Secrets (37 page)

‘And here, all these months later, I am. I came out of my hiding place and found the place I loved and the life I want to lead. But that doesn't mean I've solved a bloody thing. I hide my money under my mattress. I don't know what I'm going to do. It's irrelevant that there's a recession worldwide. Last thing at night, first thing in the morning and intermittently through the day I think of the mess
I'm
in. It's pathetic.

‘But do you know something? No one points out that borrowing money is exactly the same thing as owing money. They hide that in the small print of gaily-designed leaflets that positively invite you to take money. They make it sound like they really want to give it to you. Take a loan! Have a small-business account! We'll help! We support enterprise and initiative! Have another credit card! Transfer your balance to this one, to that one! No interest for the first six months! Phone us if you find it difficult to pay! We'll help – we're hear to listen. We're the caring, sharing, listening, friendly, lovely lovely bank!

‘Bollocks, Joe – it's bollocks. You phone them because you're finding it difficult to pay and then they start phoning you, for being difficult because you can't pay.

‘I've been over it in my head so many times. It seemed such a sound venture – my own little business using my skills as a trained beautician with the growing trend for all things organic. So I did some research into oils and bases and emollients and I dreamed up lovely creams and lotions and sourced a wholesaler to manufacture them. The products were lovely – I have a tube of It's Balmy for you. It's perfect for after shaving.

‘Oh, what was I saying? Oh, so I found a company to produce my recipes, then I found another who'd supply the containers and I found someone to design my website and I spent a fortune on advertising and I spent so much time and energy and more money on marketing and publicity. And I called it Made With Love. And I was so very, very proud – proud of my products and proud of me. And now it's the bloody albatross around my neck. There's a very dark, threatening cloud never far away, Joe.

‘I don't know where or at what point precisely I fucked up – but my profit margins were never going to be big enough and also I couldn't pay quickly enough. I'm convinced that those companies who lent me money knew that from the start but chose not to advise me. So the manufacturer stopped production. Then I persuaded them to produce another batch – with promises of funds within twenty-eight days. I couldn't make money if I didn't have the product to sell, could I? But then the company who did my containers refused to let me have any more because I hadn't paid them – however, I couldn't pay them until I sold some more creams but I couldn't sell cream if I had nothing to put it in. So it all went belly up. And fast. That part happened very fast. And my job in the salon was soon not enough to pay the rent let alone cover the minimum payments and provide for childcare for Em. And then the bailiffs came knocking. Banging. Believe me, they all look like they're related to the Krays.

‘So that's why I ran away, Joe. I ran away from all of that but believe me, I sense it inching a slow, menacing path back to me.

‘They'll still be looking for me, Joe. They'll be hunting me down. All those horrible letters – threatening and harsh. They'll be arriving every day at the flat I used to rent. The bailiffs won't have gone away. And I fear if I even set foot in a bank, some vicious vacuum will suck every penny from my pockets. My overdraft is terrifying in itself – but the bloody fines they heap upon it have made it horrific. I stopped opening my statements – the whack of interest just adds insult to injury. I never really worked out what credit card interest rates were all about because I never imagined I wouldn't be able to pay off my bills in full from the money I'd make when it was Made With Love.

‘I used to have to park my car at least a street away, Joe, so there was no incriminating evidence for debt collectors outside my front door. I'd answer the phone in a stupid American accent so I could say I wasn't in right now, so I could tell them to leave me a message and I'd have me call as soon as I was home.

‘But I want you to know that the money under my mattress, that's all honest. It's from you and from this crazy beautiful evening Lisa organized where she basically sold most of my remaining stock single-handedly. And Tamsin sent me M&S vouchers she won in some work raffle and it was the first time I felt I could spend on Em. I don't want to have to cut the feet off her babygros just to sneak another few weeks’ wear out of them. I don't want to compromise on proper shoes for her. I want to be able to provide the best for her, every step of the way. I've let her down. I hate myself for it. I'm an idiot. I was stupid. I'm a failure.’

She is sitting heavily on a bench along the pier. Her cheeks are crimson but everything else about her ghostly pale. She's fiddling with her nails, her leg is jigging, her feet are turned in and she's shaking her head at herself. Wolf is gazing down onto the beach, desperate to make merry with the dogs down there. Em is in her buggy, blissed out and dozy from a glut of homemade strawberry ice cream.

