Love Is a Secret

by Sophie King

  19

  It was Saturday. In a way Mark was relieved that the kids hadn’t shown an interest in camping (wet canvas wasn’t his thing either), but he was also concerned. Didn’t kids want to do anything any more? ‘Don’t think I’m going to let you two sit here all weekend, slobbing out.’

  Freddy stretched on the floor, burying his head under a cushion the way he always did when they had this kind of argument. ‘What else is there to do?’

  ‘Lots of things.’ Mark thought frantically. ‘There’s a dinosaur exhibition at the fire station or that kite-flying competition in the park.’

  ‘Thrills and spills,’ said Florrie, scathingly. ‘It’s boring here, Dad. I wish we were back in London.’

  ‘Well, we’re not.’

  He hadn’t meant to be harsh. Maybe it was because he felt the same. If it wasn’t for Hilary, they could be living a normal life like any other family . . .

  ‘Come on.’ He switched off the television and slipped the remote into his pocket.

  Freddy lunged at him. ‘Give it back.’

  ‘No way. We’re going shopping. And do you know what’s top of my list?’

  ‘What?’ asked Florrie, sullenly.

  ‘A new filter for the computer,’ said Mark. ‘One that neither of you can disable.’

  After shopping, he suggested McDonald’s. ‘Great,’ said Florrie, happily. ‘Mum never lets us have fizzy drinks.’

  ‘She doesn’t?’ He hadn’t known. Well, too bad. The noise inside and the smell of chips were comforting. The kids seemed happy stuffing themselves and it gave him a bit of peace and quiet. No wonder these places were crammed with parents.

  He had time to reflect, too. There was still so much to do. He hadn’t done the weekly wash – Freddy had worn the same boxers two days running – and he needed to do a supermarket shop. Then there was that stuff for Clive . . .

  SHIT.

  ‘What’s wrong, Dad?’

  He should have rung Clive at seven fifteen on Saturday morning. He fished in his pocket for his mobile. Bloody hell, no. It was flashing ‘Battery Low’. He dialled Clive’s number. Just as it picked up, the phone went dead. ‘We’ve got to get back.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve forgotten to call someone.’

  ‘Ring them from your mobile.’

  ‘The battery’s gone. Here, let me use yours.’

  Freddy looked shifty. ‘I’ve left it at home.’

  ‘Florrie?’

  She glanced at Freddy. ‘Me too.’

  ‘Right.’ Mark leaped to his feet. He would have to go home and make the call.

  The traffic, of course, was horrendous and it didn’t help that it had started to drizzle, which made everything even slower. His tension was rubbing off on the children too. ‘Freddy, if you upset Florrie one more time, I’ll write to the head.’ He screeched into the driveway, just missing the wooden post on the left.

  ‘I’m starving, Dad. I want some toast.’

  ‘But we’ve just eaten! And I haven’t got any bread in the freezer.’

  Mark leaped out of the car. ‘I’ll go shopping in a minute. Just let me check my emails and make that call.’

  He ran upstairs. There it was. Just as he’d feared. A demand in his inbox from Clive for an update. Hastily, he typed an excuse, claiming problems with his internet connection, and promising to ring on Monday.

  The phone. The phone! Maybe it was Clive, ringing back.

  ‘I’ll get it, Florrie.’

  Too late.

  ‘Mum!’ Florrie’s face broke into a broad grin and Mark’s chest tightened.

  Hilary? Hilary?

  ‘I want to speak to her.’ Freddy yanked the phone away.

  ‘Give it back. Ow!’

  ‘Freddy, stop kicking her. Hilary, are you still there? Hi, how are you?’

  ‘How do you think I am?’

  He could barely hear her or concentrate, with Florrie tugging at his sleeve. ‘I want to speak to Mum. Give her to me.’

  ‘Mum? . . . Yeah, we’re OK. Have you been up the Empire State Building yet? . . . Why not? It’s meant to be really cool . . . Yeah, I will.’

  Florrie put the phone down. ‘She had to go. What’s the point of being in New York if you don’t see the Empire State Building?’

  ‘She sounded very quiet,’ said Freddy. ‘Like she didn’t want to talk to us.’

  ‘Of course she did.’ Mark floundered for something to say. ‘She was probably tired.’

