Tell Me a Secret

by Jane Fallon

  Dee, however, has other ideas. She brings me in a mug of tea at what I think is three minutes after I drop off, but turns out to be ten o’clock. She perches on the arm of the sofa, by my feet, her long dark hair held up in a knot on top of her head and yesterday’s mascara shading the underneath of her eyes.

  ‘Did you sleep OK?’ She yawns as she says it, so I do too.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Me neither. Gav’s making tea.’

  ‘Shall we go shopping and leave him to do the stake-out?’ I say hopefully.

  ‘No way. We’re a team.’

  She’s smiling. ‘You seem much happier,’ I say.

  ‘We are. I am.’

  I rub her leg with my foot. ‘I’m glad.’

  Dee makes a picnic fit for a family of six on a day out at the seaside, and Gavin hotfoots it to the shop round the corner for soft drinks, which he puts in a giant cooler. There’s a flask of coffee and one of tea (made by me) and a bag of ‘snacks’ just in case we get hungry between bites of sandwiches. I stop myself from asking how long they think we’re going to be there, and whether we should take sleeping bags.

  ‘What are we going to do when we need the loo?’ I say.

  ‘Don’t think about it,’ Dee says. ‘Half the time it’s psychological anyway. And if you get desperate you can walk over to Westfield.’

  ‘We should have got some of those Shewee things,’ Gavin says in all seriousness.

  Dee nods. ‘Or I could have nicked a few of those cardboard bedpans from work.’

  I stare at them. ‘Oh my God. The pair of you have officially gone insane.’

  We park as far away from number five as we can, but still with a clear view of the front door. Dee and Gavin are in the front: she with all her hair pushed up into a woolly hat, despite the fact it’s eighty degrees outside, and big sunglasses. I’m in the back in a long blonde wig that Ashley wore in a school play once and that Dee remembered was in her stuff when we cleared out her room. We had stopped by mine on the way so I could feed Smokey, and also to check that Hattie wasn’t at home, thus making the whole trip pointless. Dee is all for breaking out the sandwiches immediately, despite the fact we only had breakfast an hour ago.

  ‘We should save them,’ I say. ‘What if we get stranded and they’re all we have left? Those, and the contents of all the food shops in Westfield and the many restaurants and cafés in the local area.’

  She turns round and pulls a face at me. ‘You’ll be grateful when it’s 3 a.m. and you’re starving.’

  I look at my phone. It’s five past eleven in the morning. ‘Oh God,’ I say. ‘Kill me.’

  There’s something about being in a confined space with people for hours at a time that turns it into a kind of confessional. Once we’ve gossiped idly about people we know, and played a few stupid word games, we somehow get on to the subject of their IVF failures. I’ve never spoken to Gavin about their desire for – and inability to have – kids before. I think I assumed he just didn’t care as much as Dee did, that he was going along with it to keep her happy, but then once it was no longer an option he was fine with that too. I think it was easy for me to blame him for giving up so finally. I think I misjudged him.

  ‘I’ve wanted to be a dad ever since we first met,’ he says, the atmosphere in the car sticky and still. He reaches out a hand and squeezes hers. ‘That’s the whole point, isn’t it? Being a family.’

  I don’t know what to say. It breaks my heart that they’ve been having this struggle for years when I – and now Ashley – just got pregnant without thinking about, or even wanting, it.

  ‘There are other –’ I start to say, but he cuts me off.

  ‘It’s not the same though, is it?’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Dee says. ‘It’s fine.’

  At half past three there’s a flurry of excitement as the front door to number five opens. Gavin grabs his camera and zooms in on the steps. We all hold our breath. An unkempt-looking couple saunter out, presumably from one of the other flats.

  ‘No,’ I say, to let Gavin know neither of them are Hattie. We let out a collective sigh.

  Fifteen minutes later I can’t take it any longer. ‘I need to stretch my legs.’

  ‘Go on then,’ Dee says.

