Love Is a Secret (29 page)

NOVEMBER

ONE MONTH NOW, EVERYONE, UNTIL OUR PRIZE DRAW! AND DON’T FORGET THAT WISH . . .

Freddy is black but his sister is white.

His mum got another man in the night.

‘Freddy, what
is
this? You ought to tell Dad. If you don’t, I will.’

‘Gosh, Tabitha, look at this! Lisa at the centre is having her baby. Funny, I didn’t think she was due yet.’

EMAIL FROM MARK SUMMERS

Caroline – we need to talk. Properly. Not like this.

WHAT MUMS KNOW

JOIN OUR ONLINE DISCUSSIONS ON:

How much do you spend on the kids at Christmas?

TIP FROM FRAZZLED MUM

Let your children fly and they’ll come back.

CHUCKLE CORNER FROM ALWAYSONADIET MUM

An adolescent is an original thinker who is certain his/her mother was never a teenager.

THOUGHT TO KEEP YOU SANE FROM EARTH MOTHER

Mistakes are gateways to the future, teaching you to take a different path.

PARENTING NEWS

New anti-bullying group launched by charity.

47

By conference day he still hadn’t called. Again and again she went over their brief conversation on the tennis court to reassure herself.

Hilary, whose name was already familiar even though they hadn’t met, had self-harmed. How awful. No wonder he didn’t have time to ring. And that aside, they were both married, as Janie had reminded her so clearly during their phone conversation.

This was the kind of thing that drove people crazy. It was why sensible people didn’t have affairs.

An email popped up on her screen:

Caroline. Please come into my office now.

‘You got a summons too?’

Zelda shook her head. ‘Probably wants to run through our ideas. She’s getting really picky, don’t you think?’ She yawned. ‘By the way, I’m afraid I opened one of your emails by mistake. From your friend at EFT.’

Caroline coloured. ‘Really?’

‘Mmmm.’ Zelda eyed her quizzically. ‘Don’t worry. I deleted it in case anyone else saw.’

‘There’s nothing to see,’ said Caroline, weakly.

‘Sure. Better get in to Diana before she goes nuts.’

Diana was sitting at her desk, a letter in her hand. Wordlessly, she handed it to Caroline. ‘A solicitor’s letter on behalf of that singles organisation I interviewed for the affair piece?’ said Caroline, disbelievingly.

Diana nodded grimly.

‘But that’s ridiculous!’ Caroline felt hot and cold as she read on. ‘It says I misquoted its spokesperson, Carmen. What rubbish! I used her exact words – you can see my notebook. The letter says she rang me later to say it was off the record but she didn’t. I’d have remembered. Unless, of course, she rang Zelda.’

‘I’ve already asked her. Apparently not.’

Caroline glanced through the glass wall at her colleague, who was pounding her keyboard. ‘Am I allowed to talk to this woman – Carmen?’

Diana shook her head. ‘Our legal department says you mustn’t, in case she says we’re intimidating her. They want to see you for a full comment. Did you tape the interview?’

‘No. It was on the phone.’

Diana sighed. ‘Pity.’

Miserably, Caroline walked back to her desk. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the letter?’

Zelda looked up. ‘What letter?’

‘The complaint about the affair case history.’

‘Oh, sorry. I forgot. Besides, you’ve got nothing to worry about, have you? You’ve got your notes.’

‘She said she rang to retract her comments. Are you sure she didn’t speak to you?’

Zelda flicked back her hair dismissively. ‘Course I’m sure. Phone. Shall I get it?’

‘It’s all right. Caroline speaking.’

‘It’s me.’

His voice was thick and she almost didn’t recognise him.

‘Roger, what’s wrong?’

‘There’s been a train crash in Queensland, near Port Douglas.’

Her right leg began to shake. ‘But that’s where Annabel is.’

‘It’s worse than that.’ Roger was speaking in a detached voice, the way he did when he was upset. ‘I’ve had a call from one of the girls she was backpacking with. She’s pretty certain Annabel was on the train.’

NEWS HEADLINES

Train crash in Australia leaves twelve dead, including two British backpackers.

Prime Minister to hold disability conference to ‘get feedback from the people’.

