Every Little Secret Read online

  The sound of Alison’s resigned footsteps plodding downstairs tells her that she’s checked every room and given up. The front door slams hard and she skids the car out of the drive and up the road.

  Maddy creeps downstairs. In the kitchen is a note on the counter:

  Adam, why are you doing this to me? I’ll be back at 6 p.m. Wait for me this time!! We need to talk!!! A

  Maddy fills the kettle and smirks at her mother in the window’s reflection.

  Back upstairs, she continues with the plan and loosens the screws on the nasty plastic shelf in the shower, packed full of overpriced premium shampoos and scrubs and goodness knows what.

  In the living room she has a sip of tea and starts on the cabinet door. The screws are stiff at first, but she manages to undo them enough and she’s able to shut it without showing any sign of it being tampered with.

  As she is picking up her mug a large bird crashes into the French window with a deadening thud making her spill tea all down her front. Out on the path, a young crow lies on its back, head on one side, twitching. Maddy opens the patio door and slides her hands underneath it, gently lifting it onto her lap. She sits on a sun-bleached railway sleeper stroking the inky feathers. It blinks its beady black eye at her. The rapid heartbeat soon slows to nothing and the warmth of its body seeps through her fingers like sand. Poppy sniffs it and slopes off into the house. A ghostly imprint of its wings is left on the window.

  She takes the bird inside and lays it on a scrap of old newspaper. Poor thing deserves a proper burial, but Max would tell her it is a bad omen, a sign of death or ill fortune. His gran knew all about these things. They shouldn’t be ignored. Alison needs to know that she won’t get away with what she’s done. She leaves her mug in the sink and places the dead bird on Alison’s doormat on her way out.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Alison: October 2019

  Alison arrives back from Jamie’s swimming lesson just after 5 p.m. It starts to rain as they get out of the car. Jamie laughs as he’s getting wet, turning in circles. Poppy is barking on the other side of the front door.

  ‘Argh, what’s that?’ Alison jumps back from the dark glistening mound on the mat. Jamie stops laughing and peers closer, poking it with the side of his trainer.

  ‘It’s dead,’ he says.

  ‘I can see that. What’s it doing here?’

  ‘Probably killed by next door’s cat.’

  ‘A crow? Isn’t it too big for a cat to catch?’ She picks up the sides of the mat. ‘Open the bin, will you?’

  Jamie splashes through the puddles along the drive and flips open the lid. Alison curls the mat up either end, scoops the whole lot up and drops it in the bin.

  ‘What about the mat?’ asks Jamie.

  ‘It might have fleas or something. We can get a new one.’

  ‘When’s Dad coming home?’

  ‘Don’t start. Hurry up now and get in. I’m soaked to the bloody skin.’

  Poppy sniffs them, but Alison pushes him away. She opens Jamie’s schoolbag and takes out his reading book and an object wrapped in tissue.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘We made it in pottery. It’s a footballer.’

  ‘Can I have a look then?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He runs into the living room and switches on the television.

  ‘You’ve painted it nicely. Where shall we put it?’

  ‘I don’t want to unwrap it yet.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s for Dad.’

  ‘Oh. I’ll leave it on the side then, shall I?’ He’d better bloody turn up now. ‘Go and have a shower.’

  ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘Yes, you do, you’re soaking wet. You’ll catch a cold. Go on, get upstairs.’ She trudges into the kitchen and unlocks the back door. The rain is now a curtain of steel. Poppy doesn’t budge.

  ‘Don’t blame you, mate, but you’ll have to cross your legs.’ She shivers and slams the door.

  Dragging a large pan out of the cupboard, she fills it with cold water. Pasta again. A different sauce. Jamie won’t mind. Or rather he won’t notice. There’s some leftover bacon she could chop up and chuck in. She’s never enjoyed cooking. After her mum deserted them for another man, they lived on takeaways and eating out in restaurants, mainly the curry house at the end of their road. Her father would sit at the top of the table like Don Corleone, with his napkin tucked into his collar, and none of them was allowed to speak unless he asked a question. It wasn’t until she left that she realised she’d never felt comfortable at home. She misses her mum and wishes she’d kept in touch, but he probably made that impossible too.

