The Secrets We Share

by Emma Hannigan

  Copyright © 2015 Emma Hannigan

  The right of Emma Hannigan to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published as an Ebook in 2015

  by HEADLINE REVIEW

  An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  Cover images © Galyna Andrushko/Alamy (waterfall) and John Carey/Getty Images (forest).

  All other images © Shutterstock.com

  Author photo © Collins Photos

  eISBN 978 1 4722 1036 4

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Also by Emma Hannigan

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Acknowledgments

  Discover more novels from Emma Hannigan

  About the Author

  Emma Hannigan is the author of nine bestselling novels, including The Summer Guest and The Heart of Winter, and a bestelling memoir Talk to the Headscarf which charts her journey through cancer. Emma lives in Bray, Ireland, with her husband and two children.

  For more about Emma, visit her website www.emmahannigan.com, find her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/AuthorEmmaHannigan, or follow her on Twitter @MsEmmaHannigan.

  By Emma Hannigan

  Keeping Mum

  The Pink Ladies Club

  Miss Conceived

  Designer Genes

  Driving Home for Christmas

  Perfect Wives

  The Summer Guest

  The Heart of Winter

  The Secrets We Share

  The Wedding Weekend (e-short)

  Talk to the Headscarf

  About the Book

  Clara Conway is a woman with secrets.

  But consequently, Clara’s family is falling apart. Her son Max emigrated to the US years ago and she has yet to meet her teenage granddaughter, Nathalie … because Max and his mother no longer speak.

  Meanwhile Clara’s daughter Ava is fighting for a piece of happiness. When Clara unexpectedly reaches out to Nathalie and her niece comes to visit, Ava’s thoughts turn to Max, the brother she loved and lost. The brother whose abrupt disappearance left the Conway family heartbroken.

  When Nathalie finds a pile of torn, faded letters, she unlocks the door to Clara’s past. Can Nathalie’s time with her grandmother start to right some very old wrongs? And can Clara find a way to reach out to Max and thereby begin to heal the whole family once more?

  After all, some secrets are meant to be shared …

  In loving memory of my Oma, Melanie Fuchs O’Callaghan, who filled my heart with sparkles and shared her amazing story with me.

  Also for Tomi Reichental, who I am humbled to know. Thank you for demonstrating the true meaning of forgiveness. Evil will never survive in the world while people like you are alive.

  The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen nor even touched, but just felt in the heart.

  From The Story of My Life by Helen Keller, 1905

  Prologue

  Dearest Nathalie,

  I am not sure how much you know about me …

  Clara paused, laying down her pen on the soft cream paper for a moment, unsure of how to go on. She took a long sip of rich, dark coffee, then looked up towards the photograph on her bedside table, as if for guidance.

  It was dawn. Her favourite time of day. Only she and the early-morning songbirds seemed enthusiastically compos mentis as she gazed through the partially opened curtains on to the empty street below.

  Clara had always imagined she would know the right time to tell her story. For so many years she’d held her silence. But she knew the time had come for her to get her affairs in order.

  As a vivacious and sprightly recently-turned-eighty-year-old, she was often jolted by her reflection. Nobody had ever mentioned the fact that her mind and body would somehow disconnect as the years progressed. In her mind’s eye she was still a smooth, sallow-skinned, lithe little thing with dancing dark eyes and bouncing brown curls.

  Of course she knew that wrinkles and lacklustre locks were inevitable, and being a pragmatic soul, she accepted them with grace. Unlike her daughter Ava, who in her mid-forties was raging a vicious war with Mother Nature. Clara didn’t agree with Botox and fillers, but she figured it was her daughter’s face and therefore her choice.

  The one thing Ava had inherited from her was her love of fabric. As a talented seamstress, Clara had sewn all the soft furnishings in the house herself. From cushion covers to intricate patchwork quilts, she’d carefully designed all her interiors.

  Blue was her favourite colour at the moment. She particularly adored the cornflower shading against the crisp white background in the current curtain fabric. It brought back such vivid memories of her early childhood days in Austria. As she tucked her arms behind her head and drank in the pretty floral pattern, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. She could almost smell the delicate scent of the purply-blue Jacob’s ladder that dotted the Alpine landscape, interspersed with dainty snow-coloured edelweiss. At that time, with her innocence intact, she had lived a perfect life.

  Clara was younger than most when she realised how some people’s existence was just a brief passing blessing. The past was so heavily peppered with love and heartache in equal measure, and her story was one that needed to be shared before she closed her eyes in eternal sleep. She had always known that one day she would feel compelled to speak, and when that time came, she would choose the right person to tell.

  The one person she longed to tell was currently unobtainable to her, so she’d set the wheels in motion last week.

