Love Is a Secret (24 page)

38

Susan had kept Tabitha at home for a few days to make sure she was all right. Their family doctor had checked her over and confirmed that the wrist was only bruised. Even so, Susan followed Tabitha around all day, applying copious amounts of arnica cream.

By tea-time, she was fed up with the phone. Josh had rung twice from work and Steff three times.

‘She’s better,’ she had reassured them. ‘She’s got to be if she can still do her jigsaws.’

At the back of her mind, too, she was wondering about Simon. He had been way out of order . . . but had he mistaken her enthusiasm for the job as ‘leading him on’?

Now, though, she was exhausted. Having Tabitha at home all day without a break made her snappy. Every time she told her off, she’d say, ‘Daddaddad.’ She’d heard about kids playing off one parent against the other but this was the first time Tabitha had done it. She’d send her to school tomorrow, and on Saturday she could go to Josh and Steff as usual. But then what?

From Rainbow to What Mums Know: Someone at work made a  pass at me and then fired me when I rebuffed him. Should I report him or accept I’ve been fired? It was only a Saturday job but it was important to me.

It was worth a try. If she’d asked Joy, she’d never have heard the end of it. She’d want to know if Simon was good-looking and whether she secretly fancied him after years of not having it. Joy was frank about sex and had quizzed Susan on more than one occasion about how frustrated she felt.

The following day when Tabitha had gone off on the bus, she checked her messages.

Just one reply.

From Expectent Mum to Rainbow: Wheres your sense of pride? Hes the one who should be ashamed. Get in their on Saturday and make a stink about it.

Funny. She’d always thought Expectent Mum was a bit bonkers even before she knew it was that rather strange girl, Lisa, at the centre. But this time she had voiced the quiet feeling inside Susan. Simon
was
the one who should be ashamed. She would go in on Saturday, although she might not make a stink. Why should that man deprive her of the first job she’d had for years?

Tabitha had gone off with Josh and Steff, waving her good arm and beaming. Steff in particular had been full of ‘We’ll be carefuls’ and ‘Don’t worrys’. Josh had still been quiet but had said they’d be back by seven p.m. and was that all right? When had he changed? Was it Steff or maturity? If she hadn’t blamed Josh for Tabitha’s condition, would they have been all right?

All these thoughts, and more, pounded through her head as she walked to work – for the exercise – instead of catching the bus. To her amazement, she’d lost half a stone when she’d weighed herself that morning. Whether it was the swimming, the walking or the worry over Tabitha’s arm, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she’d have time for another swim this afternoon, before Tabitha came home. She could also deliver more of the flyers that she and the other centre parents had had printed to put through people’s doors. They simply had to keep the campaign going.

Cripes. She was at the office already, and she still hadn’t worked out exactly what to say. Should she ask Simon if he really meant it about her being fired? Or should she go above him and complain?

Fiona looked up brightly. ‘Morning, Susan. Glad you’re early. It’s going to be hectic today – we’re one down – and Mike wants you to be in the office.’

Susan took off her coat. ‘One down?’

‘Yup. Simon’s gone. He left a message on the answerphone, can you believe? He was meant to give four weeks’ notice but he said he’s owed holiday and is using his entitlement. Cheek! You can have his desk today. Don’t look so worried. We’ll just get you to take down new-applicant details and book viewings. It’s not difficult.’

It wasn’t. It was surprisingly pleasant. Whether it was the relief at not having to face Simon or whether it was because she had a natural manner on the phone, as Fiona told her, she began to enjoy herself. She could sympathise with Mrs Cross, who didn’t want anyone round today because her son was poorly, and managed to convey to the would-be viewer that it might be better to wait until next weekend in case it was catching. She discussed honestly the pros and cons of Sycamore Drive with an applicant who didn’t know the area – good for the local primary but only off-road parking available. And she calmed down an irate woman who was cross with Green & Co because a seemingly enthusiastic viewer had failed to make a second appointment. There wasn’t even time for a lunchtime sandwich but, funnily enough, she didn’t feel hungry.

‘Did Simon say why he was leaving?’ she asked Fiona, at the end of the day.

Fiona rolled her eyes. ‘Domestic reasons, but we all know the truth.’

Susan’s heart quickened. ‘What is it?’

