One Secret Summer

by Lesley Lokko

  Dom was quiet for a moment. He lifted his glass and drained it in a single gulp. Julia watched him, listening for the reproach that didn’t come. ‘If you keep it, Julia, you’d better make sure Aaron never finds out. That’s the sort of secret that can tear a family apart. Are you prepared for that? To keep it a secret for the rest of your life?’

  Julia shook her head numbly. She couldn’t answer, let alone speak.

  88

  ‘Will you hold my calls, please, Liz?’ Julia shrugged on her coat and picked up an umbrella. ‘I should be back within an hour.’

  ‘Sure.’ Liz smiled briefly at her. ‘I’ll hold the fort.’

  She opened the heavy wooden door that led to the quadrangle at the Inns and opened her brolly. It was raining again. It was a week since she’d been to Hayden and she couldn’t put it off any longer. She crossed the quadrangle and went through the archway, heading for Gray’s Inn Road. The church tower ahead of her chimed 4.30 p.m. She quickened her pace. She’d asked Josh to meet her at four thirty on the dot. Traffic surged slowly up and down the main road as usual. She threaded her way through and reached the café, five minutes ahead of time. She pushed open the door and looked around. He was already there, sitting with his back to the window. She folded her umbrella and stowed it away before crossing the floor.

  ‘Josh.’ She looked down at him warily. He looked up at her, his expression carefully unreadable. His skin hadn’t yet lost the sunny glow of Mougins. In the dreary, wet London light he looked impossibly alive. There was a sudden, dreadful surge of elation inside her that both shocked and surprised her. Her heart was racing. ‘Look, thanks for coming to meet me,’ she said quickly, sitting down opposite him. ‘I know you’re busy, so I’ll be quick.’ She’d heard from Diana that he would be off soon, but she had no idea where. She had to talk to him; she’d no idea how long he’d be gone for. ‘D’you want something to drink?’ she asked hesitantly. He shook his head and pulled out a packet of cigarettes instead. ‘Diana said you’ll be leaving again soon,’ Julia began hesitantly. Now that she was seated opposite him, she found it almost impossible to begin.

  ‘Yep.’ He lit a cigarette but didn’t elaborate further.

  Julia took a deep breath. The chatter in the café receded into the distance. She opened her mouth to begin. ‘Look, there’s no other way to say this. I’m pregnant, Josh. I’m nearly seven weeks pregnant.’ She folded her hands in her lap to stop them shaking and tried to look anywhere but at him.

  ‘When did you find out?’ he asked after a moment, stubbing out his cigarette.

  ‘A couple of weeks ago.’ She swallowed. ‘I did the test at home.’

  ‘How d’you know it’s mine?’

  She felt a sharp stab of pain. She waited for a second before answering. ‘I … haven’t been with Aaron since … since Mougins. We … we’ve been trying for a while. Look, I didn’t want to have to tell you all this … you don’t need to know. And it’s not fair on Aaron. But I don’t know what to do, and—’

  ‘You can’t keep it.’ Josh’s tone was flat.

  Julia stared at him. ‘That’s up to me,’ she said sharply, stung by the hostility in his voice.

  ‘You can’t keep it,’ he repeated.

  ‘My choice, not yours,’ she repeated.

  He picked up the packet of cigarettes that lay on the table and got to his feet. ‘You can’t keep it, Julia, you can’t. It’ll … it’ll destroy everything. Everyone. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.’ He ran a hand through his hair. There was a strange, hunted look on his face. ‘I … I’ve got to go.’

  She was too surprised to speak. She watched him pull on his leather jacket and walk quickly to the door. It banged shut behind him and she was suddenly alone.

  Josh stumbled out of the café and into the fine drizzle of rain. There was a sharp, gusting wind that turned umbrellas inside out and blew the skirts of women up and around their legs. He didn’t see any of that. He turned the collar of his jacket up against his ears and made his way down Gray’s Inn Road, though he had no clear idea of where he was headed. I’m pregnant. Julia’s words reverberated in his skull. I’m pregnant.

