The Secrets Women Keep (15 page)

‘Rose.’ Dan heaved a despairing sigh. ‘Meet Eve . . . and Will.’

‘I know, I know,’ fussed Eve, ignoring Dan’s glare. ‘Come to the Ladies’ with me. You can take off your blouse and borrow my cardigan. I don’t need it.’
The cardigan in question was red cashmere that had obviously shrunk in the wash so it looked like felt rather than wool. The sleeves hardly reached Eve’s wrists.

As Rose discovered later, Eve had no need of it because the crowded pub was sweltering. But by the time she realised this, the two women were well on the way to becoming friends, the rinsed-out
blouse crumpled up on the bench between them. Later, Dan told Rose that that was the evening when he and Will had been forced to mend fences. He hadn’t spoken to either Will or Eve since they
had hooked up together. At the time, Rose was blissfully ignorant of what was going on. Thanks to an unspoken pact between the others, she remained unaware of the tangle of their lives for
months.

‘What are you smiling at?’ Anna dripped some water over her mother as she bent over beside her, arranging the towel on the third lounger.

‘Just memories.’ Rose propped herself up. ‘Actually I was thinking about when we all met.’

‘When Eve threw her drink at you?’ The story had become part of family folklore.

‘Not threw, Anna,’ Eve interrupted, removing her sunglasses to squint at her, her eyes screwed up against the sun. ‘Someone pushed me. It couldn’t be helped.’

‘Was Terry there too?’

Rose was pleasantly surprised by Anna expressing interest in their past, however idle.

‘God, no!’ Eve propped herself up on her elbows. ‘Your mother didn’t introduce me to him for years. I had to get married and divorced and move south before
then.’

‘So on the rebound then?’

‘Anna!’

Had all that therapy taught her daughter to be so tactless, or did it just come naturally?

There was a crack of a twig as Terry got out of the hammock. The sound of him clearing his throat.

Having straightened the towel, Anna angled the lounger to get an even exposure and lay on her back, her ribs and hip bones prominent in the sun.

Eve just laughed. ‘Hardly. Once I set eyes on Terry, I knew he was the man for me.’

She really sounded as if she meant it, thought Rose, grateful that her brother’s feelings had been spared and briefly curious again about the dynamic of their marriage. If she hadn’t
known, she would never have guessed at the hostilities of the previous night. Of course their courtship took place so long ago that Anna’s remark shouldn’t affect them. All their
relationships had changed so much since then, shifting like sand. What had once seemed so certain had in fact been transient.

‘Good to hear it.’ Terry’s voice floated down from above them. ‘Oughtn’t you to be getting ready? It’s four thirty. We’ll have to leave at seven to get
you to the plane.’

Eve rolled on to her side, clutching the top of her swimsuit. ‘Oh God, is it really? Thanks, darling. I’ll be right up.’ She began collecting her belongings and stuffing them
in her metallic-weave beach bag. ‘Bloody Amy Fraser. I really don’t want to go now.’

‘And we don’t want you to. Do stay.’ But Rose knew that Eve’s mind was made up really.

Her friend reached across and squeezed her hand. ‘I can’t. You’ll get on fine without me.’ The look she gave her reminded Rose of all they’d discussed.

Anna lifted her head, the sinews in her long neck standing out like ropes. ‘Where’s Dad? He went out hours ago.’

‘He probably spent the afternoon with Ignazio. But he’ll want to say goodbye to Eve. He’ll be back soon.’ The sinking feeling Rose had, as she foresaw an evening of
awkward negotiation at best or confrontation at worst, was tempered by the knowledge that at least Jess would be with them the next day. Eve was right. The affair must be symptomatic of some
unaccountable mid-life crisis, not something that would last. They’d got carried away last night. She’d taken the whole thing too seriously and let the situation get out of hand. But:
Miss. Love. Come back.
The words echoed in her head like the tolling of a funeral bell.

‘I’m going for a walk. Anybody want to come?’ Terry leaned over the rustic fence.

