Secret Keeping for Beginners

by Maggie Alderson

‘I’m sorry, Simon,’ she said, ‘I shouldn’t have been so outspoken. I’m just very disappointed about the bonus – I guess I’m just as money-minded as you are, in my own way.’

  Just for different reasons, she thought. Like my children. She’d had an email from the school that morning telling her Daisy would not be allowed to register for clarinet lessons for the next school year, until Rachel had paid the bills outstanding for the last two terms. That was just one tiny thing in the whole teetering mess that felt like it was about to crash down around her.

  ‘Yes, I think that’s why we work together so well, Rachel,’ said Simon, seizing the common ground, with huge relief she wasn’t angry for any reason other than the lost bonus.

  He wondered for a moment whether he should offer her £500 as compensation. That might smooth things over, but the meeting he’d had with the landlord that morning had given him rather a lot to think about financially.

  The lease on the building was nearly up and if he wanted to extend it, he was going to have to find nearly double the money, not just the rent rise he’d already had. He’d gone through all his options with the accountant that afternoon and it looked like he might have to lose a couple of staff members, at the very least.

  And how could he make someone redundant when he’d just given another employee a little bit extra? That wouldn’t look very good in an unfair dismissal case, but even apart from that kind of risk, the very thought of laying off staff made him feel ill.

  Of course he could move the offices to cheaper premises, but in an industry that was all about image that could be disastrous. He could just imagine his rivals: ‘Did you hear? Rathbone’s had to downsize … So funny … Arrogant git.’

  But it was more than that. Like his car and bespoke suits, the SW3 postcode on his letterhead was one of his business assets, part of the image of success which helped to keep him successful – or it had until now.

  Still, he hated to see Rachel looking so deflated. She’d been like a little tornado of energy when she’d come tripping in with those magazines and now she looked as though it had all been beaten out of her. But he could hardly tell her his worries about the business.

  He knew she wasn’t a gossip, but he still couldn’t risk it getting out to the staff and then, inevitably, to the entire design world. He’d just have to hope she’d bear up and he’d promote her again as soon as he possibly could.

  ‘I tell you what, Rachel,’ he said. ‘Why don’t I give you a lift up to your car? You’ll get home sooner, to see those girls of yours.’

  Rachel didn’t reply immediately. Her first instinct was to tell him not to bother. A ten-minute lift hardly made up for a £1000 bonus, but then she thought, why not? The girls were going to their dad’s that night, but at least it would mean she could see them for a few minutes before he picked them up.

  Rachel was very quiet in the car, which made Simon feel even worse about what had happened. He began to wonder if he could pay her the compensatory bonus from his private bank account, so it didn’t have to go through the company books. He’d think about it over the weekend.

  Her phone pinged shortly after they set off and Simon heard her tut with irritation as she read the text. Then she slumped down even further in her seat. He’d never seen her so flat.

  ‘Have you got something nice planned for the weekend?’ he asked, sounding like his hairdresser.

  ‘Well, I did have,’ said Rachel. ‘But the friend I was going to see tonight has just cancelled on me. She’s met a new man and, of course, a last-minute invitation from him totally justifies her cancelling a long-term arrangement with me, because I’m just a worthless girlfriend.’

  So I’ll be home alone, she thought. The girls will be with Michael, I can’t spend any more money on weekend trips and I can’t even go down and see my mum, because she’s staying with one of my bloody sisters, who both seem to be on a mission to destroy me at the moment.

  ‘Oh, that’s a bore,’ said Simon, wishing he could suggest they had dinner together. What a golden opportunity, because it wouldn’t be a date kind of thing, just two colleagues at a loose end on a Friday night. But no, he couldn’t suggest something normal like that, because he had to go to the sodding country, didn’t he?

  After that, he did his best to make conversation with light remarks about things going on in their industry, but with Rachel’s answers becoming increasingly monosyllabic he was relieved when they pulled up at the car park, which was a grotty-looking place.

  ‘Shall I wait?’ asked Simon.

  ‘No,’ said Rachel, ‘I’ll be fine. Thanks for the lift. Have a good weekend.’

