Love Is a Secret (6 page)

Had Freddy been playing around on his computer? But even if he had, he couldn’t have downloaded something like this. Not with the NannyOnline system.

‘Dad! Dad!’

‘What?’

Florrie burst into his study, sending a pile of files flying over the carpet, which badly needed vacuuming. ‘It’s Freddy. He’s trying on Mum’s pink silk jumper – the one you gave her last year for her birthday.’ She giggled. ‘Come and look. It’s really funny.’

8

WHAT MUMS KNOW – MESSAGE BOARD

From Lawyer
Mum:
I drew up a labour contract before I went into hospital to prevent them giving me an epidural. A friend lent me a TENS machine and it was brilliant at taking away the pain.

A TENS machine! She’d have to check it out online but not until she’d sorted this out first. Lisa could hardly believe it. How could the bastards have taken her washing again? She didn’t mind too much about the tea-towels but she needed the maternity pants. Two pairs was barely enough as it was. They couldn’t have blown off the balcony, she thought, leaning over to check. She’d been ever so careful to tie them on to the line with a double set of pegs after the last lot had gone. No. It was definitely the kid next door. Had to be. There was just a low wall between her and them, although
she
wouldn’t jump over it with the car park six floors below.

‘Morning, Lees, how’re you doing?’

Lisa stared at Kiki. She hated people who were nice as pie one day and cows the next. ‘Your Tommy’s nicked my pants again.’

‘How do you know it was him?’

Lisa coughed loudly, indicating her disapproval at Kiki’s cigarette fumes. So bad for the baby. There’d been a piece on
What Mums Know
recently, relating cot death to smoking. ‘I hung them out last night and they’ve gone, just like last time. You ought to watch that kid of yours. Saw him smoking the other day. It’s not right. Not at his age.’

She watched as Kiki flung her cigarette over the edge of the balcony. ‘Don’t you go telling me how to bring up my kids. You wait till it’s your turn. Then you’ll know what it’s like.’

‘But Tommy’s only twelve. He shouldn’t be smoking or stealing.’

Kiki screwed up her face. Without her makeup, thought Lisa, she looked even younger. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen when she’d had Tommy.

‘Like I said, you look out for your kid and I’ll do the same for mine, Miss Busybody. If you’re not careful, I’ll get my Colin to come round and have a word with you.’

‘Colin?’ Lisa took a step backwards towards the safety of the flat. ‘Thought it was Liam. Or was that last week?’

‘You little c—’

Hastily, Lisa shut the door and leaned against it in case Kiki tried to ram it. The marks on the other doors in the block showed this wasn’t uncommon. She’d have to go out now and get another pair of pants. Lucky it was Saturday and not a working day. It looked like being an August scorcher too, which would make a change after last week.

Lisa went into the kitchen to put the kettle on – sweet tea was
so
comforting – and sat down at the breakfast bar, which was getting even more wobbly. Those metal legs needed fixing. She’d already rung the council about it but a fat lot of good that had done. They still hadn’t sorted the wet patch on the bedroom ceiling.

Lisa stroked her stomach lovingly. ‘Better get that done, before you arrive, love.’

There was something else she needed to do before she went shopping. Now, what was it? The trouble with pregnancy was that it affected your memory. Everyone said so, and it was true.

That’s right! She was going to Google that TENS machine, wasn’t she, to find out a bit more?

Sitting down at the computer, Lisa logged on. ‘TENS’, not ‘ten’. Impatiently, Lisa tried again. Why did computers always think they were smarter than you? That’s better. Lisa read the information in front of her.

‘Look at that, Rose! Transcu – transcu-what-do-you-call-it electrical nerve stimulation. It takes away the pain by pressing pressure points in your body. Blimey, costs enough, doesn’t it? Still, it’d be nice to try one out, wouldn’t it?’

There had been a time when Lisa loved shopping, but now it took ages to get out of the flat: she had to check twice, just to make sure, that the cooker was off and the windows shut. Then sometimes – well, quite often, to be honest – she had to go back and make sure she really had shut the front door and double-locked it. You can’t be too careful, she reassured herself. There had been another break-in last week, only a floor below. Not that there was much to take from her place, apart from the computer, but she still didn’t fancy waking up to find some crazy teenager high on crack, desperate for the next fix and smashing her window.

Right. That’s it. Push door to check it really is shut, then down the concrete steps that smell of piss. Past Tommy Ball and a group of his mates. Ignore them.

