Secrets We Keep

by Faith Hogan

  ‘I suppose, I’ll come round soon enough,’ Todd said quietly.

  ‘I’m sure you will.’ Denny’s voice didn’t carry a whole lot of conviction. As a heron swooped low, London and the life Todd had lived there seemed very far away to both of them.

  *

  ‘It’s a bit basic, mate, to be honest.’ Denny looked towards the top of the tower, his eyes slits against the evening sun. Denny liked his home comforts and he missed Meg when he left London, as much now as when they first married.

  ‘Don’t just judge it from here.’ Todd wanted Denny to like it. He wanted it to be a place that his friend would visit, where they could shoot the breeze. He hoped it could be a place Meg would visit too and then they’d sit and watch the evening waves lap about the rocks below.

  ‘Whew,’ Denny said, ‘that’s a lot of scaffolding.’ It was true; it covered the tower like a futuristic defence layer, up to the natural slate roof. It would be coming down in the next day or two, Todd thought it made the place seem smaller, squatter. ‘A bit different from a mews in Kensington.’ Denny took out a cigar. Usually they never mentioned the one time that Todd had considered buying property. ‘Who’d have thought back then you’d be doing the rock star thing and buying a place like this?’ They had looked at it together. It was cool, but classy, in the right area. It wasn’t exactly palatial in floor space, but it suited Kate and Todd perfectly when they were planning a life together that he managed to derail in one night.

  ‘Different times, mate, different times.’

  ‘You can say that again. This place is big enough for the whole band and all the relations.’ Denny was just getting a sense of the space.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll earmark a room for you and Meg.’ Todd laughed. ‘You’ll be better able to check up on me here.’

  ‘Who said I’d want to check up on you?’

  ‘I saw you counting my tablets, Denny.’ It was true. After Atlantic City, Denny phoned him twice a day reminding him to take blood thinners, steroids and cholesterol tablets. Once, Todd even caught him counting the contents of his medication press to make sure he was taking them properly. ‘Seriously, mate, there’s a lost Florence Nightingale in you.’ Todd was touched, after all, no one else was checking up with him.

  ‘You haven’t fallen off the wagon anyway?’ Denny said, perhaps a little disappointed. He had not kicked the cigars himself, but then, as Meg pointed out, he hadn’t really tried.

  ‘No. Not a fag since that day and at most two or three glasses of red wine on occasion. No whiskey.’ That was the killer of course. Todd drank whiskey for breakfast, dinner and tea back in the day. The last few years, his stomach had protested to any before five in the evening. After five, he saw it as his personal mission to make up for lost time. Yes. He very much missed the whiskey. ‘Amazing what a bit of heart surgery will do to your taste buds.’ They were walking to the top of the tower. ‘You’ll see why I had to buy it when you look out here.’ The view was spectacular.

  ‘I’m sure it’s lovely.’ Denny panted, he was out of breath after two flights of stairs. ‘You putting in a lift, are you?’

  ‘Nah, sure I’m fit and healthy now, Denny.’ Todd laughed, but it had winded him too in the beginning. He heard the builders give out all the time about the narrow stairs and the amount of uneven steps. ‘Here, we’ll take a breather, have a look out.’ Todd pulled open the shutter, faced out towards the peculiar little bathhouse. Denny pulled up close.

  ‘Jeez, that’s lovely all right,’ he wheezed. ‘Who’s the bird?’ he said, nodding down towards a woman who was tending flowers at the bathhouse below. ‘Another perk?’

  Todd moved closer to the window. He looked down to where a woman was planting summer flowers in heavy cast-iron pots, somehow drawn to the sight of her. Todd thought there was something vaguely familiar about the woman. He brushed the thought aside quickly, damn these funny feelings that kept catching him off guard. Unexpectedly, an odd thought occurred to him. This was his future. It was no time for chasing ghosts. He shivered, as though something greater than himself whispered in his ear and pulled closed the shutter.

  13

  Iris, 1957

  Mark died without her knowing. They had not sent a letter to Iris; perhaps they could not face that either. Her mother wrote and told her what she could. Of course, there were no words. The telegram arrived at St. Kiernan’s just as Mrs Burns was readying the supper for the permanents. It had been brief and devastating. They woke to find the child dead. Iris’s lovely baby, Mark, lying in his cot like an angel. His silken hair fallen in waves about his head. ‘An angel,’ her mother wrote. They buried Mark in Paris. She held the letter close.

