“And as for that money,” Ollie whispers, smoothing my hair away from my face and brushing a kiss across my cheek, “there’s no issue with it, I promise. OK?”
“OK,” I whisper back. And I totally believe him, of course I do. Everything is about to go back to normal. Better than normal, even. I just know it!
“And I know things have been weird but it’s all going to be fine,” Ollie adds. “It really is. You’ll see.”
And at this exact moment, as if just waiting for her cue to prove him totally wrong, my mother arrives. Or maybe I should more accurately say, my mother chooses to make her dramatic entrance. Long purple dress billowing and wild silver curls tumbling down her back, she wiggles her way through the restaurant, cannoning into tables and bumping into diners.
“Silla!” My father leaps up from his seat. “Where were you, babe? I was getting worried!”
“No you weren’t,” my mother replies, kissing him soundly on the lips and waggling her finger. “If you were, you’d have come and helped rescue me. I had to get some lovely fishermen to drag the van out of the lane with their forklift. It was wedged and they couldn’t even get out until they helped!”
“And once you were out you went to the pub,” I say. Oh dear. I sound a bit bitter.
Oh! Maybe it’s because I am? Why does my mother always get herself into these scrapes? Why can’t she just be normal and do embroidery and bake cakes and… and… well, all the stuff that I’m sure normal mothers do?
“Katy!” In a swirl of tasselled skirts, Mum turns to me. “Darling! There you are! Oh, baby girl, I am so, so proud of you! I always was of course, but I was always a little worried too. It’s not natural for a young woman to be so uptight and so repressed, so afraid of her own divine femininity and sexuality. I couldn’t work out where your father and I had gone wrong. The hours I’ve spent talking to my guides about you! Even they were at a loss.”
I stare at her, lost for words.
“Then I read this and I knew all my worries had been in vain!” My mother reaches into her pocket and out of its depths comes a copy of a horribly familiar scarlet book, which she flourishes proudly. “Darling! I’m so happy! You’re totally liberated and so, so at ease with your sexuality. You’ve written about things even your father and I haven’t tried – but we will now!”
“I bought the clothes pegs,” my father interrupts. “You just forgot the washing line and cabbages.”
Geoff pales. “Never mind that. How about we have a look at the champagne?” He whips out the wine list and shoves it at his wife. “There was a particularly fine 1998 Taittinger on the list and I think we should splash out seeing as it’s your special birthday!”
But Ann doesn’t hear a word. She looks aghast.
“Isn’t that the book everyone’s talking about? The one our pastor said not to read?”
“Bet he checked it out first though, the old perv,” grins Nicky. “Read all the rude bits just to see how bad they really were. At least, that’s his story!”
“Don’t be so disrespectful,” snaps his mother. “The book is pure filth! It’s the pathway to hell.”
Oh Lord. She’s not wrong there.
“Oh bollocks to all that nonsense!” scoffs my mother, flicking through the book. “It’s earthy and sexy and shows a woman in firm control of her sexuality – and my little girl wrote it! I’m the proudest mother on earth. I’m telling everyone that Isara Lovett is my daughter!”
It’s one of the most bitter ironies of my life that A-levels, an honours degree and even a respectable teaching career have never made my mother as proud as the antics of Alexi and Lucinda. I should have forgotten academia and written erotica years ago if I wanted her to sing my praises.
Ann’s mouth is hanging open. A fork laden with mussels hovers between her chin and the plate, while sauce drips onto the table.
“Katy wrote that book?” she says at last.
Mum nods proudly. “She certainly did. I wish they hadn’t bothered with the silly pen name though. Quentin and I have to convince everyone it really is our Katy.”
Ann turns to Geoff. “Did you know about this?”
Her husband’s Adam’s apple bobs nervously. “Err… I might have heard about it.”
“So how come I had no idea?”
“Because I did my best to keep it quiet,” says Geoff miserably.
Ann is whiter than the table linen. “You lied to me?”
