Love Is a Secret (18 page)

27

When did you last hear of a man asking for advice on how to juggle a career
and
a marriage?

Sometimes
What Mums Know
was just too sexist. He could do with some advice right now. But it wasn’t something he wanted to advertise online and he didn’t feel he could keep bothering Caroline. He’d have liked to have told her about the terrible argument with Florrie and how he’d finally convinced her that Hilary had been moved to a different part of the bank in New York, which was why it had been hard to find her.

In reality, he had succeeded in getting a message to Hilary, impressing on her the urgency of ringing home. She did so – but not for some days – and he’d allowed the children to talk to her first, desperately hoping she would be more communicative this  time.

Judging from the children’s voices, she was sounding reasonably normal. Fingers crossed, Florrie might be fooled.

‘When are you coming back, Mum? Really? I can’t wait.’ Florrie dropped her voice. ‘And I’ve started. You know,
started
. Yes, Dad got some stuff in but I wish you were here too. Freddy’s still kicking me and Dad gets really mad at him.’

‘Shut up, Florrie. Let me talk to her.’

Mark allowed Freddy to take the phone and then it was his turn.

She sounded brighter. Thank God. ‘How’s school going?’

‘Seems all right.’

‘Is Florrie OK?’

‘I think so.’

She was like the old Hilary as they ran through domestic details, like whether Freddy should go on the too-expensive school skiing trip and Daphne’s forthcoming cruise – a week up the Norwegian coast with Saga. By the end, they were almost chatty.

‘Can you ring later this week?’

‘I’ll try. Love you, Mark.’

That took him by surprise. She hadn’t said it for months.

‘And you.’

Slowly he put down the phone, realising with a horrible slow dawning that it wasn’t true. Not any more.

It was a busy week. EFT was a demanding client, always wanting to know which magazines were planning a write-up. Somehow he had to make sure his other clients didn’t feel neglected. Since he had turned freelance after Hilary’s departure, so that he could be at home for the kids, Mark had built up a diverse range of clients, ranging from a kitchenware manufacturer to a company that produced nursery goods. The latter wanted to see him on Friday and the meeting made him ten minutes late for lunch with Caroline.

She was already at the table – bottle green to match the restaurant’s botanical colour scheme – when he arrived. He spotted her immediately but she was flicking through a magazine and didn’t see him at first. A chap at a neighbouring table was eyeing her, he noticed. Not surprising. She really was very pretty – slim, blonde . . . intelligent . . . and sexy too.

Stop right there.

‘Hi. Sorry I’m late. I had a meeting that overran.’ He shook her hand, wondering if that was the right thing to do, and the warmth of her skin shot up his arm.

‘Don’t worry. This is a comfortable place to wait. Love the plants over there. Besides, I brought something to read.’ Her eyes smiled. ‘I never go anywhere without a magazine or a book just in case.’

‘Me too. I once got stuck on a train for three hours without anything. It was so boring.’ He patted his briefcase. ‘I’ve got Alexander McCall Smith’s latest in here. Have you read it?’

‘It’s on my list. Any good?’

She was so easy to talk to that the waiter had to come back twice before they paused to inspect the menu. He learned that she had gone up to read English at Oxford a year before he’d gone to Cambridge. They both adored the theatre. He talked about his family, and his mother who had gone back to Sri Lanka after his English father had died, some fifteen years ago.

‘My mother must have died at about the same time,’ she said quietly. ‘Annabel and Ben, our older two, were little.’

‘That must have been hard.’

She nodded. ‘It was. Especially as my father had died when I was a teenager. My parents had a fantastic marriage. They showed me how important it was to provide a solid family base.’ She looked away, awkward now.

He floundered for the right words to put her at her ease. ‘You don’t—’

‘I shouldn’t—’

They laughed. ‘You first,’ said Mark.

Caroline played with the menu. ‘All right. Thank you. What I was going to say was that I still feel really embarrassed about what I said on
What Mums Know
about . . . well, about my marriage and husband.’

‘Long forgotten,’ said Mark, promptly. ‘I’m good at that.’

She smiled sadly. ‘I wish I was. When I wrote that I wanted to know if it was possible to start again, but I’m still none the wiser.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘I’m not sure. I’ve already discussed it with a friend but he’s also a friend of my husband so I’m not sure how biased he is.’

‘Try me. I don’t know you very well, or your husband at all, so I can be objective.’