  She’d felt like a real-life version of Miss Marple as she’d sat in Kevin O’Toole’s office.

  ‘I need to find someone,’ she’d said.

  ‘You’ve come to the right place,’ he said drily, pointing to the Private Investigator sign etched in the glass of his office door.

  ‘It’s my son.’

  ‘Oh, I see …’ He coughed a
wkwardly. ‘I didn’t mean to be trite, Mrs …’

  ‘Clara will do nicely, dear.’ She smiled and blinked slowly, holding his gaze. She noticed him relaxing and continued. ‘He lives in Los Angeles. That’s all I know.’

  ‘Was he adopted as a baby?’ Kevin asked, clasping his hands together.

  ‘Oh no …’

  ‘Sorry, you have a strong foreign accent, and I just assumed …’

  ‘Yes, I grew up in Austria but Max was born here in Ireland. I was married to an Irishman and we raised him here. He left twenty years ago. His anger towards me drove him away, you see. I always figured he would return if I didn’t badger him.’

  ‘But obviously he still hasn’t?’

  ‘No.’

  Clara gave Kevin the details she had.

  ‘Conway is a fairly common name, but we might be pleasantly surprised at how few forty-year-old Max Conways there are living in LA. If he is indeed a doctor as you suspect, that’ll make it even simpler.’

  Clara had gone away and put the meeting to the back of her mind. She longed to confide in Ava and let her know that she could possibly be reunited with her long-lost brother. But any time she mentioned Max, which was often, Ava’s brow furrowed. She had so much pent-up anger towards her younger brother, and Clara wasn’t sure that would ever be resolved.

  Last night, as she was in the sewing room planning a new patchwork quilt for the guest bedroom, Clara’s landline had rung.

  ‘I’ve found your son,’ said a joyous Kevin. ‘I thought it was the right man last week, but I needed to be certain.’

  Clara thought her heart had actually stopped beating as she grappled for a chair and sat down clumsily.

  ‘Tell me about him, please.’

  ‘He is a doctor, as you suspected. He did indeed transfer his course from Ireland and completed his medical studies. He then went on to train as a surgeon. He works in LA General Hospital and is married to one Amber Conway. They have a seventeen-year-old daughter called Nathalie.’

  ‘Oh my …’ Clara was reeling. ‘I’m an Oma.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Oma,’ she repeated. ‘It’s grandmother in German. I had no idea I had a grandchild.’

  Kevin promised to send all the details in a letter, but he read out Max’s home address.

  ‘Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.’

  ‘Would you like me to obtain some photographs of the family? For a small extra fee I can have them trailed for a day and send you pictures.’

  ‘Oh no, thank you,’ she said. It was one thing having Kevin find Max, but she wasn’t going to intrude on his life in a sneaky way.

  She’d hung up and sat staring into space until the evening light faded and a chill hung in the air. Not sure of what else to do, she’d climbed into bed and nuzzled down into the duvet. Her dreams had been filled with memories of Max from the moment he was born until the awful day he’d stormed out of her life.

  For the first time, she had his address. There was no reason why she couldn’t turn up on his doorstep. But Clara knew that would be too big a gamble. She needed to approach this gently in order to maximise her chances of a happy reunion. Finishing her coffee, she concentrated on the job in hand and continued writing.

  … I am not sure how much you know about me, but I have literally just found out you exist. I cannot begin to describe the emotions that are racing through my heart. Suffice it to say that it brings me unspeakable joy to know that I have a granddaughter.

  Your father may or may not have told you the reason we became estranged. But I would like to take this opportunity to assure you that I have longed to see him since the day he left Ireland.

  Not a day has gone by when I haven’t thought of him and wanted to see him again.

  I know it’s a lot to ask, but I would love it if you would consider getting to know me.

  I don’t have an email address, which annoys your aunt Ava terribly. So I would be truly honoured if you would consider writing back, or even phoning me.

  Of course you would be welcomed with open arms should you ever think of coming to Ireland.

  I won’t bombard you with a long and tedious letter. Instead I will leave the ball in your court.

  A reply would be incredible but I will understand if you would rather not.

  Yours faithfully and with untold affection,

  Clara Conway (your Oma)

  Her hands shook ever so slightly as she sealed the envelope and climbed out of bed. She felt a frisson of anticipation. Change was coming, she could sense it. With one last glance at the photograph next to her bed, she blew it a kiss and hurried downstairs to start her day.

  Chapter 1

  A shiver of excitement shot through Nathalie as she scrutinised her reflection in the full-length mirror. She could barely believe it was finally her prom night.

  ‘Wow,’ came a voice behind her.

