Love Is a Secret (20 page)

‘It must have been wonderful being here, as a student.’

They were walking just past the spot where she could vividly remember Roger pretending to push her out of the punt some twenty-five years ago. When had he lost his sense of humour?

‘It was’, she said ‘But Cambridge must have been the same.’

His hand brushed hers – she thought, by accident because then he put it quickly into his pocket.

‘It all seems so long ago now,’ she said, to hide her confusion.

‘Doesn’t it? If you could change one thing about your past, what would it be?’

‘Easy! I’d have had a gap year like my daughter, before I started work.’

He nodded. ‘Anything else?’

‘I’d have married later,’ said Caroline, shocked by her own candour, ‘after I’d had a chance to discover myself and made sure my husband had too. What about you?’

‘At the risk of being accused of plagiarism, I’d go for your answers.’ He sat down on the bank. ‘Come on. It’s quite dry.’

Hesitantly, she joined him.

‘Do you have people to talk to, Caroline?’

She thought of Jeff, and Janie in Australia. ‘Sort of. But there’s talking and talking, isn’t there?’

‘I know exactly what you mean.’ He gazed across the river. ‘I seem to have lost touch with my university friends. There isn’t enough time when you’re working and bringing up kids.’

She smiled ruefully. ‘Tell me about it.’

He leaned back on the bank. ‘OK.’ His eyes held hers. ‘I really feel I can talk to you, Caroline. In fact, I feel as though I’ve known you for ages.’

She tried to concentrate on the river – some students were messing around on a punt. One, in a bright orange T-shirt, was larking around with another. They were so free, just as she had been once.

‘I feel the same.’

‘You do?’

She nodded.

‘Caroline,’ he said softly.

Are affairs always wrong?

Take it from me, personally and professionally, it’s not worth
it . . .

His arm stole round her and he leaned towards her. Later she wondered how she’d known instinctively which way to go, or at which point she’d closed her eyes. His lips felt soft but at the same time firm. Sweet. So sweet. So natural that she couldn’t understand why they hadn’t been doing this every day since they’d met. They broke off slowly. His eyes were dancing and she could feel her body burning, lit up in a way it hadn’t been for years. Not since she was a teenager.

‘My God, Caroline,’ he whispered, ‘you’re amazing. Do you know that?’

And then he moved towards her again.

31

There was still no news of a reprieve for the centre, despite the big spread in the local newspaper. Not surprisingly, the atmosphere was tense: the staff were worried about their jobs and the mums about their children being swallowed up in the bigger, more impersonal centre that they’d be moved to.

‘Apparently, they discourage mums from going in to help out,’ hissed Joy.

The other mothers tutted.

‘I mean, I wouldn’t want to go in
every
day, like we have to in the holidays here, but I’m quite happy to do my bit on the rota during term-time to see what’s going on,’ she said, adjusting one of her earrings.

‘I heard that the nursery next door will take over the space here,’ said another mother.

‘Yeah, it’s doing well with so many mums going out to work now,’ said Joy, disapprovingly. ‘Some people just don’t think . . .’

Susan got up to look out of the window near the computer corner. Until she’d started at Green & Co, she hadn’t minded doing her bit at the centre. But that day at the Blackthorne development last week had made her unusually restless. She had enjoyed showing people around, had heard herself using words she hadn’t uttered for years.

‘Hi!’ Susan waved at Lisa, who was sitting at the end of the row, using one of the computers.  She couldn’t help glancing at the screen. Gosh!
What Mums Know
! ‘I belong . . . I mean, I’ve heard of that site,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t meaning to be nosy.’ She tried to cover her confusion. ‘It was advertised on our noticeboard, wasn’t it? Any good?’

‘’S OK.’ Lisa spoke sullenly.

‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Horribly aware that she’d intruded on the girl’s privacy, Susan moved away and, in her rush, knocked into the flat screen. It wavered on the edge of the desk but she caught it. This time it was difficult not to look.

Susan’s skin tingled. So Lisa was ‘Expectent’ Mum! What an amazing coincidence – except it wasn’t because they’d both got the website’s name from the board.

Still, it made you realise that these sites weren’t as private as you thought. Perhaps she ought to be more careful in future in case she was recognised too . . .

‘Heard you’d got yourself a little job, Susan,’ Joy said, almost accusingly, as she got back to the group. The other mothers were looking at her.

Susan flushed. She hadn’t said anything about it to Joy in case the job didn’t work out. ‘That’s right. It’s not much. Just an assistant at an estate agent in town.’

‘I used to work for an estate agent,’ said one of the other women, wistfully. ‘I was meant to be a temp but I stayed on. That was before the kids, of course. Now . . .’

