Love Is a Secret (19 page)

So he was caring, too. ‘Can I go halves?’ She opened her purse. Simon waved it away. He had sounded slightly slurred and she tried to remember how much he had drunk. Too much to drive her home? But she couldn’t say something or it would look rude.

‘No, the pleasure’s mine. Besides, it’s on the company. We can say we talked shop, can’t we?’

To her relief he drove steadily, even though she could smell the drink on his breath from the passenger seat. She couldn’t help thinking that if this was work it was much more fun than people made out.

‘Thanks for a lovely evening,’ she said, as Simon dropped her off outside the house. Getting out of the car, she felt shamefully glad it was dusk so that he couldn’t see the handrails running up the sides of the garden path.

‘Thanks for coming with me.’ His eyes held hers for a second, until embarrassed, she fumbled in her handbag for her key. ‘See you,’ he called.

Susan waved back. As she slid the key into the lock, she realised she should have gone back to work a long time ago. For the first time in years, she felt useful – no, more than that. She almost felt good about herself.

Within a few minutes Tabitha was back so it was lucky she hadn’t been any later. One glance at her daughter’s animated face and she had no need to ask how the cinema trip had gone.

‘We saw the new Tom Cruise film,’ Steff said excitedly, ‘and don’t worry, it was a twelve. Seen it, have you?’

‘No,’ said Susan. ‘I don’t get out often.’

Josh put his arm round Steff. ‘I can’t tell you how much this has meant to us. Steff said you might consider letting her come to us overnight next time.’

‘I said I’d think about it.’

‘It would be great if you could. I know I haven’t been much help in the past but I want to make up for it now. I really do.’

No need to tell him about the job yet and the promise she’d made to work every other weekend, an arrangement that depended on him having Tabitha.

‘Did you enjoy your dinner?’ asked Steff, eyes glittering with curiosity.

‘Yes, it was fun.’

‘Out with a friend, were you?’

‘That’s right. Come along, Tabitha, let’s get you to bed. It’s past your usual bedtime, isn’t it?’

‘See you, then.’ Josh clearly didn’t want to go.

‘Yes. Better get on now.’ Susan made to shut the door.

‘You’re doing a great job, Sue.’

Steff’s teeth would fall out if she didn’t stop nodding like that. Funny. She’d never have put her down as Josh’s type. Still, people could change. Or they might be completely different from the kind of person you had them down as in the first place. It was enough to make you wonder if you ever really knew someone at all.

29

Keep Your Child Safe on the Internet.

Lisa kept thinking about that one. When Rose was older, she wouldn’t let her go on it at all. Far too dangerous. She’d also make sure she said ta nicely, went to mass every now and then and washed her hands after going to the toilet. These days, parents let their kids get away with anything.

‘Mrs Smith, can you help me write my name?’

Lisa crouched next to Daisy, breathing in her smell: fabric conditioner mixed with glue. ‘Put your hand over mine while I trace the letters. Good girl.’ Lisa tried to sound positive but there was no escaping the fact that Daisy’s letters were all wonky. If her mum was at home, instead of working, she could have helped her. That was another reason why Lisa was determined not to work after Rose was born. Besides, the baby’s dad ought to help with maintenance. ‘Now do it on your own. Hold the pencil like this. Cool!’

Daisy’s face lit up. ‘Can I do some painting now?’

‘Why not?’ Lisa spread out an old newspaper sheet on the table, carefully covering the vinyl surface in the way that Mrs Perkins insisted. As she did so, something caught her eye at the top of the page: MATERNITY UNIT CRITICISED FOR CAMERA THAT DIDN’T WORK.

‘Can I have the orange paint, Mrs Smith?’

‘Hang on a minute, Daisy. I just want to read this.’

Lisa had never been a fast reader. She’d only just got to the bit about the technicians not mending the security cameras – luckily, no baby was snatched, but the point was that one could have been – when Mrs Perkins loomed up. ‘Lisa, I’ve told you before. Daisy’s group is on the painting rota after lunch. She can’t do what she wants when she wants.’

Daisy made a face. Luckily, Mrs Perkins’s back was turned by then.

