The Secrets Sisters Keep: A heartwarming, funny and emotional novel (The Devlin Sisters Book 2) (4 page)

T
he triplets had managed
three weeks at school without getting into trouble. Maybe it was worth paying huge fees if it meant I wasn’t being called in on a weekly basis to be told about food fights, wrestling matches during class, climbing out of windows, mooning at teachers … I could actually drop them to school without avoiding eye contact with anyone in authority. It felt good.

‘Mum!’ Liam shouted, from the back of the car, on the way to school.

‘Yes?’

‘How many goals did Messi score in 2012?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Guess.’

‘Twenty?’

‘Mum, you’re such a loser. Twenty is a stupid guess.’

‘Thanks a lot. How many did he score, then?’

‘Ninety-one.’

‘Mum?’ Leo asked.

‘Yes.’

‘What did you put in my sandwich?’

‘Tuna.’

‘WHAT?’ Leo shrieked.

‘You cannot eat ham sandwiches every day of your life.’

‘Why not?’ Luke demanded.

‘Because it’s bad for you to eat the same thing all the time.’

‘I hate tuna. It’s gross,’ Leo grumbled.

‘No, it isn’t. Stop your drama.’

‘It tastes like puke,’ Luke said.

‘I’m not eating it,’ Leo huffed.

‘I like tuna,’ Liam said.

‘You’re a moron,’ Leo shouted.

‘You’re a dork,’ Liam retorted.

‘You’re a big hairy-arse gorilla,’ Leo said.

‘You’re a dickhe–’

‘STOP!’ I shouted. ‘Don’t you dare use that word.’

‘Why not? Dad said it last night when Suárez scored against Man U,’ Liam protested.

‘Well, he shouldn’t have. You know I hate bad language.’

‘Then how come you’re friends with Marian? She says bad words all the time,’ Luke said.

He had a point there. Marian swore like a trooper. She had no edit button. But somehow it didn’t bother me with her. It was just the way she was. I’d have to remind Harry that the boys were now repeating everything we said at home. I’d overheard Liam telling a boy in the school playground, ‘My mum said that people who only have one kid and buy big jeeps are ridiculous.’

What made it worse was that the boy was Sebastian, an only child, and he was walking towards his mother, Victoria, in her giant Porsche jeep. Thankfully, Victoria was bellowing into her mobile phone at the time so she didn’t hear my son’s pearl of wisdom. I’d have to watch my mouth.

A
fter I’d dropped
off the boys, I called over to Marian for a catch-up. She opened the door in her pyjamas with a raincoat over them.

‘How the fuck do you look so good this early?’

‘Nice to see you too.’ I grinned.

‘Money suits you.’ Marian hugged me. ‘You look great.’

I was just wearing jeans and a shirt, but good-quality jeans that fitted perfectly and the shirt was green silk.

‘Thanks. I’m making more of an effort in the morning now that the boys are at Castle Academy. You should see some of the gear the mums wear. I suppose they’re like Sophie was in the old days, completely overdressed.’

‘I don’t think I’d fit in,’ Marian said, laughing. She took off her raincoat and switched on the kettle.

‘I don’t fit in either,’ I admitted. ‘So how are things?’

‘Shite. I’ve just found out that Greg is staying in Dubai for another year.’

Marian’s husband, Greg, had lost his job in the recession. He was an engineer and, with the construction industry in tatters, he hadn’t been able to find a job in Ireland, so he had gone to Dubai. He’d been there for almost a year already and now he’d be gone for another. It was hard on Marian, with four children to manage – the eldest was nine and the youngest four.

‘I’m sorry. That’s going to be really tough on you.’

She shrugged. ‘What can you do? We need the money. It’s bloody hard going on my own all the time, though. Sometimes I just want to kill my kids.’

‘Have you told them that Greg’s going to be away for longer?’

She handed me a coffee, then added a glug of brandy to hers and a little to mine.

‘Marian! We can’t have brandy at this hour of the day.’ I looked at the clock. It was twenty past nine.

‘Well, I need it, and I only put a tiny nip in yours. It won’t kill you. So, Greg told the kids last night on Skype and they started crying and bawling about “Daaaaaddy”. I wouldn’t mind but when he’s here he does shag-all with them. He’s always jet-lagged. I’m stuck here, killing myself, raising our kids alone, doing everything for them, and they couldn’t give a toss about me. They wouldn’t give a damn if I was in Dubai. It’s all about Daddy.’