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘You look stunning,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘I saw this gown and thought it would look much better without the straps, so I cut them off. The wrap that was sold with it was just so boring, so I added the cream goose-down one instead! You like?’

  She twirled around and did a little curtsey. ‘Ooh and I customised my shoes with silk flowers.’

  Max stood motionless for a moment. He looked as if he were fighting back tears.

  ‘You OK?’ Nathalie asked.

  ‘Sure,’ he said, blowing out air loudly. ‘You reminded me of somebody just now.’ He strode across the room, planted a light kiss on her forehead and pulled a pale blue box from his pocket.

  ‘This is from Mom and me. Congratulations, darling.’

  ‘Oh my gosh, this looks like …’ She opened the box and screamed. ‘It’s a Tiffany necklace! Thank you, thank you, thank you!’

  ‘You’re welcome, welcome, welcome!’ he said, looking vaguely uncomfortable with all the fuss.

  As Max fastened the necklace around Nathalie’s neck, he reiterated how immensely proud they were of her. Well, to be exact, he regurgitated the speech his wife had just delivered to him. Amber had been responsible for the necklace too. He’d come home from work at the hospital, had the bag thrust at him and was pretty much catapulted into his daughter’s room to let her know he loved her.

  ‘She knows,’ he’d said in an attempt to avoid the Brady Bunch moment.

  ‘Everyone likes to be told they’re loved. It can’t happen too often,’ Amber insisted. ‘Now go and do your fatherly duty.’

  He was mildly surprised by how thrilled Nathalie was. He made a mental note to let Amber know she’d been right. But then again, he was fairly certain she knew that. Amber was always right. She was always in control and always a step ahead of him with domestic matters.

  ‘Thanks, Dad. You’d better get changed. DJ will be here soon.’

  ‘Right.’ His expression darkened.

  ‘How many times have we had this conversation?’ Nathalie sighed. ‘DJ is a good guy.’

  ‘In your opinion …’

  ‘Please, let’s not fight tonight. As far as I can tell, any guy I introduce to you wouldn’t be good enough. So why can’t you let me enjoy my prom?’ She rolled her eyes as her father strode off to change out of his operating scrubs.

  Max muttered grumpily to himself as he plucked his suit from the bed where Amber had laid it out for him. It was his wife’s idea to give up on arguing over this DJ kid. If he had his way that good-for-nothing waste of time would be run off their property never to return. Amber was convinced they should put up and shut up, saying that Nathalie would come to her senses soon enough.

  ‘She’s a smart girl, Max. The sheen will wear off with DJ. Allow her to enjoy her prom and let this little flush of love run its course. It’s not as if she’ll want to marry him, for crying out loud.’

  Max wasn’t so sure. As he was only too aware, Nathalie came from a long line of incredibly stubborn and strong-willed females. But Amber knew none of
that. She knew nothing of his family or what they had done in the past, and he wasn’t about to start explaining. Not tonight, or any other night for that matter.

  He sighed. Amber was right. It was Nathalie’s special night and of course he wanted her to have fun.

  Besides, he knew he wasn’t great at all the emotional stuff. He tended to leave that to Amber. She was a natural when it came to socializing at hospital fund-raisers. She could sweep into a room and light it up effortlessly. She was brilliant with Nathalie’s friends and their air-kissing mothers too. He dreaded all the community schmoozing and found it nigh impossible to stand with a bottle of beer and talk nonsense to men he barely knew. He had enough to occupy his mind between working as a surgeon and being a husband and a father. He kept his cards close to his chest and appreciated it when others did the same. He preferred to concentrate on paying the bills and making sure his girls were well provided for. It was easier to show his love that way. Even though it was twenty years since he’d left Ireland, he still struggled to conform to the American way of conducting himself.

  ‘You don’t have to make lifelong pals of all the neighbours, but you do need to be civil,’ Amber had scolded him. They’d moved to their current home ten years ago. It was a traditional gated community, where the houses were larger than most, with inhabitants to match.

  ‘I don’t have any desire to stand in Chuck’s back yard being clapped on the back and referred to as “Doc”,’ he’d said.

  ‘Well suck it up and get on with it, Max. It’s important to Nathalie and me that we fit in around here.’

  So Max did the least amount of fitting-in possible. He’d learned to wave automatically and call out mindless greetings like Ned Flanders, and was relieved that it seemed to mollify most of the neighbours. Amber felt he was making an effort too, so it was a win-win situation.

  Unlike his wife and daughter, he’d been dreading tonight. Americans took prom night so seriously. It was an industry all of its own. One he most definitely didn’t get. But he loved his girls, and if it kept them happy, he’d grin and bear it.