Every Little Secret Read online

  She stuffs the clothes in a bin liner and when the wardrobe is almost empty, she shifts the few remaining clothes from the furthest end to the centre. Right at the back she spots her wedding dress in a clear plastic cover. She reaches for it, sliding it along and stuffs it straight into the black bag. Behind it is her mother’s coney fur coat. She’s clean forgotten she’d kept this. How can she let it go? If there is one garment that embodies the glamorous mother she remembers from her childhood, it is this. It’s soft and luxurious between her fingers and slips easily off the hanger into her hands, releasing a faint waft of Chanel N°19, unlocking the bolt on a whole chapter of her life.

  Instantly it sends her back to the theatre, her mother standing next to her, shimmying the coat from her shoulders. The three of them sitting in a stall, mother, father and her. How beautiful both her parents were. They seemed so content and happy that night. She looked up to them, wanted a marriage like theirs one day. But was it already a lie by then, had they dressed up and pretended for her benefit?

  It’s natural to want to try the coat on, to know how it feels. The weight of it is surprising. She rummages in a drawer for her mother’s bottle of perfume and squirts it behind her ears, breathing it in. In the mirror she sways this way and that and her hands dip into the pockets. An edge of something digs under her thumbnail. She pulls out a square of paper, folded at least a dozen times. Scribbled on the outside, in her mother’s perfect handwriting:

  Don’t trust anyone!

  Maddy’s body jolts. Slowly, she unfolds the paper and with a gasp lets it flutter to the ground. ‘You knew all along,’ she says aloud to the mirror. It’s her mother looking back at her. She can hear her mother’s voice saying the words: Don’t trust anyone. Maddy slowly shakes her head. They’re the words Mum kept repeating in her final days. Dementia had stolen the person she knew, but was she saying this in more lucid moments? When did she find his list? How long did she know? All that time Maddy kept his secret to protect Mother, but she already knew he was seeing these women, their own friends and neighbours. Every one of them pretending to her, arranging play dates and dinner parties. And Father, the biggest charlatan of them all. The late-night meetings and overnight stays in Bristol, Manchester and London when all the time he was across the road in someone else’s bed. Is this what Max has been doing to her? Are there other women and he’s with one of them now? Or is he really dead? She picks up the piece of paper and rips through it, shredding the names into tiny pieces; all the while she is being watched in the mirror.

  Chapter Thirty

  Alison: October 2019

  When she arrives back from work on Saturday, Alison hopes to see Adam’s van on the drive, but again there’s no sign of it. Her heart thuds like a stone on wood. None of her friends have seen him lately. Where can he have gone? Why isn’t he answering her calls and texts? The thought of calling the police crosses her mind, but if something had happened to him, they’d have contacted her, wouldn’t they?

  Once inside, she calls up the stairs out of habit, and for a moment she thinks she hears a muffled reply. Jamie drops his coat on the floor.

  ‘Pick that up,’ she yells at him. She unloads the shopping on the kitchen counter.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ he whines, making a half-hearted attempt to hang his coat on a peg. ‘I thought you said Dad would be back.’

  ‘If you listened, I said he might be.’

  He trails after her into the kitchen and she pacifies him with a bag of crisps and sends him off to the living room. A blast of cartoon laughter roars from the TV.

  The post has been sorted and Adam’s opened again. So he must have been here. What is he playing at? Three parcels for her, too large for the letterbox, have been brought in and left on the side.

  Again, the kettle is warm. She tops it up with cold water and switches it on. One washed mug is still damp on the drainer. Is he just not talking to her? She sends him a text for the millionth time asking what time he’s back. That’s odd, the spider plant on the windowsill above the sink is dead; brown shrivelled leaves hang over the edge of the pot as if they’d been gasping for water. But she can’t understand it. There is water in the tray. She’s made a point of checking on it every morning. It’s not as if she even likes plants, but Adam keeps going on about how healthy they are for the home environment or something. The last thing she wants is for him to find them dead, she’d never hear the end of it. Maybe that’s why he’s mad at her? He’s popped in and seen it. Usually he’d leave her a scrawled message on the back of an envelope. Isn’t she even worth that? She moves it onto the draining board. The compost is saturated. She must have overwatered it.

