Love Is a Secret

by Sophie King

  Karen stared at the shorthand note she’d just made on the pad in front (the computer system had just crashed again!). When you’d been in this job as long as she had, she warned the new ones, you sometimes took down ads without thinking and it could be easy to make mistakes, especially if your shorthand outline was a bit unclear. ‘Sorry, sir. Would you mind repeating that again?’

  The squeaky voice at the other end of the phone sounded irritated. ‘I said box of condoms. Needs to be collected.’

  She turned to wink at Sandra, sitting next to her. ‘I see, sir. Can you spell ‘condoms’ please?’

  It’s what you always did when you suspected a wind-up. Her old boss had taught her that in the early days. Ask them to spell it out. If they could. Normally, it made the prankster burst into giggles.

  ‘I see. K-o-n-d-o-m. Don’t they teach you to spell at school any more, dear? And what colour are they?’

  There was a peal of adolescent laughter at the other end as the culprit put the phone down.

  ‘Why do I always get them?’ Karen asked Sandra.

  ‘You do seem to have a knack! Maybe it’s your ‘aura’ that attracts them.’

  ‘OK, OK.’

  There were times when Karen wished she hadn’t told Sandra about that over a coffee break. ‘It’s the sort of thing you should keep to yourself, Mum,’ Adam was always saying.

  But it was a gift! A gift which had started after she had left Paul. After she’d got the stone. Somehow, she began to see soft, coloured clouds hovering over people’s heads; sometimes blue; sometimes purple; sometimes pink. And when she began to research it in the library – her favourite place to go to on Saturday mornings – she began to read up about auras.

  Often it made a lot of sense. Sandra’s was yellow right now which meant she was in a good mood.

  The funny thing was that she hadn’t seen anyone’s aura at the first meeting. It was a pity that only a handful had turned up. Still, if she had helped them, it was worth it. The question was, had she done any good? She wouldn’t know until the next one – providing they came back.

  ‘A box of books, sir? Yes, that will go in the ‘Under A Tenner’ column.’

  That was Sandra’s call – maybe she might ring about the books herself. You could find some great bargains in the paper. Hang on. Her line was going now. ‘A multi-waste dispenser. £3. Well, yes, you might get someone.’

  ‘Why do punters go to the effort of waiting in for strangers to look at their stuff just to get three quid?’ demanded Sandra when she’d finished.

  ‘Because they’re lonely?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Sandra, whose own social life bleeped incessantly from her mobile, checked her mascara in the small pocket mirror she kept on her desk. ‘By the way, my neighbour said her daughter went to your group.’

  Karen had been wondering if Sandra would mention this.

  ‘What’s her story then?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She pretended to fiddle with her screen.

  ‘Go on!’

  ‘I can’t betray confidences.’

  ‘Auditioning to be the next Denise Robertson are we?’

  The phone flashed, indicating another call. ‘I’ll get it,’ said Sandra, stuffing the last bit of Kit Kat down her. Karen nodded, grateful for the interruption. She’d say this much for the so-called credit crunch: it didn’t stop people from buying and selling stuff. Far from it! She’d got a few bargains herself, this way.

  Take Orlando and Jemima. Well how could she have resisted? ‘Two cats in need of new home. Owner emigrating.’ They’d settled in beautifully despite Oscar’s initial hisses and Adam’s disapproval.

  ‘If they had a child in the ‘For Sale’ column, you’d have it!’ he would say, giving her a cuddle. Well of course she would. A soft heart. That’s what she had. A soft heart that had got her into trouble more times than it should have done. Otherwise she wouldn’t have gone out with half the men she had done since Paul. All they had to do was tell her their sob story and before she knew it, she’d agreed to have that dinner or sometimes lunch, just because she didn’t want to hurt their feelings.

  ‘That’s as far as it goes,’ she’d exclaimed to Adam when he had once accused her of ‘putting herself around’. ‘How dare you? And I don’t sleep with them either if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

  Adam had gone quiet then, realising he had overstepped the respect mark. ‘I’m just saying, Mum, that you need to be careful.’