  ‘Won’t be long.’ I jam my wig down over my ears and keep my head down as I get out. The last thing I need is to bump into Hattie on the street. I walk away from number five as quickly as I can and head along the main road towards Westfield. I know that I’m raining on Dee’s and Gavin’s parade a bit by not really entering into the spirit of things. They’re giving up their entire weekend for me, after all. I at least need to look as if I’m having fun, even though this might as well be life or death for me. I find the Ladies eventually and then I stop off at Starbucks on the way back and get us all lattes and brownies. As I turn back into Roz’s road I stop dead as I see her blonde, pink-tipped head walking up the steps of number five. I assumed that she would be arriving back from her holiday – if indeed she’s been on holiday – today or tomorrow, but she has no suitcase, no, so far as I can tell, suntan. I hang back, pretending to look at my phone, my head bent over it so she wouldn’t be able to see my face if she looked round. I peer up from under the heavy fringe without lifting my head. Once she’s safely inside I make a bolt for the car, fling the back door open and throw myself in.

  ‘Shit. Did you get that?’

  Dee and Gavin beam at me from the front seats. He waves the camera at me and I can see Roz clearly on the digital display.

  ‘Of course,’ Gavin says.

  ‘Oh, I brought treats.’ I hand them the coffees and cakes. My heart is pounding from the excitement of my near miss. ‘What happened? Did she just appear?’

  ‘From round that corner,’ Dee says, pointing up ahead, past the house.

  ‘Oh my God! If I’d been a minute earlier she might have seen me.’ The hand holding my latte is shaking.

  ‘I told you it’d be fun.’ Dee smiles.

  The afternoon passes agonizingly slowly. There’s only so much you can talk about with even your closest friends. And then at ten to six the front door to number five opens again and there they are. Roz and Hattie. Coming down the steps together.

  ‘It’s them!’ Dee and I say simultaneously. Gavin goes into overdrive with the camera and I take a couple with my phone in case he fucks up somehow, but we’re so far away that I’d have trouble convincing even myself who was in the picture.

  ‘Shit, they’re coming this way,’ Dee says. She bends her head down over her phone. I throw myself on to the floor behind the front seats. I’m not taking any chances.

  ‘I just need to get a couple with their faces in,’ Gavin says. His camera has a very fancy zoom that could pick out a flea on a cat from half a mile away.

  ‘Be careful,’ I mutter into my wig, which has slipped down over my face.

  ‘They’re still miles away,’ he says confidently. ‘There. Done.’

  I hear a rustle as he grabs up a newspaper and places it over the camera on his lap, his agreed disguise.

  ‘Don’t look at them,’ Dee hisses.

  ‘I’m not,’ he says. ‘I’m looking at the paper.’

  ‘How far away are they?’ I say. I daren’t put my head up to look.

  ‘Hundred metres,’ Gavin says. I try to imagine how far a hundred metres is. Picture Usain Bolt steaming along. He’d be passing the car … now. I hold my breath.

  ‘Ninety,’ Gavin says.

  He counts down as they get closer. Obviously his spatial awareness isn’t what it should be, because after ‘Ten’ there’s an interminable gap and then finally I hear the clip-clop of Roz’s heels on the other side of the road. They’re talking, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I can feel the tension in the car, all of us scared to move a muscle. The chatter fades. Gavin looks up into the rear-view mirror.

  ‘They’ve gone.’

  He checks the photos. Shows them to Dee.

  ‘Perfe
ct,’ she says. ‘We’ve got her.’

  I don’t get up from my hiding place on the floor until I can feel the smoothness of the Westway under the wheels.

  38

  By late Saturday night we’ve compiled a document that tells a story. The printouts of the emails, with the times and dates that they were sent highlighted. Stills from the webcam footage – with the times and dates clearly visible on the screen – showing Hattie at my computer. The pictures of Roz and Hattie together. It’s enough.