  ‘She was tired before she went,’ said Freddy, slowly. ‘She said she was tired of us too.’

  ‘She didn’t mean it. Parents often say things they don’t mean. She loves both of you, you know that. Now, what’s this? Great!’

  Triumphantly Mark held up a packet of frozen bread that had worked its way to the back of the freezer. ‘We can have that toast after all.’

  ‘I’m not hungry now,’ said Florrie, going out of the kitchen.

  ‘Nor me.’

  Mark listened to them trundling up the stairs. For God’s sake, Hilary, if you can’t be bothered to talk when you ring, don’t ring at all.

  20

  It was the same now every day, thanks to Josh’s re-entry into their lives, with the glamorous and impossibly slim Steff. As soon as she was dressed and sitting in the lounge, Tabitha would stare wistfully out of the window.

  ‘Daddad, Daddad.’

  ‘He’s not coming today, love. He’s at work. Now, let’s get on with that nice jigsaw, shall we?’

  But when Tabitha had finished the one her father had given her, she wasn’t interested in doing another. When she wasn’t looking out of the window, she wheeled herself over to the table where Susan had taped the pieces together to stop them breaking up and stared at the picture. The message was clear. If she couldn’t have her father, she would love his present instead.

  Even going to the centre didn’t help. ‘What’s up with you, Tabs?’ asked Lisa, as she laid the tables for lunch with cutlery that half of them wouldn’t use. ‘You’re not joining in like you usually do.’

  ‘Joining in’ was a bright and breezy term for – depending on individual limitations – playing on the computer, staring into space and mouthing group songs.

  Susan bit into another stale Bourbon even though she knew she shouldn’t. What was the point of the picture on the biscuit tin? Oh, what the hell. ‘Her father’s made contact again. With the new girlfriend.’

  ‘That’s good for her, innit?’

  ‘Depends if he goes off again, which would break her heart,’ Susan said thoughtfully. ‘He seems to have got more reliable but you don’t really know, do you? Now they want to take her out at weekends. Maybe have her to stay.’

  ‘Give you a break, wouldn’t it?’ Lisa scuffed at the floor with her toe. ‘When I was Tabitha’s age, my mum wouldn’t let me see my dad and we lost touch. I see why she did it, like, but part of me feels resentful, if you know what I mean.’

  The biscuit stuck in Susan’s throat. ‘I do but—’

  ‘Look!’ Joy came rushing up. ‘Here’s the photographer.’

  ‘Photographer?’

  ‘From the local paper. They’re doing a piece on us. Didn’t they ring you? They got in touch with me and asked if I’d give them an interview.’

  Local paper. Of course! She’d forgotten, with all this stuff about Josh.

  ‘Mrs Thomas?’

  Susan nodded.

  ‘I’m Bekki Adams from the Gazette. We spoke on the phone, didn’t we? I wondered how you were getting on with your campaign to save the centre?’

  ‘Campaign?’ Joy’s mouth fell open.

  Hastily Susan swallowed her mouthful of biscuit, which scratched her throat in her effort to get it down unnoticed. ‘Well, we’ve only just started. This is my friend Joy. She’s going to help me. We’re just beginning to make plans and, of course, we need to run them past the manager.’

  Bekki’s pencil was poised on her pad. ‘Have you got any ideas on ho
w you’re going to start? My editor was very keen on running a piece about it.’

  ‘We’re going to have a march,’ said Joy. ‘A wheelchair march. Through the town on Saturday week.’

  ‘Er, that’s right. And we’re getting flyers printed to put through people’s doors,’ added Susan.

  ‘We’re hoping to see the local MP too.’ Joy’s earrings trembled with enthusiasm.

  Bekki’s pencil flew. ‘Chas Craven? You’ve got an appointment with him?’

  ‘Not exactly, but Joy’s ringing his office to find out if he’ll see us.’

  ‘Great!’

  ‘And we’re going to be on the radio too.’

  ‘Right.’ Bekki looked around. ‘I wonder if I could interview your daughter?’

  ‘Tabitha doesn’t talk much,’ said Susan. ‘That’s why she needs help.’

  ‘But she can say a few words,’ added Joy. ‘Look, here she is, coming up in her chair.’

