The Secrets Mothers Keep

by Jacquie Underdown

  On Thursday morning when she met with Julian again in his office, she didn’t feel any guilt over the desire that ebbed and flowed through her body. She embraced it as her right. As her revenge.

  Even as he closed the door and pushed her against it, lifting her skirt and lowering her knickers, she urged him to do it, panted with the need for it. He filled her up again and again as her back thudded softly against the door, and he whispered delicious words in her ears.

  She didn’t know what the words meant, but the melody was enough to make her want to moan. The release, the violent anger, the emotion, was more than she could take and it exploded in her core.

  She left there that day without finalising the transfer of her inheritance to a savings account, but all the more reason to go back.

  And that she did. Every week she would visit him in his office. They made love on his desk, his chair, against the wall, on the floor, with her foot perched on the window ledge. She did things with Julian she never did with Robert. He made her feel so cherished and beautiful in ways she had never known possible.

  Eventually, they created a plan for her money—a number of investments, a portion of money to be paid as an annuity and a portion to sit in a high-interest savings account. She signed away, comforted that another part of her life was taken care of.

  Julian was passion epitomised and it translated into everything he did—the way he spoke, kissed, fucked. Her eyes glazed over to everything else—to the pain, the old grief, the betrayal—and all she saw was Julian. Tall, tanned, a tongue like a poet.

  Soon they were meeting during the day at her house while June was at work and Lily-Rose was at school. They met in the park after dark where they made love on a blanket upon the grass and gazed up at the endless night sky, stars blinking like blessings. Every moment they could squeeze in together, they did.

  Life was blasting through her veins again. Each step was light. Of course anger still seethed in her soul for what Robert did to her, and beneath that, grief was twine threaded into the fabric of her body. Those old emotions wouldn’t leave, she knew that, but burning more brightly on the surface was hope. Hope for a future.

  She didn’t give much thought to the fact Julian was married. Even when she saw Maria out shopping or while running errands, she never burned with shame, maybe some envy, but never shame, for she felt some sense of ownership over Julian, as though she deserved this fleeting glance of happiness after so many months of blackness.

  For now, she was okay with sharing him. Their any-spare-moment, off-the-cuff schedule fitted in well with her life.

  Autumn moved through Campbell Town. The leaves on trees were tarnished with ochres and russets. She had been feeling off of late. Her nipples were so tender she couldn’t bear the stream of shower water to splash on them. She was lethargic and heading to bed early, forgoing a few clandestine meetings with Julian.

  But she didn’t know what any of that meant. Only when she missed her second period did she realise what was happening. She booked an appointment in Hobart for a blood test. Within three days she received the news she had waited her entire adult life to hear—she was pregnant.

  Mary sobbed with happiness all the way back from Hobart until she couldn’t breathe.

  June had come home from work for lunch. She took one look at Mary’s red and swollen eyes and rushed to comfort her. “Oh gosh, what’s happened?”

  Mary shook her head and burst into laughter.

  June eyed her warily.

  She wasn’t going to hide this news—not something so special, not something that had taken so many years of her life to make happen. She met June’s gaze and grinned so wide her cheeks hurt. “I’m pregnant, June. I’m pregnant.”

  June’s palm shielded her mouth as she gasped and her eyes shot wide open. “What? Who to?”

  “Come into the kitchen. We’ll have a cup of tea, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  With a steaming cuppa in their hands, they sat at the dining table. Mary was fidgety with delight, incapable of sitting in the one spot long before needing to cross her legs or shift around a little.

  She told June everything right from the beginning to this very moment.

  “The local bank manager. Julian. Isn’t he married?” June asked after she had heard every detail.

  Mary’s taut smile faltered. “Yes.”

  June pursed her lips. “What did he say about it?”

  Mary had been so caught up in the happiness and relief that she hadn’t given Julian’s potential reaction that much thought yet. “I have only found out myself.”

  “It doesn’t feel … right?” June said, unable to meet Mary’s eyes for long. “Is he going to leave his wife for you or are you going to raise this baby on your own? I know it’s not like when I was pregnant, but it still doesn’t look right for a single woman … especially in a town this size. There will be talk.”

  Mary shook her head despite the subtle clenching in her gut as reality slowly sank in. “It doesn’t matter. No matter what Julian says, I’ll find a way.”

  “What if he does leave his wife, and he wants to move in here with you. Where does that leave me?”

  Mary leant forward and pressed her hand to June’s leg. “You will always have a home here with me and Lily-Rose, no matter what, okay? I know what you’ve sacrificed already to stay close.”

  Relief was evident in June’s long sigh. “Okay. Good.”

  “It will be fine.” Already she was fantasising about Julian moving in, becoming a father to this new baby as well as Lily-Rose. Lily-Rose was such a lovely girl, anyone would think so too.

  A small smile was growing on June’s lips. “And I’ll help you any way I can.”

  “I might wait to tell Julian on the school holidays when Lily-Rose heads to Hobart to stay with Mum and Dad. That way if he wants to spend more time with me, I won’t have to negotiate my schedule around her.”

