The Secret Mother Read online

  The phone rings, breaking into my rebellious breakfast. It’s the landline, which I usually ignore. But what if it’s Scott? Or the police? I dump my bowl on the coffee table and scramble into the hall. A glance at the screen tells me it’s a withheld number, but I pick it up anyway, prepared to hang up at the first sign of a sales pitch.

  ‘Hello. Is that Tessa Markham?’ A woman’s voice. Hesitant. A foreign accent. Maybe Spanish.

  I’m poised to end the call. This woman could have got my name from anywhere.

  ‘Hello,’ I bark. ‘Yes, this is Tessa.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she replies. ‘Sorry, I should not have called.’

  And then there’s nothing but the dial tone. The woman has hung up.

  That didn’t sound like a telemarketer. Telemarketers don’t apologise, and they don’t hang up. Even though the call was withheld, I try calling 1471 to see if there’s a number I can ring her back on, but it’s no good. Damn. What if she was something to do with Harry? Maybe she’ll call again. I shouldn’t have been so abrupt. Shouldn’t have snapped at her. I stare at the phone, willing it to ring, but it sits on the hall table stubbornly mute.

  I return to my breakfast in the lounge, taking the phone handset with me. Just in case. Less than one minute later, it rings once more. This time I answer it with a gentle ‘Hello?’

  ‘Tess? Why aren’t you answering your mobile?’

  It’s Scott. I remember I still haven’t switched my mobile phone on this morning. My heart hammers in my chest. Does he know I spoke to his floozy last night? Did she tell him about our brief conversation?

  ‘Hi, Scott.’

  ‘Sorry to call so early. Are you free tonight?’

  Of course I am. I’m free every sodding night. ‘Um, yeah. I think so.’

  ‘Great. Can we meet? Say, seven o’clock at that tapas place near my work?’

  ‘Okay. Why do you want—’

  ‘Sorry, I’m a bit late for work right now. Chat later, yeah?’

  ‘Sure. See you later.’

  Well, that’s something new. Scott never rings me these days. He wants to talk. Talk about what? About her? No. This floozy of his can’t be serious or he would have told me about her before now. I need to act. Do something about it. Sort myself out. I march out to the hallway and glare at myself in the mirror. I look an absolute state. I mean, I’m thirty-six years old, for Christ’s sake. Today I look double that.

  If I’m going to meet Scott tonight, I need him to remember the old me. The real me. I’m in here somewhere, aren’t I? I haven’t quite faded away. Not yet.

  Scott and I first met at a friend of a friend’s birthday party, and afterwards he told me he’d noticed me straight away. That I was the only one he wanted to speak to that night, but that it took him ages to pluck up the courage to approach me. When we finally did get talking, we hit it off immediately. I can’t remember exactly what we spoke about, but I do remember we laughed a lot. He found us a quiet spot in the garden in a dilapidated summer house. We sat on the floor on sunlounger cushions, drinking beer and eating peanuts. The girl whose party it was had to kick us out in the early hours of the morning. Scott walked me home and we kissed goodnight. After that, we became inseparable. Our friends called us the perfect couple.

  If I could just get him to remember what we once had. If he could see that I’m trying to move past our tragedy. Not to forget, of course not. Never to forget. But to… accept? To not waste the rest of my life mourning. To make my days count for something.

  That’s it, I’m calling Max.

  Three hours later, I’m sitting in a comfy swivel chair, cringing before a huge, crystal-clear mirror, spotlights highlighting every crease, splotch and dark circle, every grey root and split end. The image is not pretty.

  ‘Don’t mean to be rude, honey,’ Max says, his hands on his bony hips, ‘but that hair of yours looks like it’s been in a fight with a Brillo pad. We need to lop at least two inches off, preferably more. What would you think about a bob?’

  ‘I’m a gardener, Max. A bob’s no good, I need to be able to tie my hair back.’

  ‘God!’ He grabs my left hand and stares at it in horror.

  I glance down to where he’s looking, at the red, chapped skin, the split nails.

  ‘What have you been doing?’ he cries.

  ‘Told you, I’m a gardener,’ I reply. ‘The hands are beyond repair. Concentrate on the hair, if you please. I’ve missed you, Maxie,’ I add. I haven’t bantered with anyone like this in months.

