The Secrets Mothers Keep

by Jacquie Underdown

  When the last member of her class leaves, June rolls her mat up and locks the hall on her way out. Her routine is to walk for fifteen minutes, yoga mat under her arm, some spare change in her backpack, to a coffee shop for a green tea.

  She’ll read a Catherine Cookson novel or sometimes a Jackie Collins. She heard of a popular Australian author, so she’s going to give her book about a health retreat a go.

  But, mostly, she’s going to recalibrate. With the arrival of Lily-Rose last week, and then Grace yesterday, all the family is here. Having a full house added an injection of drama that has long been missing from Viewtree House and from June’s life, tipping the atmosphere towards negative. She burnt some sage leaves to smudge the energy, but it only marginally helped.

  When she left the house this morning, she realised the negative energy wasn’t so much from the inundation of guests but from within herself. She hates feeling out of sorts. Hates it. But, mostly, she hates not knowing why.

  Despite her initial bliss at having the family home again, perhaps she’s worried that all of them living and working together into the future may not work out.

  Or perhaps it’s having the family so close again that strums on the strings of the past, unsettling the way of things. Over the last few decades, June has settled into a routine with only one big interruption—retirement.

  She has relied on the stability of her unchanging schedule to keep herself together while she approaches each new day. Permanent guests interrupt that structure and with so many contrasting personalities and needs, it’s difficult to create new routines.

  Damien looks up when she enters the coffee shop through the main entrance. He’s about her age, maybe a fraction younger. Perhaps sixty. He’s a bit old still for her tastes; she likes men who are at least a decade younger. The chance of a relationship developing is much less then.

  June is usually the fling in between, after a divorce usually, until someone more stable comes along. And she’s fine with that. At sixty-five, after so many years of independence, very few men she meets are good enough to convince her to throw away her lifestyle.

  But Damien is certainly attractive in a Richard Gere kind of way—short grey hair, light brown eyes, and a fit body. And he’s genuinely kind.

  There are a dozen people sitting inside the coffee shop at the cramped tables, and a few more outside enjoying the spring sun. June prefers to sit in the sun, so her skin can maintain a glow, which is hard to do in Tasmania.

  “Good morning,” Damien says as she stands at the counter. “How was your class today?”

  “Wonderful. I have a gorgeous group of clients.”

  “Having the usual today?”

  Damien stocks a free-trade organic brand of green tea specifically for June. He has done so since she mentioned it soon after she started teaching yoga classes. “Yes, please.”

  He sets about preparing her tea while she waits at the counter. “You’ve got some visitors at the manor, I see?”

  Campbell Town only has a population of seven hundred and eighty people or thereabouts, depending on who has recently passed on or been born. In a roundabout way, all the residents know each other’s business or, at least, the business people wish others to know. June’s proven that if you really want to keep something hidden, it’s possible.

  She thinks about Pia’s baby. Warmth spreads through her limbs and settles over her heart. What a blessing to be bringing a child into the home again. When they were raising Lily-Rose, it was the happiest period of June’s life.

  “Yes, all the family,” she says. “We’re going to be renovating the manor. We’ve hired Luca Marchetta to do the work.”

  “He’s a top bloke that one. Takes pride in his work.”

  She opens her mouth to ask, ‘maybe I can show you the manor once it’s all finished?’, but that is a silly suggestion, so she purses her lips and looks away.

  He places her pot of tea on a tray in front of her. “Here you go. Enjoy the sun.”

  She meets his brown eyes and smiles. “Thank you. I will.”

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, June gathers in the living room with the other women. With all the family finally here, they had a brief meeting last night to discuss the directions they wanted to go with the renovations.

  How many rooms and bathrooms was all they could decide on. In the end, it was obvious that not one of them has any idea about building, let alone renovations.

  The doorbell rings, interrupting their noisy chatter. Luca, the building contractor, is seven minutes early.