‘Come on, your kids love you and they know how much you do for them.’

‘Bollox.’

‘They do. Children just don’t show appreciation. Half the time the triplets don’t even know I exist.’ It was true. I often thought that if I replaced myself with a robot, the boys wouldn’t notice. Tom would, though: he was still young enough to need me. ‘Did you manage to console them?’ I asked.

Marian nodded. ‘You know how fickle kids are. I gave them a box of Celebrations and told them they could eat the whole shagging lot because of the bad news. Two minutes later they barely remembered they had a father.’

I threw back my head and laughed. Marian was such a tonic. She said what lots of women thought but were afraid to say. She was always in trouble for being so blunt and honest, but I loved it about her.

‘It must be hard on your relationship with Greg, though, only seeing each other for a week every three months.’

She sipped her coffee. ‘At least I don’t have to shag him regularly. Mind you, we tried Skype sex.’

‘What?’ I almost choked on my coffee.

Marian smiled. ‘He was banging on about how lonely he was and I was afraid he was going to end up shagging some young one from the office, so I said, “Come on, let’s try it.” And we did.’

‘And?’

‘Disaster. No one looks good naked on Skype, especially not a forty-something couple with lumpy bits. He started talking dirty to try to get me going.’

I giggled. ‘What did he say?’

Marian grinned. ‘“I know you want it, you dirty bitch,” and “I want to make you scream.”’

I roared laughing. ‘What did you say to him?’

‘I told him I couldn’t take him seriously. He was talking in this fake American accent, pacing up and down in front of the computer, his penis swinging about, and it was all just ridiculous.’

I wiped tears from my eyes. ‘Oh, Marian, that’s hilarious.’

‘Maybe for you, but I haven’t had sex in three months and I’m horny as hell.’

‘Really?’ I was surprised. Marian had always said having sex with Greg was something she did as little as possible because she was so tired all the time.

‘When you can have it, you don’t want it. But when it’s taken away from you, you want it. Besides, I’m finally getting my mojo back. After nine years of having kids, I’m getting some sleep and I’m definitely more up for it.’

‘Good for you.’

‘Maybe we should try phone sex – it might be easier. If I’m not looking at Greg’s hairy arse on a computer screen, I can pretend I’m having sex with Don Draper.’

‘Sounds like a better plan,’ I said, although I couldn’t imagine having phone sex with Harry. It would be so strange and awkward, but I suppose if we only saw each other every three months it would be worth a shot.

‘Have you ever tried it with Harry?’

‘Phone sex?’

‘Yeah.’ Marian grinned.

I shook my head. ‘No. The only phone sex Harry wants is with his broker. Honestly, it’s ridiculous how consumed he is by making money. He’s obsessed!’

‘Well, he’s spent most of his life with very little. Let him enjoy it.’ Marian shook a chocolate digestive out of the packet and took a bite. ‘Now, tell me about you. Are you still missing the column?’

My weekly column in the 
Herald
 newspaper had been cut three months ago, after almost four years. I’d been gutted. It was my little lifeline. I’d written about kids and parenting every week and had enjoyed it so much. It was only five hundred words and it brought in very little money but it was my thing, my small piece of identity outside the home, and I’d cherished it. But the newspaper had made cutbacks and I was one of the victims.

‘I’m OK. It’s a pity, but it’s over now, so that’s that.’ I didn’t want to complain about it in front of Marian. She was struggling with so many things that I didn’t feel I had the right to moan.

‘I’m sure you’ll find something else at a different paper.’

I knew I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to admit it, because I was embarrassed, but I’d approached three other newspapers, all of whom had turned me down. My confidence was shot. I wasn’t a journalist. I was just a mum who wrote little stories about her kids. I knew now that I’d never get another job like it. My writing life was over.

‘It’s fine – it was just a hobby. It’s no big deal,’ I lied.

‘Well, you certainly don’t need the money now. So, tell me, have you met your new neighbours? I hope none of them is going to take my place as your best mate!’

I took a sip of coffee – the brandy was actually very soothing. ‘I called over to the people on the left, the right and opposite. To be honest, they weren’t that friendly. They were polite but distant. No inviting me in for coffee, no suggestion of playdates or a glass of wine some evening. None of them was like you. I was very lucky to find you. I knew the first time I called over to you that we’d be friends. I recognized a kindred spirit when I saw one and we were in the same predicament.’