  ‘Careful. I haven’t said too much to her about the centre closing. I don’t want to upset her.’ Susan knelt in front of her daughter.

  ‘Tabs, this lady wants to talk to you about coming here. She wants to know if you like it.’

  Tabitha stared at her stonily.

  ‘Go on,’ said Susan, heavily. ‘Say something, Tabs. Anything.’

  ‘Daddad, Daddad. Daddad, Daddad.’

  ‘Sounds like “Dad”,’ said Bekki, brightly. ‘Are you a bit of a daddy’s girl, then?’

  Susan didn’t trust herself to speak.

  ‘He doesn’t live with them any more,’ said Joy, in a loud whisper. ‘A lot of families break up with this sort of thing.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Well, I think I’ve got what I need. Thanks very much. Ah, there’s the manager now. I’ll just nip over and have a word. Can I check I’ve got your names spelt correctly? Yes? Good. Oh, and I need to give your ages too if you don’t mind and where you live.’

  ‘Thirty-six,’ said Susan, quietly. ‘Pheasants Way, Grendon Parslow.’

  ‘I’m thirty-two,’ said Joy, brightly. ‘And I live in the next village, Whitley.’

  They watched the girl head off. ‘Liar,’ said Susan, nudging her friend.

  Joy sniffed. ‘I could be thirty-two. Everyone says I don’t look my age. Anyway, what’s this about a campaign?’

  ‘It’s something that came to me. Why should we take this lying down?’

  ‘Quite right. Gosh, when you talk like that, Susan, you look all different – kind of lively and sparkly. A march is a really good idea but if we’re going to make it work we’d better get everyone together.’

  ‘Come on, then,’ said Susan. ‘Let’s get started.’

  By the time they got home Tabitha was exhausted. Susan made her favourite supper of scrambled egg and she had it on her tray in front of EastEnders, which she adored.

  She might as well sit down and read the local paper, Susan thought; the problem with the computer was that it stopped you reading. Briefly, she scanned the local news. Someone had been mugged. A house had been set on fire, although the occupants had been rescued, thankfully. An unemployed dad had been done for shoplifting. A whole page about kids at the local comp who were going on to uni – in her day it had been ‘university’ or ‘college’ – after passing their A levels and other exams that Tabitha would never take.

  Susan sighed, running her fingers through her hair and turning to the Sits Vac. Although she’d rather die than admit it, this was one of her favourite sections of the local paper. She could flick through and circle the jobs she fancied, pretending she was a normal mum who was thinking about returning to work.

  ESTATE AGENT NEEDS WELL-PRESENTED MATURE WOMAN, TO SHOW CLIENTS ROUND NEW ESTATE HOUSES. OCCASIONAL WEEKENDS ONLY.

  Susan paused, pen hovering. Occasional weekends? Well-presented?

  She glanced down at the ladder in her tights. Well, she could be. Josh and Steff’s suggestion about having Tabitha had hit a nerve and, yes, it would be awful to let Tabitha go, but might this be her chance to do something? On the other hand, was she up to it, after being out of the real world for so long?

  Carefully, Susan tore out the advert and put it under the teapot. She might not ring. She probably wouldn’t. But she’d keep it. Just in case.

  21

  From Expectent Mum to What Mums Know: I’ve heard that the best way to have a girl is to have sex at least four days before you ovulate. Thats what I did and Im sure that both the babies I lost were girls.

  Lisa sent the message; it gave her a nice warm feeling to think she might be helping. It had also helped pass the time. The clock on the monitor said it was 3.05 a.m. but the noise next door still hadn’t died down. Maybe if she went back to bed she could block her ears with the pillow.

  ‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’

  Kiki’s screams of excitement were so clear she might as well be on this side of the wall, Lisa thought. She banged on it in protest, bruising her knuckles, then turned over, pulling the duvet over her head.

  ‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’

  Maybe Kiki was making a girl right now. Lisa stroked her tummy gently to shield it from the noise.

  The ohing had stopped now. Instead, Kiki was giggling and Lisa could hear a deeper voice too. Then the gasps again. What did they want? An audience?

