Summer of Secrets (2 page)

THREE

Dimly, Rhi heard her parents shouting for her to come back as she rushed down the stairs. She wouldn't listen to them. She was
sick
of listening to them. She focused instead on grabbing a jacket from the hallstand and getting out of the front door as fast as she could. Her guitar bumped on her back as she slung it awkwardly over her shoulder. Then she started running down the street.

It was downhill all the way to the town centre from her house. The wind from the sea blew hard in her face, drying her tears as she ran. The streets were treacherous here, with cobbles and kerbs to catch unwary feet, but Rhi flew like she had wings, letting the air fill her lungs and blow away the horror of what had just happened.

She had made no conscious plans to head for the Heartbeat. And yet, ten minutes later, with her ribs aching and a stitch in her side, somehow that's where she ended up. She was glad. Everything would be OK at the Heartbeat because Brody would be there. They would sing together and, for a moment, nothing else would matter.

She collapsed against the wall beside the café's wooden door, her lungs heaving and her hair stuck in sweaty strands on her forehead. Her father's words rang through her head like a funeral bell.
I already did something I regret. I married you.

This was it, then
, she thought dumbly, sliding down the wall to the pavement as she caught her breath. The thing she had come to dread so much was finally here. Her parents were splitting up for good.

The café door opened.

“Hey,” said Brody with a smile.

Rhi looked up at him with red eyes. His expression changed.

“Rhi, are you OK? What's happened?”

“Everything,” she said wearily. She had no energy to get back to her feet.

Reaching out his hands, Brody pulled her up. His hands were warm, calloused from his guitar strings. “What were you running away from?”

Had she been running away from home, or running
towards
Brody? Rhi suddenly wasn't sure. Brody made her feel … safe, she supposed. But more than that: he made her feel whole. It scared her and thrilled her at the same time.

Brody was looking over her shoulder. “I can't see any bogeymen,” he said. “No wild dogs or angry police officers either.”

“I'm running away from my own head,” Rhi said shakily.

Brody pulled her into a hug. “I like your head,” he said against her cheek. “Your body would look very strange without it.”

Rhi closed her eyes and rested her face against his shoulder. He felt warm and solid. Waves of calm were already sweeping over her, soothing her aching heart. The connection that she and Brody had formed while writing songs and performing together was something truly special. But it went beyond the music. They both knew that.

Rhi felt a shiver run through her as she remembered the single kiss she and Brody had shared. It had been electrifying. But they had agreed that a relationship might damage their professional partnership, and Rhi was determined not to do that. It had to be about the music, and nothing else.

That's what Rhi's head told her. Her heart saw things a little differently. Rhi wanted more than anything to kiss Brody again; to forget every logical reason not to fall in love with him. She was already halfway there.

“Come on,” he said, pulling away from her. “We have work to do – namely an entire playlist to put together by two o'clock this afternoon. Are you up to it?”

Rhi suppressed her acute disappointment. “Of course. What's the theme?”

“Sixties peace and love. It's a great period for music. Lots of acoustic guitar in straightforward keys. It shouldn't be a problem. We might even fit in some songwriting of our own.”

“I could use some extra peace and love in my life right now,” Rhi said with a laugh. She plastered a smile on her face, unhooking her guitar. “Lead the way.”

She and Brody had been working together with their music so much that Rhi's dad had turned the Heartbeat's attic space into a practice room for them both. It was Rhi's haven, with its sloping ceilings and its view of the sea. They had comfy chairs in there, and a kettle, and a generous supply of biscuits.

Rhi collapsed on one of the chairs, letting the sun warm her face through the window. “So who's getting married this time?” she asked.

“A couple of pensioners.”

Rhi felt surprised. They hadn't done an older wedding before. “Seriously?”

“What's so surprising about that?” Brody laughed. “The theme should have given you a clue. Older people can find love too, you know. It's at the Grand Hotel this afternoon.”

Rhi felt tears blurring her eyes. “That's nice,” she said, a little squeakily.

A frown appeared on Brody's face. “Something's wrong, isn't it? Don't deny it, I know you too well.”

He did know her well, Rhi thought. Singing with someone, baring your soul day in, day out – it gave away your secrets a lot more than just plain friendship.

“It's my parents,” she said quietly.

He grimaced. “Fighting again?”

“Worse than that. Dad's moving out.”

