Love Is a Secret

by Sophie King

  ‘What’s that noise?’

  Lisa thought the mobile had finished. ‘Just a musical toy I’ve bought my niece.’

  Kiki was trying to peer into the nursery now. ‘Been decorating, have you?’

  ‘Yes. Look, I’ve got to go. See you.’

  ‘Hang on, Lees, you’ve got to come clean. When’s this baby due?’

  Lisa ran her hands over her stomach. ‘I’m not sure.’

  Kiki nodded. ‘You don’t want to say anything in case something goes wrong again. Well, you can trust me.’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘I won’t say nothing to anyone.’ She winked. ‘Who’s the father, then? Not Kevin?’

  Lisa pushed the door towards her. ‘Like I said, I’ve got to go. ’Bye.’

  Wait. Wait until Kiki’s footsteps have finished clattering across the concrete slabs. Wait till her door shuts. Back into the nursery. Pull the mobile string once more. Sit with back to the cot, eyes closed, and listen to the music. Relax, just like Earth Mother said.

  But it wasn’t working this time. The memories were rolling back and, try though she might, she couldn’t blank them out.

  ‘How do I know it was mine anyway?’ Kevin had raged, after Sky. ‘There must be something wrong with you if you can’t keep them.’

  Weak cervix, the hospital had said. Next time, they could put a stitch in. Next time! Her chance of getting pregnant was slim, the ginger-haired doctor had warned her, with only one Fallopian tube. In fact, he said, it was amazing she had got pregnant twice so quickly. Besides, Kevin had walked out on her. If she wanted another baby, she had to pray for another man. And that was when it had all started to happen . . .

  MESSAGE FROM GEORGIE

  Hi Annabel, Where are you now? I’ve looked you up on my duvet cover but there’s a stain over the top right bit of Australia where I spilt hot chocolate and I can’t see you. Ben heard Dad on the mobile to someone and thinks he’s seeing that woman again but I’m not meant to tell you so. I don’t think he can be, as he and Mum are still in the same bed. What do you think?

  MESSAGE FROM FLORRIE

  Hi Kari. Can you ask your mum if I can come and stay for half-term? Dad’s always in a bad mood and Mum wrote to say we can’t go to New York now because she’s too busy at work.

  LETTER FROM LISA

  Dear Mum,

  Still havent herd from you. R you still there?

  EMAIL TO MRS TABITHA THOMAS

  Dear Mrs Tabitha Thomas,

  I am delighted to inform you that you have won one million dollars in the United States National Lottery. Please send details of your bank account so your winnings can be transferred. DO NOT DELAY!

  WHAT MUMS KNOW

  JOIN OUR ONLINE DISCUSSIONS ON:

  Do you trust YOUR man? And can he trust you?

  White lies: should you always tell the kids the truth?

  TIP FROM ALWAYSONADIET MUM

  Buy up toys and games in the January sales and bring them out during the year to keep the kids busy.

  CHUCKLE CORNER FROM RAINBOW

  If a man says, ‘It would take too long to explain,’ he really means, ‘I have no idea how it works.’

  THOUGHT TO KEEP YOU SANE FROM BIG MUM

  Girls grow up to be women. Boys grow up to be bigger boys.

  PARENTING NEWS

  Government pledges to put more money into school sports.

  44

  The following week was hell. He’d had to take one of his clients out for a lunch he couldn’t afford, to assure them that a certain Sunday supplement was definitely going to include their new toddler stair-gate in a review. Then he had to take the journalist out to lunch to persuade him of the stair-gate’s unique state-of-the-art qualities. Florrie was still moody and Freddy had gone very quiet, which was worrying in itself. And Caroline wasn’t returning his calls. So he’d emailed her, rather than contact her through What Mums Know.

  I know how you feel. At least, I think I do. Please ring.

  He’d wait a few more days, he decided, then call again. If he still didn’t get her, he’d go to her office on the pretext of EFT business. In the meantime he needed to concentrate on the kids and work.