  The sound of rain begins to lessen. Water starts gushing out of the gutter at the corner of the house. Something else that needs fixing. She opens the carousel door and it comes off in her hand. ‘What the hell?’ The screws fall to the floor. Poppy sniffs at the packets of pasta and rice. ‘Get away,’ she shouts and props the door down the side of the fridge. A loud thud sounds above her head. She runs upstairs and bursts into the shower room. Jamie covers himself with his hands. Bottles of shampoo and shower gel have fallen onto the cubicle floor. The shelf has come clean out of the wall.

  ‘How did you manage that?’ she asks, passing him a towel.

  ‘I didn’t touch it. It just fell and nearly hit me.’ He steps past her, onto the mat.

  ‘I’ll sort it out later,’ she says and stomps back downstairs.

  The pan on the hob is fizzing, the water bubbles up and splashes over.

  ‘Jesus Christ! Where the hell are you, Adam?’ she shouts.

  * * *

  While Jamie’s eating, Alison goes upstairs. She’s not hungry and will grab a snack later. She doesn’t see the point in dusting, but she does it now and then to keep Adam happy or when she’s agitated. While she is wiping the bookcase at the top of the stairs, she comes across the photo frame edged with ceramic teddy bears. The picture of Jamie as a baby has gone. Shock shoots through her. The back of the frame is neatly secured. It was there yesterday. She doesn’t know why but she shivers.

  She turns the tiny frame in her hands, thinking there might be a clue, a tell-tale mark. It was a special photo; Jamie was two days old, weighed only 5lb, too small for any normal-sized clothes, too weak to stay awake and feed from her breast. She sniffs to stop tears rising to the surface. She runs the duster across the top of the bookcase. Daft how she still gets tearful over nothing. No wonder her brothers used to call her a cry baby.

  In the bedroom, she slips the frame into a drawer of her bedside table. She opens a window and shakes the duster outside. He’ll call soon and come up with a simple reason. And she’s prepared to forgive him as long as it’s nothing bad.

  A series of envelopes drop on the mat as she’s coming downstairs. More bills. She collects them up and adds them to the bulging pile in the kitchen, promising herself she’ll go through them later.

  Jamie has finished his pasta and is curled up on the chair in the sitting room, watching cartoons. She notices a mark on the French window, an imprint of a wing. Opening the door, she scours the area outside for a body, but can’t see any. It looks like it had quite a wallop. Could it have flown away? Or is it the same one that was dead on the front doormat? Maybe the cat picked it up from here and dropped it there. Would it do that? She squashes in next to Jamie and gives him a cuddle, kissing the top of his head.

  ‘When’s Daddy coming home?’ He doesn’t give up.

  ‘I don’t honestly know.’ It’s her stock reply but what else can she say when she doesn’t know the answer? Perhaps she should never have let Adam back in her life.

  She slides the patio doors wider, encouraging him to play outside in the thin evening sunshine now it’s stopped raining. The dog bounds past her, racing down the garden, ears flapping. He disappears into the bushes behind the apple tree.

  She’s wandering back to the kitchen when the telephone rings. There’s a moment’s hesitation before she picks it up. It�
�s Rob. He wants to know if he can have Monday afternoon off. She passes her finger over the date on the calendar. If he can swap it for Tuesday morning, she tells him, she could wait in for Adam again.

  The phone is still in her hand when it rings again.

  ‘What is it, Rob?’ There is no answer. Oh, come on, please. She hurries past Jamie, outside.

  ‘Adam, is that you?’ She waits a second. ‘Adam? Adam? Look, whoever this is, stop ringing me or I’ll call the police,’ she shouts. At that moment an apple falls in front of her, thudding on the roof of Jamie’s playhouse. The line goes dead and she’s left startled at the falling missile. ‘This tree has to come down,’ she says aloud. The parasol is flapping round and round in a circle, casting a long shadow on the ground.

