Secret Keeping for Beginners

by Maggie Alderson

  Head before heart, he reminded himself. Banking before bonking.

  Then he picked up his pen and added another item to the bottom of his to-do list: ‘Call Jane’. She wasn’t getting married for a few weeks yet; there was time for one more little get-together.

  Wednesday, 25 June

  Dalston, London E8

  Natasha was having dinner with Mattie at a Turkish restaurant on Stoke Newington Road.

  ‘Are you sure you’re happy to eat here?’ asked Mattie, clinking her beer bottle against Natasha’s. ‘There are loads of mega-trendy places around here now, but I love the food at this joint and I’ve been coming here for ages, before this whole area turned into uber hipsterville. I can’t pretend I don’t love living in the coolest part of London, but I don’t always feel like being in a big scene when I go out for dinner.’

  ‘I’d be happy anywhere with you across the table,’ said Natasha, taking a swig from her beer. It tasted really good. She’d forgotten how great a cold beer could be on a summer night, it had been so long since she’d had one. Too much yeast, too much carbohydrate, too many chemicals. It felt good to let go of some of her rules for once. One of many ways Mattie was good for her.

  ‘And I totally agree about the “scene” thing,’ she added. ‘I get so much of that with work, it’s great to go somewhere low key.’

  Mattie grinned at her and reached across the table for her hand. She gave it a quick squeeze and started to pull it away, but Natasha turned her hand over and grasped Mattie’s, keeping it there, in hers, on top of the table.

  Mattie smiled at her, a questioning look in her eye. Natasha winked at her. Another advantage of a cheap and cheerful local dive was no one to see legendary make-up diva Natasha Younger having a romantic dinner with a woman and then tell the whole industry about it.

  ‘Did you ring your mum?’ asked Mattie, after the food had arrived. ‘Is she still progressing well?’

  Natasha nodded, her mouth full of a delicious mix of lamb, yogurt, tomato sauce and pita bread.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, swallowing and wiping her lips on the flimsy paper napkin. ‘You weren’t kidding, the food is great here. Mum’s doing pretty well, thanks, she’s very keen to be given the go-ahead to start physio. She’s been exercising her legs in bed as much as she can, but she really wants to start moving properly.’

  ‘Her years of yoga should help her get over it faster,’ said Mattie.

  ‘They’re already pretty surprised at the hospital how quickly she’s recovering, when she goes for her check-ups, but I’m worried this horrible upset with Rachel’s going to set her back. So much of healing is about being in a calm environment, with a positive attitude and it’s hard to hold on to that when your daughters aren’t talking to each other – or, rather, when one of them isn’t talking to the other two. It’s really breaking Mum up.’

  ‘Rachel still hasn’t returned your calls?’

  ‘Nope. I don’t think she’s actually blocked my number yet, although I wouldn’t put it past her, but she’s ignored voice messages to her home and office landlines and to her mobile.’

  She ticked them off on her fingers. ‘She hasn’t responded to texts, emails, Tweets, Facebook posts or Instagram. I’ve tried Skype and FaceTime, and I even commented on one of her Pinterest boards – and this morning I asked her to connect with me on LinkedIn.’

  Mattie laughed. ‘That is desperate,’ she said and then sat silently for a few moments, chewing her food and clearly thinking it over.

  ‘I am,’ said Natasha. ‘I already have a messed-up relationship with my father, I couldn’t bear to fall out with one of my sisters as well. And I love Rachel so much. She’s the only one of them who understands why work is so important to me. She feels the same way. From when I was tiny she was always a role model to me. She’s so ballsy, she’s never let anyone mess her around. And her kids, Mattie … You’ve seen how I love them. I’ve got to make up with her.’

  Natasha’s voice cracked and she had to make a huge effort not to start sobbing into her dinner. The thought of a life without Rachel’s jokes and her daughters’ company was simply unbearable.