It sounded so final, saying the words out loud. Brody looked upset.

“Rhi, I'm really sorry. That must suck.”

Rhi wished he wasn't so good at listening. It made it a lot harder keeping her feelings for him under control. “They've been unhappy for years,” she said, trying to shrug. “Maybe it's for the best.”

Brody came to sit beside her. “Maybe. But I'm sure that's hard to understand right now.”

A lot of things were hard to understand right now, Rhi thought wearily. Parents. Geography revision. Chris McAllister's letter. The guilt swept over her like burning fire again and she shivered. She hoped the letter was safe under her pillow. She would destroy it the first chance she got.

“Nothing else bothering you?”

Brody was watching her. For a moment she thought of telling him about Mac and … that day. The guilt was so hard to bear alone. But she dismissed the thought almost as soon as she'd had it. Brody was so good and kind. So understanding. So perfect. She couldn't expect him to understand the terrible mistake she had made.

“Just revision,” she lied, rubbing her eyes with her hands. “Exams. You know. There's a lot going on right now. It's hard to concentrate.”

Brody nodded, accepting her answer. “Let's sing,” he said, picking up his guitar.

They spent the next hour working through the wedding playlist they'd been given. It was full of classics: Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Joan Baez, Crosby Stills & Nash. Rhi gave herself over to the gentle rhythms and the poetry of the lyrics. She'd been listening to these songs since she was a small child, thanks to her father's taste in music. She knew most of the words without needing to practise them, and the chords were generally simple.

“Great,” said Brody, ticking off the last song on the list: Cat Stevens' “The Wind
”.
“Now we've done the hard stuff, want to work on some new material?”

“Sure,” said Rhi, interested at once. “What did you have in mind?”

Brody retuned his guitar, plucking and turning the pegs. “I've written a new melody. It even has a title. But I need you for the lyrics. You're my beautiful lyric queen.” He smiled at her, reaching out his thumb and stroking her cheek.

Rhi felt a little thrill in the pit of her stomach as colour flooded her cheeks. The touch of his thumb … he'd called her beautiful. Was he flirting with her, or was this just about the music?

“I'll see what I can do,” she said. “What is it called?”

“‘Small Black Box'.”

Rhi was intrigued. “What does it mean? What do you want the song to be about?”

Brody didn't look at her as he placed his fingers on the strings. “Secrets,” he said. “The kind you might keep under lock and key in a—”

“—small black box,” Rhi finished for him. Her heart was thumping uncomfortably. Had Brody read her mind? Did he know how many secrets she was keeping?

He started playing, his blond hair hanging down over his face. It was a fast, complicated rhythm, almost angry in its intensity. He played it several times for her until she got the tune fixed in her head. She could see the small black box in her mind: red lacquered interior, small silver key – devastating contents. She knew all about secrets.

She plucked out the chords she'd seen Brody play. “You might think I'm simple,” she sang, feeling for the words. “You might say I'm free, but truth to tell, baby, you know nothing 'bout me.”

Brody's fingers seemed to tense against the strings.

“No good?” Rhi said, stopping at once.

He shook his head. “Sorry, no. I mean – yes. It's good. Keep going.”

The words were coming from somewhere deep inside Rhi. She let them flow. “You know nothing 'bout sorrow,” she sang more strongly, “know little 'bout pain, those memories that pierce you again and again…”

One of Brody's guitar strings snapped with a harsh pinging sound, making Rhi jump. He looked annoyed with himself.

“Keep going,” he said a little abruptly.

The words were almost writing themselves. Rhi surged on, her fingers falling naturally into the rhythm of the song. “Got a small black box, locked up tight, hidden the key deep in the night – a small black box, buried down deep…”

“Sometimes there's secrets you just have to keep.”

Rhi glanced at Brody, startled. Was he adding to the lyric, or was it more than that? Her stomach flopped uncomfortably. He was looking right back at her with an expression on his face that she'd never seen before. He seemed …
frightened
.

“Are you OK?” she felt compelled to ask.

The look had vanished. She wondered if she'd imagined it as he looked down at his watch.

“I need to buy a new string,” he said. “I have to go.”

“You bought a box of them only a couple of weeks ago,” Rhi pointed out.

He wouldn't meet her eye. ‘I, uh – you're right, but … I don't seem to have them with me. I'm going to head home.”

