This Secret We're Keeping

by Rebecca Done

  He beamed as if she’d just said yes and leaned forward to top up her glass. ‘Oh, we can work on that, baby.’ He set the bottle back into the chiller and grinned, bizarrely convinced that he was making headway. ‘Hungry yet?’

  It seemed mean-spirited to say no, but the thought of oysters and lobster was making her feel slightly queasy. Maybe because she’d been drinking on an empty stomach; maybe because it seemed a bit like the culinary equivalent to serving her up some scratchy red lingerie and expecting her to thank him for it.

  ‘The oysters are ready and I’ve got a chef on standby to cook up the lobster linguine.’

  She stared at him. ‘You’re not serious. Here?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be serious? Thought you might enjoy being catered for, for a change.’

  This was embarrassing. ‘Oh,’ she stuttered. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Who – the chef?’

  ‘Yes. Is he local? Do I know him?’ Please say no. Please say no.

  ‘No, he’s from London. Friend of an acquaintance. Paying him a small fucking fortune.’

  Relief that he wasn’t a local competitor was swiftly replaced by a creeping sense of mortification. ‘Well, where is he?’

  ‘I told you, he’s on standby. He’s downstairs in the games room playing Grand Theft Auto.’

  ‘Wow.’ She’d been asked to do a few strange things during her private catering career – dress up as a Tudor queen, speak only in French using pre-determined phrases, cook fillet steak as a one-off for a pair of committed vegetarians who hadn’t touched meat in twelve years – but she’d never before been locked away in someone’s third living room with a video game, waiting to be summoned.

  ‘I know.’ Zak picked up his phone. ‘Shall I call him, tell him to come up?’

  ‘Let’s have the oysters first,’ she suggested, hoping to delay the inevitable. She was quickly starting to realize that she should never have come, that by even agreeing to dinner with Zak tonight, she had given him the wrong impression.

  ‘Okay. Wait there.’ Zak put down his glass and disappeared.

  Jess sat up, setting her feet back down on the floor and taking a long slug of champagne as she attempted to allow Christian Scott to drown out the noise in her mind.

  ‘So, I’ve been meaning to tell you,’ Zak said then, returning with a white china platter heaped with ice, lemons and oysters in shells. He moved the candelabra aside to make room for it. There was already a finger bowl ready and waiting, the red head of an open rose floating prettily on top of the water. He set the platter on the table and then sat back down. ‘I finally remembered how I know your friend Will Greene.’

  Jess’s heart did a small somersault as Zak leaned forward and plucked an oyster from the ice. A couple of cubes rolled off as he did so, skidding from the edge of the table and shattering messily on the decking. He ignored them, lifted the shell to his lips and sucked, before flinging it down with a clatter on his plate.

  ‘Well, go on,’ he said, turning his attention to her. ‘Dig in.’

  Jess hesitated. The name Steve Robbins was making panicked laps of her mind like a startled bird. Could Zak have come across him? Had Mr Robbins somehow managed to track Matthew down?

  ‘Go on,’ Zak urged her, more sharply this time. The expression on his face had darkened slightly.

  Reluctantly, she lifted one of the shells from the platter and sucked the oyster from it, allowing it to slip down her gullet without so much as tasting it, though she did feel its icy sliminess. She mashed her lips together before chasing it down with champagne.

  ‘Good girl,’ Zak murmured, pressing her leg with his foot beneath the table. ‘Now, what were we saying? Oh yes, Mr Greene. Our man of mystery with the quick fists.’

  Jess moved her leg away. Zak leaned back in his chair and smiled, like it pleased him to make her uncomfortable. ‘God, baby, you look all flushed and nervous. Stop fidgeting.’

  The dusk had almost enveloped them, the water now strangely still. She looked away from him, out across the sea, and attempted to ignore the heat of his stare. ‘Don’t call me that, Zak,’ she whispered.

  He gave a short, dismissive laugh, swallowed another oyster and flung the shell down on to his plate. ‘So, this Will character. You know, it was bugging me, Jess. I knew him, but I couldn’t say where from. Something about his face was just so … familiar.’

