Keep My Secrets

by Elena Wilkes

  ‘In a box full of keys.’ He laughed as the bus drew up and the doors hissed open. ‘Clever, eh?’

  They found a seat on the bus and he slid the rucksack in between them. She reached down and gripped his hand, making him look round at her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘My life. I didn’t have one before I met you.’

  He smiled and kissed her cheek. ‘That goes both ways, you know.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, although she knew that wasn’t true.

  ‘You don’t believe me?’

  She could feel the weight of his look on the side of her face.

  She gave him a faltering smile. ‘I’m not as strong as you. I don’t know stuff.’

  ‘Never underestimate yourself, Frankie, you hear me?’ He gave her hand a little shake, bringing it up to kiss her knuckle. ‘You’re far more capable than you think. There’ll come a day when you’ll be asked to show it.’

  ‘I can do anything if you’re by my side.’ She turned their linked hands over and pressed the back of his hand to her lips. ‘I will do anything.’

  ‘Be careful,’ he grinned. ‘I might just hold you to that.’

  Chapter Five

  They could hear the party as soon as they got off the bus. The buzz-thump of music came at them in waves. Frankie looked around. She thought she might know this area. The Victorian houses here were imposing but studenty and run-down: their blackened rooflines disappearing into the September evening sky. The downstairs windows were open and she could see silhouetted bodies lounging and sitting out on the ledges. Behind them the ceilings were strobed with coloured lights.

  They picked their way along the path as a scatter of voices rose and fell and a gaggle of girls emerged from the shadows. They were all clearly pissed.

  ‘Come on, my weave’s getting blown about!’ There was the clackety-scuff of heels as one of the women with ironed, straw-like hair shoved at the front door. There was a sudden tumble of light and noise and the hallway opened up. It was thronging with people and unbelievably loud. Groups of beautiful twenty-somethings crowded up a magnificent carved staircase that spiralled high into the sweet fug of dope smoke. A dusty chandelier overhead twinkled through the garlands of fairy lights and lanterns.

  A young man in a dishevelled open shirt threaded his way down touching hands with each person he met. Everyone seemed to know everyone; they oozed chic self-assurance. Frankie blinked into the dim haze. There was a girl sitting on the stairs gazing at her through the struts of the bannister. She was dressed all in black and had long blonde hair that was held back with a red hairband. Her kohl-rimmed eyes blinked languidly. Frankie immediately felt out of place and ugly; a silly, nail-bitten kid in a room full of wonder and enchantment. Her clothes felt wrong, her hair felt wrong; she knew her make-up was hard and garish. She glanced up at another couple of lads coming down the stairs. One boy with a white buzz-cut picked up a lock of the girl’s hair and ran his fingers through it as he passed. She glanced up at him and smiled, holding her hand out to meet his and he caressed her fingers.

  ‘Drink?’ Martin mimed the action, nudging her elbow, but all the while his eyes lingered over the girl.

  ‘Yeah. Great. Whatever,’ she hollered back, but she saw how his eyes kept flitting that way, landing like a butterfly towards the stairs again and again. There was an immediate and overwhelming rush of jealousy.

  She watched him pushing his way through the elbows and backs to get to the kitchen, suddenly feeling very alone and itching inside her own skin. She was acutely aware of being totally invisible and horribly conspicuous at the same time. But no one was looking. They were all too busy focussing on the girl who absorbed the attention like a right. Frankie felt herself bristle.

  The gaggle of women who’d arrived in front of them were gathered into a squawking gang, shrugging out of their coats and mussing up their hair.

  ‘Shah! Charlotte! Whoop-whoop!’ A peal of child-like squealing rang out behind. Frankie made a half turn as Blonde-Weave elbowed her painfully in the cheek. Without even saying sorry, she bounced, arms aloft, waving frantically before lurching into the tide of bodies and throwing herself towards the stairs. The girl, Charlotte, only gazed at her with mild interest as she draped herself around her shoulders in an over-enthusiastic embrace. Frankie wished she could stop looking.