  There was a bus coming towards him. He had no idea where it was going; he climbed on board. He took a seat at the rear, crammed in between two generously proportioned Turkish women and their grocery bags who talked over his head as if he simply weren’t there. He was grateful for their disregard – he couldn’t think, let alone think straight. He tried to reconstruct the day’s events in his head. He’d been at home, lying on the couch watching afternoon television, when the phone rang. It was Julia. ‘Niela’s at work,’ he said flicking through the channels, wondering what the hell she wanted. He had another week of enforced holiday before his next assignment. He couldn’t wait to be gone.

  ‘No, I’m not phoning for Niela. I … I really need to talk to you.’

  ‘Talk to me? What for?’ He was both surprised and annoyed. He’d tried to put what had happened in Mougins out of his head.

  ‘Can we just meet? I’d rather not say it over the phone.’

  A feeling of panic had swept over him, settling on his skin. ‘When?’

  ‘Could you meet me this afternoon? Around four thirty or so?’

  ‘Fine. Where.’ She named a café along Gray’s Inn Road. He put down the phone, uncomfortably aware of everything he’d tried to suppress over the past couple of months rising slowly to the surface.

  Now here he was, sitting on a bus heading God alone knew where, squashed between the two women, who talked incessantly across him in a language that washed over him like rain. How had it happened? He shook his head in irritation. Stupid question. He knew exactly how. Why it had happened was another question altogether. He now understood the expression ‘temporary insanity’ – it was as if a momentary madness had come over him that day. He shook his head again, this time more forcefully. Who was he kidding? What was it Rania had said to him? The memory of those last few months with her, when they’d both done all they could to hurt each other, burned over him, reaching down into every part of him. What you have done once you will do again. She was right; he’d cheated on her, just as she’d cheated on him. It was the way he’d always done things, and at the time it seemed the only thing to do. Tit for tat, an eye for an eye, burning for burning. He knew his sense of justice was warped, and he knew why – not that it helped. When he found out about Rania, it seemed to be the only thing to do. Do unto her … and that was exactly what he’d done. Not once, not twice, but over and over again until she couldn’t stand it any longer and neither could he. He’d packed his bags then, leaving the flat they’d shared in Amman, and that was the last home he’d had – until now, until Niela. And now he’d done it again. Only this time, the person he’d done it with wasn’t some insignificant young NGO worker whom he could fuck once and leave behind. This time, it was different. Julia was pregnant. The child was his. He believed her, in spite of himself. There was something clear and straightforward about her expression; she’d looked at him without a trace of coquetry or guile. No, whatever else Aaron’s wife was, she wasn’t a liar – that much was obvious, even to him. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He ran a hand through his hair in agitation. Christ. What a mess. History endlessly repeating itself. Chickens coming home to roost. Apples and trees. The clichés came at him, thick and fast.

  89

  NIELA

  London, August 2000

  Niela stared down at her hands. Anna was looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. ‘I … I don’t know,’ she said finally. ‘I tried to talk to Josh about it. That same morning when I went to the archives. But he got so angry … he just stormed off.’ She stopped, as if she was aware she’d already said too much. She hesitated, clearly torn. ‘The thing is …’ She stopped again. It didn’t seem right to her to be telling Anna what Josh had told her about Diana and Rufus, but she had to tell someone. She took a deep breath. ‘Diana had an affair,’ she said
slowly. ‘Only I don’t think it’s actually over. I think it’s still going on. It’s Harvey’s brother. Rufus. Josh’s uncle.’ She stopped again.

  Anna’s eyes were wide, round saucers. ‘Go on,’ she said, her voice almost a whisper.

  ‘There’s something else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s a gardener. His names is … was … Mohammed. He disappeared about thirty years ago. There was this case … I found it in the archives.’ She began to tell Anna the story.

  Anna was silent for a long time after she’d finished. Niela watched her, not saying anything. It was such a relief to spell it out, to put into words what she’d been too afraid to even think. ‘What do you think?’ she asked Anna finally, when she couldn’t stand the silence any longer. ‘D’you think I’m mad?’