  After a cup of tea, she starts dinner. Still no reply to her text. If he’s not back any minute with a bottle of sparkling wine, there’ll be trouble. She smiles imagining him coming up behind her, kissing her neck and she’ll inhale the musky eau de toilette she adores.

  As soon as the ready meals and chips are in the oven, she checks on Jamie in the living room. He’s lying upside down on the sofa watching cartoons, his feet stretched out up the back. Her friends are coming over later to throw her a baby shower. She ought to tidy up a bit.

  ‘Don’t you have any homework?’

  ‘Nah.’

  She takes out his school journal. ‘What about maths?’

  ‘Oh yeah.’

  ‘Five minutes, then switch that off, do you hear?’ As she turns, she notices the flowering plant behind the door. The pot is surrounded by shrivelled leaves with marks like burns. She reaches down and picks up the giant pot. The rotten smell makes her turn her head. Perhaps it was too near the radiator. But to die that quickly. How odd. She never liked it though. If plants would only stop growing and trying to take over the house. When one has died in the past it’s been more of a gradual process, except the plant which grew so big she decided she couldn’t be bothered with it anymore. Every time she had to squeeze past it in the hall it left pollen on her clothes. In the end she left it outside in the frost to die. Adam’s never forgiven her.

  ‘Dinner,’ she calls. It’s not until she’s dishing up that the tears come. She hurls her plate across the kitchen, the steaming food flying up the wall, lumps of tomato like clots of blood, pieces of spaghetti hanging like tassels. He must hate her to stay away this long and not even bother to call her. She needs to know they’re okay and can carry on as normal. She won’t mention weddings or rings or honeymoons, if that’s what it’s about. She’ll promise to be happy with the way things are.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Julie arrives at Alison’s early with a handful of helium balloons. She arranges them around the sitting room ceiling with their alternating pink and blue ribbons curling down. Alison is not in the mood for a party, but Julie has gone to loads of trouble. She helps out by emptying bags of nuts, crisps and Bombay mix into bowls.

  ‘You’re not supposed to be doing anything. Go and get yourself ready.’ Julie checks her watch.

  Upstairs, Alison looks in the mirror. Blue-black circles under her eyes from lack of sleep and her face is fuller with this pregnancy, almost bloated. She looks a mess. As she pulls her T-shirt off, a strong twinge tightens around her bump. She grips the back of the chair. Adam will be back in time, Julie keeps telling her. Perhaps he’s waiting to give her a surprise. But she’s fed up with his bloody games. Does he think she’s stupid or what? If he doesn’t turn up by the time she has the baby, she’s not sure she’ll want him at all. She needs to be with someone who worships her, that’s what Dad always told her.

  Once the pain has subsided, she opens the wardrobe. A stack of unopened mail order bags falls out. Shit, Adam must have been in here. He’ll be mad with her for spending more money on the credit card. No wonder he’s not getting back to her. She could say they’re Christmas presents, that’s why she’s not opened them. But the truth is she’s gone on another mad spending spree trying to make herself feel better. He’s making her unhappy. Strange that he found them though, s
he’d deliberately hidden them at the back. She pushes them aside and takes out a new white top she’s been dying to wear because she loves the slogan across the front in gorgeous white diamante lettering: the pitter patter of tiny feet. She curls her hair and reapplies her make-up, finishing by applying berry-coloured lip gloss.

  She comes downstairs, to a soft inviting scent. Julie has dimmed the lights and lit special candles in the living room, making it look magical.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Julie has changed from jeans into a satin wrapover dress.

  ‘The house looks and smells gorgeous, thanks honey.’ She gives Julie a hug. On the dining room table, pram-shaped confetti is scattered around a stack of wooden bricks which spell ‘Baby’ and ‘Charlie’, the name she has chosen without Adam. It’ll be perfect, whether it is a boy or a girl.

  Jaz is the first to arrive and is already a bit tipsy, followed by Louise, a girl with thick red hair they know from school.

