The Fantastic Book of Everybody's Secrets

by Sophie Hannah

  ‘You mean Frank might not have found the card yet?’ said Erica, trying not be upset by the idea of all the Gustavinas’ money.

  ‘He definitely won’t have,’ said Flora. ‘Relax. When he gets in later, I’ll whip it out and shred it. I’ll destroy the evidence. God, how funny! Who’d have thought this would happen, hey? It’s like in What’s up, Doc?, when all the briefcases get mixed up...’

  ‘What time will Frank get back?’ Erica interrupted.

  ‘I don’t know. Look, don’t worry. I’ll attend to it. You can rely on me. The last thing I want is Frank finding the card and passing it on to Paul. Especially now that I’ve met Hugh.’

  Erica ignored Flora’s fluttery sigh. She didn’t have the mental strength even to consider Hugh at the moment. She admired Flora’s stamina; most people, she guessed, after vigorously desiring and then mercilessly spurning one man, all in the space of a week, would want to wait at least a few days before hurtling towards the next.

  Still, who was Erica to criticise Flora? Flora was a loyal best friend – and, it seemed, a compassionate boss. Most people would have fired Erica for her failure to complete her first task as instructed. Flora wasn’t even cross about it. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t post the Valentines,’ Erica said again. ‘I would have done, if I hadn’t...’

  ‘...decided to target Frank instead!’ Flora chuckled. ‘Don’t worry. I’m glad you didn’t send them. If you had, it’d be too late. Maybe you’re psychic. As it is, I’ll be able to fish the card out of Frank’s briefcase and noone’ll be any the wiser. And, since there’s no name on the card, I could even send it on to Hugh! I’ve got until tomorrow, haven’t I?’

  Please, please, shut up about Hugh, thought Erica. ‘Thanks for being so understanding,’ she said.

  The next morning, Erica was in the middle of trying to lower a split white bin liner full of rubbish into a black refuse sack when her doorbell rang. She swung round, and red oil from a takeaway curry carton spilled out of the slit in the bin bag, pooling on the already stained linoleum. She sighed, dropped the lot and ran to the door. Please let it be Flora, she prayed. She didn’t even mind if Flora wanted the two of them to proceed straight to the home of Hugh, whoever he was, to deliver the Valentine card by hand.

  Flora hadn’t phoned her yesterday evening, and every time Erica had tried to call the Gustavinas’ house she’d got an engaged tone. The same had happened this morning. Flora’s mobile wasn’t even taking messages. A cold male voice said, ‘The Vodafone you are calling may be switched off. Please try later.’ Erica had been trying every five minutes since seven o’clock this morning. She was desperate to hear that Flora had successfully retrieved the card.

  She ran to the door and swung it open, gasping with relief when she saw Flora wrapped in a long brown woollen thing that was either a very soft coat or a very long cardigan. ‘Thank goodness! I’ve been worried sick,’ said Erica. ‘Come in. Did you get it? Is everything okay?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ Flora didn’t move. She looked burdened; miserable, even. Erica’s hands flew to her mouth. She couldn’t believe that the situation was not resolved. Flora had assured her it would be. ‘I can’t come in. We’ve got to go,’ she said, nodding in the direction of her red Mercedes.

  ‘Where to?’ Erica smoothed down her hair with one hand. She was wearing a shapeless old sweatshirt and tracksuit bottoms. She couldn’t go out without changing.

  ‘My house.’

  ‘But what...?’

  ‘Come on, I’ll explain on the way. Don’t worry, I’ve already thought of a way round the problem,’ said Flora. But Erica noticed that she didn’t smile.

  She abandoned her wish to attend to her appearance and followed Flora to the car. She was desperate to ask more questions, but felt, somehow, that it was not her place to do so. Flora would talk when she was ready. This is all my fault, thought Erica. I’ve caused everybody so much trouble. She climbed into the Mercedes. It smelled of oranges. Erica rested her feet on the two small piles of battered paperbacks that filled the footwell.

  ‘Right. Let me update you on the catastrophe.’ Flora laughed grimly. The car accelerated steadily, smoothly, as she spoke. ‘I looked in Frank’s briefcase and there was no card anywhere in sight. I was a bit puzzled, because Frank hadn’t said anything to me and I was sure he would have done if he’d found the Valentine. I was just wondering what to do, whether to bring it up, pretend you’d wanted to send Paul a Valentine and mistaken Frank’s briefcase for his...’

