‘Are you better?’ Andrew barely looks at me as I walk into the kitchen. He misses my nod as he grabs his keys. ‘I’ll be late,’ he says abruptly. ‘I have a meeting.’
I look at Niamh, her face implacable as she watches him. ‘I hope it goes well.’ For Niamh’s sake, I try to sound caring to counteract the fact that he is anything but.
‘See you tonight.’ As he grabs his jacket and marches outside, Niamh glances at the clock, then pulls on her coat.
I watch her pick up her school bag. ‘Have a good day, Niamh.’
‘Bye.’
She looks small as she walks outside, pulling the door closed behind her. Her face is paler than usual this morning, bleached by the negativity between me and Andrew that she can’t escape. I wait for the sound of his car starting, but instead I hear him swear loudly.
Flinging the door open, he marches back inside. ‘Some little shit’s been at my car.’
‘What?’ I’m incredulous. Nothing like that happens around here. ‘What’s happened to it?’
‘The fucking tyres have been slashed.’ Andrew’s face is white with fury. ‘I’ll have to take yours.’
I frown, wondering when it happened, how none of us heard anything. ‘You should tell the police.’ As his eyes search the kitchen, I reach for my keys before he sees them. ‘You’re not helping yourself to my car, Andrew. I have plans.’
‘You can change your so-called plans,’ he says nastily. ‘You have a day off, don’t you? Whereas I don’t. I have a job to go to, patients waiting to see me. I’d say that’s far more important than anything you might be doing today.’
His arrogance renders me speechless. He has absolutely no idea what I’m doing. And I wouldn’t mind betting it isn’t his patients on his mind, more the so-called meeting he has after work, probably with her.
‘No.’ My fingers close around my keys.
‘For Christ’s sake, Elise.’
As he glares at me, I realise I wouldn’t put it past him not to grab my arm and twist the keys from my fingers. ‘Call a taxi, Andrew.’ Slipping them into the pocket of my pyjamas, I try to ignore the churning in the pit of my stomach as I turn around and go upstairs.
Chapter Four
Elise
I could have offered to run Andrew into work, or arranged for someone to come here and fit new tyres, so as to save him the trouble, but I don’t. Nor do I give in to his demands. In a marriage based on infidelity and lies, there is no kindness. Instead, as I change into running clothes, I hear a taxi arrive to take him to his medical practice.
It’s another chilly February morning as I set off down the drive, pausing beside clumps of pinprick green shoots pushing up through the grass. They’re the first snowdrops, their subtle green and white a prelude to the soft yellow of the wild daffodils that have colonised under the oldest trees. A sudden desire to fill the house with flowers grips me. I want beauty, colour, and fragrance to neutralise the odour of my marriage. Breaking into a jog, I think of the small florist shop in the next village.
As my body loosens up, I run harder, heading along the narrow strip of pavement remaining where the grass verge has yet to encroach, passing the first of the footpaths to the church before turning up Furze Lane. Half a mile along, I take a path that leads into an area of woodland and for several minutes I run hard, my feet cushioned by fallen leaves, slowing down to take the rough downhill steps hewn into the earth before the path slopes uphill again and the woods open out on the furthest side of the churchyard.
I rarely see anyone at this time of day, but this morning, as I slow down, I see a slight figure leaning against one of the tallest oaks. It’s Hollie. When she sees me looking at her, she seems to shrink.
‘Hey.’ Slowing to a walk, I stop in front of her. ‘Are you OK?’
Standing among the oldest gravestones and clutching her hands, her white knuckles protruding from bunched-up, too-long sleeves, it’s clear she’s agitated. At first, she doesn’t speak, just continues to stare at her hands.
I feel myself frown. ‘Shouldn’t you be at school, Hollie?’
‘Does it matter?’ At last she speaks, her eyes darting around, looking anywhere other than at me.
‘Well, yes.’ I’m trying to sound reasonable. ‘You have exams to think about. You don’t want to miss too many lessons.’ Then I frown, realising that she seems irritated with me.
‘I can’t think about school,’ she mumbles. ‘Not now. There’s too much going on.’
The look on her face worries me. ‘Such as what?’
