The Secrets Sisters Keep: A heartwarming, funny and emotional novel (The Devlin Sisters Book 2)

by Sinéad Moriarty

  ‘Morning, darling,’ Quentin said. ‘Loving the suit, but you look exhausted.’

  I was wearing the only designer trouser suit I had left. I’d sold almost all of my clothes and jewellery on eBay to make some money when Jack lost everything. But I’d kept this suit, an Armani in midnight-blue. Even Louise would have approved of it. ‘I dressed up today because we have that Style Central department store account review.’

  Quentin rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, God, I forgot. We mustn’t let Frankie railroad us. She can be so aggressive.’

  ‘She’ll try to screw us on our rates.’

  ‘I know.’ Quentin frowned.

  We had already cut back our model rates for that account twice in the last two years. We had to roll with the times, but our profit margins were being squeezed. The company was still in profit, but only just. The Style Central account was important.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll just have to be firm but charming,’ Quentin said. ‘Now, darling, what is up with you? You look like I did after Ramón dumped me.’

  Quentin had broken up with his partner six months ago and had been devastated. I’d nursed him through it.

  ‘Bad date. Well, actually a great date, but it ended abruptly when I propositioned him and he turned me down because I’m too old,’ I said, desperately trying not to cry.

  ‘Oh, sweetie …’

  ‘I just find it all so hard. I hate being on my own, but I hate having to go on stupid dates too.’

  ‘I know how you feel. I’m sixty next year and I want to find someone to grow old with. I don’t want to be a sad old queen who’s found dead in his apartment when the smell of the decomposing body finally draws attention to his fate.’

  ‘Stop that,’ I told him. ‘You’ll meet someone wonderful. You always do. I’ve never known you to be alone for long.’

  ‘So will you, my lovely Sophie.’

  ‘I don’t believe it any more, Quentin,’ I said sadly. ‘And I don’t want to put myself through it. It’s so humiliating having to sell yourself. I’m sick of it. I feel like going home and curling up on the couch with a glass of wine and a good box set.’

  ‘You mustn’t give up.’

  I sighed. ‘I guess I’m finding it harder now – now that Jack has found someone. It makes my aloneness more acute. He seems so happy. He’s got his old swagger back and he looks great, all upbeat and confident. I’m jealous of his happiness. I want that too.’

  Quentin wagged a finger at me. ‘Well, then, you have to get back out there. If you stop going out, you’ll never meet anyone. You have to force yourself, Sophie. You’re a gorgeous woman and any man would be lucky to have you.’

  I smiled at him. ‘Thanks, Quentin. If only you weren’t gay, I’d go out with you.’

  Quentin and I ran through the rest of the day’s events. Amber, our top model, was shooting a commercial for a new health bar; we had eight models booked for a lunchtime fashion show in Style Central and six out on various press calls.

  I went back to my desk and sat down. Quentin was sweet to say it, but I certainly didn’t feel gorgeous. In the good old days, when I’d had all the time and money in the world, I’d looked good. I was toned, tanned, Botoxed, blow-dried, manicured, pedicured, massaged and designer-clad. Now I shopped mostly in TK Maxx.

  I opened my email and saw another message from Louise, apologizing. She’d left two voicemails as well, but I was still too cross to talk to her. There was also an email from Jack.

  Morning Sophie, Pippa has to go to London on Friday to tape a piece for her show so I’m going to go with her. We’re taking Jess. Pippa wants her to model some of the kids’ clothes for the show. I’m going to tell her tonight, she’ll be so excited.

  London? Modelling clothes on TV? Had Jack lost his mind? I ran a modelling agency and I never, ever used Jess for photo shoots or TV slots. I didn’t want her anywhere near that world. She was too young and impressionable. I wanted to protect her innocence for as long as possible. He knew that.

  I picked up the phone and rang him.

  He answered straight away. ‘Hi, did you get my email?’

  ‘Yes, Jack, and the answer is no.’

  ‘What do you mean, no?’ He sounded irritated. But, then, so was I.

  ‘You’re not taking Jess to London to model for some TV show.’