  ‘I’ve written to Hilary,’ said Daphne, when she came in on Thursday evening, carrying a lamb and apricot casserole she’d made for the children’s tea. Mark’s mouth watered. ‘You should write too. Letters are so much nicer than phone calls because you can read them over and over again. Don’t look so offended, dear. If I was her, I wouldn’t want people visiting me in that dreadful place either. So humiliating.’

  ‘What’s humiliating?’

  Florrie had taken to sneaking into rooms so quietly that he didn’t notice. Yesterday she’d almost caught him leaving a message for Caroline on her voicemail.

  ‘Nothing, dear,’ said Daphne. ‘Now sit up, I’ve made a lovely casserole for tea.’

  ‘What’s humiliating, I said?’

  Mark floundered for a substitute. ‘My work. It’s humiliating having to ring up journalists all the time and persuade them to run articles.’

  ‘I don’t think you were talking about that at all, Dad. I think you were—’

  ‘Phone,’ said Daphne quickly. ‘Shall I get it?’

  ‘It’s all right.’ Mark grabbed it, hoping against hope that it might be Caroline – she had his home number.

  ‘What?’ He frowned. ‘Can you say that again?’

  ‘Is it Mum?’ demanded Florrie. ‘I want to talk to her.’

  ‘They’ve put the phone down.’ Mark hated calls like that.

  ‘You should dial 1471, dear.’

  He was already doing so.

  ‘You were called at five thirty p.m. The caller withheld their number.’

  ‘How odd.’ Mark stared at the phone as though it might tell him what was going on. ‘Someone just rang – a boy’s voice, I think, but older than you or Freddy – and said, “It’s me”.’

  ‘Maybe it’s a prank call,’ said Florrie, sitting on the edge of the table. ‘We do them all the time at school.’

  ‘What do you mean, dear?’ asked Daphne, putting a plate in front of her. ‘And do sit up properly, please.’

  Florrie rolled her eyes. ‘When we’re bored, we pick random numbers and ring up with cryptic messages. And sometimes we order things. Someone in our class pretended to be a teacher and ordered ten pizzas for the staff room.’

  ‘Didn’t they get into trouble?’

  ‘No one owned up and she gave a false name.’

  ‘That’s awful!’ said Mark.

  ‘Not as awful as the messages Freddy’s getting. In fact, maybe that’s who rang. You said it was a boy, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Mark frowned. ‘What messages is Freddy getting?’

  ‘Shut up, Florrie.’ Freddy had slunk in, still in his school uniform although Mark had told him to change.

  ‘Didn’t you tell Dad?’ said Florrie. ‘You promised. Freddy keeps getting texts that say he’s a weirdo, Dad.’

  ‘Is that true, Freddy?’

  ‘Fuck off, Florrie.’

  Daphne sucked in her breath. ‘In my day, children wouldn’t have dared to speak to their parents like that.’

  ‘Freddy, I won’t have that kind of language,’ said Mark, weakly.

  Freddy glowered. ‘Stop me, then.’

  ‘Right,’ said Florrie. ‘I’ll tell Dad and Gran the other thing too.’

  ‘What other thing?’ chorused Mark and Daphne.

  ‘He was on the computer at school, messaging some girl, and these kids – the same ones that send the texts – came in and held him down in the chair while one of the others typed that she was a slut and he never wanted to see her again. And then her father emailed back to say he was going to complain.’

  ‘That’s terrible!’ spluttered Mark.

  Daphne pursed her lips. ‘Well, dear, you’ll have to go in to see the head and tell him what happened. I must say, I don’t trust computers. All this technology is creating absolute
chaos. In my day, we went to see people. We didn’t talk to them on a screen or with one of those horrid mobiles that are too small to reach your mouth. That reminds me, when you saw Hilary, did you tell her—’

  Florrie’s knife and fork clattered on to her plate. ‘You saw Mum? When?’

  ‘I meant when Dad spoke to her, of course,’ said Daphne quickly.

  ‘I’m getting old, that’s my trouble. The words come out all wrong, just like your horrid computer. Now, Florrie, you are going to eat that up, aren’t you?’

  ‘No, I’m fucking not.’

