Every Little Secret Read online

  ‘Yep, you got it.’ He winked. ‘Pot of strong tea, full English, no tomatoes, white toast.’

  She scribbled it down. Her nails were chewed with a tiny blob of red in the centre of each. Back behind the counter, she chatted to a skinny blonde who looked over at him and giggled. She was more his usual type, but next to Madeleine she was ordinary and shapeless with a laugh like a blocked drain.

  After his breakfast he took a cigarette paper out of his pocket. He held his hand out in front of him: it had just about stopped shaking. The bruises on his chest, legs and stomach had turned green. He’d been lucky to get away alive. Bastards. He pinched tobacco from a pouch in his bomber jacket, rolled the paper and stuck the cigarette behind his ear.

  ‘Delicious as always,’ he said, standing at the till.

  ‘You on holiday?’ She pointed at his battered suitcase.

  ‘I wish. Looking for work as a matter of fact. Been staying at a hostel but now I’m at a mate’s house in West Drayton.’ He stacked a column of fifty pence pieces on the counter.

  ‘It is a good area for work.’ She tipped her head to one side, the rich chocolate eyes drawing him in. ‘So, what do you do exactly?’ She counted the coins, chucked them in the till and pressed the drawer shut.

  ‘Painting, decorating, building, carpentry, you name it.’ He leaned on the counter and grinned at her.

  ‘I’ll ask around for you.’ She smiled.

  ‘What about you? Got any jobs you need doing?’

  ‘I can think of a few.’

  He laughed. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yeah, actually. My mum died recently and the house needs sprucing up; it’s badly out of date.’

  ‘Won’t your fella do it?’

  ‘I don’t have anyone.’ Her cheeks flushed pink.

  ‘Oh, right, on your own then?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Me too. Near here, is it?’

  ‘About ten minutes’ walk. Close to Uxbridge Common.’

  ‘I’ll call round and give you a quote if you like? No obligation.’

  ‘All right then.’

  ‘Great, speak to you soon, Madeleine.’ This was potential long-term work, just what he needed.

  ‘Call me Maddy. And you are?’ She held his eyes with hers, hand on hip.

  ‘Oh right, yeah, I’m… er… Max.’ His cheeks flashed with heat. Jesus, look at him getting all flustered. He took down her address on the back of his receipt and smiled to himself. This looked mighty promising in more ways than one. With any luck he’d landed on his feet.

  Chapter Four

  Maddy: Late September 2019

  Maddy wakes in the night and senses Max isn’t there. The bedroom door that doesn’t shut properly has swung open. He must have gone downstairs for a drink or is he away on business? Sleep fogs her memory. She turns to the space next to her, the duvet pulled up, untouched. A shot of adrenaline surges through her body; she sits bolt upright, eyes wide, chest clenched tight so she cannot breathe – he’s not away, he’s not downstairs, he is missing.

  She forces herself to breathe deeply, in out, in out, in out, focusing on the cool air sweeping the curtains to and fro. She reaches for the grey outline of a glass next to the bed and takes a sip of water. The tinkling sound of rain on the window quickly accelerates into a downpour. The white noise is welcome, filling the silent room.

  She hears Max’s voice, distant, apologetic: Sorry darling, I couldn’t go on. Sarah’s right, he’s not the sort of person to do something like this. Since Chloe was born, they haven’t been as close. It doesn’t help that he spends so much time away, much more than before. But Chloe’s death has pushed her to the limit, why not him?

  Within the music of the rain she can hear a cat wailing, louder and louder. But they don’t have a cat.

  She stalks along the landing. The noise is coming from Emily’s room. For a second, she listens at the door before easing it open. Emily is standing at the open window with her thumb in her mouth, holding her ragged old comforter. Giant tears of rain are splashing on her face. Maddy tries to wrap her arms around her daughter, but with surprising force, Emily pushes her away, burying her head in the blanket, calling for Daddy. Maddy smooths a hand over the mattress. As she guessed, the bed is wet again.