  ‘Come on, Sophie, it’s no big deal. Pippa thought it would be fun for Jess to model a couple of outfits.’

  ‘I’m sure she did, but I’m not having my nine-year-old daughter on TV. I have never used her for any of my agency campaigns, so I’m not about to let someone else use her. I don’t want her head turned.’

  ‘Jess would love it.’

  ‘I said no, Jack. I don’t want my daughter modelling.’

  ‘Our daughter,’ he said sharply.

  ‘I want her to remain grounded.’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

  ‘Protecting Jess isn’t ridiculous.’

  ‘Let her live a little.’

  ‘She’s perfectly happy.’

  ‘Lighten up, it’s just a bit of fun.’

  ‘She doesn’t need that kind of fun.’

  ‘So that’s it, she can’t do it?’

  ‘No, she can’t.’

  There was a pause and I could nearly see the expression on his face. Jack was not a man who liked being told what he could and could not do. ‘When did you turn into such a killjoy, Sophie?’

  ‘When your greed left us destitute,’ I said, and slammed down the phone.

  It took me the whole drive to Amber’s health-bar ad campaign to calm down. In the old days, I would have loved Jess to model. I used to dress her up like a mini version of me. She was always in designer clothes. She looked like an angel, all blonde curls and big blue eyes. I thought it was fun for us to dress alike and spend our days shopping, buying more clothes. I never took her to the playground: it was far too boring. I took her to expensive restaurants, but only let her eat non-fat food. Also, if I’m being honest, I often left her with Mimi, our Filipina housekeeper, while I travelled with Jack. I felt terrible about that now. Jess had always hated it when I went away. She’d cry when she saw my suitcase.

  But then we found ourselves with nothing and I ended up sharing a bed with my little girl in a small apartment. During those long, dark days, we’d become really close. We’d snuggle up and watch Disney movies on rainy afternoons or go to feed the ducks in the park, which turned out not to be boring. We went for walks along the seafront, cooked and read books together.

  My other self, rich Sophie, suddenly seemed like a monster. I couldn’t believe how stupid and blind I’d been, and for so long. Now, instead of filling her head with rubbish, like, ‘You’ll meet a prince who will buy you diamonds and sparkly dresses and take care of you,’ the new me began to tell her how important it was to be clever and have a great career, like her aunt Louise. I told her she needed to work hard in school, then find a job she loved and never, ever give up working and earning her own money.

  ‘But, Mummy, you said you felt sorry for the mummies who work,’ she had reminded me, at only five years of age.

  I was wrong, I had told her firmly, very wrong. I assured her that the mummies who worked were the smart ones. Over the last four years I’d told her every day it was imperative that she could always support herself and her family, and the only way to be sure of that was to work.

  At first she was a bit taken aback by my complete turn-around. But I could see that over the years my advice had begun to sink in. Jess had gone from a very princessy girl, obsessed with sparkles and pink frills, to a thoughtful and considerate nine-year-old. Well, she had been until Pippa turned up six months ago.

  I wanted Jess to remain unblemished by the fickle world of modelling and fashion, and I was determined to protect her, regardless of what her father and his vacuous girlfriend thought.

  When I picked Jess up from school, she slammed the car door, threw her bag into the back and glared at me. ‘I hat
e you.’

  ‘Well, hello to you, too.’

  ‘Pippa told me you won’t let me be on her TV show.’

  What did she mean, Pippa told her? ‘When were you talking to her?’

  ‘She called me at lunchtime.’

  ‘You know you’re only allowed to use your phone to talk to me or Dad, no one else.’

  ‘Why won’t you let me do it?’

  ‘Because you’re too young.’

  ‘Pippa said I’d be amazing. She said the clothes are really cool and I might even get to keep some. She said to tell you to chill out and let me do it.’

  I gripped the steering-wheel so hard my knuckles ached. ‘I don’t give a damn what Pippa said. I am your mother and I said no.’

  ‘I told Pippa you wouldn’t let me. She said she feels sorry for me. She wants to have kids young so she’s a cool mum and not a grumpy old mum who hasn’t a clue about anything.’