‘Got your pants on, Lisa? Big ones, are they? We’ve got a pair just like them, haven’t we, Alex?’

So he
had
nicked them. If he wasn’t so much taller than her, she’d clobber him.

‘Too posh to talk to us?’

He was walking behind her, so close she felt scared.

‘My mum says it’s no wonder you haven’t got a bloke.’

Nearly at the bus stop. Lisa began to perspire with walking faster. Her body, especially from the waist down, felt as though it was dragging her towards the pavement and her breasts felt large and hot. Amazing to think that something so tiny could make her feel permanently exhausted.

It was an effort to climb up into the bus. Lisa placed her hands protectively over her stomach as she moved down the aisle. That story in the papers about the woman who’d miscarried because someone had collided with her in the street still haunted her.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t felt Rose move since breakfast – sweet Mary, don’t let anything have happened.

Then she felt it. Relief flooded through her. And again. A definite kick. Not that strong but enough to tell her Rose was awake. Lisa beamed. As long as Rose was all right, she’d be all right too.

The shopping centre was packed. Lisa sat down for a few moments to catch her breath on the concrete wall that ran along the inside of the mall, lining the plant section down the middle. Her legs were swelling in the heat and she massaged her calves to ease them.

An older woman came towards her with a pushchair and Lisa moved up to give her room. The baby was smiling at her, and Lisa’s heart lurched. ‘What a lovely kid!’

The mother picked up the dummy that had fallen on the ground, sucked it and put it back into the baby’s mouth – Lisa winced.

‘She’s all right.’

All right?
She was gorgeous. Lisa leaned forward: she wanted to touch the baby’s soft skin. ‘Smiling at me, are you, love?’

The mother snorted. ‘Does it to everyone.’

Lisa felt a twinge of envy. Her own mother had constantly scowled, which made her all the more determined to smile a lot after her baby was born. ‘Did you talk to your baby when you was expecting?’

The woman was giving her an odd look. ‘Not that I can say.’

‘Only I was watching something about it on the telly. How you should talk to babies in the womb. Apparently they can hear everything.’

‘Blimey. I hope not.’

The woman was getting up now.

‘’Bye,’ said Lisa, waving to the baby. ‘How cute is that! She’s waving back!’

‘Yeah, she’s just learned. ’Bye, then.’

And the woman was gone, swallowed into the Saturday crowds.

Carefully, Lisa got to her feet. ‘Can’t sit here all day, can we, Rose?’ She headed towards a large baby chain store. It was busy this morning. But not one assistant on the floor. Never was. They were all behind the counter.

‘Got any TENS machines, like?’

The woman at the front of the queue frowned at Lisa for interrupting, but she didn’t care.

‘Sorry,’ said the assistant. ‘We’re out of stock. You might be able to get one online.’

She could if her credit card had enough money on it. Sighing, Lisa moved on to the underwear section. Looked like they were out of maternity pants too. Still, she could have a flick through sleepsuits. Such lovely colours. Lemon, green, blue and,
yes
, rose . . .

‘Lisa! It
is
Lisa, isn’t it?’

Reluctantly, she looked up. It was one of the mums from the centre, the plump one with the kind face and the daughter who did jigsaws all day.

‘Yeah.’

‘Busy today, isn’t it? I’m trying to get a present for a niece – should have known better than to come on a Saturday.’

Lisa felt irritated at having to make small-talk. She’d wanted to feel the clothes in peace, run her finger along the seams, imagine what it would be like to hold her new baby.

‘Stocking up, are you? How exciting!’

A wonderful thrill pulsated through Lisa. She was expecting a baby! Sometimes it didn’t seem real. It wouldn’t make up for what had happened, of course, and she couldn’t stop being frightened in case something went wrong again. But it was better, so much better, than not being pregnant.

‘When are you due?’

‘I’m not sure. My dates are a bit uncertain.’

‘I had the same problem with my daughter. In fact, I sometimes wonder if that’s why—’ She stopped suddenly. ‘But you’ll be working at the centre for a bit longer, won’t you?’

Lisa nodded.

‘Good. Tabitha really likes you.’ The woman smiled shyly. ‘She’s got a thing about your hair. You’ve probably noticed from the way she tries to stroke it.’

All these questions were making her nervous. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go now. My partner’s waiting.’ Lisa jerked her head at a man by the door. He was short, fat and bald but he was on his own. He’d do.