Her voice trailed off but everyone knew what she meant. It was hard enough finding a job that fitted in with children, but when you had one with special needs it was even harder.

Susan couldn’t wait for the weekend to arrive. Although she still felt the usual tug at her heartstrings when she kissed Tabitha goodbye before Josh and Steff took her out to the car, she was tingling with excitement when she waited to catch the bus to work.

Work! So exciting to be able to say it. During the week, she had spotted a smart suit in the window of the Oxfam shop and it had actually fitted. It looked good, too: she could tell that from Simon’s approving expression when he popped into the Blackthorne development to see how she was getting on.

‘The Fairhursts have signed now,’ he told her. ‘And that couple with the stroppy teenager have committed to number two. Only numbers one and three left now.’

‘Does that mean you won’t need me any more?’ She’d been too efficient for her own good.

‘On the contrary, Susie.’ Simon loosened his canary-yellow tie. ‘We’ve been instructed to take on another development, nearer town.’

Susan adjusted one of the swag curtains, which had been pulled by an enthusiastic boy accompanying his parents that morning.

‘I was wondering, Simon, whether you needed anyone during the week as well. My daughter’s at school then, and I wouldn’t mind increasing my hours.’

He made a face. ‘Problem is that you don’t drive. It would be all right if it was just the show houses, but during the week we need someone with wheels who can take people round the rest of our properties. They’re all over the place.’

‘I was hoping you might need someone in the office.’

‘I’ll let you know if we do. You’ve certainly proved worth your weight in gold so far.’

‘Really?’

He chucked her playfully under the chin. His touch made her jump and, for a minute, she thought he was going to do more.

‘Really.’

He turned away and she felt flat, which was daft because he wasn’t her type – if, indeed, she still had a type. Simon was too worldly, too confident and brash. On the other hand, it was nice to be admired even if he was only doing with her what he did with all the other women in the office – very charming and always full of compliments.

That evening, she leafed carefully through the local paper, then rang Joy and her dad. By the morning – still quiet without Tabitha although she seemed to be getting used to it – she’d made up her mind. The first company had an answerphone on, presumably because it was Sunday, but the second, who ran his own business and came highly recommended by Joy’s neighbour, answered. She explained the situation, put down the relevant dates in her diary and came off the phone on a high.

Her good mood lasted right through the morning and she could hardly wait for Tabitha to come back. She might even tell Steff and Josh. Here they were now, coming up the path. ‘Guess what? I’ve booked a course of driving lessons!’

Steff’s face was grim as she dumped Tabitha’s bag in the hall.

Josh, coming up behind with Tabitha in her chair, glared at her.

‘What the hell do you think you were doing?’

‘What?’

Tabitha began to cry. She hated noise.

‘What are you talking about? And stop shouting – you’re upsetting Tabitha.’

‘It’s you who’s upset her – and us,’ hissed Steff. ‘I don’t know how you could, Susan. And we’ve tried so hard.’

‘Would you please explain what I’ve done?’

‘The radio programme you were on.’ Josh looked as though he was going to grab her arms.

She felt cold. ‘About the centre closing?’

‘It was on air this morning. Josh and I couldn’t believe it, could we? There you were, rattling on about yourself and how hard life’s been. Well, fair enough. But why on earth did you say what you did?’

‘What?’ whispered Susan. Had the journalist actually been recording her when they were talking? She’d thought she’d just been taking notes.

Steff had tears in her eyes. ‘You said Tabitha was disabled because Josh insisted on her having the MMR jab.’

‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it?’ retorted Susan. Tabitha began to cry again and she knelt down to comfort her. ‘OK, I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said it but she
was
all right before, wasn’t she?’

Josh’s eyes were bright with anger. ‘If I wanted, I could get joint custody of Tabitha.’

‘You? An ex-junkie?’ hissed Susan.

‘Stop it, both of you – you’re upsetting her.’ Steff knelt down beside Susan. ‘It’s all right, Tabs.’

Susan pushed Steff out of the way. ‘I can sort out my own daughter, thank you very much.’

Steff rubbed her shoulder exaggeratedly, as though Susan had bruised her. ‘I think we’d better go now, Josh.’

‘All right. But I warn you, Susan, you haven’t heard the last of this.’ His eyes flashed dangerously, reminding her of what he had been like before. But there was something else, too . . . Hurt. Sod him. Why did he make her feel so guilty when it had been
his
fault?

32

WE HAVE DETECTED A VIRUS.

