This Secret We're Keeping (11 page)

Then suddenly she moved a hand downwards, and I felt her fingers brush my flies. And that was it – the small, single movement that was pretty much equivalent to my mother karate-kicking my front door in, snapping on all the lights and barking at us both to go home. I had gone too far –
fuck
, way too far – and I withdrew myself from her quickly, blinking and panting like I’d just woken with a start from a really vivid dream. Or nightmare, depending on which way you looked at it.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I gabbled, shuffling backwards on the sofa, untangling my legs from hers, trying to arrange myself so my cock wasn’t pointing skyward. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.’

She started crying then, properly. Her hair was all over her face. ‘Don’t say you’re sorry. Please. You want it as much as I do.’

‘Yeah, but that’s the point, Jess, isn’t it? I shouldn’t do. I’m your teacher.’ It felt like the right moment to stand up then and start striding purposefully around the room, but I didn’t want her to see how desperate I was for her. ‘This is wrong. This is very, very wrong.’

For Christ’s sake. I sounded like sodding Mackenzie discussing vandalism to the school daffodil patch.

She’d pushed her hair back now. The inch of skin surrounding her lips had turned pink-sore from our kiss. ‘It doesn’t feel wrong to me.’

‘You really need to leave, Jess.’ It was the only thing I felt certain of at this point. Everything else was shifting like quicksand.

‘I’ve missed my bus.’

‘Then I’ll drive you,’ I said. ‘I’ll drop you off at the corner of your road.’

‘You can’t, Mr L, you’ve been drinking.’

Out of the mouths of babes
. ‘Believe me, Jess, drink-driving is nothing compared to what’s just happened.’ I was probably on the cusp of the limit, but even that felt irrelevant – I knew that unless we got in the car straight away, we would very quickly reach the point of no return. And I reasoned that I’d rather lose my licence for driving under the influence than be arrested for having sex with a schoolgirl.

I reached out and fumbled on the coffee table for my car keys, before getting to my feet and offering her my hand. As she took it, I pulled her against me one last time, and then – for no better reason than being unable to help myself – I started kissing her again. My hands were glued against either side of her head, and I was pumping my tongue desperately in and out of her mouth like I was a sodding teenager. She had one hand caught up in my hair and was moving the other steadily underneath my belt and on to my backside.

I took a great shuddering breath and pulled away from her. ‘Come on. We have to do this now, before it’s too late.’

What are you saying? It’s already too late
.

As we drove in silence back to Jess’s house, Sonia Laird was for some reason looming reproachfully in my mind. I
silently informed her that the whole thing had been a mistake, a one-off – that, somehow, I would fix it. I had no idea how, but I knew I had to fix it.

From her unauthorized little stakeout in my conscience, Sonia looked less than impressed.

A new-build
development at the edge of the village, Carnation Close bordered an idyllic expanse of shimmering, green-gold hay meadow. At its far end, where the contour of the landscape dipped sharply beyond the field’s hawthorn boundary, Jess could just about discern a tiny blue triangle of sea tucked in between the sycamore trees. Swifts swooped low above the grass as she paused to soak up the view, a bright decoration of poppies making tiny scattered beacons amid the weaving stems, backlit by evening sunshine.

The houses, in contrast, carried about as much natural appeal as a budget hotel on the Gatwick arterial. From six identical mock-Georgian villas, each with a front door in a primary colour and a thick carpet of shingle on the drive, Jess guessed number four to be Will and Natalie’s place, as there was music emanating from inside. Simply Red, she noted.
Interesting.

Jess felt her heart give way slightly when Natalie answered the door. She was simply dazzling, classic perfection in a black-lace cocktail dress, her mouth a slash of scarlet lipstick, hair a glassy curtain cut sharp against her face. She smiled tightly with a rigidity that seemed to be more about not cracking the lipstick than any predisposition to be hostile, though she did loosen up enough to bellow Will’s name as they passed the foot of the stairs on their way to the kitchen.

Jess dutifully began unpacking the food while Natalie vanished back upstairs to finish her make-up. She had
received flurries of barely decipherable texts from her hostess over the past few days, an unwelcome brain dump of nonsensical ideas for tonight’s menu that mostly involved bizarre suggestions for themes and unworkable ingredients. However, a lifetime of dealing with her bossy older sister, Debbie, meant that Jess was unfazed by authoritarianism, preferring to rely upon her own expertise in the same way that a doctor might incline towards medical science as opposed to the half-cocked theories of hypochondriac patients when considering diagnoses.

It had also transpired that Charlotte suffered from a serious peanut allergy, though Natalie was resolute in her assurances that since she wouldn’t be eating the party food, Jess had no reason to worry. But after several nights of waking up at two a.m. envisioning the disastrous consequences of a snatched canapé, Jess opted to preserve her sanity and create a menu that was nut-free. She spent longer than usual checking, then double-checking, all her ingredients – but she had to be sure.

The kitchen was a spotless combination of gloss white and faux granite, making Jess’s look like a squat in comparison. Unable to discern a single stray breadcrumb, greasy olive oil bottle, filthy recipe book or leaking box of cereal, she now understood what Will had meant by living in a sanitized house.

