Secret Sins: A Callie Anson (13 page)

‘How do you do, Mrs. Stanford?’ said Ellie. At least, thought Jane, the girl was polite. Someone had brought her up right.

Apart from that, she had little else to commend her. She was an ordinary-looking girl, neither particularly pretty nor especially plain. Jane, in her nocturnal imaginings, had pictured some sort of
femme fatale
, a siren of such outstanding beauty that Simon couldn’t help but be ensnared by her. Red hair, Jane had conjured up, profuse and curling round an artfully made-up face, and a voluptuous figure, bursting out of a skimpy dress.

Ellie was not in the least voluptuous; she was, in fact, more on the skinny side, even bulked up by a padded anorak above her jean-clad legs. Her hair was brown and straight and long, without any style to it, and she appeared to be wearing no make-up at all.

‘How nice to meet you,’ Jane said automatically in the split second it took her to assess the girl. ‘Do come in.’

‘We thought we’d surprise you,’ Simon was saying. ‘We didn’t think you’d mind.’

We
, thought Jane. Simon was part of a
we
.

‘If it’s okay, Ellie will stay for a few days,’ he went on. ‘Before she goes to her parents’.’

‘You’re very welcome,’ said Jane.

The girl smiled. ‘If it’s no trouble, Mrs. Stanford.’

‘No trouble at all. The spare room is made up.’ That, thought Jane, should make her position perfectly clear.

She intercepted a look between them: raised eyebrows on Simon’s part, Ellie’s lips compressed.

So they
were
sleeping together. Well, what they did in Oxford was out of her control, but under her roof it was a different story.

Simon let it go, sliding the duffel bag off his shoulder and dumping it on the floor. ‘Where’s Dad?’

‘He’s in the sitting room with the Sunday papers.’

‘Some things don’t change,’ grinned Charlie.

Alex’s most treasured possession—even more treasured than Buster—was a locket, which she wore round her neck at all times, even when she was sleeping; she only took it off in the bath. The locket had belonged to her other gran, her mum’s mum, who had died before she was born. In it was a tiny photo of Alex’s mum, taken when she was about the age Alex was now. Her mum had given it to Alex on her tenth birthday, and she’d worn it ever since. It was a source of huge comfort to Alex, not least because of the hope it held out that one day she would be as beautiful as her mother. When her mum was twelve, she’d looked a lot like Alex looked now, so that boded well for the future. And wearing the locket made her seem somehow closer to her mum.

Now there was an additional reason for treasuring the locket and wearing it close to her heart. On the other side, opposite the young Harriet’s photo, was a photo of Jack.

Jack had sent it to her, attached to an e-mail, a few days ago. Rather than print it out and put it in a frame, where Jilly might spot it if she came into Alex’s room to snoop, before printing it she had reduced it to a tiny image on the computer, just the right size to cut out and put in her locket, where no one else would ever see it.

She opened her locket and looked at both photos, kissed each one, and went to her computer. There was work to be done, and she needed to finish it before there was any danger of Dad and Jilly coming back.

After Jane finished the meal preparations and quickly added a chair and place setting, they were seated round the dining table at last: Charlie on one side, Simon and Ellie on the other, and their parents at either end. Brian carved the joint of beef, cooked to perfection just as the boys liked it. He put the choicest slices on a plate which he set down in front of Ellie, the guest in the house. ‘Help yourself to vegetables,’ Jane invited, gesturing to the steaming bowls in the middle of the table.

‘Thank you, Mrs. Stanford.’

‘Actually, Mum,’ Simon said, with a quick sideways glance at his girlfriend, ‘I think Ellie would rather have an empty plate. She’s too polite to say it, but she doesn’t eat meat.’

‘Oh.’ Stunned, Jane snapped her mouth shut and removed the offending plate, putting it in front of Simon instead.

‘I won’t have it either, Mum, if you don’t mind.’ He produced an unconvincing laugh. ‘She’s been trying to make a vegetarian out of me as well, and she’s succeeding. I haven’t had meat for at least a fortnight now.’

‘But we love vegetables, Mrs. Stanford,’ Ellie put in quickly. ‘And these look delicious.’ She accepted an empty plate from Brian and heaped it with sprouts and cauliflower and carrots.

We
.