  “Sounds like a good plan. I’m excited to meet him. He is divine looking.”

  Mary squealed and jogged her feet on the spot. “I know. Can you imagine what our baby will look like?”

  “Beautiful, I’m sure.”

  “Or handsome,” she said with a laugh.

  “Congratulations, Mary, I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thank you. I’m not sure you realise how much and for how long I’ve wanted this. So many years of trying …” she trailed off as the scrawl on Robert’s letter burnt into her brain, igniting dormant feelings of betrayal and fury.

  But she would not let him intrude on this blessed moment, so she squeezed down those memories: a ball of glass sliding down her throat. “I’m so unbelievably happy, you don’t even know.”

  June leant over and cuddled her, her cheek pressed to Mary’s. “I can see it all over your face.”

  Chapter 37

  June

  June strolls into the library unannounced. Mary is sitting in her reading chair, absorbed by the pages of a book. Reading is the one activity Mary engages in where her youthful enthusiasm still shines through. June hesitates, not wanting to interrupt her, trying to keep the illusion of a long-ago time.

  Mary lifts her gaze from her book and all at once that youthfulness is replaced with stern weariness.

  “Mary. I need to talk to you.”

  Maybe Mary can see from the look on June’s face that this is a serious matter because she sits up and rolls her legs off the sofa until they are planted firmly on the rug.

  “What is it?”

  June hands her the iPad with the article open.

  Mary looks at it briefly and hands it back. “The idiot is at it again. He must be suddenly desperate for some quick cash.”

  When she woke this morning, a popular news website had posted an interview with Joshua where he revealed information that suggested Lily-Rose is his daughter.

  “I looked him up on Facebook. He still lives in Hobart. I found his address. I think I have to talk to him. Maybe that will get him to shut up,” June
says.

  Mary sighs with resignation. “That might be best.”

  “I’ll be back before tea. This needs to end before it gets out of hand.”

  “Lily-Rose hasn’t mentioned it again?” Mary asks as June makes it to the door.

  She spins to face her. “Not to me.”

  “Good, at least that’s one positive.”

  “Exactly.” She marches out of the room, a subtle tightening of anticipation in her stomach.

  By the time June arrives in Hobart, it is quarter past eleven. She doesn’t stop to freshen up, knowing that if she doesn’t drive directly to Joshua’s address, she will chicken out. It had been fifty-one years since June had seen him. Fifty-one years. It still confounds her that so much life is behind her.

  June follows the satellite map to the correct address and parks out the front of an older brick home with a dishevelled front yard. A rusted broken-down car sits out the front. Dark green paint peels from the house guttering like flaking skin.

  Her limbs are jittery and blood rushes through her system too fast, making her cheeks hot.

  Before she climbs out of the car, she takes some deep breaths. She looks again at the house and shivers. What if he’s violent? A drug addict? He was such a kind, tender young boy, surely he hasn’t grown into a monster. Though, time does do strange things to people.

  Another deep breath and she climbs out of the car. She straightens her blouse and smooths her hair, irrationally concerned with ensuring she looks as best as she can. After all, she was fifteen when she last saw him.

  With her head held high, she walks along the front path up to the ageing front door. She knocks three times.

  Only a moment and the door opens. Her head arches back to take in the man before her. He’s much taller than she recalls. His hair is grey. He’s thin and his face is lined by the years. But those eyes are like mirrors into the past. Blue and kind and so very familiar.

  “Joshua,” she says.

  “Yes,” he says impatiently, eyes seeing past her.

  She clears her throat, rolls her shoulders back. “I’m June. June Gardiner.”

  He stills, and his lips part on his next inhale. A softness reaches his eyes and he finally takes in her form standing before him.

  “June,” he whispers in a deep voice and with that one word all of their very short history those many years ago is spoken out loud. “Come in,” he says, sliding to the side so she may go past him.

  Family pictures line the wall near the entrance. Joshua and a woman at various stages of their life together. Off to the right is the living room. Bulky grey couches fill all the space. Lace curtains hang over the windows but remain drawn dousing the room in shadows. It’s tidy enough, but the sour smell of bodies living in a confined space without fresh air lingers.

  “You are lucky you caught me. I’ve just come back from the hospital for a shower. My wife …” he coughs. Emotional pain clouds his eyes and twists his features until he gathers some control and the lines smooth out again. “Terminal breast cancer. The end is … close.”

  June frowns. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “Yes, well, it’s, ah, it’s not been easy, let me tell you.” He gestures to a couch. “Please, take a seat. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “Yes, please. If you don’t mind. If you have time.”

  He manages a tight smile. “I’ll be glad for the distraction.”

  She takes a seat on the edge of the couch, back erect, while he heads into the kitchen. Within a few minutes, he appears again with two cups in his hands, tea bags still in each.

  He hands a blue mug to her. “Thank you.”

  He sits down opposite in the oversized single armchair that has the effect of making an obviously broken man appear smaller and more fragile. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t ask if you wanted sugar.”

  She shakes her head. “No sugar for me.”