  After she’s washed Emily, she helps her into clean pyjamas and sits her on a beanbag, covering her with a fleece while she changes the sheets. She tucks her back in bed. Maddy stands at the window, breathing in the damp earthy air, praying that this is all a nightmare she’s going to wake up from, that Max will come home.

  * * *

  In the morning, Maddy rings Emily’s school and tells them what’s happened, that she’ll be keeping her at home today. She texts Sarah who insists on calling in after school to make them dinner.

  The Family Liaison Officer, Susan, arrives early with an update.

  ‘How are you?’ Susan follows her into the kitchen.

  ‘We had a bad night, as you’d probably expect, especially Emily. I’m leaving her to sleep in.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t have good news for you yet, but they are still scouring the area,’ Susan says.

  ‘They’re not going to give up, are they?’

  ‘Not until they’ve done everything they can. There will probably be an appeal on your local news station later today and police boards have been put up near the brook appealing for eye-witnesses.’

  ‘What do I tell Emily?’

  ‘Tell her the truth, but I’d keep her away from the TV today if you can. It could be upsetting if she sees it on the news. Have you got people to support you, Maddy?’

  ‘Yes, my neighbour Sarah is coming to cook me dinner, and our book club friends on Facebook are being really kind.’

  ‘Good, it’s important to know you’ve got people there for you. I’ll be back as soon as I have more information.’

  When Susan has gone, Maddy gently wakes Emily. She’ll do as she suggests and make sure the TV and radio are off today. But she will need to tell Emily he’s not been found yet. His smiling face in the photo she gave the policeman flits through her mind. Their holiday on the Isle of Wight feels like an age ago. It doesn’t seem possible that all four of them were a happy family and now two are gone.

  After breakfast, Maddy takes Emily’s school project down from the windowsill. ‘Let’s have a look at your caterpillar,’ Maddy says, peering in the clear container. Emily shrugs. They need to keep busy, stay hopeful that Max will still be found alive, but every minute is like wading through wet sand. All she longs to do is go back to bed.

  ‘Do you think it’s grown?’ Maddy gives her the caterpillar check list and pen.

  Emily nods.

  ‘Has she eaten any food, do you think?’

  Emily peers closer at the pile of leaves and nods again.

  ‘Do you think it will turn into a moth or a butterfly?’

  ‘Moth.’ Emily purses her lips, pushes them out in her sulky way, meaning she didn’t mean to speak.

  ‘It says here that when the caterpillar is ready to change it will climb to the top of the jar and hang upside down from the paper on the inside of the lid.’

  Emily gives a little smile. Maddy hugs her and puts the jar and check list back. Exhaustion tips her off balance, like a ship in a storm. She reaches out for the counter to steady herself.

  ‘How did Daddy get lost?’ Emily asks.

  ‘We’re not sure, sweetheart. Sometimes things happen that we can’t control. They really are doing their best to find him.’ She takes the caddy of used teabags she’s collected and empties them in the compost bin outside the back door, next to two drums full of cardboard and wine bottles that Max was supposed to take to the recycle centre. Tears prick her eyes. Why is this happening? What was he even doing on that bridge so close to home?

  ‘Please can we help the police?’ Emily asks.

  ‘I don’t think we’ll be much use.’ The dogs follow her back inside.

  ‘Why not?’ Emily shou
ts and pulls her hair.

  ‘The police have special equipment. We’ll get in their way.’ She kisses the top of Emily’s head. She imagines Max sinking in the deep black water, his clothes ballooning.

  Emily trails after her outside, face tipped up expectantly. Maddy pours Emily a glass of water and hands it to her. She pats the space next to her on the bench. How is she going to do this? She bows her head. Her eyes and cheeks are so sore and puffy. Surely there are no more tears to shed. But her eyes fill up again as she tries to find the right words. ‘Sweetheart, you know Daddy and I love you very much, don’t you?’ Emily nods. ‘I don’t really know how to say this.’

  Emily stops, water puffs out her cheeks. She swallows it in one gulp and coughs, spluttering droplets on her skirt. Maddy reaches over and slaps her on the back.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Emily nods, eyes bulging.