  ‘And you,’ he said, wondering which of them was going to have a more miserable time.

  Rachel gathered up her stuff and got out of the car. He looked up at the dismal concrete building. It really was grim.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come up with you, Rachel?’ he said, out of the car window. ‘This place is pretty seedy.’

  Rachel paused. It was rather desolate and she would have liked a bit of company going up to the fourth floor. But at the same time, she just wanted to go home, see the girls before Michael picked them up and then get into bed and pull the covers over her head. She couldn’t face another moment making polite chit chat.

  ‘Thanks, Simon,’ she said, ‘but I’ll be OK. You get on your way. I know you have a long drive on a Friday.’

  ‘OK, see you Monday,’ said Simon driving off, tooting his horn twice as he went.

  Rachel watched him go, wondering who on earth he spent these mysterious weekends with. He never seemed to miss one, but he never talked about them. Whatever it was, it was likely to be more fun than the weekend that was ahead of her.

  She fished the parking ticket out of her bag, pushed it into the machine and was horrified when she saw the amount she was expected to pay. Sixty pounds. How could it be £60 for one day’s parking? She checked the time and saw that she had just gone over the eight-hour limit, which took the parking charge up from £40 – already a rip-off – to an unbelievable £60.

  Why the hell hadn’t she checked the prices before she’d parked? She’d just assumed it would be £20, maximum. She didn’t have £60 to pay it. She had no credit on any of her cards, she didn’t even take them out of the house with her any more, and there was nothing in her current account, only an overdraft already slightly over its limit.

  The only money she had was the £360 left from selling that light on eBay and it had been a right palaver to turn that into cash, which she’d only been able to do thanks to one of the women in the office, who’d advanced it to her from what her husband gave her each week for ‘groceries’, in return for Rachel transferring the PayPal balance to her.

  Rachel had felt slightly ill when she’d seen the fat wad of twenties in the woman’s wallet. How could her life be so catastrophically different from the women she worked with?

  But she’d been very grateful to get the cash and after using part of the precious bounty to fill the car with petrol, was keeping the rest at home, taking just £20 a day out with her and trying not to spend that. She’d stopped eating lunch, which helped. So she had that £20 note in her wallet and a bit of loose change, that was it, but if she left the car in there any longer it would just keep racking up higher and higher charges she couldn’t pay. She had to get it out of there as soon as possible.

  Who could she ring? She ran through her friends in her head, but it was Friday night, they’d all be at home cosy with their families, or out doing the things single people do on Friday nights. And what would she say to any of them? Oops, silly me, it seems I’ve mismanaged my money into a state of near bankruptcy, so I can hardly feed my family, so can you lend me £60 for a day’s parking?

  She put her hands over her face for a moment, hoping she wasn’t going to have a panic attack. Could she ask Michael? No way, he’d just use it as ammunition when he dropped those little hints about suing her for custody of the girls and if he knew how
bad her financial circumstances really were, he’d probably have a case.

  She tried Link’s phone, to hear a friendly voice as much as anything, but it just went to message. She’d sent him a text earlier in the week to see if he’d wanted to meet up that weekend and his reply had been non-committal. Which was fine. That was how loose and fluid things were between them, so she’d arranged to meet her treacherously unreliable girlfriend, on Friday, hoping she might see him on the Saturday.

  Who else was there? No one. There wasn’t anyone else, so she knew she had no choice but to get a bus home, pick up £60 of her precious cash and then take another bus back to the car park. Thank god it’s Friday …

  An hour and a half later, after she’d hung around at home a little to enjoy the girls’ company, leaving just before Michael was due, Rachel was in her car at the exit of the car park.

  She hit the indicator to turn left, north, back to Queen’s Park, but in the few moments she was stuck there, waiting for cars to pass, she was hit by an impulse and switched the indicator to right. She hadn’t heard from Link, but decided she’d just go down and see what he was doing. Anything was better than staying home alone, with just £300 between herself and destitution, terrifying unopened letters looming everywhere she looked.