Blow that. His bloody computer could find all the viruses it wanted but nothing would be as important as this. Mark rubbed his eyes, trying to think clearly. It was only a kiss, for God’s sake, but it had been a kiss like no other. The kind he hadn’t had since he was nineteen and even then it hadn’t been like that. To call it an electric thunderbolt sounded like one of those crap press releases he had to write, but it was the nearest he could get to describing the incandescent charge between his body and hers. And, God, she’d smelt incredible. A mixture of rose cream and Chanel No. 5.

When he’d driven her to the station, he hadn’t wanted to let her go, and he was certain she’d felt the same. But now a whole bloody week had gone by and she hadn’t returned his calls.

‘Dad, I can’t find my rugby boot.’

Mark groaned. He’d been up early to try to do some work before the school run but found himself unable to concentrate because of Caroline. And now he had Missing-shoe Syndrome to contend with. It always happened when Freddy didn’t want to go to school, except that usually it was one of his black shoes. Empathise, Caroline had said, during one of her emails before the Kiss. Perhaps he should put himself in his son’s eighty-nine pound rugby boots and see what worried him.

‘Tell me, Freddy, why don’t you want to play rugby?’

Freddy scowled. ‘I do. That’s not why I’ve lost my boot.’

‘It is, Dad!’ Florrie was jumping up and down. ‘There’s a boy in his class who tries to hurt him in the scrum. He’s called—’

‘Piss off, Florrie.’

‘Freddy.’ Four months ago, Mark would have been more indignant but months of bad language had worn him down. ‘You’ll just have to take trainers and search Lost Property at lunchtime. Buck up. I’ve got to see Mr Roberts again, remember?’

Freddy scowled again. He looked exactly like his mother on a bad mood day. ‘You will tell him it wasn’t my fault, won’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Mark sighed. He and Freddy had been over this so many times that he was convinced his son was telling the truth. A friend of his at school had emailed him a link to the offending website. Freddy had merely opened it, not knowing what it was about, and the content had started to download automatically. But now Mark had to face the head and get his son out of this awful mess.

The very thought brought back memories of being caned by his housemaster for reading after lights-out.

‘Will he tell you off about the lift passes?’ demanded Florrie, when they were finally in the car, stuck deep in Oxford morning traffic.

‘What lift passes?’ asked Mark.

‘Nothing.’

‘You’re not going on the school skiing trip. I told you. We can’t afford it.’

‘They’re lift passes for school, Dad. Shut up, Freddy. Stop pushing me like that.’

‘I didn’t think you had lifts at school.’

‘We don’t.’ Florrie erupted into giggles. ‘But some of the boys from year eight have been telling the new boys that we do and that they need lift passes. So they sell them at twenty p each.’

Mark was torn between horror and admiration at their entrepreneurial bravado. ‘What happens if you get caught?’

‘Detention,’ confessed Freddy. ‘Shit, I’ve just remembered. I’ve got one tonight.’

‘
Don’t
swear. What for?’

‘Not tucking my shirt in. It’s
so
unfair.’

Florrie, in the front seat, turned to pull a face at her brother. ‘He was mucking around in biology, too, Dad. He told me. Ow, don’t pinch me.’

‘Serves you right for grassing me up. So was everyone else, Dad. The teacher put a detention tick against everyone’s name apart from three goody-goodies. Anyway, Florrie can’t talk. You know that essay she was telling you about? The geography one? Well, she downloaded it last night from the internet.’

‘Is that true, Florrie?’

‘Chill out, Dad. Everyone does it. You can still learn that way, you know.’

‘Stop being so rude. And it’s not learning. It’s plagiarism. That means nicking stuff from someone else. You shouldn’t download essays because it’s cheating, and if you do it again I’ll tell your teacher. What about you, Freddy, have you done all your homework?’

He should have checked last night, as Hilary used to. He could clearly remember her going through their homework diaries. He kept forgetting to do it.

‘Course I did. We had a worksheet on pussies for biology. It was cool.’

‘Pussies?’ Mark almost dropped the handset he’d just picked up. ‘Don’t use words like that. It’s disgusting.’

‘Whatever.’ Freddy grinned. ‘It’s just another name for what school calls the “female reproduction system”.’

‘Dad,’ interrupted Florrie, ‘you shouldn’t use the phone when you’re driving. It’s against the law.’

‘We’re not moving,’ said Mark, defensively.

‘It’s still dangerous.’

Why wasn’t she picking up? She’d be dropping her daughter off at the station by now and getting on the train. He’d caught her before at this time. Pick up, Caroline. Pick
up
.

The head’s office was considerably bigger than Mark’s at home. It had a large mahogany desk slanted across the diagonal of one corner and a big Sanderson sofa on the other. On the desk, there was a neat pile of papers, a picture of Mr Roberts’s children, and a large glass vase of lilies. Several leather-spined books stood in the shelves surrounding the stone fireplace, their glossy sheen suggesting they had never been read.