‘That’s nice. You wouldn’t get many men shopping here on a Saturday. My ex hated it.’

Suddenly Lisa felt as though the shop was closing in on her. She couldn’t breathe. If she didn’t get out, she’d go mad.

‘Lisa?’

What did she want, touching Lisa’s arm like that?

‘You’ve still got something in your hands. Don’t forget to pay. I did that once and it was really embarrassing.’

‘Thanks,’ she mumbled.

A child yelled and they looked at the door from where the noise was coming. The short, fat, bald man was kneeling down, trying to pacify it. A woman with a six-month bump was next to them. They were clearly a family.

Tabitha’s mum smiled sadly, and Lisa knew she’d seen through her lie. ‘Well, I’d better be off and post this, then.’ The woman glanced down at the carrier-bag she was holding. ‘My dad’s looking after Tabitha and I can’t be long. See you next week.’

Lisa made her way to the till with the sleepsuit, looking back over her shoulder as the woman disappeared into the crowd.

The kid was still yelling but the father was still patiently kneeling next to it, wiping its face with a tissue, trying to make it feel better.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair.

EMAIL FROM MARK SUMMERS

Sorry, everyone, but my daughter Florrie has got to do some market research for her school holiday project. All you have to do is say where you’re going on your summer holiday and then send it back to us. Please don’t delete.

MESSAGE FROM GEORGIE

Smile, Mum. You’re on my webcam! Isn’t it brilliant? Ben set it up for me.

EMAIL TO MRS SUSAN THOMAS

Dear Mrs Thomas, Thank you for subscribing to our free horoscope service. This month will be a turning point for you. But you’ll need to be open-minded if you are to use these opportunities wisely.

WHAT MUMS KNOW

JOIN OUR ONLINE DISCUSSIONS ON:

How to survive the summer holidays.

Rowing in front of the children: can it be healthy?

How not to be a wicked step-mother.

TIP FROM CELLULITE MUM OF LITTLEHAMPTON

Stick a picture of yourself from your thin days on top of the biscuit tin.

CHUCKLE CORNER FROM GOING GREY OF MANCHESTER

Men are just like kitchen tiles. Lay them the right way and you can walk on them for ever.

THOUGHT TO KEEP YOU SANE FROM EARTH MOTHER

One day, they won’t need their nappies changing. They’ll be changing your incontinence pads instead.

9

T
he traffic was horrendous but the hold-up had given Caroline time to check her emails on the laptop in the back of the taxi. Now, still stuck and bored, she logged on to
What Mums Know
. Strange, really. Even though her interest had initially been professional – it had given her some good ideas for the magazine – many of the subjects were also personally relevant. Like
How not to be a wicked stepmother
.

Caroline gazed unseeingly out of the window as they passed Madame Tussaud’s on the left. If Roger had left her, that woman might have become the children’s stepmother, and she’d have had them every other weekend. The magazine had done features on mothers who, through no fault of their own, had to allow the other woman to be with their children as part of the access agreement.

Just thinking about it made her feel sick.

She still felt a bit wobbly when the taxi driver stopped. The traffic had made her seriously late, and even though Jeff would wait, they would have less time to talk. In her haste, Caroline tipped the driver more than necessary and flew up the stairs to the club. Its situation, overlooking Marble Arch, suggested a smart establishment for well-heeled professionals. In fact it was a comfortable four-storey Georgian building with sofas, deep chairs and pots of coffee or tea. Upstairs, there was a dining room, of the steak-and-kidney-pudding variety, and a ladies’ with proper cotton hand towels instead of hand-dryers where, more than once, she had cried her eyes out after one of their heart-to-hearts.

Although he was officially Roger’s friend, from their university days, Jeff had become hers too over the years. He’d been at christenings, confirmations, Annabel’s A-level celebration and even her mother’s funeral. He had never married, despite Caroline’s attempts to match-make him with various friends and even her sister, and she had the feeling that he enjoyed being part of their family. They needed him too, especially in the fallout after Roger’s affair.

‘Caroline!’ Jeff sprang up from a sofa to plant a kiss on both her cheeks. A woman standing by the coffee gave them an inquisitive glance.

Although she felt wretched, Caroline was mildly amused and flattered. He was, she reminded herself, an extremely attractive man, not just in looks but in the way he listened to everyone and made them laugh. ‘So sorry I’m late,’ she said.

‘Not at all. You look amazing.’

She bit back the automatic comment: if that was true, Roger wouldn’t have strayed.