  The worst of the Friday traffic was over and she had a fairly clear run, her spirits lifting with every turn of the wheels away from home and all those responsibilities. She turned the radio up, opened the windows and for a moment, with the wind blowing her hair, almost believed it as she sang along. ‘I’m happy …’

  Perhaps this was why Simon went away every weekend, maybe getting out of town to wherever it was – Herefordshire? – was his sanity de-compressor.

  But as she passed a row of shops which told her she was getting closer to Link’s place, she began to feel a little more nervous about just turning up there. Their liaison was blissfully free of structure, but it wasn’t spontaneous. They always made plans. Sometimes at the last minute, but plans nevertheless. Of course, he very well might not be in, she reminded herself. She’d picked up that he had a pretty busy social life and she was aware that he may have other lady friends, as it were, although it wasn’t something they’d ever discussed.

  He knew she was divorced and she knew he’d had a fairly long-term relationship which had ended a few months before they met, but they’d never gone into the whole romantic history thing, or had a conversation about whether they saw other people. It didn’t seem necessary. They were fine the way they were. No need to dissect it.

  As she got close to the strip of riverbank where Link’s houseboat was moored she remembered she was in the car. Well, she hadn’t forgotten she was in it, but she hadn’t considered the implications.

  Link hated people who drove in London with a passion. It was the only subject that made him lose his laidback cool. And she hadn’t been entirely ingenuous with him about her own car usage.

  With this in mind she decided to park around the corner and walk to the houseboat, but then she considered how exposed she’d feel arriving on foot, if he already had someone there, or a group of friends. She’d feel a right lemon turning up then – Hi, I’m Rachel, Link’s MILF – so she decided to cruise past at a safe distance in the car first and if it looked cool, she’d park around the corner and then walk back. If he asked where her bike was, she could say she’d got the train down.

  But never having driven down there before she got a bit muddled about which was the turning to the houseboat dock and before she realised it, she was right alongside his place. Link was sitting on the deck and his head immediately turned towards her, surprised by the sound of a car, as everyone who lived down there seemed to be a committed urban cyclist. He stood up, frowning slightly. Oops.

  ‘Rachel?’ he said, moving along the boat to be nearer her. Shit. She killed the engine and got out. What else could she do?

  ‘Hi, Link,’ she said weakly.

  He stood in the cockpit looking at her with his head on one side.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting you,’ he said, seeming more puzzled than unfriendly.

  ‘Ah, no, well, you see, I was just down your way and I thought …’

  Before she could finish, a beautiful young woman emerged from the cabin. She came up and stood next to Link, snaking her arm around his waist. She was wearing a sarong. Only a sarong. She had long tousled sun-bleached hair and her skin was the colour of a strong cup of tea.

  ‘Oh, Rachel, this is Imke,’ said Link, looking a tiny bit sheepish.

  ‘Hi, Imke,’ said Rachel, waving at her and feeling like an absolute idiot. She was still in her work clothes. A tailored skirt and a blouse, mid-heeled pumps. She felt like an air hostess. ‘I was just passing and when I realised how close I was, I thought I’d just swing by and say hi.’

  ‘Great,’ said Imke, ‘come and have a drink with us – or a coffee, as you are driving.’

  It was obvious from her tone, and the very slight overemphasis on the word ‘driving’, that she despised city motorists as much as Link did. Rachel didn’t miss the ‘us’ either.

  All she wanted to do was to drive off at high speed – possibly with her middle finger raised out of the car window – but that would be an admission of the real reason she’d turned up. Booty call. More of a cuddle call, really, but equally tragic in the circumstances. So she took off her shoes, throwing them back into the car, and stepped aboard.

  Link went down into the cabin to make her some coffee and Rachel did her best to chat happily to Imke. She was very nice actually. Dutch. Lived in Amsterdam. On a barge. Of course she lived on a fucking barge. Rachel felt so bourgeois sitting there in her office-girl clothes, her embarrassing polluting car in full view, knowing she lived in a boring brick house, no manner of a boat. A fully mortgaged middle-class ball-and-chain house.