  ‘What?’ Erica thought she might have a seizure.

  ‘I said I was wondering,’ Flora snapped. ‘I didn’t actually do it, all right? Anyway, as I was mulling things over, deciding what my next step ought to be, Throat Pastille turned up.’ She stopped, sighed.

  ‘And?’ Erica demanded.

  ‘There’s no easy way to say this, Erica, so I’ll just say it, okay? Throat Pastille had the card.’

  ‘He... Oh, no.’

  ‘He saw you put it in Frank’s briefcase. He was in the hall. How could you not have seen him?’

  Erica felt too sick to answer. She’d been so nervous, she’d just stuffed the card in, leaving the door to the hall wide open. But TP had been with Flora, hadn’t he? Perhaps he’d been on his way to the upstairs bathroom, but had stopped when he saw Erica shaking and sweating over Frank Gustavina’s briefcase. She pressed her eyes shut. She considered throwing open the passenger door of Flora’s car and launching herself out.

  ‘TP was curious, understandably,’ Flora went on. ‘He decided to investigate, while we were busy chatting in the kitchen. He found the bloody card, and turned up last night to announce to me and Frank that you’re a scheming traitor and we ought to have nothing more to do with you.’ Flora’s voice shook. Erica couldn’t tell if she was angry, frightened or upset. ‘I was so surprised, I didn’t know what to say.’

  ‘What did Frank say?’ asked Erica. Oh, God. Frank Gustavina thought she fancied him. She would have to make it clear, as soon as possible, that she didn’t. Without offending him, of course. Was such a thing possible? Oh, God!

  ‘What do you think he said? “What sort of friend makes a play for her best mate’s husband?” – something along those lines. He and TP were pissed off, on my behalf. They’re both saying I should get rid of you. But I don’t want to get rid of you, because you’re my best friend and, as we both know, you aren’t trying to steal Frank behind my back.’

  ‘I can’t believe this,’ Erica whispered. ‘What can we do? I can’t bear the thought of Frank thinking that about me. We’ll have to tell him...’

  ‘What? Tell him what? I’ve considered all the options. One: the truth – obviously we can’t tell him that. Two: we tell him you thought it was Paul’s briefcase, and that you meant to send the card to Paul.’

  ‘No!’ Erica protested, horrified. This plan had been mentioned once already, and it sounded no more appealing the second time round.

  ‘I decided against option number two, because – if I can be blunt – TP really doesn’t like you, and he’d be absolutely sure to tell Paul you’ve got the hots for him, just to embarrass you and make life difficult. And you really don’t want to get on the wrong side of a hulk like Paul. I could order TP to keep it to himself, but I couldn’t be a hundred per cent sure that he would. I think the temptation’d be too great. He’d tell Paul, but make Paul promise not to tell me. Anyway, even if he wouldn’t, I just... I still think of Paul as mine, somehow, rather than yours. Do you understand? Even though I don’t fancy him any more.’

  ‘I don’t want Paul!’ said Erica. ‘I don’t want even a tiny bit of him, and there’s no way I’m going to pretend I sent him a Valentine.’

  ‘Okay. So, then, option number three: we say that you intended the card for Frank, and I’ll just be very tolerant and understanding about it. I can say, “She’s single, she got carried away, she’s sorry, there’s no harm done”, etc. etc.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Well, it woul
dn’t be convincing, anyway,’ said Flora. ‘There’s no way I’d ever overlook such a huge betrayal, and Frank knows that. He’d be very suspicious.’

  ‘So what can we do?’ Erica asked, shaking in her seat. ‘We have to come up with something, don’t we?’

  ‘There’s only one thing we can say: that you thought the briefcase was TP’s, and that you meant the card to be for him.’ Erica opened her mouth, aghast, but Flora silenced her with a raised palm. ‘TP was the only man in the house at the time. His zip-up case, the one he keeps his poetry cassettes and CDs in, is brown. You’ll say you thought the case was his, and he’ll believe you. You just shoved the card in, and you didn’t notice the financial brochures...’

  ‘No. No!’

  ‘It’s the only way, Erica.’ Flora turned to face her with a solemn expression. ‘What’s the alternative? How else do you propose to explain why you put a Valentine card in Frank’s case? If you meant it to go to Throat Pastille, I won’t have to banish you from my life for ever. Erica, I don’t want to lose you! As a friend or as an employee. There’s Project Hugh to think of, remember?’