  ‘I should think so. You need me in your life, Tess. This is a disaster area. If you’d left it any later, we’d have needed emergency aid flown in.’ He turns to one of the juniors. ‘Bring Ms Markham a glass of Prosecco.’

  ‘What?’ I say, my eyes widening. ‘No. Max, it’s only ten thirty, far too early for me.’

  ‘Pfft. Normally, I would agree. But in your case, a small pick-me-up is just what you need.’

  ‘Go on then, but at least put some orange juice in it.’

  ‘Vitamin C, good idea.’

  Several hours later, I leave the salon with gleaming honey-blonde waves that just skim my shoulders. I feel admiring eyes on me as I step out onto the pavement, and it’s not an entirely awful feeling. A woman with dark brown hair catches my eye and I give her a small smile. She instantly lowers her head and scuttles away. I shrug and head towards the Tube station. I’m going into town to buy a new outfit for tonight – none of my old clothes fit me any more.

  In Monsoon, I grab a size twelve skirt. I’ve lost a bit of weight over the past year; all my existing clothes are hanging off me. It’s a black pencil skirt with jade-green embroidered flowers. I figure it will look great with black boots and a polo neck. But when I slide it up and over my hips, it’s massive. I check the label. Yes, definitely a size twelve. I ask the assistant to grab me a size ten. She looks me up and down and suggests the eight. I haven’t been a size eight since my twenties. Sure enough, it fits perfectly, which means I’m about three sizes smaller than I used to be. I guess what with my anxiety, lack of appetite, and skipped meals, I’ve shed a few pounds without realising.

  While I’m queuing to pay, my back tingles with a strange sensation. I turn around to see a woman staring at me. I return the stare and realise it’s the same dark-haired woman from outside the hairdresser’s earlier. She looks my age, maybe a little older. Did she follow me here?

  ‘Excuse me, are you next?’ I turn to see that the shop assistant is speaking to me.

  ‘Sorry, can you hang on a second?’ I ask, dumping the skirt on the counter. I turn around again, but the woman has vanished. My eyes roam the shop. She must have left. ‘I’ll be back in five minutes,’ I call to the assistant, and make my way through the clothes racks, staring left and right. The woman was quite small, and could easily be concealing herself behind one of the rails. I reach the exit and glance up and down the crowded street, my heart pounding. It’s no use – I’ll never spot her among all these people.

  But who is she? I’m certain she’s something to do with Harry. She could even be the same person who hung up on me this morning. I pray she gets back in touch. And if she shows up again, I’ll make sure I don’t let her get away until she explains exactly who she is and why on earth she’s so interested in me.

  Chapter Seven

  Right on time, I smooth down my new skirt and open the door to the tapas bar where I’m meeting Scott. A wave of warmth, lights and chatter hits me as I walk inside. This is the second night in a row I’ve been out after work. Not like me at all.

  I scan the busy tables, but I don’t see him.

  A twenty-something waiter in a black T-shirt and dark jeans comes over to where I’m standing. ‘Would you like a table? There’s a one-hour wait at the moment. Or you can sit at the bar…’

  ‘I’m meeting someone,’ I say. ‘I think he’s booked a table under the name Markham.’

  He glances down at the clipboard in his hand. ‘For 7 p.m.?’


  ‘Yep.’

  ‘This way.’ He leads me over to a booth near the back. I catch my breath. Scott is already there, his back to me, a bottle of beer on the table in front of him.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ the waiter asks.

  ‘Lime and soda, please.’ I’d love a proper drink, but I want to keep a clear head. This evening is too important for me to screw up. I blow out a breath and then inhale. I can do this, I can win back my husband, I know I can. Images of the two of us holding hands. Him leading us back to our house, his floozy forgotten. Us tumbling onto the bed. Laughing. Crying. So happy to be together again, back where we belong.

  ‘Tess.’ Scott stands up and does a double-take. ‘Wow, you look incredible.’

  I try not to show how insanely pleased I am that he’s noticed my makeover.

  ‘I mean, honestly, Tess. You look so beautiful.’ He leans in to kiss me on the cheek. I kiss him back, savouring the moment, and we sit down facing one another.