  I don’t want to create a big fuss. Dee was all for me causing a shitstorm, disgracing Roz in front of anyone who’d listen but, to be honest, I don’t want to draw any more attention to myself than I have to. I want to try and retain what dignity I have left. God knows what my reputation at the channel is like now. At best it’s as someone who attracts drama. Someone who is so hated by her peers that one of them is plotting her downfall. I’m going to wait outside Glen’s office on Monday morning and grab him as soon as he comes in. I’m going to show him all the evidence, calmly and rationally. And then I’m going to leave it up to him.

  I’m at my post by five to eight. Glen doesn’t usually come in till at least nine o’clock but I’m not taking any chances. I couldn’t sleep last night anyway. Hattie arrived back at about seven, surprising me in the kitchen, and I could barely look her in the eye. I managed to ask how her weekend had been and she talked about her mum as if everything was normal. It was surreal to say the least.

  By ten past eight I’ve drunk the coffee I brought in with me and I’m severely tempted to go and make myself another, but I daren’t take the chance. I need to get to Glen before I have to go down to the studio for the rest of the day. Before Roz can get in and tell her side of the story. I decided last night not to delete from her account the email I supposedly sent her. Not just because Roz might realize and come up with a Plan B, but because I thought it would help my case if Glen saw her in action for himself, how convincing she could be even when he would know for a fact that what she was telling him was a lie. It’s my trump card.

  I lean against the wall and idly scroll through Instagram on my phone. The place is deserted. People will already be arriving at the studio, and in hair and make-up, but up here on our little corridor it’s silent.

  I hear a noise. I look round but there’s no one there. And then I realize that it’s coming from Glen’s office. Someone’s in there. When I first arrived I tapped lightly on his door, just in case, not expecting a response. Now I feel like an idiot because he’s clearly come in early and I’ve been waiting out here for fifteen minutes like a loser. Maybe I knocked too softly, or he was doing something that meant he didn’t hear. Cleaning out his ears with a cotton bud, or wearing headphones. Actually, the latter is quite likely. Glen is often plugged into music on his journey to work. I’ve seen him on the train before, ear buds in, eyes closed. I pick up my bag and go to knock again.

  ‘Shh!’

  I hear it. As clear as anything. I freeze, hand raised. Press my ear to the door. There’s a rustling and then a murmur of voices. Glen’s not in there alone. Even though it feels a bit odd that I’ve been here all this time and not heard any talking I assume that he must have come in early for a meeting. I’m not sure if I can interrupt but, on the other hand, I need to let him know that I have to speak to him ASAP. I’m about to rap on the door again when I hear another sound from inside the room. An unmistakeable sound. A groan. Or rather … a moan. I step away from the door as if I’ve had an electric shock.

  What the …? Maybe Mrs Glen likes to come to work with her husband sometimes and they play boss and secretary in his office? I hear a louder moan, look around as if to check it can’t be coming from anywhere else. Our corridor will still be empty for at least another fifteen, twenty minutes. Obviously there’s no way I can interrupt Glen now, and there’s also no way I want him to find me standing here when they eventually come out. I still need to see him, though, so I slip into the print room opposite and keep watch through a crack in the door.

  The noise is so loud now that if anyone else did arrive there’d be no mistaking it. I imagine they must know they’re safe this early on. That if they heard my knock they would have assumed it was the cleaners and just waited until they thought the coast was clear before they carried on. Maybe that’s part of the excitement? Imminent discovery.

  Despite everything, it’s funny. Dee would love this, I think, and I turn my phone on to video to record the noise so I can play it to her later. The crescendo reaches its peak and then stops abruptly. I freeze. What now?

  I wait for what seems like an age, hear the occasional scrabble of movement. I check the time. It’s twenty-five to nine. Still long enough for me to present my evidence. I hear the key turn in the lock. I flatten my back against the wall but I still keep watching through the little gap. The door opens inwards. I hold my breath. This would not be a good look if Glen were to see me now. It wouldn’t help in my attempt to prove that I’m someone he can trust.

