The Secrets Sisters Keep: A heartwarming, funny and emotional novel (The Devlin Sisters Book 2) (5 page)

Sod the walk. I’d go home and finish my book. It was strange: I usually read two books a week, but lately I’d been struggling to get through one in a month. For some reason I just couldn’t concentrate, my mind kept wandering. I worried constantly about everything, much more now than I had when we were broke.

My phone rang. The screen said ‘Principal’. It was the headmaster from Castle Academy. My heart sank.

In his fake English accent, Mr Henderson said, ‘I’m afraid there has been an incident.’ I put my head against the steering-wheel in despair, already sure I wouldn’t like what he was about to tell me. ‘Liam, Luke and Leo hung Sebastian Carter-Mills by his underpants from a clothes hook in the changing rooms. He was there for quite some time before one of the teachers heard him shouting.’

Oh, God! Why did it have to be Sebastian? I took a deep breath. ‘That’s terrible. Did they say why they did it?’

‘They claim to have been provoked.’

‘In what way?’ I asked.

Mr Henderson cleared his throat. ‘Apparently Sebastian called them “scumbag lottery winners”.’

I went from ashamed to raging in a split second. How dare the little brat say that to my boys? No wonder they’d hung him up.

‘That’s obnoxious,’ I said.

‘If it’s true, it certainly is rude,’ admitted Mr Henderson, ‘but regardless of what Sebastian said, we cannot allow boys to retaliate with violence.’

‘It’s not exactly violent, though, is it?’ For once I was going to defend my triplets.

‘Sebastian was very upset. Mrs Carter-Mills is traumatized, and I have to inform you she was pushing for the boys to be expelled.’

‘What?’ How dare that cow try to get my kids kicked out of the school? ‘But that’s ridiculous. It was just a prank that Sebastian provoked in the first place.’

‘I understand, Mrs Hayes, but the boys did cause Sebastian physical and emotional distress.’

‘What about my sons’ distress at being called horrible names?’

‘I can assure you that Sebastian will be spoken to about his unpleasant behaviour. But I’ve had to give your sons an official warning. They must learn to control their tempers. We cannot allow students to lash out at each other.’

‘What does an official warning mean?’

‘If a boy gets three warnings, he is asked to leave the school.’

Oh, God, they’d been there only three weeks. I knew how much Harry wanted them to be in the school. I just wanted them to settle down and learn something. I decided not to say anything else. I was angry and emotional: I didn’t want to get into an argument with the headmaster and make things worse. ‘I’ll speak to the boys when I pick them up,’ I said.

‘That would be wise,’ Mr Henderson said.

I drove home, fuming. There was nothing I’d like more right now than to hang Victoria Carter-bloody-Mills up by her La Perla G-string.

I
collected
the boys five minutes early and was rushing them towards the car, hoping to escape without bumping into anyone, when I heard a loud voice.

‘You there. Sophie’s sister. Stop.’

I ignored her and pushed the boys into the car. But as I went around to climb into the driver’s seat, a thin hand clamped my arm. ‘I’m talking to you,’ a furious Victoria snapped.

‘Really? I didn’t hear my name.’

‘Yes, well, I can’t remember it.’

‘It’s Julie.’

‘It’s really not important. Do you know what your brutish boys did to Sebastian today?’

I stared into her perfectly made-up eyes. ‘I heard that Sebastian said something incredibly rude to them and that they reacted.’

She dug a bony index finger into my chest. ‘Your children are wild animals. They traumatized my son today. They’re nothing but common bullies and I will do everything in my power to have them removed from this school.’

Rage fuelled me. Shaking, I grabbed her finger and pushed it away. ‘Your son needs to wash his mouth out with soap. If he ever speaks to my boys like that again, he’ll end up with a lot worse than a wedgie!’

‘How dare you –’

This time I did the poking. ‘No! How dare you try to intimidate me with your bullshit threats? Why don’t you just go home and paint your nails?’

I pushed her aside and climbed into the car. Turning to the boys, I said, ‘If Sebastian ever calls you horrible names again, you have my full permission to thump him.’