‘He was after Mike’s promotion – you know he was made manager last week? It’s my guess that Simon got the job that was advertised in the paper recently, same level at Haywood and Brown.’

Haywood and Brown were their major competitors, which made sense. What a relief! Now she didn’t have to say anything.

‘Going to the gym?’ asked Fiona, pointing at her kitbag.

‘Swimming, actually, then a driving lesson.’

‘When’s your test?’ asked Fiona, kicking off her shoes and putting on boots.

‘The theory’s next week and then I’ll apply.’ She twisted her hands. ‘I was hoping that if I passed I could do more hours during the week.’

‘You don’t need to be able to drive for that.’

‘Really? Simon said I did.’

Fiona grimaced. ‘Simon said a lot of things. It’s an office-based position, nothing very exciting – answering the phone and making appointments like you did today. We need someone two days a week. Interested?’

‘I’d have to finish at three to be back for my daughter.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Twelve.’

‘Well, she’ll be all right on her own for a bit at that age, won’t she?’

Clearly Simon hadn’t told her about Tabs.

‘I’d rather be back.’

‘Can you stay until three thirty?’

Susan nodded. If she walked home fast, she’d be in time for Tabitha’s bus.

‘OK, then. Start on Tuesday, if you like. Same pay as the weekend, but if it works out, there’s a good career structure.’

Career structure?
Susan could have hugged her. ‘That’s fantastic. Thank you
so
much.’

39

Mark’s hand shook as he opened Caroline’s message:

Diana’s agreed to print correction over price. Will also run photograph of toy as ‘compensation’ in next available issue. Caroline.

Caroline? Just Caroline? Not ‘love’ or even ‘best’? Reaching across the pile of papers on his desk, he dialled her mobile number.

‘You’ve reached Caroline, please leave . . .’ If he did, there’d be no hope left when she didn’t return it. But an email would give her time to think and, hopefully, reply.

Caroline. Thanks for this. See you soon, I hope.

That would have to do. Not too pushy. But enough to say he was there if she wanted him. EFT was not as thrilled by the proposed apology as Mark was. But at least Clive didn’t mention terminating his contract. With any luck, he – or, rather, Caroline – had saved his bacon. Even so, he needed more work to replace the client he’d lost. Mark leafed through his contacts book. He’d do a ring-round until he had to pick up the kids.

‘Cooee, it’s only me!’

Why –
why
– couldn’t she learn to ring first?

‘Mark, dear, how are you?’ Daphne clasped him to her ample chest. ‘I got back late last night but I wanted to come over to see how you were.’ She held him at arm’s length and examined his face. ‘I’ve spoken to Hilary.’

He disengaged himself gently. ‘I know. We talked afterwards.’

‘She sounded terribly low, poor thing.’

‘I thought she was all right.’

Daphne switched on the kettle. ‘That’s because she’s putting on a brave face. I can’t tell you how hard it is for her, away from you all.’

‘Then she shouldn’t have—’

‘Now now, Mark, please. We’ve been through this before. Tell me about the children. Did they miss me?’

Mark felt tempted to say that she’d only been gone a week. ‘Of course. We all did. Did you have a nice time?’

‘Wonderful. I hadn’t realised how many nice people go on these cut-price cruises. I thought it might be a bit mixed but everyone was
so
pleasant. And the staff couldn’t do enough for us. Mainly from the Philippines, they were, and
so
helpful. Perhaps it’s their culture, do you think?’

Mark winced. ‘Maybe.’

Daphne patted her bag. ‘I’ve got all the pictures here. Shall I show you now?’

‘Why not wait for the children to get back? Actually, Daphne, we’ve had a couple of hiccups.’

He told her about the website and she frowned. ‘Computers are such a danger. I’ve said that all along. Just what we need on top of his terrible behaviour. Honestly, I don’t know where he got it from. Hilary was never like that.’

Mark braced himself for the usual diatribe. He would tell her about the educational psychologist later: the website was enough for her to deal with at present. Besides, he hadn’t been able to get through to the man yet. ‘Computers can be helpful if they’re used correctly, Daphne. And someone’s just recommended a new filter, which I’m going to try out. Look, I don’t want to be rude but I’m knee deep in work and I’ve got to collect the kids in an hour.’

‘You carry on, dear. I’ll have a little clean-up and then I’ll fetch the children for you. Goodness, we have got into a bit of a mess, haven’t we? Burnt something in the oven, did you? Smells like gammon.’