This time, tears blur her eyes as she stares right at me. ‘I can’t tell you.’ She turns away. ‘That’s the problem. I can’t tell anyone …’
‘I’m sure that isn’t true.’ Knowing she’s prone to overdramatising things, I try to sound conciliatory. ‘Why don’t you talk to your dad? You have a good relationship, don’t you?’ But as I mention him, her face takes on a stricken look.
She shakes her head quickly. ‘It won’t do any good. It’ll make it worse.’
Frowning again, I take a step closer. ‘Has something happened, Hollie? If it has, if you want to talk to—’
But she interrupts. ‘Please don’t.’ Her eyes blaze but her voice is desperate. ‘You have no idea. You can’t do anything. No-one can.’
It isn’t my place to interfere, but whatever’s going on, she should be at school. ‘Fine. It’s your life, but you need to think about the consequences, Hollie. You can’t just take days off whenever you feel like it.’ It comes out more sharply than I intended.
She stares at me. ‘What difference does it make? If you had any idea what people around here are doing …’
I frown at her, puzzled. What does she know? ‘What do you mean?’
Before Hollie can reply, Ida Jones appears from under the trees across the churchyard. As she walks towards us in a tweed skirt and quilted jacket that swamp her, a look of panic crosses Hollie’s face. ‘Don’t say anything to her. Please …’
Before I can ask her what she doesn’t want me to say, I hear Ida’s gentle voice. ‘How are you, my dears?’ Then her eyes linger on Hollie. ‘I didn’t know it was the holidays.’
I’m acutely aware of Hollie’s discomfort. ‘No. Hollie wasn’t feeling so well this morning.’ The lie just slips out. I’ve no idea where the need to justify Hollie missing school comes from.
‘Oh dear …’ Ida scrutinises Hollie’s face. ‘You do look pale, dear.’
‘You’re better for a walk, aren’t you, Hollie?’ I change the subject. ‘How’s your little granddaughter, Ida? Is she over her chickenpox now?’
‘She’s all better. I’ve missed her though.’ A wistful smile spreads across her face. ‘But I’ll be seeing them all this weekend.’ As her phone buzzes from inside one of her pockets, she fumbles to find it, then looks at the screen. ‘I’m so sorry, but it’s my daughter. Would you excuse me?’
She turns and walks a little away from us. When she’s out of earshot I ask Hollie directly. ‘What are you hiding, Hollie?’
She starts. ‘Nothing.’
From the flush of colour on her pale cheeks, I know she’s lying.
*
Hollie fills my head for the rest of my run, then back at home while I shower and change. I try to imagine why she’s upset, what she could be hiding, feeling an obligation to tell her father about our conversation. It gives me a dual reason to go to the florist this morning as Stephanie’s salon is next door.
It’s a ten-minute drive along quiet roads through open countryside to the outskirts of the next village, where a range of stylishly converted farm buildings are premises to a few small businesses.
After turning into the yard, I park in one of the cobbled spaces in front of the salon. Sitting there for a moment, I look through the window. Inside, Stephanie’s talking on her phone. She’s attractive in a deliberate sort of way, with angular features and a hardness that even heavy makeup doesn’t soften. She’s clearly agitated today, her face flus
tered as she speaks on her phone. As she ends the call, she stands in the window, not moving. When she notices my car, she makes an obvious attempt to compose herself.
As I go into the empty salon, Stephanie’s behind her desk, going through what looks like her diary.
She looks up briefly. ‘Elise … I won’t be a moment. How are you?’ There’s no trace of the agitation I witnessed when I pulled up just now. As always, she’s perfectly groomed, in control, her every movement measured.
‘I’m good.’ I wait for her to put her pen down. ‘But I wish the weather wasn’t so grey.’
Closing her diary, her eyes meet mine. ‘At least you occasionally get to see the sun.’
‘Not so much at the moment. I’m on a short-haul block.’ Though, on a good day, I still get a hit of sunlight through the aircraft windows as we break through the clouds. ‘Actually, I wanted to talk to you – about Hollie.’ I pause. ‘I saw her this morning.’
As I watch, a shadow crosses her face.
I frown. ‘Is everything OK? It’s just that she seemed quite upset.’