  * * *

  In the morning, Alison walks the dog around the block before the tree surgeon arrives. On the way home, she runs through her argument with Adam on the last day she saw him. Breakfast TV sparked it off. A couple were having a beach wedding in Jamaica. She said that could be them one day. Except she thought she’d said it under her breath, but Adam slammed his mug of tea down, sloshing it over the table.

  ‘I thought I made it clear,’ he said, an icy edge to his voice. She switched the television off. Jamie stopped eating.

  ‘Jamie, eat up.’ She followed Adam into the hallway.

  ‘Are you saying you won’t ever marry me?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s right.’ He put his jacket on, his back to her.

  ‘But we always said we would. I mean Jamie and the new baby need security. What’s changed?’

  Adam lowered his face close to hers, teeth clenched. ‘You’ve sucked every single penny out of me, what security do you think a piece of paper will give you?’ He’d slammed the front door behind him, leaving her in a swirling gust of air.

  She’d never seen him like that before. It wasn’t the Adam she fell for. He sounded more and more like her father. When they were first together, they talked all the time about getting engaged, running away to get hitched so her father didn’t find out. He’d been full of it then, told her they could run away to Gretna Green and he’d found a place that sold decent second-hand wedding dresses. He’d been more happy-go-lucky then. Full of big plans about their future. The house he wanted to build. It was his idea for them to get matching tattoos. A and A. They were a team. He made her feel safe. For the first time in her life she hadn’t been scared of her father anymore, but that hadn’t lasted.

  An open-top truck is already parked on her drive. She smiles at the men as she walks past and unlocks the front door. The dog pulls on his lead, barking in a shrill, insistent pitch. She drags him inside by his collar and locks him in the sitting room. It means digging deeper into her overdraft, but she can’t put it off any longer, whatever Adam might have to say about it. If it means she’ll be able to sleep better again, it’ll be worth every penny.

  The men unload their equipment and she shows them through the side gate into the garden. The older man is wearing a body harness and safety helmet. The other, much younger, man carries reams of rope.

  While the kettle is boiling, she stands at the back door watching the older man climb the tree. He pulls his safety visor over his face. As she pours water into the mugs, she can hear the insistent buzz of the saw. She pictures Jamie climbing up the tree, calling out to her to watch him. She’d looked up from her phone at the moment his foot slipped, and as she ran towards him she knew she couldn’t stop him falling. By the time she looks out again, all the smaller top branches have been chopped down. Adam will go mental. She could shout at him to stop, but as she carries the tea into the garden the satisfying crack of a thicker branch tells her it’s already too late.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Max: April 2017

  Max tried to call Ali from work the next day, but there was no answer. He rang Jaz but the line was permanently engaged. Three days later, Ali telephoned back and asked him to meet her.

  In Hinchingbrooke Park, in Huntingdon, she was waiting for him on a bench. She looked different with her hair tied back in a rough ponytail. It was how he remembered her. A brisk breeze whistled and sighed through the trees. Bruised clouds threatened rain overhead.

  ‘Tony got wind of us meeting up.’ She scanned up and down the path.

  ‘Tony?’

  ‘I’m seeing him. He’s not pleased.’

  ‘Please don’t tell me you mean that Tony.’

  Her fingers played with the zip on her bag.

  ‘Do you want to kick me in the face while you’re at it?’ The cigarette in his lips bobbed up and down as he spoke. He took it out.

  ‘Someone clocked you in The White Hart. Why did you go back there?’

  ‘I was working in Brampton. Thought it wouldn’t hurt after all this time.’ He tried to relight the cigarette, but it fell to the ground.

  ‘You’d best stay away. Mick and Ray know you’re back on the scene.’

  ‘Ah, the Brothers Grimm.’

  ‘Mick’s still in prison.’ She glanced over her shoulder.

  ‘And Ray?’

  ‘Ray’s about. I hear things but haven’t seen him. We’ve never talked since, you know.’ She twisted her coat belt into a knot.

