The Secrets Sisters Keep: A heartwarming, funny and emotional novel (The Devlin Sisters Book 2) (3 page)

We all laughed.

‘What?’ Gavin snapped.

‘Come on, you always say that and then something or someone turns your head and it all goes pear-shaped,’ Sophie said.

‘Well, I’m serious this time. Stars and Stripes rocks and the clothes are amazing.’

‘What about Shania? Does she rock too?’ Julie asked, with a knowing smile.

‘She’s a very cool girl.’

‘With a weird fake American accent,’ I noted.

‘That’s the way all the young girls speak now,’ Sophie said. ‘You should hear the models at the agency – you’d swear they were all from LA.’

‘She’s very pretty, great figure,’ Julie said, sounding envious. Julie had lost weight in the last few years, but she was big-busted and would always be curvy. She had always envied Sophie and me for being taller and slimmer. Mind you, we both worked hard at staying slim. I ran five miles every day and Sophie had been starving herself since she’d started modelling at eighteen.

Mum came out of the kitchen and clapped her hands. ‘Right, lunch is ready. Julie, we’ll leave the boys outside playing football so we can eat in peace. I’ll give them pizza later on.’

‘Fine with me,’ Julie said.

We went in to take our places at the table, and Shania brought Clara’s book in for her. ‘Louise, your daughter is awesome,’ she said, smiling widely at me. Her teeth were scarily perfect. ‘I was reading her book with her and she’s, like, super-bright. I cannot believe how much she knows about birds. She’s just like my little brother – he was obsessed with animals when he was young.’

I smiled at her. ‘Thank you. Clara is pretty amazing, even if I say so myself.’

Harry was sitting beside me, checking Bloomberg on his phone.

‘What are you into these days?’ I asked.

‘Donald at the golf club told me to buy Ardvarnid and I made a killing last week. I got out and bought some Janson shares. They’re up and down, so I’m keen to keep an eye on it.’

‘Harry!’ Julie snapped. ‘Put your phone away.’

He stuffed it reluctantly into his pocket.

‘I was on to Christelle this morning,’ I said. ‘She’s having a great time in Galway.’

Harry shook his head. ‘I don’t even know who she went with. She was very vague – she just said pals from college. I hope she’s not hanging out with a wild bunch.’

Julie snorted. ‘Christelle has more sense than all of us put together. Stop fussing, Harry.’

‘I can’t help worrying about her.’

‘Of course you can’t. That’s what good fathers do,’ Mum said.

‘I understand that, but she is a very mature and sensible girl. You probably need to give her a bit of space,’ I suggested.

Harry sighed. ‘I know, but I’m trying to make up for all that time we missed.’

‘Of course, but try to remember she’s twenty-two. She’s an adult,’ I reminded him.

‘I like Christelle. She’s really cool,’ Jess said.

‘Jess thinks everyone’s cool except me,’ Sophie said.

Jess rolled her eyes. ‘You’re my mother. Of course I don’t think you’re cool.’

‘Compared to a lot of your friends’ mothers, I am actually quite cool. I never wear frumpy clothes.’

‘You could do with a longer skirt,’ Dad said.

‘I agree,’ I said, seizing my moment. ‘It’s way too short, Sophie. It doesn’t look good. It looks a bit … well …’

‘What? Desperate? Come on, Louise, spit it out.’ Sophie’s face was bright red.

‘It’s just not age-appropriate,’ I said.

‘So what should I wear? Boring suits like you?’

‘I’m not saying that, but going around in a bum-skimming mini-skirt at forty-two is ridiculous.’

‘I work in fashion, Louise.’ The rest of the table had gone quiet and, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Gavin drawing his finger across his throat, obviously telling me to quit while I was ahead.

‘I know that, but you’re not a model, you’re a partner in the business. That kind of outfit is hardly business-like.’

Sophie’s mouth fell open in surprise. Then she dropped her knife and fork with a clatter. ‘Get off your high horse, you judgemental cow. We can’t all be as perfect as you.’

‘Jesus, Sophie, calm down, I’m just trying to help.’

Julie interrupted us: ‘Guys, stop, please. You have different styles. Leave it at that.’