  ‘Have you tried going to see her?’ said Mattie, gently. ‘While you’re still in the same city, it seems a shame not to try. Once you go back to New York, it’ll be much harder to connect, with the time difference and all that, and somehow it just feels different, even when you get a perfect connection. I always feel that when I call my parents in Melbourne. And, apart from all that, these things are always better sorted out face to face. You can’t get the tone of voice when something’s written down, especially in a text. They’re the worst. I’ve known relationships that have fallen apart over a misinterpreted text.’

  ‘I think you might be right,’ said Natasha, feeling a small spark of optimism that she would be able to patch things up. ‘Do you think I should just turn up at her house after work tomorrow?’

  Mattie nodded. ‘What have you got to lose? No one can say you didn’t try to put things right if you’ve made that effort and I don’t see how it could make things any worse than they already are. The point will come when it’s Rachel’s prerogative to accept your apology and then the buck will pass to her – and the moral high ground to you.’

  It was Natasha’s turn to sit and think for a few moments, but rather than pondering further on the problem with Rachel, she found herself thanking the universe, god, the goddess – whatever – for sending her someone who was as caring and sensitive, as she was beautiful and smart.

  She half-stood in her seat and leaned across the table towards Mattie, putting her hands around her cheeks and kissing her full on the lips.

  Thursday, 26 June

  Sydney Street

  The next morning Natasha was standing at the corner of the King’s Road and Sydney Street, squinting at her phone to check the number of the Rathbone & Associates offices.

  She looked up just as a tall man, in a beautifully cut suit, walked past her. He had a very good haircut, Natasha noticed with her professional eye, and when he turned around to glance back at her, she was a bit embarrassed that it might have looked as though she was checking him out. He looked familiar.

  ‘Is it Natasha?’ he asked, walking back towards her.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, realising who it was. Rachel’s boss. She’d met him down at Tessa’s that day. The day she’d met Mattie … Everyone else had rather faded into insignificance after that.

  ‘Simon Rathbone,’ he was saying, his right hand extended.

  ‘Natasha Younger,’ she replied, shaking it. He had a good firm grip. So did she.

  ‘What are you doing in this neck of the woods?’ he asked. ‘Coming to see Rachel?’

  ‘Yes, I am actually,’ said Natasha. ‘I was just checking what number your building is.’

  ‘Well, follow me,’ he said. ‘I’d be delighted to escort you. We’re up nearer the top end.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Natasha, amused by his rather charming old-school manners.

  He was quite a package, she decided, now she could have a proper look at him. Lovely face, with a wide, generous mouth. He had the height, great shoulders – looked like a rower – the suit was clearly bespoke, the hair, a signet ring. She glanced down at his feet. Church’s, she reckoned. Classic, but not stuffy. His suit was cut a little narrow, shorter on the leg, more the Italian style than Savile Row.

  She wondered if she could ask him if it was Brioni, but non-fashion people didn’t always understand questions like that. It could seem intrusive.

  ‘How is your mother?’ he was asking her. ‘I was so sorry to hear about her accident.’

  ‘Oh, she’s doing pretty well,’ said Natasha. ‘Nice of you to ask. She’s progressing much faster than the doctors expected. They’re quite amazed by her actually. She’s been doing yoga for over fifty years so she’s in pretty great shape.’

  ‘Really?’ said Simon. ‘Doesn’t surprise me. Amazing woman your mother. I’ve only met her that
one time, when I met you …’ he wouldn’t go into where, better not start that up ‘… but I was so struck by her. Very handsome, too.’

  As you all are. You three gorgeous girls. All so attractive in such different ways. This younger one was much taller than her sisters, had wonderful high cheekbones and, with her hair cut short on the sides, was rather androgynous. Striking looking. He’d have to make sure he didn’t get a crush on her as well. The full hat trick. Wouldn’t that be great? No, it wouldn’t.

  Handsome! What a classic. Mattie would love that.

  ‘Are you over for long?’ Simon was asking. ‘You live in New York, don’t you?’

  What a lovely man, thought Natasha. Making conversation when he really didn’t have to and with such ease. No wonder he was so successful in PR. But why was Rachel so weird about him? She always talked about him like he was the enemy.