‘That was ages ago.’

‘I’ll buy a spray-on oven cleaner on my way to school. And I’d better get the vacuum cleaner out too.’

Mark prickled. ‘I’ve been doing it in the evening.’

Daphne was aghast. ‘But suppose someone visits during the day?’

‘Who?’ He couldn’t help sounding bitter. ‘My wife?’

She patted his shoulder. ‘Don’t be too hard on Hilary, dear. We don’t always know what we’re doing.’

Sometimes it was easier to agree. ‘Sorry. My mobile again. I’ll take it upstairs, if you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not.’ Daphne was already scrubbing the sink with a pot of white cream she had taken out of her bag. Clearly, his own cleaning materials weren’t adequate. ‘I’ve got plenty here to keep me busy.’

Only one company, with whom he had a vague connection, asked him to email a detailed proposal. The rest were happy with the PR representation they still had and one or two had gone in-house.

This time last year he’d been in-house too. A regular monthly salary; people to talk to – who didn’t need reminding to wash their hands after using the loo; a proper lunch hour when he could read the paper in the canteen. ‘But you’re a real dad, now,’ said a small voice inside him. ‘Not an absent one.’

True. But he still needed to earn a living.

‘Dad, we’re back!’

Freddy thundered up the stairs and, reluctantly, Mark stopped dialling. ‘Hi!’ He ruffled his son’s hair, which was stiff with whatever stuff kids put on it nowadays.

‘Gerroff, Dad, you’ll mess it up.’

‘How was your day?’

‘OK.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Stuff.’

Mark was getting used to this. The only way to prise out information was to ask for specifics. ‘What was your last lesson?’

‘Maths. We’re doing pubic centimetres.’

‘Don’t you mean cubic centimetres?’

Freddy grinned. ‘I know but we call them that to annoy the teachers. We started a new game too. It’s called Doorknob.’

Mark listened warily. ‘And what does that involve?’

‘Someone farts and if someone else says, “Doorknob,” before they say, “Safety,” the farter has to touch a doorknob before someone gets them and beats them up,’ explained Florrie, coming in.

Freddy grinned again. ‘Heffer farted on the rugby field this afternoon and the nearest doorknob was back at school. So we chased him down the road and got him.’

Mark winced. ‘Poor Heffer. Any more problems with the other boy?’

The grin disappeared. ‘No.’ He turned to run downstairs.

‘Hang on. You know the rules. Wash your hands and change before tea. And no television until homework’s done and trumpet practice too. The homework bit applies to you too, Florrie. How was your day?’

‘It was shit.’

Florrie banged the door just as Daphne huffed up the stairs in his direction. So much for the sanctity of a study.

‘Those children are impossible, Mark.
Absolutely
impossible. You should have heard the language in the back of the car. If you ask me, they need to see someone.’

It looked like that was the end of work for today. ‘They’re tired, Daphne.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And, as you rightly pointed out earlier, they’ve got a lot to put up with. You’ve had a long day too, after all that travelling. I’m really grateful for everything but why don’t you go home now? We’ll see you for lunch on Sunday. Sorry – my mobile’s ringing again. Mark Summers speaking. Caroline!’ He glanced at Daphne. ‘How are you?’

Daphne stiffened and began to tidy some papers on his desk. Mark, waving a hand to indicate there was no need, tried to keep his voice neutral. ‘Thanks. That’s really helpful. I’ll check them out.’

She ended the conversation before he could say more.

‘One of your clients, dear?’

He averted his eyes. ‘Actually, she’s a magazine journalist, someone I’ve been working with. She’s given me details of an anti-bullying organisation that might help Freddy.’

Daphne’s heavily powdered face wrinkled with disbelief. ‘You told someone else about it?’

‘She’s a mother. She understands.’

‘And has she met the children?’

She thinks I’m seeing her, thought Mark. ‘No, of course not. I mentioned it over a working lunch.’

‘Well, it’s up to you, Mark, of course, but if I were you, I’d keep things like that in the family. And I’m sure your
wife
would think the same.’

He waited until she had gone, then went to knock on Florrie’s door. ‘Are you OK in there? Tea’s ready.’

