‘Don’t worry,’ Jack says, holding up his hands and grinning proudly. ‘I made sure the Easter bunny came. I already did it. She’s tucking in as we speak.’
I drop back against the pillows. ‘There are some for you too, you know,’ I say, relieved. But it occurs to me that he must sometimes feel sidelined by Freya, all the attention she gets. ‘And thanks for doing that, Jack,’ I add, wondering how he knew where I’d hidden the eggs. ‘That was thoughtful of you. Unlike… that,’ I say, pointing at his face and neck, grinning.
He laughs too. ‘Actually, I thought Dad would get more freaked out about it than he did.’
‘He’s your dad. Of course he’d freak out if anything bad happened to you. And me. You do know that, Jack, right? I do love you just as much.’
He gives a coy nod, the glimmer of a smile. ‘I didn’t mean just because he’s my dad. I meant because of…’ He trails off.
I raise my eyebrows to encourage him, switching into therapist mode, hoping he’ll continue. Jack rarely opens up, let alone to me. Besides, after his outburst on Friday morning at breakfast, I’m still not certain what he knows. It could be a chance to find out. ‘OK-aay… That sounds cryptic. Like there’s something you want to say but can’t quite get out?’ I swallow drily, trying not to show my fear.
He hesitates, scratching the drying blood on his neck. ‘I thought Dad would be more upset at seeing me because of what happened with my mum. You know, my other mum,’ he says, flashing me a look. ‘I know it gets to him more than he’d ever let on, and he tries to be brave for me but…’ He pulls a pained face. ‘Sometimes I wish he wouldn’t be.’
‘I know, love,’ I say. ‘It’s hard for you both.’
‘Dad’s always been good telling me things about Mum, being open and saying what she was like and stuff. He shows me photos of her, says how much she loved us, what a great mother she was.’ He gives a little smile. ‘But then I remember…’ He trails off, looking even more pained.
‘What is it, Jack?’
He shifts closer on the bed. ‘I dunno, I’ve probably got it wrong. It doesn’t matter.’ He shakes his head.
‘Got what wrong, love?’
‘It’ll just be my mind playing tricks. That can happen, right?’
‘Well, yes, sometimes,’ I say, not knowing where this is going. I’m just thankful he’s not mentioned anything about Andrew, though I don’t like to see him so troubled. ‘Oh, Jack,’ I say, seeing the tears in his eyes. I inch forward, in case he wants a hug, but he doesn’t move. ‘Have you ever spoken to anyone about this, about losing your mum and how you’re feeling? I can tell you’re hurting very much.’
He shakes his head.
‘You’re a therapist.’ He looks up hopefully, eyebrows raised.
‘I know,’ I say, giving him a small smile. ‘But I wouldn’t be allowed to help you professionally. It’s against…’ The word gets lodged in my throat. ‘It’s not ethical to counsel family.’
He gives me a resigned nod.
‘But we can still talk,’ I say. ‘Anytime you want.’ I reach out and stroke his hand.
He nods, smiling briefly. ‘It’s just that… I actually remember things about my mum, Lorna.’ He picks at the buttons on the end of the duvet cover, sighing heavily. ‘But that can’t be possible, right? Dad told me I must have got it wrong, that I was too young when she died to remember anything about her. Guess all I’ve really got are a few photos.’
‘Sometimes our minds can fill in the gaps with memories that we’d like to believe,’ I say, feeling bad I’ve not talked with him like this before. Another casualty of my affair. ‘It can kind of help ease the pain of loss. So your dad’s right in a way. Even though you were too young to remember your mum, there’s still a grieving process to go through, Jack, and it doesn’t sound like you’ve worked through it yet. I know it’s hard.’ I lean forward, trying to catch his eye. ‘Really I do.’
He frowns, thinking about this. He doesn’t seem convinced.
‘No, you don’t understand. I really do remember things.’ He ruffles his hair, making a confused face. Then his shoulders slump forward. ‘But… but then if you’re saying it too, that my mind’s playing tricks, then I guess that must be true. You’re the therapist.’ He sighs heavily. ‘It’s just that I’ve always wished so much that she was still alive. Wanted a real mo—’ He stops abruptly.