Sophie shook a finger in my face. ‘You’re not helping me, Louise, just kicking me when I’m down.’ With that, Sophie stood up, grabbed her coat and Jess and stormed out.

‘Well done, Louise, very sisterly of you.’ Mum glared at me.

‘Someone needed to say it to her,’ I snapped. ‘I’m the only one who had the balls to do it.’

‘You shouldn’t have said it here, in front of everyone,’ Mum said.

‘It wasn’t the right time,’ Julie agreed.

‘Fine. I’ll just say nothing and let my sister go around looking like a desperate divorcée, shall I?’

‘Let’s not spoil lunch altogether,’ Dad said quietly. It was his fault – he’d mentioned it in the first place. ‘Your mother’s made us a lovely meal so we should settle down and enjoy it.’

But I couldn’t eat because I knew I’d handled it badly. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Sophie. I’d only tried to help her. Why did everyone have to be so sensitive?

I
reapplied
some lipstick and examined myself in the mirror. Was my dress too short? Bloody Louise had made me paranoid. I was questioning all of my clothes now. To Hell with her. I looked good and the date was going well.

I sashayed out of the Ladies and back into the restaurant. At the table, I sat back down opposite Julian. He was good-looking, successful and kind – the first date I’d really connected with since I’d broken up with Jack. Tick, tick, tick. All the things I wanted in a man.

I sipped my wine and smiled as I listened to him talking about his years living in Hong Kong. I felt good. I felt attractive. I felt like a real person for once. Not just a mother or career woman or sister or daughter – an actual woman.

Julian smiled at me. ‘Enough about me. Let’s talk about you. So, what happened with your ex, if you don’t mind me asking about it?’

‘No, it’s OK, all water under the bridge now. Well, when we lost everything our lives were turned upside-down. He was at home with Jess while I went out to work. It took him a while to get a new job and back on his feet. When he did get a job, it was in London, and those two years when he was commuting back and forth, we grew further apart. As break-ups go, it was pretty amicable. We get on quite well and Jess is our priority.’

‘Was it difficult to lose everything?’

‘Awful, really traumatic, but we’ve built our lives back up and I’ve learnt a lot.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like making sure that my daughter studies hard and has her own career and money.’

Julian smiled. God, he was sexy. ‘I prefer women who work. They’re more interesting and less needy,’ he said.

‘So,’ I was keen to change the subject and get back to more flirty chat, ‘I’m really glad we met up. I’m having a lovely time.’

He nodded. ‘Me too. I’ll have to call Grace in the morning and thank her for setting this up.’ He was referring to our friend-in-common who had played Cupid.

‘She was very keen for us to meet. She was positive we’d get on well, and she was right.’ I winked at him playfully.

Julian glanced at his watch. ‘Gosh, look at the time. I didn’t realize it was so late. The evening flew. I’d better get the bill.’

I wasn’t normally so forward, but I really liked him and I hadn’t had sex in ages, so I took a deep breath and said, ‘Would you like to come back to my place for a nightcap?’

Julian handed his credit card to the waiter. Then, turning to me, he said, ‘Sophie, I’ve really enjoyed dinner. You look great for your age, you’re good company and good fun, but to be honest, you’re a little older than I thought. I’m looking for someone younger. Sorry.’

My lip began to wobble uncontrollably. I pushed my wine glass against it to stop it and pretended to take a sip. I managed to say, ‘No problem,’ then bent down to busy myself with my bag and try to stop myself crying.

Somehow I was able to walk to the door on shaky legs, accept a kiss on the cheek and climb into a taxi before I buried my head in my hands and sobbed.

It was utterly crushing. At forty-two I was too old for a forty-eight-year-old man. Would I have to go on dates with sixty-year-olds? Was that it? God, it was so humiliating. I wanted to crawl into bed and never get up. I was a fool, a complete and utter fool.

I sat up, looked out of the taxi window and wiped my eyes with a tissue the taxi driver had handed me. He was completely unperturbed by my embarrassing outburst. You’d think he had weeping forty-something women in his car every night of the week. He gave me the well-worn line that it couldn’t be that bad, and I smiled gratefully and pretended he was right. But he was wrong. Things were that bad. The thought of being on my own for the next thirty or forty years was terrifying. It made me feel physically ill.