  ‘You can’t do this!’ said Erica quietly. She didn’t want to know a single detail about Hugh – not where Flora met him, nor his surname, nor his job. She was determined not to ask. How dared Flora refer to TP by an affectionate nickname when she’d admitted only minutes ago that TP couldn’t stand Erica? It was so disloyal. ‘You can’t play with people and…fancy one person one minute and another the next and…’ She was unable to expand, though she was certain that she had many excellent points to make. If only she weren’t so distraught and confused. ‘I won’t do it,’ she said. ‘I don’t have to say anything to Frank. He can think what he likes, and so can TP. Let me out. Stop the car.’

  ‘Oh, they can think what they like, can they?’ said Flora angrily, speeding along the dual carriageway. ‘You mean, I can deal with it? That’s what you mean. You might be able to walk away from this, but I can’t.’

  Erica began to cry. ‘Go on, you might as well say it. I can walk away, even though this whole disaster is my fault. If I’d posted those cards...’ ‘I don’t want to lose you’, Flora had said. ‘As a friend’.

  Flora sighed. ‘Erica, the last thing I want is for us to fall out over this. Yes, it’s a mess, but let’s just deal with it and move on. I’m sorry that this TP thing is the best idea I can come up with, but I’m afraid it is. Can you think of a better one?’

  ‘What about telling Frank the truth?’ Erica sobbed.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Do you want to ruin my life?’

  Yes, yes, yes: the word stormed Erica’s head.

  Neither woman spoke for a while. The only sounds were the hum of the car’s engine and Erica’s occasional sniffs.

  ‘Do you know when I first cheated on Frank?’ said Flora eventually. ‘It was after a huge row we had. He’d said some awful things to me. He apologised, of course, but I knew I could never forgive him, not unless I armed myself with something, a secret. I simply refused to be the more injured party. So I contacted an agency for married people. I found their address in the back of Private Eye. I met a man and we had a four-month fling. And ever since then, whenever I’ve been cross with Frank, I’ve thought “Ha! Little do you know.”’

  ‘What’s that got to do with this?’ said Erica. She wished she had some cigarettes with her.

  ‘You said I play with people, before. I don’t mean to. But I have needs just like everybody else. I do what I need to do. It might seem frivolous to you, but believe me, I’m deadly serious about all my…enterprises. Whether they last a long time or only for a moment.’

  ‘I’m not doing it,’ said Erica.

  ‘Why do you think I sleep with other men? It’s not because they’re any better at sex than Frank is. Most of them are worse, actually, technique-wise. But…Look, men enjoy sex whatever the circumstances. All they need is some repetitive rubbing and they’re away. Whereas we women need mental excitement to generate physical excitement, don’t we? Novelty is essential. The first time you have sex with someone is always the best.’

  Erica looked up. ‘That can’t be true,’ she said. Once again, one of Flora’s hooks was in her and she couldn’t ignore it. She had to follow it up.

  ‘It’s true,’ said Flora. ‘The newer a man is, the less knowledge and experience we have of him, the less real he is to us. He’s a blank slate, on to which we can project all the necessary fantasies. And let’s face it, if we’re honest, it’s only by concentrating hard on our own fantasies that women can achieve satisfaction. It never comes about because of anything a man does. Not in my experience, anyway.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Erica protested tearfully. What Flora was saying did not reflect what Erica had read in books and women’s magazines over the years. ‘Your partner can learn how to please you, but it takes time for you to…get used to each other’s ways. The first time isn’t the best, hardly ever.’

  Flora raised her eyebrows. ‘Erica, that’s crap. Everyone lies about sex. Except me, now. Most women have far more orgasms on their own than they do with men. It’s the concentration thing again, the necessary psychological build-up, the focus on creating precisely the right conditions to achieve one’s own pleasure. Any distraction ruins it, and what woman can concentrate single-mindedly on her own pleasure with a man around? Even when he’s doing his best to be selfless, one always feels the lurking presence of his ego, its wish to be attended to in one way or another. Even if all it wants is to be recognised for not wanting anything at that precise moment.’

  Erica’s mind buzzed. She didn’t want all this information. Or rather, she did, but she knew she ought not to. It was possible to know too much, more than one could handle.