No answer. He tried the handle. The door was locked. When they’d moved in, Florrie had insisted he put a lock on the inside of her door to stop Freddy coming in. But it worked against him too.

‘Florrie?’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Piss off.’

‘Florrie, you can’t talk to me like that.’

‘Try stopping me.’ There was the sound of muffled sobbing on the other side. Mark tried the handle again. ‘Please let me in.’

‘I want Mum. Why did she go away?’

Mark wanted to pound his head on her door. ‘She’ll ring tonight – at least, she said she’d try. Please, Florrie, open up.’

‘I’ll get her to do it.’ Mark looked down at his son. ‘Go away, Dad, and let me do it.’

Reluctantly he went back to his study, which, at times like this, was a haven. He didn’t understand the kids. They either hated each other or ganged up against him. Slowly he dialled the educational psychologist’s number again.

Amazingly, someone was still there to make an appointment. He couldn’t be fitted in for a few weeks but fixing a date made him feel better. Now he could hear muffled voices through Florrie’s door so perhaps Freddy was getting somewhere. Better not go out or he might mess it up.

Receiving mail.

Mark scanned the message and groaned. Crazy! First his clients were mad at him and now they wanted to entertain him. The last thing he needed. But he couldn’t afford to annoy them. Providing, of course, that Daphne could babysit.

The following week was the usual mixture of work, arguments with the children and a few stilted phone conversations with Hilary. Florrie was being nicer, although Freddy had got moodier.

Sometimes Mark suspected they took it in turns. It was a relief to get out on Friday night.

‘Why are you all dressed up?’ asked Florrie, suspiciously.

‘I told you. I’ve got a client do.’

He knocked on Freddy’s door. ‘Coming down to say goodbye?’ He went in. Freddy was lying on his bed, cheeks flushed. ‘Are you ill?’asked Mark, concerned.

‘No.’ He glared at Mark and sat up. ‘Give me some space, Dad.’

‘Come on.’ Mark didn’t want to leave him like this. ‘Come and sit with Granny.’

Reluctantly Freddy followed him downstairs. ‘Florrie and I don’t want you to go out. We don’t want to be alone.’

‘You’re not, dear. I’m here!’ Daphne settled herself comfortably in an armchair. ‘I thought we could watch that nice auction programme.’

‘You’ll like that, Freddy,’ said Florrie, sniggering. ‘Ouch. Dad – stop him!’

‘Freddy, please behave.’ Mark heard the weariness in his voice. ‘Now, you know I’ve got to stay over for the meeting tomorrow morning, don’t you, Daphne?’

His mother-in-law shot him a knowing look. ‘Don’t worry about us, dear.’ She began to fiddle with the remote control. ‘How does this work, Freddy?’

He left them to it, adjusting his bow-tie in the hall mirror as he left. An uncomfortable stranger stared back at him; he wasn’t used to seeing himself in evening dress. Still, it made a change.

It took longer than he’d allowed to drive to London and find an NCP. By the time he’d entered the glittering hotel foyer, the place was teeming. It was an annual glitzy affair that he’d been to a couple of times with Hilary. In a way, he was relieved she wasn’t there: the last time, she had shunned small-talk with a potential client, dismissing him later as boring. Mark hadn’t got the contract.

Checking the table plan, he made his way to his hosts, who were quaffing champagne. ‘Mingling, are you, Mark? Good to see you. We need as much publicity as we can get. How about some coverage in the
Telegraph
? I see they’ve got someone here.’

‘I’ll try to find them.’ Grateful for the excuse, he moved into the crowd. No wonder some journalists despised PRs, he thought. At times they were no better than glorified salesmen.

‘Mark.’

He swung round. ‘Caroline! You look lovely.’ She did. That long red dress was stunning, and so were her bare shoulders. He ached to stroke them. ‘Are you with your husband?’

Something wavered in her beautiful grey-blue eyes. ‘No. He’s on a business trip. I’m with a friend. He’s gone to get a drink.’

He touched her right arm. The feel of her flesh was electric.

‘Look, I really need to talk to you.’

‘Please, Mark. No.’ She looked around, as if to check that no one was listening. ‘I don’t want to talk about what – what happened. It shouldn’t have. We both know that.’

‘But you’re not happy. And neither am I.’

‘That’s no excuse.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘No, it’s not. Just because your wife’s in America and—’

‘She’s not.’

‘What?’