  Mary pushes against the armrests, readying to stand and answer the door, but June touches Pia’s arm. “Pia, you go answer that.”

  Pia narrows her eyes in question as she slowly gets to her feet, but when June’s smile offers no explanation, she strides out of the room.

  Mary and Lily-Rose both stare at June with similar suspicious gazes.

  Meanwhile, Grace continues to do what she has done since arriving—staring off into space with a vacant expression. Grace needs better nutrition and an aura cleanse. A bit of mindfulness practice wouldn’t go astray either to get her out of her own head or at least focused enough to concentrate on a conversation for more than a few minutes.

  Pia leads Luca into the room. He is dressed in knee-length cargo shorts and a pale blue polo shirt that accentuates his tanned skin—a coveted rarity in Tasmania.

  Pia smiles as she glances at June. Within that grin alone, she easily communicates, ‘Wow, he is unbelievably sexy’. To which June’s arched brow says, ‘I did warn you’.

  Standing next to Pia, Luca’s height is accentuated, his broad shoulders too. Pia makes quick introductions, gently presses her hand to Luca’s shoulder and gestures towards a free chair.

  June giggles to herself.

  Still guiding Luca to his seat, Pia casts a glance over her shoulder at June and offers a ‘don’t you dare embarrass me’ scowl. June giggles again until the glares that follow from Mary and Lily-Rose are enough for her to focus on behaving.

  When everyone is seated on various couches and armchairs, Mary says, “Luca, thank you for coming to meet with us. I know after we spoke earlier that I wasn’t interested in the suggestion you made about opening this place up to the public, but I’ve changed my mind.”

  Luca nods.

  Mary gestures at June and the others. “As you can see, my family is all here to help me with this project.”

  “We want to turn this place into a bed and breakfast,” Lily-Rose says. “Ten ensuited rooms, we believe is best.”

  “Okay. That’s achievable,” Luca says, but he’s looking at Lily-Rose with slightly crinkled eyes. His forehead furrows. “You’re not Lily-Rose Freedman, are you?”

  Lily-Rose sits up taller, hands on her knees. She grins and arches a shoulder closer to her ear with flirtatious faux modesty. “I am.”

  “I thought you were familiar. And you’re Pia’s mum, is that right?”

  She deflates, only June is able to see that. “I am.”

  June understands how hard it is for a woman to age and gradually disappear from sight. She can only imagine what it must be like for Lily-Rose, whose career and sense-of-self depends on being noticed.

  “We will need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement before you start,” Pia adds.

  Luca frowns as he rubs a hand down his stubbled cheek. “Really?”

  Pia laughs and playfully slaps his arm. “No. This project will be like any other. In fact, I’ve worked in a lot of hotels, so I might be the best person to speak with. Let me show you around and tell you about the ideas we came up with last night. The problem we have is knowing what’s possible and what isn’t, you know, structurally and stuff. And then there’s the heritage listing, which we are clueless about.”

  Luca nods. “Sure. Let’s go take a look.”

  “Then meet back here to discuss finances,” Mary says sternly.

  When Pia and Luca stride out of the room, absorbed very much in
each other, June looks at her sisters and laughs. “Didn’t need tarot cards to see that coming from a mile away.”

  Mary purses her lips. “Pia engaged in a romance with our building contractor is a terrible idea, June. We want this job to run smoothly from start to finish.”

  June waves her hand dismissively at her sister. “Pia is a responsible adult, capable of making her own decisions. Besides, good luck coming between that chemistry.”

  Lily-Rose fans her face. “Even I could see it.”

  “See what?” Grace asks with that unending blank expression.

  “Nothing,” June says. “Nothing at all.”

  Chapter 13

  Grace

  Grace finishes making her small bed in the dank bedroom she’s been allocated at Viewtree House and sits on the end of it. She peers out through tired and water-damaged window panes that face the back of the manor and allow views of unending paddocks of every colour green.

  The room smells like mould and dust, though every surface is dust-free and polished.