  Imke also let Rachel know, with champion-level subtlety and not unkindly, that she’d been seeing Link for several years. Rachel wondered how that had fitted in with his former long-term relationship, but decided she didn’t care.

  Link came up from below, holding Rachel’s coffee and a glass of wine for Imke.

  ‘You look hot, Rachel,’ she said, taking the glass from him and letting her fingers linger over his. ‘Why don’t you get comfortable? I can lend you a sarong.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be OK,’ said Rachel. Doors to manual and cross check.

  Link sat down with a glass of wine for himself and they passed a few minutes enjoying the evening sun, commenting on how big the cygnets had grown and how calm the river was. Rachel almost convinced herself she was having a nice time.

  ‘So, Rachel,’ said Imke, ‘you are the woman Link met in the shop?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rachel replied, rather taken aback. She knew about her.

  ‘He tells me about all his friends,’ said Imke, putting an emphasis on the word ‘friends’, which made Rachel a little uncomfortable. ‘It was true when he said how beautiful you are.’

  ‘Really?’ said Rachel. ‘Are you sure you’re not confusing me with someone else? But thanks anyway.’

  What else had he told her?

  ‘You have a great body for a woman who’s had two children,’ continued Imke.

  This was getting creepy. Rachel glanced over at Link, expecting him to be cringing with embarrassment, but he was smiling at her in his normal way. He was clearly completely relaxed with this conversation.

  ‘So do you have anything planned for this evening?’ asked Imke.

  That was normal, thank god.

  ‘Er, no, not really. My kids are with their dad. I guess I’ll be heading home soon, I was just nearby, for work, so I thought I’d call in.’

  ‘You don’t have to go,’ said Imke. ‘Why don’t you stay with us?’

  As she spoke she moved her body so the sarong fell to her lap, revealing breasts the same wonderful colour as her shoulders. Rachel was lost for words. She glanced at Link, looking for assistance, to find he was still smiling at her, with that ch
aracteristic playful look in his eye.

  ‘Yeah, that would be great, Rachel,’ he said, ‘why don’t you?’

  As he spoke, Imke moved closer to Rachel and put her hand on her leg. Quite high on her leg and moving higher. Holy Jesus.

  ‘Ha ha,’ said Rachel, nervously, ‘er, thanks, that would be great, but I’m pretty tired after work and I think I’ll just be going …’

  She wanted to move Imke’s hand, but it seemed rude. She wasn’t appalled by the idea of a woman being sexually attracted to her, it just wasn’t something she wanted to get involved with at that particular moment, with the man she’d been sleeping with for several months.

  ‘I can relax you,’ said Imke, moving closer.

  ‘No, really,’ said Rachel firmly, patting Imke’s encroaching hand in a deliberately nanna, asexual way, and then moving away from her. ‘I appreciate the offer. You’re very lovely, Imke, and – well, Link already knows what I think about him – but I’m just not in the right place for this now.’

  ‘You sure?’ said Imke. ‘A hot summer night, three beautiful people … what could be better?’

  Having a normal relationship? thought Rachel. Someone to have a curry with on a Friday night, to talk about the news, watch a box set. She really didn’t need to act out a porno film after a hard day’s work and a major financial disappointment. She hadn’t even had a shower.

  ‘OK,’ said Imke, ‘maybe another time. I come over a lot, Link can tell you when.’

  ‘Great,’ said Rachel, ‘thanks.’

  No thanks.

  What was the etiquette for this situation? Imke really seemed to be genuinely relaxed about it all. The Dutch must be like the Scandinavians, she thought. Pragmatic about pleasure. Rachel now knew she wasn’t. The arrangement with Link had been so sweet. She’d loved the ease of it, but this had gone several steps too far into creepy free love.

  ‘I think I’ll be off, actually,’ said Rachel, standing up. ‘I just wanted to drop in to say hi. Bye, Link.’

  He stood up and kissed her, right on the mouth, pushing in his tongue in the way which normally fired her up like a Formula One car. This time she had to stop herself shoving him away. She pulled back and it was all she could do not to wipe her mouth on the back of her hand.