  ‘Your long-lost sister?’ Martin appeared at her side with two plastic cups, handing one over. ‘Vodka. No tonic I’m afraid, I couldn’t find any, but the voddie’s straight out of the freezer… Anyway… Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’ She took a little sip. The ice of it burned like fire. ‘What do you mean, my sister?’

  ‘You look a bit like her.’ Martin let his gaze drift over to the stairs again. ‘Wow – she looks like she’s well out of it, though.’

  The Blonde-Weave’s voice cackled up. The whole group sounded like they were very pissed or very stoned.

  ‘She seems to be getting a lot of attention.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Martin nodded, distracted. ‘She’s one of those girls people are drawn to. She’s like a magnet. There’s just something about her…’ He trailed off but then suddenly gathered himself, slipping an arm around her waist.

  ‘You were amazing tonight, you know that?’

  ‘Was I?’ The alcohol had hit her empty stomach; she felt a bit sick and close to tears.

  ‘What’s the matter? You know you were,’ he smiled.

  ‘I don’t know anything.’

  ‘Hey! What’s wrong? What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She really did feel like a kid now.

  He looked at her, shocked. ‘It’s not that girl, is it?’ He was almost laughing. Frankie’s temper soared with the vodka.

  ‘You seem very interested in her.’

  ‘Christ, you’ve got this all wrong.’ He shrugged awkwardly as they were jostled by even more people squeezing past. ‘She’s involved in the party scene. I’ve just seen her around, that’s all.’ He deliberately moved away, drawing Frankie towards the room where the music was so loud she felt it shivering inside her ribcage.

  ‘Mart!’ A male voice suddenly shouted over the thumping din. ‘Mate! You okay, man?’ They turned. The lad with the buzz-cut pushed through the mad jungle. They clasped hands and enveloped each other in a man-hug.

  Martin pulled back a little. ‘Oh, this is Frankie.’

  ‘How do, Frankie.’ He grinned and raised the bottle he was clutching in greeting, but neither of them offered his name.

  ‘Frankie’s my girl.’ Martin gave her a look, slipping his hand around her waist again. ‘And my partner.’ Some of her resolute truculence left her, and she let herself be hugged.

  ‘In crime?’ the lad chuckled.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said boldly, staking her ground. ‘That too.’

  The lad and Martin shared a look that she couldn’t decipher.

  ‘Let’s chill later, yeah?’ Skinny boy nodded from one to the other. ‘Catch you soon.’ He raised his bottle again and disappeared into the crush.

  Martin bent to her ear. ‘I don’t want to be with all these people, do you?’ His breath teased her neck and gave her goosebumps.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come on. Let’s go outside.’

  He took her hand and led her towards a set of French doors that opened onto the gardens. The sweet air hit her like a balm. There were trees hung with coloured bulbs that cast weird bobbing shadows onto the path that wound away in front of them. The rest of the garden was thick with darkness. They could hear voices on either side of them coming from the bushes but couldn’t see anyone.

  ‘Ow!’ She caught her ankle on an upturned brick. ‘How far are we going? There aren’t any lights down here.’

  ‘That’s the whole point. Mind, there’s a tree stump.’

  The sulky jealousy left her as though it had never been, dissipating into the night sky. She was here, with Martin and all these amazing people, nothin
g else mattered. She felt giggly all of a sudden.

  He paused, checking and toeing the ground in the gloom, and then guided her to where the trees grew denser and the light went from shadows to completely black. The thud of music grew fainter and a peal of laughter from somewhere near the house rang through the air.

  ‘This way.’

  Flicking the torch on his phone, he guided her deep into the undergrowth where a bed of thick leaves made a dry circle. He pulled her down to sit and she squinted into the glare. There was a musk of damp earth: a mushroomy smell, warm almost. His face was lit ghoulishly in the strange light and then it went out. She giggled, feeling the heat of his palm on her neck. He gently brought her face closer and kissed her softly, the alcohol on his breath tasting sweet and sugary, his tongue tipping softly across her top lip as everything around her swam a little. She wanted him so badly. She pulled his jacket from his shoulders and then began to unbutton his shirt. She felt him tremble as the breeze caught his bare skin. He peeled up her T-shirt and pulled it over her head, kissing her as he reached down for her jeans and she heard the jink of his belt as he began to wriggle out of his own.

