Secrets We Keep

by Faith Hogan

  ‘Would you like something to eat father?’ It was the middle of the night, but his father did not eat regular meals anymore. It seemed to Robert; sometimes he did not eat at all. He had become almost gaunt over the summer weeks. He looked out into the tearooms, but there was no sign of his father.

  The bathhouse door swung open as he approached it, the glimmering light cast a weak yellow shadow across the rock but could not last the distance to the sea. He called out to his father. Perhaps he had set off for the hotel again. He was in funny humour these days, unpredictable, more than just losing his memory. It was as though sometimes Robert could see a darker character emerge from beneath the familiar generous man he’d known all his life. He reached in his pocket for his lighter, tapped out a cigarette from the box. He set it alight and watched as the blue smoke wafted before him into the black night. He thought about that letter and its delicious mysteries taunted his dancing thoughts. Such a shame his father remembered to take it with him, he would give anything to know its secrets.

  *

  Iris, Present

  The clock told her it was almost four in the morning, but the moon outside was luminous and the sea reflected an even brighter light into her bedroom. Iris waited for a minute or two for Archie to come back to bed. She lay thinking about the morning breakfasts and the porridge that sat in the large bowl her mother-in-law once used for Christmas cakes. The quantities were smaller now than years ago, still she added Baileys, cream and nutmeg and would not tell a soul for love or money what gave it flavour. All these little secrets – she always thought they would die with her. Now they were Kate’s – she was passing them on and it contented her as though in the passing there would be something left of her to endure when she was gone.

  At ten past four, there was still no sign of Archie. She raised herself in the warm bed, placed a hand where Archie slept; it was too cold. A foreboding understanding rippled through her. She gathered up the clothes she had worn during the day, dressed as quickly as she could. She had a feeling he would not be in the hotel now. It was a full six decades today since that terrible night and Archie had been on edge all week. His grasp on the present was slipping quickly, like a sheet of gossamer gripped by a force both obscure and abysmal. They could not win this battle. She turned on extra lights as she checked each of the landings throughout the hotel. If she feared the worst, she would not let her mind go any further than perhaps the sheds at the back of the hotel, where he pottered about each day, mending, fixing, and gathering turf for fires that burned bright in the grates.

  Perhaps he would be in the kitchen. Years ago, if he could not sleep he would sit at the kitchen table. She arrived down to prepare breakfast once and he was still sitting there, a thimble of brandy in a glass, poured out hours earlier and never touched. This time, the kitchen was warm from the heat of the day, but Archie was not there, sitting alone with his jumbled thoughts. She would have to go down to the bathhouse, she knew with crushing certainty that was where he went. She moved slower now than she had all those years ago, slower, but with far greater urgency.

  In the darkness, with the waves on her left and the night sky star-filled above her, she could be back there now. She could remember so clearly making her way down here that night; the flickering light in the window and the shadow of Robert watching her as she made her way along the track. The curling ribbon of cigarette smoke, catching occasionally in the moonlight, and now, if she closed her eyes, she could almost smell it on the waves. She picked her way carefully along the neat track. Everything took so much longer these days. She had to rest twice to catch her breath; determination and fear made her carry on. She leaned heavily on the thick wall that kept the sea at bay. She could feel her heart fluttering at odd beats in her chest, but Archie was more important now. She called his name, hoped he would hear it on the wind. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to know he was missing. After all, she could bring him home; she could take care of him, couldn’t she? They could live out their lives together in the hotel, surely that was not too much to ask.

  ‘Archie, are you there? Can you hear me?’

  When she had walked back, that final night, she wondered if someone was watching her. It came to her with ferocious clarity later, the enormity of that possibility. She had been a young silly girl, not even twenty years of age. She knew that now, more clearly than she had known it ever in her life. She had so much to lose back then, so much more than she ever realized. She shivered when she thought how things might have turned out, still counted her blessings even if they were mixed with guilt now for how she’d treated Archie long ago.