‘I will.’ Anna sat up and gathered her still damp hair, twisting it into a knot on the top of her head. She rammed her biro through it to secure it in place. ‘We might meet him
on his way back. I won’t be a minute.’ She left all her belongings exactly where they were, scattered about her lounger.

Rose swung her legs round and bent forward to pick them up, glad of something to do.

‘Leave them,’ advised Eve. ‘She can get them later. You don’t have to clear up after them any more.’

Rose straightened up. ‘You’re right. Just habit. Why don’t you get yourself ready and then there’ll be time for a farewell Prosecco before you go. We’ll toast the
downfall of Amy.’

An hour and a half later, Rose and Eve were on the terrace. The cork had just been popped from the bottle and two chilled glasses were being filled. Next door’s ginger cat had made itself
at home on one of the chairs. Beside them, Eve’s red case stood to attention, ready for the journey home.

‘To the Rutherford Agency and down with its detractors.’ Rose raised her glass and clinked it with Eve’s.

‘To you and Dan. May you work it out.’ They clinked again.

‘We will,’ said Rose, as confidently as she could manage. ‘We’ll get through this. We may need a bit of time to sort things. That’s all. I only wish I hadn’t
said anything now. If I hadn’t, he would almost certainly have seen sense and realised what was important in his own good time.’

‘Well, you did.’ Eve could be relied on for down-to-earth pragmatism. ‘So you’ll have to deal with it. But I know you will.’ She glanced at her watch.
‘Terry’s cutting it a bit fine. I wonder where they’ve got to.’

As if on cue, the sound of rapid footsteps on the path made them turn. It was Anna, alone, half running, her feet slipping out of her espadrilles. There was no sign of Terry or Daniel.

Afterwards, Rose would remember how she had first noticed the bloody scrapes on Anna’s knees, her legs covered in grey dust from the track, the stricken expression on her face as she
kicked off her shoes and raced towards them over the grass. Her hair had come untied and was streaming out behind her.

‘Whatever’s happened?’ But Rose didn’t expect Eve to answer.

Both women were already on their feet. They had only taken a few steps forward when Anna reached her mother, flinging herself at her, almost bowling her over. Instinctively Rose put her arms
round her daughter and led her, sobbing and incoherent, to a chair. As she pulled one out, Eve’s case was knocked over, forgotten.

‘Anna! What is it? What’s happened?’ She tried to make out what Anna was saying, but the words weren’t making sense. They were lost among the frenzied sobbing and gasps
for air.

‘Where’s Terry? What the hell’s happened?’ Eve sounded terrified.

‘It’s Dad . . .’ was all Anna could choke out. Then, ‘Terry’s stayed with him. You’ve got to come. He . . .’

As her daughter tried to go on, Rose felt herself disconnecting from the scene. Something terrible had happened to Daniel. Something worse than terrible. The sun still shone, the trees moved in
the breeze, a black beetle scuttled past her foot, but she was locked off from it all, at one remove from everything. There was a rushing in her ears as if she was being swept underwater. She could
see Anna’s mouth moving, her face wet with tears, her hair wild. Only the noise of her daughter’s crying anchored her to reality.

Rose felt Eve’s arm round her shoulder. She shook her off, trying to move away from Anna, not wanting to hear whatever she was struggling to say. But Anna was clinging to her, wiping her
nose on the back of her arm, crying, crying as if she would never stop.

‘You’ve got to come . . .’ Anna stumbled to her feet, pulling at Rose’s hand. ‘We . . .’

Rose stared at her, felt her hands rising to cover her ears. She didn’t want to hear. She didn’t want any of this to be real.

For a moment Anna looked as though she wasn’t going to be able to go on, but somehow she regained sufficient control. ‘We found him.’ She paused, aware that two pairs of
terrified eyes were on her, waiting. ‘He’s about a mile back down the track.’

‘But he’s on his way home?’ Rose said, desperately seeking assurance as she extricated her hand from her daughter’s grasp. She needed to talk to Daniel. They had so much
to say to one another, to sort out. So much unfinished business.

