The Secrets Sisters Keep: A heartwarming, funny and emotional novel (The Devlin Sisters Book 2) (19 page)

‘The last thing I need is Jack dropping Jess off and both of them seeing my red eyes. I need to be strong for Jess and I couldn’t bear Jack’s sympathy – it would literally push me over the edge. I don’t want his pity. More mascara, please. My hands are still shaking too much to do it.’ She smiled sadly. ‘We seem to be making a habit of this.’

‘Of what?’

‘Me crying myself stupid and you patching me up with makeup.’

‘You’re just having a rough few months. It’ll pass. You’ll see.’

I put on another layer of mascara and walked my sister to the door. ‘Good luck, and call me later. Let’s have dinner with Julie this week – you need a night out.’

‘Thanks for everything.’ Sophie kissed me and walked towards the lift, shoulders hunched, a broken woman.

I
don’t know
how I got through the next few days. They were a complete haze of work, home, looking after Jess and crawling into bed. I obviously wasn’t doing a very good job of pretending everything was OK because on Thursday morning Jess looked up from her porridge and shouted, ‘Mum!’

‘What?’

‘I’ve asked you three times for money for my school trip.’

‘What money?’

She groaned. ‘I told you last night. We’re going to some boring concert and I need ten euros for the coach.’

‘Oh, right. Where did I leave my wallet?’ I fumbled around for my bag, to no avail.

‘For God’s sake, it’s right there on the counter.’

I unzipped my wallet and asked, ‘How much did you say?’

‘Ten euros!’

I pulled out a fiver and some coins.

Jess counted them. ‘There’s eight here. Come on, Mum, it’s not hard.’

I thrust the wallet into her hand. ‘Here, you do it.’

She counted it out, zipped my wallet up and put it carefully back into my bag. She stood up and put the money into the pocket of her backpack.

With her back to me she asked quietly, ‘Did you break up with that man?’

I was going to lie, but I was too tired and weary to bother. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘I thought so. You’ve been weird all week.’

‘Have I? Sorry.’

‘Are you sad?’

‘Sad’ didn’t come close. I was devastated, humiliated, mortified, heartbroken … but my nine-and-a-half-year-old didn’t need to hear that. ‘I’m OK, just a bit tired, that’s all,’ I croaked, trying to hold it together.

She turned. ‘There’s no point crying over spilt milk,’ she said.

I smiled for the first time in days. ‘Where on earth did you hear that expression?’

‘Granny said it to me all the time when I was sad about you and Dad breaking up. She used to sit me on her knee and tell me not to cry over spilt milk.’

Good old Mum, with her sage advice. I stood up and went to give Jess a hug. She allowed me to put my arms around her, but didn’t hug me back. Oh, well, it was better than nothing.

She pulled away from me gently. ‘So, you know I’ve got Pippa’s baby shower this Friday night, right?’

I’d completely forgotten. What a ridiculous notion, having a party before your baby was born. I just didn’t get it. To me, it felt like tempting Fate. I’d been so nervous throughout my pregnancy with Jess, convinced something would go wrong. There was no way I would have allowed anyone to buy me presents before I held the baby in my arms.

Jess had been talking about it for weeks, but it had kind of gone over my head because I had been so distracted and happy. Now I’d have to listen to it.

‘Are you sure you should go, Jess? It’s probably just for Pippa’s friends.’

Jess’s face darkened. ‘I am her friend.’

‘You’re her partner’s daughter, Jess.’

Jess glared at me. ‘Pippa said I’m the most important guest because I’m the baby’s sister.’

I didn’t have the energy to argue. ‘Fine.’

‘I want to take out a hundred euros from my bank to buy a present.’

Was she insane? There was no way she was spending that kind of money on a present. She had three hundred euros saved in her account from her first communion last year. I wanted her to keep it safe. ‘That’s far too much. I’ll help you choose something after school today. It’s late-night shopping on Thursday – we can go to Mothercare or Next and find something cute. I’ll pay for it and you can say it’s from both of us.’

‘No way. I’m not buying some outfit that someone else might get her too. I want to buy her something really nice. Pippa’s so cool, I have to give her something that totally rocks.’