  ‘I haven’t been here for ages,’ I say. ‘Do they still do those garlic mushrooms?’

  ‘Yeah. And those little spicy potatoes you like.’

  ‘Yum. Definitely going to have some of those.’ I don’t want to jinx it, but this is already feeling just like old times. The waiter returns with my lime and soda. ‘Actually, could I have a glass of dry white wine as well?’ I suddenly feel like celebrating.

  ‘Sure,’ the waiter replies, placing my soft drink in front of me.

  Scott gives him our food order, already knowing what I want, and the waiter disappears, leaving us alone. Back home, I prepared exactly what I wanted to say. I wasn’t going to mention Harry or the police station, this evening was just going to be about the two of us. But now I’m here, I feel a little shy. I’m not sure how to broach the subject of us.

  ‘How’s work?’ Scott asks. ‘You coping okay?’

  ‘It’s good. Actually, my boss offered me a promotion.’

  ‘That’s brilliant, Tess.’ He smiles. ‘I have to say, I was nervous about meeting up with you tonight,’ he adds.

  ‘Nervous?’ My heart flip-flops. Has he been anticipating tonight as much as I have?

  ‘I wasn’t sure what frame of mind you’d be in,’ he explains. ‘But I can see you’ve really turned a corner since Sunday. It’s like you’re back to being the old Tess again. I’m so happy for you.’

  My heart swells. The waiter has returned with my wine, and I take a long sip, revelling in the burn at the back of my throat, and the instant head rush.

  ‘Are you going to take the promotion?’ Scott asks.

  ‘Not sure yet.’ I pluck an olive from the terracotta bowl in the centre of the table and pop it in my mouth.

  ‘What does it involve? More money, I hope.’ He grins.

  ‘Ben wants me to manage Moretti’s while he concentrates on expanding the business. Plus, he’s asked me to consult on his new landscape designs.’

  ‘That’s incredible,’ Scott says, shaking his head. ‘Surely it’s a no-brainer? You’ve got to do it.’

  ‘You think so? It’s quite a responsibility. I’m nervous about saying yes in case I cock it up.’

  ‘You won’t cock it up, you could do that job in your sleep. And anyway, you won’t know until you try. Look, Tessa, you deserve something good after all you’ve been through.’

  ‘You too,’ I say. ‘You deserve good things too.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He gives me a smile. ‘Actually, that’s sort of why I asked you to come here tonight.’

  I hold my breath, unable to temper my hopefulness. Trying not to grin at him like a love-struck idiot.

  ‘Ellie told me she spoke to you,’ he continues. ‘She said you rang last night while I was in the shower.’ He shakes his head. ‘I didn’t want you to find out about her like that. I’m sorry. I told her it wasn’t her place to speak to you. I wasn’t at all happy that she shocked you like that.’

  So, the floozy’s name is Ellie. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say, eager for him to understand that I won’t hold a grudge. ‘It’s okay. I don’t care about what’s gone on in the past, whether you’ve been seeing someone else. We were separated. I was all over the place, not in any state to give our relationship the attention it deserved. We can move on from all that. You honestly don’t have to explain.’

  ‘You don’t know how good that makes me feel,’ Scott says, leaning back in his seat, his shoulders relaxing. ‘Tell you the truth, I’ve kind of been dreading this evening. Coming here and explaining to you about Ellie, how we feel about one another. I’m really pleased you understand. And I really hope we can be friends.’

  ‘Friends?’ I repeat, the word lying heavy on my tongue, the shock of realisation creeping through my body. ‘You mean you and me?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Scott confirms it with a puzzled smile. ‘It would be a real shame to go our separate ways after everything we’ve been through. And you’ll love Ellie, I promise you. Probably end up really good mates.’

  His voice fades in and out as I try to process what he’s telling me. That Ellie isn’t a fling, she’s something more. I am to be relegated to Scott’s history. An ex. And he wants us to be all cosy and nice about it. He thinks I’m here to give him my blessing, to agree to be friends.

  ‘You and her?’ I whisper. ‘You’re actually together? And it’s serious?’ I give a disbelieving smile that could easily descend into a sneer.