‘I’m telling you, Mr Roberts, Freddy couldn’t have designed that website. He couldn’t even spell its name. I only wish he could.’

Mr Roberts tapped his pen on the blotting-paper in front of him. He had done this so many times since the start of their meeting that it was a mass of splodges. ‘Well, one of the boys did. And the content, you must admit, is alarming. However, since you’ve mentioned Freddy’s unfortunate inability to spell, I would like to mention some other things too. The other day he was caught kicking another child during an argument, which is unacceptable for a boy of his age. And his performance in class, I’m afraid to say, has deteriorated sharply in the last term. According to the last verbal reasoning test we conducted, he can do it if he wants.’ Mr Roberts blinked furiously. ‘Do you know of anything that’s worrying him?’

‘No.’ Mark looked behind the other man to the playing-field where a group of blue and white rugby-shirted kids were kicking a ball around. ‘No, I don’t.’

Mr Roberts was rubbing his eyes now. ‘Mr Summers, we are all aware of your unfortunate family circumstances. It can’t be easy for you.’

So, he wasn’t a good-enough dad.

Mr Roberts’s face softened slightly. ‘It’s a challenge looking after the children on your own. I’m not sure I could do it. So, we’ll make allowances. Normally, in situations as severe as this, I would consider temporary suspension.’

‘Suspension?’

‘Misuse of the internet is a serious offence, Mr Summers.

Instead, I will give Freddy a Saturday detention. But I would strongly recommend that he sees a child psychologist.’

‘Why? There’s nothing wrong with him.’

‘Hurting other children consistently, on a regular basis, at the age of eleven is not standard behaviour, wouldn’t you agree?’

Mark nodded as his pocket started to vibrate. ‘Excuse me, I have to take this.’

Mr Roberts’s face indicated that if a parent couldn’t turn off his mobile during a meeting, it was no wonder that the son logged on to dodgy websites.

‘Caroline! Listen, I’m in a meeting but I’ll call back. OK?’

After accepting the telephone number of a local child psychologist from the head, who probably got a commission for this, Mark ran towards his car, punching in Caroline’s number as he slid into the driver’s seat. She answered almost immediately, and relief overwhelmed him. It was so good to hear her voice and to tell her what he’d just been through.

‘An educational psychologist sounds like a good idea to me.’ Her voice echoed as though she was a long way off.

‘He doesn’t need a head doctor,’ he protested feebly.

‘They’re not head doctors,’ she assured him. ‘They’re specially trained to work out what’s going wrong at school. Do you think he’s being bullied again? Nasty emails and websites are forms of online bullying and the kicking could be a reaction to it.’

‘Maybe.’ Mark sighed. ‘Parenting’s such hard work. Where are you, anyway? You sound as though you’re miles away.’

‘I’m on a train on the way to interview someone. Luckily I’ve got my laptop so I can do some work too. Where are you?’

‘Still in the school car park.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I thought it – the shoot – was wonderful.’

There was an agonising pause. ‘So did I,’ she said eventually. ‘But I’ve been feeling terribly guilty.’

‘Ditto.’ He laughed. ‘I mean, I know to some people a kiss might not be a big thing but . . .’

‘It is to me.’ She was whispering now.

‘Me too.’ He couldn’t help whispering in empathy. ‘When can I see you next?’

‘I don’t know.’

His heart thumped. ‘I will see you, won’t I? Caroline, can you hear me? You’re breaking up.’

‘Better?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mark, when I first saw you, something really weird happened.’

He waited, too scared to talk in case it stopped her.

Her words tumbled out: ‘I felt incredibly apprehensive, almost fearful, and I couldn’t work it out. But I realise now. It’s because I felt this powerful attraction to you, which I knew was wrong.’

He could hardly breathe. ‘That’s just how I felt.’

‘But now I’m really not sure . . .’

Sod it. She’d gone.

Frantically he dialled her number, which he already knew by heart. ‘Hello. This is Caroline. I’m afraid I can’t take your call.’

Mark’s hands were so sweaty he could scarcely press Redial. Maybe she’d gone into a tunnel. Or maybe she’d hung up.

From Mimi to What Mums Know: Has anyone taken their child to an educational psychologist and did it help? Also, my son is being bullied. Any advice anyone?

From: Mark Summers

Love you.

Shit! He’d pressed the wrong button. Appalled, he stared helplessly at the screen. Why wasn’t there a magic Retrieve button? Mark buried his face in his hands. What would Clive at EFT think?