Tell Me No Secrets (10 page)

I try to focus on the positive – somehow Ella and I ended the evening closer than we've been in ages. She and Jamie haven't got as far as actually having sex but she was worried that it might happen and wanted to be careful. They are planning on using the ‘Double Dutch' method: condoms and the pill. The doctor explained the side effects but she was feeling fine. She'd only been taking it for two weeks and she felt a little bit tearful but then, ‘I'm not exactly an easy person, Mum, am I?' she said.

‘I admire your frankness,' I told her. And we laughed like we were the best of friends.

I don't expect it to last but it's such a leap in the right direction that I want to enjoy it, wallow in it, celebrate the fact that for once I'm getting it right with my daughter. And of course, I can't because of Orla. I know that I dealt with her badly: losing my temper and walking out of the restaurant was not the best plan. And now everything is left hanging.

Through the kitchen window I can see Ed weeding one of the flowerbeds. He is kneeling on a mat, every so often shifting his weight to the opposite knee. He has arthritis in his joints and I know that gardening is painful but he loves to do it. ‘I can't just sit in a chair idling away the hours,' he says. ‘I may be down but I'm not out.'

I admire his courage and his sheer bloody-mindedness. One day at a time is his maxim and at the moment it seems like a good one.

Paul comes into the kitchen and starts to fiddle with the toaster. ‘Ella says it's broken.'

‘She set off the smoke alarm when you were walking Murphy but I think it's just blocked,' I tell him. ‘She keeps putting those thick teacakes into it.'

He takes it to the back door and tips it upside down in the compost bin, shaking all the crumbs out. I stop what I'm doing and watch him. He is twelve years older than me, but aside from the fact that we grew up liking different music, I can't say the age difference has ever been apparent. It has simply never been an issue for us. Like most couples, our marriage has had its share of ups and downs, but through it all I have never doubted my love for him or the choice I made to marry him.

When he puts the toaster back, I grab both his hands. ‘Why don't we go to Australia early? Now? This weekend?'

He laughs. ‘I haven't had word from the university yet.'

‘But there's no way you'll be turned down. The acceptance letter is only a formality.'

He laughs again. ‘I don't think we should jump the gun, sweetheart.'

‘Why not?' I keep pushing. Suddenly it seems like the easiest solution. Surely Orla wouldn't follow us to Australia. ‘Let's be spontaneous!'

‘But the girls haven't finished the school year. Ella has yet to dazzle us with her performance as Juliet.'

‘I don't think she'll mind so much. And it's their birthday party tomorrow. They can say goodbye to their friends.' I hug him tight and then draw back to look up into his face. ‘Just think! We could live out all those dreams we've been sharing.'

‘And we will! But not for another couple of months.'

‘Please.' I force a smile. ‘I just want us to be together as a family.'

‘But we are together as a family and you have Margie Campbell's painting to complete and we have to rent out the house.' He puts his hands either side of my face and kisses me. ‘And I have to finish up at work. There are all sorts of ends to tie up, aren't there?'

‘Paul. I . . .' I stop, not sure what I'm going to say next. After all these years, I can't just come out with it. When I was first married, I had this theory that I would be able to tell him about what happened to Rose and that we would be close enough for him to forgive me. There would be a moment, an opportunity, an opening up in time and space, a redemption gap for me to slide into. But, of course, although we talk about Rose, that moment of truth never comes and gradually I had to accept that I would never be able to tell him.

He is waiting for me to speak, his look unhurried. I remember reading once about the necessary attributes for a lasting marriage: patience, humour, kindness . . . and forgiveness. I know that Paul is blessed with the first three. But forgiveness is a tall ask and I know how he feels about responsibility. He has always wanted to know who was responsible for Rose's death and I know that if he ever found out, he would want that person taken to task. What I don't know is what he would do if that person was me.

‘What's up? I can see you're worried about something.' He tugs my hair playfully. ‘Tell me.'