This time Stephanie looks straight at me. ‘Since you ask, no. It really isn’t.’ Her voice is tearful. ‘Hollie flits around doing as she pleases, not thinking how her behaviour affects all of us … I try so hard, Elise. To give her stability, to understand her. But she gives nothing back. It’s difficult.’
It’s the first I’ve heard of anything like this. ‘Does James know about this?’
‘He doesn’t see it.’ Stephanie’s words are hollow. ‘When it comes to Hollie, he has a complete blind spot.’
I hesitate. ‘It can’t be easy for you. And I suppose Hollie losing her mother the way she did … It’s so sad.’ I pause, not wanting to get drawn in any further. ‘I just thought you’d want to know she was upset, that was all.’ I glance around, looking for a way to change the subject, my eyes alighting on a row of small plants, with dark green fern-like leaves, arranged on a shelf. ‘Those are unusual.’
‘I got them next door.’ She sighs. ‘Look, Hollie is angry – I’ve no idea why. I won’t bore you with the details but I was on the phone to the school just before you came in. It isn’t just today. She’s missing too many classes. James needs to be firmer with her, but he never confronts her.’ She breaks off. ‘I’m sorry. You don’t need to know all this. None of our lives are perfect, are they?’
Her eyes hold mine a little too long and, in that moment, I wonder if she knows about Andrew. Could Stephanie be the woman he’s having an affair with? I stare at her, trying to imagine them together, then snap myself out of it. I can’t go on suspecting everyone I meet. To the best of my knowledge, Andrew goes for younger, less subtle women – Stephanie isn’t his type. ‘I always thought you and Hollie got on well.’
‘So did I. We used to.’ Stephanie’s voice wavers, then she glances through the window as a car pulls up. ‘My next client. I should get ready. Was there anything else?’
‘Oh.’ I’d almost forgotten. ‘Yes. My highlights … I don’t suppose you could fit me in sometime?’
Opening her diary again, she scans the page. ‘I’m busy the rest of today. But how about Monday? First thing?’
Today is Friday. ‘Perfect. Thank you.’ The door opens and her next client comes in. ‘I’ll let you get on.’
As Stephanie pins on a smile to welcome her client, I go next door to the florist. The shop is filled with the scent of eucalyptus as I peruse the buckets of spring flowers, my spirits already lifting as I gather bunches of tulips, ranunculi and tiny white narcissi, in my indulgent attempt to bring beauty into our toxic house – not that anyone else will notice.
But as I drive home, I’m thinking about what Stephanie said. None of our lives are perfect, are they? I imagine the unspoken message beneath her words. You have enough problems of your own, Elise. Does she know what Andrew’s up to, and if so, how?
But then everyone knows hairdressers are privy to all kinds of secrets. Stephanie probably knows better than anyone about what goes on around here. I feel myself frown. Except, apparently, when it comes to Hollie.
Niamh
Hollie was friends with Dylan first. But now he’s gone, she only has me.
‘People are so horrible, Niamh …’ She couldn’t stop sobbing after my parents had gone to the pub last night. It took ages for me to get the truth out of her, that one of her teachers had phoned her father because the school is worried about her.
‘The teacher said I wasn’t eating. They think I’m anorexic. But I don’t eat because I can’t.’ She spoke theatrically through the river of tears pouring down her face.
I could understand her being upset about a teacher poking her nose in, but her hysteria left me mystified.
But it’s always the same. Like her clothes, Hollie’s defences are paper-thin, every barbed word piercing her skin. She has no armour against a world she believes is set against her.
*
The following day, when I come back from school, I see Hollie from the bus window. She’s sitting on the wall, stroking the cat as she waits for me, and her eyes are red, as though she’s been crying. As the bus slows and I get off, she jumps down and falls into step beside me. Even before she speaks, I feel her restlessness. ‘I hate this place,’ she tells me, meaning the village. ‘Is your mum home?’
‘I don’t know.’ I lose track of when she’s flying. Every week, my mother’s roster is different. ‘You can come in, if you like.’
Hollie looks wary.
I frown at her. Hollie doesn’t usually mind my mum. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I just don’t want to see anyone. OK?’ Her voice is fierce.