  ‘You’re truly beautiful.’ His voice was husky in the darkness.

  ‘But you can’t see me,’ she breathed into his mouth. She loved being naked with him; the pitch darkness making it more exciting and more thrilling than she could ever have imagined. Skin against skin. The heat of him – Her heat. Their being together made her feel totally complete. When he pushed inside her, it was as though he was pushing the rest of the world away. There was nothing but him and her: one joined body.

  Afterwards they lay together, her head on his chest. He touched the side of her face with the tips of his fingers like a blind man: reading her. ‘That was the feeling I’ve been looking for, Frankie. That was the connection that people search their whole lives for. You know that, don’t you? We became the same person… Or maybe we became another person. Did you feel that? Does that sound weird?’

  ‘I felt it.’ She put her hand on his chest and felt the thud of his heart beneath her palm: so visceral, so alive.

  ‘I don’t want us to move – not an inch.’ She could hear the urgency in him. ‘I don’t want the real world to ever find us. I want us to disappear to another place: a better one.’ His voice sounded disembodied in the blackness. It felt like he was all around and yet so close.

  The drum beneath her fingers grew stronger.

  ‘I don’t want us to be like other people. I don’t want us to be ordinary. I want this to be special: extraordinary. Different. I want us to be vulnerable and’ – he let his fingers travel down her neck to the mound of her breast, her nipple tightening under his touch – ‘completely as one.’

  His hand landed on her thigh. She closed her eyes; she thought she might die right that moment. She leaned in to rest her forehead against his. He kissed both her eyes, the bridge of her nose, her top lip. When she opened them again all she could see was the glitter of his eyes: so close. He had a strange look on his face.

  ‘What?’ she smiled slowly.

  ‘This is more than love.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know.’

  ‘No boundaries… No going back… That’s what we said, wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s what we said.’

  ‘Will you come with me then, if I asked you?’ he murmured. ‘Somewhere very special?’

  ‘Anywhere. I’d go with you anywhere.’

  He reached back for his jacket, finding the pocket and bringing out a little bag. The whiteness of the pills gleamed in the strange light. She looked at them and then at him.

  She shivered although she didn’t feel cold.

  ‘Come here then. Open your mouth.’

  She did as he asked. She felt him reach out again and then there was the soft give of the plastic cup against her fingers. She lifted the rim to her lips and took a hard gulp, feeling the tablet sticking to her tongue for a moment and then she swallowed with a gasp as the liquid burned. He took the cup from her and did the same before slipping his arm around her back, pulling her to him to lie on his chest. She listened to the steadiness of his breathing, feeling his heat against her face, her lips almost tasting the scent of his skin.

  She began to feel the first shiver of magic, because it was magic. He’d conjured it. The dry leaves beneath them made a carpet, lifting them up, carrying them both, weightless, to a place away from everywhere. She felt herself slipping in between the layers of dimension: not outside anymore, not inside, just surrounded by air that was thick and soft, slow and pillowy, where no one could reach them. She felt warmth: perfect like the skin of a peach, its velvety softness stroking her face. A flash of singular perfection; this was the one moment where everything was pure and right and entirely good, and she was soaring.

  * * *

  She opened her eyes.

  She was lying with her belly against his back. Her arms were wrapped tightly around him and she lifted her head to nose the hair behind his ear. He grumbled and moaned in his sleep, his eyes flickered, but he didn’t wake.

  Her mouth felt as though it was full of cotton wool. All she could think, right that moment, was that she needed water – and lots of it.

  Casting about for her clothes, she found them, pausing for a moment, before bending forward to kiss him, gently. ‘I adore you too, you know,’ she whispered, pulling the scraps of clothing to cover him. ‘I won’t be long.’

  Crawling from the bushes, she made an attempt to stand, but then staggered and nearly fell. The ground beneath her feet was heaving unpleasantly and her stomach automatically rebelled. She glanced up. The lights from the house blurred and focussed. Swallowing, she chose her route, not daring to look down, but managing one foot in front of the other until the French doors loomed up. Her hands grasped the frame and she hauled herself inside.