She picked up her napkin and put it down again. ‘OK, then. Roger and I had a good marriage. Well, I thought it was. But it’s different when you have children . . .’

He nodded.

‘I described – on the site – how that woman telephoned me.’

He could see how difficult it was for her to talk about it. ‘When I had it out with Roger, he said it was a physical thing. ‘I never found out who the woman who originally rang me was. But I suspect she was a friend of that woman – I still find it hard to say her name – who was either trying to help me or make me chuck him out.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘No.’ She was speaking so quietly now that he could barely hear her. ‘It scared us both because we discovered how much we had to lose. And the children . . .’ She lifted her lovely face. ‘I couldn’t bear them to have just one resident parent.’

Something must have flickered in his face. ‘I’m sorry.’ She put a hand on his arm. ‘I didn’t mean to be so thoughtless.’

‘No. It’s all right.’ He took a gulp of Chardonnay. ‘I feel the same about the family-unit thing. My family was very close, even though I didn’t have any brothers or sisters. When I met Hilary at university, I knew I wanted children. I couldn’t believe she was interested in me. Everyone loved her. She was bright, funny, intelligent, motivated . . . and,’ he hesitated, playing with his knife ‘. . . extremely beautiful.’

He shouldn’t have said that: her eyes were wary now, as she waited for him to go on. ‘It was a kind of opposites-attract thing. She was – is – very blonde. We made a striking couple and we knew it. We were immature too, and we liked the idea of shocking our parents. Sounds pathetic now, but when you’re only nineteen, you see the world differently.’

‘What went wrong?’

Mark laughed. ‘Apart from marrying too young? I’m still trying to work it out. She’d always wanted to make money because there hadn’t been much when she was growing up and it had made her feel insecure. She went into the bank’s graduate-training scheme and was determined to get as high as she could. For years, she insisted she didn’t want kids and I had to beg her in the end. After Florrie was born, we had a full-time nanny. You know how much that costs, and we were both working all hours to meet our outgoings and also to get the kind of lifestyle she wanted. Our mortgage was crazy and we had huge rows about it because I wanted to sell and live more within our means.’

He took a gulp of water. ‘At the time I was working all hours for a big PR firm in London so we hardly saw each other. I knew things weren’t great but then, earlier this year, she announced she’d got a promotion in New York and was going to America for five months.’

‘Hadn’t she told you she’d applied?’

‘No. I told her it wasn’t practical and she said I was holding her back.’

Caroline was wide-eyed. ‘But how could she leave the children?’

‘Exactly. But since Freddy’s birth, she’d changed. She was distant with the kids and they picked up on it. When they woke up in the night, they often called for me instead of her.’

‘Was she depressed?’

‘I thought of that. But she wouldn’t see anyone. So I thought, OK. Let her get it out of her system. Does that sound pathetic to you?’

‘No. It must have been very difficult to handle.’

He shifted his position. ‘That’s not all, to be honest. I suppose I always felt she’d done me a huge favour in marrying me.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m not as bright as her. And I guess I’m . . . from a different background.’

‘People don’t worry about that kind of thing any more.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure of it. Freddy gets teased at school. And other parents, particularly mothers, make comments about how different he looks from Florrie because she’s so much paler.’

‘That’s terrible.’

He nodded. ‘There are times, too, when I wonder if I really know my wife . . .’

‘I know exactly what you mean. That’s how I feel about Roger.’

She took a sip of sparkling water, which moistened her lips. He felt an insane urge to dab them with a napkin. ‘So when are you seeing her – Hilary – next?’

‘Not sure.’

‘You ought to go out there at half-term.’ Caroline put out her hand briefly to touch his arm. ‘Be assertive. Tell her how much you miss her.’

‘Maybe. Except that . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m not sure I do miss her any more.’

Silence. Should he have said that?

She looked beyond him at the wall. ‘It’s only when Roger goes out of the door in the morning that I can be myself.’

The significance of the words hung in the air. He was about to say something when the waiter arrived, bearing a pudding menu, which they both declined. ‘I suppose we ought to talk work,’ said Caroline, getting out her notepad. ‘Did you know that EFT has paid for an advertorial? We don’t do many – our editor’s very careful about what she promotes – but she’s into educational toys in a big way. So, I need to know about your new spring range.’

She was professional, thought Mark, getting out his brochures. Professional and warm. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her. For God’s sake! Just because he hadn’t had sex for months it didn’t mean he had to fancy every woman he came across. But Caroline was the first woman for whom he had felt something since Hilary. And he was deeply uncomfortable about it.