48

The suit, which had seemed so perfect in the shop, clung to her bottom as she and Joy walked from Westminster tube station towards Downing Street. There hadn’t been time to buy a slip and she kept smoothing it down at the back.

‘Bet he doesn’t realise who we’re seeing,’ giggled Joy, after they’d asked directions from a newspaper seller. Susan glanced at the headlines. She wished they wouldn’t keep running those graphic pictures of that train crash in Australia.

‘Do you think this is it?’ asked Joy, doubtfully. They could see a pair of large black gates across a small side road. To the far left of them, there was a smaller one. A group of women and a couple of men were going through, showing passes to two policemen. Beyond, she could make out a line of three-storey terraced houses on both sides. It was a bit like a film set, not that she’d seen one.

‘’Scuse me, is this Downing Street?’ asked Joy, importantly.

‘It certainly is, madam,’ said the first policeman, a young chap with a friendly smile.

‘We have an appointment.’ Joy produced the pass that the centre had given them.

He examined it nonchalantly. ‘Through there, please, madam.’

They followed the queue into what seemed like a Portakabin. Joy and Susan put down their bags as requested and watched them go through a scanner. ‘Just like the airport,’ hissed Joy. No one frisked them, which Susan found surprising in view of security.

They were instructed to follow a smart woman in a bouclé suit – which definitely had a slip underneath it, thought Susan ruefully – down the street.

‘Look at the tourists watching us,’ said Joy, gleefully, pointing backwards.

Despite the skirt, it was a good feeling. Unreal too. She mustn’t forget why they were there, Susan thought. It was all very well coming somewhere grand like this but they had to tell the prime minister about the centre and why it was so crucial.

‘It’s not very big, is it? You’d think it would be detached,’ muttered Joy, as the group stopped outside a black door. It was open but a man in a suit was standing at the entrance. ‘You can leave your coats there,’ he said, pointing to a rail. It seemed so ordinary, but when Susan looked around, she saw vast oil paintings on the walls and huge pieces of mahogany furniture.

‘Is there a loo I could use?’ she asked shyly.

‘Through there to the left.’

Fancy using the lavatory at Number Ten! She went towards it, past a buggy propped against the wall. Amazing.

‘Come on.’ Joy was waiting impatiently outside. ‘We’ve got to go upstairs.’ They walked briskly to catch up with the others.

The staircase was mahogany too, with beautiful turns. Susan tried to peep into the other rooms as they passed. They were large but cold. Museum-like. Not a place to bring up a family, surely.

The woman in the smart suit led them into a huge room, filled with tables and chairs. ‘Your labels will tell you which table you’re on,’ she explained. ‘What we want you to do is discuss the issues outlined on your own table. Then there will be an opportunity for you to raise questions and talk about your discussions with a government minister, who will be moving from table to table.’

‘What about the prime minister?’ said someone.

The woman nodded. ‘He will come in at the end, after Prime Minister’s Questions in the Commons. Hopefully, you will have a brief chance to talk to him but he won’t have time for a word with everyone.’

Joy’s earrings bobbed with her indignation. ‘What a con.’

If the woman had heard her, she didn’t give any sign of it. ‘I must ask you not to talk to the press corps at the far end. They have headphones, however, so they can listen to your conversation. At the end they might ask if they can interview you but you don’t have to agree.’

‘We can tell them about the centre,’ said Susan, quietly.

Joy nodded. ‘But I hope we get to talk to the prime minister, don’t you?’

It made Susan feel so much better to talk to the other parents at the table. One mum from Bolton had a sixteen-year-old autistic son in a residential home. ‘I feel awful about it but I couldn’t cope,’ she said apologetically. Her marriage had broken up, too.

But there was a man whose wife was at home with their daughter who had severe brain injuries after being run over by a car. ‘We don’t like leaving her with anyone else so we take it in turns to go out.’

So I’m comparatively lucky, thought Susan. In the last few months, she had begun to find a life of her own. But Tabitha wouldn’t – unless there were more facilities.

