Every Little Secret Page 6

  Chapter Fifteen

  Max: March 2011

  On Saturday morning, Max hired a van to dispose of all the old furniture. The bed frame was falling apart and the mattress had compacted with years of human debris.

  ‘I’m off to the dump,’ he called. Maddy was at the bottom of the garden, where she seemed to spend most of her time when she wasn’t working at the cafe. He couldn’t see her face under the floppy hat and sunglasses, but he waved at her all the same.

  On the way back, he drove along Uxbridge High Street, pulling up at a pelican crossing to let a group of students cross. He spotted a petite blonde woman strolling past The Crown and Sceptre. Her outline, the sway of her hips looked just like Ali’s. He honked his horn and the woman turned, but her features were all wrong: the lips thinner, the hairline higher. He banged his fist on the horn at a group of kids pushing and shoving each other in the road. No point dwelling on what could have been. Maddy was good for him and everything felt different and exciting with her. She was crazy about him, too, he was certain of that.

  When he got back, Maddy answered the door wearing a satin dressing gown. A warm, sweet aroma filled the hallway.

  ‘I thought I’d have a nice bath while you were out,’ she said, beaming at him.

  Her features seemed to have softened in the steam. Her hair was arranged high on her head, clipped back so it looked sexy, with a couple of tresses framing her face.

  ‘I’ve got something for you,’ she said.

  He followed her into a room at the back of the house. It was the only room he’d not been in.

  ‘This was Dad’s study. I love this desk,’ she said, stroking the highly polished black surface. ‘It’s ebonised wood – mahogany lacquered black to make it look Japanese. It was all the rage two hundred years ago. Isn’t it beautiful?’

  Max nodded. He’d never heard of such a thing, but it looked quality. Worth a few grand. He could taste dust in the air. Heavy velvet curtains, which had long since faded at the edges, were half pulled across the tall window. One wall was full of pristine leather-bound books and opposite the desk towered a grandfather clock which had stopped at five minutes past six. Maddy opened the top drawer of the desk and took out a key. The sun flashed on its silver fob.

  ‘For you,’ she said, letting it fall into his palm. ‘You asked about renting a room.’

  ‘You sure?’

  Their eyes fixed on each other for several moments.

  ‘I’m more than sure. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I’d like you to move in.’

  ‘I’d love to.’ He slowly pulled the belt on her dressing gown and she allowed it to slip to the ground. As she stood naked in front of him, he smelt the warmth from her skin mixed with an intoxicating but delicate scent of roses. Her body was full and curvy. He’d always gone for skinny girls like Ali, preferring a clothes-hanger frame, but while they might look better in clothes, a voluptuous figure like Maddy’s was more pleasing to the eye when naked; no hip or rib bones in sight.

  He took her hands in his and kissed her lips. He’d never had such a full body surge while kissing a woman before. What was it about her? He held her in his arms, smoothing his hands up and down her silky skin. He couldn’t get enough of her. He shut his eyes and nuzzled in her rose-scented hair. He’d never felt so happy and secure. No complications, no games, no threats. Would he be able to hang on to her without fucking it all up? God, he hoped so.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Maddy: Early October 2019

  In the morning, Maddy takes Poppy and Daisy for a walk after dropping Emily at school. All the way round the park she goes over the woman’s responses to her questions. Can she have really never heard of Max? Seems so unlikely when she’s driving around in his old car. And why did she rush off like that? Shouldn’t she tell the police in case they are involved with Max’s disappearance? Her thoughts twist and turn each time they skip back to the wallpaper and carpet. Her mind refuses to contemplate what it could mean.

  Back home, she unclips the dogs’ leads. A beam of low autumn sun illuminates the room. She can’t settle. She needs answers. She cancels her midday hair appointment and drives back to Huntingdon. Thankfully, it’s a clear run.

  She’s there by 9.45 a.m. She parks in the adjacent road, tucked far enough out of sight so as not to arouse suspicion, but still giving her a clear view of number twenty-nine. Her silver-grey VW people carrier is sufficiently ordinary looking so as not to attract attention.

