The Husband's Secret (24 page)

There was a pause. Rob wasn’t stupid.

‘We haven’t forgotten about Friday,’ he said. ‘I know this time of year is always hard for you. Actually, speaking of Friday.’

He seemed to be waiting for her to say something. Was this in fact the whole point of the phone call?

‘Yes,’ she said impatiently. ‘What about Friday?’

‘Lauren tried to talk to you about it the other night. It’s her idea. Well, it’s not. It’s not at all. It’s my idea. It’s just something she said that made me think it might . . . so, anyway, I know you always go the park. To that park. I know you normally go on your own. But I wondered if maybe I could come too. With Lauren and Jacob if that’s all right.’

‘I don’t need –’

‘I know you don’t
need
us there,’ interrupted Rob. He sounded unusually terse. ‘But
I’d
like to be there this time. For Janie. To show her that –’

Rachel heard his voice crack.

He cleared his throat, and spoke again, with a deeper voice.

‘And then afterwards, there’s that nice café near the station. Lauren said it’s open on Good Friday. We could have breakfast afterwards.’ He coughed and said hastily, ‘Or just coffee at least.’

Rachel imagined Lauren standing in the park, looking solemn and stylish. She’d wear a cream trench coat, pulled in tight at the waist, and her hair would be in a shiny, low ponytail that didn’t swing too jauntily, and her lipstick would be a neutral colour, not too bright, and she’d say and do all the right things at all the right times, and somehow turn
‘marking the anniversary of your husband’s sister’s murder’ into another perfectly managed event on her social calendar.

‘I think I’d really prefer –’ she began, but then she thought of the way Rob’s voice had cracked. It was all orchestrated by Lauren, of course, but maybe it was something that Rob needed. Maybe he needed it more than Rachel needed to be alone.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘That’s fine with me. I normally get there very early, around six am, but Jacob is up at the crack of dawn these days, isn’t he?’

‘Yes! He is! So. We’ll be there. Thank you. It means –’

‘I’ve actually got a really full plate today, so if you don’t mind . . .’ They’d taken up the phone for long enough. Rodney had probably been trying to call and couldn’t get through.

‘Bye Mum,’ said Rob sadly.

chapter twenty-three

Cecilia’s home was beautiful, welcoming and filled with light from big windows that looked out on a perfectly tended backyard and swimming pool. The walls were hung with sweet, funny family photos and framed children’s drawings. Everything was shining and tidy, but not in an overly formal, forbidding way. The sofas looked comfy and squishy; there were bookshelves crammed with books and interesting-looking knick-knacks. There was evidence of Cecilia’s daughters everywhere: sports equipment, a cello, a pair of ballet slippers, but everything was in its absolutely correct place. It was like the house was up for sale and it was being marketed by the real estate agent as the ‘ideal family home’.

‘I love your house,’ said Tess as Cecilia led her through to the kitchen.

‘Thank you, it’s – oh!’ Cecilia stopped abruptly at the kitchen door. ‘I do apologise for this mess!’

Walking in behind her, Tess said, ‘You’re kidding, right?’ There was a handful of breakfast bowls on an island bench, a half-drunk glass of apple juice sitting on top of the microwave, a solitary carton of Sultana Bran and a small pile of
books on the kitchen table. Everything else was in perfect shining order.

Tess watched in bemusement as Cecilia whirled around the kitchen. Within seconds she’d stowed the dishes in the dishwasher, put the cereal away in a giant pantry and was polishing the kitchen sink with a paper towel.

‘We ran unusually late this morning,’ explained Cecilia as she scrubbed at the sink as if her life depended on it. ‘Normally I can’t leave the house unless everything is perfect. I know I’m ridiculous. My sister says I have that disorder. What is it? Obsessive compulsive. That’s it. OCD.’

Tess thought her sister might have a point.

‘You should rest,’ she said.

‘Have a seat. Would you like a cup of tea? Coffee?’ said Cecilia frantically. ‘I have muffins, biscuits –’ She stopped, pressed her hand to her forehead and briefly closed her eyes. ‘Goodness. That is, ah, what was I saying?’

‘I think I should make
you
a cup of tea.’

‘I might actually need to –’ Cecilia pulled out a chair, and then stopped, transfixed by the sight of her shoes.

‘My shoes don’t match,’ she said, awestruck.

‘No one would have noticed,’ said Tess.

Cecilia sat down and rested her elbows on the table. She gave Tess a rueful, almost shy smile. ‘I have a reputation at St Angela’s for being the opposite of this.’