I looked at the clock. If I didn’t leave now, I was going to be late. I’d been late every day this week and Quentin had been very understanding, but we had a meeting at nine thirty to go over the monthly figures and I had to be on time.

I grabbed my coat and rushed Jess out of the door. ‘We’ll talk about it later,’ I said, postponing the inevitable battle that would take place that evening.

I
arrived
at the office at exactly nine thirty, out of breath and sweating. I plonked myself down opposite Quentin and caught my breath.

‘Coffee, darling?’ he asked.

‘Yes, please.’

‘Drop of brandy in it?’

‘I’d love it, but I’m going to say no. I’m afraid if I start to drink, I may never stop.’

He handed me a cup of coffee and kissed the top of my head. ‘My poor Sophie.’

‘I have no one to blame but myself. I behaved like a silly teenager, thinking it was love after such a short time. It was nothing but a casual fling, if it was even that. God, Quentin, when did I become this needy person? I used to be quite cool, remember, in the old days when I first started modelling and men actually did fancy me.’

‘You were the toast of the town. Every eligible man in Dublin was chasing you around.’

‘I ended up with Jack and look how that turned out,’ I said, bitterness creeping into my voice.

‘You and Jack were very happy for a long time and you have Jess. I know it ended badly, but he did adore you, Sophie.’

I put my coffee cup down. ‘I know, and I was mad about him too. But now he adores someone else, someone younger and prettier than me. And to be honest, Quentin, I think he’s more in love with her than he was with me. He absolutely worships her.’

‘It’s early days. They’re still in the honeymoon period. Wait until the baby arrives and he has to get up in the middle of the night. He won’t be so smug then, and Miss Pippa won’t be looking so good with leaky breasts and no sleep.’

I loved Quentin. He always made me feel better. I savoured the image of Pippa with unkempt hair, milk-stained clothes and black shadows under her eyes.

‘I met Andrew last night for a drink. He wants to know why you’re off the account,’ Quentin said.

My stomach turned at the mention of Andrew’s name. ‘What did you say?’

‘I told him you had some personal matters to attend to and that you were taking a step back for a little bit. I had to say something that sounded viable because we need the account, darling, you know that.’

‘That’s fine, very nicely put. What did he say?’

Quentin pushed his coffee cup to the side. ‘He said he was sorry to hear that because you were excellent at your job.’

I was hurt that he hadn’t even asked how I was. ‘He hasn’t bothered to call, or even text. He obviously never gave a damn about me. Why was I such a fool?’

‘Lonely people are vulnerable. I know it myself. The last young man I had back to the house robbed my watch on his way out. It’s not easy to find nice partners.’

‘Quentin, that’s awful.’

‘I know, darling, but a lonely old queen like me is an easy target. If only we could marry each other.’

‘Do you think I’ll ever meet someone? Be honest,’ I urged.

‘Honestly? I think you will because you’re gorgeous and lovely, but it’s hard out there.’

‘The problem is that unless I go for much older men, I’m competing with women half my age. I don’t find sixty-year-olds attractive. I like men my own age, but they like much younger women. Look at Jack, for God’s sake. No single man in his forties wants to be with a woman in her forties. It’s just not fair – it’s a man’s world!’

‘No, it’s a heterosexual man’s world,’ Quentin corrected me. ‘The only reason a younger man would go for me is for money. It’s dog-eat-dog for us older gay men too.’

I patted his hand. ‘I think you’re a great catch.’

‘Ditto. Now, what else is new?’

‘Jess wants to spend a hundred euros on a baby-shower present for Pippa.’

Quentin raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. ‘I presume you said no.’

‘Obviously, but she went mad, so I said we’d talk about it later. She’s so enamoured of Pippa it’s … well, frankly, really irritating. She wouldn’t spend even ten euros on a present for me and yet she wants to take out a huge chunk of her savings for Pippa. It just pisses me off. I know I should be mature and understanding and not take it personally, but I’m feeling very raw and I am taking it personally.’

Quentin poured us both more coffee. ‘Darling, the novelty will wear off. Pippa is like a big sister or a cool aunt to Jess. But, I guarantee, the minute that baby is born, Jess will find herself pushed aside and you’ll need to be there for her when it happens.’