‘Never mind.’ Lisa took her hand quickly before anyone saw this display of affection. ‘Let’s go and play in the sandpit, shall we?’

Whoops, the old bat was coming back. ‘Lisa, can I have a word? Daisy, go to the slide, please.’

Lisa stood there, arms folded, bracing herself for what was coming.

‘Lisa, I know you’re fond of Daisy but we can’t afford to have favourites. I’ve told you before, we can’t show physical affection, like holding hands, in today’s age of litigation. Besides, you’re here for all the children, not just the ones you like. Now, I want you to help Aaron with his colours. Oh, and, Lisa?’

What now?

‘Next week, I’d like you to be in the baby room for a few days while Annie’s on holiday. I’ll run over your duties with you but it’s mainly changing nappies and making up bottles. You did that in your last job, didn’t you?’

Lisa nodded, feeling a glow of excitement creeping over her. The baby room! No one could stop her picking one up there: it was part of her job. No one could stop her breathing them in and holding them to her, feeling their little chests rise and fall against her own. It would be almost like having a baby of her own.

Oh, Sky and Hayley. Where are you?

Tears pricked her eyes. It got her like that, when she was least expecting it. It would help if she could talk to Earth Mother or one of the others. Lisa wiped her eyes and blew her nose on a square of loo paper up her sleeve. Maybe, she’d nip in to the special-needs centre next door in her dinner hour. With any luck, one of the computers might be free.

No one minded when she asked if she could log on for a bit. Lisa waved to a couple of mums she knew and found a computer in the corner where no one else was sitting.

From Expectent Mum to What Mums Know: I’ve had a really bad day today. I can’t stop thinking about Sky. She’s the baby I lost after Hayley. Id got to thirteen weeks when one night I had a terible dream. I was in the dentist’s chair and he was pulling a tooth out. But it wasnt from my mouth. It was from my other end, if you know what I mean. I woke up and it was like I had the cramps. So I went to the toilet and there was all this bright red stuff in my knickers. When I wiped myself, something like a plastic bubel came out with the paper. I squezd it and it was all soft and squigy. Kiki, my neybur, said I ouhgt to put it in a bag and take it with me to the hospital. I saw this ginger doctor – right know-all, he was.

He sent me for a scan and then said that there was nothing left. Their didn’t seem much point in giving him the stuff I’d broght in the bag. So I put it in a bin outside in the coridor.

Later, after they’d given me a D and C to clear me out, I told one of the nurses about the bubel.

‘That might have been the sack, love,’ she said. ‘You know, the sack that the baby’s in.’

I screamed then. Screamed the ward down and demanded that the nurse went to get it out of the bin. But it had been emptied.

I HAD THROWN MY BABY AWAY!

‘You all right, love?’

Through a blur of tears, Lisa made out Tabitha’s mum. She was frowning anxiously.

Hurriedly, she pressed Send and logged off. ‘I think I’ve got a cold coming.’

Susan patted her shoulder. ‘Better go home, then, don’t you think? Specially in your condition.’

Lisa nodded. Why not? She’d tell Mrs Perkins she was sick and go and have a lie-down. She stroked her stomach tenderly, three times to the left; three times to the right. Positive thinking. That’s what Earth Mother was always saying. Lisa took a deep breath. It was going to be all right. It was going to be all right. Keep saying it and it would work.

EMAIL FROM SUSAN THOMAS

‘Hi, Dad! Thanks for your message. My first day at work went brilliantly, I think. And Tabs was fine. Will ring again soon for a proper chat.’

EMAIL TO LISA SMITH

Dear Lisa,

Thank you for your interest in our new website, MAKE YOUR OWN LUCK!, as featured on TV. Ever wondered why some people are luckier than others? It’s because they BELIEVE they will be successful. Want to know more? All you have to do is send your credit-card details to the following address. . .

MESSAGE FROM FLORRIE SUMMERS

Dear Kari,

Check this out! Dad caught Freddy on this and now he’s in real trouble!

EMAIL FROM CAROLINE CRAWFORD

‘Janie – I desperately need some sisterly advice. Can’t email in case anyone sees it at your end. I’ll ring again tomorrow night at about ten p.m. your time.’