  Scott bites his lip and shifts in his seat. He signals to a passing waitress to get him another bottle of beer. ‘Yes. I thought you realised, I thought you were wishing me well.’

  My mouth drops open and my chest clenches with a disappointment so crushing I can barely breathe.

  ‘I didn’t want to tell you before,’ he says, ‘because I didn’t want to hurt you. But when Ellie answered my phone last night… well, I felt I had to come and explain. And you’re looking so composed and together, I thought you were okay with it.’

  I’m too stunned to speak, my mind and body growing numb, like I’ve just been given some kind of paralysis drug.

  ‘We met over a year ago at my office Christmas party,’ he explains hesitantly. ‘It didn’t start off serious, but… Tessa, I’m sorry, it really is serious now. We’re in love.’

  I think he takes my silence as an indication for him to go on. To continue explaining. But really, I just wish he would stop. I wish he would shut up. I don’t want to hear about him and Ellie. About their wonderful relationship and how in love they are. I take a deep gulp of wine, welcoming its ruinous effect on my already screwed-up emotions.

  ‘I came here hoping we would get back together.’ I manage to speak, but my voice is so quiet that Scott has to lean in closer to hear me. ‘I was going to ask you to give our marriage another go. I still love you, Scott. Don’t you get it?’

  But he shakes his head as though he can shake away my words. Words he doesn’t want to hear. ‘There’s something else,’ he says, trying to hold my gaze but ultimately letting it drop, staring instead at his empty beer bottle. ‘Tessa, I’m sorry,’ he continues, his eyes still downcast. ‘Ellie is pregnant.’

  I reel back in my seat as though I’ve been stabbed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeats, looking up at me now. ‘I’m so, so sorry. It wasn’t planned.’

  Not by you, maybe. The poisonous thought flashes through my mind. He’s telling me this thing. He’s only sitting a couple of feet away from me, but already he’s moving further and further from the man I know. The man I knew.

  ‘Are you okay, Tess?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘No, Scott. I’m pretty fucking far from okay, can’t you tell?’

  His mouth falls open.

  Scott’s face, once so familiar, is like a stranger’s. His generous mouth, strong nose; the light brown eyes that were once so kind. That gazed at me with love and desire. Now their softness is for someone else. Instead he feels… what? Pity? Frustration? I’m an inconvenience, a loose end. I can see it in his eye
s – he can’t wait to leave here. To have got this out of the way. Done. Finished. All neatly tied up.

  We tried, Scott and I, we tried to have another child. It was something he wanted, but to me it felt like a betrayal. Like I was blotting out our dead children’s memory. Replacing them. Scott said it could help us heal, that we could pour all our love into a new family. Make new memories to staunch the wounds. Anyway, for whatever reason, it never happened, and he didn’t stick around long enough to see it through.

  I can’t breathe. Can’t be in this place, which is suddenly so loud and cheerful. Raucous laughter and grinning faces everywhere. And worst of all, Scott’s unwavering pity. I rise to my feet and glance around for the exit, disorientated, losing my bearings for a moment. Scott is having another child. He is in love with someone else. He’s leaving me behind.

  I see now that I’m no good any more. It’s laughable that I believed a new haircut and a sexy skirt would win him back. I’m damaged. Useless. This isn’t self-pity, it’s reality. It’s true. How can I blame him? I let out a loud sob, then turn and flee.

  ‘Tessa, wait! We need to talk about this!’

  But I can’t bear to be around him any longer, I need to get out of here. I tug at the throat of my polo neck. It’s suffocating. Hot. Itchy. Images of him and the woman on the phone flood my brain. I don’t know what she looks like, but I bet she’s pretty. Ellie. I already loathe her. For the life she will have. For the life that should have been mine.

  I lurch out of the building. Scott won’t follow me until he’s paid the bill, he’s too conscientious like that. Something that makes me so mad right now I could scream. Well, I won’t be here waiting for him to apologise again. I won’t hang around to give him the chance to ease his conscience. I run down the street, eyes scanning the road for a taxi. It only takes me a few seconds to spot an orange light up ahead. I stick out my hand and plead with my eyes. The cab pulls over and I manage to get myself together enough to give him my address. ‘Fourteen, Weybridge Road, N11.’