Three Secrets

by Clare Boyd

  As light began to glow through the curtains and the birds began their dawn chorus, I lay there on my back with my dry eyes wide open, waiting for my clock to show a decent time, so that I could call John, whom I had to talk to about this scratching in my head. He hadn’t been listening at Millfords. I needed him to listen.

  * * *

  ‘What happened?’ I cried, staring at John’s right eye, which was purple and yellow and bloodshot.

  ‘Dilys has a mean right hook.’

  ‘Ha ha.’ I laughed, letting him in. ‘Seriously, what did you do?’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  I decided not to push for an explanation.

  ‘Have you been using arnica cream?’

  ‘No—?’

  ‘It’ll heal faster. I’ll get you some.’

  Alice came charging through the house. ‘Uncle John! Come and see my new paddling pool!’

  ‘A paddling pool? Wow! You won’t want this then.’ He pretended to hold back a floor puzzle he had brought her.

  She pulled it from his hands and hugged it to her chest. ‘Thank you!’

  ‘More puzzles,’ I said, rolling my eyes. ‘We’ll have to move out.’

  Alice dragged him outside.

  Before I nipped upstairs for the tube of arnica cream, I checked my emails, again. There was nothing from the doctor.

  I joined them outside.

  ‘Come here,’ I demanded.

  Poised with a blob of cream on my finger, I stood on my tiptoes. I could feel his breath on my cheek. ‘Tell me if it hurts too much.’

  The feel of his skin under my fingertips sent shivers down my spine. He was studying my face. Close up, I could see his flesh move over his fine cheekbones as he flinched. I wanted to smooth my hands through the golden strands twisted at his hairline to soothe him. The day we first met was coming alive again between us, as though I was seeing him as I had done back then.

  With that innocent memory came always the guilt about what followed years later.

  I stopped dabbing his eye. ‘How the hell did you do this?’

  ‘A branch hit me when I was on the bike.’

  I screwed the cap back on the cream. ‘You took up mountain biking again?’

  ‘Uh huh.’ He looked away.

  ‘Okay, there you go, all done.’

  Alice squirted him in the back with a water pistol, and he groaned and fell on the ground playing dead.

  She giggled and her little body fell on top of him.

  ‘Cup of tea? Or is it too hot for tea? I think I’ve got a couple of cans of iced coffee.’

  ‘Iced coffee would be great.’

  After some water-pistol games, John settled down next to me on the other stripy deck chair. I handed him a red tumbler of iced coffee with a banana-patterned straw and I leant back, listening to Alice’s splashing, glad that she was distracted.

  ‘How’s your first week been?’ John asked.

  ‘I haven’t been sleeping well.’

  ‘The mice?’ He sat up. ‘Sorry. That’s why I’m here. Want me to look at them now?’

  ‘No, no. Have your drink first.’

  ‘I guess it’s very different to London here.’

  ‘What the hell do you do with the kids all summer?’

  ‘Don’t worry. Dilys is compiling a list of summer clubs and activities for Alice. The tennis club still has a few spaces. And Bea is signed up for the mini-theatre club that does open-air performances. She’s going to ask about a space for Alice.’

  ‘That’s very kind of her.’

  He bent down and began pulling clumps of grass from the lawn, chucking handfuls to the side.

  ‘Mum’s organising a barbeque this weekend.’

  ‘She mentioned that when she dropped round yesterday.’

  ‘Haven’t you started hiding in your shed yet?’

  ‘I like her dropping round.’

  ‘You won’t for long.’

  I tilted my head to look at him. I wondered if it was his way of admitting he had been unnecessarily defensive of his mother at Millfords.

  I peered over the wooden side bar of the deckchair. ‘Sorry for being so tactless about her the other day.’

  ‘I get why everyone finds her so difficult.’

  ‘But you love her.’

  He shrugged. ‘She’s my mum.’

  ‘I’m not saying that she’s guilty of anything. I’m really not. It’s just that her reaction to those pills sparked something off in my head. It got me thinking about them,’ I said, pausing, before adding: ‘Robert really relied on them, you know.’

  ‘He told me he needed them when he was filming.’

  ‘That’s what he told us, true.’

  ‘Would it be a problem if he had taken them more often? He did have insomnia.’

  ‘But, John,’ I said, leaning forward, ‘I just don’t know if it was actually Zopiclone in that bottle.’

  ‘We’ve been over this.’ He sighed. ‘The toxicology reports…’

  ‘Please hear me out,’ I interrupted.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’m remembering other stuff.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like his irritability before he took one.’

  ‘He’s always been irritable.’

  ‘Even as a child?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘And all that toast and snacking. He had a real paunch by the end.’

  ‘When he was a kid, he got a bit tubby sometimes.’

  ‘And his mood swings. My god.’

  ‘Fran. None of this is new. His mood could take over the whole household when he was a teenager. I spent my whole life trying to keep him happy and only sometimes it worked.’