“I wouldn’t say I lied exactly,” replies poor Geoff. “I just hid anything that might link our son’s girlfriend to the book and turned the telly off if there was a mention. I didn’t want to upset you, love.”
“Well, I’m certainly upset now,” says Ann, folding her arms and fixing her husband with a steely look. “Who else knew? Quentin and Drusilla, clearly, and Katy of course, but did you, Oliver? Or you Nicolas?”
Her sons don’t reply – which, of course, says it all.
This is probably not the time to tell Ann that her youngest son actually helped me write huge chunks of the book in question and edited my apparently clunky syntax. (Lisa Armstrong’s raving about my maturation in narrative style, which is pretty galling.) When it comes to writing women’s erotic fiction Nicky Burrows is a natural.
“I see. So you all knew and you chose to keep me in the dark,” Ann says quietly. She turns to me. “Katy, whatever possessed you to write that dreadful book?”
I have the horrible sensation that all the blood’s freezing in my body, and now the room’s starting to whirl.
“I can explain! There was a really good reason and—” I begin, but my boyfriend’s mother isn’t in the mood to listen.
“I don’t want to hear excuses, Katy! There’s never an excuse for that kind of filth!”
I open my mouth to plead the lava-lamp explosion and our rewiring trauma, plus our leaky roof that needed fixing – but I shut it again very fast because I can see from her appalled expression that these reasons won’t wash with Ann. Besides, I can appreciate that it’s all come as a shock for her. I’m still shocked and I’ve been living with Isara Lovett for months.
“What will people think?” Ann is asking now, shaking her head. “And what about Ollie? Did you stop to consider what effect this could have on his career? I can only imagine how it will reflect on him.”
I’ve thought of nothing else and I really can’t feel much worse than I already do. Even the settled bills and the beautifully rewired and reroofed cottage don’t help. If I could turn back time and never sign with Throb I would happily live with a huge overdraft, buckets of water everywhere and electrics that hiss and crackle whenever we throw a switch.
“I’m really sorry—” I try again to apologise but I’m interrupted by Ollie, who puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me against him.
“Mum, I know you’re upset but this is absolutely none of your business. My girlfriend’s literary career,” Ann winces at this but Ollie ignores her, “is nothing to do with anyone else but her. Katy’s working very hard to succeed as an author and how she goes about that is her decision. She took a pen name and she did her very best to keep the book low-key. It’s not her fault things have worked out this way. But do you know what?” He’s looking at me now and his eyes are full of such kindness and love that I feel quite choked. “She did it all for us and our future. She carried a huge burden and never once complained or tried to dump it on me. I’m incredibly proud of her.”
He is? I could fall off my seat with surprise. Ann looks stunned, Geoff’s knocking back the wine in resignation and my parents are clapping.
“Is that true?” I whisper to Ollie. “Do you really mean that?”
He nods. “Of course I do. I’ve always been proud of you, Katy Carter. I’m so sorry if St Jude’s has got in the way at times, and I’m even more sorry you didn’t feel able to tell me about the book. I hate that you thought you couldn’t share a part of your life with me. I’m sorry too if I’ve overreacted lately; I’ve just been a bit stressed
, that’s all.”
“I didn’t want to burden you with it. I’d messed up so badly and I really hoped I could sort things without having to worry you,” I explain while Ollie shakes his head.
“But that’s what I’m here for, you muppet! I never want you to feel you have to protect me from things. We’re a team, aren’t we?”
“Yes. Of course we are,” I agree – because we always were, even back in the long-ago days when we were just colleagues bonding over our experiences with horrible bottom-set classes and disputes over who’d stolen the milk from the staffroom fridge. I’d always told Ollie everything back then and I suddenly realise how daft it is that now we’re even closer I’ve been keeping things back.
“So if we’re a team then we share things, good and bad. Right?” he asks.
