Katy Carter Keeps a Secret

by Ruth Saberton

  I wish I did.

  I’m missing the way things used to be. I miss having to come up with creative ways to find money and being delighted by a jumble-sale find. I miss chatting to Steph in the staffroom and always having to think on my feet to be one step ahead of my students, and I definitely miss school macaroni cheese. But most of all I miss the way Ollie and I used to be, because we were a team pulling together and we told each other everything. We never had any secrets – apart from my odd splurge with Visa and Barclaycard, although those never really counted – and we were the best of friends even if we had to eat beans on toast and lie awake listening to the drip drip drip of water plopping into buckets while we figured out a way we could afford to fix the roof. If only I’d known then just how happy I was. I wish so much I’d appreciated it more and hadn’t taken things for granted.

  My eyes fill because there’s no way a full bank account makes up for the strained atmosphere in the house or the silences that stretch between me and Ollie recently. If Seb can’t rescue me, nobody can. I’m going to have to write those bloody books – and keep even more secrets, or else Ollie’s career is finished.

  There has to be a way out of it all, surely? Or a solution? I just haven’t figured it out yet, that’s all.

  “Shall I tell you what I think?” Guy asks, pushing his shades onto his forehead and giving me a very serious look.

  “About what?” I ask nervously. Guy’s opinions (although very entertaining on the telly) aren’t for the faint-hearted, and I could really do without a lecture on why Cornwall should be independent.

  “About what you should do,” Guy says. He picks up Holly’s hand in his big paw and squeezes it. “I think it’s time you just told Ollie everything. Just like I tell my missus everything. Like how much fish I catch, how many pints I’ve had, when that blonde in Newlyn gave me her phone number—”

  “Actually you didn’t tell me that.” Holly pulls her hand away and glares at him.

  “Bollocks,” says Guy. “Well, I meant to, baby. Must have slipped my mind. The point is I was going to tell you all about it. She was a right minger anyway.”

  “So that’s all right then?” My sister gives him a look that could freeze lava, and poor Guy slides his glasses down again. “I’m the mother of your unborn child and there you are chatting up other women?”

  “I never chatted her up! She wouldn’t leave me alone! I don’t even know what I did with her twatting number anyway!”

  “So you took it then? How typical!” Holly huffs and off they go as usual, bickering and hurling insults at one another while the rest of the pub try to pretend World War Three isn’t breaking out over here by the window.

  “Err, I hate to interrupt your row,” I interject, “but you were saying, Guy? About what I should tell Ollie?”

  Guy pauses, mid flow. “What? Oh yeah! I was saying you should tell him the truth.”

  I stare at him. Just how much has Guy had to drink? Or has all the fame turned his brains to mush?

  “The truth?”

  “Yeah, you know. It means that you tell somebody what’s really happening and don’t hold anything back,” says Holly. “Unlike Guy here, who conveniently forgets to tell me that random women give him their phone numbers.”

  “That’s fame for you,” Guy shrugs. “Bet Frankie gets it all the time.”

  “Not from women,” says my sister sharply. To me she adds, “But actually, Guy’s right for once. Just tell Ollie everything about the Throb contract. Tell him that you made a mistake, how worried you are and how hard you’ve tried to get out of it.”

  My stomach’s knotting like one of Guy’s fishing nets just at the thought.

  “But things are bad enough as they are. If Ollie thinks there are two more books he’ll be horrified!”

  “He’ll be even more horrified if he finds out once it’s too late to make any plans to deal with the fallout,” Holly points out. “And it’s not good to keep secrets from people you love, is it Guy?”

  “Ouch! My ankle!” he yelps as her pointy boot makes contact with his shin. “No! Course not, baby!”

  I drain my drink and jump up to my feet, because my sister’s right, isn’t she? I’ve been keeping secrets for far too long and so has Ollie, and all it’s done is make us both unhappy. Well, from this point on, I am resolved! I will tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. At least that way we’ll both know what we’re dealing with.

  But maybe I should have another cider first? Just while I prepare myself? It doesn’t do to rush these things.