He just had time to nip home and put dinner in the oven before he had to dash out again to collect the kids from the after-school club. No sooner had he bunged in the Marks and Spencer pie than the phone rang.

‘Mr Summers? This is Bernard Roberts speaking.’

The headteacher. Visions of Freddy falling off the playground slide crashed into his head. ‘Are the children all right?’

‘I’m afraid we have a bit of a problem. Freddy has been caught downloading content from unsuitable sites on the school computer and sending them to friends.’

‘Unsuitable sites?’ Relief that they were still in one piece was swiftly followed by disbelief. ‘What kind of sites?’

‘Perhaps you’d better see for yourself. He told me that he sent them to his home computer.’

Mark tried to think clearly. ‘But we have a filter system. And so must the school.’

The head sighed. ‘Sadly, they don’t catch everything. I’m afraid that’s not all. Freddy has also been designing a website which we are not at all happy about. May I suggest that you look at the evidence, then come in to see me on Thursday morning?’

He had an EFT meeting then but he’d have to postpone it. He put down the phone and ran upstairs to switch on the computer.

Come on, come on. Log on. History. In his day, it had been a subject, not a way of checking up on what the kids had been doing online.

Mark stared at the images on the screen. They weren’t by any means pornographic, as the head had implied. But they were suggestive. Very suggestive. This time, Freddy had gone too far.

28

From Scummy Mummy to What Mums Know: Just wanted to add my own tip on going back to work. Get your kids to help choose the clothes you’re going to wear. It makes them feel more involved – and their enthusiasm will give you confidence.

Susan had almost cried when she’d read the message. If only Tabitha had been capable of choosing her an outfit! Crazily, she had tried: ‘What do you think of this, Tabs?’ she’d asked, doing a mock-twirl in her only serviceable skirt, a rather dull navy blue. But Tabitha hadn’t been interested: all she’d wanted to do was look out of the window for her father’s arrival.

And now Susan was sitting in a real office, shaking like a leaf, convinced that any minute now the rather nice-looking man on the other side of the desk would explain that there’d been a mistake; she didn’t have nearly the right qualifications; and would she mind leaving now?

Simon Wright, whose name was on his desk, picked up his pen. Real ink, observed Susan. Posh handwriting. ‘Your application was rather fortuitous, actually.’ His warm, friendly eyes reminded her of Josh when she’d first met him. ‘In fact, we had filled the position but the lady in question had to back out for domestic reasons.’ He sighed. ‘That’s the problem – no one wants to work at weekends any more.’

‘And do you blame us?’ asked a perky woman, who was sitting on the other side of him. ‘We do have lives to lead, you know.’ She winked at Susan, who wasn’t sure how to respond.

‘Do you mind, Fiona?’ asked Simon pleasantly. ‘I’m meant to be doing an interview. Don’t try to put our lovely new applicant off before she starts!’

Lovely new applicant? Susan glowed even though she knew he didn’t mean it. ‘Actually, weekends are the best time for me. My husband, I mean ex-husband, has our daughter every other weekend. I want something to do.’

Too late, she realised how pathetic that had sounded. But both were nodding. ‘Absolutely. I can understand that,’ said Simon. ‘My mother went back to work a few years ago, also for an estate agent, and hasn’t looked back.’

His mother? Was that how he saw her? Susan shifted uncomfortably. He was younger than her, definitely, but only by a few years, surely. It was her weight that made her look older, thanks to those flipping Bourbons.

Simon was leafing through the file again. ‘Every other weekend, you say. I know the ad said once a month but it would be useful to have someone a bit more often.’

‘That would be fine.’

Odd. He seemed more interested in her availability than in talking about her previous jobs. They must need someone badly.

‘Now, what about experience?’ Simon tapped his pen on the sheet. ‘Have you worked for an estate agent before?’

‘No.’ Susan was shaking again with nerves and had to steel herself to sound calm. ‘But your ad did say no experience was necessary. Besides, I’m good with people. Before . . . I mean some years ago, I worked in telesales and I’ve been doing voluntary work at a day centre for the past six years.’

Voluntary work! She winced with guilt.

‘Very good.’ Simon’s hand flew across the page. ‘Basically, the job involves showing people round an estate of new houses, which we’re handling for a local builder. You might know it. Blackthorne Walk.’