  Anna lifted her coffee cup and took a sip. She shook her head. ‘No, you’re not mad. But there are too many secrets in that family. Too many secrets. You can’t go on like this. You’ve got to tell Josh what you just told me. You’ve got to help him find out who he really is.’

  Niela nodded slowly. Anna was right. It was time to end the cycle of silence. Josh was leaving in a few days’ time. She had to do it now.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said to Anna, getting up and putting on her coat. ‘Thanks for listening.’

  ‘Good luck,’ Anna said, hugging her. ‘Call me if you need to. I’m here. Remember that.’

  Niela smiled wanly. ‘How can I ever forget? You’ve always been there for me, Anna. Always.’ She picked up her umbrella and left Anna’s flat. She was on the verge of heading for the Tube when she changed her mind and hopped on the bus coming towards her instead. It was a Friday. She’d taken a couple of days off work to spend with Josh. It was nearly five and she didn’t relish the thought of the Friday rush-hour chaos on the Underground.

  She saw him almost as soon as the bus rounded the corner. He came out of the café, walking fast, perhaps a hundred yards or so in front of the bus. She stared down at him, wondering if she was mistaken. He hadn’t said anything about coming into the West End that afternoon. He seemed to be in a hurry. The bus drew level with the café. She wondered whether to get off at the next stop – she half-stood up, looked down at the street and then she saw her. Julia came out of the very same café Josh had left. Niela turned her head and looked backwards in disbelief. Julia was hurrying down the street in the opposite direction, clutching her coat. Niela’s heart began to beat faster. Something wasn’t right. The bus gave a sudden lurch, bumping her back down into her seat. There was a queer feeling in the pit of her stomach. She clutched her umbrella tightly, aware of a slow, horrid build-up of dread.

  It was almost 8 p.m. by the time Josh returned. Niela was in the kitchen, half-heartedly preparing dinner. Ever since she’d seen them, the questions had gone round and round in her head. Why was Josh meeting Julia? What business could the two of them possibly have together? Was she overreacting? She sliced onions, dropped a few tomatoes in a pan of boiling water, put a frying pan on the hob … her movements were automatic; she wasn’t even sure what she was cooking. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps they’d met to talk about Aaron. Julia had mentioned they were having problems, though she’d been careful not to say anything else. Perhaps that was it – a bit of brotherly advice, nothing more. She looked at the gently browning onions and saw that her vision was blurred. She knew. She knew it was more than that.

  By the time she finally heard his key in the lock, she couldn’t think straight. The fear that blew up inside her was stark and pure and it broke over her like sweat. She was terrified, by the thought both of what he might say and what he wouldn’t.

  ‘Hi.’ He stood in the kitchen doorway. He looked tense, as if he might speak.

  ‘Hi.’ She waited, holding her breath.

  ‘Did you have a good day?’ he asked, his voice sounding strained. He lifted his arms above his head, resting them on the architrave around the door. Niela stared at him.

  ‘I … I went round to a friend’s,’ she said slowly. ‘I had the day off, remember?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, right. I forgot.’ He brought his arms down and walked into the tiny space. He reached out suddenly; his hand brushed her face. She flinched. He removed an offending curl, tucking it tenderly behind her ear. The gesture disarmed her, and in her confusion, tears came to her eyes. She turned away before he could see and busied herself with a pot. Neither of them was able to speak.

  He lay awake long after she’d gone to sleep, measuring the passing of time by the rhythm of her breathing. He was due to fly back out to Tanzania in a few days. It was a three-month assignment – by the time he returned, everything would have changed. Julia would be nearly five months pregnant by then. Impossible to conceal. He rolled over on to his side, facing the wall. He lay there in the dark, facing the long, endless tunnel of the night that he had no idea how to get through. It wasn’t just that he’d done the unthinkable and cheated on Niela – there was more to it, and worse. He, more than anyone, knew the sort of damage a secret could wreak. Secrets were like poison, slipping in unseen, spreading themselves silently until everything was tainted and nothing was true or pure. That was what he’d been attracted to in Niela – a sense of pureness. She’d seemed to him to be so open and clear … he’d been drawn to her, to her lightness, her purity, her strength. And now he’d gone and spread his own kind of darkness all over her and the one thing he seemed to have done right. He closed his eyes, trying at the same time to close himself against the pain.