In a horrible way, I hoped Quentin was right. I was shocked that I was wishing for Jess to be hurt, but I wanted her to see through Pippa. I wanted her to come back to me, to appreciate me, to want to be with me. I missed my little girl. She never wanted to spend time with me. She just counted the days until she could be with Pippa and Jack and it really hurt. Between my daughter and Andrew, I felt I wasn’t good enough for anyone.

I sipped my coffee and tried not to feel sorry for myself. Life had not turned out the way I had planned. What would happen to me? Would I end up alone for the rest of my days? The thought terrified me. ‘I have to do something, Quentin. I cannot spend the next forty years on my own.’

‘Andrew was just a bad experience. Don’t panic,’ Quentin said. ‘There are plenty more fish in the sea.’

I narrowed my eyes. ‘Don’t lie.’

‘OK. There are some other fish.’

‘Would you date someone your own age?’

Quentin flinched. ‘It depends what he looked like. I usually go for younger men, but if the guy was very fit and had a nice face, then maybe.’

‘Liar! There is no way you’d go out with a sixty-year-old and you know it.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s unlikely, unless he looked like George Clooney.’

I twisted my bracelet around my wrist. ‘This whole Andrew thing has made me really look at myself. I know I want to meet someone – under fifty. I don’t want to be on my own any more. Meeting Andrew made me see how lonely I am. So I’ve decided to be proactive and do something to make myself more attractive. I’m going to get my boobs done.’

Quentin wasn’t remotely shocked, as I’d known he wouldn’t be. He’d seen it all during his years in the modelling industry. I knew I could trust him. ‘It’s a serious procedure, Sophie. You have to be sure.’

‘I am.’ I was. I’d seen good and bad boob jobs and I knew what a difference the good ones made to a woman’s body. Especially after having children and getting older, when your boobs were sagging. I hated my breasts.

‘Sweetie, you’ve only just broken up with Andrew. Give yourself a few weeks before you rush into anything.’

I shook my head. ‘This isn’t because of Andrew. I’ve been thinking about it for ages. I really want to get my boobs done. I don’t want big page-three breasts. I just want them to look perky, not small and droopy, like they are now. I just know it will make a huge difference to my body and my confidence.’

Quentin nodded. ‘Make sure you go to someone reputable. No cutting costs.’

‘Can you ask around and find out who the best surgeon is? I can’t say it to anyone. My sisters would kill me if they knew I was even contemplating it.’

‘Your secret is safe with me,’ Quentin assured me. ‘I’ll find out who the best surgeon is and get back to you. But in return I want you to think about it for a few more weeks before you go rushing under the knife.’

‘Thanks. Will you come with me when I get it done? Will you be my in-case-of-emergency person?’

‘Of course I will, darling. I’ll hold your hand the whole way through. You never know, I may meet a nice young intern.’

‘Young!’ I wagged my finger at him.

He chuckled. ‘Oops, sorry.’

So that was it. Now I’d said it out loud, I knew for certain I’d go ahead and do it. The surgery would change everything for the better. I was excited now at the prospect. Obviously my sisters would notice when they were done, but I wasn’t going to breathe a word about it until then. I’d deal with their reaction when the time came. I knew they’d go mad. I knew they’d tell me how stupid and shallow I was and how it made no difference blah-blah-blah. But they were wrong. They weren’t looking for a husband. I was, and I had to make myself more attractive to compete with the younger women I was up against.

It felt good to have a new plan. I pictured myself in six months’ time, with new boobs and a new man. I had to look to the future because the present was so awful.

T
he doorbell rang
. I quickly replied to Dan’s text and went to let Marian in. I was nervous about her seeing the house. I’d kept putting her off calling in by saying we were having work done and that it wasn’t finished yet. But today she had insisted on calling over and I had run out of excuses.

I was embarrassed because it was so big, shiny and new. Marian and I had bonded over budgeting, saving and scrimping. But now I was in a mansion and her life was still a struggle financially. Although now Greg was in Dubai earning a decent wage, they would hopefully start paying off their debts and things might get easier.

I opened the door.