  “Don’t put it off,” Holly says sternly, some sisterly sixth sense telling her exactly what’s going through my mind. “Tell him now before you can chicken out. You’ll feel better for it, I promise.”

  I glance at Guy, who’s rubbing his ankle and wincing. Right now he’s hardly an advertisement for the benefits of telling your partner the truth. On the other hand, I’m kicking myself daily at the moment. Holly’s right. There can’t be any more secrets between Ollie and me. No matter what happens, no matter what the consequences, he needs to know everything.

  And I am going to tell him.

  Chapter 25

  “Book Nook in Bristol called. They’re expecting you for a signing on Saturday,”

  Ollie calls as I let myself into our cottage. “I said you’d phone them back tomorrow to confirm.”

  He’s standing at the Aga stirring something while Sasha sits at his feet, staring up at the pan and drooling. I don’t blame her either because it smells delicious. If I wasn’t feeling sick with nerves, I’d be drooling too.

  “I’m making lasagne,” Ollie says, with his back still to me, and my heart sinks a little because Ol always cooks lasagne when he’s stressed. He says that the chopping and dicing and making cheese sauce takes so much attention that it’s the perfect distraction after a tough day. Judging by the huge pile of chopped veggies and bubbling vat of cheese sauce, he’s had a very stressful day indeed.

  And I’m about to make it worse.

  I can’t back out now. Ollie needs to know what I’ve done and all I have to do is find the courage to tell him. I do wish he wasn’t facing away from me though. As I look at him I have a horrible twisting feeling inside because nothing feels quite right anymore. We’re not the way we usually are. We’re not us.

  I can’t bear it.

  “Do you want a glass of wine?” Ollie’s asking, still stirring the cheese sauce vigorously and not turning round to give me a kiss. “I’ve opened the last of that white Maddy hid here. Lucky she did. I needed a drink so much I’d probably even have raided that stuff you dug up, if Dad hadn’t taken it.”

  “Geoff took Cecily Greville’s booze?” This is news to me.

  “Yep. He caught Nicky with it, apparently; the bugger was sneaking it out to a sixth-form party, and before I could say anything Pa had confiscated the lot.”

  Drinking. Naked waiting. Partying when he should be revising. Nicky’s life is way more exciting than mine was at his age. Or even now, come to think about it.

  “Why did your dad take it away though?”

  Ollie takes the saucepan from the hotplate, sets it onto a mat and turns to face me. He looks tired and there are faint lines around his eyes that I’m sure never used to be there.

  “You know what a wine buff Dad is. He probably thought it looked interesting. Anyway, there’s white open if you want it.” He raises his own glass to me. “Thank the Lord for Reverend Richard and his Lenten booze ban. I needed this.”

  My heart sinks even more. “Bad day?”

  He shrugs. “The same as always. I can’t see anything changing soon to be honest. I guess I just have to ride it out. It’ll calm down in time, I’m sure. The parents will be bored of it all soon and find something else to moan about. Like Carolyn says, it’ll all die down and things will go back to normal.”

  I feel a needle-prick of alarm because he’s wrong, isn’t he? None of this is going to go away any time soon. In
fact, it’s all about to get ten times worse.

  And hang on. What’s it got to do with Carolyn? Why is he talking to her and not me? See, this is where it’s all going wrong. What if he prefers her to me? What if she’s actually better for him than I am? Let’s be honest; I’m hardly enhancing his life lately.

  What if once I tell him about the other two Throb books he decides that being with me is more trouble than it’s worth?

  Wine. I need wine.

  Heading to the fridge and retrieving the bottle, I pour myself a very generous glass and then sit down at the table. My hands are shaking.

  “I need to tell you something,” I say quietly.

  Ollie’s ladling layers of pasta, meat and sauce into a casserole dish. His brow furrows with concentration and I know his attention is on the dinner not me.

  “What’s Maddy done now?” he asks.

  “This isn’t about Maddy. It’s about me. Or maybe I should say it’s about us. And you’re not going to like it.”