  ‘You mustn’t use language like that. And please come back to the table. We haven’t finished.’

  ‘Something’s not right,’ said Florrie, from the doorway. ‘I don’t think you’re telling me the truth about Mum. Why can’t we ever ring her? Why can she only ring us?’

  White lies: should you always tell the kids the truth?

  He felt like shouting, Yes, Daphne, yes. They deserve to know.

  ‘Sssh, dear.’ Daphne bustled over to Florrie and put her arms round her. ‘Mum’s coming back very soon. She’ll be home by Christmas. Promise. Don’t we, Mark?’

  He nodded, as he noticed, with dismay, that Freddy’s eyes were watery. Oh, God, what a mess. Why was it so difficult to be a good parent?

  ‘Not long now, kids.’ He forced himself to sound bright. ‘Then we’ll all be together again. In the meantime I’m going to look into those text messages. Yes, Freddy, don’t look at me like that. Kids can’t be allowed to get away with that kind of thing.’

  ‘But if you complain, it will be worse,’ said Freddy. ‘Don’t you see? They’ll take it out on me.’

  Mark remembered then how he had suffered when his father had complained once at school. But if he didn’t say something, it wouldn’t stop. ‘Leave it to me,’ he said. ‘I’ll sort it out.’

  45

  It was half-term and the shops were filling with Christmas stuff.

  Normally, Susan didn’t bother much. Tabitha’s needs weren’t great and there wasn’t enough money for anything extravagant. A new jumper. A couple of jigsaws, of course. And maybe a computer game. It was extraordinary how Tabitha could operate the mouse and the keyboard. But as someone at the centre had said, it was easier for kids like Tabitha to do that than it was to hold a pen.

  On the other hand, Susan definitely didn’t want her getting into the internet. It was all very well Steff saying it was educational but there were too many dangers, and the thought of her daughter loose in a chatroom made her feel sick.

  But there was another problem this year with Christmas. ‘We had a brilliant time,’ said Steff, when she brought Tabitha back after her first overnighter as it was half-term. ‘There’s this new indoor playground that’s opened up near us with equipment for kids who need a bit more help. It’s even open on Boxing Day. In fact, Josh and I were wondering if you’d like to come to us for Christmas dinner and maybe stay over – both of you, that is.’

  ‘Sorry, but we always have it with my dad and June.’

  Steff’s head had bobbed up and down. ‘Bring them too. My dad’s going to be there. He’s on his own and it’ll be like a proper family.’

  Susan had been so taken aback that she’d been unable to think of a good excuse. But she would. Sometimes Josh’s nerve was breathtaking. But it was funny that she didn’t loathe him in the way she had done before. He had changed, and she had to admit that Steff, despite her irritating ways, had to take the credit for that.

  She, too, had changed. A few months ago she would never have guessed she’d have a proper job. ‘You’ll be on your own this afternoon,’ Fiona had said to her. ‘I’ve got a viewing and the temp’s off sick again. If the Fieldings make an offer on Silver Street, ring me on the mobile. Otherwise it’ll all be pretty straightforward.’

  Susan enjoyed being on her own – it wasn’t the first time. After Fiona had gone, she made herself a cup of coffee and went through the new property list. Years ago, when she’d been a property buyer, she had hated it when estate agents didn’t seem to know anything about a house on their books. Susan knew that her attention to detail had already earned her Brownie points.

  The phone rang. ‘Green and Co. How can I help you?’

  ‘Susan? It’s Joy. Look, I know I shouldn’t be ringing you at work but something really exciting has happened.’

  ‘What?’ Susan could see a couple looking in the window. ‘I’ve got to be quick. Someone’s about to come in.’

  ‘The centre wants you and me to go to Number Ten.’

  Susan’s first thought was Silver Street, where they were expecting an offer on number ten. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Number Ten Downing Street! Apparently the prime minister has invited lots of representatives – ordinary people, not toffs – to join in a conference about services for disabled kids. Someone told his office about our campaign and we’ve got to go along and make our views known.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Amazing, isn’t it? It’s not till next month but we ought to work out what to wear.’