Gently, Joe puts his arm around her shoulder.

‘The way I see it is there's good debt and bad. It's not as if you blew the lot on booze and betting. And you obviously don't have a shoe or handbag addiction.’

Tess manages a small smile before she shrugs, deflated. ‘I'm still in debt and the people I owe don't give a fig for the morality behind it.’

‘I like the sound of your business.’

‘It's kind of you to say so – but it's over. I can't even say it was good while it lasted because it never really began. It certainly never took off. Eve Lom and Liz Earle never lost any sleep over me.’

‘So you ran away. It was brave of you.’

She looks at him. ‘I'm a coward and an idiot and a failure.’

‘No, you are
not
,’ he says and his tone is very straight.

‘You're beautiful and strong and you've been through a really tough time. You didn't run away because you didn't want to stay and face the music – it seems to me you ran away because you ran out of options.’

‘I've fucked up.’

‘It wasn't entirely your fault.’

‘Joe – it's easy for you to be so sweet.’

‘Why? Because I have a well-paid job and a roof over my head and I pay my credit cards off in full each month?’

Tess shrugs.

‘I haven't had to confront what you've had to confront, Tess. Even running away from London to Saltburn-by-the-Sea was a gutsy thing to do. And to change your lifestyle diet to the humble pie of house-sitting? Yet to be so even-tempered and to have such pride in your new life? And to make such a difference to my life – such a difference to how I see the Resolution?’

He gives her a hug and when he speaks it is with genuine amazement. ‘And all the while you've managed to raise a beautiful, healthy, happy child? And nurse an ugly, limp-along old hound? And make new friends?’ He gives her shoulder a little shake.

‘You're an inspiration, Miss Tess. And I love you.’

‘I'm in deep shit.’

‘Doesn't mean you're not amazing.’

‘You're just being nice.’

‘Is there anything wrong with that?’

‘In my case – it's deluded.’

‘Bollocks – they might be collecting debts but don't you dare let them come after your self-esteem.’

‘What am I going to do, Joe?’ She's clinging to his hands, to his words too. She'll do whatever it takes and whatever he suggests because he's told her he loves her and she cannot feel poor in the face of that.

‘We'll think of something, pet,’ he says. ‘You and me – we'll figure it out.’

Chapter Thirty-four

‘If I told you I'm going to take Wolf for a hobble along the beach, would you come?’

They'd remained on the pier for a while in affable silence, Joe's arm still around her, Tess's head resting against his shoulder. She felt drained and depleted but aware that what had been siphoned out was the bad, creating room to be filled with better things now. Initially, she didn't want to talk figures with Joe – she hadn't with Tamsin or Claire for whom the fact of her impecuniousness sufficed. But Joe made it clear that he was asking not out of curiosity but so that he might know how best to advise. It was his maturity, his calmness that she felt she could lean on, as much as his shoulder. So she did tell him, darting her eyes to and from his as she did. He didn't bat an eyelid; he just nodded which gave the outward impression of it being no great drama though privately he baulked, bloody hell, Tess –
how
much?

‘Will you let me help?’

‘Help?’

‘I have money.’

‘No! No!’

‘I have a friend.’

‘A friend?’

Joe knew a chap, he told her, his old friend Andy – they'd been friends since childhood. He'd been at Joe's birthday when the Halfpenny Bridge was demolished. Andy had left Saltburn, but only for Stokesley twenty minutes away where he worked as an independent financial advisor.

I have no finances for him, Tess said. Andy will have advice for you, said Joe.

‘Oh God – go bankrupt?’

‘Not necessarily.’

And then Wolf had seen a game of dog frisbee underway on the beach and he'd started turning circles perilously close to the pier railings, barking with all his might, and Joe had turned to Tess and kissed her on the forehead and had said to her, if I told you I'm going to take Wolf for a hobble along the beach, would you come?

But she looked at her lap and looked forlorn.

‘OK – so how about this. If I asked you very nicely,’ said Joe, ‘if I said I'd hold your hand, would you come for a walk on the beach with Wolf and me?’

