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

by Sinéad Moriarty

  ‘I am.’ I was. I’d seen good and bad boob jobs and I knew what a difference the good ones made to a woman’s body. Especially after having children and getting older, when your boobs were sagging. I hated my breasts.

  ‘Sweetie, you’ve only just broken up with Andrew. Give yourself a few weeks before you rush into anything.’

  I shook my head. ‘This isn’t because of Andrew. I’ve been thinking about it for ages. I really want to get my boobs done. I don’t want big page-three breasts. I just want them to look perky, not small and droopy, like they are now. I just know it will make a huge difference to my body and my confidence.’

  Quentin nodded. ‘Make sure you go to someone reputable. No cutting costs.’

  ‘Can you ask around and find out who the best surgeon is? I can’t say it to anyone. My sisters would kill me if they knew I was even contemplating it.’

  ‘Your secret is safe with me,’ Quentin assured me. ‘I’ll find out who the best surgeon is and get back to you. But in return I want you to think about it for a few more weeks before you go rushing under the knife.’

  ‘Thanks. Will you come with me when I get it done? Will you be my in-case-of-emergency person?’

  ‘Of course I will, darling. I’ll hold your hand the whole way through. You never know, I may meet a nice young intern.’

  ‘Young!’ I wagged my finger at him.

  He chuckled. ‘Oops, sorry.’

  So that was it. Now I’d said it out loud, I knew for certain I’d go ahead and do it. The surgery would change everything for the better. I was excited now at the prospect. Obviously my sisters would notice when they were done, but I wasn’t going to breathe a word about it until then. I’d deal with their reaction when the time came. I knew they’d go mad. I knew they’d tell me how stupid and shallow I was and how it made no difference blah-blah-blah. But they were wrong. They weren’t looking for a husband. I was, and I had to make myself more attractive to compete with the younger women I was up against.

  It felt good to have a new plan. I pictured myself in six months’ time, with new boobs and a new man. I had to look to the future because the present was so awful.

  22

  Julie

  The doorbell rang. I quickly replied to Dan’s text and went to let Marian in. I was nervous about her seeing the house. I’d kept putting her off calling in by saying we were having work done and that it wasn’t finished yet. But today she had insisted on calling over and I had run out of excuses.

  I was embarrassed because it was so big, shiny and new. Marian and I had bonded over budgeting, saving and scrimping. But now I was in a mansion and her life was still a struggle financially. Although now Greg was in Dubai earning a decent wage, they would hopefully start paying off their debts and things might get easier.

  I opened the door.

  Marian pushed past me. ‘Is this a joke? You do realize that your house is bigger than Buckingham shagging Palace? I knew it was going to be big, but this is ridiculous.’

  ‘Come on in.’

  ‘Should I park my car around the back? You don’t want a piece of shit like that in your driveway.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Stop it! Come into the kitchen and we’ll have a drink.’

  ‘Jesus, check you out. Lady of the manor drinking at ten. I’m usually the one pushing the booze.’

  ‘Coffee with a splash of brandy?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Marian looked around my vast kitchen. ‘Seriously, Julie, it’s incredible. Did you do it all up yourself?’

  I shook my head. ‘Not really. Sophie helped with most of it. She has great taste and I hadn’t a clue what to do with all the space.’

  I handed Marian her brandy coffee and sat down. She took a sip. ‘Whoooo! That’s strong. You’d better lash on some toast. I need food to soak this up or I’ll be arrested for drunk driving.’

  I popped some bread into the toaster. ‘So, how are you?’

  Marian grinned. ‘Pretty fucking great, actually.’

  ‘I take it you’re still having sex with Lew?’

  ‘I certainly am.’

  ‘What about Greg?’

  ‘Greg has checked out of our lives. He Skypes to talk to the kids every second day, but has nothing to say to me or them. It’s as if he’s completely disengaged from us. He’s living in “Greg world” over there in Dubai. I can see that he has no interest in his family. Calling us is a chore for him.’

  ‘Come on, Greg loves you and he adores the kids.’

