The Secrets Women Keep (50 page)

Beside her, Terry gave an exaggerated groan as he put his arms behind his head and stretched out his legs. ‘You’re not joking.’

‘Sorry, darling. I should have left it inside,’ said Eve. She looked to see who it was. Her eyes widened and she quite definitely reddened a little, even if Rose was the only one who
noticed, before flicking the phone to silent and switching it off. ‘It’s no one who matters. They can wait.’ She passed Terry the fruit bowl and kissed his cheek. He looked as
startled by her unexpected show of affection as the rest of the table, but grunted contentedly and raised his hand to her face.

Rose had no doubt now about the identity of the caller. She had thought that perhaps a work contact of Eve’s shared the same name. Will was a common enough name, after all. But Eve’s
reaction had confirmed her initial reaction.

‘Fruit?’ Eve passed the bowl. Rose caught her eye over the pile of nectarines and peaches and gave the smallest shake of her head to convey her disbelief at what she had just
seen.

Eve answered with a confident smile. ‘They shouldn’t have called,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘But it’s nothing to worry about.’

Rose gave her a look as she reached for a peach. She wished she could be as certain.

As always, I want to thank my terrific and tireless agent and friend, Clare Alexander. My novels wouldn’t happen at all without her.

Huge thanks are also due to:

My eagle-eyed editor Kate Mills, as well as Susan Lamb and their formidable publishing team – with a special shout-out for Jemima Forrester, Gaby Young and Louisa
MacPherson.

Lizy Buchan for being at the end of the phone, always with sage advice about writing, life, and everything else.

Julie Sharman for listening (a lot) and reading and being brave enough to say what she thought.

Sue James and Tessa Hilton for their unstinting support, and Gaby Huddart for an idea she gave me on a train that turned into much more.

Sue Fletcher, Nick Stuart, Martin Neild and Tessa Kerwood for some glorious Italian days.

Sally O’Sullivan and Aisling Foster who spent our all-too-brief holiday trying to come up with the perfect title.

Rebel Rebel, one of the best florists in town – www.rebelrebel.co.uk

And most of all, my long-suffering husband Robin who puts up with more than he should have to, and our three sons, Matt, Nick and Spike.

Facebook:
facebook.com/FannyBlakeBooks

Twitter:
@FannyBlake1

By Fanny Blake

What Women Want
Women of a Dangerous Age
The Secrets Women Keep
With a Friend Like You

About the Author

Fanny Blake was a publisher for many years, editing both fiction and non-fiction before becoming a freelance journalist and writer. She has written various non-fiction titles, acted as ghost writer for a number of celebrities, and is also Books Editor of
Woman & Home
magazine. To find out more visit Facebook/Fanny Blake or follow her on Twitter
@FannyBlake1

Two so-called best friends.
A surprising secret.
Women at war.

With A Friend
Like You

The wickedly funny new novel
from Fanny Blake.

Available in Orion trade paperback and eBook

August 2014

www.orionbooks.co.uk

1

‘
P
regnant?!’ Beth put down the jug of water and stared at her eighteen-year-old daughter, hoping she had misheard. From habit, her hand flew to the thin gold chain round her neck, twisting it round her forefinger.

Ella was opposite her, glaring at her glass, turning it slowly on the table, waiting for her parents’ reaction. Her fair hair was scraped back into a ponytail, so Beth could see the vulnerability and uncertainty chasing across her face. She turned to Jon, who sat speechless, his mouth slightly open, eyes wide. In front of them, the steaming salmon and vegetables were forgotten.

She had not misheard.

She took a deep breath, and glanced around the kitchen as if looking for help. The door of one of the duck-egg-blue cupboards was ajar, the span of oak worktop reassuringly empty but for the coffee-maker and kettle. The huge framed photograph of Vietnamese paddy fields, taken by Jon on their first holiday without the girls, took up most of the empty wall. Nothing was out of place.

The three of them had just sat down together for an early supper. The judge presiding over the hearing in which Beth was representing the aggrieved wife had drawn proceedings to a close early in order to write up his judgment, so Beth had been home in good time. For once, she had had time to change out of her black work suit into jeans and jumper. She had been planning to ask the others where they wanted to go that summer once the exams were over. As usual, they had proved impossible to pin down so far. Croatia? Turkey? Greece? All hot, relaxed places that would have something to offer each of them. Now that Ella was about to leave home for university, this might be the last family holiday they’d ever take together. The thought had struck Beth with sadness.

Then Amy had rung to say that after the school hockey match she was going round to her best friend Hannah’s house to revise – whatever that really meant. Beth was under no illusions when it came to Amy’s less than enthusiastic academic leanings. Ella had come down from her bedroom and helped lay the table as usual, then waited till they were all sitting down before blindsiding them with her announcement. There had been no preamble, just a straightforward ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’ And then she did.

‘Are you sure?’ Beth asked. Her instinct was to play for time, uncertain how she should react. She straightened the blue place mat in front of her, aligned her knives and fork. Order.

Ella gave a little nod, still turning her glass. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, looking up, her face drawn but set, her eyes shiny. ‘I’ve done a test.’