C
hristelle came in
and took off her coat. ‘
Bonjour, Clara, ça va? Tu as mangé le petit déjeuner?
’

I had insisted she speak French to Clara. I wanted Clara to be stimulated at all times. She was also doing Mandarin, piano, violin and chess. My sisters thought I was over the top, but I remembered being bored as a child because I wasn’t challenged enough in school.

Clara showed Christelle her empty bowl.

‘Thanks for coming in early,’ I said, putting the dirty bowls in the dishwasher. ‘I’ll be home by six.’

‘No problem. The guy in the flat next door was up at six blaring his music, so I was awake anyway.’

I put on my coat. ‘Maybe you should reconsider Julie and Harry’s offer to live with them. They have plenty of room in the new house.’

Christelle grinned. ‘Much as I love my dad, Julie and my little brothers, the house is like a zoo. I’d never get any study done.’

‘Fair point.’ I bent down to hug Clara.

‘Harder, Mummy,’ she urged me.

I squeezed her tight. ‘I’ll see you later, sweetheart.’

‘Bye-bye, Mummy, have a good day at the office,’ Clara said.

Christelle took her by the hand. ‘
Viens, chérie, on va t’habiller
.’

I
was
on my way to a meeting when my phone rang.

It was Gavin. ‘Hey, sis, I need some advice.’

No surprise there, Gavin always needed advice. We three sisters had been supporting him, funding him, giving him shelter and advice since the day he was born. I felt more like a mother to him than a sister. With a nineteen-year age gap between us, I could have been his mother. Poor Mum thought she was getting the menopause when she discovered she was pregnant with Gavin – it had almost killed her. With the big age gap between him and us girls, he had been raised like an only child and spoilt rotten. The upshot of this was that he was very immature.

‘What’s up?’ I asked.

‘After three interviews, Stars and Stripes have finally offered me a job.’

‘What kind of a job?’

‘It’s a Manager in Training programme. But I have to start off by working in the shop so they can see I’m not a total gimp.’

Here we go again, I thought. Since leaving college Gavin had done the eco-warrior thing, when he lived up a tree in our parents’ golf club for a few weeks; a stint with the National Wildlife Federation in Washington; set up his own company selling fake designer watches from China, which told the time backwards, then a sandwich business from Mum’s kitchen. I got him a contract to sell his wares in my office block. There were 120 employees at the Price Jackson law firm and Gavin had done well selling sandwiches to them … until someone found mould in their bread.

‘What are the terms of the programme?’ I asked, glancing at my watch.

I heard a rustling of paper and then Gavin began reading: ‘It says here, “The Manager in Training (MIT) programme is a ten-week course that immerses a manager in all aspects of running a successful business for Stars and Stripes. Training takes place in our store locations, blah-blah-blah.” And then it says, “The MIT must successfully complete the training programme to be moved into an Assistant Manager role.” And then it says that the vice president of the company, who earns, like, a billion dollars a year, started out doing the MIT programme.’

At least it was a job with a good company and not some pie-in-the-sky scheme. I’d looked into Stars and Stripes and they were a solid business. ‘OK. Well, it sounds promising, and with big companies, there’s always the potential for promotion, if you work hard and impress them.’

‘That’s what I thought. I just wanted to check you hadn’t heard they were about to go bust or something.’

‘You can never be sure, but they seem solid. You do realize the hours will be long, Gavin? Retail is a tough industry.’

‘Duh, obviously I know that. But it’s a really cool company and I think I’ll totally fit in. I’m ready for a new challenge.’

‘All right. Well, call into me at lunchtime with a copy of the employment contract and we can look over it before you sign anything.’

‘Cool, I owe you one. I’d love to chat, but I have to go to the gym to buff up. The dudes that work there are very fit.’

‘OK – I won’t keep you from your busy schedule.’

As I walked into my office I wondered if my little brother would ever grow up.

N
ine thirty
. She’d better have been run over by a bus or struck down by a heart attack.

The doors of the lift opened and Wendy came panting down the corridor towards the conference room. ‘Sorry!’ she said.

I grabbed the file from her and glared at her. ‘The meeting was supposed to begin half an hour ago. I’ve been plying our clients with coffee and pastries waiting for you to turn up with the files. This is inexcusable.’

