Secrets

by Lynne Barrett-Lee

  She laughed. But without any humour.

  ‘OK as it can ever be, I guess,’ she said. Then, ‘No, really, Megan. Everything’s fine.’

  ‘Scott called earlier, by the way,’ I added.

  ‘I know. He just called me too.’ Despite the din of street noise behind her, I could hear something almost sorrowful in her voice.

  ‘Megan, Hi! It’s so good to see you!’

  By Friday lunchtime I was glad to have something else to do besides fretting. Debbie was one of my oldest friends, and was only too happy to travel down and ‘do lunch’ with me, as she put it. This suited Emily just fine, as she’d arranged to go swimming with a friend, so I had three hours all to myself. Debbie and I went back a long way – we’d done our teacher training together, and had worked at the same school until my ex-husband Owen and I had moved down to west Wales. I still wondered now about the wisdom of the move. I hadn’t known, when we’d left all our friends, that our marriage wasn’t going to last forever. I’d made new friends – good ones – but it was lovely to see her.

  We found a table for two on the outer edge of one of the vast café restaurants in Cardiff Bay. Another hot day meant it was busy with pink-faced office workers and hungry tourists.

  ‘So,’ she said, as the waiter came to take our orders for drinks. ‘How’s things? Enjoying your holiday?’

  ‘I don’t know about holiday,’ I told her. ‘But it’s great to see Em, and have a break from work, of course.’

  She nodded. ‘Tell me about it! When are you going back?’

  ‘Sunday. Tom’s coming to collect Emily on Saturday to take her to his parents. She’s spending the week with them. But I’m staying till Ffion gets back. One last night of dog-sitting to do.’

  She narrowed her eyes.

  ‘Tom? There’s a name I won’t forget in a hurry. He’s still around then?’

  ‘Never hasn’t been,’ I said, shaking my head.

  She picked up her menu. ‘Now you do surprise me. I thought he’d have been long gone. I had him down for Christmas and birthday cards only, to be honest. So,’ she said, opening the menu, ‘seems I stand corrected. What’s he up to these days? Married again?’

  I thought back to the affair that had finally, explosively, ended Tom and Ffion’s marriage. He’d split up with the girl he’d been seeing soon after. I didn’t know what he’d been up to since. I didn’t much care. Ffion and I never talked about it.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ I said. ‘But I expect so. I’m only glad to see Ffion so happy at last.’

  If that’s what she was. Who was Jack? What was happening? As I opened my menu, I couldn’t help but fret. I didn’t want to see her hurt again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SEEING TOM AGAIN WASN’T something that should have caused me a moment’s worry. He was simply my sister’s ex-husband, and however many rows we’d had in the bad days, it was water under the bridge by now. Even so, when Emily called to tell me his car had just pulled up outside, I couldn’t control the little knot of discomfort that suddenly tightened in my tummy.

  We’d known each other a long time, of course. Ffion had met him when she was just seventeen, and married him not long after. And just like any young couple, they’d been very happy at first. But it didn’t last. Ffion had always been a person of extremes, up one minute and down the next. By the time they’d been married a couple of years she seemed to be down all the time. And when she found she was expecting Emily she cried for two days, as if her whole world had fallen apart. We all thought she’d rally once the baby was born, but then she’d become ill with post-natal depression. At first, I took on much of the baby minding, but we’d all assumed Tom would see Ffion through it.

  But as things went from bad to worse, he became more remote and unsupportive. Gradually it became clear that the cause of Ffion’s depression wasn’t Emily at all, but him. Even so, I’d hoped they might see their way through it, but then he nearly destroyed her, by betraying her in the time-honoured way. It was no wonder I didn’t think much of him. For Ffion it had been a very, very long haul back.

  But that was history. I must try to be polite to him. I finished pulling my hair into a ponytail and went to open the front door.

  He’d changed very little since the last time I’d seen him. He had the same handsome face, the same flop of blond fringe, the same piercing blue eyes, the same lopsided grin. Only the lines that creased his face as he smiled marked the passing of the years.

  ‘Hello!’ he said cheerfully, as the sunlight puddled on the floor at my feet. ‘Are the troops ready for the off?’