Rhi could have sworn the box of strings was in his bag. She'd seen them in there only yesterday.
It's me
, she thought with a lurch.
He knows I'm keeping something from him…

He was almost at the door already. “See you at the Grand Hotel later.”

“Brody?” Rhi said.

But he had gone.

FOUR

Numbly, Rhi listened to the sound of Brody's footsteps hurrying away down the stairs. It sounded like he was taking the steps two at a time, like he couldn't wait to get away from her.

It was the last straw in a difficult morning. Rhi burst into tears, screwing her fists into her eyes. She didn't need to be a genius to work out that she'd upset Brody. His face had looked almost waxen when he had left. She'd somehow managed to break the most precious thing in her life. The one thing that kept her sane.

He knows I'm keeping secrets
. The thought made Rhi cry harder. She hated the guilt that Mac's letter had brought back. The memories… The terror of the impending exams… Her parents dropping that bombshell about her dad moving out. And now this.

I can't bear it
, she thought in a mist of pain.

She cried until her eyes were red-raw.

The attic door opened.

“Rhi!”

Her dad ran across the room and put his arms around her as she gasped for breath.

“Baby, don't cry. Please don't cry. You're breaking my heart. I'm so sorry about this morning…” He wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I saw your music friend as he was leaving – he told me where I would find you. I should have known you'd come here, shouldn't I?”

“My life's such a mess,” Rhi sobbed in his arms. When – how – had everything gone so wrong?

He stroked her hair. “You're not the only one, darling. I'm so, so sorry. You weren't supposed to find out like that. Your mother and I have tried to keep things going for your sake, but it's no good. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but it's over. The truth of it is, it's been over since before Ruth died.”

Rhi hiccuped. “Since … before Ruth?”

“I was planning to leave in the weeks before the accident.” His eyes looked haunted as he stared at her, willing her to understand. “But … when it happened I couldn't do it. I felt too guilty. You needed me, and your mum … Well, I thought she needed me too. But it turned out that she didn't. And I can't do it any more, honey. I just can't.”

He was crying too, Rhi noticed.

“I understand, Dad,” she found herself saying. “Honestly, I do.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

He looked tired and old. In need of looking after. The thought of him alone while she was stuck in the house with her mother suddenly overwhelmed Rhi.

“Can I come and live with you in your new flat?” she blurted. “I can go home right now and pack and—”

“You have exams to think about,” he interrupted, wiping his tears away with the backs of his hands. “My flat's a mess, Rhi. Your mother's right – it is dingy, and small, with hardly any space for you to do your work in the peace and quiet that you need. It's no place for you. You have to stay with your mother. She needs you.”

Rhi felt like a punctured tyre. Her father didn't want her, it seemed.

“Mum doesn't need me,” she said dully. “She needs Ruth.”

Her father flinched. “That's not true.”

“She always preferred Ruth.” It felt liberating to say it out loud. “Ruth made more sense to her. Ruth was clever, and ambitious about all the same things Mum is ambitious about. Mum doesn't understand me like you do, Dad.
Please
can I come and live with you? I'm begging you—”

“No,” her father repeated firmly. “Don't make this harder than it already is, Rhi. Home is the best place for you right now.”

Rhi's eyes filled with hot tears again. “I can't believe you're deserting me!” she burst out.

He looked as if she had stabbed him through the heart. “Rhi, I'm not—”

Rhi grabbed her guitar and ran out, slamming the attic door before he could finish his sentence. She didn't want to listen to another word. He had betrayed her when she needed him most.

No one understands what it's like to be me
, she thought despairingly.
No one.

Mac's letter swam at the edges of her mind, insistent and relentless. She headed down to the beach, suddenly desperate to be alone. Just her and the gulls and the wind in her face. She wanted the wind to scour her guilt away.

She found a niche among the rocks at the water's edge and curled up, the sand cool and a little damp beneath her. Instinctively she settled her guitar around her neck and placed her fingers on the strings. As she played the familiar chords, she felt her breathing grow easier and her mind calmer. She didn't need the wind. She needed her music.

She sang several songs, one after the other, gazing out to sea and letting her mind drift on the lyrics and the sound of the waves curling against the sand. When she was feeling calm again, she stood up and brushed the sand from her jeans. There was revision to do, and preparations to be made for that day's wedding. Life went on, whether she wanted it to or not.

