The Keeper of Secrets (2 page)

Rick seemed not to hear her. ‘I'd better get on. I've missed enough today as it is and I'll be working on Sunday too if I can't catch up.'

Elle took the absence of objection as his agreement. Normally she would have retreated after such a rare victory, but something kept her in the room. ‘You shouldn't have taken it, Rick,' she said, the tears welling in her eyes as she picked up the watch he had thoughtlessly set to one side.

Rick watched her and perhaps for the first time considered his actions. Without a word, he stood up and walked around the desk until he was standing in front of his wife. He was only marginally taller than Elle so when he dropped his head in remorse, she could see the glint of scalp through his thinning brown hair that had been slicked back with hair gel. ‘I'm sorry,' he mumbled. ‘I didn't think this through, did I? I was simply thinking of what was best for you and Charlie.' He waited a moment before raising his green eyes towards her.

Such play-acting had once been endearing and had often secured Elle's immediate forgiveness for one indiscretion or another, but not this time. Today a man's dying wish had been broken so she held his gaze.

Failing to get the reaction he wanted, Rick cupped her face in his hands and with a thumb wiped away a trickling tear. ‘I'll tell you what. You go and have a relaxing bath. When you come down, I'll have supper ready,' he offered gently.

Elle couldn't help herself. She leaned in towards the warmth of his hand. Tonight more than ever she needed to be held and loved.

‘Am I forgiven?' he asked.

She forced a smile and as she nodded, she tightened her grip on the watch. The metal case was still cool to the touch and Elle was convinced that she could feel the gentle ticking of the timepiece against the palm of her hand, a fragile echo of her dad's heartbeat. She wouldn't condone Rick's actions but, despite herself, she took some guilty pleasure from having that connection left open.

The house had been devoid of life for less than two weeks but it was already beginning to smell of dank decay. The two-bedroom workman's cottage had one main reception room and a single-storey extension which provided a decent-sized kitchen. It had been her parents' home for the whole of their married life and they had never seriously considered moving anywhere else; or, to be more precise, Harry had never seriously considered moving anywhere else. He had spent over a decade at sea before settling down and said that a larger house would have unsettled him. His wife, on the other hand, was far less enamoured with confined spaces. The construction of the extension twenty years ago had been the direct result of her constant complaints to Harry and the landlord. Anne had still thought the rest of the house small and pokey but she told people she would put up with it just like she put up with Harry, with a half-smile that revealed her true feelings. The cottage's only redeeming feature was the garden, which was narrow and long with a wooden shed tucked beneath the shade of a large sycamore tree. This was where her dad would escape to when her mum wanted some ‘space'.

‘Leave the door open, sweetheart,' Elle said to Charlie as she made the short journey from front door to the centre of the living room, where she dropped a stack of flattened cardboard boxes onto the floor.

It was a blustery day and didn't take long for the cold breeze to whip away the musty, tobacco-tainted air. The closed curtains billowed and the flickering grey light brought ghostly shapes to life. Elle quickly pulled the drapes open wide to chase the shadows out of the room, but then took a moment before turning back to face the last remnants of her parents' life. When she did turn it was Charlie's beaming smile that greeted her and this gave her the courage to stay. His chubby cheeks were ruby red from the cold and his blue eyes sparkled with ice fire. The sight of his unruly mop of hair made her instinctively bring a hand to her own head where she found a rogue blonde curl that had escaped her ponytail. She tucked it behind her ear and smoothed down the rest in an effort to keep the frizz under control.

‘Can I go out and play?' he asked.

Elle raised an eyebrow. ‘Can I stop you?'

Charlie narrowed his eyes. ‘No,' he said with as much defiance as he dared.

‘Only in the back garden, and on the condition that you stay relatively clean and dry,' Elle told him. She knew that she would get through far more without Charlie at her side asking endless questions about what she was doing and why.

‘How clean is rel-ative-ly?' he asked, struggling to get his tongue around the last word.