  Irritably, Lisa sat up in bed, clasping her arms round her knees. She was so awake now that even if the row next door stopped she knew she wouldn’t get to sleep. The neon light on her alarm radio showed it was now 3.16 a.m. Kevin used to wake up in the middle of the night for nookie, she recalled wretchedly. And to think he was a dad now. With Kelly! What a bitch.

  Stop, she told herself. Earth Mother had sent her a long message recently, pointing out how bad it was for the baby if you had negative thoughts. Lisa forced herself to think of roses, big, blowsy, pink ones, like she’d seen in the market the other day. Earth Mother said that Barbara Cartland, who wrote romantic novels apparently, had thought beautiful thoughts when she was pregnant. It was lucky, and Lisa was all for that.

  Luck was so important in life. That was why you had to do everything the right way – even getting out of bed. She swung her legs over the side. Right slipper first, then the left. Switch on light after she’d put on her slippers.

  Lisa parted the curtains to look outside. Even though it was so late, there were loads of lights on. Down below, she could see a group of kids walking across the concrete yard and up the stairs leading to her block. They were singing and pushing each other.

  Lisa braced herself for the thumps on her door.

  ‘Wake up, Lees. We know you want it!’

  Don’t move. Don’t say anything.

  ‘Come on, let us in, love.’

  One laughed coarsely. ‘Yeah, let us in. We bet you’re warm inside!’

  More laughter. Lisa sat on the edge of the sofa, not daring to move in case she made a noise. She could hear them moving on now but still her heart was pounding. They didn’t mean any harm, she told herself. Some of them were hardly older than her kid brother. Just bored, they were, and who wouldn’t be in a place like this?

  Lisa stroked her stomach again. When she had her daughter, she would never be bored or lonely. But right now it was only 3.42 a.m. and she had the rest of the night to kill. It didn’t help that the computer took so long to start up again.

  From Earth Mother to What Mums Know: Thought I’d add my bit about the sadness of miscarriages. I’ve had four myself but it’s usually nature’s way.

  Not that again. She’d thought more of Earth Mother. She scrolled down the message board. Here was a new person called Flipper who hadn’t had any miscarriages but was still trying to get pregnant. And Rainbow who – blimey – had had a miscarriage before her daughter:

  ‘You never forget, but a new baby helps to heal the pain.’

  That was more like it. But if she didn’t have this baby soon, the pain would kill her.

  When Lisa woke, the sun was pouring through the window even though the council hadn’t c
leaned it since last Christmas. Her heart sank at the thought of work. Maybe she could call in sick. Besides, she had so much to do that there really wasn’t time to go to the centre today. She needed at least three more sleepsuits, according to the list Earth Mother had sent, and another cot mobile. She fancied a Moses basket too, but it would be difficult to get one out of the shop without being spotted. The last time she’d looked, they’d had security tags on them.

  She got dressed, had a slice of toast and headed for the bus stop. For once the bus was on time and an older woman even gave up her seat. ‘You need it more than me, love,’ she’d said, eyeing Lisa’s bump. And Lisa had felt a thrill shoot through her.

  It lasted all the way to town and she didn’t even mind that the shops were packed. Mind you, it would be just her luck if someone from the centre saw her. Still, she could always say she’d felt better and had to go out to get some shopping.

  ‘This one’s pretty!’ An oldish woman was holding up a dress for her husband’s inspection.

  He frowned. ‘Too frilly. What about this?’

  ‘I fancy this one,’ Lisa couldn’t help saying. ‘I bought it for my daughter, Hayley, last week and she looks lovely in it, like.’

  The woman nodded. ‘It is nice.’ Her eyes travelled to Lisa’s loose dress.

  Lisa loved it when strangers did that. ‘I haven’t got long to go now with the next.’

  ‘Take it easy,’ said the man.

  Lisa felt a stab of gratitude. ‘I will.’

  She took the sleepsuits towards the window to check the colour against the light. For a minute there, she’d really believed she’d bought that dress for Hayley and that Hayley was alive and well to wear it. If Kevin hadn’t bunked off, it might have been true.

  Then she stopped, unable to breathe. Just inside the shop, near the reduced rail, was the most beautiful baby she had ever seen. Its tiny face was soft in sleep, its rosebud mouth slightly twitching. She – it had to be a she – had a pink blanket lightly draped over her.