  ‘Archie,’ she could hear the desperation in her own voice. She was almost at the bathhouse now. She had only been here once since Kate took it over. They had cut the ribbon together, her, Kate, and Archie, but it was all too much for her. She could not face it. There was too much nostalgia icing over the poignancy of the place. Robert was still here. She could feel him, but his presence was darker now than she had ever realized. How could she not have seen that before? How could she not have known it all those years while she had Archie in her bed?

  Archie. She called him again. If the doctors knew they were down here at four o’clock in the morning, they would both be carted off; she had no doubt about that.

  ‘Iris, is that you?’

  ‘Kate, I’m so sorry. I’ve woken you too? I’m looking for Archie; he wasn’t at the hotel, so I thought I’d try here.’ There was no point in fibbing; perhaps he was sitting, at this very moment, drinking hot chocolate in the tearooms.

  ‘I heard a commotion earlier, thought it was youngsters on the beach.’ Kate switched on the powerful lights that she had dotted about the bathhouse. ‘That’s what woke me, to be honest, and I haven’t slept since.’ She pulled closer a heavy cardigan that looked like something Robert had worn years ago. ‘Come inside, I’ll put on proper shoes and help you look.’ She pointed down to her bare feet. The night was warm, the rock beneath them holding onto some of the heat of the day. The ocean breeze was only keeping it temperate for the morning.

  ‘There’s no need for shoes,’ Iris said as she gripped Kate’s arm. ‘He won’t be far.’ In an instant, Iris knew exactly where Archie was, he was looking for Robert, of course, he was sixty years too late.

  *

  They found him at the foot of the bathhouse, far beneath the bedroom window that looked out towards the western horizon.

  ‘Archie,’ Iris barely whispered his name when she saw his crumpled body lying on the rock. Yards from his white hair, waves fought their way back and forth, in a symphony that for now, thank god, was pulling the tide away from him. ‘Archie, can you hear me?’ She realized he had not spoken.

  ‘Hang on, I’ll get a pillow, some blankets. I had better call the…’ Kate raced inside for her phone.

  Iris bent her body as close as she could to him. Archie’s breathing was ragged, there were no words and, for an awful minute, Iris thought they were going to lose him, right there on the rock.

  ‘Iris,’ it was a croaky whisper on the waves. ‘Is that you, my love?’

  ‘Archie, I’m here. I’m right here with you.’ She reached her hand down, stroked his cold forehead, there was a filmy sweat just settled there, as though he’d been running and he’d just sat down to rest. But he was still here, he was still breathing and Iris knew that was all she could hold onto for now.

  ‘Iris, I have to tell you.’ His breath was jagged; she wanted to tell him to be still. ‘I have to tell you that I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, and when we get some help, we’ll get you out of here and we’ll be back at the hotel and…’

  ‘No. No. Not about this.’ He shook his head and in the moonlight she caught desperation in his eyes. ‘No, Iris. I’m sorry about Robert.’

  ‘Oh, Archie. It was all such a long time ago now. We just have to get you back to the hotel and everything will be fine.’

  ‘I know he loved you, I
ris.’

  ‘I…’ Iris did not know what to say. Perhaps it was best to say nothing. ‘Shush, now Archie, everything is going to be fine.’

  ‘No, Iris. No. It is not going to be fine. Don’t you see, it can’t be fine?’ He shot a glance at Kate.

  ‘The ambulance is on the way, Archie; they’re convinced you’ve been on the beer…’ Kate tried to joke, but her voice fell flat when she saw his expression; she fell to her knees at his side and glanced at Iris.

  ‘You should know this too,’ he said and then he looked away, his head angled oddly against his long bony frame. He looked as though he might have slipped. Iris had a feeling he was probably backing away from the window high above them. She shuddered when she realized how close he’d come to falling into the sea. ‘It’s about Robert, my brother. He died here, this night, exactly sixty years ago, did you know that?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been reading his papers,’ Kate said. ‘I knew he died on this night. He died here?’ she was only confirming with them.

  ‘This is where they found him, but…’ Archie looked at Iris. ‘He wasn’t who you thought he was.’ Archie began to cry.