‘Oh, well,’ said Tess. She filled a very shiny kettle with water and noticed that she’d left a few droplets on Cecilia’s perfect sink. ‘Your secret is safe with me.’

Worried that she’d implied that Cecilia’s behaviour was somehow shameful, she quickly changed the subject. ‘Is one of your daughters doing an assignment on the Berlin Wall?’ She nodded at the pile of books on the table.

‘My daughter Esther is learning about it for her own interest,’ said Cecilia. ‘She gets crazily interested in these
different topics. We all end up becoming experts. It can be a bit draining. Anyway.’ She took a deep breath and suddenly turned in her chair to face Tess as if they were at a dinner party and Cecilia had decided it was time to focus on her instead of the guest on her other side. ‘Have you been to Berlin, Tess?’

The pitch of her voice was not quite right. Was she about to be sick again? Could Cecilia be on drugs? Mentally ill?

‘No, actually.’ Tess opened Cecilia’s pantry door to find teabags and her eyes widened at the array of labelled Tupperware containers of all shapes and sizes. It was like a magazine ad. ‘I’ve been to Europe a few times but my cousin, Felicity –’ She stopped. She’d been about to say that her cousin Felicity wasn’t interested in Germany and so therefore she’d never been, and she was struck for the first time by what an odd thing that was to say. As if her own feelings about seeing Germany were of no consequence. (What
were
her own feelings about Germany?) She saw a tray set out with rows of teabags. ‘Gosh. You’ve got everything. Which tea would you like?’

‘Oh, Earl Grey, just black, no sugar. Really, please let me!’ Cecilia went to stand up.

‘Sit, sit,’ said Tess, almost bossily, as if she’d known Cecilia forever. If Cecilia was behaving unlike herself, so was Tess. Cecilia sat back down.

A thought occurred to Tess. ‘Will Polly need her sports shoes straightaway? Should I rush back to the school with them?’

Cecilia started. ‘I forgot about Polly’s sport
again
! I completely forgot.’

Tess smiled at how appalled Cecilia looked. It was like she was forgetting things for the first time in her whole life.

Cecilia said slowly, ‘They don’t go up to the oval until ten.’

‘In that case I’ll have a cup of tea with you,’ said Tess. She helped herself to an unopened packet of expensive-looking chocolate biscuits from Cecilia’s extraordinary pantry, somewhat thrilled by her temerity. Oh, this was living life on the edge, all right. ‘And a biscuit?’

chapter twenty-four

Cecilia watched Tess lift her cup of tea to her mouth (she’d used the wrong mugs – Cecilia never used those mugs for guests) and smile at her over the rim, unaware of the terrible monologue running silently through Cecilia’s head.

Want to know what I found out last night, Tess? My husband murdered Janie Crowley. I know! Wow, hey. Yep, Rachel Crowley’s daughter, that’s right, the nice white-haired lady with the sad eyes, the one who walked past us this morning and looked me right in the eyes and smiled. So! I’m in a bit of a pickle to be honest, Tess, as my mother would say. A real pickle.

What would Tess say if Cecilia actually spoke those words out loud? Cecilia had thought Tess was one of those mysterious, self-assured types who didn’t need to fill silent gaps with conversation, but it occurred to her now that perhaps she was shy. There was something brave about the way she met Cecilia’s eyes and sat with careful, straight-backed posture, as if she was a child behaving well at someone else’s house.

She was really being very nice to Cecilia, driving her home after that humiliating incident in the gutter. Was Cecilia going to throw up every time she saw Rachel Crowley from now on? Because that could be complicated.

Tess tilted her head at the Berlin Wall books. ‘I always like reading about the escape attempts.’

‘Me too,’ said Cecilia. ‘The successful ones, that is.’ She opened one of the books to the section of photos in the middle. ‘See this family?’ She pointed at a black and white photo of a young man and woman and their four small, scruffy children.

‘This man hijacked a train. Cannonball Harry they called him. He drove the train at full speed through the barriers. The conductor was saying, “Are you crazy, comrade?” They all had to get down under the seats so they wouldn’t get shot. Can you imagine? Not being him, being her. The mother. I keep thinking about it. Four children lying on the floor of a train. Bullets flying over their heads. She made up a fairy story to keep them distracted. She said she’d never made up a story for them before. Actually, I never make up stories for my children either. I’m not creative. I bet you make up stories for your children, don’t you?’

Tess chewed at her thumbnail. ‘Sometimes, I guess.’