  ‘Where is that lovely man of yours?’ Jaz says. She’s wearing a leather studded miniskirt and a white see-through blouse.

  ‘Away on business,’ Alison says.

  ‘Surely not. When you’re about to drop? Hey that rhymes.’ She giggles and drops down on the sofa.

  ‘Keep your trap shut,’ Julie hisses.

  ‘You look blooming marvellous in any case.’ Jaz stands up again and helps herself to a glass of bubbly from the table.

  ‘Why don’t I get you a glass of water, Jasmine?’ Julie says.

  ‘Good to see you, Jaz.’ Alison takes the oddly shaped gift from her. Julie steers Jaz by the elbow into the kitchen.

  When everyone has arrived, Julie shows Alison onto a chair which is decorated like a throne. ‘Time you put your feet up,’ she says. One of the mums brings in a pink fluffy footstool, made specially for her.

  ‘That’s lovely, thank you.’

  ‘But before you sit down, you need to put this on.’ Julie places a sash saying Mummy 2 B over Alison’s head and straightens it out across her bump. All the girls clap and cheer.

  ‘Open the presents then.’ Jaz claps her hands like an excited five-year-old.

  ‘Ali will open a present before each game.’ Julie refers to her list. ‘So, which one would you like first?’

  ‘It has to be this one, I suppose.’ Alison picks up the odd-shaped present from Jaz, who is busy knocking back a large vodka. Alison unwraps a V-shaped pillow and cover.

  ‘It’s good for when you’re breast-feeding, apparently,’ says Jaz, ‘but also great for getting in all those Kama Sutra positions.’

  Everyone groans.

  ‘She won’t need it for a while then, will she?’ Louise says, and everyone laughs.

  ‘I’m sure Adam has a healthy appetite.’ Jaz grins and finishes her drink.

  Julie glares at her.

  ‘So, the first game is called the Prediction Game.’ Julie hands out a card to each guest. ‘You need to fill in which date you think baby Charlie will be born, what time, what he or she will weigh, eye colour, hair colour and, of course, sex.’

  Everyone starts scribbling on their cards.

  ‘Do you realise, Ali,’ says Jaz, waving her card above her head, ‘you wouldn’t even be pregnant if I hadn’t bumped into Adam.’

  ‘I know, you’ve told me a hundred times.’ Alison smiles and rolls her eyes. Everyone tuts.

  ‘Shame he didn’t find out about Jamie sooner, isn’t it?’ Jaz swallows another drink. ‘Missed out a whole big chunk of his life.’

  ‘Will you shut up?’ Julie hisses.

  ‘Shame Daddy told him you’d had an abortion, then paid him to leave.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Alison moves to the edge of her chair.

  ‘Jaz, I’m warning you…’ Julie points at her.

  ‘Do you think that’s why he hasn’t married you?’ Jaz puts her glass on the table and flops backwards.

  There’s a long silence. Alison turns her card face down on the table and eases herself up. ‘What a shame, Jasmine. You used to be such a pretty girl.’ She reaches over and plucks a hair extension from Jaz’s head.

  ‘Fuck me, that hurt!’ Jaz presses her hands above her ear.

  ‘Get out!’ Alison shouts and jabs Jaz’s head with her elbow. Jaz shrieks and clutches her ear.

  ‘Call me down when she’s gone.’ Alison leaves the room, watching as she climbs the stairs.

  ‘You’ve had more than enough to drink. I’m calling you a cab.’ Julie picks up the phone. Jaz rubs her head, looking around at all the faces staring at her.

  * * *

  It’s almost midnight by the time Alison goes to bed. Again, no message or call from Adam. Jaz is right, Dad lied to him and paid him to stay away. But she thought they’d got past that and were committed to each other. He hadn’t been pleased about the baby though, had he? But why bother calling in while she’s out? Can’t he tell her if he wants to end it? She cries herself to sleep but wakes again an hour later with the sound of a car revving. The dog barks, padding up and down the laminate floor, groaning as he lies back down.