  90

  DIANA

  London, August 2000

  Dr Geoffrey Laing stopped talking. His voice fell away into the deepening silence. Outside, barely visible through the grey-blue of the Venetian blinds that hung at every window, a slow, steady rain was falling. It was almost the end of August. It felt as though it had been raining for months. Diana took a deep breath and forced herself to concentrate.

  ‘How long?’ she asked, her voice sounding unnaturally loud in her ears. She brought a finger to her mouth, absently tracing the fine line of her lips. Although she hadn’t smoked in forty years, she suddenly longed for a cigarette. She needed something to do with her hands. The clock on the wall chimed suddenly. It was 11 a.m. The whole morning felt unreal. She’d known from the moment her secretary took the call, asking her to come in, that the news wouldn’t be good. In some hard-to-define way, she’d been expecting it for longer than she could remember.

  ‘It’s very difficult to say, Diana.’ Geoffrey was a colleague of Harvey’s and a friend. The results for which she’d come into his clinic that morning were as difficult for him to divulge as they were for her to hear. There was barely muted distress in his voice. ‘There’s new, experimental treatment available, which we could quite easily put you on. We don’t yet have all the results of the clinical trials, but early indications are that it’s looking—’

  ‘How long?’ Diana interrupted him, repeating the question. She raised her head to look him squarely in the face.

  He lifted his shoulders and let them drop. ‘Six months? A year. It’s almost impossible to say.’

  ‘And if I don’t agree? To this new treatment?’

  He shook his head slowly. ‘Then we’re looking at something greatly reduced.’

  ‘What? Weeks? Months?’

  ‘A few months. Not much more. It’s unusually aggressive, Diana … I haven’t seen a case like this in a while.’

  ‘Does Harvey know?’

  He looked shocked. ‘Goodness, no. I wouldn’t … no, this is between you and me. It’s up to you when and what you tell him. I’m available to you both, of course, you know that.’

  ‘Thank you, Geoffrey.’ Diana was conscious of the formal note that had crept into her tone. She’d known Geoffrey Laing for years. He and Harvey had been at medical school together. When she’d first discovered the small, hard lump under her left arm, just at the point where her breast separated from the muscle, a couple of weeks after coming back from
Mougins, there’d been no question of going to anyone else. She’d told no one, not even Harvey. Judith, her secretary, made the appointment. She’d gone along to Geoffrey’s consulting rooms just off Harley Street. He’d come out into the waiting room as soon as he’d seen her name. He’d held up a hand and quietly flagged her in. No need for her to wait. Under a few raised brows, she’d passed through the doorway and into the quiet sanctuary of his office. He’d kissed her on both cheeks – she caught the oddly familiar scent of his aftershave as he showed her to a seat. She’d last smelled it in the context of a dinner party, or at one official function or another of the sort she and Harvey had once attended when their careers were younger and there’d been more time. It had been a while since she’d been to any of the annual Medical Society dinners or the various fund-raising events. Cancer research, usually. The irony of it didn’t escape her.

  Now, almost ten days later, with the results of the tests he’d done spread in front of him, the moment of truth had finally arrived. A moment of truth. The oddly biblical tone of the phrase struck her anew. She, more than anyone, knew just how many of those moments were now to be had. As she sat there in the comfortable chair opposite Geoffrey’s desk, the realisation that this was it – this was the definitive moment of her life, forget everything that had gone on before – was slowly breaking over her in waves.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said at last, getting to her feet. She picked up her bag and turned to face him. ‘I’d like to have some time to think this over, Geoffrey. I’ll be in touch again very soon. I … I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to Harvey. Not just yet.’