  ‘I married the best man for me, Archie, I have always known that much,’ Iris conceded, perhaps she had wondered about other things over the years, but she knew she had married the best of the brothers.

  ‘No. I’m not sure you’ll think that when I’ve told you what really happened.’

  ‘Archie,’ Iris leaned in closer to him, ‘it was all so long ago, and it doesn’t matter anymore.’ And it didn’t, because if this was all she had left with Archie she wanted it to be happy for him, not lost in memories.

  ‘Oh, Iris, of course it matters. It matters now more than ever. Can’t you see, there isn’t time to pretend anymore and it affects Kate too?’

  ‘I never thought more of him than you.’ Iris felt the air fall from her lungs, as though pierced by something much fiercer than an arrow. Maybe she had spent her marriage thinking of someone else, but mostly it was Mark. Certainly, he still filled so much of her heart.

  ‘No. No. You never meant me to know that, but how could I not. It was my fault, you see. I kept that letter.’

  ‘The letter?’ Iris shook her head. The letter Archie had spent recent months looking for and she was never sure that one had even existed.

  ‘Father brought it from the bathhouse, that night, the night Robert died. I heard you coming in, your footsteps so soft on the stairs, so delicate in picking out each step, as though your foot were whispering to each board. So different to the day, when you would race from room to room and march about the kitchen content and confident in arranging everything for everyone. I’d heard that step before, a few weeks earlier, and when I called you the next day, I knew that something was not right.’ He smiled then, a sad twisting of his narrowed lips. ‘Father handed it to me, of course he did.’ He looked at her now, saw she did not understand. ‘It was everything my happiness was built upon and I was afraid if you read it, I would lose you.’

  ‘Oh, Archie, don’t say these things. You don’t know what you’re saying.’ Iris leant her head down and into his chest, felt his shaking strong hand caress her head. ‘Oh, Archie, everything will be fine.’ With that, she saw the glimmer of blue lights high above them.

  Kate rushed to the end of the rock to guide the paramedics to them.

  ‘Iris, I have to tell you before it’s too late.’ Archie’s voice was soft and frail, ‘I loved you so much, everything I did was for you.’ He raised his hand, groaned as he did so and there, crumpled, was faded paper undelivered for so long.

  Iris recognized immediately Marianne’s faded script.

  31

  Todd

  At least he could be grateful that the press had not been alerted to his foolishness. He was relieved to be safely tucked up in the castle. There were hours when he had given up all hope of rescue. He must have lost consciousness or more likely fallen asleep for a while. His leg was fine, just dead from the damp ground and cramps from lying awkwardly. They found him long after he had tumbled down into what felt like the belly of the mountain. He was no mountain climber, not like Colin Lyons. He was a joke, he could hardly look Kate in the eye. Oh, how she could laugh at him now. She could add this to his list of foolish antics. And still, he knew, he couldn’t leave this place. Even with Kate Hunt on his doorstep, probably hating his guts. He couldn’t leave Ballytokeep, because here, something was keeping him calm. Something – he wasn’t sure – what was nurturing his empty spirit and he needed to be here if he wasn’t going to end up back in another cardiac hospital bed.

  Colin Lyons. The name reverberated about his brain. He was the one Kate loved now. Todd stole a decade from her, probably her best decade. Claudia convinced him that Kate leaked those photographs to the press. And why wouldn’t she? She had plenty to be sore about. After all, did he really think that a smart woman like Kate would just forgive and forget? She was used to winning. She enjoyed it, thrived on it; she did it for a living, one case after the other. He had been naïve to think that she would not want to make him pay. Even if she had been the one to lead his rescue, somehow it felt to Todd now that it only added to the debt he owed her. No, she had moved on and that’s what he would have to do too. That was the thing about being famous; you learned that everyone wanted something from you. Even Denny.

  Sure, they were friends, but Denny wanted him back on that stage. The band, and by extension Denny, would make far more if they toured than if they sat at home and waited for the album to sell. ‘Doesn’t work like that anymore, mate,’ Denny told him. ‘It’s all about stadiums now, all about the numbers, packing them in and then giving them a night to remember.’ Yeah, Todd thought as he drifted off into a sleepy haze, everybody wants something.