  Marian shrugged. ‘I was listening to this show on the radio last week. Women whose husbands work abroad for months on end were calling in and saying things that I could relate to. They all said if your husband is away for longer than a month they begin to detach, and that the longer they’re away, the worse it gets. One woman said when her husband comes back after two months away working on oil rigs, it takes him a month to get back to normal and then he goes off back to work and the whole bloody cycle starts again.’

  ‘What’s the solution?’ I asked, as I handed her a plate of buttered toast.

  ‘He needs to come home and reintegrate into the family. But that’s not an option because he can’t get a job here. So there is no solution. We’re screwed.’

  ‘Hold on. If he came home once a month, like he used to, it would work.’

  Marian shook her head. ‘We got through the first year because we thought it was just a year and we really worked on staying in touch. Greg missed us and came home as much as he could. But now he’s less bothered about it and I’m used to him not being around. Even the kids are getting used to it. When he came home regularly, the children were all over him, which he found claustrophobic. And when he left, they were devastated and I had to pick up the pieces. But now that they see him even less, they just accept that he’s never really around. To be honest, it’s easier when he doesn’t come back, for all of us.’

  ‘It’s such a tough situation. But Greg’s a good guy. Don’t write off your marriage yet.’

  ‘I’m not. Well … not completely. Anyway, enough about the crap stuff, let’s talk about Lew!’

  ‘OK, go on. I can see you’re dying to tell me about the great sex.’

  ‘It’s sensational. It keeps getting better. These younger guys are where it’s at. He even brings props with him.’

  What? I was almost afraid to ask. I took a large sip of my brandy coffee. ‘What props?’

  ‘Sex props. Handcuffs and silk scarves to blindfold me with. He turned up with a whip the other day and asked me to walk on his back and whip him.’

  ‘And did you?’ I was shocked. I thought that only happened in X-rated movies.

  ‘Hell, yes! I was a bit worried about walking on his back. I was afraid I might break it or rupture his kidney or something. Anyway, once I got going, I was well into it. Whipping a man is very therapeutic. I was walloping him, but he loved it.’

  I tried to get the image of Marian, naked, whipping a beefy young Polish guy out of my head. ‘Does he whip you?’

  ‘Yes, but not hard, and it’s actually very erotic. I swear it’s like Fifty Shades of bloody Grey in my house, these days. I haven’t felt this alive in years. I always hated my body, but Lew loves my curves and my big boobs. He can’t get enough of me. I sometimes wonder if he’s mentally challenged. Why the hell is he with me when he could be whipping hot young Polish girls?’

  ‘Stop that. You’re lovely.’

  Marian raised an eyebrow at me. ‘I’m a forty-six-year-old woman with four kids and saggy bits. But Lew says he’s always loved older women.’

  ‘They should clone him and send him around to all bored housewives of a certain age.’

  ‘Well, when I finish with him, you should definitely have a go.’

  ‘Marian!’

  ‘What? Don’t pretend you wouldn’t like a bit of steamy action.’

  ‘I have Harry.’

  Marian threw her head back and roared laughing. ‘Harry … with a … whiiiip!
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.’

  I began to laugh too.

  Marian wiped her eyes. ‘Sorry, but the idea that Harry would be adventurous in the bedroom is too funny.’

  ‘It’s not just Harry, it’s me too. I’ve never tried any-thing … you know, different.’

  ‘Neither had I. But that’s the whole point. Why was Fifty Shades of Grey such a hit with women? Because secretly women in their forties, fifties and beyond are bored sexually. Men watch porn – I know some women don’t believe that their husbands ever watch porn, but they do. What do we watch? We watch our children running around all bloody day long and we go to coffee mornings where we talk about our kids. It’s so boring. No wonder so many housewives are on Prozac.’

  ‘Are they?’

  ‘Come on, Julie! Do you live with your head permanently in the sand? Every second woman is on happy pills because she’s so unfulfilled in her life, mentally, sexually and emotionally.’

  Were they? Was I completely naïve and clueless? If I was to be honest with myself, didn’t I feel that way too? Wasn’t that why I’d loved reconnecting with Dan? It was a buzz and a high that I hadn’t had in so long.