  ‘My nephew,’ the lie tripped from her tongue as easily as Clive had hoped it would. ‘He died in Paris,’ she told Archie when he found her crying. ‘I was there when he was born.’ There was so much she wanted to say; so much, she never could.

  She dreamt about him every night, cried herself to sleep now for a very different reason. She realized that her anger and sadness before were so unfounded. At least then, he was alive. At least then, she knew he would have a good life. In the stillness of her little sparse room, the waves crashing against the pier in the distance the guilt hit her. It was her fault. If only she could have been happy for them. If only things had somehow been different. If only…

  She did not have the heart to contact Pamela. She couldn’t take pen and paper and commit the thoughts that haunted her every waking hour. She wanted to go to Paris, to see his grave, to double-check; perhaps they had made a mistake.

  And then, Archie found her crying. He put his arm around her and somehow made her feel safe. He did not want anything from her. Not like William or, she guessed, like Robert. He held her close and let her cry until she could cry no more. His simple act of humanity made her cry even more before she was done.

  ‘You know, you can’t live in the past, Iris,’ he whispered the words in her ear. ‘You can only live here and now and, wherever you end up, you have to learn that, or you will never have peace of mind.’

  She pulled away from him, had he guessed her secret? The secret of her lovely son in Paris. Mark, buried in a grave she may never see. The secret of her shame for William Keynes and the way she had let herself down with him. When she looked into Archie Hartley’s eyes, she saw only kindness. Maybe she knew then that it was all she would ever see there and she was not sure if that gave her comfort or filled her with deep shame. ‘Of course, you’re right.’ What a luxury it must be to enjoy the life before you; simply and innocently. Would she ever taste that kind of freedom again? She did not deserve it, she knew that, but she longed for it.

  It was with a heavy heart that she picked up the letter that arrived from Pamela and Clive a few weeks later. Archie was beside her in an instant. She couldn’t open it, had to build herself up for that. She certainly couldn’t open it in front of Archie or anyone else. She didn’t trust herself not to say what was burning her up inside. She had lost a son, and even if Mark would never know he was hers, Iris would never forget him.

  ‘I’ll read it later. It’s from my sister,’ she said the words unnecessarily, tucked the letter into her pocket and burned it after she memorized every single detail of Mark’s last few days.

  *

  Present

  It was the smell that brought her back there more than anything else. She said so to Archie too. As though it had lingered here all this time. They stood in the centre of the tearooms, surrounded by neighbours and friends. Archie, she thought, was as tall and handsome as any man in the room and he stood proudly by her side.

  ‘It’s that old stove, I told her she should send it off for scrap, but she was adamant,’ Archie shook his head affectionately. ‘I don’t know, sentimental, that’s what it is.’

  ‘Maybe, but it’s the candle wax and the sea breeze and…’ it was everything. Everything about the bathhouse. It made her feel a little dizzy, as though she’d stepped out of her own t
ime zone and into a reality lived long before by someone else.

  ‘Do you really like it?’ Kate didn’t need her seal of approval, but Iris was flattered that she wanted it. Archie had spent hours down here with Kate, it had done them both good. Iris loved that they seemed to have developed such a bond, but then it was impossible not to love Archie – his eyes still twinkled and his sense of fun made his voice lilt, so he made you smile even just being near. Kate felt it too, she called it the ‘Archie effect’.

  ‘It’s… Robert would have loved it.’ And that was the truth of it. ‘He’d have loved it all. You’ve managed to save so much and still, it looks so fresh. No one would believe these spoons were around when I was a girl.’ She held a teaspoon in her hand; it seemed heavy now, but sixty years ago they were positively the most modern design.

  ‘Robert brought them back from Sheffield, they were the talk of the hotel for a week at the time,’ Archie said fondly. He was tapping his foot lightly to the sound of a three-piece band who started playing a medley of old ragtime and ballroom tunes. ‘It’d bring you back, all right,’ he said to no one in particular, but Iris caught the sadness in his eyes.