‘I have one extra set of clothes for you, so if you get too wet or dirty and need to change then you won't be going out into the garden for the rest of the weekend.'

Charlie considered his options. ‘OK, I can do that,' he agreed.

A moment later, when Elle had unlocked the back door and released Charlie into what limited sunlight a bleak February morning had to offer, she realized her mistake. The house was immediately emptied of life and the sense of abandonment hit her with such force that it knocked the breath out of her with a gasp.

She glanced around the kitchen, searching out anything that would anchor her and staunch the tears. Lined up along the shelves was an assortment of jars in tight formation. They were empty and dusty now but had once been filled and refilled with homemade relishes, pickles and jams. The kitchen had been her mum's domain and Elle could imagine her standing in front of a bubbling pot on the stove while barking orders to her dad in the next room. The memory brought no comfort so she fled to the living room where her eyes were immediately drawn to her dad's favourite armchair with its dented cushions that had moulded to his shape over the years. The upholstery was careworn and the colours bleached by sunshine that belonged to long-lost summers. Elle's sight was blurred by tears but she could see her dad sitting there quite clearly with a mug of tea in his hand, pulling faces behind her mum's back as she continued to nag. It was a scene that once would have brought on a fit of giggles from their daughter but not now. Another sob escaped.

The back door had been left ajar for Charlie but the front was open too so fresh air was being sucked into the house with a vengeance. Without warning the back door slammed shut and jolted her back from the precipice. She stepped into the small vestibule and closed the front door, silencing the wind and allowing a sense of peace to settle around her. Then she wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. She could do this.

Elle had always wanted to be the kind of daughter her parents could be proud of, and they had been, first when she qualified as a nurse and then shortly afterwards when she met and married Rick. He was doing well in his career even then and with the generous support of his parents they had enough money to put down a deposit on a grand house in Southport. Within three years she had become a fulltime wife and mother and was doing far better in life than her parents had ever dreamed possible. The only thing she couldn't improve upon was their marriage, although she hid it well. She had become an expert at making everyone else happy; everyone except herself.

Rapidly coming to the conclusion that giving in to self-pity was too exhausting, she steeled her emotions to face what needed to be done. Willing herself to be strong, she started systematically going through cupboards and separating treasured items to be kept from the jumble that would be binned or recycled. Whether she realized it or not, she was also looking for a small lock to match the brass key from the stolen watch.

In no time at all, boxes and bags began to pile up and Elle only briefly stopped for lunch. Even Charlie was reluctant to take time out. He hadn't been put off by the bad weather and gobbled up his sandwiches as quickly as he could so he could return to the fresh air that had upgraded his cheeks from bright pink to neon red.

She spent the afternoon emptying her dad's writing bureau. Rick had already rifled through the hoard of papers that Harry had crammed into its drawers and taken away a box full of documents that he said would help him settle the estate. The detritus waiting to be sorted included stacks of old bills that Harry should have thrown out long ago and a collection of keepsakes which sentimentality ruled that he could not. He had even kept hold of an assortment of greetings cards and Elle was trying to build up the courage to throw them out when the phone rang.

‘I'm not disturbing you, am I?' Angie asked. ‘Are you at your dad's house yet?'

‘Yes and no,' Elle answered then added, ‘or should that be no and yes? I'm at Dad's, but you're not disturbing me. In fact I could do with a break.'

‘I can do better than that. How about I come over to help? I presume Rick's still going out with Chris tonight, so I could always bring a bottle of wine and a takeaway.'

Elle was glad her friend wasn't there to see her grimace. ‘It's a tempting offer, but do you mind if I take a rain check?'

‘Or how about I come around after Charlie's in bed so Rick need never know how you arranged to meet up without seeking his prior approval?' Angie replied. She didn't need to be standing next to her friend to register her discomfort.