  Max’s old car isn’t on the drive. The woman must have gone out. Still, she’ll wait, watch the house. This is crazy; is she going to sit here all day until she comes back? And what’s she going to say to her this time that’s different from before? They could be dangerous. She should leave, call the police, tell them this couple might know something about Max’s disappearance. But an overwhelming urge to find out what’s going on is eating at her. There has to be a reason why they have the same patterned wallpaper and carpet. Something is going on and she wants to find out what it is right now. She digs around in her handbag and takes out the key for Plot 146 then drops it into her coat pocket.

  Easing herself out of the car she sidles over to the front door. There are pots of lavender either side of the mat, except one plant is dead and the other is wilting. The dog starts barking; a relentless one-note bark that confirms no one is in. Without thinking, her fingers dip into her pocket. She draws out the key and stares at it in her palm. The truth is painful, but so is ignorance, her mother told her many times. Would she rather not find out?

  The key slides into the lock and turns. Her heart drumming, blood pumps loudly in her ears. One more bark rings out as she opens the door. Taking a quick glance behind her, she slips inside.

  The springer spaniel jumps out of its basket in the living room and runs towards her leaping up, a string of saliva swinging from its mouth. She stares at the wallpaper, the carpet and rocks backwards. It’s not just like their wallpaper at home, it’s exactly the same. She stares agape at the flower pattern duplicated up and down the hall and stairs. Dizzy, she blinks hard trying to take it in. The dog jumps up at her again. The nametag under her chin reads Poppy and a phone number. The same name as one of theirs – but this dog is male. She gently pushes him away. What is all this, a sick joke? He barks again before sitting back down, tail wagging. A moment later, he picks up a ball in his mouth and snakes around her legs, thumping his tail against her.

  A clatter of envelopes shoots through the letterbox, startling her. A pain sears through her head and down the side of her face: the start of a migraine. She picks up the mail addressed to Adam Hawkins and Alison Wood.

  Turning left into the living room, she stops dead. French windows overlook a corner garden, so similar to theirs, except this lawn is more like scrubland. The sofa and chairs are the same dark chocolate leather, even the layout of the room is identical. Bright coloured Lego is scattered on a rose-patterned rug, the pattern she chose for their house. She runs a finger along the display cabinet central to the room: dust. Her eyes are drawn to a photo above the mock fireplace. She peers closer, but her eyes blur. It can’t be, but it is. Max is grinning back at her, his arm around the blonde woman, and a boy sitting at their feet. She sways backwards and has to grab onto the sofa to stop herself collapsing. How can this be? This is her husband. It must be a mistake. Are they related? Does Max have a brother, an identical twin? But there, on his upturned wrist, is the unmistakable tattoo of the letter ‘A’.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid! She yanks open one of the cabinet doors and a top-heavy pile of board games slides out. The adjacent cupboard is stuffed with colouring books, car magazines, and photo albums. She plucks one out. Bile rises in her throat. Pain pulses through her skull as if her head is about to crack open. She flips open the cover. No, please no. Max’s face is in picture after picture, his unmistakable smile. In one photo, his arm is wrapped around this Alison woman, captured in profile; her small upturned nose close to his cheek, her eyes shut, a
s if she is inhaling him. On every page Max is with her and the boy, at so many of the same places they’ve visited with the girls: Legoland, London Zoo, The Science Museum. And on holidays where they go: Hunstanton and the Isle of Wight.

  A memory of her father slides into her head. She is standing in front of the stove, pouring Ready Brek into a bowl. Bright sunshine darts through the kitchen window. Her dad and Lisa are out on the lawn, standing close, laughing. He pats Lisa’s shoulder and gives her the kind of smile he usually saved for her mother. And even when they stop smiling, his hand is still touching Lisa and they’re gazing into each other’s eyes. Then he leans closer still until their lips are touching. The milk on the hob boiled over the top of the saucepan. She tried to move it off the heat but ended up slopping it down her bare legs. She screamed so loudly her father came running in, Lisa close behind him, pretending to care. Pretending to be her friend. No. No. No! She’s tried so hard to block out these memories.