  Her house in Melbourne wasn’t anything flash, only a small three-bedroom brick place on the outskirts of the inner-city suburbs, but it was everything to her because she bought it with John.

  Together over the years, they raised the family there and had made it into a cheerful home. One that hasn’t felt like a home since he died.

  Walking away from that home sliced open the painful scars John’s death had already inflicted. Then to come here to Viewtree House—though magnificent, it is cold, damp and dark—it does nothing to ease her burdened heart.

  A mere ten days ago was the one-year anniversary of John’s death. She spent the week with her son and daughter-in-law in Adelaide. She had a lovely time with the grandkids. The dinner they had on the anniversary night was quiet, just a barbeque at home, but it was emotional, sentimental, and the best decision to have shared it with her son.

  But tainting everything is the email that still sits in John’s email account. It threatens that it’s about to rear its head like a hidden snake and sink its teeth into her. And then, since finding the invoice from a private investigator, Grace has never been more frozen with fear. To watch John pass away was hard enough, but somehow, the possibility of discovering that he may not be the person she had always believed him to be, feels even more difficult to confront.

  Grace peers around the room, at the polished antique dresser and the thick timber trim around the architraves and kickboards. She glances up at the light-fitting illuminating the room in a dull glow.

  This house has potential, but it’s also an enormous risk. She hadn’t realised before arriving here how bad shape this place is in and how much work is required to restore it, at least so it’s adequate for guests.

  Work means money. Yes, her sisters and niece are contributing fairly too, but if this doesn’t work, Grace loses everything. The money from the sale of her Melbourne house transfers in a couple of weeks. She received life insurance soon after John’s death, but that’s all she has, and she is throwing a huge chunk of it into this project.

  What if there is a falling out between her and the family? It happens. Plenty of families have tiffs that turn into huge rifts.

  What if they don’t get any business once the renovations are finished, and they can’t afford to keep the doors open?

  What if she replies to this ‘daughter’ and everything Grace thought she knew about herself and her husband is turned on its head?

  She pushes to her feet, breathless at the thought, and grabs her mobile off the dresser. A few clicks with her finger and she has the email open again.

  As she reads the message, anger rumbles through her so intensely her face burns with heat. Before she can change her mind, she clicks on the reply arrow and types:

  Who are you? How do you know my husband?

  Her heart rampages as her finger hovers over the send button.

  Two quick knocks on the door.

  Grace throws the mobile onto the bed. Her head jerks up as the door opens.

  When Mary strides in, Grace’s eyes are wide, her muscles twitchy.

  “What are you doing?” Mary asks. She is wearing a pair of beige slacks and a pale blue button-up blouse. Pearls adorn her neck. Her white hair is styled in a French roll on her head. Mary once had gorgeous long red hair, as bright as the lipstick that now paints her lips. Even with that colour now faded, she is no paler shade of the woman she was and is always demure.

  Grace swallows hard but shakes her head. “Nothing.” Her voice is breathless.

  But Mary doesn’t miss a beat, whether out of politeness or not, she’s not sure. “I need some help in the rose garden.”

  Grace flicks her silver hair from her face. “Of course. Give me a minute to change.”

  Mary waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry. We won’t be getting dirty. I’ve gloves and gardening stools.”

  Without meaning to, Grace eyes the mobile on the bed.

  “Leave that here too. You won’t be needing it.”

  Grace nods.

  They head downstairs together to the mudroom where Mary offers Grace a spare wide-brimmed hat and some gardening gloves. Grace dresses into them and follows Mary outside through the front door.

  The sky overhead is unblemished blue, not a cloud in sight. The sun has a bite, but the air at this time of the morning still possesses a slight chill.

  A gravel path is before them, slicing a trail through a row of celery-top pines that shield the house from the road. To the left sits a rose garden—myriad roses in blood reds, lipstick pinks, sunset oranges, and baby yellows. Mary’s pride and joy for many years.