  And she was. It was true that she hadn’t slept with any of them. But it was nice to have the odd kiss and cuddle provided it didn’t go any further.

  ‘Four Georgian chairs and matching table, only ten years old,’ she could hear Sandra saying seriously.

  Waving her hands to attract her colleague’s attention, she mouthed ‘mock-Georgian’ but Sandra just frowned. Never mind. She’d get her to change it later. She and Paul had owned a rather nice Georgian armoire but it had had to go along with the other things. Still, she’d learned to see it as cathartic: a letting go of the past and an embracing of the future. Only occasionally did she feel a small wince when she thought of the old house with its chestnut tree, especially now it was conker season. But a house, she reminded herself, was only a home when you were with the right person.

  Here we go again! Another flashing light . . . A child’s paddling pool! Not the right time of the year to sell but it might be perfect for Josh next summer.

  At last! A quiet lull. Sandra was on the phone which meant Karen could take a quick look at her ad which had come out for the fourth week running. (The fourth week was always free.) She’d changed the wording this time so it looked a bit fresher. Might get a few more readers ringing in.

  The ‘How To Survive Divorce’ Club

  Feeling low after a relationship breakdown?

  Need someone to talk to?

  Lost touch with your other half (yourself)?

  Then come along to our friendly monthly meetings and get your wife back on track.

  Telephone . . .

  Wife back on track? It should have read ‘life’. And even worse, the last digit of the phone number was wrong! How could that have happened?

  ‘Sorry,’ trilled one of the subs when she called. ‘You can have it free next week instead, if you like.’

  Karen never got angry. It was one of the things she had found so difficult about Paul. But even so, she felt let down.

  Sandra was nudging her in the ribs. ‘Ring the wrong number,’ she was hissing, cupping the receiver with her hand while taking another ad. ‘Explain the situation and ask them to give out your number if someone rings.’

  Not a bad idea – except that it was an answer machine. ‘Hi. This is Karen from classified ads on the local paper. I’m afraid that your number has gone into the paper by mistake.’ What a fool she was making of herself! ‘So I was wondering, if someone rings for a group called The ‘How To Survive Divorce’ Club, could you give them my number? It’s the same as yours but with a 7 at the end. Thanks.’

  Maybe she should have explained what they were all about!

  ‘Hi. It’s me again. I just thought I ought to explain. The ‘How To Survive Divorce’ Club – the group I mentioned – it’s a sort of self-help group for people on their own. All above board, of course. Nothing funny. Well we try to have some laughs and a bit of a singsong too actually, but . . .’

  Click. The machine had cut in. Well done, Karen, you’ve really made a hash of it, haven’t you? In fact it was so toe-curling that she might as well have a bit of a giggle.

  Her landline started to ring just as she got back from work. Karen fished for her I Love Gran keyring and just picked it up on time.

  ‘Is that ‘How To Survive Divorce’?’

  ‘Yes!’ She was gasping with relief at having got to the phone in time and having another possible participant.

  ‘It’s me. Ed. Look I’m sorry but I don’t think I can come any more. I don’t feel like I fit in so I thought I ought to give
you notice so you could give my space to someone else.’

  He couldn’t do that! There would hardly be anyone left in the group. ‘Please. Don’t make any hasty decisions. Give it another chance. Lots of men cry. I mean it’s a sign of strength, not weakness. Tell you what. Why don’t we meet for coffee. Tomorrow afternoon after work?’

  Thank heavens he’d agreed. She couldn’t have forgiven herself if she’d made Ed feel worse rather than better.

  ‘Hiya!’

  There was the sound of the door opening. Not now! Normally Karen loved it when Hayley came round, which was why she’d given her a key in the first place. It had become a sort of unspoken routine at about this time when she and Josh popped in on the way back from nursery. Over the years, she’d found herself becoming increasingly closer to Hayley, especially after her grandson’s birth. In another life, she’d have loved a daughter. But tonight, she’d really been looking forward to a bit of time on her own. One of the joys of being single, she often reminded herself.

  ‘Granny!’

  There was a rush of air as Josh flew into her arms. ‘Ouch, darling. That hurts!’