  Jess braced herself.

  ‘And then the other day, I had this patient …’ Zak took a swig of champagne and smacked his lips together. ‘He’d tried to kill himself, actually. Chased down a few packets of paracetamol with five years’ worth of vodka in the space of five minutes.’

  Jess didn’t interrupt him to ask if the poor guy had made it. She half suspected the story would turn out to be figurative anyway.

  ‘Apparently, his wife had caught him with a load of questionable images on his laptop.’

  Jess felt her entire body tighten, like he’d trapped her in a vice and was slowly inching it shut.

  ‘Most of the pictures were of children,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘She’d called the police.’

  ‘What’s your point, Zak?’ Jess asked, her voice small. She felt suddenly cold, like his story had brought with it an easterly wind.

  ‘Well, it jogged a memory.’ He picked up his napkin and dabbed at his mouth. ‘Involving that idiot Will Greene. Isn’t that fascinating?’

  She said nothing.

  ‘Three years ago, when I was working at a different hospital, I treated an attempted suicide. Very similar. Pills. Vodka. Last-minute change of heart. Waste of everyone’s time.’ He sipped his champagne and regarded her steadily. ‘Anyway, I had a colleague check the records. Monday, ninth of June, 2008. Guess what his name was?’

  Jess felt the colour slowly sink from her face. It would have been Will’s fortieth birthday.

  Zak’s stare gradually hardened. ‘His name was Will Greene.’

  She swallowed and looked down into her glass. It briefly occurred to her that she had never once shared champagne with Zak when it felt like a celebration of anything – and tonight was beginning to feel increasingly like a last supper. ‘You’re not supposed to do that, Zak,’ she managed to say eventually, though even as she spoke, she wasn’t sure her voice was loud enough to be heard.

  ‘He’d stuck in my mind, you see, because the nurses said that while he was coming round he kept saying this girl’s name, over and over. Wouldn’t shut up about her apparently. Anyway, eventually one of them asked who this bloody girl was that he kept gabbling about. Do you want to know what he said?’

  Jess shook her head. She felt as if she might self-combust at any moment.

  ‘He said it was a girl he’d sexually assaulted, a child, and he kept saying he couldn’t live with it any more.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘He’s done time, Jess. Your friend’s a convicted sex offender.’

  For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

  ‘The fucking idiot couldn’t remember he’d said anything when he woke up the next morning. But everyone else did.’ He leaned forward, his eyes brimming with malice. ‘So there you go. This guy I keep seeing you with is a convicted paedophile.’ He drove his index finger on to the table for emphasis, just in case his words weren’t enough. ‘Admitted it himself. How do you feel about that?’

  Finally, she permitted herself to exhale.

  ‘Well?’ He was waiting for her answer.

  She mumbled something incoherent.

  ‘He was fucking pathetic, Jess, honestly. Miserable cunt – wobbling and crying and spewing up all over himself. He was trying to keep the whole thing a secret from his girlfriend too, that was the best bit. I mean – Hello? You’re a PAEDOPHILE.’

  Zak had started to go a bit red in the face, like he did when he was talking about religious fanatics or people he went to school with who now had more money than he did.

  ‘Was she there?’ Jess whispered. ‘His girlfriend?’

  ‘Was she fuck. They’d had a s
teaming row and she’d fucked off with the kid, he reckoned. Refused to let us call her. Refused to let us call anyone. Pathetic.’ He shook his head, visibly attempting to soothe his own hatred with another swig of champagne. And then he set down his glass and fixed her with a steely gaze. ‘You know, I had this crazy little theory about you and him.’

  Jess went very still.

  ‘I had this theory that you’d shagged each other. Had a one-night stand or a little fling.’

  Breathe. Breathe.

  He paused. ‘I mean, if you’d done that … ugh. You’d feel dirty now, wouldn’t you? That would just be … well, it would be pretty disgusting, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Okay, Zak,’ she said, finally biting.

  He held up his hands, all innocence. ‘What? Just looking out for you, cariño.’

  ‘Can we drop it now?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘You know how much I hate a liar, Jess. Octavia was a liar. I would hate to think you’ve been lying to me too.’