  ‘Okay, maybe it was a bit stupid, but I wouldn’t have got back in touch with you if I hadn’t gone in there, would I?’ He longed to touch the side of her face, to kiss her lips. But he was here to end it before he got in too deep.

  ‘You should dump that knuckle head.’

  ‘It’s not that simple.’

  ‘The guy’s a loser.’

  ‘He’s done a lot for me, helped me pay my rent, stuff like that.’ She pulled at the knitted scarf hanging loose round her neck. ‘I can’t stay long.’

  ‘We’ve just got here.’ He slipped his fingers around the edge of her scarf and gently pulled it away from her skin. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘It’s nothing.’ She tugged his hand away and pulled the scarf up.

  ‘If it’s nothing, show me.’ He caught hold of her hand and carefully unravelled the scarf. The skin on one side was mottled, red and purple.

  ‘It’s a game, a love bite, that’s all.’ She wouldn’t look at him.

  ‘What kind of fucking game?’

  ‘Tony was mucking about.’ She slid her hair out of the band and let it fall across her face. ‘He likes it a bit rough, you know.’

  ‘Around your neck? Am I meant to believe that?’

  Ali stood up. ‘I know you’re not exactly friends.’

  ‘Err… you could say that. Did you know he helped your brothers kick the hell out of me?’

  ‘I didn’t. I’m sorry.’ She gathered up her bag.

  ‘What else has he done to you?’ He stood up too, pulse racing. The thought of him hurting her, touching her, made him want to spew his guts up. How did she end up with Tony, for God’s sake, of all people?

  ‘I have to go,’ she said backing away.

  ‘Finish with him, please,’ he said softly, taking her hand. ‘You deserve better than that.’

  ‘I need to think.’

  ‘Hey, remember that time we got away to London for the day?’

  She smiled.

  ‘It was the first time I felt completely free, like I didn’t have to check over my shoulder.’

  ‘We had lunch outside in Covent Garden and the statue of the man painted gold made you jump.’

  ‘And you were so scared going up in the London Eye, you clung to me the whole way round.’

  She nodded. ‘It was a great day.’

  ‘I’m sorry there weren’t more days like that.’ He took her hand. ‘Please don’t go back to him, Ali.’

  ‘I have to go. I’m sorry.’ She twisted away from him and ran down the path.

  ‘I’m going to call you on Friday,’ he shouted after her.

  But she didn’t stop.

  Shit. So much for telling her he couldn’t see her again. But how could he walk away leaving her in th
e hands of that psychopath?

  Chapter Forty

  When he telephoned on Friday, Ali assured him she would finish with Tony, but he wasn’t sure he believed her.

  ‘I need to make sure you’re okay.’

  ‘Not this week, Adam, I’ve got stuff I need to sort out.’

  ‘Let me help you. I could knock off work early.’

  But she kept putting him off, and a week later, when he couldn’t get any answer from her, he was convinced Tony was still on the scene.

  He drove to Ali’s maisonette one gusty afternoon and parked nearby. He lit a cigarette and checked his watch. Three hours at the most. He’d told John he had to take one of the girls to the dentist because Maddy was busy. He shouldn’t be taking risks like this, but Ali wasn’t safe with that nutter.

  He texted Ali, but she didn’t reply so he switched the radio on low and shut his eyes. The first time he kissed Ali was under Bull’s Bridge, in Hayes. She’d passed him a note when her dad wasn’t looking, asking him to meet her there. She was so pretty and petite, like a little doll. He couldn’t believe she was interested in him. It was the first time someone had properly wanted him.

  The roar of a car engine woke him from a light doze. The unmistakable bulk of Tony wrenched himself out of a BMW. He unlocked the front door to Ali’s flat and disappeared inside. Max waited ten minutes but there was no sign of him leaving, so he got out of his van, took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

  Tony answered.

  ‘I’m here to see Ali,’ Max said.

  ‘Well look who it ain’t,’ Tony roared.