  I decided not to tell Marian about Dan. I was worried she’d make it into a big thing and it wasn’t. It was just a little harmless fun.

  ‘Earth to Julie?’ Marian waved a hand in front of me.

  ‘Sorry, I was just thinking about what you said. I suppose you’re right. A lot of women are restless and fed up.’

  ‘That’s why I went back to work. Well, obviously I went back because we needed the money too, but I wanted something else in my life. My kids bore me. What the hell is interesting about homework and sport? Nothing. I’ve spent hours on the side of pitches, freezing my arse off, watching Brian and Oscar running around after a football, or bored out of my mind watching Molly thundering about in some church hall in a pink leotard thinking she’s Darcey flaming Bussell.’

  ‘Come on, it’s lovely to see them playing. I feel really proud when I see the triplets playing rugby.’

  Marian chewed her last piece of toast. ‘That’s because they’re good and they score goals or whatever you score in rugby. My lot are brutal at sports, but I still have to go and cheer them on. Last Saturday Oscar, who plays for the worst team in the club, lost his football match nine–nil and he was the bloody goalie. I had other parents giving me filthy looks because Oscar let in all the goals, even though their kids were shite too. And then I had to deal with him crying the whole way home. I ended up pulling into a garage and buying him half a ton of sweets to shut him up. Then Molly said she wanted sweets but I told her ballerinas never eat sweets, only vegetables. So now all she’ll eat is bloody carrots because they are the only vegetable she likes. I actually think her skin is turning orange. She’ll be the first ever tangerine ballerina.’

  ‘Poor Molly!’

  ‘Poor me!’ Marian said. ‘I’m always on my own. I have to deal with all their dramas and their moods, their teachers and after-school activities. I’m sick of it. When Greg comes home next month I’m going to run away for a few days just to get away from the kids. I am so sick of them. Yes, I love them, ya-di-ya, but I need space from them. It’s too much. If it wasn’t for the great sex with Lew, I’d be wallowing in a vat of wine or Prozac – or maybe both.’

  I felt for her. Even though Harry had been a lot more absent lately, he still took the boys to rugby and helped them with their maths homework and bath time. I would hate to be doing it all on my own.

  Marian insisted on having a full tour of the house, and seeing it through her eyes made it seem even bigger and fancier. I felt awkward and wanted it to be over. I hated the fact that coming into money had made me ‘different’ from her. I wanted our relationship to be the same. I didn’t want her to think I’d changed because I really didn’t feel that I had.

  Marian lay back on my huge bed. ‘Comfy!’ She spread her arms wide. ‘So, is Harry still spending all his spare time in the golf club?’

  I nodded. Marian knew the old Harry, the lovely Harry. She crinkled her nose. ‘Now that I’ve seen the house and how nice your lifestyle is, I kind of get why Harry’s changed.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I can see how all of this could go to your head.’

  ‘It hasn’t gone to my head. I’m still the same.’

  Marian looked up at me and smiled. ‘Yes, you are. Harry will come round. He just needs to get used to being loaded. God, I’d love to have a millionaire aunt. A big injection of cash would sort out all my problems.’

  ‘You know I’d be happy to –’

  Marian put up her hand. ‘Stop. I know what you’re going to say and I really appreciate the offer, but I never mix money and friendship. If you gave me money, I’d owe you.’

  ‘But I don’t care about money. I’d never think about it again.’

  Marian sat up. ‘But I would. Every time I saw you, I’d remember you’d given me money and I’d feel obliged to be nice to you.’

  ‘But you are nice to me.’

  ‘Yeah, but if I felt I had to be, I mightn’t want to be. You know what a contrary cow I am.’

  I fiddled with the curtain ropes. ‘I’d love to help, so if you change your mind …’

  Marian stood up and hitched up her jeans. ‘I won’t, but thanks. Besides, I’ve thought of a way to make millions.’

  ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘Sex lines.’

  I stared at her in disbelief. I could see she was relishing my reaction. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Deadly.’

  I threw my arms up in the air. ‘Marian!’