  Grinning, her grandson continued to weave his chubby little fingers into her hair. There was something gooey on them – goodness knows what!

  ‘Leave it off, Josh,’ Hayley said, unwrapping a stick of gum (her latest attempt to stop smoking). ‘Nan’s been at work all day. She’s tired.’

  Karen had long given up trying to tell Hayley that really, she’d prefer to be called Gran than Nan. But that was the kind of family Hayley came from and really, did it matter? When Adam had first brought home this very pretty, blonde, bubbly girl who didn’t speak particularly well but who clearly had a heart of gold, she’d had her doubts. The wrong kind, she’d told herself. The snobby ones. But within minutes, she’d been charmed by Hayley’s laughter and kindness (‘No, Adam. You make your mum a cup of tea. It shouldn’t be the other way round’). And even though she wouldn’t necessarily have chosen Hayley as the ideal wife (or partner as they all were nowadays), she had grown to love her as a daughter. Maybe one day, a daughter-in-law but she wouldn’t push them. Not even when Josh had arrived sooner than any of them had expected.

  ‘How was nursery, poppet?’

  Josh leapt up next to her, flourishing a sheet of crayon scrawls in front of her. ‘It’s my name,’ he announced importantly.

  Really? Hayley had had Josh’s name tattooed on her ankle after he’d been born and Karen had had to bite her own tongue to stop herself saying something.

  ‘Take your shoes off before you get on that sofa, Josh. I’ve told you before.’

  Something was wrong! Hayley was never usually sharp like that and her face was unusually peaky. And her aura – usually blue which indicates balance in life –was grey.

  ‘Feeling all right, dear?’

  Hayley looked away. ‘Not really. But if I tell you, you mustn’t tell Adam. Promise?’

  Karen found herself nodding before thinking it through.

  ‘I’m . . . ,’ Hayley glanced at Josh who was now playing with the remote. She pointed to her stomach. ‘I’m – you know.’

  Another baby! Part of Karen wanted to ask how they were going to manage. Two little ones with both parents under twenty five! But then again, a new life! A brother or sister for Josh! Another grandchild to spoil!

  ‘But I’m not having it. I can’t! We can’t. It’s too much especially now Adam’s lost his job.’

  What?

  ‘Wondered if he’d said anything. Probably didn’t want to worry you. So you do see, don’t you?’ Her beautiful green eyes were searching Karen’s face. ‘You don’t think bad of me, do you?’

  Somehow she found her voice. ‘What does Adam say?’

  Hayley shot another look at Josh who was sitting cross-legged in front of a children’s TV presenter who hadn’t learned to speak properly. ‘He doesn’t know, does he? And he mustn’t. Things haven’t been that great between us. If we have another baby, Karen, I don’t think we’ll cope.’

  Her voice wobbled. For as long as Karen had known her, Hayley had never cried but here she was, shaking and reaching out for her hand. ‘You will help me. Won’t you?’

  9

  ED

  A coffee, she’d suggested in that warm motherly tone that made him want to bury his head in between those large, warm (he just knew they’d be warm!) inviting pillow-breasts that he couldn’t help noticing – well who couldn’t! – underneath that clingy t-shirt thing she’d been wearing at the meeting.

  Much as he hated to admit it, if it wasn’t for those breasts, he would have simply said he was busy. There were no end of excuses he could have come up with; most of which could have been true. A board meeting; another day trip to Barcelona to sort out some more buy-to-lets; a round of golf with a client . . .

  Somehow, that unexpected hug of Karen’s in front of everyone had catapulted him back to that strange, unreal time when his mother had been there one minute and gone the next. ‘Shhh, lamb, it will be all right,’ Viv their cleaner had reassured him and (even though his father had told him he was far too old to cry now and that he’d get a right beating from the other boys at school if they knew what a baby he was), he had snuggled up into Viv’s warm, woollen cardigan which always smelt of Cussons talc, and, when his father wasn’t looking, shoved his thumb in for comfort.

  So it was that memory that had been responsible for him nodding down the phone and somehow agreeing to that coffee and ‘little chat’. But now, as he sat edgily by the window of Caffè Nero, stirring his hot chocolate after carefully lining the saucer with a napkin so it didn’t drip, he found himself going back to the night he had first met Tatty.

