Love Is a Secret

by Sophie King

  ‘Did you know I had to go on this wretched shoot?’ Caroline asked the features secretary. ‘No one told me.’

  ‘Sorry. Maybe it’s in Zelda’s diary.’

  There it was. Well, she hadn’t told her. Obviously Aurora’s sleep patterns were addling Zelda’s brain and now she, Caroline, would pay the price – as if she hadn’t enough work to get through without having to trek all the way down to Cartingdon, in Oxfordshire, where the shoot was being held. So boring too! All she had to do was check that the effect fitted in with the general features look. Would Mark be there? Probably not. If their positions had been reversed and she had been unfaithful, mused Caroline, Roger would never have forgiven her.

  ‘Mum, you should have changed down to second gear. We’re approaching a roundabout!’

  It was the longest sentence she’d heard Ben utter since the summer. But the shelf-stacking job, which Caroline would have found deadly, had stirred her son out of his lethargy. If the result was that he constantly criticised her driving – his own car was in the garage for a new gearbox – so be it. ‘I’ve been driving much longer than you have,’ she retorted.

  ‘You can tell.’ Ben flicked back his shaggy orange fringe. ‘If you took your test now, you’d fail.’ He smiled at her. ‘Come on, take a joke. By the way, I’m finishing late tonight so I’ll hitch back.’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’

  ‘Stop fussing, Mum. Hang on, isn’t that Dad?’

  She didn’t have time to look properly so she only just caught a glimpse of a tall man standing next to a blonde woman in a blue jacket. Too late to beep.

  ‘Was it?’

  Ben looked out of the window. ‘Not sure. He doesn’t normally get off here, does he?’

  ‘No.’

  For a few moments they were silent. She’d tried desperately, during that terrible time two years ago, to keep it from the children but it had proved impossible. How much Georgie knew, she still wasn’t sure, and couldn’t bring herself to ask. But Ben had heard more than she’d intended and he might have said something to his younger sister.

  ‘You know,’ said Ben quietly, ‘it took me a long time to forgive Dad for what he did but I suppose we all do things we shouldn’t, so I don’t feel so mad at him now. Do you?’

  Caroline was so taken aback – such philosophy was unheard of from Ben – that she was momentarily lost for words.

  ‘I suppose not,’ she said quietly. ‘But it still hurts, Ben. I can’t pretend it doesn’t.’

  ‘But you do still love him, don’t you?’

  How could she say no?

  ‘That woman back there,’ Ben began. ‘He wouldn’t do anything again. I know he wouldn’t.’ He reached across and squeezed her hand.

  ‘I know,’ said Caroline, her throat tight. ‘Thanks, darling.’ She pulled up too sharply in the supermarket car park. ‘Have a nice time,’ she said lamely.

  Ben gave her a withering look. That was more like the old Ben and, in a way, it was a relief. ‘Mum, I’m going to work, not a party.’

  ‘Sure you’ll be all right walking back? I could pick you up, if you want.’

  He patted her arm. ‘No. You’ve got to be up early for work, haven’t you?’

  The thought of the shoot made her groan. ‘I might be a bit late back tomorrow. Can you sort out tea for Georgie?’

  He nodded. Fleetingly, he looked almost responsible. ‘Course. ’Bye, Mum.’

  She watched him lope off. Tall. Too thin. Jeans dragging on the ground.

  A tall woman in blue. Blonde, like the photograph. And a man who might, or might not, have been Roger.

  ‘A bit more to the right. Not so far. Yes. Now, just a tiny bit to the left . . .’ The photographer, a nice man called Nick whom they hadn’t used before, was frustratingly precise but the effect was good. Every now and then Harriet, his wife, came in with tea, squash and biscuits. One of the models was still a toddler but the other two had been given time off school and were understandably excited.

  ‘Right,’ said Nick, ‘now for the seven-to-eight-year range.’

  His assistant, a bony young man in a thin T-shirt, was rifling through the boxes. ‘Can’t see anything. Sure they’re here?’

  ‘You checked them before the shoot.’

  ‘Thought so. Can’t see them now.’