  She peers out of the window on the landing and spots a car parked opposite. Someone gets out and stands in the road. She can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman because it’s too dark except for the yellow glow of a streetlight halfway down the road. It can’t be Adam, not tall enough and this person is plump. What are they doing here?

  A roll of thunder rumbles far off in the night, then a flash of lightning darts through the landing. The rain begins lightly, playing a tune on the dormer roof, tinkling on the pipes. Soon it is heavy, slicing the sky with iron sheets, blurring her vision. But still the person stands there not moving, taking the beating rain on their head like a punishment.

  Alison runs to the spare room. Her heart flicks into an uncomfortable rhythm – too fast for her body to contain. She peeks out and the person is looking straight up at her, startling her, so she steps back into the safety of the shadows. Sitting on the bed, she puts a hand on her bump to soothe the kicking baby.

  After several minutes, she looks outside again. The person and the car have vanished. Relieved, she presses her chest and the bursting heartbeat begins to subside. The baby settles down when she rubs her bump and whispers that everything will be fine, Daddy will be home soon. She goes back to bed hoping he will be, that whatever she’s done, he’ll be able to forgive her and start afresh with their new baby. She doesn’t want to bring up another one of his children without him. Lying there, she listens to the comforting sounds of a motorbike speeding in the distance and the musical drip, drip, dripping of rain from the gutter.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Max: April 2017

  Max sat in his van dialling Ali’s number from his mobile. In all the days he’d been trying, he’d got through once, but the line went dead. If he had to, he’d go and see Jaz. She must have given him a dodgy number. He knew she didn’t really want to put them back in touch.

  With every flash of blonde hair, he imagined Ali. His pulse quickened each time he thought of her. When he closed his eyes, he could smell the soft musky scent she always wore. And that laugh of hers that made his heart fly. He had to stop this. He was with Maddy now. But Ali was unfinished business. They’d had something special. If he could see her once, it would be enough. To know those bastards hadn’t messed her up. To know she was all right after the abortion. Six years. She’d be twenty-six now and almost certainly not single. Not someone like Ali.

  One more try. After two rings, an answerphone kicked in. It was her voice. An elastic band pinged in his chest. She sounded chirpy and professional, as if he’d called some fancy office. ‘Ali, it’s me,’ Max said after the beep. He hesitated, ‘Adam.’ Tom banged his fist on the van door as he walked past. Eight o’clock. If he wasn’t on time he’d have to forfeit lunch. He repeated his mobile number and finished the call.

  The elderly woman made them an endless supply of tea that was so weak it tasted like warm milk. They joked about it when she left t
he room. Bob said it tasted more like brush water. Max climbed a ladder to steam off the thick wallpaper. His mobile phone buzzed.

  ‘Can you get that?’ Max said, jabbing at the crusted paper, trying to loosen it up.

  Bob picked the phone up. ‘What’s her name, lover boy?’ he said waving the phone in the air. He undid his overalls and shimmied around with it down to his shoulders, showing the tattoo of a dotted line around his neck and the words, ‘Cut Here’. The men wolf whistled.

  Max stomped down the ladder. ‘Give it here.’ He snatched the phone, but it rang off. There was no message. Max shoved him away and chucked the phone on the mantelpiece. He climbed back up the ladder.

  ‘Everything all right?’ the woman said in the doorway.

  ‘No problem, just a bit of friendly banter. Sorry if we disturbed you,’ Tom said. The woman gave a weak smile and shut the door.

  ‘Come on, Bob, Adam, let’s get this paper off.’ Tom waved his steamer at them.

  If Ali hadn’t called by the end of the day, he’d try again. He picked up the steamer and pressed the button but nothing came out. He pressed again and turned it over. A blast of steam shot into his face.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ he screamed and dropped it on the floor, his hands shaking, hovering inches from his face.

  ‘Quick,’ shouted Tom. He and Bob dragged Max down the ladder and out of the room. They rushed him to the kitchen. ‘Excuse us, accident.’

  ‘Goodness. Can I help?’ the woman asked.

  ‘Please call an ambulance, as quick as you can, he’s burnt his face.’

  Tom turned the tap on full and in seconds Max’s face was plunged into cold water.