I’m talking too much
, thought Cecilia, and then she realised she’d said ‘your children’ when Tess only had the one child, and she wondered if she should correct herself, but what if Tess desperately wanted more children but couldn’t have them for some reason?

Tess turned the book around to face her and looked at the photo. ‘I guess it shows what you’ll do for freedom. We just take it for granted.’

‘But I think if I’d been his wife, I would have said no,’ said Cecilia. She sounded too agitated, as if she really was faced with this choice. She made a conscious effort to calm her voice. ‘I don’t think I would have been brave enough. I would have said, “It’s not worth it. Who cares if we’re stuck behind this wall, at least we’re alive. At least our children are alive. Death is too high a price for freedom.”’

What was the price for John-Paul’s freedom? Rachel Crowley? Was she the price? Her peace of mind? The peace of mind she would have in at last knowing what had happened to her daughter, and why, and that the person responsible was being punished? Cecilia still felt rage at a preschool teacher who had once made Isabel cry. Isabel didn’t even remember it, for heaven’s sake. So how must Rachel feel? Cecilia’s stomach churned. She put her tea back down.

‘You’ve gone completely white,’ said Tess.

‘I guess I’ve got a virus,’ said Cecilia.
My husband has given me a virus. A really nasty virus
. Ha! To her horror she actually laughed out loud. ‘Or something. I’ve got something, that’s for sure.’

chapter twenty-five

As Tess drove Cecilia’s car up to the school to drop off Polly’s sports shoes, it occurred to her that if Polly was doing sport today, then Liam would be doing sport too, because weren’t they in the same class? And of course
he
wasn’t wearing sports shoes. Nobody had told Tess it was PE day. Or perhaps they had but she hadn’t registered it. She wondered if she should stop at her mother’s house and pick up Liam’s runners. She wavered. Nobody ever told you that being a mother was all about making what seemed like thousands of tiny decisions. Tess had always considered herself quite a decisive person before she’d had Liam.

Well, it was past ten o’clock. She’d better not risk getting Polly’s shoes there late. It seemed to matter so much, and Tess didn’t want to let Cecilia down. The poor woman really did seem very sick.

Cecilia had said to take the shoes either to Polly’s classroom or straight to the PE teacher. ‘You’ll probably see Connor Whitby on the oval,’ she’d said. ‘That might be easiest.’

‘I know Connor,’ Tess had surprised herself by saying. ‘I actually went out with him for a while. Years ago. Ancient
history now of course.’ She cringed, remembering the ‘ancient history’ part. Why had she said that? So pointless and nerdy.

Cecilia had seemed quite impressed. ‘Well, he’s currently St Angela’s most eligible bachelor. I won’t tell Polly that you once dated him, or else she’ll have to kill you.’

But then she’d given another one of those disconcerting, high-pitched giggles and said she was very sorry but she had to go and lie down right that very second.

When Tess found him, Connor was in the process of carefully placing basketballs in the centre of each coloured segment of a giant, multicoloured parachute laid out on the oval. He was wearing a very white T-shirt and black tracksuit pants, and looked less intimidating than last night at the petrol station. The sunlight showed up the deep lines around his eyes.

‘Hello again,’ he smiled as she handed over the shoes. ‘For Liam I assume.’

You kissed me for the first time on a beach
, thought Tess.

‘No, these are for Polly Fitzpatrick. Cecilia is sick and I offered to bring them up for her. Liam doesn’t have any of his sports gear actually. You won’t put him on detention, will you?’

There it was again. That mildly flirtatious sound in her voice. Why was she flirting with him? Because she’d just remembered their first kiss? Because Felicity had never liked him? Because her marriage had fallen apart and she needed urgent proof that she was still attractive? Because she was angry? Because she was sad? Because why the hell not?

‘I’ll go gentle on him.’ Connor carefully placed Polly’s little shoes off to the side of the parachute. ‘Does Liam like sport?’

‘He likes running,’ said Tess. ‘Running for no reason at all.’

She thought of Will. He was an obsessive AFL fan and when Liam was a baby he’d talked so excitedly about how
he’d take him along to matches, but so far Liam had zero interest in Will’s passion. Tess knew he must be bitterly disappointed, but he’d laughed it off, made the joke on him. Once they’d been watching a match together on TV and Tess had heard Liam say, ‘Let’s go outside and
run
, Dad!’ Will, who didn’t really enjoy running at all, had sighed with comic resignation, and next thing the TV was off and they were running in circles around the backyard.