‘Paul . . .' I hesitate, remind myself that once out in the open, the truth can never be put back. I will have to live with the con sequences for the rest of my life. My marriage will be over, my life will change for ever and the girls – what about them?

‘Grace?'

I have to say something but I'm not sure what. I can't risk telling him about Rose and my part in her death, yet somehow I have to warn him about Orla. ‘There's a threat – not to our lives,' I assure him quickly, knowing how he feels about the girls' safety. ‘But to our happiness.'

He smiles uncertainly and gives a small shake of his head. ‘What sort of a threat?'

‘The past. Something from the past.'

‘What?'

‘Just a moment. A moment in time when I did the wrong thing.'

He thinks about this. ‘You're not secretly in debt, are you?'

‘No. I—'

He tips my chin up so that our eyes meet. ‘And you're not having an affair?'

‘No. I'm just . . . I. Well . . . hypothetically, if someone came to talk to you about me,' I say in a rush, ‘to tell you something bad about me, something you didn't know and hadn't imagined, would you listen?'

He starts back. ‘Is this a serious question?'

‘Yes.' I lean back against the worktop and wait for him to think. He is a scientist. He thrives on facts, proof and evidence. I haven't given him much to go on but still he does me the courtesy of thinking about it.

‘So hypothetically?' He raises his eyebrows and I nod. ‘Someone comes and tells me something that you did when?'

‘A while ago.'

‘Before we met?'

‘Yes.'

‘Is it an offence? In the eyes of the law?'

‘Probably.'

‘But you got away with it?'

‘Yes – actually no!' I say quickly. ‘I didn't get away with it. It might
look
that way but I
have
made up for it.' I take a hesitant breath. ‘I believe I have made up for it.'

‘Then that's good.' He strokes the back of his hand down my cheek. ‘And no, I wouldn't listen to what anyone has to say. If you choose not to tell me then I respect that.' He shrugs. ‘I find it odd though, Grace.' His smile is confused bordering on hurt. ‘I didn't think we had any secrets from each other, but still.' He gives a definitive nod of his head. ‘It happened before we met and I respect your right to privacy.'

‘Thank you.' My eyes well up and I blink fast to keep away the tears.

‘What's brought this on?'

‘Thinking back . . .' I shrug. ‘You know how it is. Age and time.'

‘Just one thing.' He frowns for a moment. ‘You don't have to give me the details but I'm interested to know why – why can't you tell me?'

His eyes are gentle, encouraging. We have been together for more than twenty years and I can count on the fingers of one hand the times we have wounded each other. There was the day I lost Ella on the beach in France and he was angry at my carelessness and then there were the months following our move back to Scotland when I sank into a depression and I would catch him watching me, wary of challenging my lethargy in case I might break completely. ‘I can't tell you,' I whisper. ‘Because I'm afraid you won't love me any more.'

Immediately, he reaches for me and I cleave to him like a barnacle to the hull of a fishing boat. We stay like this for a minute or more until I cry myself quiet and then he holds me at arm's length so that he can look right into my eyes. ‘Listen, I know you. I know you are a good person. Whatever this thing is – it doesn't matter! I will never stop loving you. Never.'

His words slide deep into the well inside me and for a moment my fear is diluted, but almost at once I know that the feeling won't last.

He looks beyond me towards the front of the house. ‘Sounds like Sophie's car. Are you up to her visit? Shall I ask her to come back another time?'

‘No. I'll be fine.' I give him a watery smile. ‘I'm sorry to make such a fuss.'

‘I expect this is something that has assumed a greater importance than the sum of its parts.' He gives me a quick hug. ‘So let's just forget it.'

He walks away, leaving a cold space where he stood. I splash my face in the sink then go to the back door and take a couple of deep breaths, blink back the tears and have a smile ready for Sophie when she comes into the kitchen.

‘So how's it been, Grace?' Sophie is small and dark and exudes calmness and capability from every pore. She tips her head to one side. ‘Are you all right? You're looking flushed.'