  Caroline went to double-check. ‘I definitely asked the PR to send them.’

  Nick groaned. ‘I thought things were going too smoothly. Can you ring him to bring some more?’

  Had she got Mark’s number? No, but a quick call to the features secretary produced it. There was only a voice message on his office line but he picked up his mobile promptly. ‘Mark? It’s Caroline. Look, I’m really sorry but we’ve got a problem.’ She outlined it briefly, trying to talk over the children who were using the break to play noisily with the toys. ‘You’re sure? . . . Great. How long will it take you? . . . See you then.’

  Nick was watching her expectantly. ‘Mark, the PR, is bringing them over. He’s only about twenty minutes away and he’s got some in the office.’

  Nick’s face relaxed. ‘Good. We might as well have a cuppa. You OK, Caroline? You’re a bit flushed.’

  ‘I’m fine. I’d just like some water.’

  ‘Come into the kitchen.’

  He led the way down a wonderfully long, rambling corridor with bumpy plaster walls suggesting centuries of history. Harriet was making drop scones on the Aga. She was a pretty woman with warm laughter lines round her eyes; Nick put an arm round her and she leaned her head against his shoulder. Caroline felt a stab of envy.

  ‘We’re having an enforced break while some more boxes arrive. Poor Caroline’s gasping for some water.’

  ‘Hard work, isn’t it?’ Harriet gave her a glass. ‘It wasn’t until I married Nick that I realised how much effort went into taking pictures.’

  She spoke as if they hadn’t been married long, yet there were photographs on a board on the kitchen wall that showed a stunning young woman wearing a graduation robe and two grinning, lanky teenagers in shorts, both a bit older than Georgie but younger than Ben. Harriet caught her looking. ‘The children are mine and that lovely girl is Julie, Nick’s daughter from his first marriage.’

  Which explained the clinch, more suited to early love. ‘Have you been married long?’ She didn’t want to be nosy but something inside her needed to know.

  ‘Nearly three years.’ Nick gave his wife an intimate smile, which made Caroline want to cry. She wanted to ask more. How long had Harriet been married the first time? How had they met? Was it really possible to start again? Of course, people did it all the time but it would be nice to have some reassurance.

  When Mark arrived with the right toys, Nick promptly got the children into position before they lost interest.

  ‘I’m so glad you were in,’ said Caroline, quietly, while they watched.

  ‘Me too. It gave me an excuse to get away from Daphne, my mother-in-law. She treats our house as if it were an extension of her own.’

  So Daphne was his mother-in-law! For some unknown reason, she felt hugely relieved.

  ‘Quiet, everyone. Laura, what’s that over there? And, John, is that a spider on Amy’s arm? Great. Now, what do you call an egg that gets lost in the jungle?’

  ‘An eggsplorer,’ muttered Mark.

  ‘An eggsplorer!’ crowed Nick exultantly.

  ‘How did you know that?’ demanded Caroline.

  ‘It’s on the back of my son’s favourite cereal packet.’

  ‘How’s he doing?’ she asked, very quietly.

  ‘Not great. We’ve got another problem now. I’ve got to see the head next week because Freddy’s been downloading stuff from dubious websites.’

  ‘Ben’s done that. Most of them do at some stage.’

  ‘Well, the head seems pretty mad. I’ll tell you how it goes when I see you next.’

  Next? Was that an indefinite or a definite ‘next’? Caroline tried to focus on the shoot but her he
art would not stop thumping with anticipation. They were standing near the umbrella lighting, so close that if she put her hand out she could have touched him.

  The temptation was so great that she had to make an excuse and find the loo.

  Later, when Nick had called it a day and the children had run into the den next door to watch television, Mark asked, ‘Have you got time for a drink or are you rushing back?’

  She’d been hoping for this but now she wavered. ‘I’m not sure. I need to make a phone call first.’

  ‘To see if Ben’s surfaced in time for his job?’

  How funny that he already knew her family’s habits, albeit sketchily, through their brief emails and chat. ‘Something like that.’

  For a change Ben answered promptly. Yes, he’d made pasta for Georgie and now she was doing homework. Dad had called to say he’d be late.

