody things fit? Of course not. They might have been perfectly happy to slot together for the past four hundred years but they don’t want to play now. I shove as hard as I can but still no joy.
Bollocks!
“Katy?”
“Be right with you!” I trill. “Just finishing this sentence!”
I hear the fridge door open and the hiss of a ring pull as Ollie opens a can.
“How about we grab a takeaway?” he continues. “I’ve had the most bloody awful day. I was meant to be on a leadership training course but the bloody supply teacher did a runner at the eleventh hour and we had to cancel. I nearly called the agency and got you in.”
I feel faint at the very idea. Thank God he didn’t.
“Anyway, all I want to do now is collapse in front of some mindless telly with a Chinese and my gorgeous girlfriend,” he says and he sounds so tired that my heart goes out to him. Without intending to I’ve totally ruined both ends of the day for the man I love. The fridge door shuts, and I hear him chatting to Sasha and then his footsteps as he heads to the sitting room.
Three, two, one—
Ollie’s standing in the doorway; his eyes are enormous behind his glasses. “What the fuck?”
“Don’t panic!” I say, jumping to my feet while he gazes around in shock. “It looks worse than it is!”
Katy Carter Keeps a Secret Page 13