  The air was thick with sweat, the dancing bodies pushed closer and closer until she thought she might suffocate. Blinking painfully into the flashing lights, she fought her way through, concentrating hard on the square of doorway, aware that her nausea was rising steadily. She paused at the kitchen, fearful that she’d pass out or throw up and cause some terrible scene.

  Her tongue drifted stickily. She was desperate now, really desperate. The stairs were no longer packed with party-goers and she scrambled her way up on all fours, reaching the top and looking frantically for the bathroom. Two girls with glittery stars on their faces glared down at her, their arms folded.

  ‘There’s a queue,’ the first one said.

  Frankie had to clutch onto the wall to get herself upright. She attempted to waver a smile, but they didn’t smile back.

  ‘Is there any chance…?’ Her voice didn’t sound as it used to. She gestured weakly at the door. ‘Like, I really have to get in there.’

  ‘No,’ said the first girl.

  ‘Yeah,’ said the second. ‘You look like you do.’ They exchanged glances and second girl shrugged. ‘We don’t want her puking on our shoes though, do we?’ She unfolded an arm and thumbed at the door. ‘Go for it.’

  There was the click of the catch shunting back and Frankie winced at the sudden dazzle of white light. It opened wider and she felt her entire body shrink back as Charlotte stepped past her in a wash of musky perfume. There was a moment when their eyes locked, before Frankie managed to stumble over the threshold and shunt the door closed.

  It was as though Charlotte was still there. Even the taps smelled of her as she turned them, bending her face to the chilled rush of water. She drank greedily, splashing her face and neck, and then straightened to take a look at herself in the mirror. A complete sight stared back. She had twigs and leaves in her hair and her make-up hung in great hammocks of grey and black under her eyes. She looked pale, and drawn, and very sick. She closed her eyes and the room swam in one appalling queasy wave, as suddenly she heaved, bringing the water and vodka back up in one great gasping torrent. The relief was like a weight lifting, and
she leaned heavily on the basin edge, breathing deeply. Throwing up felt so, so good. Rubbing her nose, she reached across for the toilet roll, but her eye caught something lying on the floor. A red strip of what looked like fabric was lying between the foot of the basin and the bath, and she bent to pick it up. It was Charlotte’s hairband. She held it for a moment, smoothing the silky flowers and breathing in that scent as it drifted up. Placing it carefully on the side of the bath, she meticulously pulled each sprig and dry teasel from the ends of her hair before running her fingers from root to tip until it lay across her shoulders in slippery waves. Sliding the hairband over her brow, she pushed it back over her forehead. Tendrils of curls hung prettily around her face. Running the tap, she used wads of toilet paper and began to wipe the dead make-up off. Her young, pink skin began to shine through. She looked so much better.

  Pressing her lips together and pinching her cheeks, she unlocked the door and, mustering what remained of her dignity, made her way past the two staring girls and back down the stairs into the cacophony of noise.

  Her stomach felt hollow and empty. She really didn’t want to be here anymore. Part of her longed to be at home in her bed. If only she could take Martin back with her. If only they could snuggle beneath the covers together, it would all be okay. Her head thumped with a grinding ache and she started to feel like puking again.

  She got to the bottom step. There was a couple with their backs to her, blocking her way. The girl was spinning round, dancing, smiling and flirting with her arms aloft. The man leaned in to whisper in her ear and suddenly the sick feeling in her stomach lurched.

  It was Martin.

  And Charlotte.

  She saw his dark head leaning in against her blonde hair as he tried to hear what she was saying.

  They hadn’t seen her. Frankie froze. She was aware of her hand gripping the bannister as the scene unfolded like a drawn-out nightmare. She saw the sudden silly grin lighting up his face, his nodding interest, the way his eyes ran up and down Charlotte’s body as he drank her in like a greedy dog. The girl only observed him from the side of her eye, coolly, totally self-contained and in control, smiling and pursing her lips as though she was dealing with an over-eager puppy. Martin wanted her: anyone could see that.