WHAT MUMS KNOW

OUR ONLINE DEBATE ABOUT WOMEN AND AFFAIRS IS REALLY HEATING UP!

From Scummy Mummy: My friend had an affair with a married man who said he’d leave his family for her. He did and they’ve been together for ten years. So affairs aren’t always wrong.

From Lawyer Mum: Take it from me, both professionally and personally, it’s not worth it.

TIP FROM FRAN 3

Get the kids to show you how the Net works. It makes them feel grown-up – and it’s free tuition!

CHUCKLE CORNER FROM ANON OF ALDERSHOT

Q: Do you ever wake up grumpy?

A: No, I just tiptoe past him in the mornings . . .

THOUGHT TO KEEP YOU SANE FROM ALI OF SLOUGH

One day, the kids will leave home. But if you’ve treated them nice, they might just come back.

PARENTING NEWS

A new survey has shown that fish oil can definitely improve concentration in a child but only if it’s the right kind.

30

She hadn’t realised how much fun emails could be when they weren’t work-related.

From: Mark Summers

To: Caroline Crawford

Thanks for lunch. I really enjoyed it. And don’t worry about Part Time Mum confessions. It’s between you and me.

Well-mannered. Funny. Warm. Sexy.
Stop right there.
As Janie had said, she was playing a very dangerous game.

I enjoyed it too. It was such a relief to talk to someone who really understood.

She felt a bit guilty writing that. Jeff had tried to understand but he was Roger’s friend. He was sending another message.

No easy answers, are there?

Spot on, again.

I married Hilary because I was flattered that she needed me. When you think about it, most of us marry for reasons that seem illogical, with hindsight. Very true. Sorry but got 2 go. Daphne’s just arrived.

Daphne?

Maybe he, too, felt they’d been over-familiar because after that he sent more general emails, about the children and a book he was reading, which, funnily enough, she had just finished herself. She took care to ensure hers were equally neutral. It had been a while since their lunch and so much had happened. Georgie was heavily into the hockey season and, miraculously, Ben had got himself an evening job stacking shelves at Tesco. It meant he didn’t drive back until three a.m. or even later, which meant Caroline couldn’t sleep properly until she heard his key in the lock. But it was a job.

‘Not much of one, is it?’ Roger had said heavily. ‘He’d have been better off taking the post I got him at the office. It would have looked better on his CV if and when he applies for a real job after university.’

Annabel had emailed to say she was in Queensland, on her way to Sydney. Caroline knew she had to let go of her daughter but she still woke up every morning wondering where Annabel was and if she was all right. Sometimes she confided these fears to her husband although his response was always the same: ‘She’ll be fine. You fuss too much.’

On top of everything else, Roger was even more distant than usual. So much for a united family front, thought Caroline, as she leafed through the pile of paper on her desk to find the one press release she needed. There it was: Educational Fun Toys.

‘Ah, Caroline, I’ve been looking for you. Gosh, nice pics.’ It was Serena, the magazine’s picture editor. ‘Like the toys. Good colours for a change.’ Her chest, Caroline noticed jealously, was voluminous and almost heaving out of her T-shirt. ‘Diana tells me you’re going on the shoot tomorrow.’

‘What?’

‘Thought you’d be pleased. Now, look, what we need is . . .’

Seething silently, Caroline forced herself to listen to Serena’s brief. Pictures always thought they were more important than Features: readers look at the pictures before they read the story, Serena was fond of saying. Caroline felt that was incorrect.

‘Did you know I had to go on this wretched shoot?’ Caroline asked the features secretary. ‘No one told me.’

‘Sorry. Maybe it’s in Zelda’s diary.’

There it was. Well, she hadn’t told
her
. Obviously Aurora’s sleep patterns were addling Zelda’s brain and now she, Caroline, would pay the price – as if she hadn’t enough work to get through without having to trek all the way down to Cartingdon, in Oxfordshire, where the shoot was being held. So boring too! All she had to do was check that the effect fitted in with the general features look. Would Mark be there? Probably not. If their positions had been reversed and she had been unfaithful, mused Caroline, Roger would never have forgiven her.

‘Mum, you should have changed down to second gear. We’re approaching a roundabout!’

