‘Been for a run?’ Nikki asks, not giving up. There are no other customers left to distract her.
‘Not yet.’
‘Fancy some breakfast? I do a mean bacon and egg bap.’
‘No, that’s fine, thanks,’ I say, looking away again.
‘Coffee won’t be too much longer,’ she says, pointing to the huge urn. ‘Takes a while to heat up.’
It looks as though it’ll take the rest of the day, judging by the size of it. I’m tempted to abandon the coffee, but I don’t want to seem rude or make her have any reason whatsoever to grumble to the clinic. One more complaint and I’ll be done for.
‘So, what brings you round here then if you’re not local?’ Nikki says, leaning on the counter, wringing out a dish cloth before quickly glancing at her phone. Her face is make-up free, her skin fresh and bright, making her appear less troubled than when I saw her at the clinic. She dries her hands.
‘Just a change of scene, really,’ I say, turning and catching sight of a tall man about the same size as Andrew approaching the gates. My heart thumps as I hold my breath. He stops, pausing, looking around as if he’s also waiting for someone. He gets out his phone, tapping something into it. I’ve never seen him before and have no idea who he is. But he definitely looks as though he could be an undercover officer, maybe even calling for backup as I’m watching. My mind is in overdrive.
Then he looks my way, catching my eye for longer than necessary, making me gasp and turn back to face Nikki in the van. Then my phone pings, sounding an alert.
When I look, it’s an alert from Double Take. From Andy_jag.
‘Anyway, it’s such a coincidence we should bump into each other like this,’ Nikki says, smiling, not taking her eyes off me. ‘Don’t you think?’
Chapter Fifty-Three
Lorna
‘Mum?’ I call out from the hallway after I’ve let myself in. ‘It’s just me…’
Nothing.
I take the shopping bags through to the kitchen, still shaken from my experience in the park this morning. As soon as I got my coffee from the van earlier, I left and chucked it in the nearest bin. I went home, wondering what the hell I was thinking – waiting, alone and vulnerable, to meet a stranger. A stranger posing as a dead man.
‘Go and find Nana, Freya,’ I say as she follows me through to the kitchen. ‘She’s probably fallen asleep in front of the TV.’
Freya hesitates, and I can read the fear in her eyes. Do I have to? But I don’t want her relationship with her nana breaking down because of some stupid, judgemental kid from school. ‘Would this help?’ I say, holding out Mum’s cake tin.
Freya grabs a chocolate roll, Mum’s favourite treat to offer her, and a little grin forms as she runs off. I set to unpacking the few groceries Mum asked me to pick up, but my heart sinks when I open the fridge. Most of the food I brought with me last time is still sitting on the shelf, untouched. I check the packaging of the microwave meals. Four or five days past their use-by dates. I take them out and chuck them in the bin. No wonder she looks so thin.
‘Mummy!’ I hear Freya squeal from the living room. ‘Mummy! Mummy!’
Shit.
I drop the shopping and dash through to find Freya standing with her hands cupped over her mouth, her eyes bursting wide. Mum’s head is lolling off to one side, her tongue poking out from between her pale lips. Her skin is ashen.
I let out a long breath, taking hold of Freya. ‘It’s OK, sweetie,’ I say, not sure if my nerves can take much more today. ‘Grandma’s just asleep.’ Mum’s chest moves steadily up and down, her fingers twitching on her lap.
‘No, no, Mummy!’ Freya squeals again. ‘It’s Granddad. What’s happened to him?’ Tears begin to flow down Freya’s cheeks as she points across the room.
‘Oh God,’ I say, when I see Dad lying there. ‘OK, darling, why don’t you go in the kitchen and put the rest of the food away? I’ll sort this out. Don’t you worry, Granddad will be fine.’
She does as she’s told, giving a last look back at my father lying on the floor. He’s a mess.
‘Mum,’ I say, crouching down beside her chair. ‘Mum, wake up, it’s me.’
Slowly, she stirs. She’s been crying. She’s obviously had one of her fights with Dad. It looks worse than ever this time.