  It had been another of those parties in some wine bar in Islington for a chap in the office who was leaving. Ed, still feeling hugely relieved at his previous girlfriend’s departure (what was her name again?) and promising himself that he would never, ever again, do anything on the rebound, let alone get married again, had decided he’d go just for an hour or so before going onto another party.

  But he’d no sooner than walked in, knocked back a glass of something fizzy and looked around for something else to replace it, than he had seen Tatty sitting on the knee of the bloke who was leaving, and mouthing something that looked curiously like ‘Get me out of here’ directly at him.

  Hardly knowing what he was doing, he’d held out his hand although it felt as though some external force was pulling it out for him. And then she’d taken it, her beautiful green eyes locked on his, rose up from the knee of the moron she was sitting on and floated towards him . . .

  ‘Ed!’

  An enormous turquoise blouse launched itself at him, pulling him back to the present with that chunky bead necklace and dangly earrings which scratched his cheeks as the owner planted a brief kiss (!) first to the right and then the left. Karen!

  ‘So sorry I’m late. Parking was a nightmare.’

  ‘I know . . . I got someone to drop me off.’

  But she was still talking, as though she hadn’t heard him. ‘Afraid I’ve only got about ten minutes – we’re meant to take an hour but it’s crazy there today! Still, at least we don’t have any more mating goldfish or used condoms!’

  Great. Now he had a problem with his ears too – another sign of stress according to the doctor. He could have sworn Karen had said something about goldfish wearing condoms. And her voice seemed to be coming at him in waves, reverberating round his head. She was sort of blurring in and out of focus too.

  ‘Ed? Are you feeling all right?’ Her hand was pressing his. ‘Did you have breakfast by any chance?’

  Viv used to make him breakfast after his mother had gone. Hot baked rolls straight from the Aga. That’s when he’d first heard the C word. ‘What’s cancer?’ he had asked and Viv had fallen strangely silent.

  ‘Because if you didn’t eat anything,’ Karen was saying now, ‘it would explain why you look so pale. Hang on a minute.’

&n
bsp; And before he knew it, she was back with a panino; a mushroom one which was actually his favourite (how had she known?) and she just let him eat it without asking distracting questions like Bella (wife number three) used to and which always gave him indigestion.

  ‘Feeling better?’

  He nodded. ‘Thanks. Please, I must owe you . . .’

  She waved his suggestion away. ‘You can buy me something the next time.’ She leaned forwards, both elbows on the table, and for a minute, he thought she was going to hold his hands. ‘I’m so glad you rang, Ed. I was worried about you at the end of the last session. It’s quite normal, you know. To cry, that is. I did oodles of that when my marriage broke up.’

  This was getting embarrassing. Divert, his father used to say, when that happened. ‘Please, Karen.’ Briefly, he touched her arm. ‘Tell me what happened to you.’

  Karen made a snorting noise that made the man at the next table turn round. With amusement, Ed watched the man’s expression turn from disapproval to admiration at Karen’s chest outline. ‘I suppose we got married too young really. We did in those days. The late seventies you know . . . And then we had a baby.’ She beamed. ‘Adam. He’s almost twenty five now with a baby of his own!’

  Ed hadn’t thought of Karen having children, let alone being a grandmother. She seemed too carefree and chilled. Those friends of his who had kids had a perpetual air of confusion. Several had become ranting bores who could have gone onto Mastermind with ‘Dilation’ as their specialist subject.

  ‘But he stayed, didn’t he? I mean until your son was older?’

  Somehow Ed didn’t like the idea of Karen having to cope on her own. It had been bad enough for his dad but he’d been tough. Never once had he seen him cry.

  Now, Karen was shaking her head. ‘No. I left him when Adam was fourteen. But what I want to know, is whether I can persuade you to come along again.’ She was leaning forward again and the line between those amazing breasts was becoming increasingly apparent. For someone her age, she was magnificent! ‘You’ve done the hard bit, after all. Telling us about your four wives . . .’