  ‘You’ve got a great crowd,’ Iris said and she wondered at all of the familiar faces and quite a number she didn’t know from Adam. ‘Are they all local?’

  ‘Mostly, but I asked the builders as well and anyone that gave a hand getting the place up and running.’ Oisín Armstrong was wiping spills from tables, still thankful to Robert for saving him so long ago. Oisín had grown into a lovely young man, although Iris suspected that a drop of guilt propelled him to their door throughout the years. After all, the whole village had celebrated on the day the Hartleys were plunged into mourning. That was Maureen Hartley for you, she insisted that the good work must go ahead and they mourned alone for that first night.

  ‘I see Colin Lyons is keeping busy,’ Archie winked at Kate. Iris had watched them earlier. They would make a striking couple, but there was no real chemistry between them, not the stuff that lasts, at least.

  ‘He’s not the only one,’ Rita Delaney placed a side plate with sandwiches and tasty bits down before them. ‘It’s great, isn’t it?’ she said to all of them at once. ‘She’s done a great job of the place. Mind you…’ she looked across at Archie and Iris, ‘if you hadn’t held firm when my Duncan wanted to buy the place, there’d have been nothing to rescue at all.’ She shook her head and Iris was reminded again of how different Rita was to Duncan. It seemed some couples grew in opposite directions the longer they stayed together.

  ‘Well, I suppose without the developers we’d have no progress,’ Archie said mildly and Iris knew he was only trying to be diplomatic. Duncan Delaney was the worst kind of developer – the kind that gave all others a bad name. He was a small rat of a man, with too much hair, narrow birdlike eyes and the demeanour of a shark in a tuna tank.

  ‘Oh, please, Mr Hartley,’ Rita shook her head and bent in low, ‘I can say this to you, because I know, you’re not tittle-tattles, but I’m so glad Kate got this place and not Duncan.’ Her eyes held a satisfied gleam and Iris knew she wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of Rita if she could help it. ‘Our next job now is to sort out that husband of mine.’

  ‘Happy thoughts, Rita, happy thoughts.’ Kate patted her back and steered her towards more hungry guests. ‘Least said and all that,’ she said after her, then she looked across at Iris. ‘Divorce lawyer one minute, marriage counsellor the next.’ Kate laughed, but Iris had a feeling that it’d take more than counselling to sort out Duncan Delaney and she was sure Rita knew that too.

  'I'm so very happy,’ Iris said to Archie later when they were back at the hotel. ‘It’s like we’ve settled something, don’t you think?’

  ‘What’s that Iris,’ Archie looked at her and she suspected the party might have been too much for him.

  ‘Never mind, it was just a lovely afternoon.’ She said and she knew that if she was losing Archie just a little, it still felt like the world held promise for them. It was an unexpected blessing, however oddly it had come about.

  *

  Robert, 1957

  Robert hit on the idea, just for the summer months. The baths were already proving popular with women of a certain age. What he wanted now was to get the younger set in. ‘Tea dances,’ he said, hardly able to keep the excitement from his voice. He had a new Victor record player and a collection of records to surpass anyone on the peninsula. ‘So, will you do the baking?’ he asked Iris. She was a lovely baker, her touch so light that they were travelling from two counties away just for her pastry. Word spread quickly that she had trained in Paris – that alone was enough to bring the locals flocking for a taste. It wasn’t why Robert wanted her though.

  ‘Oh, Robert, I don’t know, your mother asked me to take on all the baking for the hotel. I’ll be doing afternoon teas as well as breakfasts and deserts?’

  ‘This would be different. It’s just to test the waters, so to speak. See if it would work out, and all we’d be offering is a plate per person and a cup of tea. I can’t see us getting a crowd initially. If it takes off – who knows, maybe I could get someone in full-time. Maybe I’ll treat you to another week in Paris?’ He held her eyes for a fraction longer than was decent, but there was no mistaking what he meant. She may have met Archie first; it did not mean that Robert couldn’t want her.