Natalie eventually stalked back through to the kitchen from the living room, holding two gin and tonics and extending one to Jess.

‘Oh, no thanks,’ Jess said quickly. ‘Not while I’m working.’

Natalie tilted her head, shooting Jess a smile that narrowed her eyes. She’d added lashings of liner and charcoal to her already smouldering look, Jess noticed.

‘So, how’s that leg of yours?’ Natalie sipped from her drink, speaking in a manner that suggested Jess’s right thigh was like a troublesome child with behavioural problems.

‘Oh. Not too bad. Lots of ice and painkillers.’ Jess attempted to mirror her hostess’s perfunctory tone, then realized she was probably only succeeding in coming across as a little bit sarcastic.

‘Such a nightmare.’ Jess could feel Natalie watching her. ‘Will was distraught.’

‘He shouldn’t feel bad,’ Jess mumbled, struggling suddenly to meet Natalie’s eye. ‘It wasn’t his fault.’

Natalie crunched down loudly on to an ice cube. ‘No, thank God.’

Jess waited, unsure if she should perhaps acknowledge the money Will had offered her on Natalie’s behalf. But then Natalie switched on a smile, saving Jess from that particular discomfort yet launching her headlong into one that was, in reality, far worse. ‘He’s just through here. Come and say hello.’ She flicked her silken mane gently back in the direction of the living room.

Jess took a breath, having no choice but to follow her. As they reached the double doors, Natalie paused and whipped round, clamping her gaze on to Jess’s feet. ‘Sorry, no shoes,’ she said. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Of course not.’ Jess removed her pumps and padded through self-consciously behind Natalie in her socks, feeling dowdy and ridiculous in comparison to her elegant hostess.

For a short-term rental, the house was terrifyingly well presented, the level of spotlessness such that Jess began to panic that her socks might not actually be clean. The carpet, walls and requisite furniture were bland enough (Jess assumed the place had come furnished) but touches of
Natalie were still evident everywhere, as if she’d spun through all the rooms with her home improvement wand, whacking it against various fixtures and fittings so that people wouldn’t think she took her style inspiration from online rental listings. The coffee table in the centre of the room bore an enormous arrangement of calla lilies, candles in hurricane vases adorned every surface, and from the hearth a scent diffuser hinted heavily at the presence of a nearby pomegranate plantation. Jess also noticed two bottles of antibacterial spray on the bottom shelf of a half-full bookcase – presumably tucked away ahead of the party, to be squirted liberally around the place tomorrow. The books themselves she assumed to be Will’s – though he’d never been much of a reader before. She struggled somehow to imagine Natalie losing herself in the postmodernist ramblings of James Joyce, Philip Roth or Joseph Heller, or the scathing satire between the pages of all the
Private Eye
magazines.

But by far the most arresting item in the room was the enormous photo-on-canvas of Natalie, Will and Charlotte hanging above the gas-effect fireplace – the only evidence Jess had seen so far in the entire house to suggest that a small child lived here too.

They were posing for that studio photography classic – the three of them lying forward in a row, Natalie and Will flanking Charlotte, bare feet crossed playfully at the ankle. Charlotte had been styled to look like a catalogue model, beaming cheerfully through her teeth and hair with shiny camera-ready perfection. Natalie herself was a photographer’s dream, her very glance a sultry suggestion, though it contained just the right amount of virtue for a family shot. Will had clearly been groomed as well (as much as a person with a shaved head and zero beard can be groomed – Jess
suspected fake tan) and primed to smile as if he’d just had the best sex of his life. The contrast between this photo and his appearance back then – his rock star look, as he had jokingly liked to call it – was quite astounding.

Seeing him on display like that, one third of a happy trio, brought a sudden stiffness to Jess’s stomach, so she turned her gaze away – only for it to land on the real-life Will instead. He was standing next to the sofa wearing jeans and a shirt in a shade of blue that somehow made him look even browner, even more handsome, than he had the other day. But the expression on his face was of someone who could quite happily have eaten his own fist.

‘Will, you remember …’ Natalie hesitated for a moment.

‘Jessica,’ she supplied quickly.

Will extended a hand to Jess, who wiped her own against her apron before shaking it. His grip was firm and he looked her right in the eyes. Even to touch him made her gently shiver.

‘Hello again,’ he said. ‘How’s your leg?’

Jess swallowed and shot him a hopeful smile. ‘Still in shock, I think.’

To her immense relief, he smiled back. Then, tipping his head at the music, ‘Simply Red. You a fan?’

‘Simply Red.’ She pretended to think about it. ‘Is the lead singer that guy out of
Men Behaving Badly
?’

He laughed. ‘Er, no! Good guess though.’

‘Oh, you’re so
young
,’ Natalie exclaimed sharply, and she sounded so alarmed about it that Jess instantly felt guilty.

Will looked away and reached for the remote, cranking Mick down a few notches. ‘I hope you’ve cooked us up a feast, Miss Hart.’

She nodded. Her mouth felt dry. ‘I tried.’

‘Is Charlotte ready, darling?’ Natalie enquired, gently swaying away to ‘Fairground’.