‘Lorna?’ she says, bleary-eyed, straightening herself up and wiping the drool from her chin. ‘Oh, Lorna…’ she says, as if everything’s just coming back to her.
‘It’s OK, Mum,’ I say, cradling her. ‘I’m here now. We can sort this out.’
‘Your father,’ she says, staring wistfully across the room. ‘I didn’t mean to…’ She covers her face, sobbing. ‘I just got so angry with him.’
‘I know, Mum. I know you didn’t mean it.’
‘Will you clean him up, make him better?’ she asks, sniffing and pulling a tissue out from her sleeve.
‘Of course I will,’ I tell her. ‘He’s fine for the moment.’ We both stare at him lying there. ‘You’re OK, aren’t you, Dad?’ I say in a loud voice, mainly for Mum’s sake. ‘See?’ I say a second later. ‘Now, why don’t you tell me what happened?’
With a cup of tea in hand, Mum is finally able to talk about it. Freya’s in the kitchen watching a cartoon on my phone so she doesn’t overhear.
‘I’m afraid I lost my temper,’ she says. ‘I couldn’t take any more of it. It was like a switch flicked inside me.’
‘I know, Mum.’
‘He just sits there, never doing anything. Whatever I say to him, whatever I do for him, wherever I take him – nothing. It’s been the same for as long as I can remember.’
‘So you wanted to change that? To show him how angry you are about it?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘To be honest, Lorna, I’ve been sick of the sight of him sitting in that bloody chair for a long time now. Day in, day out, unless I moved him, of course. It’s time to accept that it’s over, isn’t it, Lorna? That things aren’t the same any more.’ Mum sounds as though a fog has cleared around her. She bursts into tears again, letting it all out. ‘But what do we do now? Look at the state of him. Will I get into trouble?’
‘You’ve been brave, Mum. You’ve done what’s right for you. Things will start to feel better now, I promise.’ I’ve wished for this moment for a long time, but Mum’s always been stubborn. I never thought it would end quite this violently, though, and it’s the last thing I need to deal with right now. But it’s also oddly fitting, strangely well-timed.
‘Maybe you can join the bridge club now, and that walking group you always fancied being a part of,’ I say. ‘Dad’s not going to hold you back any more. It’s your time now, Mum.’ I make it sound easy – as though getting over someone, moving on, happens in a flash.
‘Drink up,’ I say, stroking her hand. ‘I put in an extra sugar to help with the shock.’ She’s still shaking but looking calmer. I glance over at Dad on the floor. ‘And don’t worry about that,’ I say, tipping my head towards him. ‘No one need ever know, right? Our little secret.’ Mum gives a timid nod, the glimmer of a smile. ‘Good,’ I say, giving her a kiss on the head as I stand up. ‘Right, I’m going to clean him up. Make like it never happened.’
Mum smiles, tracking me as I head out to the kitchen and return a moment later with a dustpan and brush. ‘It won’t take a minute,’ I say, getting down on my knees and sweeping up the bits of broken urn and the fine grey ash that seem to have gone everywhere. I tip it all into a plastic bag. It’ll have to do for now until I have time to get the Hoover out, probably a wet cloth too.
‘There,’ I say, standing up. ‘All done.’ I eye the chair where Dad’s been sitting for as long as I can remember. He must have taken the full force of Mum’s swipe.
‘We could take him down to the sea, couldn’t we?’ I say, holding up the plastic bag. ‘Scatter him there.’
Mum gives a little nod.
Then Freya comes running into the room, holding out my phone to me. ‘Mummy, mummy,�
� she says. ‘You just had a message on your phone. Who’s Andy_jag?’ she says, staring at the screen. ‘It says “Don’t ignore me. I asked if you enjoyed your coffee this morning…?”’
And that’s when the bag of ashes falls to the floor, sending out a cloud of grey dust all around me.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Nikki
Maybe this therapy stuff really does work, I think, staring at the grubby bathroom mirror at Nigel’s place, concentrating on my make-up. I look different, I feel different, I sound different, and I’m even behaving differently. Perhaps I’m all fixed! ‘And it only took two sessions,’ I say with a slightly crazed smile, opening my eyes wide as I apply mascara. ‘A bargain!’ Not that I intend paying, of course. She owes me that much.