“Right,” I nod, and then I wait for him to tell me the real reason he raided the savings account and why he never told me he was meeting Carolyn that Saturday. But Ollie says nothing; he just kisses the top of my head and ruffles my curls, leaving me none the wiser about whatever’s really going on.
Oh.
OK then. Just no more secrets on my side but he can keep his?
I bite back the questions queuing up on my lips. I can’t ask them now, because Ann is saying sorry to me, Geoff’s ordering more wine and Mum’s swinging a crystal over Nicky and predicting his A-level grades (which, believe me, is something I can do without the help of the spirit world). Besides, I’m just making a fuss about nothing, aren’t I?
The trouble is, I can’t ignore the nagging unease deep in the pit of my stomach, and until I know for sure what Ollie’s up to I don’t think I’ll have much peace. I know I should trust him, and I do. Most of the time. It’s just that I have the strongest feeling he’s still keeping something from me.
As Geoff pours me a big glass of wine and Ann apologises yet again for interfering in our business, I do my best to reassure her I’m not upset at all, that everything’s fine and that my days of writing erotic novels are well and truly over. That isn’t strictly true, of course, but I’m looking to find a way around all this – and I’m sure a solution will come to me at some point. At least I flipping well hope it will.
Otherwise I really will be in trouble.
Chapter 22
I have to talk to you right now! It’s urgent! DO NOT IGNORE THIS TEXT!
When it comes to having a crisis, Maddy Lomax doesn’t half pick her moments! This really isn’t the best time, as I’m currently waiting in a darkened room with an assortment of Ann’s relatives and oldest friends – all carefully selected by me and Maddy during the party-planning stages – and poised to cry “Surprise!” as soon as the birthday girl arrives. The balloons are all blown up, the banners are strung across the private dining room and even the weather has decided to play ball by allowing the sun to come out. Any minute now Ollie and his parents will arrive for what they think will be a quiet afternoon tea.
They couldn’t be more wrong!
I’m so excited I can hardly wait! This is going to be a brilliant party! I’ve done my research into Ann’s nearest and dearest and I’ve even managed to get hold of her pastor (fingers crossed he doesn’t twig who I am) and a couple of very old relatives. I hope they manage to stay alive until Ann gets here. All the guests are staying at the hotel, courtesy of the dregs of my Throb advance, and judging by the bar bill they’ve been having a high old time. Isara Lovett will need another few outings just to settle that gin-and-tonic fuelled monster, never mind pay for Great Uncle Clifford’s accidental watching of Playboy TV and absent-minded ordering of smoked salmon platters from room service at gone midnight. He might claim not to remember any of this and blame old age, but I’m not fooled. There was a knowing glint in his eye, and when I went to fetch him earlier he was scrolling happily through the pay-per-view screen like a pro. He’s only just had a pacemaker fitted and I hope it’s up to the job. At this rate I’m going to need one myself.
Lord. The sooner this weekend’s over the better.
Still, picking up the tab for Ann’s birthday is what I promised myself I’d do, and after the trauma of yesterday’s revelation it feels even more important to show the Burrows family that I’m a nice person and not a total deviant. Although Ann has apologised for her shocked outburst yesterday, she’s been eyeing me rather nervously ever since – and when I went to hang the washing out this morning she blanched at the mere sight of the peg bag. After this afternoon I’m hoping she’ll see me in a whole new light, and by that I mean a flattering light rather than a red one. Maybe she’ll begin to look on me as a suitable daughter-in-law.
It’ll also show Ollie that I’m always thinking of him, even when it might not seem like it. At the moment he’s a bit put out that I’ve made excuses for not being at afternoon tea. I know we promised each other that we’d have no more secrets between us – but surely a surprise party for his mum doesn’t count? A surprise party has to be a secret, doesn’t it? Otherwise it would just be a party. Anyway, when Ollie sees the look on Ann’s face, he’s going to be absolutely made up and he won’t mind at all that I never told him what I was planning. Then he’ll give his mum the necklace, I’ll know that it really was for her all along, and everything will be fine.