Marian pushed past me. ‘Is this a joke? You do realize that your house is bigger than Buckingham shagging Palace? I knew it was going to be big, but this is ridiculous.’

‘Come on in.’

‘Should I park my car around the back? You don’t want a piece of shit like that in your driveway.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Stop it! Come into the kitchen and we’ll have a drink.’

‘Jesus, check you out. Lady of the manor drinking at ten. I’m usually the one pushing the booze.’

‘Coffee with a splash of brandy?’ I asked.

‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Marian looked around my vast kitchen. ‘Seriously, Julie, it’s incredible. Did you do it all up yourself?’

I shook my head. ‘Not really. Sophie helped with most of it. She has great taste and I hadn’t a clue what to do with all the space.’

I handed Marian her brandy coffee and sat down. She took a sip. ‘
Whoooo!
 That’s strong. You’d better lash on some toast. I need food to soak this up or I’ll be arrested for drunk driving.’

I popped some bread into the toaster. ‘So, how are you?’

Marian grinned. ‘Pretty fucking great, actually.’

‘I take it you’re still having sex with Lew?’

‘I certainly am.’

‘What about Greg?’

‘Greg has checked out of our lives. He Skypes to talk to the kids every second day, but has nothing to say to me or them. It’s as if he’s completely disengaged from us. He’s living in “Greg world” over there in Dubai. I can see that he has no interest in his family. Calling us is a chore for him.’

‘Come on, Greg loves you and he adores the kids.’

Marian shrugged. ‘I was listening to this show on the radio last week. Women whose husbands work abroad for months on end were calling in and saying things that I could relate to. They all said if your husband is away for longer than a month they begin to detach, and that the longer they’re away, the worse it gets. One woman said when her husband comes back after two months away working on oil rigs, it takes him a month to get back to normal and then he goes off back to work and the whole bloody cycle starts again.’

‘What’s the solution?’ I asked, as I handed her a plate of buttered toast.

‘He needs to come home and reintegrate into the family. But that’s not an option because he can’t get a job here. So there is no solution. We’re screwed.’

‘Hold on. If he came home once a month, like he used to, it would work.’

Marian shook her head. ‘We got through the first year because we thought it was just a year and we really worked on staying in touch. Greg missed us and came home as much as he could. But now he’s less bothered about it and I’m used to him not being around. Even the kids are getting used to it. When he came home regularly, the children were all over him, which he found claustrophobic. And when he left, they were devastated and I had to pick up the pieces. But now that they see him even less, they just accept that he’s never really around. To be honest, it’s easier when he doesn’t come back, for all of us.’

‘It’s such a tough situation. But Greg’s a good guy. Don’t write off your marriage yet.’

‘I’m not. Well … not completely. Anyway, enough about the crap stuff, let’s talk about Lew!’

‘OK, go on. I can see you’re dying to tell me about the great sex.’

‘It’s sensational. It keeps getting better. These younger guys are where it’s at. He even brings props with him.’

What? I was almost afraid to ask. I took a large sip of my brandy coffee. ‘What props?’

‘Sex props. Handcuffs and silk scarves to blindfold me with. He turned up with a whip the other day and asked me to walk on his back and whip him.’

‘And did you?’ I was shocked. I thought that only happened in X-rated movies.

‘Hell, yes! I was a bit worried about walking on his back. I was afraid I might break it or rupture his kidney or something. Anyway, once I got going, I was well into it. Whipping a man is very therapeutic. I was walloping him, but he loved it.’

I tried to get the image of Marian, naked, whipping a beefy young Polish guy out of my head. ‘Does he whip you?’

‘Yes, but not hard, and it’s actually very erotic. I swear it’s like 
Fifty Shades
 
of
 bloody 
Grey
 in my house, these days. I haven’t felt this alive in years. I always hated my body, but Lew loves my curves and my big boobs. He can’t get enough of me. I sometimes wonder if he’s mentally challenged. Why the hell is he with me when he could be whipping hot young Polish girls?’

‘Stop that. You’re lovely.’

Marian raised an eyebrow at me. ‘I’m a forty-six-year-old woman with four kids and saggy bits. But Lew says he’s always loved older women.’

‘They should clone him and send him around to all bored housewives of a certain age.’