T
he next morning
I dragged myself out of bed, dropped Jess at school and went into work. I made myself a strong cup of black coffee, picked up my diary and walked into Quentin’s office for our morning briefing. He was sitting in his throne-like chair with Stella on his knee. The poor dog was so fat from being overfed and over-pampered that she could barely walk.

‘Morning, darling,’ Quentin said. ‘Loving the suit, but you look exhausted.’

I was wearing the only designer trouser suit I had left. I’d sold almost all of my clothes and jewellery on eBay to make some money when Jack lost everything. But I’d kept this suit, an Armani in midnight-blue. Even Louise would have approved of it. ‘I dressed up today because we have that Style Central department store account review.’

Quentin rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, God, I forgot. We mustn’t let Frankie railroad us. She can be so aggressive.’

‘She’ll try to screw us on our rates.’

‘I know.’ Quentin frowned.

We had already cut back our model rates for that account twice in the last two years. We had to roll with the times, but our profit margins were being squeezed. The company was still in profit, but only just. The Style Central account was important.

‘Don’t worry, we’ll just have to be firm but charming,’ Quentin said. ‘Now, darling, what is up with you? You look like I did after Ramón dumped me.’

Quentin had broken up with his partner six months ago and had been devastated. I’d nursed him through it.

‘Bad date. Well, actually a great date, but it ended abruptly when I propositioned him and he turned me down because I’m too old,’ I said, desperately trying not to cry.

‘Oh, sweetie …’

‘I just find it all so hard. I hate being on my own, but I hate having to go on stupid dates too.’

‘I know how you feel. I’m sixty next year and I want to find someone to grow old with. I don’t want to be a sad old queen who’s found dead in his apartment when the smell of the decomposing body finally draws attention to his fate.’

‘Stop that,’ I told him. ‘You’ll meet someone wonderful. You always do. I’ve never known you to be alone for long.’

‘So will you, my lovely Sophie.’

‘I don’t believe it any more, Quentin,’ I said sadly. ‘And I don’t want to put myself through it. It’s so humiliating having to sell yourself. I’m sick of it. I feel like going home and curling up on the couch with a glass of wine and a good box set.’

‘You mustn’t give up.’

I sighed. ‘I guess I’m finding it harder now – now that Jack has found someone. It makes my aloneness more acute. He seems so happy. He’s got his old swagger back and he looks great, all upbeat and confident. I’m jealous of his happiness. I want that too.’

Quentin wagged a finger at me. ‘Well, then, you have to get back out there. If you stop going out, you’ll never meet anyone. You have to force yourself, Sophie. You’re a gorgeous woman and any man would be lucky to have you.’

I smiled at him. ‘Thanks, Quentin. If only you weren’t gay, I’d go out with you.’

Quentin and I ran through the rest of the day’s events. Amber, our top model, was shooting a commercial for a new health bar; we had eight models booked for a lunchtime fashion show in Style Central and six out on various press calls.

I went back to my desk and sat down. Quentin was sweet to say it, but I certainly didn’t feel gorgeous. In the good old days, when I’d had all the time and money in the world, I’d looked good. I was toned, tanned, Botoxed, blow-dried, manicured, pedicured, massaged and designer-clad. Now I shopped mostly in TK Maxx.

I opened my email and saw another message from Louise, apologizing. She’d left two voicemails as well, but I was still too cross to talk to her. There was also an email from Jack.

Morning Sophie, Pippa has to go to London on Friday to tape a piece for her show so I’m going to go with her. We’re taking Jess. Pippa wants her to model some of the kids’ clothes for the show. I’m going to tell her tonight, she’ll be so excited.

London? Modelling clothes on TV? Had Jack lost his mind? I 
ran
 a modelling agency and I never, ever used Jess for photo shoots or TV slots. I didn’t want her anywhere near that world. She was too young and impressionable. I wanted to protect her innocence for as long as possible. He knew that.

I picked up the phone and rang him.

He answered straight away. ‘Hi, did you get my email?’

‘Yes, Jack, and the answer is no.’

‘What do you mean, no?’ He sounded irritated. But, then, so was I.