  I ushered him in, feeling a little out of place in Ffion’s hallway all of a sudden, and disarmed by how friendly he was.

  ‘Almost,’ I said, returning his smile politely. ‘ We’re just fine-tuning on the accessories front. I hope you brought a trailer.’ I pointed to the pile of Emily’s stuff on the hall floor. Sleeping bag, two pillows, case and back pack, portable CD player, teddy, rollerblades. He frowned.

  ‘Just the one trailer?’ He stooped to pick the case up and grinned up at me. ‘You’re looking well, Megan. How’s things?’

  I wondered if he knew about my own divorce. Probably, I reasoned. He and Ffion got along well enough these days. She would have told him.

  ‘Fine,’ I said, picking up the pillows and sleeping bag. ‘Still teaching. Still trying to flog Shakespeare to the masses. Pleased to have a bit of time off, to be honest. How about you?’

  I followed him down the short flight of steps to the road. His car was parked a few doors away, the boot already open.

  ‘Much the same,’ he said, plonking the case in and holding his arms out for the pile in mine. ‘I’m still with Peterson’s.’

  Peterson’s, the firm of engineers he’d been with most of his working life. And judging by the car, he was fairly high up the ladder now. He may have been a rat to my sister but he’d always been a hard worker.

  ‘Building anything interesting right now?’

  ‘A hotel in Swansea, as it happens.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  We walked back to the flat to collect the rest of Emily’s stuff, our polite chitchat grinding to a halt. But, thankfully, Emily herself was on the doorstep.

  ‘Right then,’ he said, pulling his keys from his pocket. ‘Tell Ffion I’ll drop her back about this time next week.’ I nodded. ‘She’s got Dad’s mobile number?’ I nodded again. Emily gave me a hug and headed off down to the car.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Nice to see you again.’ Then he grinned at me. ‘Really. I mean it!’ He turned and was off down the road.

  As I stepped back inside and closed the front door, I imagined that would probably be the last I’d see of Tom for another few years. The sunlight was fading now, but it was still warm, and after I’d walked the dog the prospect of a salad and a couple of glasses of wine on the balcony felt good. I really must stop fretting about my sister. Ffion had called to speak to Emily just before she went, but our own chat had been brief. No, he hadn’t called again, I’d told her, and this time she’d sounded less anxious about it. Probably I’d been w o r rying over nothing. Force of habit, I guessed sadly, as I took Tigger’s lead from its hook.

  Half an hour and a sprint round the block later, I was all set to take my picnic out on to the balcony. I was just looking for a corkscrew when the phone rang in the hall. I put the bottle down and went out to answer it. It was Tom.

  ‘Houston?’ he said, all pretend-American. ‘We have a problem.’

  I laughed, despite myself. I hadn’t heard that expression for years. I expected it, of course, given the surname I’d married into, and with Tom it had stuck. He used to say it to me all the time.

  Before we became enemies, that is. ‘Ho ho,’ I answered. ‘Which is?’

  ‘ S h e ’s forgotten to pack her Madonna CD. The end of the world, of course. Could I pop back and pick it up later? It’s in the CD player in her room, she said. She’s got the case.’

 
; ‘No problem,’ I said. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Come round when you’re ready, I’ll get it out for you now.’

  It was while I was doing so that I heard a familiar voice once again. Had Tom not called, and I’d been outside, I probably wouldn’t have heard it. I moved quickly from the living room to the study, reaching the phone just as Ffion’s greeting message clicked off. The machine beeped once.

  ‘Ffion?’ It was him. ‘It’s Jack again –’ I didn’t leave him to finish his sentence this time, but picked up the receiver and put it to my ear.

  ‘It’s not Ffion,’ I said. ‘She’s away. This is Megan, her sister. Can I take a message?’

  But before I’d got the last of the words out, he’d hung up the phone.

  ‘The things you do,’ said Tom regretfully, waiting while I fetched the CD. Since the second call, I’d become anxious again. It was now gone ten and I could think of little else. Who was this man? I’d tried calling Ffion, but she was out again. In a meeting at the conference centre, the girl on the hotel switchboard told me. And by the time she came back it would be the small hours here, so I decided I wouldn’t leave a message. She’d be off to the airport soon, anyway. Her flight back was due in at Heathrow late morning. Perhaps then I’d get some answers.