  Splat. A big gloop of meat sauce misses the dish and lands on the floor, and Ollie stares at me.

  “What do you mean, about us?” he whispers. His face is very pale all of a sudden.

  “Well, not us as such but it’s about us,” I say. “Or more accurately it’s about the book.”

  Ollie exhales heavily and sits down opposite me. His cheese sauce begins to congeal in the pan and neither of us tell Sasha off when she wolfs the spilled sauce up from the quarry tiles. We can both sense that A Big Talk is coming.

  “Katy,” Ollie says gently, “we’ve talked ourselves round and around about the bloody book. What’s done is done. We’re dealing with it at work and you have to stop beating yourself up about everything. I know you didn’t do any of it on purpose.”

  “I didn’t! I really didn’t,” I say. “But Ollie, there’s something I haven’t told you.”

  “Oh God,” he says. “Why do I have a sudden sense of foreboding? What is it now? Have you smuggled Pinchy back from New York? Should we be expecting the FBI any time soon?”

  I try to laugh but sound more like a strangled chicken.

  “Hey!” Ollie reaches out and takes my hands. “Don’t look so worried. Whatever it is we can sort it, I promise.”

  “I don’t think we can,” I say sadly.

  “Well, let’s try. There’s nothing we can’t do if we put our minds to it,” he promises. “Just tell me, Katy. What is it? What’s wrong?”

  I take a deep breath. No more secrets; that was what I’d decided and that’s how it has to be. And then I tell him everything. All about the contract I can’t get out of, the next two books I have to write, how I’ve pleaded with the publisher, begged Seb to help and basically tried everything I can to get out of writing them.

  “I’m so sorry,” I finish, hanging my head. “I’d do anything I could to be able to walk away from the contract. I’ll never write another book again after this, Ollie. I promise. I know what it’s done to you at school and how it’s ruining your career. No more books for me again ever. I’m through with writing. Your career has to come first.”

  Ollie’s looking at me with a strange expression on his face.

  “Do you really mean that?” he says. “You’d give up writing books for my teaching career?”

  How can he even ask?

  “Not for your career, for you!”

  “But give up writing?” He shakes his head. “I’d never ask that of you, Katy. It’s what you’ve always wanted to do. Remember how you used to write stories in exercise books? Or during staff meetings?”

  I still do this actually, but I keep quiet about it. Ollie is, after all, an Assistant Head Teacher and would probably disapprove of such behaviour now.

  “You love to write and it’s a huge part of who you are,” he continues. “This thing with Throb might not be exactly what you’ve dreamed of, but you’ve made a success of it and I’m proud of you. Yes, I am,” he says, catching sight of me goggling at him. “I’m so sorry if I haven’t shown it or if I’ve let St Jude’s get in the way but, yes, I’m proud of how hard you’ve worked. How many people can actually say they’ve made their dreams come true? You’ve never given up on yours when lots of other people would have thrown in the towel. You made it work for you.”

  Golly. I’ve never thought of it like that before. Go me!

  “And I know why you wanted to write that book too,” Ollie continues, squeezing my hands. “The digging up of the floor. Going on supply when you didn’t want to. I know you did all of that for us and our future.”

  I guess technically speaking, spying on Carolyn was looking out for our future too, wasn’t it?

  “I would never ask you to stop writing,” Ollie says vehemently. “Never. OK? You write those next two books and make them a big success too, because who knows where they might lead you. They could be the key to your big break with a publisher and then you could be writing the books you really want to write. That could be what makes you happy.”

  “You make me happy,” I reply quietly.

  But Ollie shakes his head. “I’m not so sure I do anymore. You’ve had to hide things from me and that’s not right. You should never feel you have to keep secrets.”

  “That’s because I love you!” I cry. “I didn’t want to worry you. But the more I tried to put things right the more confused it all became. Besides, you’ve been keeping secrets too! It’s not just me! What about the necklace you never gave Ann? What about all the phone calls to Carolyn? What about the time you met her at school and hadn’t told me? What about—”

  “What about trust?” Ol cuts me off, so sharply that I’m stunned. His skin is taut across his cheekbones and his eyes glitter behind his glasses. “Whatever happened to that?”