‘I thought we’d have a spot of lunch upstairs. Is that all right with you?’

‘Lovely. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.’

He consulted his watch. ‘I’ve got just over an hour before my next client. Wish I had longer but . . .’

‘It’s all right. Sure I’m not a nuisance?’

His eyes smiled at her. ‘Caroline, you could never be that. Would you like the cloakroom first?’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

‘Marvellous. I’ve booked a table. Let’s go, shall we?’

Caroline allowed Jeff to tuck into his steak-and-kidney before she let him steer her into serious conversation.

‘OK, so you’ve brought me up to date with Annabel and that lazy godson of mine. Post A-level stress is a great idea and I wish
I’d
thought of it. But what about you, Caro? You sounded so upset on the phone last week. Something hasn’t happened, has it?’

‘He hasn’t gone back to seeing her, if that’s what you mean. At least, I don’t think so.’ She toyed with her salad Niçoise. Wordlessly, Jeff topped up her sparkling water. ‘Thanks. Sorry. That’s better. No, it’s almost silly, really.’

Succinctly, she filled him in on her editor’s brief. ‘Interviewing women who have “got over it” will make it all come back. For two years now I’ve tried to block it out, or I couldn’t cope. I’m also worried that
she
is going to read it – we’re one of the top women’s monthlies, you know – and then she might get in touch with him, if she hasn’t already and . . . oh, God, Jeff, I don’t know what to do.’

Jeff dabbed his mouth with the dark blue linen napkin. ‘You might find that interviewing women in your situation is cathartic.’

‘If they exist,’ said Caroline, grimly. ‘One of the girls in the office said that no self-respecting woman would take her husband back. So I must be incredibly weak.’

Jeff reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re incredibly strong. You held the family together at a time when it had to be held together. Annabel was mid A level, Ben was doing GCSEs and Georgie was too young to have an absent father.’

Caroline felt tears welling again. ‘I know, but I hate saying I can’t do something. I remember at school when they said how difficult it was to be a journalist and in many ways that was what drove me to do it. Now I can’t help feeling I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. I’m not sure it’s possible for a marriage to survive after this kind of thing.’

‘People of our parents’ generation did it all the time,’ he said reflectively. ‘My aunt had several affairs. She used to boast it kept her marriage going.’

‘But our generation’s different. Sometimes I think we’re more moral because we won’t tolerate affairs like our parents did.’

Jeff nodded. ‘I have to say that I’d find it hard. But so does Roger.’

‘Do you talk about it?’

He hesitated. ‘Occasionally. The other month, he said it was as though he was carrying a cross every day of his life because he hated himself so much for having hurt you.’

She hadn’t known that. ‘Then why doesn’t he tell me? He’s so polite all the time and when we . . . when we make love, it’s so stilted.’

He stared at his plate, plainly embarrassed. ‘But you’ve got to forgive him. Think of the children.’

Panic rose inside Caroline. ‘It’s not as simple as forgiveness. It’s trying to get back to what we had before that’s difficult. It’s like carrying an invisible scar.’

He glanced at his watch again. ‘I know women are meant to feel these things more keenly but can’t you try a bit longer? Look, I’m sorry but I’ve got to go.’

She’d made him uncomfortable, saying so much. ‘Me too.’ She tried to sound light. ‘Otherwise I’ll have to stay late in the office and won’t be back for Georgie.’

He grinned, clearly glad to be back on safe ground. ‘And even though she’s got a key of her own, she’ll either have lost it or go straight in to watch television instead of doing her homework.’

Caroline smiled. ‘You know my lot too well.’

‘I hope I’ve helped,’ he said, hesitantly.

‘Yes, you have,’ she lied. ‘Thanks.’

They brushed cheeks; his was stubbly against hers.

‘I just want the old Roger back.’ She looked up at him pleadingly. ‘Is that really so impossible?’

He stared down at her, eyes locking with hers. ‘I don’t know, Caro. All you can do is carry on trying.’

‘Where’ve you been?’ demanded Zelda, tersely, as she wove her way through the Features department towards her desk. ‘Diana’s been looking for you. She’s changed the flatplan for the twenty-third and wants to bring forward the infidelity feature by a week.’

Caroline checked her diary on-screen. ‘That means I’ve only got until next Friday.’

‘You could try Great Publicity.’

‘I have. And I’ve got some other leads too.’