She had watched them going up over the last year – she and Tabitha had to pass them on the bus. They were big and a bit brassy, with small front gardens and large black electric gates at the main entrance. Not really her taste . . .

‘Of course, it goes without saying that we need our sales team to be well dressed.’ He glanced at her elasticated-waist skirt and cable-knit jumper, which, to her dismay, she now saw that she was wearing inside out
and
the label showed. ‘Nothing dramatic. Just reasonably stylish. Like the lovely Fiona, here.’ His eyes twinkled wickedly, making Susan feel frumpily uncomfortable.

‘Simon,’ said Fiona, warningly. She grinned at Susan. ‘Don’t worry about him. He’s just trying to impress you.’

‘We pay nine pounds fifty an hour and an allowance per mile for petrol. How does that sound to you?’

Petrol? Her heart sank. ‘I’m afraid I don’t drive. I’ve had some lessons but haven’t passed my test yet.’

He clucked. ‘Oh dear.’

‘I can get the bus there,’ she added quickly.

‘Really?’ He sucked his pen again. ‘Normally our salespeople have to be drivers but in this case, as it’s just the one location, you won’t need to drive to appointments.’

She held her breath. ‘Does that mean you’re offering me the job?’

He smiled, revealing a web of crinkly laughter lines beside his eyes. ‘Do I take it you’re interested?’

Susan nodded. ‘Yes, please. When would you like me to start?’

‘I don’t suppose you’re free today? We’ve got several people who want to view Blackthorne and no one to take them round.’

She thought of her empty home and the weeds poking through the paving slabs. ‘Today would be fine.’

Simon picked up the phone. ‘In that case, I’ll arrange the viewings. I’ll drop you off myself to show you round so that you know what you’re talking about.’ He stood up, revealing himself to be much taller than she’d thought. ‘The car’s out the back. After you, Susie.’

She didn’t like to point out she was ‘Susan’. It seemed so staid.

‘’Bye,’ called Fiona, chummily. ‘See you soon.’

‘Yes,’ said Susan, still nervous although everyone was much nicer than she’d imagined. She allowed Simon to hold open the door for her and walked self-consciously beside him towards the car park, her heart singing. She had got the job!

By mid-afternoon, Susan felt as though she was on intimate terms with each house on Blackthorne Walk. Each was, as she explained to prospective buyers, slightly different from the others, to give them individuality, but the floors were all wooden and the swagged curtains were included. As Susan had guessed, the back gardens were pitifully small, given the astonishing asking price, but only one couple remarked on that. Not one of the houses would have suited her and Tabitha. She found it hard enough to cope with the stairs at home, but these spiral staircases were lethal. And there were so many split levels between rooms! Why hadn’t the architects thought about it?

‘We love it but I’m scared of falling,’ said an elegant woman, who held her husband’s arm as they walked round. She wasn’t that old – early sixties – but they’d told Susan they were looking for a retirement home. In ten years’ time, it might be totally unsuitable.

‘I know exactly what you mean. My friend has a daughter who can’t walk very well. She would have liked a house like this, but without the steps or stairs. But have you considered the plot next to number four? That house is being built next year and I believe it’s still possible to put in design alterations.’

‘Really?’ The woman glanced up at her husband questioningly. ‘Can you give us more details?’

Susan rang Simon from her mobile and arranged for the couple to speak to the builders.

‘Well done, Susie,’ he said, when he arrived unexpectedly at the end of the day to see how she’d got on. ‘The Fairhursts seem genuinely interested. You did a good job. But how did you know the house could still be altered?’

Susan flushed. ‘I didn’t. It was a lucky guess. But my dad used to be a builder and I knew there’s only outline planning for that particular plot – I saw it in the local paper. So I reckoned there was still time for changes.’

‘You saw it in the local paper?’

She reddened further. ‘I usually read it quite thoroughly.’ No need to say that it helped pass the time when she was feeding Tabitha or watching her do jigsaws.

‘You’ve done fantastically well for your first day.’ He started the engine. ‘Two of the viewers rang to make second appointments and both said how helpful you’d been. Looks as though you’ve got a knack.’

It had been so long since someone had paid her a compliment that she’d forgotten how nice it felt. ‘Thanks.’

‘I don’t suppose you fancy a bite, do you? An early supper? I’m starving and the Stag is meant to be rather good.’