‘Give that meat to me, then, Mum,’ said Charlie, reaching for the plate. ‘More for me this way. I’ll have theirs, and mine as well.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ Brian said heartily. ‘I was
beginning
to think that your mother and I would have to eat it all ourselves.’

‘No one’s going to turn me into a namby-pamby vegetarian,’ Charlie assured them. ‘And I could never pass up Mum’s roast beef.’

Alex knew exactly what she wanted to be when she grew up: a computer-based graphic designer. To that end, she’d asked her
father to buy her all of the top-end software now available so that she could get a head start in preparing for that career. She was now quite competent with Photoshop, so she started it up and settled down to work, calling up a photograph of herself which she’d scanned into the computer.

First of all, that tooth brace would have to go. That was easily accomplished, and her smile was now pearly white and unencumbered by metal. She could make her nose a bit smaller, and perhaps her mouth as well. Not a lot she could do with her hair, but she would try her best to de-emphasise its frizziness. She could, though, enhance her flat chest a bit, and add a few pounds so she wasn’t quite so skinny.

The trick was to make herself look more attractive, as well as a few years older, without rendering the image unrecognisable. A new, improved Alex, as she wished to appear to her suitor.

No, not Alex: Sasha. That was the name she used in
corresponding
with Jack. Someone—her mother?—had once told her that Sasha was the Russian nickname for Alexandra, and she thought it sounded far more glamorous and exotic than plain old Alex.

Jack had sent her his photo; he had asked for hers. As soon as it looked as good as she could make it, she would e-mail it to him. With love, from Sasha.

The day seemed to have gone on forever. Lunch, then an
afternoon
of board games. Ellie had proved to be brilliant at Scrabble, wiping the rest of them off the board. She’d been almost as good at Monopoly; no one else stood a chance. Eventually, in desperation, Jane had brought out a new jigsaw puzzle which she’d been saving for Christmas, and they’d all clustered round the table, doing their bit, chattering away.

They’d had tea and cake; later, after ‘Songs of Praise’ on the telly, they’d had sandwiches. Fortunately Jane had a packet of cheese in the fridge for Ellie and Simon’s. Then another couple of hours on the jigsaw, before it was time for hot milky drinks.

‘Simon, would you mind giving me a hand in the kitchen?’ Jane requested, hoping for a few minutes alone with her son.

He looked up from the jigsaw, frowning. ‘In a minute, Mum.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Charlie said promptly, and followed her into the kitchen. He got the milk out of the fridge while she retrieved the saucepan.

Jane hadn’t really formulated what she wanted to say to Simon, and she wasn’t sure what to say to Charlie, either. He made it easy for her.

‘I suppose you’re wondering why Simon didn’t let you know that he was bringing Ellie home with him,’ he said, glugging milk into the saucepan.

‘Well, it did come as a bit of a surprise,’ she admitted.

‘He didn’t know how to tell you. I asked him if he’d warned you that Ellie was coming, and he said that he thought the easiest thing was just to bring her. Then he wouldn’t have to explain anything. She’d just be here, and you’d figure it out.’

Jane sighed. ‘I do wish I’d had a bit of warning. About her not eating meat, for one thing. It made me feel so…foolish, when Simon turned his nose up at the roast.’

‘He’s just being silly.’ Charlie squeezed her shoulder. ‘Don’t take it to heart, Mum. He’s in luuuurve.’ He laughed. ‘Give him a few months, and he’ll be tucking into meat again. This won’t last. Trust me.’

Jane wished that she could.

After the milky drinks, when everyone else had retired upstairs to their rooms, she lingered in the kitchen, tidying up, taking her time. She put out the boxes of cereal for the morning, laying the table with bowls and spoons. Five bowls, five spoons. An extra chair. She felt keyed up, unwilling for some reason to go up to bed. She knew she wouldn’t sleep.

Then weariness settled on her suddenly, like a heavy blanket. She was inexpressibly tired, unsure whether she would even make it up the stairs before she fell asleep.

The house was quiet; she could hear the deep tick-tock of the long-case clock—it had belonged to her grandparents, and was probably the best piece of furniture they owned—as she crept up the stairs and down the long corridor towards their bedroom.

For some reason, she paused for just a moment outside Simon’s door.