‘Why don't I go back and make lunch, Joe. I'll see you at home.’

It'll come, Joe thought to himself. It'll come.

It wasn't merely to avoid a walk on the beach that Tess headed for home, it wasn't a burning desire to fix lunch, it was also a need to mull over the morning privately. For Tess, there was a sense of relief, undoubtedly – not because it felt as though her problem had been halved let alone solved; rather, that she no longer had to keep secret from the person she loved a huge part of herself which, it transpired, wasn't as loathsome to him as she'd feared. In fact he wanted to
help
– and this notion was eye-opening. Tamsin had only ever been able to offer comfort, Claire had only ever been scathing. Joe, though, had ideas.

When she arrived back, she went to her room and transferred the money to a drawer in the dressing table and then, plonking Em on the chair saying, stay! in the voice she used for Wolf, she manhandled the sheet of plywood onto the base of the bed and replaced the mattress. Again, in the voice she used for Wolf, she said, come on! to Em and they tested the bed with a good bouncing.

He loves me, Tess said. Did you hear him, Em?

‘I'd've moved it for you,’ Joe said of the ply, when he returned.

‘Is it OK? Does it do the job?’

‘It's brilliant,’ Tess said.

‘And will you be sleeping there tonight then?’

She was at the stove, checking corn-on-the-cob, and he'd come up behind her, his hand on her waist, his mouth at the soft kiss-shaped area between her hairline and her ear.

‘Mr Saunders,’ she protested, ‘not in front of the children.’

Joe looked around. Em appeared far more interested in some cornflakes Tess had missed right under the kitchen table. He snuck a kiss.

‘What's your surname, Tess?’

‘Adams?’

‘Oh.
Adams
. Tess Adams.’

‘Didn't you know? Did I never tell you?’

‘Nope. I don't think I had the chance to ask. You might remember that you were so intent on rebuking me for Wolf when you turned up here, that formal introductions were overlooked.’

Tess winced at the memory but she grinned at the same time. ‘And you never gave me your house-sitter's pack.’

Joe raised his eyebrow in a don't-push-it kind of way. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘since then, there's never been a time when I've needed your surname. Apart from when I tried to write you a cheque – but of course, if you'd told me from the start that you were destitute and on the run –’

Tess thwacked him with a tea towel. ‘I'm not on the run – I just ran away.’

‘By the way – what did you do with that cheque?’

‘Lisa cashed it for me. I've confided some of this to her.’

‘So you're a money launderer too?’

She flicked him smartly on the forearm with the tea towel and told him to bugger off until lunch was ready.

At supper-time, Joe suddenly disappeared between courses and Tess sat at the table listening to the clatter and rummage drifting through from the study. It was only fresh fruit for dessert, it could wait. She was arranging Cadbury's chocolate fingers into a starburst on a plate, boiling the kettle for coffee, when Joe came back into the kitchen. He looked very pleased with himself.

‘Here!’

Like a page presenting something precious to royalty, he walked towards her holding in front of him a box.

‘It's for you.’

It was quite a large box, of a size that could take a pair of boots. But it was sturdy – in lacquered wood of a deep red-brown hue that darkened to black along the edges. There was a keyhole. Solemnly, Joe handed Tess a small key and nodded at her. She slipped it into the lock and turned it with a satisfying click. He whispered for her to open it and with great anticipation, she eased up the hinged lid. The interior of the box was lacquered too, jet black. The box, though, was completely empty. She stood looking at it, wondering what to say, wondering if Joe thought some trinket or other was in there.

‘It's for you,’ he said again.

She looked at him, hoping that her bewilderment looked more like gratitude.

‘Thanks so much,’ she said.

‘I thought it would be useful to you – a nice bit of lacquered, lockable home-banking if you like.’

Tess looked at the box anew, opened the lid and assessed the interior with fresh, informed interest. It had the space for a lot more cash than the quantity of notes currently in the dresser drawer upstairs. She imagined filling it to the brim. She'd like to be able to do that.

‘It's an amazing piece, isn't it?’ She closed the lid and stroked the surface.