  ‘But remember Alaska?’ I said, exasperated.

  John took a while before he responded. ‘The daylight hours would send anyone crazy.’

  I leant forward and pressed my hand onto his knee, insistently, wanting him to hear me. ‘You didn’t hear him on the phone. He was desperate.’

  At that moment, the back door squeaked open and we both turned around to see Camilla standing there.

  She had her chest puffed out, withdrawing a gasp. I withdrew my hand. Her Labradors, Bracken and Holly, raced through, jumping up onto John.

  ‘What in heaven’s name happened to your eye, darling?’

  ‘Mountain bike accident.’

  She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. ‘It’s a silly sport. You look appalling.’

  ‘Thanks,’ John mumbled, scratching the dogs’ necks. Alice ran over and hugged her grandmother.

  ‘Did I leave the door open?’ I asked, mildly ruffled by her sudden appearance, troubled that she saw my hand on John’s leg, without context.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, I had some keys cut from your spares on the hook.’ She jangled them in the air. ‘I’ll put the spares back.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, gaping at John in disbelief.

  ‘I was just walking the dogs and saw John’s car, and I thought I’d drop in to tell you that I’ve called a pest control chap for the mice.’

  ‘Village gossip spreads fast,’ I quipped.

  John looked sheepishly at me. ‘There’s nothing as exciting as a Tennant family emergency.’

  ‘He’s coming round at six this evening, is that okay?’ she said, glaring at John. ‘You can go home now, darling. Haven’t you got work to do?’

  ‘Loads.’

  Camilla’s lips pursed. ‘Well, off you go then.’

  ‘I’ll take a look in the loft first,’ he said firmly, standing up. ‘There’s no need for pest control.’

  I grinned at him. ‘I’ll show you where the hatch is.’

  Alice and the dogs trotted behind the three of us as we climbed the stairs.

  ‘STAY! Bracken! Holly! STAY!’ Camilla shrieked, making Alice jump.

  ‘It’s there.’ I pointed to the hatch in the ceiling above my bedroom door.

  The door to my room was ajar. Some of my clothes were on the floor a
nd my duvet was rumpled to the right side of the double bed. The left side remained smooth and untouched. The left side would have been Robert’s. He had always said that he liked to be near the door, to be my protector, in case anybody came in. I guessed it was more to do with claustrophobia, and the comfort of knowing he could escape if he wanted to. Perhaps Robert had spent his whole life wanting to escape.

  ‘I think you’ve got a wasps’ nest,’ John called down.

  Camilla tutted. ‘John doesn’t know about these things. I’ll go up.’

  ‘I’ll go.’

  I darted in front of her and popped up through the hatch. ‘But it sounded just like little claws.’

  ‘Come here. Listen.’

  A buzzing and crackling was coming from somewhere near his toes.

  We crouched down and stared at each other while we listened. The wasps were hitting the sides of their papery nest, with a spiky, scratchy energy. Their busy movements could easily have been mistaken for little animal scrapes.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ I smiled.

  Our noses were inches apart. A flop of blond hair had fallen over one of his eyes. If we had kissed, it would have been like a dream; an isolated moment suspended in time. I wondered if he felt the charge between us, the bond.

  ‘John, can I tell you something? But you have to swear not to tell your mum,’ I whispered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve emailed Dr Baqri.’

  He stood up and hit his head on a beam. ‘What the hell?’

  ‘Found anything?’ Camilla barked up through the hatch.

  Under my breath, I hurriedly explained, ‘I need to put my mind at rest. I need to know for sure that he wasn’t taking anything else as well, and hiding it from us.’

  ‘Dr Baqri is totally legit, Fran.’ John rubbed his head, and moved to the top of the ladder. ‘You might as well cancel Paul, Mum,’ he said, climbing back down to his mother. ‘It’s definitely a wasps’ nest. I’ll bring round some foam for the nest.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, John,’ Camilla said. ‘I’ll call Paul to tell him to bring some of his special foam.’

  John winked at me. ‘Special foam?’ he sniggered.

  I couldn’t hold back a giggle.

  ‘Oh god. Give me strength, you two!’ Camilla chided. ‘It’s a strong chemical that zapped all four of the nests in our guttering this year.’

  John became serious again. ‘I’m sure we’ve got some of that in the garage. Somewhere.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Us girls have got it, haven’t we, Francesca?’ she said.

  I nodded slowly, and shrugged at John doubtfully. ‘Yes?’

  ‘John, darling, will you take me home? I can’t be bothered to walk back.’

  John kissed my cheek.

  I didn’t want him to leave, but my email to Dr Baqri burned in my conscience. With all of my heart, I hoped that Robert’s medical records would not offer up any nasty surprises. After today, I did not want the information to ruin John and me. It was clear that he was sceptical of my theories about Robert’s pill habit. Perhaps he was right to be. Perhaps it shouldn’t matter what was inside that bottle. In simple terms, John and Camilla, and the rest of the family, were alive, and Robert had chosen to die. The Tennants might be interfering, but they were here for me: dropping around with useful bits and bobs, and checking my loft for pests. It was important to remember that I was lucky to have them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  13 years ago

  ‘You’re going out again?’ Francesca said, sitting up from her horizontal position on the sofa. It was Friday night, but she was hungover from the night before. She assumed that Robert was, too. The previous night, they had been at a screening, and then a party, into the early hours.