  The album drops from Maddy’s shaking hands, its spine bent back as if contorted in pain. Years of not knowing this was going on. Nauseous, she stands and leans against a chair. Sparks fly in front of her eyes. She shuts them for a second. When they open, she focuses on a child’s handprint pressed against the television screen, shown up in the layer of dust.

  Around the downstairs of the house, she pushes open door after door and stops at the kitchen. On one side is orange patterned wallpaper, peeling at the corner like a dried leaf. On the bench, letters flop out of an upright basket. She runs her fingers through. Some are unopened. Ms Alison Wood repeated over and over. A bitter taste coats her mouth. Nothing for Max Saunders. Instead, Mr Adam Hawkins. She tears an envelope open, slicing her finger. A line of blood bursts from the cut. She licks it clean, shaking open the folded letter. Joint Account Bank Statement: food shopping, garage, mortgage, car insurance, food, hairdresser and clothes. She looks at her watch. Five more minutes and she’d better go. She opens the double-fronted fridge with ice maker. On the middle shelf is a four pack of draught Guinness. Max’s favourite.

  The spaniel gives a solitary bark, making her jump. She peers through a rectangle of glass in the front door. Nobody there. She stands at the bottom of the stairs, straining to hear, her heart pounding in time with the dog’s tail thudding against the under-stairs cupboard.

  She creeps up the stairs, past all the piles of papers and toys on each step, and hesitates at the top, outside the master bedroom. The door is wide open, the bed unmade. The boy’s room is to the right, dinosaur and Pokémon pictures pinned to the door. Bathroom to the left, a shell mobile rattles in the breeze from an open window. She leans into their room and imagines Max stretched out on the bed. Did he ever think about her when he was here? Stacks of DIY books on the right-hand bedside table, same as at home. On top is a half-empty bottle of Lacoste Eau de Toilette. The only fragrance he ever wears. She steps over the threshold, through a sickly smell of deodorant hanging in the air. A pair of trainers are tucked under the bed, size nines, and his dressing gown is across the back of a chair. She picks it up and breathes in his familiar smell. In the dressing table mirror, she sees her face buried in the towelling material, muffling the sound of her crying, soaking up her tears.

  In front of her is a photo of them taken up close, slightly out of focus; they’re laughing, sharing a double ice cream; the tattoo of the letter ‘A’ again, not only on his upturned wrist, but on hers too.

  Maddy puts the dressing gown back, stirs a finger through the pile of make-up scattered across the dressing table. A familiar silver-coloured canister standing at the back amongst expensive bottles of foundation, serums and face creams catches her eye. She picks it up and presses, but all it can manage is a splutter of perfume: SHE by Armani. It’s almost empty. Max buys her the same perfume religiously every Christmas. Is he buying it for this slut to make sure he doesn’t come home smelling of another woman? She wrenches open drawer after drawer, full of make-up and fake tan creams and lotions, false eyelashes, hair pieces and nail varnish. Another fucking tart, just like Lisa. In the top drawer of the chest of drawers, she pinches out a pair of white lacy knickers, drops them on the floor and squashes them into the carpet with her shoe. She smiles to think of the time she pushed dirty underwear through Lisa’s letterbox and hung muck-splattered bras and knickers in the leafless tree of her front garden. Four years she’d been having an affair with her dad. Four years of lying to her mother and to her. How long has this been going on?

  She stomps back downstairs and shoves the album back in the cupboard. The door springs shut. Something shifts inside. As she turns to leave, she spots a woollen jacket hanging on a coat rack behind the front door. Running her fingers down the line of brass lion-crested buttons, one of them is missing.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It’s mid-afternoon by the time Maddy arrives home. She opens her front door to their springers bounding towards her, jumping up and sniffing her coat. Her head is pounding. She reels at the identical wallpaper again and runs to the downstairs toilet, retching so hard she thinks she might choke. This can’t be happening. She washes her face, hardly recognising her pale reflection in the mirror. She takes a couple of migraine tablets and texts Sarah to see if she can pick Emily up from school.