  “And white?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” She has a sip of the scalding brew and it burns her lips. “It’s perfect.”

  He smiles politely.

  A moment of silence passes as he places his tea on the timber table beside him, which has an accumulation of mug rings on the surface.

  June doesn’t know how to approach the topic of Lily-Rose after hearing of his terminally ill wife. It makes her problems pale.

  “I take it you’re here about the articles,” he says, saving her from the trouble.

  She frowns. “Yes.”

  He blows out a long breath. “I’m sorry if I’ve caused any trouble, but I …” he frowns and the white of his eyes turn a pale shade of glossy pink. “I needed the money.” Such shame is entrenched in those four words. “It was the only way I could stay by Regina’s side while she goes through this.”

  Her heart heaves for his situation, but beneath all that, she has to stay firm to the fact that it is still wrong for him to exploit Lily-Rose like this, no matter the reason. And if the truth were to get out, her own family would be in tatters. “I can understand your reasons for doing it. But please, Joshua, this is incredibly hurtful to my sister and her daughter. It’s damaging to the close threads we all share. We live in a small town and talk like this can last the rest of our lives.”

  He scratches his head, remorse in his features and something else—hurt?

  “Can you please promise that you won’t do any more interviews?”

  He sighs. “I can. I’m sorry I caused trouble. I thought it would fly under the radar.”

  She looks at him with tight reproval. “Really? Lily-Rose is an actress; nothing floats under the radar. I think you knew very well what the consequences would be.”

  He leans forward, elbows on his knees. His blue eyes meet hers unfalteringly. “Why did you leave, June? I said I would take care of you. I would have. But you didn’t give me the chance. And instead, you hand our baby over to your sister.”

  She arches a brow. “That’s what you think? That I handed our baby over to Mary?”

  He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Isn’t that what happened?”

  “Joshua, I’m terribly sorry to say this, but our baby died.” He flinches. She pauses to let that sink in. “I miscarried at sixteen weeks. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought if you got on with your life, you wouldn’t have to deal with the pain I went through. I dealt with enough scorn from my parents as it was. You escaped all that, and that’s how I wanted it to be.”

  How easily the lies roll off her tongue. After so many years of lying about this subject, nothing phases her anymore. Her story is solid. Her desire to keep the secret hidden as strong as ever.

  He stares at her for a long moment. “Is that the truth?”

  She nods sadly. “I wouldn’t make up something like this. No one would. Mum and Dad thought it best if I didn’t come home to Hobart. So I lived with Mary. I went to secretarial college and got on with my life. Just like I wanted you to do.”

  “You should have told me,” he said.

  “Joshua, it was fifty years ago. I was fifteen. Scared. Ashamed. Do you know how much guilt I had to bear? For decades.”

  He nods with understanding. He would know to some extent what it was like for women back then.

  “I know you had honourable intentions,” she continues. “And you would have done everything to take care of us. I did … love you. But we never got the chance. And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe it isn’t. We’ll never know why life deals particular hands like ours.”

  He lowers his head and sighs. “No. We don’t.”

  “I’m sorry. I really am. But I didn’t know any better. I did the best I knew how.”

  “Of course,” he says. “I’m … sorry.”

  She frowns. “It’s fine, Joshua, but please, promise me, no more.”

  “I promise.” He lifts his mug to his lips and slurps the tea. He frowns. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that on your own.”

  “Thanks.” She hat
es to lie to him like this, but it’s the way it is—the continuing consequences of a decision made many decades ago. “You would have gone on to have children, right?” she asks, trying to lighten the mood.

  His posture bends like a slouching tombstone. “No. We never managed to. Another one of life’s hands, I guess. You?”

  “No,” she whispers.

  An awkward silence descends over the room. This is a bad time for him, and she is eating up the precious time he would otherwise be spending with his wife.

  She lifts to her feet, quickly drinks the remainder of her tea, ignoring that it is burning her throat. “I won’t keep you. You best be getting back to the hospital, not talking about stuff that happened half a century ago.”

  He rests his tea on the table and takes her mug from her. “I’m actually glad to have finally got some answers. I’ve thought about it a lot over the years.”

  “Can I ask one question, Joshua?”

  He nods.

  “Whatever made you think that Lily-Rose was our child?”

  He glances towards the door then back to her. “One afternoon I came around to your house and Grace answered the door. We went for a walk together, and I confessed everything, hoping she would then tell me where you were and what was happening with our baby.”

  June tried her hardest to keep her expression impartial despite her heart racing. So he told Grace everything? Grace knows the truth?

  “Her details about the situation lined up with my details, and we both kind of came to the conclusion that Lily-Rose was my daughter. She looks like me—the same shaped eyes. My chin.”

  June tisks and manages a tight-lipped smile, though her blood is gushing in her ears. Grace knows the truth? “Typical Grace with her silly ideas.”

  “Why wouldn’t she have mentioned the miscarriage?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

  She shrugs with an air of indifference. “We tried to protect her from it all, so she didn’t find out the truth until years later.”