His suggestion took her by surprise and her first instinct was to decline: she was unused to going out. A bite? Was this a date? No, don’t be stupid. He was just being friendly. Probably felt sorry for her or wanted to talk work. And the Stag had always looked nice from the outside. Besides, Tabitha wasn’t coming back until nine, since Josh and Steff were taking her to the cinema, and the only thing waiting for Susan was an empty house and a nearly empty fridge. Still, she ought to let Steff know where she was, just in case.

‘That would be nice. Only thing is that I ought to ring my ex just to check my daughter’s all right.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Sure. How old is she again?’

‘Twelve,’ said Susan quickly. She knew he thought she was fussing, but let him. She didn’t want him to know about Tabitha (not yet, anyway) because he might feel her domestic responsibilities would make her unreliable. ‘Do you mind if I borrow your mobile, Simon? My battery’s running low.’

‘Course not. Here.’ He passed it to her and their hands brushed briefly. She flushed.

‘Steff, it’s me.’

‘Sue? Didn’t recognise your number.’

‘No, my battery’s out,’ she glanced at Simon, ‘and I had to borrow someone’s. How’s Tabitha?’

‘Happy as Larry. We’re just off now to the Odeon.’

Briefly, Susan explained she was going out to supper but would still be back for nine.

‘Have a lovely time. With someone nice, are you?’

Steff had read the wrong thing into the mobile number. ‘No. I mean, yes. See you later.’

‘Everything all right?’ asked Simon, as she handed back the phone.

‘Yes, thanks. Do you have children?’

‘Me?’ He seemed bemused, as though the idea had never occurred to him. ‘No, not yet. Too much else going on to think about settling down, despite all the hints my mother started dropping from the minute I was thirty.’

So he wasn’t that much younger than her, she thought, as he swung sharply left into the pub car park, then leaped out to open her door before she had time to do it herself.

‘Thanks.’

‘Susie?’ His eyes held hers for a second.

‘Yes?’

‘You don’t have to keep thanking me all the time, you know. Believe me, it’s me who should be thanking you. We were desperate for an extra pair of hands and you seem to fit the bill exactly.’

The pub was nice. It had dark wooden tables with candles in the middle. There was so much on the menu and on the blackboard that, after years of not going out apart from the odd birthday treat with her dad, June and Tabitha, she floundered, unable to make up her mind.

‘The lasagne’s very good,’ suggested Simon. ‘Do you prefer red or white?’

She meant to say red but somehow white came out, which was stupid because white wine always gave her headaches. But then it seemed too late to take it back and somehow she found herself sipping a rather large glass of Chardonnay and smoothing down her navy skirt, which was riding up.

‘So, tell me about yourself, Susie. How long have you been on your own?’

Was it that obvious? She’d mentioned her ex but she might have had someone else. Then again, if she did, she probably wouldn’t have been free for supper on Saturday night. ‘Nearly eleven years.’

He whistled beneath his breath. ‘Too scared to take the plunge again?’

This was getting a bit too intimate for a conversation with someone she’d only just met. If she’d known him better, she would have explained that it was because, first, she hadn’t met the right person and, second, only a very special man would take on Tabitha. Instead she said, ‘Something like that,’ and tried to laugh it off, steering the conversation back to work. ‘Have you been at Green and Co long?’

‘About a year.’

He didn’t want to discuss it, thought Susan, desperately searching for another subject. Luckily, he took the lead.

‘Have you seen that new drama on Monday nights? It’s a serialisation of Martina Cole’s latest.’

She breathed a sigh of relief. She was hooked on it, and also on Martina Cole’s books, which she got from the library. From then on, they talked and talked, about books, television programmes and films, although Susan was only familiar with those that had been released on DVD.

‘I can’t believe you haven’t seen the new Tom Cruise.’

For a second, she was almost tempted to come clean about Tabitha and how difficult it was to leave her. ‘I can’t afford to go out much,’ she said lamely. ‘The cinema isn’t expensive, I know, but it all adds up.’

He nodded understandingly. ‘I’ve often thought how hard it must be for single mothers on their own.’

‘It has its advantages,’ said Susan, hastily, not wanting him to feel sorry for her. ‘You can do as you like when you like.’

‘Apart from going out,’ he teased.

‘Well, the new going out is staying in,’ she pointed out.

‘Very true.’ He grinned and, for a second, she felt quite pleased with herself. Then he glanced at his watch. ‘Sorry, but I have to go. I promised to pick up my mother and take her to a friend’s.’