Will shook his head and avoided Jess’s gaze. ‘Not yet. Helen’s still doing her hair.’

‘Well, what on earth’s she doing to it?’ Natalie said impatiently, removing the cocktail stirrer from her glass and licking it.

Will shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Plaits?’

‘You’re going to think we’re terribly lazy,’ Natalie declared, addressing Jess, ‘but we do have a part-time childminder, even though Will doesn’t work per se. Everybody needs their own space, don’t they, darling?’ She looked across at him but gave him no time to answer. ‘And it’s not like we can’t afford it, so …’ She gave a little shrug.

‘I don’t think Jessica really needs to hear the finer details of our childcare arrangements,’ Will remarked.

‘Hiring help is nothing to be ashamed of, darling,’ Natalie countered, as if this was a couples therapy session and Will was being resistant.

Jess thought she saw Will flick his eyes briefly in the direction of the ceiling. Sensing the acuteness of his embarrassment and feeling it too, all the way to her toes, she concentrated too hard on the blank television screen behind him.

It was then that she spotted it.

A little statue in copper, about six inches tall, of a long-haired guitarist, head thrown back, rocking out. It was positioned prominently on its very own shelf above the television.

Unbridled, her heart began to pound. Over to her left, Natalie was experiencing her own lack of control, lost in a little dance tribute to Mick.

Jess simply couldn’t take her eyes off it, staring for so long
that eventually she felt Will follow her gaze. The room swelled with a loaded silence to which only Natalie, apparently, was oblivious.

‘So, do you have everything you need?’ Will asked her then, briskly. His eyes were pleading with her to nod and retreat.

She swallowed and offered him a faint smile. ‘Yes, I do.’ She hesitated. ‘Thank you.’ And then she turned and disappeared into the kitchen, her heart still thumping.

Natalie came in after her only a couple of seconds later, pulling the living-room doors shut behind them.

‘You’ll have to excuse him,’ she said in the abrasive manner of someone freshly bolstered by alcohol, ‘he gets like that sometimes.’

‘Like what?’

‘Irritable.’

‘Well, I’m probably the last person he wants to see again. You know, after the accident,’ Jess mumbled, for something to say more than anything else.

‘Between you and me,’ Natalie said, leaning a little closer, ‘that was actually part of the reason I asked you.’

Jess gaped at her. ‘How … how do you mean?’

‘He’s just been utterly floored by the whole thing. Understandably of course,’ Natalie added hastily. ‘Anyway, I thought it might help if he could see for himself that you’re recovering okay.’ She winked inappropriately, in a way Jess suspected she might not have done sober, before slinging down the last of her drink and stalking off back to the living room.

Two hours later and Natalie was slowly getting drunker. Jess could see and hear her through the double doors of the living room, holding court on the sofa with a gaggle of women
from the village. She was gushing loudly about the renovations on the holiday home, her audience cooing in chorus over photos of the damp course like she was showing them pictures of a newborn baby.

An earlier well-practised scan of the party guests had told Jess most of what she needed to know, which was firstly that they all seemed to be intent on getting wasted, possibly to the point of throwing up in Natalie’s wheelie bin, but also that nobody appeared to be handing a dossier of Jess’s past around the room like security intel at a cabinet meeting. She had become expert over the years at separating in one glance those who knew from those who didn’t, and the ratio was continually calibrating in her favour anyway as old faces moved out and others moved in. Still, she always mentally readied herself for someone to make the connection at an event like this, because she deemed there to be a much better chance that way of snuffing out the spark before it became a flame.

Tonight, thankfully, nobody had particularly looked at her twice, other than when she’d done a quick round of the room to hand out her business cards or to top up the canapés. She felt as confident as she could do that Natalie’s new circle, as it currently stood, was safe enough.

‘Well, they’re starting to knock down the interior walls,’ Jess could hear Natalie informing them now, ‘so in a couple of days’ time we’ll either be looking at something out of
Architectural Digest
or a very big pile of bricks.’

One of the women said something Jess couldn’t quite catch.

‘Oh no, we’re going absolutely the whole hog,’ Natalie responded brazenly. ‘Adding two storeys to the back while we’re at it. The garden’s easily double the size it needs to be, so it makes sense to extend south as well as north. The
neighbours despise us already.’ She laughed throatily. ‘They picked a fight with my builder the other day and I just told him: “Kevin, you know what to do.” ’

Another woman leaned over, presumably to ask her what it was that Kevin allegedly knew to do.

‘Took his pneumatic to the boundary, of course,’ Natalie declared, face flushed with self-satisfaction. ‘Broke up some residual concrete just for the hell of it. By the end of the day they were ready to put their own place on the market.’

Cue raucous laughter from her audience. Jess winced and turned away, unable to prevent herself from wondering exactly how the Will she knew was able to handle co-existing day-to-day with a woman like Natalie.

Still, the night had gone well so far. She’d been right to follow her instincts on the menu: the sweet pork meatballs had vanished within minutes, her vodka gazpacho shots coming a close second. In a few minutes she’d start clearing dishes from the canapés to take out the lemon meringue tartlets and cream-stuffed profiteroles.