  She wagged a finger at me. ‘Don’t knock it. I saw this programme a few weeks ago about sex lines and how half the women do the sex talk while they’re ironing, cooking or doing laundry. Basically you can do it while your kids are in school and you’re doing the housework. It’s so easy, it’s a joke. All you have to do is a bit of panting and some dirty talk. It’s the easiest money ever. I talked to Lew about it and he says he could put me in touch with some Polish girls, and Lithuanians and Russians, who’d love to earn some extra cash. So I’m thinking of setting up an international sex line.’

  ‘Are you actually being serious?’

  ‘Absolutely. I’ve been researching it and it’s really not that hard to start one. And it’s a lot more lucrative than selling bloody insurance. But first of all I need to get some practice, so I’ve signed up with a sex line for a few weeks to see if it’s as easy as it seems. I’m “going live” tomorrow.’

  I was worried. ‘Marian, are you sure? It sounds really dodgy.’

  She patted my shoulder. ‘It isn’t. It’s totally anonymous. It’s the easiest money I’ll ever make. Sexy Cats is the company I signed up with and they put me in touch with this woman, Shelly, who does it all the time. She’s got five kids, and she said that if you’re good, you can earn up to fifty euros an hour. Happy days!’

  ‘Are you sure they can’t track your number?’

  ‘Positive. I’m getting a separate mobile phone. They prefer you to use a landline, but I said I wanted to use a pay-as-you-go phone, which you don’t have to give any details to get. So I’ll be completely anonymous and untraceable. Shelly said the older men tend to want to chat for longer while the younger ones just want quick relief, if you get my drift.’

  I put my hands up to my face. ‘God, Marian, do you really want to get involved in that? It sounds kind of seedy.’

  ‘I think it’ll be fun. Shelly said that, if I want, I can get into the webcam stuff too.’

  ‘Have you lost your mind?’ I shouted. ‘They’ll be able to see your face on the webcam.’

  ‘No! I’d be wearing a wig and glasses. Shelly says they pay more to see her ironing in a G-string or cooking with just a frilly apron. Either way, I get to do my housework and get paid at the same time.’

  Now I was really worried. I grabbed her shoulders and shook her. ‘You cannot have your face online. OK? You’ll
be putting yourself and your family at risk. For God’s sake, Marian, there are nutters out there. If you want to try the phone thing, fine. But under no circumstances are you to go on any webcam. Promise me?’

  She raised her hands. ‘OK! Chill out. I won’t do the webcam.’

  ‘Swear?’

  She nodded, in what I hoped was a genuine way.

  I had to admire her, though. She was always looking for ways to make money and improve her situation. She never sat around feeling sorry for herself. I wanted to be more like her. I’d decided to stop moping and get a part-time job to fill my days, but when I’d tried to update my CV, I had a ten-year gap of nothing. Ten years of being a mum. Ten years of absolutely nothing useful, except writing my little column about parenting, which wasn’t going to impress anyone. I could still barely use a computer and it made me realize how hopeless I was. Who the hell would ever hire me? I was good at nothing. I wasn’t even a particularly good mother. I was literally unemployable.

  I wished I had Marian’s confidence. She was so sure of herself. I knew Louise was probably the best person to talk to about jobs, but I couldn’t bear her to see how completely useless I was. She was so efficient and clever, she’d be shocked to find out I couldn’t even use PowerPoint or Excel. I knew I’d have to do a computer course, but even that terrified me. The thought of walking into a room full of young people who were quick learners made me feel sick. I knew I’d be the dunce. I just couldn’t face it.

  As Marian was leaving, Mum arrived. When she saw Marian, she stiffened. She thought Marian was a bad influence on me because she cursed so much and was, as Mum put it, ‘uncouth’.

  ‘Good morning, Marian,’ she said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Knackered. I’ve just had a tour of the mansion and my legs are killing me from all the walking and climbing of stairs.’

  I laughed. Mum didn’t.

  ‘How are the children?’ Mum asked.

  ‘Driving me shagging mental as usual, to be honest.’

  Mum flinched and pursed her lips. ‘I always thought children were a blessing.’