It was the longest sentence she’d heard Ben utter since the summer. But the shelf-stacking job, which Caroline would have found deadly, had stirred her son out of his lethargy. If the result was that he constantly criticised her driving – his own car was in the garage for a new gearbox – so be it. ‘I’ve been driving much longer than you have,’ she retorted.

‘You can tell.’ Ben flicked back his shaggy orange fringe. ‘If you took your test now, you’d fail.’ He smiled at her. ‘Come on, take a joke. By the way, I’m finishing late tonight so I’ll hitch back.’

‘Don’t you dare!’

‘Stop fussing, Mum. Hang on, isn’t that Dad?’

She didn’t have time to look properly so she only just caught a glimpse of a tall man standing next to a blonde woman in a blue jacket. Too late to beep.

‘Was it?’

Ben looked out of the window. ‘Not sure. He doesn’t normally get off here, does he?’

‘No.’

For a few moments they were silent. She’d tried desperately, during that terrible time two years ago, to keep it from the children but it had proved impossible. How much Georgie knew, she still wasn’t sure, and couldn’t bring herself to ask. But Ben had heard more than she’d intended and he might have said something to his younger sister.

‘You know,’ said Ben quietly, ‘it took me a long time to forgive Dad for what he did but I suppose we all do things we shouldn’t, so I don’t feel so mad at him now. Do you?’

Caroline was so taken aback – such philosophy was unheard of from Ben – that she was momentarily lost for words.

‘I suppose not,’ she said quietly. ‘But it still hurts, Ben. I can’t pretend it doesn’t.’

‘But you do still love him, don’t you?’

How could she say no?

‘That woman back there,’ Ben began. ‘He wouldn’t do anything again. I know he wouldn’t.’ He reached across and squeezed her hand.

‘I know,’ said Caroline, her throat tight. ‘Thanks, darling.’ She pulled up too sharply in the supermarket car park. ‘Have a nice time,’ she said lamely.

Ben gave her a withering look. That was more like the old Ben and, in a way, it was a relief. ‘Mum, I’m going to work, not a party.’

‘Sure you’ll be all right walking back? I could pick you up, if you want.’

He patted her arm. ‘No. You’ve got to be up early for work, haven’t you?’

The thought of the shoot made her groan. ‘I might be a bit late back tomorrow. Can you sort out tea for Georgie?’

He nodded. Fleetingly, he looked almost responsible. ‘Course. ’Bye, Mum.’

She watched him lope off. Tall. Too thin. Jeans dragging on the ground.

A tall woman in blue. Blonde, like the photograph. And a man who might, or might not, have been Roger.

‘A bit more to the right. Not so far. Yes. Now, just a tiny bit to the left . . .’ The photographer, a nice man called Nick whom they hadn’t used before, was frustratingly precise but the effect was good. Every now and then Harriet, his wife, came in with tea, squash and biscuits. One of the models was still a toddler but the other two had been given time off school and were understandably excited.

‘Right,’ said Nick, ‘now for the seven-to-eight-year range.’

His assistant, a bony young man in a thin T-shirt, was rifling through the boxes. ‘Can’t see anything. Sure they’re here?’

‘You checked them before the shoot.’

‘Thought so. Can’t see them now.’

Caroline went to double-check. ‘I definitely asked the PR to send them.’

Nick groaned. ‘I thought things were going too smoothly. Can you ring him to bring some more?’

Had she got Mark’s number? No, but a quick call to the features secretary produced it. There was only a voice message on his office line but he picked up his mobile promptly. ‘Mark? It’s Caroline. Look, I’m really sorry but we’ve got a problem.’ She outlined it briefly, trying to talk over the children who were using the break to play noisily with the toys. ‘You’re sure? . . . Great. How long will it take you? . . . See you then.’

Nick was watching her expectantly. ‘Mark, the PR, is bringing them over. He’s only about twenty minutes away and he’s got some in the office.’

Nick’s face relaxed. ‘Good. We might as well have a cuppa. You OK, Caroline? You’re a bit flushed.’

‘I’m fine. I’d just like some water.’

‘Come into the kitchen.’