  ‘I’m going back tomorrow, actually,’ she said. ‘I hate leaving Mum, but I have a big work project on. I’ll come over again as soon as I can.’

  ‘You’re a make-up artist, aren’t you?’ said Simon. ‘Sorry, not being nosy, but Rachel’s so proud of you, and the girls in the office are all terribly impressed.’

  Rachel was proud of her? That was news. Natasha had to stop herself snorting with disbelief. He was probably just being nice.

  ‘Oh, that’s good to hear,’ she said. ‘When my make-up range launches over here, I’ll have to send some samples to the office for them.’

  Simon looked at her a little more keenly. Her own range. Impressive.

  ‘Are you doing the range as an independent, or do you have a licensing deal?’ he asked.

  Natasha was equally impressed at his instant grasp of the options.

  ‘It’s a combination of the two,’ she said, happy to talk to someone she didn’t have to explain the basics to. ‘I’ve got creative control and twenty per cent of the company and OM – you know, the big American company? – has the rest, but I’ve negotiated a clause so that I can never lose my name.’

  Simon nodded, his eyebrows slightly raised.

  ‘Very smart,’ he said. ‘I can see excellent business brains run in your family. I’ve just given Rachel a promotion, I’m so impressed with hers.’

  ‘Oh, that’s great,’ said Natasha. Really great. He had no idea how great, because she might be less chippy towards me, if she’s having a bit of success herself. More amenable to making up about the Branko thing and moving on.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Simon, stopping outside an elegant townhouse a few doors down from Fulham Road.

  He walked up the steps and pressed the buzzer.

  ‘Too bloody lazy to get my keys out,’ he said, smiling at Natasha.

  ‘Rathbone & Associates,’ a well-bred voice answered.

  ‘Rathbone,’ Simon barked into the intercom, and when the lock released he pushed the door open and held it for Natasha.

  ‘Welcome to my kingdom,’ he said, showing her into a reception area, with a very attractive young woman sitting behind the desk, next to a large vase of flowers. ‘Hi, Cressida. Natasha’s just come in to see Rachel, I’ll take her up.’

  Natasha smiled at the receptionist and followed him up the stairs.

  ‘She’s on the third floor and no lift, I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘you know what London’s like.’

  One flight up, they passed a splendid high-ceilinged room on the street side with a big white desk and not much else in it, which Natasha assumed was his office – very sleek – and then continued up two more, ever narrower, flights of stairs to the top floor.

  Natasha could see women in every office they passed. There didn’t seem to be another man in the place. It really was his kingdom. Or his harem. He was like a potentate in there. All the staff sat up a little straighter when he walked past.

  ‘Here we are,’ he said, as they reached the top landing, and strode across it to the office at the back. ‘Rachel’s in the maid’s room at the moment, but she’ll be moving down to a better office, with her new exalted role … Rachel,’ he said, ‘I have a visitor for you. Found her wandering the streets.’

  Natasha walked in to see Rachel grovelling around on the floor at the far side of her desk, her back to them, her bottom in the air. Her expression when she turned round and saw who was with Simon went from embarrassment at being found in such a position, to surprise and then fury, in what seemed like a millisecond.

  ‘What on earth are you doing down there?’ said Simon, starting to laugh. ‘I’m going to leave you two to it. Lovely to see you, Natasha.’

  Then he fled down the stairs to his office, mortified by the immediate reaction in his loins to seeing Rachel in that position. He sat behind his desk and put his head in his hands. Every time he thought he was over it, his urges under control, something like that happened.

  Just thinking that brought the image of Rachel’s glorious bottom, her skirt tightly pulled across it, back into his mind. Disaster. And now he’d confirmed the job, so he was stuck with her – and his inappropriate reactions to her.

  Up on the third floor, Rachel didn’t know which outrage to be more appalled about. That Simon had seen her crawling around on the floor like that – she’d been trying to fix the broadband, the cleaner seemed to have dislodged a cable – and just when he’d confirmed her as a Senior Account Manager. Or Natasha having the damned cheek to turn up in her office unannounced. How disrespectful was that, of her work? Typical.