For the next hour, she sifted through self-help groups and marital organisations, mainly through Google.
Respected women’s magazine needs to interview a woman who has fought to save her marriage after her husband’s affair. Can pay an interview fee
.

Jeff had hit home when he’d suggested it might be cathartic for her to hear other women’s stories and possibly share her own. Heaven knows, she needed to talk to
someone
. Jeff hadn’t proved the sounding-board she’d hoped for and Janie, her sister, was too far away. Other women had best friends but the pressure of working and bringing up a family had meant she’d lost touch with her old university friends. Besides, maybe a stranger would offer more objective advice.

Caroline glanced at Zelda, who was doing a telephone interview with a psychologist to get what they called a ‘psychobabble’ quote for their feature on
Kids’ Nasty Habits
. She put her handbag on the desk in such a way that Zelda couldn’t see the screen, then logged on to
What Mums Know
.

Username:
Part Time Mum
– because that was what her job had made her.

MESSAGE BOARD

Hi. I want to know if anyone out there can tell me if it’s possible to go on after your husband has had an affair. Two years ago, I had an anonymous phone call from a ‘stranger’.

Caroline’s fingers shook as she felt the familiar gut-wrenching sickness wash over her yet again. Georgie had been ten when it had happened. She’d been nagging her to get into the bath before Roger got home so that some semblance of peace and order would greet him when he came in. Then the phone had rung.

Georgie, always fast, had got there first. ‘It’s for you, Mum.’

Inwardly groaning, she had taken the receiver, wondering who would ring at peak bedtime.

‘Caroline?’ A woman’s voice. Slightly harsh.

‘Yes?’

‘You don’t know me. I’m a friend of Elaine.’

‘Elaine?’

She sounded impatient. ‘You know: one of your husband’s major clients.’

Visions of some office accident – a road crash? – flashed through her head. ‘Is he all right?’

‘Don’t play games, Caroline.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What are you going to do about it?’

This was crazy. ‘About what?’

‘They’re in love, Caroline. You know that. What are you going to do about it?’

‘In love?’ Her voice came out as a pale whisper.

‘Who’s in love, Mum?’ Georgie had said, tugging at her jumper.

She’d gripped the receiver. ‘Who are you?’

There was a click. 1471. Caller withheld their number.

‘Who’s in love, Mum?
Tell
me!’ Georgie was dancing round her.

‘No one.’ Caroline had stared at the phone as though it might reveal the answer. ‘No one.’

In shock, she had immediately called Roger on the mobile. He’d been defensive but firm. Elaine was his client. Yes, they got on well but that was all there was to it.

She stopped typing and dropped her face into her hands. She and Roger had had a terrible argument while Georgie was, thankfully, in front of the television. But the older ones had heard it.

She still couldn’t bear to think of the damage it had done to them. Roger’s eyes had been hard in a way she’d never seen them before. No, he had insisted. He hadn’t had an affair, but if he had it was her fault for not showing him affection any more. For always putting her work and the children first. Caroline’s fingers raced across the keyboard again. Now she’d started, the words were tumbling out:

I’d met her a few months earlier at an office do. A bit older than me but very pretty, blonde and bubbly. Bright with a First in Maths from Oxford. She had a partner but no children. Yet I’d never seen her as a threat because my husband wasn’t that kind of man. Ironic, isn’t it? Then, the follo
wing night, she rang me herself. She said my husband loved her. She said all kinds of other stuff too but I can’t recall the exact words. My mind has put up a kind of barrier, and I know that if I let it come down, I might be washed away completely. My husband then admitted he
had
had an affair, and for an agonising two weeks, he didn’t know whether to stay with us or go to her. I begged him not to leave. I made him look at the magazine . . .

She stopped. The magazine was in her office drawer for safety. For some inexplicable reason, she felt a burning need to see it again. Page nine. She knew it by heart. There they were. The two of them, pictured in one of Roger’s professional magazines at a work conference in Switzerland. The woman had her hand on his arm and was looking up at him admiringly. By some appalling coincidence, the magazine had arrived the week before the anonymous phone call. If it hadn’t been for the latter, she might have accepted Roger’s lame excuse that it was just a ‘social occasion’. Now the computer seemed to draw her in. It was like speaking to a priest in a confessional box.

You’re probably wondering why I still wanted him. I think it was because I couldn’t really believe this was my husband, despite the picture and phone call. It had been a mistake. He had done something stupid. And the children and I needed him. I couldn’t imagine life without him; I’d always thought we’d grow old together.