The Keeper of Secrets (3 page)

Hooking a finger under her chin, Elle began to play detective as she took in the scene. It would appear that Charlie had been busy making use of her dad's other tools before turning his attention to the trowel. There was a trail of fresh mud on the floor that led to a heavy spade. It had a thin line of mud along its edge.

Rather than force her little pirate into a confession, Elle took a step back into the garden and made a point of inspecting the surrounding area. She could see where the grass had been muddied and squashed by Charlie's footprints and there beneath the sycamore tree, immediately in front of the toy spaceship, she could make out a series of gouges in the earth. They were about the width of a spade.

She turned back to Charlie, who was looking decidedly guilty, and for a moment she considered offering to help him with his endeavours. The prospect of searching for hidden treasure, imaginary or otherwise was far more appealing than returning to the morbid task of sweeping away her parent's existence. That was when her mobile began to ring again. It was Rick checking up on her but she couldn't answer the call straight away. He would hear the wind howling around her and would at best complain that she wasn't concentrating on the house clearance and at worst accuse her of being up to no good somewhere else. She ordered a sullen Charlie back into the house and only then did she phone Rick back. As she stood in front of the mountain of bags and boxes she had spent the day filling, she went to great lengths to tell her husband how little progress she had made. Rick wasn't impressed when she explained how much she still had to do and that they were unlikely to be home before the following evening.

With the bitterness of her lies fresh on her tongue, Elle risked the wrath of Charlie, too, by demanding he remain in the house for the rest of the day. It was late afternoon and the colourless day was beginning to darken. Charlie's complaints were short-lived when she explained that they had the whole weekend to themselves and that if he would consider taking her on as his assistant then they could search for buried treasure tomorrow.

She wasn't expecting to find anything but with plenty of time on her hands she would enjoy sharing an adventure with her son. Charlie was less enthusiastic but promised to give her offer of help some thought. Unlike his mother, he knew there was treasure waiting to be unearthed, he simply wasn't sure he wanted to share it.

Charlie had visited his grandparents' house often in the past but that sense of familiarity wasn't going to make bedtime any easier, not when he had cried himself to sleep every night since the funeral and not when he would be sleeping in the room next to where his granddad had died.

The spare room had once been her bedroom. It had a single bed, pine wardrobe and matching chest of drawers and what little floor space remained had been taken up with bin bags and boxes. It was going to be a tight squeeze for Elle and Charlie but neither objected to sharing a bed. By delaying his bedtime and bringing her own forward they were snuggled up together beneath the duvet by nine o'clock.

The copious amounts of fresh air had been enough for Charlie to find sleep in his mother's arms despite his initial attempts to keep her talking. He had wanted to know all about her time growing up in the house and those memories played on Elle's mind as she lay awake long past midnight, watching the shadows dance across the woodchip wallpaper each time the headlights from a passing car flashed across the walls.

The decor had hardly changed and Elle could almost convince herself that the exhaustion she felt was the result of a long shift at Alder Hey Children's Hospital and she willed her mum to peak around the door with a much-needed cup of tea. But it hadn't only been a demanding job that used to leave her languishing in bed. Although it had made her angry at the time, she smiled as she recalled the look of disapproval from her dad whenever she dared to stay out late or how her mum deliberately banged doors if she made the mistake of seeking sympathy for a self-inflicted hangover.

The inevitable battle of wills as she was growing up had been Elle's way of claiming her independence but it was a battle she had never won. And when she had eventually left home it had been to begin a married life where she would be forced to fit in with someone else's rules and expectations. As she thought back to some of the dreams she had nurtured while lying in this very spot, she was keenly aware that life hadn't turned out as she had imagined. With disappointment weighing heavily on her mind, sleep finally found her.

The chirp of her mobile phone was a rude awakening and not only for her.

‘Mum?' moaned Charlie as Elle scrambled for the phone.

‘It's fine, it's just your dad,' she whispered, doing her best to hide her annoyance as she checked the time. It was two thirty in the morning. She kissed the top of Charlie's head which was damp with sweat. ‘Go back to sleep.'

Charlie objected only briefly as Elle tiptoed out of the room and closed the door.