  ‘I’ll have to talk to Archie, see if it suits,’ she said, moving away from him. He liked that she hadn’t just fallen for him. The other girls around here, they were too easy. Robert Hartley was the most eligible bachelor on the peninsula, probably in the whole county. The only one who came close to him was his brother, and Archie was never going to be a player. All of the other men who stayed around were farmers – muck savages, hoping to take over the miserable smallholdings their fathers still farmed. Robert was not looking for someone easy. He was looking for someone extraordinary; someone who was equal to him, someone who would interest him long after the chase ended. Was he looking for a wife? No, he definitely wasn’t, but he wanted Iris and he wanted her like he had never wanted anything in his life. It was as if she was a prize above any other and Robert wasn’t sure that having Archie in his way didn’t add to her allure.

  ‘You and he aren’t…?’ Robert leaned in a little closer to her, could smell the fresh scent of lilac.

  ‘Aren’t what?’ She laughed at him now. Maybe she didn’t realize that she was torturing him, but she seemed to enjoy the effect. ‘Sweethearts?’

  ‘Well, you’re hardly that, not with Archie,’ he scoffed, managed to make his voice sound more offhand than he felt.

  ‘Why not?’ her voice had an evenness to it that surpassed the joviality of her eyes. ‘You think that because he doesn’t drive a fancy car that…’

  ‘I think that you and Archie are different people, that’s all. I just can’t see you settling for Hartley’s Hotel for the rest of your days, and that’s what it would be with Archie.’ He took her hand, pulled her close to him, it was a bold move, but he was desperate for her. ‘You could have so much more.’ He could feel her breath deep and uneven in her body next to his. He bent his face next to hers, couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to.

  ‘Don’t,’ she breathed and he felt a wave of excitement flash through him, he wanted her more than ever now. He could feel the length of her, warm and soft through her light cotton dress, it made him ache with desire. ‘I can’t do this…’ she pulled away from him, leaving him feeling as if half of him had been hoven off. He watched as she walked back towards the hotel, somehow feeling bereft and joyful all at once. Was this love? He wasn’t sure. He was sure though that she had felt something too; he could see it in her eyes, buried there behind the guilt. She might not admit it to herself, but Robert could see she was as attracted to him as he was to her.

  In the end, he asked Mrs O’Neill to bake some tarts, shortbread and queen cakes. It wasn’t exactly the fare of the Savoy, but it was good enough for
Ballytokeep. He asked one of her sons to put up notices about the village. The first tea dance was on the May bank holiday Monday. That gave him just a week to get everything up and running and, what was there to do, except push back the tables and load up the plates?

  ‘You should come, Archie; shouldn’t he, mother?’

  ‘Well, it is the start of our season.’ His mother spoke under her breath, but Robert knew, she worried that Archie would never find a wife.

  ‘You could bring Iris, it would do her good. You can’t expect a girl like that to sit out every dance if she goes on her own, can you?’ Robert had a feeling that if Archie didn’t come to the tea dance, neither would Iris. Archie being there was not something Robert was going to worry about, so much as Iris not being there.

  ‘I should probably ask her, shouldn’t I?’ Archie knew better than to address this question to either of them.

  ‘Yes,’ they both answered together.

  The May bank holiday was as sunny and warm as any summer’s day. From late on Friday afternoon the hotel began to fill steadily.

  Robert had all the popular songs lined up. He had Frank Sinatra, Ruby Murray, Dickie Valentine and, at the bottom of the pile, he kept Doris Day. He was going to have his arms around Iris for ‘Secret Love’.

  He hung a huge banner at the front of the bathhouse. The day was hot and he pulled all of the tables outside onto the rock. Inside was room for the dancing and for Mrs O’Neill to get the tea and cakes distributed.

  At three o’clock, cars, bicycles and carts began to arrive on the road just above the rock. By four, the party was in full swing. Robert could hardly move for the crowd – locals and plenty of tourists too. The atmosphere was merry, the dance floor packed and they quickly ran out of rhubarb tart and shortbread. It did not matter. Outside, the men looked out to the sea, girls at their sides. Everyone smoked rolled up tobacco and enjoyed the optimism of summer spool in off the waves. One girl took off her stockings and stood in the water up to her calves. Robert watched the sunlight making darting lights on her milky legs. He scanned the crowd for what seemed like the hundredth time that afternoon. There was still no sign of Iris and Archie. He decided to go inside again; change the record. He was nervy with anticipation and it was all about Iris. The last thing he wanted was ‘Secret Love’ going on before they even arrived.