She blinked. ‘I’m sorry, Louise, but Freddy was up all night with croup.’

I held up my hand. ‘It’s not good enough. You’ve been late nine times in the last six weeks. We could lose this account because of you.’

Her face flushed. ‘It’s not my fault my child has croup.’

I really didn’t have the time or patience for this. ‘Neither is it mine. Having a child does not give you an excuse to be unprofessional. Five of the senior partners and ten of the junior partners have children and they do not repeatedly arrive late for work.’

Wendy’s eyes welled. ‘I’m on my own, Louise. Freddy’s dad isn’t around to help out. You know what it’s like being a single mum.’

I never discussed motherhood in the office and I never used it as an excuse to be late. I certainly wasn’t about to become her bosom buddy and bond over our shared lot. She could forget that. ‘Lots of career women raise their children alone. It does not excuse your consistent lateness. Sort out your childcare or we’ll have to look at your future here. Now go to the Ladies and freshen up.’

I turned to walk back into the meeting. ‘Bitch,’ I heard Wendy whisper behind me.

I pretended not to hear her. She was wrong: I wasn’t a bitch. Before I’d had Clara, I’d been a lot tougher. But having Clara and raising her on my own had forced me to admit how difficult it was for working mothers. I had made a mistake on a huge deal shortly after she was born. It had made me realize that I couldn’t keep going at the same pace and level at Higgins, Cooper and Gray, the firm I’d worked for in London. I’d had to reassess everything and had moved back to Dublin, for Clara’s sake. In career terms I had taken a step back, but not a big one, and I was happy with my set-up in Dublin. I had support so I was able to work full-time and enjoyed my job.

None of the other partners with children came to work late. Wendy, a junior partner, was not entitled to special treatment because she was a single mother. There were mornings when Clara woke up feeling sick and she would cling to me, begging me not to go to work. At times I had had to peel her off my leg and hand her to the child-minder. I had often fought back tears on the way to work, but I had chosen to work in a demanding profession and I knew that meant sacrifices. On those difficult days I was extra loving to her when I got home. Did I feel guilty? Of course I did. But I had to work to support my child and I also happened to like what I did. I loved the high energy of the corporate world. Having specialized in securitization, I had carved a niche for myself and things were going very well. But there was always a price to be paid for success.

How could women expect to break glass ceilings if they turned up late for work, complaining about sick children, bringing all their personal issues into the office? Women like Wendy felt the world owed them something. She’d never make it. I had seen lots of Wendys come and go. The stress would get to her and she’d resign or take a less demanding position within the firm.

Not every woman was ready for a serious career with all its demands, but I was and I wanted Clara to be as well. It would give her more choices in life and a wider set of career options. I wanted Clara to have the world at her feet. She was so clever and had such amazing concentration for such a young child. I knew she’d be a huge success and I’d be cheering her on every step of the way.

While Wendy fixed herself up in the bathroom, I went in to salvage the meeting and try to placate my client.

A
fter the meeting
ended and we had walked the clients out, Wendy followed me into my office.

‘That went well,’ she said.

I looked at her. She was completely dishevelled. Her skirt was twisted around, her shirt was crumpled and her jacket had a stain on the shoulder. Her hair was unbrushed. She was not representative of the image I wanted for my team.

She’d also given the client misinformation during the meeting. She’d got her figures mixed up and I could see Ross raising his eyebrow when she did. I’d smoothed it over, but it had been one more mistake and I was fed up.

I sat down behind my tidy desk. Wendy flopped into the chair opposite me.

‘Actually, Wendy, it didn’t go well. The mistake you made with the profit-margin figures reflected badly on us.’

She shrugged. ‘Come on, it’s no big deal. I’ll change it now and send him a clean copy of the figures.’

Was she stupid or just careless? Where was the Wendy I’d hired two years ago, the ambitious, hard-working, focused young woman?

‘I’d appreciate it if you were not casual with details. I pride myself on this department always being on top of our portfolios and I do not want anyone dropping the ball.’

Wendy flinched. ‘I’m not dropping the ball, Louise. Stop trying to make me feel bad. I work very hard.’