  I can’t speak. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so upset.

  “What about believing in me and how I feel about you?” he asks fiercely. “And I do love you, Katy, I do, but if you can’t trust me, what then?”

  He stares at me across the table. In his eyes I see the times we’ve shared together – laughing at jokes in our tough inner-London school when we were new teachers, Ollie about to boil Pinchy up as a starter course, our first real kiss on the quay, us travelling through Europe in the camper van – and it’s as though he’s willing me to see these things too rather than all the muddle of the last few months. We were so happy. Surely that hasn’t changed?

  My stomach clenches. How on earth has everything got so confused? A few months ago I was convinced he was about to propose but now I’ve never felt further away from him.

  “I love you,” he says again, softly. “I don’t know what’s been going on in your head, Katy, but I need you to trust me and believe in me. Even just for a few more weeks.”

  “I do trust you,” I answer.

  “Good,” says Ollie drily. “I’ll try and remember that.”

  And I do trust him. I do! Except for all the calls to Carolyn, and the late nights at work and the disappearing necklace, of course. I wait for Ollie to give reasons for all these and to set my mind at rest, but he doesn’t. Instead he just returns to the Aga and an awkward quiet pools between us. I feel close to tears – which is crazy, isn’t it? I’ve just confessed about the books, and Ollie’s told me that I must write them and says he loves me. All should be well.

  But if it is, why is the atmosphere between us still so strained and weird? What’s going on? There are more undercurrents here than beyond the harbour wall. Why do I still feel as though he’s keeping something from me?

  And what does he mean, for a few more weeks?

  “By the way, I need to tell you something,” he says, busy stirring the now lumpy sauce. “I’ve got to go on the Year Nine Paris trip. I know it’s short notice but Mick Taylor’s dropped out and we need another male teacher to make up the numbers. It’s during half-term but I know you’ll be really busy with the book, won’t you? It’ll give you some peace to work.”

  I don’t say anything becaus
e I’m too disappointed to even speak. Half-term’s next week. Nicky’s going to Surrey to revise under the eagle eyes of Ann and Geoff (who understandably don’t trust me anymore), and I’ve been hoping that Ollie and I would have some time alone at long last and start to get life back to normal. I was so looking forward to it.

  “How about I come too?” I suggest. “An extra teacher would really help with the pupil-to-adult ratio, wouldn’t it? And we could have some time in Paris together. That would be brilliant!”

  When Ollie and I were travelling we visited Paris and we had the most amazing and romantic time ever, strolling hand in hand along the banks of the Seine, eating crêpes and kissing the sugar from each other’s lips, and later watching the city come alive from the Sacré-Coeur while the sun slipped behind the rooftops. It was magical and beautiful and I can’t think of anywhere nicer to be with him. It would bring back so many happy memories and I think it’s just what we need.

  But Ollie’s shaking his head. “That’s a nice idea but we’ve already got Carolyn and Gemma and a couple of teaching assistants. Besides, I don’t think it would go down too well if Isara Lovett showed up on a school trip, do you?”

  In the past I might have made a quip about Isara Lovett going down very well indeed, but my heart isn’t in it and, besides, this just reminds me of how complicated everything has become. In the past too, Ollie wouldn’t have dreamed of going away for a week without me; he’d have told school where to stick their trip. But as they say, the past is a foreign country and they certainly do things differently there.

  I just wish I could find a way of taking us back.

  Chapter 26

  I find Maddy arranging flowers in the church. Or maybe I should more accurately say I find Maddy shoving gerberas and carnations into vases and stuffing dead blooms into a bin bag with a mutinous expression on her face. She hates flower arranging with a passion but, along with sorting jumble and organising bake sales, it comes with the territory of being married to Richard. I can’t for the life of me think what the trade-off is but Mads obviously thinks there’s one, which is the main thing.