  ‘Gary wants to meet me at Soho House to talk about the horror project.’

  ‘Gary? That’ll be a late one.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I’m just saying, you’ve been out drinking every night this week.’

  ‘Don’t nag me.’

  ‘I’m not nagging you, Robert.’

  ‘I never thought you’d turn into a nag.’

  Francesca’s mouth hung open. There was nothing she could say to that. She could not win an argument when he was in these edgy moods. He was right. She was wrong. The status quo never changed.

  ‘Have fun, then,’ she mumbled, turning on the television.

  At about ten o’clock that evening, Francesca crawled into bed with a banging headache.

  At 2.38 a.m., she awoke to the sound of a text:

  Staying at Gary’s tonight. See you tomorrow morning. Love you x

  She fell back onto her pillow. How bloody predictable, she thought.

  By lunchtime on Saturday, Francesca received another text:

  Gary’s got tickets to the Arsenal game. Back later x

  And then later on, another:

  stayiing in hackney tonight. see you tomorro. Levo yoou

  Now, she was angry with him. He wouldn’t return her calls.

  * * *

  In the face of Robert’s lost weekend, Francesca had met Lucy for brunch.

  They ate avocado on rye toast, surrounded by pink meringues on stands and glass counters filled with rainbow-coloured macaroons.

  ‘He has the longest leash of any boyfriend I know.’

  ‘I don’t believe in keeping men on leashes.’

  ‘There are limits to how much freedom they should have.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a nag. He’s too strong-willed. He’d run a mile.’

  ‘What if he’s still like this when you have kids and stuff?’

  ‘Kids?’ Francesca cried.

  ‘Not yet, but you live together, and he’ll probably propose soon.’

  ‘I’ll think about that when it happens.’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  The fairytale setting had been too fluffy for Lucy’s stark question.

  ‘Yes, of course I love him.’ Francesca replied, irritated, but as she said it, she wasn’t sure if this was true any more. She had been swept up into loving him, but he was hard to love sometimes.

  ‘Have you talked to John about it?’

  ‘John’s in baby world.’ Francesca screwed up her face in distaste. ‘He’s so shattered he can hardly speak. Dilys makes him do everything, while she has manicures and massages.’

  ‘Is she that bad?’

  ‘She’s okay, I suppose. She’s so bloody beautiful. And her body has just snapped back into shape after Harry.’

  Francesca regretted the bitterness in her tone. With a wry smile, Lucy said, ‘I think you need a meringue.’

  She plonked one huge pink mound in front of Francesca. ‘You have to talk to Robert about this binge drinking.’

  ‘I’ll do it today when he gets back.’

  One bite of the meringue made her feel sick.

  ‘Today. Promise?’

  ‘Promise. Today.’

  Today turned out to be tomorrow, Monday morning, at 5 a.m.

  He stumbled in, still drunk and reeking so badly she left him in bed. She slept on the sofa. When he finally woke up, she was suitably angry to spark off the conversation she had been dreading.

  ‘Do you think it was okay? Disappearing off for a whole weekend, like that, on some random bender?’ she yelled.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m worried about you! Your health. Your liver. Your mental health? I mean, how can you work effectively when you’re so hungover all the time?’

  ‘I know. Sorry.’

  ‘I was furious with you.’

  ‘Was?’ he said, shuffling on his knees across the sitting room floor and leaning his head onto her lap.

  ‘I am furious.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘That’s what you said last time.’

  ‘Honestly. This time it’s true. I didn’t even have a very good time.’

  Of course, it had been easier to forgive him. He was sorry. H
e said he would never do it again. What more could she do?

  The following day, he had obsessively researched and booked a last-minute, special-deal holiday for them both to an ice hotel in Norway to see the Northern Lights.

  After he booked it, his mood crashed. Over a period of days, he was in an unusually low-energy funk. He ate too much toast, and avoided all his calls, including many from Waheed and John. In the three years they had been together, she had never seen him so miserable. She felt guilty, and worried that she had been too hard on him about his weekend with Gary.

  John had called his mobile six times. On the seventh, she picked up.

  ‘He’s not feeling too well.’

  ‘Flu?’

  ‘No. I mean… he’s a bit low.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘He’s been depressed before.’ John’s voice was hesitant.

  ‘Depressed?’

  ‘I’m meeting Waheed at Aspect tomorrow. Want me to come over afterwards?’ John said.

  ‘It might cheer him up.’

  John turned up the following evening, laden with ingredients for a fish stew. He cooked for the three of them. Robert had been morose and uncommunicative.