  Roger was going to be late? His mobile was off and his office voicemail on. Maybe he’d already left for the meeting – if, indeed, there was a meeting. Ben didn’t have to work tonight. He’d stay in until she got back. So it didn’t matter if she was late, too.

  She walked to the car where he was waiting. ‘I don’t need to rush home,’ she said casually.

  ‘Nor me. My kids are staying late for an after-school play rehearsal.’ He glanced at her, then turned on the engine. ‘I thought we could walk along the river and maybe have a bite at Brown’s. I’ll drop you at the station afterwards.’

  A walk. She’d love that, especially if they went down by the botanical gardens and Magdalen Bridge. She hadn’t been there for years.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I was wondering about the botanical gardens. The ones by Magdalen Bridge . . .’

  ‘That’s amazing.’ She laughed, relaxing into the comfortable leather front seat. ‘I was thinking exactly the same thing.’

  ‘Really?’ His dark brown eyes were boring into her.

  ‘Really.’ Her eyes held his. Considering how short a time she had known Mark, she felt incredibly at ease with him. So much so that it was almost scary.

  ‘It must have been wonderful being here, as a student.’

  They were walking just past the spot where she could vividly remember Roger pretending to push her out of the punt some twenty-five years ago. When had he lost his sense of humour?

  ‘It was’, she said ‘But Cambridge must have been the same.’

  His hand brushed hers – she thought, by accident because then he put it quickly into his pocket.

  ‘It all seems so long ago now,’ she said, to hide her confusion.

  ‘Doesn’t it? If you could change one thing about your past, what would it be?’

  ‘Easy! I’d have had a gap year like my daughter, before I started work.’

  He nodded. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I’d have married later,’ said Caroline, shocked by her own candour, ‘after I’d had a chance to discover myself and made sure my husband had too. What about you?’

  ‘At the risk of being accused of plagiarism, I’d go for your answers.’ He sat down on the bank. ‘Come on. It’s quite dry.’

  Hesitantly, she joined him.

  ‘Do you have people to talk to, Caroline?’

  She thought of Jeff, and Janie in Australia. ‘Sort of. But there’s talking and talking, isn’t there?’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean.’ He gazed across the river. ‘I seem to have lost touch with my university friends. There isn’t enough time when you’re working and bringing up kids.’

  She smiled ruefully. ‘Tell me about it.’

  He leaned back on the bank. ‘OK.’ His eyes held hers. ‘I really feel I can talk to you, Caroline. In fact, I feel as though I’ve known you for ages.’

  She tried to concentrate on the river – some students were messing around on a punt. One, in a bright orange T-shirt, was larking around with another. They were so free, just as she had been once.

  ‘I feel the same.’

  ‘You do?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Caroline,’ he said softly.

  Are affairs always wrong?

  Take it from me, personally and professionally, it’s not worth it . . .

  His arm stole round her and he leaned towards her. Later she wondered how she’d known instinctively which way to go, or at which point she’d closed her eyes. His lips felt soft but at the same time firm. Sweet. So sweet. So natural that she couldn’t understand why they hadn’t been doing this every day since they’d met. They broke off slowly. His eyes were dancing and she could feel her body burning, lit up in a way it hadn’t been for years. Not since she was a teenager.

  ‘My God, Caroline,’ he whispered, ‘you’re amazing. Do you know that?’

  And then he moved towards her again.

  31

  There was still no news of a reprieve for the centre, despite the big spread in the local newspaper. Not surprisingly, the atmosphere was tense: the staff were worried about their jobs and the mums about their children being swallowed up in the bigger, more impersonal centre that they’d be moved to.

  ‘Apparently, they discourage mums from going in to help out,’ hissed Joy.

  The other mothers tutted.

  ‘I mean, I wouldn’t want to go in every day, like we have to in the holidays here, but I’m quite happy to do my bit on the rota during term-time to see what’s going on,’ she said, adjusting one of her earrings.

  ‘I heard that the nursery next door will take over the space here,’ said another mother.