I wince inside. Maria might as well be sitting in between us.
‘It’s OK, Jack,’ I say, not wanting him to feel bad. ‘I understand. I know I’ll never be your real mum, but I hope I’m some kind of reasonable substitute.’ I laugh, trying not to get too maudlin. ‘Anyway, you’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.’ I give him a wink.
‘Yeah, you’re a good stepmum,’ he says. ‘Dad’s lucky to have you. And so are me and Frey.’
I curl up inside from guilt, though it feels good to hear him say this.
‘If only I could just get rid of this one memory,’ he says. ‘It’s in my dreams too, sometimes. Or rather, nightmares.’ He looks out of the window for a moment. ‘Does that mean anything, do you think?’
‘That you have nightmares?’
He shrugs and nods. ‘You know what?’ he says. ‘I think I’ll just hold on to the good memories, pretend they’re real, even if they are false. And I’ll try to forget the bad one.’ He gets up and heads for the door, turning back to face me as he reaches for the handle. ‘But…’ Then he checks himself again, staring at me thoughtfully before shaking his head. ‘Sorry again, Lorna,’ he adds, wiping at the blood on his neck. ‘And thanks for listening.’
‘That’s OK, Jack,’ I say, giving him a little smile as he leaves, flopping back down onto the pillows when he’s gone.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Lorna
‘Mum?’ I say for the second time. ‘Would you like some more lamb?’ She stares at me as if I’ve just asked her if she wants a trip to the moon. I hold up the carving knife, gesturing to the half-eaten joint of meat on the serving plate, flashing a look at Mark.
‘Your father couldn’t come,’ she says out of the blue.
‘I know that, Mum,’ I say, trying not to roll my eyes or sound impatient. I carve her another slice of meat anyway. She doesn’t look as though she’s been eating properly. ‘You already told me.’ Frankly, I’m pleased he’s not here.
‘He doesn’t like Easter.’ She stares at the meat I put on her plate. ‘All he does is sit in that bloody chair, the useless lump.’
I swallow it down, trying not to get angry with her. It’s never easy dealing with how she is, but it was especially hard when I was a child. I constantly felt embarrassed, always making excuses and covering up for her behaviour. Once, at school, I pretended she’d died just to get some sympathy, make everyone stop teasing me. But I got found out, of course. In the end, I gave up having friends over because of what she was like. I know Freya’s feeling similar repercussions too, but I don’t want her to suffer like I did – have her childhood overshadowed by Mum. It affects us all.
‘Let’s not go there, Mum. Let’s talk about something else.’ I glance at Freya, who’s thankfully not listening. She’s immersed in her colouring book. I know I should be more sympathetic, especially given my profession, but sometimes it wears thin. We’ve all had to cope with Dad over the years – him sitting in that chair being the least of it. And then I catch Jack’s eye as he holds up his plate for more lamb, and we exchange a knowing look, a sign of our connection earlier. I can’t help thinking about what he said, about his memories, what’s real and what’s not. What our minds lock away to protect us, only releasing glimpses in tiny, manageable chunks when there’s a chance of processing them. Or, worse still, when our minds fabricate things to compensate. It makes me feel bad for snapping at Mum.
‘Whoa, Lorn, you OK?’ Mark says, taking hold of my wrist.
I jump at his touch, every nerve on fire.
‘You were really wobbling and shaking,’ he says. ‘Careful with
that knife in your hand.’
‘Sorry… I’m feeling a bit out of sorts.’
‘Sit,’ he says, gently taking the knife from me. ‘That was a delicious roast, by the way.’ He leans in to give me a kiss on the cheek. ‘Did you do a test yet?’ he whispers into my ear before carving the rest of the lamb.
I shake my head, mouthing I will… just to appease him.