Yes. That’s exactly what’s going to happen.
Everyone here is briefed and waiting excitedly for Ann to arrive. Even Great Uncle Clifford’s managed to tear himself away from the satellite telly to join in with the surprise. The pastor has agreed to say grace once the food arrives and the hotel manager reassured me earlier that the caterers had arrived and would be getting ready in the cloakroom. I must admit that sounds a little bit odd, but I suppose they’re putting on their pinnies and bow ties before they serve the food. And washing their hands or something? Of course, that must be it. Anyway, the food certainly smells good and my mouth’s watering already from the delicious aromas wafting from the room next door where the buffet’s been set up. For a woman who never eats, Tansy certainly knows what she’s on about. No wonder she’s booked solid.
Ding! Ding!
My phone again. Honestly! Mads should know better than to try to contact me now. She knows I’m lying low and can’t talk. I’ll have to put my phone onto silent or else she’ll give the entire game away and ruin everything!
Ding! Ding!
Right. OK.
Ding! Ding!
OK, Maddy! I give in!
I’ll check it.
DON’T IGNORE ME! STOP EVERYTHING! NOW!
Has nobody ever told Maddy that texting in capitals is considered aggressive? And anyway, what on earth does she mean, telling me to stop everything right now? Our plan’s going perfectly and it’s almost at completion. I’m not going to back out now. Why would I even want to?
Ding! Ding!
CALL ME! RED ALERT! ABORT MISSION! ABORT!
Mads really needs to kick her closet sci-fi addiction. She’ll be asking me to beam up in a second. And what’s all this “abort mission” gubbins? I’m in South East Cornwall, not outer space!
She does sound pretty frantic though. Maybe I ought to give her a call. Perhaps Rafferty’s stuffed another marble up his nose? Or Bluebell’s high as a kite on forgetful sweets? Or, and this really would be a cause for alarm, Richard’s found the hidden stash of wine bottles from Maddy’s very unsuccessful Lent? My stomach lurches at this idea, because I’m bound to get the blame for leading her astray.
“Ooo! They’re here!” cries Ollie’s godmother, who insists on peeking around the edge of the drapes every five seconds. She thinks nobody can see her, but she’s as wrong as anyone in a bright scarlet dress and orange feathered hat could ever be. She may as well be wearing a sign saying Ann Burrow’s surprise party is in here! I’ve tugged her away so many times already that I think I’ve got RSI.
“Get back from the window, you silly old fool!” says Great Uncle Clifford, bundling her behind the curtains. “They’re here! They’re here! Shh!”
At this
point everyone starts shushing one another, except that they’re mostly octogenarians and their idea of shushing sounds like a 747 taking off. I’m so busy trying to keep them quiet that I don’t have any time to reply to Maddy’s texts or to even look at my phone again.
We hear the murmur of voices as Ollie and his parents pass by the window and head towards the reception. I’m so excited I think I’m going to pop. Any minute now Ann is going to have the surprise of her life! The hotel manager’s primed to lead them from the lobby through to this room, under the guise of escorting them to afternoon tea. As soon as they open the door we’re all going to shout “surprise!” and fire party poppers and wave balloons. Then the caterers will come in from the far end of the room with a big cake and champagne while Happy Birthday to You plays – after which the party will really get started.
It’s going to be brilliant!
Whatever it is that Mads is stressing about will have to wait.
Footsteps are drawing closer to our hiding place and everyone holds their breath. It’s so quiet now that I can practically hear Great Uncle Clifford’s pacemaker tick.
“And the view from the blue drawing room has to be one of the finest,” we hear the hotel manager telling the unsuspecting Burrows family. “You can see almost to Lizard Point.”
“It sounds perfect,” Ann is replying. “Afternoon tea with a sea view. I can’t think of anything better.”
No, but luckily for her, I could. Come on! Open the door! I’m going to burst!
Katy Carter Keeps a Secret Page 21