  ‘That’s why, the less well you know a man, the better,’ Flora went on. ‘Because you’ll be less aware of what he’s thinking, what he wants and needs. You can ignore him more. In a good way.’

  ‘This has got nothing to do with me pretending to have sent the Valentine to TP,’ Erica protested. ‘That’s what we were discussing, and I’m not doing it. Okay?’ Flora smiled politely. ‘Anyway, it’s not true, what you’re saying. What about intimacy? Women need intimacy, not novelty, in order to feel…stimulated.’

  ‘I agree intimacy’s important. But again, all my best intimate moments have involved virtual strangers. When I’m with a man I hardly know, secrets and confidences pour out of me. But all that staring into eyes, sharing deep truths and insights about one’s most private selves – you want to do that with someone who doesn’t already know you too well, don’t you? Otherwise, it’s just embarrassing. I mean, you don’t want to be having orgasms in front of the person you go to Waitrose with, the person you bicker with about whether to buy a block of Parmesan or the ready-grated stuff. I couldn’t bear to…roll up every bit of myself – the everyday me and the ideal, private, fantasy me – into one giant ball and give it to just one person. I’d feel owned, like a slave. I’d feel as if I had no leeway.’

  Flora had captured precisely how Erica felt, in her present bind. ‘I won’t pretend to fancy TP,’ she insisted tearfully.

  ‘Then say the card was a joke!’ Flora’s eyes sparkled with sudden inspiration. ‘He annoys you, and you wanted to wind him up.’

  Erica felt as if the oxygen in the car were running out. She wished Flora would open a window, didn’t dare to do so herself. ‘It’s not fair. You can’t expect me to...’

  ‘Erica, we can’t tell the truth. My whole world’d be wrecked. Look, please! I’ll buy you a new car,’ said Flora urgently, glancing at her watch as she drove. ‘Your Skoda’s a disgrace. Your parents can’t drive. You’re always ferrying them around; you need reliable transport. If you do this, I’ll buy you whatever car you want – a BMW, a Jag, whatever.’

  Erica wondered why a Rolls-Royce wasn’t on the list. Wasn’t that supposed to be the best sort of car? Dully, she considered her options. She decided that she had none. ‘I can’t lo
se you,’ Flora had said. Erica had to do what Flora wanted. She wasn’t sure why. It was partly the offer of a car, partly that she had already spent most of the thousand pounds Flora had given her on getting herself out of debt. And they were only in this predicament because Erica had totally disregarded Flora’s original instructions, something Flora was decent enough not to point out. Fear, also, was involved. Erica had a strong suspicion that the world would immediately become a barren and hostile environment if she disappointed Flora Gustavina.

  ‘Maybe I’ll say it was a joke,’ she said. She imagined setting fire to Flora’s hair.

  ‘Yes! That’s the way to do it,’ Flora gushed, relieved. ‘I can completely understand why you don’t want to fake lust for TP. Who knows what that might lead to?’ She stopped the car. Erica, who had been utterly unaware, for the duration of the whole hideous conversation, of a world outside the Mercedes, finally looked out of the window. They were here, at the Gustavinas’.

  ‘Let’s get this over with,’ said Flora. Erica forced her stiff legs to move in the direction of the house. She couldn’t bear to think about what was going to happen. Why wasn’t she running away? What could Flora do to stop her, if she chose to escape? ‘I’m back,’ Flora shouted as she unlocked the door. There was something fake, something staged, about the way she said it. ‘I’ve got Erica with me. Go through to the lounge,’ she whispered to Erica. ‘What?’

  ‘You go first.’

  Flora looked impatient. Then her expression softened and she smiled. ‘It’ll be okay, don’t worry,’ she mouthed. She turned her back on Erica and marched confidently into the lounge.

  Erica trailed after her, dragged by a force that both controlled and despised her, one she didn’t understand. Frank Gustavina lay stretched out on the sofa, with a bumpy pottery mug in one hand and the Daily Telegraph in the other. He was wearing a grey suit and only black socks on his feet, which brushed against Erica as she entered the room. He leaped into an upright position; it was as if he feared that even the smallest physical contact might commit him to a relationship with her. TP sat cross-legged on the floor, tracing a pattern on the carpet with his bony fingers. He stared at Erica in sullen defiance.