Beth sprang up and went round the table to sit by her, hugging her tight, feeling Ella’s tension as she leaned into her for support. Pregnant! For a moment, Beth’s shock stopped any thought, only allowing her to feel Ella’s anxiety and her dread of their reaction as if they were her own. She held her closer. ‘Those tests have never been one hundred per cent reliable. It could be wrong.’ But she knew she was really only clinging to a fragment of wreckage as they were washed out into choppy waters.

Ella shook her head wordlessly, scrabbled for a tissue in her pocket and blew her nose. Beneath the sloppy jumper, Beth could feel her daughter’s slim frame trembling. She reached out with her spare hand to stroke the stray wisps of hair back from Ella’s face.

‘I’ve done more than one test,’ Ella choked out, as she regained some control of herself. ‘They were all positive, so they must be right.’

‘Oh, Ella.’ Beth kissed her cheek. ‘How many weeks, do you think?’ She blinked back the tears that stung her eyes, and swallowed hard. This couldn’t be happening. Not to Ella. A dart of fear shot through her: fear of the unknown, of what would happen to their daughter. Until now, Ella’s path through life had been virtually obstacle-free. She’d done everything expected of her, all the boxes ticked. But this! They’d never expected anything like this to rock their world.

Ella looked at her. ‘Seven or eight, I suppose. I’m not sure.’

Beth concentrated on maintaining an outward appearance of calm, while inside her thoughts were whirling, one unanswered question tripping over another. How could this be happening? How could Ella not be sure? What had she been doing two months ago? Around Christmas? As far as Beth knew, she didn’t have a boyfriend. No one they knew about, at least. So who . . . ?

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Ella said.

‘You must do what you think is right,’ said Jon, speaking slowly at first, as if he was making up his mind. ‘We’ll support you whatever you decide.’

Whatever you decide
. The words ricocheted round Beth’s head as their dual significance sank in. Her hand rose to her gold chain again, twisting it once, twice round her finger.

‘Who’s the father?’ Jon asked quietly. ‘Does he know?’

He had asked the question burning on the tip of Beth’s tongue. She watched his expression, which showed nothing but love and concern. He was keeping anything else well hidden. He had always been so protective of Ella and Amy. When they were tiny, he’d joke about how, in the future, he’d insist on right of veto over any potential boyfriends. Even if he had been serious, there hadn’t been any for him to approve or disapprove. Too late now. The thought flitted through Beth’s head.

Ella had always been a model daughter. Everyone said so. Unlike her wayward younger sister, she had never done anything to make them worry. She was polite, kind and a hard worker at school, always focused, determined to get the outcome she wanted from whatever she was doing. Yes, she could dig her heels in, but where was the harm in that?

A baby. Nobody had said the word yet. But they were all thinking it.

If Ella really were pregnant, what would happen to her plans for the future? The predicted star-graded A levels, the place to study medicine at Cambridge. These were what she had worked for, what she had wanted and, therefore, what they had wanted for her. But if she had a baby . . . Beth tried to leave the thought unfinished, but she couldn’t stop herself racing through the possible repercussions. She felt tears stinging her eyes again, but she wouldn’t let them fall. Crying wouldn’t help. Her first instinct was to protect, her second to guide and advise. After all, sorting out other people’s problems was what she did for a living.

‘You’ve never mentioned a boyfriend.’ The words were out before Beth could stop them. They hung in the air, more accusatory than she had intended. ‘Or have I forgotten?’ she finished, gentle again, not wanting to reprimand Ella. Guilt that she hadn’t talked to her more, didn’t know what was going on in her life, niggled at her.

Ella shook her head, blowing her nose again. ‘He’s not exactly.’ Her words were so quiet that her parents barely heard them.

Oh God! Had she been sleeping around? Having unprotected sex? A new set of circumstances and their repercussions entered the equation. Beth pulled back so she could see Ella clearly. Her daughter straightened up, her face blotchy but more determined now. Beth recognised that look. She drew in a shuddery breath. ‘What is he, then?’ she asked.

‘I don’t want to talk about him until I’ve told him. Until we’ve decided what to do.’ Ella sniffed, back in control of herself again as she folded her arms across her chest and shifted out of her mother’s embrace.

‘What do you mean?’ Beth hadn’t meant to sound so anxious. Dealing with problems was one thing when they were someone else’s, but this was different. ‘Are you really not going to tell us who he is?’

‘Being angry isn’t going to help.’ Jon intervened, ever the family peacemaker.

‘I’m not. Really I’m not.’ He was right, of course. Beth squeezed Ella’s shoulder, reassuring her, before returning to her place at the other side of the table. Was this really happening to them? If she pinched her wrist, perhaps she would wake up. She didn’t.

‘I just want to talk to him first.’ The damp tissue twisted between Ella’s fingers and tore. ‘I should have done it before telling you, but I couldn’t keep it to myself . . .’

Jon ran a hand through his curly hair, his expression both puzzled and concerned. ‘Of course, Lulu.’ He used her childhood nickname, the one she always responded to.

Beth glared at him, then looked away. She didn’t want to argue with him in front of Ella, especially not now, but surely they should insist that she told them. Whoever the boy was, he shared the responsibility. He would have his own views about what should happen.

‘Tell us when you’re ready, and then we can work out what to do together.’ Jon reached across the table and clasped both of Ella’s hands. She looked up at him, grateful.