  There was nothing I could think of to say that wasn’t full of swear words, so I clamped my mouth shut and thought of all the different ways I’d like to tell Pippa exactly what I thought of her.

  4

  Julie

  The triplets had managed three weeks at school without getting into trouble. Maybe it was worth paying huge fees if it meant I wasn’t being called in on a weekly basis to be told about food fights, wrestling matches during class, climbing out of windows, mooning at teachers … I could actually drop them to school without avoiding eye contact with anyone in authority. It felt good.

  ‘Mum!’ Liam shouted, from the back of the car, on the way to school.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘How many goals did Messi score in 2012?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Guess.’

  ‘Twenty?’

  ‘Mum, you’re such a loser. Twenty is a stupid guess.’

  ‘Thanks a lot. How many did he score, then?’

  ‘Ninety-one.’

  ‘Mum?’ Leo asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you put in my sandwich?’

  ‘Tuna.’

  ‘WHAT?’ Leo shrieked.

  ‘You cannot eat ham sandwiches every day of your life.’

  ‘Why not?’ Luke demanded.

  ‘Because it’s bad for you to eat the same thing all the time.’

  ‘I hate tuna. It’s gross,’ Leo grumbled.

  ‘No, it isn’t. Stop your drama.’

  ‘It tastes like puke,’ Luke said.

  ‘I’m not eating it,’ Leo huffed.

  ‘I like tuna,’ Liam said.

  ‘You’re a moron,’ Leo shouted.

  ‘You’re a dork,’ Liam retorted.

  ‘You’re a big hairy-arse gorilla,’ Leo said.

  ‘You’re a dickhe–’

  ‘STOP!’ I shouted. ‘Don’t you dare use that word.’

  ‘Why not? Dad said it last night when Suárez scored against Man U,’ Liam protested.

  ‘Well, he shouldn’t have. You know I hate bad language.’

  ‘Then how come you’re friends with Marian? She says bad words all the time,’ Luke said.

  He had a point there. Marian swore like a trooper. She had no edit button. But somehow it didn’t bother me with her. It was just the way she was. I’d have to remind Harry that the boys were now repeating everything we said at home. I’d overheard Liam telling a boy in the school playground, ‘My mum said that people who only have one kid and buy big jeeps are ridiculous.’

  What made it worse was that the boy was Sebastian, an only child, and he was walking towards his mother, Victoria, in her giant Porsche jeep. Thankfully, Victoria was bellowing into her mobile phone at the time so she didn’t hear my son’s pearl of wisdom. I’d have to watch my mouth.

  After I’d dropped off the boys, I called over to Marian for a catch-up. She opened the door in her pyjamas with a raincoat over them.

  ‘How the fuck do you look so good this early?’

  ‘Nice to see you too.’ I grinned.

  ‘Money suits you.’ Marian hugged me. ‘You look great.’

  I was just wearing jeans and a shirt, but good-quality jeans that fitted perfectly and the shirt was green silk.

  ‘Thanks. I’m making more of an effort in the morning now that the boys are at Castle Academy. You should see some of the gear the mums wear. I suppose they’re like Sophie was in the old days, completely overdressed.’

  ‘I don’t think I’d fit in,’ Marian said, laughing. She took off her raincoat and switched on the kettle.

  ‘I don’t fit in either,’ I admitted. ‘So how are things?’

  ‘Shite. I’ve just found out that Greg is staying in Dubai for another year.’

  Marian’s husband, Greg, had lost his job in the recession. He was an engineer and, with the construction industry in tatters, he hadn’t been able to find a job in Ireland, so he had gone to Dubai. He’d been there for almost a year already and now he’d be gone for another. It was hard on Marian, with four children to manage – the eldest was nine and the youngest four.

  ‘I’m sorry. That’s going to be really tough on you.’

  She shrugged. ‘What can you do? We need the money. It’s bloody hard going on my own all the time, though. Sometimes I just want to kill my kids.’

  ‘Have you told them that Greg’s going to be away for longer?’