‘What is it?' she asked.

‘Did I wake you?' Rick's words were slurred and his teeth chattered.

‘Yes.'

‘It's freezing out here,' he moaned.

With a sinking heart, Elle knew what he meant. She could hear the dull rumble of a taxi-cab engine. ‘You're outside, aren't you?'

‘I couldn't go home to an empty house now, could I?'

Elle had no choice and held her tongue as she let Rick into the house. He smelled of alcohol and although it wasn't unusual for him to be a touch worse for wear, he seemed more drunk than usual. He began rambling on about his night out and repeated what was becoming a regular complaint in recent months: how heartbroken Chris was; how much of a bitch Angie had always been; how Chris should leave her penniless for walking out on him. Elle held a different view. There had been no affairs, no betrayal. Angie and Chris had simply drifted apart. They didn't have children and had simply agreed to divide the assets. The divorce when it came ought to be perfectly amicable – and would be, as long as Rick didn't try to persuade Chris otherwise. But this was a view that she didn't share with Rick. He rarely listened to her when he was sober, less so when drunk. Instead she made a point of telling him it was late and that Charlie had already been disturbed by the phone call.

With a little persuasion and a lot of patience she convinced Rick it was time for bed, intending to settle him on the sofa in the living room. But her husband had other ideas.

‘I can't sleep down here on that grubby sofa, not when we can use the double bed upstairs,' he told her.

‘No, Rick, please,' she said, ‘I don't want to sleep in the bed where my dad died. Besides, I've stripped it.'

Rick smiled woozily. ‘Who said anything about sleeping?'

Rick's soft snores blew clouds of stale breath across Elle's face and neck making her skin crawl. She was lying on her back wide awake as the four walls of her parents' room closed in around her until there was nowhere to hide her shame. She didn't want to be there. She certainly didn't want to think about what she had just been doing. Unable to bear it a minute longer, she slipped off the bare mattress as quickly and quietly as she could, although from experience she knew there was little risk of raising Rick from his ale-induced stupor.

She locked the bathroom door and filled the sink with warm soapy water then slipped out of her nightdress. The house was cold and her skin burned as she scrubbed herself raw, but even as she dried off, she still felt unclean. There was no way she could lie back down on her dad's bed so she returned to her old room, desperate to breathe in Charlie's sweet, sweaty innocence. She only made it as far as the door. In the dimness of the streetlight leaching through the curtains she could see rumpled sheets littering an empty bed.

Elle took the stairs two at a time and cast a quick glance around the living room. The air downstairs was markedly colder and the reason became apparent as she rushed into the kitchen. The back door was wide open. She was ready to storm out into the night in nothing more than a thin layer of blue satin but through the window she caught a glimpse of a flashlight. She had found her wayward son.

When Elle trudged out in her winter coat and boots, she made no effort to disguise her approach.

‘What on earth are you doing?' she demanded.

Charlie didn't look up. He had somehow managed to unhook the trowel that had eluded him earlier and was busily digging a small hole in the exact same spot where the spade marks had been. His Buzz Lightyear torch was perched next to him and cast a surprisingly strong beam of light onto the ground he was churning up. ‘I think I've found something,' he gasped.

Elle was juddering in the cold wind and had no interest in Charlie's imaginary treasure which was more than likely a tree root. She was about to manhandle him back into the house when she heard a distinctive clink as the trowel blade hit metal. She looked behind her briefly, suddenly afraid of being caught, and then back to her son who was groaning with renewed efforts. ‘Here, let me,' she said.

The metal box was smaller than a shoebox and rattled when she shook it. It had two brass handles on each side but there was too much mud to distinguish any other features. ‘How on earth did you know it was there, Charlie?' she asked.

‘It's a secret,' he said, reaching up to take the box from her.

She lifted it out of reach. ‘I think I'll keep hold of it for the time being.'

‘No, it's not yours! It was Granddad's box and now it's mine!' he cried. The tears were already threatening.

‘Granddad buried it?' Elle took another look at the box and pushed her fingers into the layers of mud that hid a set of hinges on one side and what could only be a keyhole on the other, one that might be opened with a small brass key.