  I got the CD from the kitchen where I’d left it, and popped it into the case Tom was holding out. He flipped it shut with a snap.

  ‘Never let it be said that I don’t suffer for my daughter,’ he said, laughing. ‘The traffic is appalling. Where does it all come from?’

  He looked tired. ‘Look, do you want to stop for a coffee or something?’ I asked him.

  He hovered, unsure, then looked at his watch. ‘Thanks, but I’d really better get back. I’m supposed to be on site first thing in the morning.’ He made a face. ‘There ought to be a law against it. You off in the morning?’

  I shook my head. ‘Afternoon. I’m going to stay till Ffion gets back.’

  In saying so, it occurred to me that perhaps Tom could shed some light on who her mystery man was. Unlikely, but it couldn’t hurt to ask, could it?

  ‘Tom,’ I said, as he turned to open the front door. ‘Ffion’s never mentioned someone called Jack to you, has she? It’s just that a man called Jack has been trying to get in touch with her, and –’

  He spun around. ‘Jack?’

  ‘Some guy she knows. I don’t know who he is, but he’s rung a couple of times, and seems very anxious to speak to her, and he sounds, I don’t know, like…’

  ‘Jack?’ he asked again.

  I nodded. ‘It’s silly, but there’s something about his voice that –’ I stopped, abruptly.

  Despite the sodium glare from the streetlight outside, every drop of colour had drained from Tom’s face.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A LONG MOMENT PASSED while Tom stood there, just staring.

  ‘What is it?’ I said, suddenly full of anxiety. ‘Do you know who this Jack is?’

  He turned and looked out towards the street, then back at me again, his eyes not quite focussing, as if he was staring into space. Then he drew his hand across his hair, and shook his head.

  ‘No, no,’ he replied, turning the CD case over and over in his hands. ‘I don’t think so. No. Can’t help you, I’m afraid.’

  He was lying. I was sure of it. But why?

  ‘Are you sure?’ I persisted. But by now he was down the steps and on to the path. He waggled the CD case at me. ‘Better get off. And, er, well…goodnight.’

  I nearly ran down the path after him, to demand answers, but everything about his manner told me there would be no point. Whatever it was he knew about this Jack person, he plainly wasn’t about to tell me.

  It was something neither of them would tell me, which perhaps was telling me that it really was nothing to do with me. So maybe I should just go to bed and put the whole thing out of my mind. If there was something going on, and Ffion was in some sort of trouble, then I didn’t doubt she’d tell me in her own good time.

  I shut the door and flicked off the hall light. But what sort of trouble could she be in? Was this something to do with Scott? Was this Jack someone who had some sort of hold over her? When my mind started wandering to criminals and blackmail and all sorts, I knew it was time to rein myself in. This was just someone who’d phoned, called Jack, who knew Ffion. It really was none of my business. It would only become so if Ffion wanted it to be. Perhaps she’d lay my fears to rest tomorrow.

  I’d checked the note on Ffion’s message board and found out that her flight was due in at midday. It was with some shock therefore that I answered the phone at eleven thirty on Sunday morning to hear Ffion’s voice.

  ‘Oh!’ I said, ‘You’re at Heathrow already are you? Good flight?’

  ‘Fine,’ she said. She sounded very brisk. ‘We had a tail wind. Listen. Could you do me a really big favour, Megan? There’s a suit at the cleaners I need. I’ve got to go off to a Roadshow first thing Monday and I forgot to pick it up before I left last week.’ She’d told me about Roadshows before. The publishers took their top authors out to meet booksellers, and presented their latest bestsellers to them. This one was to be at a hotel in Manchester, apparently. ‘You couldn’t be an angel,’ she went on, ‘and collect it for me, could you? By the time I get home they’ll be closed.’

  ‘Are they open on a Sunday?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘The ticket’s pinned to the board in the kitchen. It’s pink. You can’t miss it. Lewis’s. They’re not far. Just up towards –’

  ‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘I’d better grab a pen.’