  He blamed the sun and heat of the day for the dreams when he woke halfway through the night. He never took sleeping tablets; didn’t need them if he drank enough whiskey. They made his mind foggy, bleary and sometimes, when it got like that, well, it brought out his Belfast prickliness. He dreamed of Kate, not as she had been back then. Not, as he imagined she would have looked on their wedding day. He dreamed of her bending over her flowerpots, tending them with the kind of love other women bestow on husbands and children. When he woke he cried, because somehow, he knew, he had done her out of all that. Worse, maybe he had missed something better too. Of course, he knew, it was too late for all that now, so he lay there, in his too warm bed, and let the tears flow silently down his cheeks.

  When he woke, he knew what he had to do. He rang Denny immediately.

  ‘Made my day, mate,’ Denny was delighted. ‘Made me bloody day!’

  32

  Robert, 1957

  Robert Hartley heard Archie before he even touched the front door of the bathhouse. Robert was sitting on the flat roof, considering his options. His father was becoming so absent-minded now that the events of this evening could be forgotten by the morning. All the same, it bothered him that his brother should be marrying Iris, for all his coolness with her earlier, he knew that they were not finished, maybe they would never be quite finished. The letter, whatever it contained, intrigued him. He had no doubt that it held a secret far greater than the one Iris shared with him and it made him want to know even more, maybe even possess her just one more time.

  Archie’s mannerly rap on the door was almost a relief. If he expected anything of his brother at this hour, it would be that their silly fool of a father had taken a fall on his way back to the hotel.

  ‘Come in. I’m on the roof,’ Robert called down to Archie. He heard the heavy thud and rattle of the iron staircase as it shook with the weighty step of his brother. He was moving faster, heavier than usual.

  ‘You bastard,’ Archie said, his voice was thick with tears and emotion and Robert knew if there were more light than just the watery moon his brother’s face would be blotched and tear-soaked. ‘How could you?’

  ‘Listen here, Archie mate…’

/>   ‘Don’t bloody mate me. You know how I felt about Iris, we were engaged.’

  ‘You’re still engaged, I think.’ Robert knew that his smooth manner wouldn’t wash with Archie. Not this time, but old habits were hard to ignore. He could not become someone he wasn’t just to calm his brother.

  Archie shook his head, stifled what he could of a sob. ‘How long?’

  ‘How long what?’

  ‘How long have you been sleeping with her?’

  ‘Who said I was sleeping with her?’ Robert tried to sound affronted, but he knew every word that he uttered now could haunt him for the rest of his days. Perhaps, if they both stuck to their guns, cried innocent, he could still come out of this without his mother pulling his inheritance from beneath him. ‘It’s a mistake, Archie. There is nothing in it. I am marrying Gemma, we decided weeks ago. She didn’t want to announce it at the same time as you and Iris. You know Gemma…’ he tried to sound offhand, swigged the dregs of the brandy bottle. The early hours were no time for fancy glasses, Robert’s mood had been dark coming up here, now with Archie, it was as black as it could get.

  ‘I don’t believe you, Robert. You must think I paddled over here on a banana skin if you think I’d take your word on anything.’

  ‘Believe what you want, but ask Gemma, why don’t you?’

  ‘You’ve always been a selfish prig, Robert, but I really never knew you could stoop so low. I had a feeling something was going on for weeks now. But tonight just before we announce our engagement? What kind of brother does that?’ Archie was turning away, but there was something in his voice. It was something Robert couldn’t put words on if he tried, but it was there in the air between them. Robert knew that if he didn’t sort out Archie now, he would spend the rest of his days with his brother looking down his nose at him.

  ‘You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you?’ Robert hardly heard the words escape his own mouth. They came from some deep part of him. They had a resonance and honesty that did not require volume. ‘You always have. Mother’s favourite. Well, do you really want to know the truth of it, Archie?’