‘Terry’s called the police.’

‘Police? Why? What’s happened? Is he OK?’ But she knew. She knew.

Anna gazed at Rose. Rose saw the fear and the pity in her daughter’s eyes. She saw how reluctant she was to be the one to break the news. She watched her bite her bottom lip, how it slid
away from under her teeth. She could see the white mark of an old chickenpox scar above her mouth. She watched how Anna closed her eyes and took another breath. She saw the fine blue veins on her
eyelids. Then:

‘He’s collapsed. We couldn’t find a pulse. Terry’s trying . . .’ She stopped again, as Rose and Eve waited, silent. ‘Mum . . . I think he might be
dead.’

Eve gasped. Then, silence. Even Anna was quiet. It was as if they were waiting for Rose to react, so say something, to make it all right.

A bird trilled in the walnut tree. A butterfly flew past, then another.

Rose felt something give way inside her. She felt herself being cradled in someone’s arms. A glass of water. A rug around her shivering shoulders. She heard a murmur of voices so far away.
She needed to see Dan. She had to speak to him. He couldn’t leave her now, not when they had so much left to say. She heard a long-drawn-out wail, the sound of someone suffering terrible
grief. It was never-ending. Never-ever-ending. Would they never stop? Then she realised. That keening was coming from her. And nothing she could do would silence it.

January

R
ose was late. Eve was standing in the theatre foyer, just beginning to wonder whether she should leave the ticket with the box office and go in
alone. She checked the time. Five minutes till curtain-up. The other theatregoers were filing past both sides of the small bar into the auditorium. The unpromisingly titled
Rubbish
had been
written by the husband of one of Eve’s authors. Billed as ‘a climate-change comedy’, the concept had made her heart plummet. However, presented with two complimentary tickets from
said proud author, she’d accepted gracefully, while wondering which of her friends she could strong-arm into accompanying her.

She hadn’t asked Rose. A comedy, however politically incorrect, didn’t seem the appropriate invitation when Dan’s memorial was taking place two days later. But when on the
phone she moaned about having to go, Rose had volunteered to keep her company. ‘Everybody’s still treating me like a piece of cut glass, only inviting me to the dullest events in case I
crack up at the sight of someone enjoying themselves. I’d like to.’

She had insisted, and now she wasn’t going to make it. Eve was almost the last person in the foyer when Rose materialised in the doorway, long brown and tan zigzag-patterned coat blowing
out behind her as she stuffed her gloves into her bag. As she removed her fur hat, Eve noticed that her face had filled out a little. Rose had lost so much weight after Dan’s death, it was a
relief to see the terrible gauntness less pronounced and some life back in her eyes.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she panted. ‘Roadworks. Anyway, I’m here now.’

They embraced with a kiss, and followed the stragglers into the auditorium. Forcing an entire row to stand up, the two of them shuffled gratefully along to their seats. They were still removing
their coats as the lights went down. As Eve wrestled her bag under her seat, she was aware of Rose glancing around her, then stiffening, her gaze fixed on someone in the scaffold of the circle.

‘Who is it?’ Eve scanned the couple of rows of faces, almost indistinguishable in the gloom.

Rose whispered something and gripped Eve’s wrist as if she was trying to break it, then, remembering where she was, let go. At that moment, the stage lights went up and a dustbin lid
crashed. Further talk was impossible as the cast hurled themselves into what turned out to be a sharp, fast-paced script that was far more entertaining than the title had suggested. Relieved that
she would not have to pretend her appreciation to the playwright’s wife, but concerned about Rose, Eve occasionally cast a brief sideways glance at her friend to check she was enjoying it
too. Although Rose’s gaze was directed at the stage, she looked as if she were a million miles away.

When the interval arrived, Rose stared up to her left again as the house lights came on. Then she shook her head. ‘How stupid of me,’ she muttered.

‘Someone you know?’ Eve had her bag on her lap and was standing ready to go to the bar. ‘I already ordered interval drinks. Merlot OK?’