‘I'm fine. Nothing to do with Ed. Trials and tribulations of raising teenagers. You know how it is.' I feel guilty blaming the girls but it's the easiest thing to say.

‘I'm a bit behind you there. Mine are only two and four right now. Two boys and the one in here.' She strokes her bump protectively. ‘Another football player by the feel of it. Makes it nice and easy for hand-me-downs.'

‘Two sugars, isn't it?'

She nods.

‘Enjoy them while they're young.' I pass her a mug of tea. ‘It's gone in a flash. One moment they're running around in nappies and the next they're towering over you telling you, in no uncertain terms, just where to get off.'

‘How are you, Sophie?' Ed comes in through the door and holds out a hand to her. ‘Just been finishing a spot of gardening. Weather like this is too good to waste.'

We all sit down and Sophie takes Ed's details from her bag. ‘Now last month we were discussing the memory lapses and different strategies you could use to help.'

‘Yes.' Ed takes his notebook from the back pocket of his trousers. ‘I keep notes so that I remember who's been to see me, what's been said, that sort of thing. And Grace very kindly wrote me out some lists. I have them here.' He opens a page. ‘This is a copy of all the phone numbers I might need.' He puts on his reading glasses. ‘This page reminds me what to do if I am lost. And this one reminds me what to do before I go to bed, switching off the television, locking up, that sort of thing.' He gives a wry laugh. ‘Of course, it's not much help if I
forget
that when I forget I need to look at my notebook. What happens then?'

Sophie has a repertoire of reassuring expressions and she uses one now. ‘I hope you find that doesn't happen, Ed. It's all about rhythm and routine.' She changes tack. ‘And have you been getting out and about?'

‘Yes. Two or three times a week I play bowls.' He looks at me. ‘I have a lot to do here.'

‘Ed is invaluable to our family,' I say. ‘Gardening, handles on doors, helping with the shopping – he fills in all the gaps. I'm not too sure how we ever managed without him.'

Ed smiles gratefully and Sophie writes a few words in his file. ‘And how have you found your memory?'

‘Well, I have lapses, of course. I'm hardly the man I was but, mostly, I think I'm managing. Adding up is difficult and sometimes I don't know who people are.'

‘We play Scrabble most evenings,' Paul chips in. ‘That helps Dad's confidence with words.'

‘And we have Australia to look forward to,' Ed says. ‘I'm not forgetting about that! Letter should be here any day now.' He smacks a hand down on Paul's knee. ‘I've every confidence that Paul's application has been successful and then we'll be living close to my daughter Alison. Both families will be able to spend lots of time together.'

Sophie starts to ask questions about Australia and I tune out, find I can smile and nod in the right places without really listening. But the voice in my head is more persistent and much as I keep pushing the thoughts away, back they come like a boomerang. I try to work out what I know for sure and what is merely a possibility. Orla is joining a convent and, before doing so, wants to salve her conscience. If she tells the truth about that night, I will be found out. The result will be catastrophic.

Trying to tell Paul was a mistake that I can't repeat. It's automatic for me to seek comfort from him but this is not something he can help me with. I have established that he loves me and is completely on my side but it is cold comfort because the fact is that I am deceiving him. He has given his support without full possession of the facts. Were he to know the nature of my secret, I am sure he would feel horrified and betrayed. It's doubtful that he could ever forgive me. Instead of re assuring myself of his love, I have made myself feel worse than before. Compounding one deception with another – I feel like I am on a slippery slidey slope and I have to haul myself to safety before it's too late.

One of the junior girls lands on my head. ‘Ow! Angela!' I push her away from me and massage my scalp.

‘Sorry, Grace.' She starts to giggle. She has one leg in and one leg out of her trousers and is hopping around in what little space there is between the sleeping bags. ‘I'm just trying to get my jeans on.'

‘Well, sit down then before you land on someone else.' I take some clothes out of my rucksack and put them on. Lynn is asleep. Mary and Susan are getting dressed. ‘Where's Rose?'