  ‘Yeah, it’s doing well with so many mums going out to work now,’ said Joy, disapprovingly. ‘Some people just don’t think . . .’

  Susan got up to look out of the window near the computer corner. Until she’d started at Green & Co, she hadn’t minded doing her bit at the centre. But that day at the Blackthorne development last week had made her unusually restless. She had enjoyed showing people around, had heard herself using words she hadn’t uttered for years.

  ‘Hi!’ Susan waved at Lisa, who was sitting at the end of the row, using one of the computers. She couldn’t help glancing at the screen. Gosh! What Mums Know! ‘I belong . . . I mean, I’ve heard of that site,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t meaning to be nosy.’ She tried to cover her confusion. ‘It was advertised on our noticeboard, wasn’t it? Any good?’

  ‘’S OK.’ Lisa spoke sullenly.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Horribly aware that she’d intruded on the girl’s privacy, Susan moved away and, in her rush, knocked into the flat screen. It wavered on the edge of the desk but she caught it. This time it was difficult not to look.

  Susan’s skin tingled. So Lisa was ‘Expectent’ Mum! What an amazing coincidence – except it wasn’t because they’d both got the website’s name from the board.

  Still, it made you realise that these sites weren’t as private as you thought. Perhaps she ought to be more careful in future in case she was recognised too . . .

  ‘Heard you’d got yourself a little job, Susan,’ Joy said, almost accusingly, as she got back to the group. The other mothers were looking at her.

  Susan flushed. She hadn’t said anything about it to Joy in case the job didn’t work out. ‘That’s right. It’s not much. Just an assistant at an estate agent in town.’

  ‘I used to work for an estate agent,’ said one of the other women, wistfully. ‘I was meant to be a temp but I stayed on. That was before the kids, of course. Now . . .’

  Her voice trailed off but everyone knew what she meant. It was hard enough finding a job that fitted in with children, but when you had one with special needs it was even harder.

  Susan couldn’t wait for the weekend to arrive. Although she still felt the usual tug at her heartstrings when she kissed Tabitha goodbye before Josh and Steff took her out to the car, she was tingling with excitement when she waited to catch the bus to work.

  Work! So exciting to be able to say it. During the week, she had spotted a smart suit in the window of the Oxfam shop and it
had actually fitted. It looked good, too: she could tell that from Simon’s approving expression when he popped into the Blackthorne development to see how she was getting on.

  ‘The Fairhursts have signed now,’ he told her. ‘And that couple with the stroppy teenager have committed to number two. Only numbers one and three left now.’

  ‘Does that mean you won’t need me any more?’ She’d been too efficient for her own good.

  ‘On the contrary, Susie.’ Simon loosened his canary-yellow tie. ‘We’ve been instructed to take on another development, nearer town.’

  Susan adjusted one of the swag curtains, which had been pulled by an enthusiastic boy accompanying his parents that morning.

  ‘I was wondering, Simon, whether you needed anyone during the week as well. My daughter’s at school then, and I wouldn’t mind increasing my hours.’

  He made a face. ‘Problem is that you don’t drive. It would be all right if it was just the show houses, but during the week we need someone with wheels who can take people round the rest of our properties. They’re all over the place.’

  ‘I was hoping you might need someone in the office.’

  ‘I’ll let you know if we do. You’ve certainly proved worth your weight in gold so far.’

  ‘Really?’

  He chucked her playfully under the chin. His touch made her jump and, for a minute, she thought he was going to do more.

  ‘Really.’

  He turned away and she felt flat, which was daft because he wasn’t her type – if, indeed, she still had a type. Simon was too worldly, too confident and brash. On the other hand, it was nice to be admired even if he was only doing with her what he did with all the other women in the office – very charming and always full of compliments.

  That evening, she leafed carefully through the local paper, then rang Joy and her dad. By the morning – still quiet without Tabitha although she seemed to be getting used to it – she’d made up her mind. The first company had an answerphone on, presumably because it was Sunday, but the second, who ran his own business and came highly recommended by Joy’s neighbour, answered. She explained the situation, put down the relevant dates in her diary and came off the phone on a high.