  ‘Hi, Rachel,’ Natasha was saying, with some kind of patronising placatory expression on her face. It only hardened Rachel’s heart more just to see it.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she replied.

  ‘I think we need to talk,’ said Natasha.

  ‘Oh, do you?’ said Rachel. ‘Well, I think I’m in my office, in the middle of my working day and I need to work – not talk to you. And I am, frankly, speechless.’

  For a moment, she actually was. She was lost for words how angry and insulted she was that Natasha felt it was fine to barge into her office – and chumming up with her boss, making it even worse.

  Natasha started to speak. She was going to apologise for arriving unannounced, then she was going to explain that she had to just turn up like that because she knew Rachel would never have agreed to see her. She also wanted to tell Rachel that she’d decided it was better to come to her office, than turn up at her house, because she didn’t want the girls to witness any tension between their aunt and their mother.

  But she didn’t get a chance to say any of those things, because Rachel had walked away from her and was standing outside the door to her office with her arms folded and a face like granite.

  ‘I’d like to see how you would react if I barged in, uninvited, on one of your precious photo sessions,’ she said in a tight voice, ‘so please do me the favour of leaving my work place, which I did not invite you into.’

  ‘But we need to sort this out, Rachel,’ said Natasha. ‘For Mum …’

  Rachel was finding it so hard not to raise her voice, her words came out sounding cracked. She hoped Natasha didn’t think she was fighting back tears, because she most certainly wasn’t.

  ‘You should have thought about Mum’s wellbeing, before you wrecked my precariously balanced life, without giving a thought to anyone except yourself, Natasha. None of this is my fault and I’m not going to let you make it my fault, no matter how hard you play your mummy’s-little-baby card. I will speak to you about it when I’m ready, not when it suits you and certainly not during my working day. Now – get out.’

  She said the last two words with such vehemence she was sure they’d been heard by everybody on that floor of the building, but she couldn’t hold it back any longer. Natasha had to leave.

  ‘OK,’ said Natasha, knowing she was beaten, ‘I’m leaving, but I’m not going to give up, Rachel, I will make it up to you. We will get over this.’

  ‘Just go,’ said Rachel, feeling spent.

  And after one last imploring look at her
sister – who closed her eyes and shook her head – Natasha turned and headed down the stairs.

  Simon looked up as she walked past the open door of his office. He started to get up from his chair, so he could show her out of the building, but just in time noticed she had tears streaming down her face and stayed where he was.

  Whatever had gone on up there?

  Thursday, 3 July

  Cranbrook

  Tessa was in the barn with Jack. Under the pretext of familiarising herself with the stock, she was trying to bond with him a bit, so she would feel more part of a team when Simon arrived – due in less than an hour, she realised with a sickening lurch – to discuss plans for promoting the salvage yard.

  It wasn’t going quite as well as she’d hoped, as Jack seemed to be much more interested in how many square metres of floorboards they had than the way the lovely old glaze on a ceramic doorknob had crazed over time.

  He was perfectly nice, and very handy to have around the place when she needed anything heavy moved, but he was very much one of Tom’s men’s men, the unreconstructed blokes he had always enjoyed working with on building sites and renovations, although he equally relished the company of the campest interior decorators and the rogues from the near-criminal end of salvaging. Tom’s ability to get on with all sorts had played a large part in his success. Tessa had always wished she was better at it.

  ‘I’m not sure exactly what’s in the back here,’ Jack was saying, scratching his armpit. ‘It was already pretty full up when I started here and with new stock constantly coming in at the front end, I’ve never had the time to get across it.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Tessa, opening a cardboard box Jack had just lifted down from the top of a cupboard for her and finding it full of lovely old brass coat hooks. ‘I remember these. They were part of a big job lot we bought from British Rail, when it still was British Rail … gosh, that must have been twenty years ago.’