  She gave me a complicated list of directions. I could take my car, she said, but as it could be difficult to park, I’d probably be better off walking. She knew it was a dreadful cheek to ask, but I didn’t mind, did I?

  I said I didn’t. It was a nice enough morning, and I had been planning to pop out and get something in for lunch anyway. It was reassuring to hear her sounding so bright and breezy. Perhaps the Jack problem had solved itself. Perhaps he’d got hold of her in New York. Perhaps I should break the habit of a lifetime and stop worrying about my little sister, full stop.

  I found the ticket, put the directions in my pocket, fed Tigger, and set off.

  By the time I had collected the suit – a rather stylish-looking red one – the earlier sunshine had been obscured by a blanket of cloud, and a thin drizzle had started. It would make the journey home less enjoyable than it might have been, but at least the humidity of the previous few days had lessened.

  Rounding the corner of Ffion’s road, I decided I’d give my son a quick call, to fill him in on my plans.

  ‘There you are, Mum!’ he said. ‘I’ve been trying you for ages!’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ I said. ‘Is there a panic of some sort? Have you burned the house down?’

  ‘No, mother. Well, only the garage.’ He laughed. ‘Joke. I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t forgotten I’m off to David’s this afternoon.’

  Something about a surfing trip rang a distant bell. I had forgotten.

  ‘You could have called me at Auntie Ffion’s,’ I reminded him.

  ‘Might have been able to, if only I could read the writing in your address book.’ Which was fair comment. My address book, which I’d had since the day of my wedding, had become somewhat chaotic over the years. ‘Yo u shouldn’t keep switching your phone off,’ he told me.

  ‘I had to. Emily and I went to the pictures on Friday night.’

  ‘I told you, Mum. You don’t need to do that. Just put it on silent and vibrate. Then you’ll be able to feel it instead.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I won’t be back till teatime so just make sure you don’t leave the place like a bomb site, OK?’

  Then I stood and scrolled down the menu on my phone till I found ‘silent’. I clicked. The wonders, I thought, of modern technology. I really must make friends with it sometime.

  It was a little after one by the time I got back, but there w
as no sign of Ffion. I wasn’t sure how long it would take her to drive from the airport. Judging by what Tom had said about the traffic the previous evening, it could be some time. I went into the bedroom. I might as well get my things together. I’d pulled my suitcase up on to the bed and had just started going through the wardrobe, when I heard a strange noise somewhere close by. A buzzing sound, which seemed to be coming from my handbag. I picked it up, and realisation dawned. Inside, my mobile phone was now lit up and vibrating.

  It was Ben again, to tell me he was just leaving. I wished him a good trip and slung the phone back down on the bed, and then something else occurred to me. That noise had been exactly the sound that had woken me on Wednesday night. A mobile phone vibrating. Ffion’s mobile, which she’d left behind, because it didn’t work in the States. It had been sitting in the corner of her kitchen worktop, plugged into its charger the whole time.

  The name Jack once again popped into my mind. He must have rung the mobile first. Still telling myself off for once again following my nose instead of my common sense, I decided to take a look. Perhaps he’d left a message and his number there as well. I went into the kitchen. The charger was still plugged into the socket, but the mobile had disappeared.

  How odd. How could that be? I looked all around but the phone was nowhere to be seen. It had still been there when I’d left to go out, so how could it not be now? And then something else occurred to me. Something else I was sure I’d seen or felt or heard. But what? I went back into the bedroom and nothing seemed any different, nor in the living room. But as soon as I went in the study there was something I did notice. The red light that had been winking ever since that first message from Jack was now glowing steadily. The messages had been erased.

  So someone had been in the flat while I’d been out. But who? Had he? I tutted at myself. No. That was plainly stupid. The place was locked up. Tigger would have barked. It had to be someone who – that was it! Ffion! Ffion had been here. The thing that had been nagging at me was the scent of her perfume as I’d walked in the door. She’d been here and gone out again. But how could she have got back from Heathrow airport so quickly? Another thought, less comforting, hit me. That maybe she’d sent me off to get her suit from the cleaners because she didn’t want me to be here when she arrived. The erased messages seemed to prove it. This was something to do with Jack.