  I see a flash of colour as a pair of long legs in orange skinny trousers and red heels step out. I almost gasp out loud, or maybe I do. Instinctively I hold my still recording phone up to the gap. Roz, now with a glowing light tan that wasn’t there on Saturday, turns to face the person behind her. Maybe it’s not Glen. Maybe she’s having a thing with someone – Joe or Jeremy the producer – and they thought it would be funny to get it on in the boss’s office. A hand snakes round and grabs her backside. She laughs, leans in for a quick kiss. Then a face peers round the door. Looking up and down the corridor, checking they haven’t been seen. A face with a well-manicured beard. Glen.

  My hand is shaking but I manage to keep filming. He says something that I can’t make out and she murmurs a reply, pats him playfully on the arm and practically skips along the corridor towards our department. He watches her go for a second, a small smile on his face. And then he shuts the door.

  Fuck. I can’t process this at all. Glen and Roz? She despises him, and definitely not in an ‘I hate him so much I actually really fancy him’ kind of way. She laughs at him, how ridiculous he is with his overgroomed look and his trying-too-hard-to-be-hip clothes. How long has this been going on? When did it start?

  The only thing I know for certain is that there’s no point going to speak to him now. He’s no longer an unbiased judge. Whatever I say to him about Roz now he’ll hear through a filter of her appreciative groans. I need to get out of there, down to the studio before either of them sees me. I’m about to make a break for it when I hear her heels clopping down the corridor towards me. I wait, breath held, eyes closed as if that might help. She walks past and into the Ladies along the corridor. I grab my bag and practically run to the staircase and out into the car park.

  I’m fucked.

  39

  Once I’m safely tucked away in the room by the studio I call Dee, but she’s at work and doesn’t answer. I leave her an incoherent message telling her what’s happened. Then I sit there, staring off into space.

  I’ve been in there all of thirty seconds when there’s a tap at the door and it’s being opened before I can even say anything. The last thing I need now is a conversation with a member of the cast about why they think their character wouldn’t order the fish and chips in the school canteen or whether they really would say ‘sofa’ and not ‘settee’. I try to plaster a professional look on my face.

  Patricia peers round the door. ‘I just saw you come in. I was wondering how it’s going.’

  I sigh. ‘Pretty badly.’ So much for being professional.

  ‘Oh no, what now? Can I sit down? I’m not needed for another twenty minutes.’ She plonks herself on the other chair, looks at me concerned.

  I’m past caring. I know I shouldn’t tell anyone what I’ve just witnessed but what have I got to lose? Well, my job on Friday probably, but I don’t think there’s anything I can do about that now.

  ‘I just … you mustn’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you �
�’

  She leans forward in the chair, all ears. ‘My lips are sealed.’

  I tell her the brief version. How I’d compiled all the evidence against Roz, about how I was waiting outside Glen’s office out of hours so as not to miss him.

  Patricia’s eyes are wide. She knows something juicy is coming.

  I pick up my phone. ‘And then this happened …’ I turn the sound right up and play the video. ‘It’s a bit all over the place …’

  We sit there in silence, both staring at the shaky film of the outside of Glen’s door. You can hear my breathing over the top, which doesn’t help. But then, there it is, as clear as day, a loud groan. I look at Patricia to see if she caught it and her mouth has dropped open, so I assume she has. I wait to let her hear a couple more and then I fast forward to the moment they were about to reveal themselves.

  She looks at me questioningly. ‘Keep watching,’ I say. She glues her eyes to the screen. When she spots that it’s Roz coming out, followed by the man himself, she makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a gasp and a snort. The film ends.

  ‘Well …’

  ‘So you can see why I’m done for. There’s no point me complaining to him about her now.’

  ‘Go over his head,’ she says as if it’s the most obvious thing ever.

  ‘To who though? I don’t have a relationship with any of those people. I’ll just look like a crazy woman who’s trying to cause trouble.’

  She takes the phone out of my hand and I think she’s going to watch the video again, but she just presses a few keys.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I say nervously.

  ‘I just sent it to myself, that’s all.’

  Oh God. ‘Oh. No … I mean …’

  ‘They have no idea you filmed this, am I right?’ I nod warily. ‘And neither of them have seen you this morning?’