He led the way down a wonderfully long, rambling corridor with bumpy plaster walls suggesting centuries of history. Harriet was making drop scones on the Aga. She was a pretty woman with warm laughter lines round her eyes; Nick put an arm round her and she leaned her head against his shoulder. Caroline felt a stab of envy.

‘We’re having an enforced break while some more boxes arrive. Poor Caroline’s gasping for some water.’

‘Hard work, isn’t it?’ Harriet gave her a glass. ‘It wasn’t until I married Nick that I realised how much effort went into taking pictures.’

She spoke as if they hadn’t been married long, yet there were photographs on a board on the kitchen wall that showed a stunning young woman wearing a graduation robe and two grinning, lanky teenagers in shorts, both a bit older than Georgie but younger than Ben. Harriet caught her looking. ‘The children are mine and that lovely girl is Julie, Nick’s daughter from his first marriage.’

Which explained the clinch, more suited to early love. ‘Have you been married long?’ She didn’t want to be nosy but something inside her needed to know.

‘Nearly three years.’ Nick gave his wife an intimate smile, which made Caroline want to cry. She wanted to ask more. How long had Harriet been married the first time? How had they met? Was it really possible to start again? Of course, people did it all the time but it would be nice to have some reassurance.

When Mark arrived with the right toys, Nick promptly got the children into position before they lost interest.

‘I’m so glad you were in,’ said Caroline, quietly, while they watched.

‘Me too. It gave me an excuse to get away from Daphne, my mother-in-law. She treats our house as if it were an extension of her own.’

So Daphne was his mother-in-law! For some unknown reason, she felt hugely relieved.

‘Quiet, everyone. Laura, what’s that over there? And, John, is that a spider on Amy’s arm? Great. Now, what do you call an egg that gets lost in the jungle?’

‘An eggsplorer,’ muttered Mark.

‘An eggsplorer!’ crowed Nick exultantly.

‘How did you know that?’ demanded Caroline.

‘It’s on the back of my son’s favourite cereal packet.’

‘How’s he doing?’ she asked, very quietly.

‘Not great. We’ve got another problem now. I’ve got to see the head next week because Freddy’s been downloading stuff from dubious websites.’

‘Ben’s done that. Most of them do at some stage.’

‘Well, the head seems pretty mad. I’ll tell you how it goes when I see you next.’

Next? Was that an indefinite or a definite ‘next’? Caroline tried to focus on the shoot but her heart would not stop thumping with anticipation. They were standing near the umbrella lighting, so close that if she put her hand out she could have touched him.

The temptation was so great that she had to make an excuse and find the loo.

Later, when Nick had called it a day and the children had run into the den next door to watch television, Mark asked, ‘Have you got time for a drink or are you rushing back?’

She’d been hoping for this but now she wavered. ‘I’m not sure. I need to make a phone call first.’

‘To see if Ben’s surfaced in time for his job?’

How funny that he already knew her family’s habits, albeit sketchily, through their brief emails and chat. ‘Something like that.’

For a change Ben answered promptly. Yes, he’d made pasta for Georgie and now she was doing homework. Dad had called to say he’d be late.

Roger was going to be late? His mobile was off and his office voicemail on. Maybe he’d already left for the meeting – if, indeed, there was a meeting. Ben didn’t have to work tonight. He’d stay in until she got back. So it didn’t matter if she was late, too.

She walked to the car where he was waiting. ‘I don’t need to rush home,’ she said casually.

‘Nor me. My kids are staying late for an after-school play rehearsal.’ He glanced at her, then turned on the engine. ‘I thought we could walk along the river and maybe have a bite at Brown’s. I’ll drop you at the station afterwards.’

A walk. She’d love that, especially if they went down by the botanical gardens and Magdalen Bridge. She hadn’t been there for years.

He cleared his throat. ‘I was wondering about the botanical gardens. The ones by Magdalen Bridge . . .’

‘That’s amazing.’ She laughed, relaxing into the comfortable leather front seat. ‘I was thinking exactly the same thing.’

‘Really?’ His dark brown eyes were boring into her.

‘Really.’ Her eyes held his. Considering how short a time she had known Mark, she felt incredibly at ease with him. So much so that it was almost scary.