  She handed me a coffee, then added a glug of brandy to hers and a little to mine.

  ‘Marian! We can’t have brandy at this hour of the day.’ I looked at the clock. It was twenty past nine.

  ‘Well, I need it, and I only put a tiny nip in yours. It won’t kill you. So, Greg told the kids last night on Skype and they started crying and bawling about “Daaaaaddy”. I wouldn’t mind but when he’s here he does shag-all with them. He’s always jet-lagged. I’m stuck here, killing myself, raising our kids alone, doing everything for them, and they couldn’t give a toss about me. They wouldn’t give a damn if I was in Dubai. It’s all about Daddy.’

  ‘Come on, your kids love you and they know how much you do for them.’

  ‘Bollox.’

  ‘They do. Children just don’t show appreciation. Half the time the triplets don’t even know I exist.’ It was true. I often thought that if I replaced myself with a robot, the boys wouldn’t notice. Tom would, though: he was still young enough to need me. ‘Did you manage to console them?’ I asked.

  Marian nodded. ‘You know how fickle kids are. I gave them a box of Celebrations and told them they could eat the whole shagging lot because of the bad news. Two minutes later they barely remembered they had a father.’

  I threw back my head and laughed. Marian was such a tonic. She said what lots of women thought but were afraid to say. She was always in trouble for being so blunt and honest, but I loved it about her.

  ‘It must be hard on your relationship with Greg, though, only seeing each other for a week every three months.’

  She sipped her coffee. ‘At least I don’t have to shag him regularly. Mind you, we tried Skype sex.’

  ‘What?’ I almost choked on my coffee.

  Marian smiled. ‘He was banging on about how lonely he was and I was afraid he was going to end up shagging some young one from the office, so I said, “Come on, let’s try it.” And we did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Disaster. No one looks good naked on Skype, especially not a forty-something couple with lumpy bits. He started talking dirty to try to get me going.’

  I giggled. ‘What did he say?’

  Marian grinned. ‘“I know you want it, you dirty bitch,” and “I want to make you scream.”’

  I roared laughing. ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘I told him I couldn’t take him seriously. He was talking in this fake American accent, pacing up and down in front of the computer, his penis swinging about, and it was all just ridiculous.’

  I wiped tears from my eyes. ‘Oh, Marian, that’s hilarious.’

  ‘Maybe for you, but I haven’t had sex in
three months and I’m horny as hell.’

  ‘Really?’ I was surprised. Marian had always said having sex with Greg was something she did as little as possible because she was so tired all the time.

  ‘When you can have it, you don’t want it. But when it’s taken away from you, you want it. Besides, I’m finally getting my mojo back. After nine years of having kids, I’m getting some sleep and I’m definitely more up for it.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘Maybe we should try phone sex – it might be easier. If I’m not looking at Greg’s hairy arse on a computer screen, I can pretend I’m having sex with Don Draper.’

  ‘Sounds like a better plan,’ I said, although I couldn’t imagine having phone sex with Harry. It would be so strange and awkward, but I suppose if we only saw each other every three months it would be worth a shot.

  ‘Have you ever tried it with Harry?’

  ‘Phone sex?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Marian grinned.

  I shook my head. ‘No. The only phone sex Harry wants is with his broker. Honestly, it’s ridiculous how consumed he is by making money. He’s obsessed!’

  ‘Well, he’s spent most of his life with very little. Let him enjoy it.’ Marian shook a chocolate digestive out of the packet and took a bite. ‘Now, tell me about you. Are you still missing the column?’

  My weekly column in the Herald newspaper had been cut three months ago, after almost four years. I’d been gutted. It was my little lifeline. I’d written about kids and parenting every week and had enjoyed it so much. It was only five hundred words and it brought in very little money but it was my thing, my small piece of identity outside the home, and I’d cherished it. But the newspaper had made cutbacks and I was one of the victims.

  ‘I’m OK. It’s a pity, but it’s over now, so that’s that.’ I didn’t want to complain about it in front of Marian. She was struggling with so many things that I didn’t feel I had the right to moan.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll find something else at a different paper.’