The highlighter on my cheekbones catches the light, just as the woman said it would. I spent an hour in a department store getting a tutorial on how to apply foundation and concealer (though didn’t tell her I’m already an expert at concealing things), and then she showed me how to contour and shadow my eyes so they pop. Her words, not mine.
‘Oh, eyes will pop,’ I considered saying, but kept the joke to myself. I wasn’t in the mood for explaining. Afterwards, she tried to sell me a load of stuff, but I didn’t buy anything. I’ve got a make-up bag of my own now. I didn’t think it would hurt to pinch a couple of things when I was at her place. She’s got so much of the stuff, all top brands, that I doubt she’ll notice a few bits missing. I was in a hurry to get out and stupidly left my one and only lipstick on her dressing table. I need to get it back, which gives me the perfect excuse to go inside again. I’m getting bolder and bolder. It feels deliciously dangerous.
‘I got me an interview later,’ Nigel says when I come back into the living room. He’s scooping Rice Krispies into his mouth and sitting on the arm of the grubby sofa. ‘As a packer in a warehouse,’ he says proudly.
I smile, giving him a nod as I put on my coat. ‘It’s going to be a good day all round, then,’ I say, grabbing my shoulder bag and leaving.
* * *
The police pull up outside the clinic not long after I get to the square. It’s been the usual trickle of clients into her practice over the last twenty minutes or so. When she arrived, she was wearing black trousers, a pale blouse with that grey coat, her usual leather bag, and smart flat boots, the ones she wore on Friday at our appointment.
There are two officers – a man and a woman – and they stand outside the building for a few moments, discussing something between them before heading up the steps into the Grove. It makes me smile, as though they’re going in for therapy. I’m sure, in their job, they need it. Cleaning up after all the despicable things people do. People like me.
I know Lorna’s been sitting at her desk since she arrived – the vague shape of her visible through the blinds. But now she’s standing, going across the room towards the three people who’ve entered – dark shapes in the background. Two of them are the police – I can just make out the bright flashes on their uniforms – and there’s another man in there too. I’ve seen him coming and going enough times to know he works there.
I rub my hands together, heading back over to the bench, almost as if I want to leave them in private, preferring to imagine what’s being said in there rather than knowing for sure. I light a cigarette and sit down to wait.
An hour later, the police car pulls away and I’m back at the hedge, watching Lorna with the other man in her office still, talking, him pacing about, Lorna sitting at her desk, tracking him as he goes from one side of the room to the other. Then, when he leaves and she’s all alone again, she lays her head down on the desk, staying like that for ages. A part of me almost feels sorry for her.
Then, oddly content, strangely calm inside, I head away from the clinic. It’s only a short bus ride. I swipe my Oyster card as I get on and sit down, pushing my hand into my pocket to check. The key is still in there, cold and jagged in my palm. I stare out of the window, thankful it’s such a beautiful, sunny spring day. I glance at my watch. I’ve got hours before anyone’s home.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Lorna’s Journal
I’ve brought the journal into work today, to finish reading the last pages between appointments. After this, I can’t stomach any more – to face the truth about how it happened, how the lies grew, how fake smiles and made-up excuses turned into such betrayal. And now it’s happened again. I’ve been an idiot and it doesn’t feel good. Makes me want to smash things.
13 April 2017
I’ve told him it’s over. Told him I can’t do this any more. My body aches for him, but my mind hurts worse. It’s as though a bomb has gone off in my brain, obliterating everything good and leaving only the bad. I don’t know how I will go on without him, but I have to. For the sake of my family, for the sake of me. If Mark ever found out, it would destroy him. He’d kill me. Not literally, obviously, but it would finish us off. I’m not going to write any more about it. I’ll start a fresh journal and hide this one until I’m ready to get rid of it. Until the pain lessens. One step at a time to save myself, to get back to the place I need to be.