‘It was given to me – and now I'm giving it to you. I never really knew what to keep in it. But it's got your name written all over it.’

‘Thanks, Joe. I love it. I'll treasure it.’

‘Your personal treasure chest!’

‘It's beautiful. What's the story behind it? Where's it from – you said it was a gift?’

‘My great friend Taki gave it to me. When we finished the job.’ Joe paused, tipped his head and gave Tess a wry smile. ‘In Kuala Lumpur.’

Tess stared intently at the box. Then she looked up at Joe and turned a sheepish expression in to a blatant smile. ‘And would that be Kay Ell, Joe?’

‘KL,’ Joe grinned back.

She glanced over his shoulder, to the dresser, to where she could see the photograph of bare-chested, beaming Joe propped up against the upturned cups.

‘God, I was a mad woman, that day.’

‘You were a bit.’

They paused, standing there with their hands on the lacquered box.

‘Seems a long time ago,’ Joe said, ‘all of that.’

‘It does, doesn't it,’ said Tess.

‘Wanting – so much – to kiss you.’

‘The Transporter Bridge.’

‘I feel, I don't know – different,
changed
.’

‘A lot of water under
our
bridge?’ Tess smiled.

‘And would that be a beam, arch or suspension bridge? Cable stayed?’

‘I don't know,’ said Tess, ‘but what I do know is it's sturdy – and I trust it now to carry me, however much baggage I might bring.’

That night, though Tess said my bed or yours, they chose Joe's room – but no sooner had Tess got into his bed than she left it again. She returned a few minutes later and sat beside him. He appeared happily engrossed in
The Life of Pi
.

‘Here you are,’ she said, ‘this was my It's Balmy cream.’ She slid the tube down the open pages of his book. ‘Calendula and geranium, mainly. Very nourishing.’

He inspected the packaging approvingly, hoping that she hadn't noticed on her cleaning blitzes that he was a soap-and-water man who had one everlasting bottle of Neutrogena that did for everything. He unscrewed the top and took a quick sniff before replacing it.

‘No, silly,’ Tess laughed, ‘you can't tell like that. Here.’ She took the tube from him and squeezed out a little of the cream and rubbed it between her hands briskly.

‘You should always warm it between your palms – not your fingers – first.’

Joe nodded as if he was taking notes.

‘Close your eyes,’ she told him and she smoothed her hands over his face in quick, deft strokes before using her fingertips, her thumbs, the heels of her hands to massage the cream in.

‘Sit forward,’ Tess whispered and she took herself behind him, opening her legs so he could rest between them, his head against her chest.

‘Ever had a facial massage before?’

Lightly, she traced the shape of his eye sockets and nasal bone, adding more pressure for his jawline and cheekbones, then she rolled the fleshy areas between her thumb and fingers and eased the tighter area of his forehead by moving the skin up and into his hair. She lay her fingers softly against specific points on his face and then, just perceptibly, increased pressure into a push-and-release action which, when she took her hands away, made his face feel both utterly relaxed and also rejuvenated. Joe couldn't help but give an involuntary swoon.

‘Nice?’

Joe was beyond answering, he felt semi-hypnotized and it was a state he was happy to inhabit for as long as it was on offer.

‘I'll give you a proper facial,’ she said. ‘Massage – combined with an exfoliate, tone, emolliate. Tomorrow, perhaps – before you leave.’

But for now, she finished. She knew well enough that to prolong facial massage was not a good thing. The nerves of the face have a sensitivity that, when overstimulated, transmit the sensation as negative, as an irritant. Joe hadn't moved. She rested her hands lightly on his shoulders, travelled them down his upper arms and gave his biceps a little squeeze.

‘Earth to Joe.’

He mumbled in response. She thought to herself, so what if I'm done with the facial and we're so tired. She thought to herself how fulfilled she felt, sitting up in bed, taking in her arms the man she'd taken into her confidence that morning. She stroked him and pressed her lips against the top of his head, closing her eyes as she felt herself respond to the feel of his skin which itself was reacting to her touch. She looked down at him, his chest, his stomach; she watched how his breathing increased when her hands changed location or when she altered the pressure of her touch. She saw a quiver from under the sheet, the evidence of his increasing arousal.