  She held the urge to speak in her mouth.

  ‘Thank me if you like,’ he said then, throwing her a sarcastic little nod. ‘For saving you from someone like that. It’s decent of me, I know.’

  ‘Drop it now, Zak. I’m serious.’

  There was a pause. Finally, he was finished toying with her. ‘All right, Jess,’ he said. ‘I’ll drop it, if you promise never to see him again.’ He swigged from his glass. ‘And while we’re at it, I’ll make you a little promise of my own. If he comes anywhere near you again, I’ll see to it that his legs get snapped in half and everybody finds out about his grubby little secret. So, do we have a deal?’

  She shut her eyes briefly, and the tears began to fall.

  ‘Oh, and Jess? I really do think you should consider moving to London with me.’

  She swallowed, hardly able to form the words, unable to look at him as she spoke. ‘Or what?’

  He leaned forward and plucked another oyster from the pile of ice. It was dribbling now, melting along with Jess’s brief illusion – if she’d ever really had it – that she might have been able to finish things with Zak tonight.

  Leaning back in his chair and tipping the oyster down his throat, Zak swallowed, then shone her a winning smile. ‘You must remind me to tell you what happened to my brother just before he left for San Francisco.’ He fired a wink at her. ‘Better not while we’re eating though. Come on, baby. Have some more.’

  As midnight approached he tried to kiss her, and for a couple of moments she let him before pulling away. The feeling of his lips on hers made her stomach clench, the scent of gutted shellfish filling her nostrils. Zak’s breath smelt rankly of parsley and garlic, the remnants of their lobster dish.

  He waited for her explanation, eyebrows raised, carefully cultivated threats at his fingertips. She had to tread carefully, she knew that.

  ‘I just need some time to think,’ she said, swallowing. ‘About London. I think I want to do it … I just … I need to be sure. Can you give me a few days?’

  Though he had one arm locked round her, even Zak wasn’t quite animal enough to try and force her into bed. She had to trust him on that front at least.

  He was chewing it over. There was not a lot else he could do at this stage. ‘Fine,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m working tomorrow anyway. But I’ll be back on Friday. You can tell me what you’ve decided then.’ He fixed her with his gaze. ‘Though I’m pretty sure I know what your answer will be. I’ll have the champagne ready and waiting.’

  Twenty minutes later, she was climbing into a taxi, shutting her eyes against the thought of Zak standing there outside the house, watching her depart as the car swept away down the length of the drive.

  I have to warn him. I have to warn Will.

  24

  They were sitting together in the car outside the locked gates to Hadley Hall. Will had turned silently off the road and down the long poplar-lined driveway, coming to a gentle halt just in front of the school crest.

  Ad astra per aspera.

  To the stars through difficulty.

  ‘Not quite … sure why we’re here,’ he said, as if the car had located the school and parked neatly up of its own accord.

  ‘I think your subconscious took over.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He rubbed his chin with one hand, looked across at her and smiled. The bruise on his face had more or less vanished now, save for some traces of yellow along the edge of his jawline. ‘Although I have to admit I was hoping I could rely on you to stop me doing something stupid. Like – oh, I don’t know – driving back to the scene of the crime with you in the passenger seat.’

  She laughed. ‘Sorry. Directions aren’t really my strong point.’

  Neither, it had transpired, was finding the courage to somehow tell Will what had happened at the beach house before Zak returned at the end of the week, tapping his watch and demanding a decision.

  Jess knew that for Will, panic wasn’t so much an inclination as something that was hard-wired into his muscle fibre. If she told him now about Zak, she felt sure he would bolt back to London with his girlfriend and daughter as fast as a Mafia defector fleeing hand-delivered body parts. And she didn’t think she could deal with being abruptly parted from him all over again.

  Which was probably why she was having trouble forcing the words to leave her mouth. It felt as if she’d been working them over and over on her tongue for days, like they were fish bones at a dinner party and she was waiting for the right moment to cause a fiasco by spitting them out.