‘You’re not taking Jess to London to model for some TV show.’

‘Come on, Sophie, it’s no big deal. Pippa thought it would be fun for Jess to model a couple of outfits.’

‘I’m sure she did, but I’m not having my nine-year-old daughter on TV. I have never used her for any of my agency campaigns, so I’m not about to let someone else use her. I don’t want her head turned.’

‘Jess would love it.’

‘I said no, Jack. I don’t want my daughter modelling.’

‘Our daughter,’ he said sharply.

‘I want her to remain grounded.’

‘You’re being ridiculous.’

‘Protecting Jess isn’t ridiculous.’

‘Let her live a little.’

‘She’s perfectly happy.’

‘Lighten up, it’s just a bit of fun.’

‘She doesn’t need that kind of fun.’

‘So that’s it, she can’t do it?’

‘No, she can’t.’

There was a pause and I could nearly see the expression on his face. Jack was not a man who liked being told what he could and could not do. ‘When did you turn into such a killjoy, Sophie?’

‘When your greed left us destitute,’ I said, and slammed down the phone.

It took me the whole drive to Amber’s health-bar ad campaign to calm down. In the old days, I would have loved Jess to model. I used to dress her up like a mini version of me. She was always in designer clothes. She looked like an angel, all blonde curls and big blue eyes. I thought it was fun for us to dress alike and spend our days shopping, buying more clothes. I never took her to the playground: it was far too boring. I took her to expensive restaurants, but only let her eat non-fat food. Also, if I’m being honest, I often left her with Mimi, our Filipina housekeeper, while I travelled with Jack. I felt terrible about that now. Jess had always hated it when I went away. She’d cry when she saw my suitcase.

But then we found ourselves with nothing and I ended up sharing a bed with my little girl in a small apartment. During those long, dark days, we’d become really close. We’d snuggle up and watch Disney movies on rainy afternoons or go to feed the ducks in the park, which turned out not to be boring. We went for walks along the seafront, cooked and read books together.

My other self, rich Sophie, suddenly seemed like a monster. I couldn’t believe how stupid and blind I’d been, and for so long. Now, instead of filling her head with rubbish, like, ‘You’ll meet a prince who will buy you diamonds and sparkly dresses and take care of you,’ the new me began to tell her how important it was to be clever and have a great career, like her aunt Louise. I told her she needed to work hard in school, then find a job she loved and never, ever give up working and earning her own money.

‘But, Mummy, you said you felt sorry for the mummies who work,’ she had reminded me, at only five years of age.

I was wrong, I had told her firmly, very wrong. I assured her that the mummies who worked were the smart ones. Over the last four years I’d told her every day it was imperative that she could always support herself and her family, and the only way to be sure of that was to work.

At first she was a bit taken aback by my complete turn-around. But I could see that over the years my advice had begun to sink in. Jess had gone from a very princessy girl, obsessed with sparkles and pink frills, to a thoughtful and considerate nine-year-old. Well, she had been until Pippa turned up six months ago.

I wanted Jess to remain unblemished by the fickle world of modelling and fashion, and I was determined to protect her, regardless of what her father and his vacuous girlfriend thought.

W
hen I picked
Jess up from school, she slammed the car door, threw her bag into the back and glared at me. ‘I hate you.’

‘Well, hello to you, too.’

‘Pippa told me you won’t let me be on her TV show.’

What did she mean, Pippa told her? ‘When were you talking to her?’

‘She called me at lunchtime.’

‘You know you’re only allowed to use your phone to talk to me or Dad, no one else.’

‘Why won’t you let me do it?’

‘Because you’re too young.’

‘Pippa said I’d be amazing. She said the clothes are really cool and I might even get to keep some. She said to tell you to chill out and let me do it.’

I gripped the steering-wheel so hard my knuckles ached. ‘I don’t give a damn what Pippa said. I am your mother and I said no.’

‘I told Pippa you wouldn’t let me. She said she feels sorry for me. She wants to have kids young so she’s a cool mum and not a grumpy old mum who hasn’t a clue about anything.’

There was nothing I could think of to say that wasn’t full of swear words, so I clamped my mouth shut and thought of all the different ways I’d like to tell Pippa exactly what I thought of her.