‘Well, when I finish with him, you should definitely have a go.’

‘Marian!’

‘What? Don’t pretend you wouldn’t like a bit of steamy action.’

‘I have Harry.’

Marian threw her head back and roared laughing. ‘Harry … with a … 
whiiiip
! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.’

I began to laugh too.

Marian wiped her eyes. ‘Sorry, but the idea that Harry would be adventurous in the bedroom is too funny.’

‘It’s not just Harry, it’s me too. I’ve never tried any-thing … you know, 
different
.’

‘Neither had I. But that’s the whole point. Why was 
Fifty Shades of Grey
 such a hit with women? Because secretly women in their forties, fifties and beyond are bored sexually. Men watch porn – I know some women don’t believe that their husbands ever watch porn, but they do. What do we watch? We watch our children running around all bloody day long and we go to coffee mornings where we talk about our kids. It’s so boring. No wonder so many housewives are on Prozac.’

‘Are they?’

‘Come on, Julie! Do you live with your head permanently in the sand? Every second woman is on happy pills because she’s so unfulfilled in her life, mentally, sexually and emotionally.’

Were they? Was I completely naïve and clueless? If I was to be honest with myself, didn’t I feel that way too? Wasn’t that why I’d loved reconnecting with Dan? It was a buzz and a high that I hadn’t had in so long.

I decided not to tell Marian about Dan. I was worried she’d make it into a big thing and it wasn’t. It was just a little harmless fun.

‘Earth to Julie?’ Marian waved a hand in front of me.

‘Sorry, I was just thinking about what you said. I suppose you’re right. A lot of women are restless and fed up.’

‘That’s why I went back to work. Well, obviously I went back because we needed the money too, but I wanted something else in my life. My kids bore me. What the hell is interesting about homework and sport? Nothing. I’ve spent hours on the side of pitches, freezing my arse off, watching Brian and Oscar running around after a football, or bored out of my mind watching Molly thundering about in some church hall in a pink leotard thinking she’s Darcey flaming Bussell.’

‘Come on, it’s lovely to see them playing. I feel really proud when I see the triplets playing rugby.’

Marian chewed her last piece of toast. ‘That’s because they’re good and they score goals or whatever you score in rugby. My lot are brutal at sports, but I still have to go and cheer them on. Last Saturday Oscar, who plays for the worst team in the club, lost his football match nine–nil and he was the bloody goalie. I had other parents giving me filthy looks because Oscar let in all the goals, even though their kids were shite too. And then I had to deal with him crying the whole way home. I ended up pulling into a garage and buying him half a ton of sweets to shut him up. Then Molly said she wanted sweets but I told her ballerinas never eat sweets, only vegetables. So now all she’ll eat is bloody carrots because they are the only vegetable she likes. I actually think her skin is turning orange. She’ll be the first ever tangerine ballerina.’

‘Poor Molly!’

‘Poor me!’ Marian said. ‘I’m always on my own. I have to deal with all their dramas and their moods, their teachers and after-school activities. I’m sick of it. When Greg comes home next month I’m going to run away for a few days just to get away from the kids. I am so sick of them. Yes, I love them, ya-di-ya, but I need space from them. It’s too much. If it wasn’t for the great sex with Lew, I’d be wallowing in a vat of wine or Prozac – or maybe both.’

I felt for her. Even though Harry had been a lot more absent lately, he still took the boys to rugby and helped them with their maths homework and bath time. I would hate to be doing it all on my own.

Marian insisted on having a full tour of the house, and seeing it through her eyes made it seem even bigger and fancier. I felt awkward and wanted it to be over. I hated the fact that coming into money had made me ‘different’ from her. I wanted our relationship to be the same. I didn’t want her to think I’d changed because I really didn’t feel that I had.

Marian lay back on my huge bed. ‘Comfy!’ She spread her arms wide. ‘So, is Harry still spending all his spare time in the golf club?’

I nodded. Marian knew the old Harry, the lovely Harry. She crinkled her nose. ‘Now that I’ve seen the house and how nice your lifestyle is, I kind of get why Harry’s changed.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I can see how all of this could go to your head.’

‘It hasn’t gone to my head. I’m still the same.’