  ‘Please don’t do that.’ She stares into Emily’s eyes and watches her closely. ‘They still haven’t found Daddy.’ No reaction. Her words sound distant; she hardly believes it herself.

  Emily lengthens her back until she’s sitting upright. Her hands clasp the glass a little tighter; the frosted pattern makes it look shattered. Did she understand? She strokes Emily’s hands. Her head throbs. Can this really be happening? Emily presses her lips with the back of her hand as if to seal them shut forever.

  ‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart. They’re doing all they can.’

  Emily’s eyelids flicker; her eyes roll back in her head as she tips sideways off the seat. Maddy leaps forward to catch her, just managing to slide between Emily and the ground in time. She cradles her daughter’s head in her lap, the breathing is shallow, limbs locked, body juddering. The small stiff frame twists, head thrashing from side to side like she’s trapped in a nightmare.

  When Emily’s body is still again, her eyes flutter open. A silver thread of moisture hangs from the corner of her mouth. Maddy rocks Emily gently, humming a tune, like the time she held her as a baby, wrapped in a towel, face and limbs blue, keeping her warm, holding her tight.

  At last the grey, sometimes moss green eyes look up at Maddy, but there’s no expression. They could be the glassy eyes of a doll, with eyelids that open when tipped back.

  Gradually Emily recovers, tries to sit up, but Maddy gently says, ‘Sssh’, and holds her around the shoulders like a blanket, kissing her temples, still rocking, still humming, smoothing the glossy hair, noticing the eyes begin to recognise her as she watches her daughter come back to life.

  * * *

  Emily sleeps through the night and is so much better the next morning and wants to go to school. Maddy drops her off and drives into town because she can’t bear another day stuck at home, waiting for news. She stops at the supermarket and collects milk, a loaf of bread, and a pack of chocolate digestives for Emily. She eyes up the Jammie Dodgers, Chloe’s favourite. She’s been buying them every week for so long it’s hard to stop herself picking them up. She takes the escalator up to the home department. As she rises to the top, she sees him. Max’s face fills a row of television screens on the back wall – the photo of him she gave to the police. A reporter from the local news is standing in front of a bridge. He turns and points. The TV camera pans in close to the grey, fast-moving water. His words appear as text at the bottom of each screen.

  Could the tragic death of his young daughter have led Max Saunders to jump from this bridge?

  Heat flashes through Maddy’s head. Max’s duplicated face stares back at her, his unmistakable smile. Putting down the basket, she stumbles out of the shop, back to the car, where she sits gripping the wheel, her hands shaking.

  Chapter Five

  Maddy sits at the kitchen table with her coat on, shivering. Does this mean he’s dead? They’ve not told her he is. Not in so many words. It’s strange that John’s not called her yet. Surely, he must be wondering where Max is by now? She should call him. He might know something. But she can hear him now: What are you going on about? Max is right here. Hang on, I’ll pass you over.

  She rummages in a kitchen drawer for her address book and flicks through the pages. She’s scribbled it somewhere. There’s hardly ever been an occasion when she’s needed to call him, except that time Max had food poisoning. There it is. She picks up the phone and dials.

  ‘Can I speak to John Sutton, please?’

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘It’s Mrs Saunders, Max’s wife. I don’t know if you’ve heard the terrible news?’

  ‘No, what’s happened?’ The shrill sound of an electric drill or some other power tool almost drowns out his voice.

  ‘Max is missing.’ She’s almost shouting so he can hear her over the racket.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he shouts back. The drilling stops.

  ‘The police think he’s fallen into a river.’

  ‘Fallen? You’re kidding, right?’

  ‘Or jumped. They don’t know. They’ve not found him yet. It was in Uxbridge.’

  John is silent.

  ‘Did he mention where he was going after work last night?’

  ‘Nothing, I’m sorry. He was heading home as far as I knew.’

  ‘But he didn’t come home.’

  John doesn’t answer. She can hear someone whispering.

  ‘If you know something, John, please, you have to tell me, I’m going out of my mind here.’ Maddy presses her palm to her neck.