At the bottom of the drive, I glance towards the house. My father’s car is there, which is odd. ‘She’s out. That’s my dad’s car but he won’t be home.’ I look at Hollie. ‘Are you coming in?’
But she doesn’t budge. ‘How do you know he’s not there?’
‘Because he’ll be at work.’ I’m starting to feel impatient.
She hesitates, an odd look on her face. ‘OK. But if they come back I’ll have to leave …’
Whatever it is that’s on her mind, I know she’ll get round to telling me if she wants to badly enough. It’s the reason she comes here. She doesn’t have anyone else. Trying the back door, I turn to Hollie. ‘Don’t worry. They’re out.’ After I unlock it, Hollie follows me in.
I sling my bag on the floor, while Hollie goes over to the huge vase on the table. Usually empty, today it’s filled with all kinds of flowers. ‘D’you want a drink?’ I ask.
She buries her face in the flowers, as if she’s inhaling them. ‘What is there?’
Shrugging, I go to the fridge, frowning as I pass the sink and see it’s filled with several more bunches. What is it with my mother and all these flowers? ‘Orange juice, milk, Coke …’
‘Is it diet?’
Hollie’s skinny – that her teacher phoned her dad doesn’t surprise me – and though I hardly ever see her eat, when she does, she wolfs down food as though she’s been starved for a month. Checking the can, I nod and pass it to her before getting another for myself, then going to the pantry for a bag of crisps.
‘Let’s go to your room.’ Hollie’s more on edge than usual, constantly glancing through doorways and windows, as if expecting someone to appear.
‘OK.’ I shrug, watching her run ahead up the stairs as I pick up my bag and follow her.
In my room, Hollie collapses on my bed, lying on her back and gazing at the ceiling. ‘This is the only place I feel safe.’ It’s the kind of overly dramatic thing she often says.
I half listen, wondering why she’s avoiding my mum. Then, suddenly, she sits up. ‘I saw your mum this morning. I bunked school.’
I’d already guessed it had to be something like that, otherwise she wouldn’t have been waiting for me at the bus stop.
‘She gave me one of those mother talks about not missing school. I thought she was different but she’s just like e
veryone else.’ Hollie sounds tearful.
Suddenly I’m irritated. It’s like last night all over again. Hollie tells me something terrible is going on, something she can’t talk about, and I’m supposed to just let her lie on my bed and wallow. Folding my arms, I stare at her, for some reason convinced there’s something she hasn’t told me yet. ‘I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s happened.’
Before she can reply, there’s the scrunch of car tyres on gravel. Hollie leaps up and runs to the landing window. I follow more slowly.
‘She’s back. I have to go. Shit.’ She sounds hysterical again. ‘I don’t want to see her.’
She runs back to my room, going to the window and opening it. It’s the craziest overreaction, and it’s far too high for her to jump from. I put my hand on her arm. ‘Wait. She might go into the garden or to the bathroom or something.’
I hear the back door open as my mother enters the kitchen, then cupboards opening and closing before she runs the tap and turns on the kettle. Then I hear her boots on the wooden floor as she comes to the bottom of the stairs.
‘Are you up there, Niamh?’ Behind me, Hollie shrinks back.
I stand in the doorway. ‘Yeah.’
‘I’ve put the kettle on. Would you like tea?’
‘No, thanks. I’m doing homework.’
As I push the door closed and turn around, Hollie is distraught. ‘Why are you so upset? Does it matter that you’re here?’
‘Ssshhh …’ Hollie’s eyes are wide as she shakes her head. ‘She’ll know you’re talking to someone. You have to help me. I have to get out of here.’
Hearing my mother coming up the stairs, I hold my breath, my eyes glued to Hollie’s. Then as I hear the door to my parents’ bedroom open, followed by the door to the en suite, I exhale.
‘Now,’ I tell Hollie urgently. ‘She’s in the bathroom. Just be really quiet.’
Without speaking, Hollie flies down the stairs. I don’t hear the back door open, just glimpse her running across the grass from an upstairs window before I go back to my room and get my homework out. Five minutes later, there’s a knock on my door, and my mother pushes it open.
The Secret Page 3