After telling Andrew it was over, I handed in my notice at work. There’s no way I can continue at the Medway. It’s too risky now. When I told him it had to end, he seemed to accept it at first, though he was upset, of course. His eyes hung heavy, but he was a man about it. There was no anger to begin with. I told him all the reasons – that I still wanted to be with Mark, how him being a client was a huge risk to my career, how he’d never allowed me to go to his house, how I felt he was lying to me about his lodger. But he didn’t truly understand that I felt shut out. That I was crazy jealous of her. Ironic, I know, and I don’t even understand it myself. In the end, things got tense between us and, at one point, I was afraid he really would tell my boss. Which is why I’m leaving my job now, before he destroys my career as well as my marriage. It’s just too risky.
So as of today, I won’t see Andrew again. It kills me to write it; kills me to think about it. I’ve already applied for several other jobs, saying to Mark that I needed a change, that the practice was badly run, that I could get a better salary elsewhere. As ever, he understood completely, even saying that if I needed time off, then he’d support me. He earns good money and we’re not hard up. In fact, he was so good about it he pretty much insisted that I don’t go back to work at all, that I’d be better off staying at home for Freya. And, of course, if we have more children, then it would be ideal. But I explained that my job doesn’t work like that, that I need to keep up my practising hours to stay a member of my professional body, that I have to attend development courses regularly. He wasn’t convinced, though I suppose one day soon I’ll have to give it all up if we want more children.
Anyway, after that I deleted all the messages Andrew and I ever exchanged, erased his number and reset my secret phone, ready to sell. The SIM card is cut up and in the bin. I don’t want it any more. From now on, my life will be ordered, tight, controlled. Everything back to normal.
No one will ever know.
I snap the notebook shut. Enough is enough. I glace at my watch – my next appointment is in fifteen minutes. I won’t be taking the journal home – it’s evidence, after all – though it’s probably just as risky leaving it here at work. But I can’t hide it back under the floorboard in Freya’s room. I don’t want it in there, contaminating her space. All these disgusting secrets seeping out, fouling the house.
I open the lockable drawer in my desk, sliding it under a stack of paperwork. It will do for now, until I get a chance to destroy it. Besides, no one’s going to be looking for it, not here. Not in a million years.
I sit at my desk, tapping my pen on the wood, my jaw clenched, my neck tense. One slow tap after another, falling in time with the ticking of the clock.
Tap… tap… tap… My anger builds.
I swing round as the door opens, sighing out in relief when I see it’s Mandy.
�
��Hi…’ she says sweetly. She has that look in her eye as she stands there in her short uniform, fiddling with her hair. Just the look I need to see right now.
‘Shut the door,’ I say. ‘And lock it,’ I add. She gives me one of her smiles – one side of her mouth turned up, a glimmer of her perfect front teeth showing. I unfasten my belt, raising my hips and pulling down my trousers a little way. ‘Come here,’ I tell her.
She does as she’s told, lifting up her dress, grabbing on to my shoulders as she straddles me.
‘Do you want me?’ I say, staring up at her. I need to get out the rage.
‘Oh yes,’ she says, her sweet smell smothering me. ‘Always.’
‘Tell me… tell me how much… you want me…’ I grab her breasts as she settles on, arching her back, not taking her eyes off mine.
‘Oh, Mark, I want you so much, baby… You know I do. Every time we do it, it just gets better and better…’
Chapter Fifty-Six
Lorna
The police have gone. And now Joe has gone too. I sit at my desk, drained, head down on my arms, thinking. Too exhausted to even cry.
They took Andrew’s notes away with them. I was careful from the start to make sure I didn’t write much, keeping the information to the bare minimum. It met our practice guidelines, of course, and the contracting details were solid, but my general notes were basic, unemotional, brief. They seemed satisfied, though I doubt it will throw any light on their case.
But what they asked almost sent me into meltdown.
‘When did you first encounter Mr Taylor?’ the female officer said. I can’t even recall her name, barely took in anything about them, I was so nervous.
Tell Me A Secret Page 26