  ‘Was it hard to get away?’ she asked him now, meaning from Natalie. The question tasted duplicitous, sly. She hated the sound of the words.

  ‘Not too bad,’ he said. ‘Had to feign a craving for a particular type of beer.’ He shrugged, but heavily, in a way that suggested the deceit was starting to get to him.

  But then he took her hand, and after two weeks of only sporadic contact by text and the occasional hasty call, his touch made her feel like a tiny acrobat was doing backflips somewhere deep inside her belly.

  Jess stared straight ahead out of the windscreen towards the main school hall, an imposing example of high-Victorian architecture sitting at the top end of a sweeping green lawn, the grandeur and beauty of which she’d never appreciated as a pupil, of course. It was lit up against the black of the night sky like a great ship twinkling out at sea.

  ‘It is stunning,’ she said now.

  ‘Yeah. Coffee was fucking diabolical though.’

  She laughed. ‘That’s your abiding memory of teaching here?’

  ‘Well, no,’ he said, looking at her meaningfully, ‘but I doubt the amazing architecture is yours of being a pupil, is it?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  A brief silence followed.

  ‘Let’s go in,’ she said.

  He turned his head to look across at her. ‘What? It sounded like you just said, “Let’s go in.” ’

  She laughed. ‘I did. Come on, it’ll be fun.’

  ‘Fun like a long-overdue drinking session or fun like inspecting my own toenails for fungal ingrowth?’

  She thought about it. ‘We could reminisce.’

  ‘Oh, Jess, now you’re just toying with me.’

  She opened the passenger door and stepped out into the quiet warmth of the night. Across the wide expanse of lawn, Hadley Hall was floodlit and majestic in the manner of a luxury wedding venue. In fact there had been talk a few years ago of turning it into one – a bit of extra income for the school at weekends – but then the trustees got scared about creating dual purpose literature and confusing their Russian feeder schools, and the whole thing got shelved. Jess leaned back down into the car. ‘Are you coming?’

  ‘I might wait here. Looks like a one-man kind of a job.’

  ‘Don’t you think your subconscious brought you here for a reason?’

  ‘If it did, that reason wasn’t breaking and entering.’

  ‘We won’t go inside. Just walk around the grounds.’

&nb
sp; ‘They have twenty-four-hour security. CCTV. Strangely enough, I don’t fancy another spell in prison, Jess, it didn’t really agree with me the first time round.’

  She thought about it. ‘Okay. Do you mind if I go? I won’t be long. Just want to … have a look round.’

  ‘Not at all. I’ll treat myself to Radio 4. If I’m lucky I might catch Book at Bedtime.’

  She smiled, shut the door softly and walked across to the low brick wall skirting the school’s perimeter. Wooden signs threatening trespassers with prosecution were planted along its length like sentries, no doubt to ward off ex-pupils and disgraced teachers in mind of breaking and entering for a quick trip down memory lane.

  Having scaled the wall, Jess stuck to the far edge of the dew-soaked lawn, which was mowed meticulously into stripes, following the line of the shingle driveway. She was careful to keep the hall to her left, so she wouldn’t illuminate herself in the glow thrown off by the building’s elaborate uplighting.

  Then, from somewhere behind her, she heard a car door slam, and a few moments later he was at her side, grabbing her hand.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ she said, turning and smiling at him. ‘What was the book at bedtime?’

  ‘The Bell Jar,’ he said. ‘As a member of the patriarchy, I was made to feel quite unwelcome.’

  ‘Oh. Well, they might do the Witches of Eastwick tomorrow for balance.’

  ‘Updike?’

  She nodded, privately impressed. ‘A little different to Plath.’

  ‘I’ll listen out for it.’ He fell into step with her across the grass. ‘Just so you’re aware, this really isn’t very good for my anxiety levels. I try to stay at the averse end of the risk spectrum these days.’

  She thought about it. ‘Like, no smoking, five-a-day, keeping criminal activity to a minimum?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Well, this can be the only criminal activity you engage in this year, if you like.’

  ‘I’ll hold you to that. Though there does seem to be a pattern emerging here.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Of you being the common denominator whenever I’m caught breaking the law.’