Later, when Mum and the kids are ensconced in front of the TV watching Jason and the Argonauts for about the twentieth time, I tell Mark I’m going upstairs for a quick lie-down. His face lights up at the implication, knowing I couldn’t keep my eyes open when I was first pregnant with Freya.
‘I’ll make everyone tea,’ he says. ‘You go and rest.’
I nod, watching him go into the kitchen, his body looking fit and toned beneath the black T-shirt he’s got on over jeans. His hair is clipped short, showing off his strong neck, his broad shoulders. He’s a good-looking man, I think, and I’m lucky to have him. Lucky to still have him.
I clutch the banister as I go up, feeling dizzy again. I stop outside my bedroom door, wanting to lie down, but I can’t help glancing at the second flight of stairs leading up to the study. It’s as though I’m not in control of myself, and something is drawing me up there, compelling me to open up my laptop and log into that damned dating site. Like I’m a robot, pre-programmed. An addict getting her fix.
As ever, there are many messages – from the usual ‘Hello sexys’, to men giving me their Kik username, Instagram handle or phone number, to some actually vaguely normal-sounding approaches. I delete them all quickly, my heart sinking when there are none from him. A pain stabs through my heart as I read back over the last exchange between Andy_jag and Abbi74.
I hold my head in my hands, sighing, knowing I never can meet him again, and certainly not in the guise of Abbi. I’m nothing better than a catfish, soon to be forgotten, sinking to the bottom of the pond.
You’re the only man I’ve ever truly loved… but why? I type in the empty grey message box, hating myself, watching the flashing cursor. Then, of course, I delete it without sending. I drop my head down, sobbing quietly, not realising that Freya has come upstairs, that she’s standing right beside me.
‘Mummy, what’s wrong?’ I feel her little hand on my back. ‘I thought you were lying down? Is it because of Nana?’
‘Oh, darling,’ I say, sitting up, forcing a laugh and wiping my eyes. ‘Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.’
‘No, you’re not. Why do adults always lie?’
I shrug, unable to answer without fibbing. ‘I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. But I’ll be OK.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Freya says, staring at my screen.
Shit…
Quickly, I switch windows to a clothes website that was left open.
‘What was that?’ she asks. ‘That other website?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Probably just some silly pop-up advert or something.’ Freya won’t know anything about dating sites. But then there’s a quiet bleep in the background as the site tells me a message has come in.
‘No one’s watching the movie with me any more and it got really scary,’ Freya says, her finger on the trackpad, idly scrolling through the clothes on the screen. ‘Nana’s fallen asleep, Jack’s gone down the road to meet a friend and Dad’s washing up. Everyone’s boring. I want to play a game.’ She folds her arms and pouts.
‘I’ll play a game with you,’ I say. ‘Why don’t you go and wake Nana up and I’ll be down in a moment?’
She nods, going off downstairs again, her slippered feet dragging slowly.
When she’s gone, I check the message. It’s not from him, of course, but my heart still sinks, even though I know it has to be over between us. I take a deep breath before typing one last message. I love you. I always have… and I always will… Words I could never say to his face. Then I click send.
I log out and go downstairs to find Mark setting out a board game with Freya, while Mum’s head is lolling against the side of the sofa. The front door opens, banging loudly again. A waft of cold air precedes Jack.
‘Daz wasn’t in,’ he says to no one in particular. ‘Is there any more chocolate?’
I can’t help the smile, can’t help the warm feelings as my family unwittingly glues together the shreds of my heart – a heart that doesn’t even know why it’s been broken, or if it even deserves to be mended.
‘There’s tons of the stuff in the kitchen,’ I say. ‘Bring it all in. Let’s gorge ourselves and play silly games.’ I want nothing more, I think, as I watch us all doing what families do best – muddling along – than to spend time in their company, their warmth, their love and, for just a couple of hours at least, shut out all the mess in my head. Pretend like none of it happened.
‘You seem perkier already,’ Mark says as we sit at the dining table, everyone choosing what colour counter they’re going to be. ‘But you didn’t get much of a rest.’
‘Freya came up,’ I say, rolling my eyes, flashing him a grin. ‘It’s fine. I’m OK.’ Mum wakes and joins us then, somehow sensing that Mark has got out the port left over from Christmas.