‘Knee deep in shitty nappies and trying to live on tiny budgets,’ Marian said.

I nodded. ‘Exactly. You got me through those baby years.’

‘Right back at you. I’d have gone mad without your support.’

‘I miss living here,’ I admitted. ‘I miss having you next door to pop into any time, day or night.’

Marian glared at me. ‘Are you mentally unstable? Are you seriously telling me you miss having to count every penny, being stuck in a small house with four boys running wild and a washing-machine that’s always on the blink? Come on, Julie, enjoy your good luck. I’d give anything to move into a bigger house with a boiler that didn’t pack up every two months.’

‘Look, I’m not complaining. It is lovely not to have to worry constantly about bills, but I miss having you next door.’

‘So go shopping, have massages – go to yoga classes and do all the things you dreamt of doing when you were broke. I can tell you, if I ever come into money, I’ll be at the beautician’s morning, noon and night. I’d have all the fat sucked out of my thighs, I’d have an eye lift and hair extensions and designer clothes – and I’d dump Greg and the kids and run off into the sunset with Don Draper.’

‘You do know that Don isn’t real? He’s a character in a TV series.’

‘Don’t ruin my buzz. Besides, Don is real to me. In the last year I’ve spent far more time with him than I have with my husband. Speaking of husbands, how’s Harry getting on at that posh new golf club?’

I paused. ‘I hardly see him. He spends half of his life there getting tons of lessons and playing with all of these high-flying businessmen. He’s certainly enjoying having a nicer lifestyle.’

‘You can’t blame him for that.’

‘True. But when he’s not playing golf he’s with lawyers or fund managers … He seems to worry more about money now that we have some than he ever did before. He’s obsessed with investments and long-term returns and pension schemes. He keeps saying, “Look at Jack and Sophie. We have to plan for our future.”’

‘To Hell with that. Jack sounds like he was a greedy idiot. Money is there to be enjoyed. Spend it.’

She was right. We should have been enjoying it more, but it was all we seemed to talk about now. We’d hardly ever discussed money when we had none. Now it was a constant source of arguments. Harry was worried that it would run out. He was spending half his days researching the best way to manage it. I just wanted to enjoy it and stop talking about it. But Harry was different. He kept meeting people at the golf club who told him about this investment and that fund, and he was so impressed by their success that he was listening to every word they said and tying himself up in knots. But I didn’t want to bore Marian with all that. She was still struggling financially and the last thing she needed was me droning on about how our sudden money seemed to be causing Harry more worry than happiness.

‘On a completely different note, what do you give your kids for lunch? The boys will only eat ham sandwiches. I want to try to give them healthier options.’

Marian snorted. ‘Beef Wellington! Julie, you know me. I give them whatever’s in the house. Yesterday I went to make sandwiches and the bread looked like it had been attacked by green aliens. Mould everywhere. So Brian had a tin of sweetcorn and a bag of popcorn, Oscar had half a packet of Tuc crackers, Molly had a slice of cold pizza and Ben had a yoghurt that was only one day out of date and a knackered banana. A ham sandwich is a bloody Cordon Bleu meal in this house.’

We both laughed. Marian always made me feel better about my parenting. It was another of the things I loved about her. You never felt judged or bad about yourself around Marian.

Marian looked at her watch. ‘I’m sorry about this but I have to get a couple of hours’ work in before I pick up the kids.’

‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.’ I stood and picked up my bag.

Marian had gone back to work when Ben started at playschool last year. She worked from home, doing telesales for an insurance company, and was good at it – she was very hard to say no to. The basic salary was low, but the commission was good and she was focused on getting high sales figures.

‘You know I could talk to you all day, Julie. But this job is vital for my sanity, and for the extra cash. Hopefully, we’ll be out of debt and able to breathe financially by the end of the year, with the two salaries coming in.’

I hugged her. ‘That’s great. Good for you.’

‘I’ll call you later. We’ll do coffee again soon.’

‘I’d love that.’

Outside, I got into my car and looked at the clock. Nine forty-five. I didn’t have to pick Tom up until one and the triplets at three. What would I do? I decided to kill an hour grocery shopping, then maybe I’d go for a walk.