Charlie folded his arms and pouted. ‘No.'

‘Really?'

‘Nana and Granddad left it for me. It's mine.'

‘But I thought we were going to be a team? Let's get in out of the cold and then we can wash some of the muck off it,' she offered, trying to distract him from the issue of ownership.

Charlie remained stock-still as she stamped down the disturbed earth to cover their tracks and returned the trowel to the shed. Even when they were back in the kitchen, Charlie didn't say a word as he watched his mum doing her best to wipe the box clean.

‘I don't know what we're going to do,' Elle mused. ‘It's most definitely locked.'

Charlie took the bait and forgot that he was supposed to be sulking. ‘Maybe we could blow it up.'

They retreated to the living room and she switched on the electric fire. The flickering orange glow from the artificial flames gave the suggestion of warmth but it would take a while to chase away the early morning chill. They kept on their winter coats as they cuddled up on the sofa with the box perched on Elle's knee. Charlie rested his head on her chest while his small fingers explored the contours of the lock as if he could magic it open.

Elle had no idea what the box contained or why her dad would have buried it but she was convinced she held the key. She had brought her dad's watch with her and had already taken it from her bag without Charlie noticing. She pulled it from her pocket and let it dangle in front of them.

It had been a long and trying day and the air around her was becoming warm and heavy, weighing down on her eyelids as she kept her eyes on the key as it swayed from side to side. She was waiting for Charlie to realize what it was but his eyes were now closed and his steady breathing shallow. He had fallen asleep. Elle was on the verge of joining him but curiosity gave her the will to stay awake long enough to unlock the box and take a quick peek at the contents.

The box contained a handful of envelopes and scraps of paper, together with an assortment of coins and a few other trinkets including a faded red ribbon which she presumed had once bound the letters addressed to her dad. Imagining the outpourings of love they might contain, she sneaked the letters into her coat pocket before closing the box and leaving the remaining treasure trove for Charlie to discover in the morning.

Sleep brought with it dreams of her parents and the love letters they hadn't wanted to share with the world but had been unable to destroy. White pages fluttered across Elle's mind like the wings of a dove but the dream darkened as she tried to run away. Flapping wings chased after her but she wouldn't turn around. She was too frightened to look. She didn't want to see the intimate detail of a marriage she could never measure up to.

It was Rick who woke them up, grumbling about a banging headache and begging her to find him some painkillers. As she struggled into wakefulness, Charlie stirred too. He immediately grabbed hold of the metal box as Elle got up from the sofa and disappeared into the kitchen. She rooted out the pills and took a couple herself, sharing the glass of water she had poured for Rick.

‘You shouldn't have stayed down here with Charlie. It won't make it any easier getting him back into a routine. And look at the state of you. What have you been doing?' Rick asked, grabbing hold of her hand to inspect her fingernails which were blackened with dried earth. He shook his head and to Elle's relief didn't wait for an answer. ‘I can't leave you alone for five minutes. You really do look awful, darling. Are you sure you're not taking on too much?' Through bleary eyes he gave her a look of concern and pulled a tangle of curls away from her face.

His hand was cold and soothing on her forehead. She closed her eyes. ‘It was a long day yesterday,' she conceded. Elle could feel the bundle of letters weighing down her coat pocket. She tried to recall that first flush of love when she had been the one collecting love tokens of their relationship.

Rick had been visiting a young niece in hospital when they first met. She was newly qualified and had been flattered and then overwhelmed by Rick's attention. It had certainly won her parents over. Elle had thought it sweet of him to drive miles out of his way to pick her up from work even though the hospital was within easy walking distance from home, or to phone her dozens of times each day when she was out of his sight. It was only after they were married that she began to feel the bite of his possessiveness. He rarely accused her directly of encouraging attention from other men but found more subtle ways to question or challenge her motives for even the most innocent encounter. Very early on in their marriage he made it known that he was unhappy for her to continue with her career, but for a few years she had stood her ground. It was only when she became pregnant that she had given in and become a full-time housewife. Now, she had accepted her role in life and there was no doubt in her mind that becoming a mother had brought her a new sense of purpose and immense reward.