  Quietly, Grace has presumed that the rose garden is where Mary goes when her strength does indeed slip and she needs time alone to regather her composure. That’s why Mary defends its existence so determinately.

  This rose garden, in turn, offers Grace comfort, for, with its expansiveness and beauty, it represents the softer side of Mary—the side Grace relates to most.

  To be honest, Grace is surprised that Mary is inviting her into this private sanctuary let alone trusting her enough to assist with the gardening.

  “We’re just pulling weeds this morning,” Mary says over her shoulder.

  Grace nearly cracks a smile for even entertaining that thought now. Mary offers this space to no one. “What will you do when we have guests taking over the place?”

  Mary stops but doesn’t look back at her. “I’m not sure yet. Perhaps Luca can build a lockable fence around the gardens.” She points to a small timber storage box set off to the side. “There are stools in there. You can look for weeds on this side of the garden, I’ll start on the other side.”

  Grace retrieves the stools, handing one to Mary and taking her own to the other side of the garden. It’s a sizeable plot, about as big as a double garage. The sweet powdery aroma that fills the air reminds Grace of warm spring evenings when she was younger.

  “Pull the small grass shoots coming through and any weeds you find,” Mary says. “Set them off to the side in a pile, so we may bag them later.”

  Grace nods as she takes a seat. The sun permeates her thin blouse with healthful heat. Perhaps she does need some sunlight to warm her face. She glances up at the sky. A truly exquisite day. She has always loved this about Mary’s home—the serenity, the clean air, the lack of city noises.

  When younger, though she was nineteen at the time and attending teacher’s college in Hobart close to her parent’s home, she was so incredibly jealous that June lived here with Mary. She remembers coming to visit from time to time and aching with the hope that Mary would ask her to stay with her too.

  “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you one-on-one since you arrived,” Mary says, not lifting her gaze from the task at hand.

  “It’s been rather hectic with us all under the one roof.”

  “I’ve been wanting to ask how you are.”

  Grace stops, her hands still gripping the threads of
a thick shoot of grass. She closes her eyes, hating this question. With this one question, every miserable emotion over the last year floods her body. “I’m still struggling.”

  “I see that,” Mary says. No judgement. No meeting of eyes. “But from here on out, you need to put your best foot forward.”

  Grace rips the grass out, roots and all, and throws it to the side. “It’s only been a year. Surely you can understand it isn’t that easy.”

  “I know,” she says, and then again, “I know,” in such a tone that communicates that she herself has been through exactly the same situation. “Is something else, by chance, bothering you?”

  Grace’s breath hitches. Does Mary know about the email? No. Of course not. No one knows. “No,” she says as nonchalantly as possible. “Nothing else is bothering me.”

  Mary nods, gaze still fixed on her hands as they slide around weeds and pull sharply, yanking them from the lush soil. “That’s good then. Best we look forward and make the most of the opportunity we have here.”

  Look forward? How can she look forward when she’s afraid to turn away from her past? Even if that past is hidden within a cavernous black hole, at least she is still in there with John.

  A chaotic storm brews inside her and settles around her heart.

  Grace doesn’t answer, afraid she’ll cry or maybe even scream.

  But she is only feeling these emotions because she knows Mary is right in a way. It’s been a year. She has to start, no matter how difficult, piecing her life back together and finding her own way forward.

  Another thread on the rope snaps.

  Chapter 14

  Lily-Rose

  Lily-Rose grips Pia’s hand and leads her out the front door. “Come-on, Pia, my darling. I need some exercise. And good coffee.”

  Pia smiles. “Where are we going?”

  “Down to the coffee shop Aunt June always talks about.”

  Lily-Rose waves to Mum and Aunt Grace who are in the rose garden, big wicker hats on their heads, playing their matronly roles perfectly. Lily-Rose will never succumb to the stereotypes of age, and she certainly won’t be getting her hands dirty in a rose garden no matter how bored she is.