She had to go home.

 

The house seemed empty and quiet as Rhi let herself in. She felt a little of the tension seeping out of her as she put her house keys down on the hall table. She wasn't ready to face her mother just yet. She'd had enough scenes for one day already. Having the house to herself was just what she needed. She set her guitar down at the foot of the stairs and headed for her bedroom.

Her mother swung round as Rhi opened the bedroom door. Everything seemed to stop as Rhi glimpsed the envelope from Mac's letter lying empty on the bed.

Her mother held the letter out.

“What is this, Rhi?”

Rhi was speechless. How had her mother found the letter? What was she
doing
in here? This was Rhi's private space. Did her mother make a habit of snooping around when she was out? She felt hot as she imagined the things her mother might have found and read. And now this. Her worst nightmare was coming true already.

“Rhi?” her mother repeated.

Rhi took an involuntary step towards her. “Why are you in my room?”

“You haven't answered my question.” Her mother frowned down at the letter, at the spidery black writing. “Who is this boy? Why is he apologizing for hurting you?”

Rhi realized in a sudden flood of relief that her mother hadn't recognized the name at the bottom of the letter. He had always been Christopher McAllister in the court reports, in the paper. Never Mac, the name he went by in real life. She snatched the letter from her mother's fingers, scrunched it into a ball and held it close to her chest. She felt hot with anger and guilt.

“You had no right to read it,” she said.

Her mother folded her arms. “I have every right. You're my daughter. If something is worrying you, if this boy has hurt you, I demand to know about it. This is an important year. You can't let anything distract you from your work.”

Work, work, work. It was as if her mother was incapable of thinking about anything other than Rhi's stupid exams. As if her parents splitting up wasn't a distraction! Rhi felt such a rush of rage that, for a moment, she didn't trust herself to say anything at all.

“Why is he apologizing?” her mother repeated. “Who is he?”

“He's just someone I used to know in London, all right?” Rhi said. She could feel her whole body shaking. “Not that it's any of your business.”

Her mother frowned in annoyance. “Don't use that tone with me, Rhi. What is the matter with you at the moment? I swear, I will never understand you.” She held out her hand. “Give back that letter at once.”

Rhi couldn't hold it back any more.

“I understand why Dad left you!” she cried. “I wish more than anything that I could leave you too!”

The moment the words had left her lips, Rhi was wishing she could take them back. All the anger, all the rage – everything vanished in an appalling cloud of guilt. She couldn't believe she had just said something so terrible out loud.

The colour had drained from Rhi's mother's face.

“W … what did you say?” she whispered.

Rhi stared at her mother, aghast. “I … I'm sorry. I…”

Her mother's face seemed to crumple before Rhi's horrified gaze as she burst into tears. Rhi hadn't seen her mother cry since Ruth's funeral. This was awful.

What kind of daughter says something like that to her own mother?
she thought in horror.
Ruth would never have done anything so unkind.

“Mum,” she said, half-choked with tears herself. “I didn't mean that. I was angry, I'm really sorry … I didn't mean it. Honestly, I didn't. Please don't cry.”

She stepped forward instinctively, to give her mother a hug. Then she stopped. Dr Anita Wills didn't do hugs. Maybe that was part of the problem, Rhi thought unhappily. How could she and her mother be such different people?

With a visible effort, Rhi's mother straightened her shoulders, and shook her head like a dog with water in its ears. “Apology accepted,” she said after a moment. Her voice was unsteady. “This has been a difficult time for you. I'm sorry you had to find out about your father and me the way you did.”

“I'm sorry,” Rhi said again. She felt hopelessly inadequate.

Her mother gave a nod and walked out of Rhi's room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Rhi stood alone, staring at the door. That had been intense. She sank slowly on to the bed, reaching up with her hand to push her hair back from her forehead.

The paper that was still clenched in her hand crinkled. Unfolding her fingers, she smoothed the letter out on her knee.

Dear Rhi,

I'm sorry about everything. I wish you knew how sorry. I've tortured myself every day since it happened. All I want is forgiveness. I know it's a lot to ask, but I'm asking anyway. I have nothing else.

Mac

Rhi stared at the scrawled words. Mac wanted forgiveness.

Don't we all
, she thought wearily.

She could barely forgive herself. How was she supposed to forgive
him
?