‘He's not that bad,' Elle said, although Angie's assumption had been frighteningly close to the mark. ‘It's just that there's so much to go through and I need to stay focused – and I don't care what you say about helping, you will become a distraction. Unless you're desperate for company …?' she added, prepared to face her husband's disapproval if her newly separated friend was in dire need of her support.

‘No, my offer was completely unselfish. I'm actually quite happy to stay at home in my pyjamas on a Saturday night and keep the bottle of wine all to myself,' she said.

‘Thanks for understanding. I promise I'll make up for it next week, assuming you're still happy to go out with us married ladies?' It was an arrangement that had been in place since Charlie was born. Rick had more than his fair share of nights out with the boys so she was allowed one night out a month with the girls. In theory that shouldn't change just because Angie and Chris had split up.

‘Assuming your husband is happy for you to go out with a man-seeking singleton, you mean,' Angie said. This was where Elle would leap to Rick's defence and Angie would be forced to play along with the act, so she continued without waiting for or wanting a reply. ‘OK, I'll leave you to it, but give me a shout if you change your mind. I can be there in half an hour.'

Returning to the task at hand, Elle looked at the stack of cards she'd been preparing to throw away. Her eyes were drawn to the box she had been filling up with mementos. It was the second such box and already heaving. She closed her eyes as she dropped the cards into the bin bag.

It was in the very bottom drawer of the bureau that she discovered a secret box of treasures, although this one needed no key and certainly wasn't the kind of hoard Rick would be impressed with. The fragile cardboard box was barely held together with yellowing sellotape and contained practically every picture Elle had ever drawn, every card she had made for her parents at school and every school report. There was a scattering of photographs too. The toothy grin of a schoolgirl with a blonde mop of hair that would put Charlie's to shame made her laugh out loud and even the photos of her standing on the stairs in her brand-new nurse's uniform made her smile. The wedding photos and grainy baby-scan printout were among the recent additions. The collection had been her parents' most prized possession and there was no hesitation about whether or not to keep it.

Only when the bureau was completely cleared did Elle's attention return to the pervading emptiness. Charlie was still outside but when she peered through the kitchen window he was nowhere in sight. It was then that she remembered the shed. Had she told him he wasn't allowed to go in there?

Other than an abandoned toy spaceship beneath the sycamore tree, the only sign of life in the garden was a set of muddy footprints leading to the shed. Elle's immediate concern was that Charlie may have stumbled upon hazardous chemicals or sharp knives but as she neared the open door she heard him humming softly to himself and could easily imagine what he was up to. As a child, she too had been lured to the bottom of the garden to explore her dad's inner sanctum. He had never told her it was out of bounds, but that hadn't stopped her feeling as if she was doing something wrong every time she had sneaked in there without his knowledge.

A gust of wind pulled the door open wide and she caught a glimpse of the familiar line of tools hanging up along one wall. She had to peer further around the door to spot Charlie and had timed it perfectly to catch him struggling to unhook a trowel. He had his back to her and was teetering on a wooden crate but even at full stretch his fingertips were only just touching the loop of string that kept the trowel suspended out of reach.

‘Nearly there,' he was telling himself. ‘Then we can start digging for buried treasure.'

‘And what treasure would that be?' Elle demanded in her sternest voice.

Charlie jumped with fright and was lucky not to topple off the crate. As if in punishment for scaring her son, a vicious gust of wind caught the shed door and slammed against Elle's back.

‘Mum!'

‘Don't mum me,' she said, rubbing her back. ‘What are you up to?'

Charlie scrunched his face. ‘Can't tell you.'

‘I'm your mother; you have to tell me everything. It's the law.'

Charlie didn't look fazed. ‘I can't tell you. I promised.'

‘Promised who?'

Charlie pursed his lips tightly as he pretended to zip them up, turning an imaginary key and then tossing it over his shoulder. It was a mime they often practised together when they wanted to keep a secret, usually from Rick.

She scowled at him but to no avail. His lips were sealed so she was forced to switch tactics.