‘Ooh, don’t mind if I do,’ she says with a chuckle, sitting down next to Freya. I hold my breath as Mum looks puzzled. ‘Move up, chicken,’ she says. ‘Your granddad’s going to sit there.’
Freya shoots me an awkward look, opens her mouth to speak even though nothing comes out. She shifts up a place anyway, leaving a larger gap than needed between her and Mum.
‘Mum, Dad’s not here today, remember?’ I say loudly, even though she’s not deaf. But it somehow feels appropriate to hammer the message home. As much for Freya’s sake as anything. ‘You know that.’
‘Isn’t he?’ she says, looking around. ‘Where is he, then?’
I sigh, giving Mark a look. He gives me an encouraging nod. ‘Dad’s at home, Mum. Don’t worry. He’s fine. It’s what he wanted. You’ll see him later when we take you back.’
Mum thinks for a moment, taking one of the pencils Freya is handing out. The soft powdery lines on her face gradually change to what look like hardened cracks, mud that’s baked in the sun too long. And the neat bow of her mouth, never without lipstick, puckers into a mean grimace – so different to the affable smile she usually wears.
‘It’s what he wanted?’ she says, as if she doesn’t believe me.
‘Yes, Mum,’ I say, knowing there’s no point elaborating.
Mum thinks some more, her teeth clamped together, the pencil gripped between her white-knuckled fists before she snaps it clean in two.
Chapter Forty
Nikki
‘I’d like to make an appointment, please,’ I say after the receptionist answers. The words make my heart thump with anticipation. Today is the day, as though the planets are somehow perfectly aligned, some cosmic force at play in the heavens. I knew I’d recognise it when it happened.
‘I’ll check availability for you. Is this a self-referral or have you been asked to call by a medical provider or other service perhaps?’
I hear her tapping at a keyboard.
‘Self-referral,’ I say. ‘And I’d like to see a female therapist, please.’ That will narrow down the field a bit, funnel me closer to her. I don’t want to sound insistent.
‘I have an assessment slot free with Julie a week on Thursday at eleven fifteen. She’s a new therapist here. How does that sound?’
How does it sound? It sounds not fucking like her.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t make that time. Do you have anyone else? Something sooner?’
‘Most of our female therapists are busy until…’ I hear her tapping away again. ‘Oh, actually, it looks like there’s been an email cancellation come in over the weekend. Let me just check when…’ She makes a thoughtful noise, tapping away some more. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance at all that you can make it to the clinic this afternoon, is there? I know it’s short notice but—’
‘W
ho is the appointment with?’
‘Her name is Lorna Wright. She’s very experienced and normally has a long waiting list, but I can see that one of her regulars has cancelled for later. It’s at three o’clock this afternoon. Can you make it?’
‘That’s perfect,’ I say, wishing she knew how much I actually meant that. ‘Absolutely perfect.’
‘Great, if you can just give me a few details, I’ll book you in.’
Then she explains how I’ll have to pay for the assessment session today and how future billing works if I should come regularly after that. I don’t tell her that just the one session is all I need.
Chapter Forty-One
Lorna
‘There’s no easy way to say this, Lorna, but there’s been a complaint against you.’ Joe sits opposite, stony-faced, not offering me a coffee like he usually would when I have a supervision session with him. It’s our first day back after the Easter break.
‘What?’
I feel numb, unable to take in what he’s saying.
‘Who from?’ I ask, terrified of what’s about to be revealed, of what’s already been said. I can see by his pained expression that Joe isn’t enjoying this any more than I am. ‘A complaint… about what?’
‘Inappropriate behaviour, I’m afraid.’
Christ. I knot my fingers, twisting my knuckles until they hurt, staring at my feet. ‘What kind of… inappropriate behaviour?’ I brace myself, waiting for him to shoot all the allegations about having an affair with a client at me. One of the most heinous and potentially damaging things a therapist can do.
Tell Me A Secret Page 20