‘No, Wendy, you used to work very hard. But lately you’ve been unpunctual, you’ve made mistakes and your attitude is very … casual. You need to pull up your socks, Wendy.’

She stood up, her eyes filling. Oh, God, she was going to cry. I really didn’t want to deal with tears. ‘I’m doing my best. Could you just cut me some slack? God, Louise, you’re a single mother too – don’t you ever have bad days? Or is your child just perfect like you?’

How dare she speak to me like that?

‘Listen, Wendy, I’m sick and tired of you using your child as an excuse. As I said earlier, you need to organize your life and your childcare so that you can get to work on time. If your child doesn’t sleep, get a sleep expert in to fix it. You cannot continue to come into work late, half asleep and half dressed.’

‘Not everyone has a perfect life, Louise!’ Her voice was rising. ‘Some of us are mere mortals whose children get sick, puke and cry.’

‘Am I interrupting?’ Sophie stood in the doorway, holding two cups of coffee.

I’d never been so glad to see anyone. ‘Not at all. Wendy was just leaving,’ I said coldly.

Wendy stormed out of the office, almost knocking Sophie down.

‘Someone else you were hard on?’ Sophie asked.

‘No. I was hard on you and I’m sorry, but Wendy is just a mess.’

‘She was upset.’

‘If you look at her sideways, she gets upset.’

‘Go easy on her, Louise. She looked like a woman on the edge.’

‘She’s letting the department down.’

‘OK, but everyone has bad days. Even you.’

‘Rarely. Anyway, forget my work woes, it’s great to see you.’

Sophie smiled. ‘I had a meeting nearby so I thought I’d call in. I got all of your messages and your apologies are accepted. Just don’t ever criticize me again.’

‘I was trying to help.’

‘I understand, but you came at me like a bulldozer – and in front of everyone.’

‘I’m sorry. I completely mishandled it. What I was trying to say is that you’re a gorgeous woman with an incredible figure. You don’t need to wear mini-skirts. You look great in everything and there does come a stage when women have to lower their hemlines a little.’

Sophie sighed. ‘Thanks, and I know you meant well, but you need to work on your approach.’

‘I will. How –’

My office door flew open. It was Wendy. ‘I have to go home. Freddy has a raging temperature. I know, if it was you, you’d stay and continue working but I need to be with my son.’

God, she was annoying. ‘Go home, Wendy. If you decide to come in tomorrow, please be on time.’

‘Ice Queen,’ she muttered, loudly enough for me to hear.

‘Yikes!’ Sophie said. ‘She really doesn’t like you.’ She looked thoughtfully at the door Wendy had just slammed behind her. ‘I’d be careful there, Louise. You don’t want an employee who hates you. They can cause you a world of trouble. Wendy seems very tightly wound. She could go to HR and complain that you’re being unfair to her, causing her emotional distress. Things could get tricky.’

‘I’m running a department, Sophie, not a crèche.’

‘Running a department requires people skills, Louise. You need to remember that. You’re not just a lawyer, you’re also a boss. You don’t want to alienate your staff.’

‘My staff are fine, except Wendy.’

‘She’s a mum with a sick child. Cut her some slack.’

‘I’ve often had to leave Clara at home with a nanny when she’s had a temperature. I just check in every hour and ninety-nine per cent of the time she’s fine after a spoonful of paracetamol. There’ve been plenty of times when I’d have liked to rush home to her, and many more times when I’ve felt like a bad mother, riddled with guilt. But if you choose to work in a professional corporate environment then you have to step up to the plate.’

‘I know what it’s like – I’ve left Jess at home feeling ill and gone to meetings. I understand where you’re coming from, but you can seem a bit hard at times, Louise.’

‘I’m very fair. Michael’s son had to have a heart operation and I gave him two weeks off. When he came back, he just got on with his job like everyone else. When Clara was small I went to work after two hours’ sleep and did my job. If you choose to have a child and work in a client-facing role, you have to be professional.’

Sophie put her hands up. ‘Look, I don’t want to argue about it. I’m just saying you should tread lightly, for your own sake, to avoid complaints.’

She was wrong. Mollycoddling your employees achieved nothing. I ran a successful and profitable department. I led by example and my employees just had to follow suit.