  ‘You know he left yesterday, don’t you?’ he says quietly.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I mean he resigned. Told me after lunch. Right out of the blue.’

  ‘How could he do that when you’re business partners?’

  ‘We’re most certainly not. Is that what he told you?’

  ‘Yes, two years ago. I gave him the money for it.’

  ‘We were talking about it two years ago, until he backed out, said he couldn’t get enough cash together.’

  ‘But he showed me the papers; they were all drawn up.’

  ‘Well, I never signed anything. Good job too, because to be honest with you, he’s been a bloody nightmare.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Never knew if he was going to turn up for a job or not, from one week to the next.’

  ‘This is not making any sense.’

  ‘I’m sorry, love.’

  ‘Would you know anything about a key for Plot 146? It was found in his rucksack.’

  ‘No idea. Sorry, I can’t help.’

  The line goes dead. Maddy slams the phone down, her cheeks burning as if John has slapped her hard across the face. She hurls the address book at the wall. Her mind flits through the times Max stayed away longer than planned, to finish a job or work extra shifts. And what about that time he was late for Chloe’s school concert? He blamed it on work. If John is right and Max didn’t always turn up for work, where was he going?

  Chapter Six

  Max: March 2011

  At 9 p.m. Max knocked on the solid oak front door and waited in the open porch. It was an imposing house with ornate brickwork around mock Tudor beams. After a couple of minutes, the door inched open. He could see Maddy in the gap, a chain separating them.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry, I know it’s a bit late. Did I get you up?’

  She unchained the door and stood aside.

  The light in the hall was dim. A dirty cream pattern like hundreds of faces lined the walls, hanging down in strips in places. There was a smudged outline where a picture had once hung, framing a cleaner patch of wallpaper.

  ‘I’m making a milky coffee, do you want one?’ She stifled a yawn.

  Without all the slap he could see the beginnings of crease lines around her eyes and mouth; must be pushing thirty at least. The woody bong of an old-fashioned clock chimed far off in another room. He followed her past an iron coat stand, into the kitchen. It looked like nothing had been modernised for years – free-standing cupboards, a Welsh dresser, and a t
win-tub in the corner covered in pot plants.

  They sat at the huge pine table which showed patchy signs of having been varnished once, long ago. She took a packet of Bourbon biscuits out of the larder and emptied them onto a plate.

  ‘Would you like a splash?’ She held up a bottle of malt whiskey.

  ‘Yeah, go on then,’ he said.

  She poured a generous measure in each mug. The ribbons of steam slowly entwined.

  ‘My plan is to find permanent work and hopefully do a few jobs on the side.’

  ‘You could try around Hayes or Yeading.’

  ‘I’ve heard they’re looking for someone at the builders’ yard, off the big roundabout. I’d rather stick to Uxbridge with the town centre and everything.’

  ‘I’ve never lived anywhere else. Been on my own since Mum died.’

  Max raised his eyebrows. The beginnings of a wrinkled skin floated on top of his drink. He pushed it aside with the spoon and drank a mouthful.

  ‘What does that stand for?’

  He put the mug down. She was looking at the letter ‘A’ tattooed on the inside of his wrist.

  ‘Nothing important.’ But she was waiting for an answer. He wasn’t about to tell her. He pressed his thumb into the skin and rubbed it, as if it were there by mistake and might come off. ‘I’m kipping at a friend’s place in West Drayton but not much in the way of work over there.’ He eyed her up as he took another slug of the warm, milky whiskey. She seemed quite green for someone her age. The way she took delicate little sips of her drink was kind of sweet. What was she thinking about behind those deep dark eyes? Perhaps she was amused by his hair which badly needed a cut, or his old jeans, full of holes he was trying to pass off as fashionable. The first thing he’d do when he made some cash was go up town and splash out on some quality gear.

  ‘When’d you lose your mum?’ he asked softly. Their eyes met.

  ‘Three months ago, now.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Must have been a tough time.’

  ‘I was caring for her. She’d been ill for years.’