Marian looked up at me and smiled. ‘Yes, you are. Harry will come round. He just needs to get used to being loaded. God, I’d love to have a millionaire aunt. A big injection of cash would sort out all my problems.’

‘You know I’d be happy to –’

Marian put up her hand. ‘Stop. I know what you’re going to say and I really appreciate the offer, but I never mix money and friendship. If you gave me money, I’d owe you.’

‘But I don’t care about money. I’d never think about it again.’

Marian sat up. ‘But I would. Every time I saw you, I’d remember you’d given me money and I’d feel obliged to be nice to you.’

‘But you are nice to me.’

‘Yeah, but if I felt I had to be, I mightn’t want to be. You know what a contrary cow I am.’

I fiddled with the curtain ropes. ‘I’d love to help, so if you change your mind …’

Marian stood up and hitched up her jeans. ‘I won’t, but thanks. Besides, I’ve thought of a way to make millions.’

‘I’m all ears.’

‘Sex lines.’

I stared at her in disbelief. I could see she was relishing my reaction. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Deadly.’

I threw my arms up in the air. ‘Marian!’

She wagged a finger at me. ‘Don’t knock it. I saw this programme a few weeks ago about sex lines and how half the women do the sex talk while they’re ironing, cooking or doing laundry. Basically you can do it while your kids are in school and you’re doing the housework. It’s so easy, it’s a joke. All you have to do is a bit of panting and some dirty talk. It’s the easiest money ever. I talked to Lew about it and he says he could put me in touch with some Polish girls, and Lithuanians and Russians, who’d love to earn some extra cash. So I’m thinking of setting up an international sex line.’

‘Are you actually being serious?’

‘Absolutely. I’ve been researching it and it’s really not that hard to start one. And it’s a lot more lucrative than selling bloody insurance. But first of all I need to get some practice, so I’ve signed up with a sex line for a few weeks to see if it’s as easy as it seems. I’m “going live” tomorrow.’

I was worried. ‘Marian, are you sure? It sounds really dodgy.’

She patted my shoulder. ‘It isn’t. It’s totally anonymous. It’s the easiest money I’ll ever make. Sexy Cats is the company I signed up with and they put me in touch with this woman, Shelly, who does it all the time. She’s got five kids, and she said that if you’re good, you can earn up to fifty euros an hour. Happy days!’

‘Are you sure they can’t track your number?’

‘Positive. I’m getting a separate mobile phone. They prefer you to use a landline, but I said I wanted to use a pay-as-you-go phone, which you don’t have to give any details to get. So I’ll be completely anonymous and untraceable. Shelly said the older men tend to want to chat for longer while the younger ones just want quick relief, if you get my drift.’

I put my hands up to my face. ‘God, Marian, do you really want to get involved in that? It sounds kind of seedy.’

‘I think it’ll be fun. Shelly said that, if I want, I can get into the webcam stuff too.’

‘Have you lost your mind?’ I shouted. ‘They’ll be able to see your face on the webcam.’

‘No! I’d be wearing a wig and glasses. Shelly says they pay more to see her ironing in a G-string or cooking with just a frilly apron. Either way, I get to do my housework and get paid at the same time.’

Now I was really worried. I grabbed her shoulders and shook her. ‘You cannot have your face online. OK? You’ll be putting yourself and your family at risk. For God’s sake, Marian, there are nutters out there. If you want to try the phone thing, fine. But under no circumstances are you to go on any webcam. Promise me?’

She raised her hands. ‘OK! Chill out. I won’t do the webcam.’

‘Swear?’

She nodded, in what I hoped was a genuine way.

I had to admire her, though. She was always looking for ways to make money and improve her situation. She never sat around feeling sorry for herself. I wanted to be more like her. I’d decided to stop moping and get a part-time job to fill my days, but when I’d tried to update my CV, I had a ten-year gap of nothing. Ten years of being a mum. Ten years of absolutely nothing useful, except writing my little column about parenting, which wasn’t going to impress anyone. I could still barely use a computer and it made me realize how hopeless I was. Who the hell would ever hire me? I was good at nothing. I wasn’t even a particularly good mother. I was literally unemployable.