  The couple were coming in and walking expectantly up to her desk.

  ‘That’s hardly the point, Joy.’

  ‘But they want to know if you’re in or not. Yes or no.’

  ‘Yes.’ Susan put the phone down. It had to be a joke. ‘Good afternoon. Can I help you?’

  Number Ten? It didn’t seem real. But, amazingly, it was. After the couple had left, armed with information on several properties to browse through, Susan broke all her rules and rang Joy back. Apparently the prime minister talked to various groups of people throughout the year. Facilities for disabled children and teenagers was the topic for the next meeting and their centre had been picked as a representative.

  Susan, who didn’t normally pay much attention to politics, was impressed. When the formal arrangements came through to the centre, it transpired they would have to make their own way there.

  ‘Thought they might send a limo,’ said Joy, disappointed. ‘We’ve got to gather at the end of Downing Street. Apparently there’s a barrier where they check your identity. Isn’t it exciting?’

  Luckily it wasn’t one of Susan’s working days. Her father had promised to pick up Tabitha from the bus after school, although he was less impressed about the outing than Joy was. ‘You tell him about the centre closing and what it means to you,’ he said. ‘The cost of these conferences would probably pay for another term.’

  He had a point. So, too, did Joy, who kept wittering on about what to wear. During one of her lunch hours, Susan gave in and bought herself a cheap but cheerful two-piece. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought something new but she was a working woman now. It had cost her two weeks’ wages but it wasn’t every day you got to meet the prime minister.

  From Rainbow to What Mums Know: Guess what? I’ve been invited to Number Ten! I belong to a local parents’ group and we’ve been asked to give our views to the prime minister. I’m really excited.

  She couldn’t help it. Joy’s enthusiasm was catching. Until the summer, her life had been so mundane, so samey. Now she was working, having driving lessons and about to meet one of the most famous people in the world. No need to mention that the parents’ group was actually the special-needs centre.

  It was so nice to feel she and Tabitha were, almost, like everyone else.

  46

  The best bit about doing the dinner shift at the special-needs centre was that she got to use the computer when she finished before she went back to the nursery. But today she couldn’t. One of the mums – the one with hoop earrings and that boy who wasn’t right, poor sod – was on it. ‘Sorry, won’t be a minute. I just need to check something online. We’re going to Downing Street, you know. With any luck, we might get the prime minister to save the centre.’

  That was all very well but she needed the computer too. By the time the woman had finished, Lisa only had a few minutes to log on, using her password.
Still, it was worth it. Pushy Princess was really sympathetic about neighbour problems and advised her to make as much noise as she could. There wasn’t time to check any more messages because another mother was hovering and she didn’t want her to see her private business. Besides, she was already late for the nursery.

  ‘Lisa, can I have a word?’

  Trust Mrs Perkins to be waiting. Surprised she didn’t have a stopwatch in her hand. Lisa tried to think what she’d done wrong now. She’d been really careful about sterilising the bottles and making sure little Scarlett only had soya. She even managed to keep quiet when Scarlett’s mother was moaning about how tired she was.

  ‘Lisa, we’re going to move you back to the Blue Room.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Daisy’s playing up now the baby’s arrived and you’re the only one who can handle her. Her mother had another girl, and they were so hoping for a boy. Daisy’s having terrible tantrums and refusing to sit up at the activities table. You’ve always been good with her so I’m hoping you might be able to buck her out of this.’

  Lisa snorted. You couldn’t ‘buck’ a kid out of hating her new brother or sister. Poor Daisy. ‘I’ll go and find her.’

  Daisy was sitting on the floor in the reading corner but she wasn’t reading. Lisa squatted next to her even though it was an effort with the lump. ‘Wotcha.’

  Silence.

  ‘Want to play with some toys?’

  She shook her head.

  Lisa didn’t blame her. Toys weren’t going to help her with something as traumatic as this. ‘Shall I tell you a story, then?’

  Daisy usually loved Lisa’s stories so she took the child’s silence as a ‘yes’. ‘Once upon a time, there was a little girl called Lisa.’