‘Hello, everyone!’ A woman with a beaming smile bustled up to the empty seat. She introduced herself as the minister for the family and asked if there were any issues they wanted to discuss. The man with the brain-damaged daughter leaped in promptly, and described the lack of physiotherapy at his local hospital, which meant they had a two-hour journey once a month to the large one on the edge of the county. The minister nodded sympathetically and made notes. ‘Would anyone else like to say anything?’

‘Yes.’ Susan heard her own voice. ‘My friend Joy here and I have children at a special-needs centre that’s closing down. Our kids are being moved to a bigger one where there are larger classes and it’s a longer journey. It’s all very well the government promising more sport for schools, but that’s not going to help kids who can’t walk.’

‘It won’t be open in the holidays either, like ours,’ added Joy.

The minister was still writing. ‘What’s the centre called?’

Susan told her, and she promised to look into it. There was a stir, and a posse of cameramen who’d been hovering on the outside of the room sprang into action. The minister stiffened. ‘The prime minister’s coming,’ she said, getting up. ‘Please excuse me. It was very nice to meet you all.’

Everyone’s eyes were on the door. Susan and Joy were transfixed.

‘Here he is,’ said someone. He came in so fast amid the whir of cameras that Susan could hardly see him. To her disappointment, he’d sat down at a table at the opposite end and all she could make out was the back of his head – and a Quality Street purple shirt collar under a navy-blue jacket.

‘Will he come to us?’ asked Joy, hopefully.

‘Depends if he has time,’ said the father of the brain-injured girl. ‘That’s what I was told, anyway. At least we spoke to the minister. Not everyone got her.’

Susan glanced at her watch. They’d been here for ages. Tabitha would be getting off the bus soon. Her life seemed so far removed from this room with its paintings, panelled walls and the man in the purple shirt who was getting up now, and, instead of going to another table, taking up his position by a microphone. ‘I’d like to thank you all for coming and also to apologise for not being able to speak to each of you personally . . .’

Joy tutted loudly and someone said, ‘Sssh.’ Susan winced.

‘. . . but I hope today has given you a chance to talk to my minister. It’s your opinion and your experience that count – and that’s what will help us get it right for you and the rest of the country.’

A man stood up. ‘But what do you intend to do for us specifically, Prime Minister?’

‘It would take too long to explain in detail. But, briefly, we’re hoping that today will be a start.’

Susan could have wept. The platitudes meant nothing.

The prime minister had invited everyone to have a cup of tea before they left. Now it was being brought to the table. She could have thrown it at him.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Yes?’

A slim dark pretty woman, slightly older than Susan, had come up to the table. ‘My name’s Zelda and I write for
Beautiful You
magazine. We’ve been told we can talk to delegates here. I edit a Parenting page and we’re doing a feature on special-needs children. The press officer told me you are trying to prevent a local day centre closing down.’

‘Yes.’ Joy elbowed her way in. ‘We are. It’s absolutely disgraceful, what they’re trying to do. Let me tell you about it . . .’

It took ages to get home and Joy’s babble had given her a headache. How exciting it was that this Zelda might put them in a magazine that was sold all over the country. How disappointing it had been that the prime minister hadn’t made it to their table, although she supposed it would have been difficult for him to see everyone.

How amazing that a man of his standing could be allowed to wear a shirt that colour. It took all of Susan’s tact – recently acquired at Green & Co – for her not to tell her friend to shut up.

By the time the bus had dropped Susan at the end of the road, it had been dark for ages. Funny. Normally her spirits sank when she rounded the corner and saw the house. But after a day in London where nothing had seemed real and the so-called heart of government had offered merely a series of empty promises, she couldn’t wait to get home to Tabitha.

Dad would have got the supper on by now. He was good at that. Hopefully he hadn’t brought June with him and then they could have a chat while Tabitha watched telly. She could hear it through the door now as she rang the bell to save delving in her bag for the key. So nice to know that someone was going to answer, that another adult was at home instead of just her and Tabitha.

‘Hi,’ said Susan, as the door opened. ‘Everything—’

She stopped as she took in the person standing before her.

‘Good evening, Susie. Nice to see you again.’

‘What are you doing here?’ She was shaking now. ‘And where’s Tabitha and Dad?’

‘Inside, of course.’ Simon grinned nastily. ‘Want to see them? Why don’t you come in?’