  Upstairs, she throws back the covers and lies on her half of the bed. Her whole body is agitated, as though electricity is surging through her veins. She burrows inside the duvet cupping her bump and sobs until she sinks into sleep.

  The dogs’ barking wakes her from a shallow nap. It feels like she’s not slept for days. She sits up with a gasp as though she’s been holding her breath under water. Max. She blinks. It wasn’t a dream.

  Noise from the TV vibrates through the floor and the smell of toast wafts in the air. Sarah has collected Emily from school. For a few minutes, she lies there, reluctant to leave the warmth. She likes the dim light, the certainty of a heavy downpour at any minute. Reaching over to Max’s side, she fans out her fingers. Eyes closed for a moment, she imagines feeling his bare skin, his face turning to her, smiling.

  Sitting up, she is drawn to the photo on her dressing table of her mum and dad on their wedding day. She picks it up and looks closer at her mother’s loose curls framing her serious, nervous face. Perhaps it’s the moment before a smile or is she about to speak? There’s a light tap on the door and Sarah looks in.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Maddy nods and stands the photo back up. Sarah comes over and touches her shoulder.

  ‘Goodness Maddy, you really look like your mum there.’

  Maddy holds the photo next to herself in the mirror. Although Maddy is several years older than her mother was then, they do look similar, the pale, flawless complexion and dark hair, before the pain and anguish of being cheated on stole her away.

  Downstairs, Sarah, Sophie and Emily are in the kitchen eating cheese on toast. Emily leaves a wall of crusts on her plate. Maddy leans down and Emily wraps her arms around her neck.

  ‘How was school?’ Maddy kisses the top of her head.

  ‘Good,’ says Emily, ‘I got a merit point for reading.’

  ‘Well done.’ Maddy tries to muster a smile. She gives Emily another hug.

  ‘You don’t look well at all. Do you want me to make you a drink or something to eat?’ Sarah switches the kettle on.

  ‘Just tea.’ Maddy stands at the kitchen door and stares down the hall. She has a sudden urge to rip the wallpaper off in shreds. It feels like her home, her life and her family have been violated. She strokes her bump.

  ‘Did they say you’re both doing well?’ Sarah asks.

  Maddy wonders if she could find a decorator by the end of the week.

  ‘At the hospital…?’ Sarah comes over and touches her arm.

  ‘Er yes, all well. Sorry, I’m so tired. I need to eat more but the thought of it makes me feel ill.’

  ‘Are they worried it’s a bit on the small side?’

  Maddy stares at her.

  �
��Do try and eat a little something, maybe mashed banana on toast?’

  Maddy knows she means well, but she really doesn’t need any of her advice right now.

  ‘Any luck finding out why Max resigned?’ Sarah clears away the girls’ plates.

  Maddy gazes into space.

  ‘Maddy?’

  ‘Nothing so far.’

  * * *

  After Sarah and Sophie have gone home, Maddy opens the ironing board in the sitting room. She sorts the basket of clothes into piles. Max’s polo shirts and jeans go straight into a black bag, except one T-shirt and a pair of jeans. She irons the T-shirt and hangs it with the jeans on the back of the door. Next, she irons and folds Emily’s clothes into a neat stack and takes them upstairs to put away.

  In their bedroom, she hurls open Max’s wardrobe doors and yanks his shirt sleeves one by one, as though she’s tugging at his arms. The naked wire hangers jangle and swing. She pulls jumpers and T-shirts off shelves and slings them behind her, like sloughed-off remnants of him.

  ‘Daddy’s clothes!’ Emily screams, running into the room.

  Maddy glances over her shoulder, but the jumper she’s thrown across the room is still airborne. It lands half on the bed. Emily scoops up a bundle and pushes them back in the wardrobe and tries to shut the door.

  ‘You don’t understand!’ Maddy’s shout is more like a growl, pulling Emily away, teeth clenched, dragging the clothes out in a heap on the carpet, strewn in different shapes like they’re a pile of bodies. Emily tries to push the clothes back again and Maddy grabs her arms to steady her, but they collapse together onto their knees, sobbing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Max: Late August 2011