The Keeper of Secrets (6 page)

‘Why? Is there a reason for you to feel guilty? And you're right, Elle, being drunk doesn't suit you. You haven't got the constitution to keep up with some I could mention.'

‘I think he means me,' Angie whispered loudly. She was never one to sidestep an argument. ‘But you can't blame me for leading your wife astray this time. If Elle had gone out as planned, she would have been driving, as usual, and wouldn't have gotten into this sorry mess. So what was the big emergency?'

‘A work thing. Nothing you'd be interested in these days. Now, do you think you can manage to call a taxi for yourself, or would you like me to do it?' he asked, deliberately ignoring the fact that Angie was standing in front of him dressed in a onesie and unashamedly twirling her tiger tail.

‘I can do it,' Angie said as she turned her back on Rick to retrieve her mobile from her bag. She raised a meaningful eyebrow to Elle but thankfully didn't challenge Rick's false alibi.

‘I'd better check on Charlie. I don't suppose you have, Elle,' Rick said, turning on his heel without another word.

‘If you do ever decide to use that wonderful, under-employed brain of yours,' Angie whispered, ‘then you and Charlie are welcome to come and stay with me. My new pad has a guest room.'

Elle told Angie that she shouldn't worry and that she was happy with her lot. The truth was she couldn't face dealing with the future when so much in the past remained to be confronted. She was ready to start pulling at the final thread of her dad's life, but only time would tell how much of her own life would unravel along with it.

The hardest part about arranging the meeting was providing Rick with sufficient excuse to return to Knotty Ash one last time. Considering how much he had complained about the quote they had received from the clearance company, Elle thought he would be more than happy for her to clear out the clutter as agreed. But after Angie's visit, Rick had become far more interested in her daytime activities than ever before and the more she argued that she should go, the more convinced he was that she shouldn't. It was hard to tell who was the most surprised when she put her foot down and said she was going with or without his approval.

Elle worked at a frenetic pace to have the house cleared before midday. She dropped the last few bags of clothing off at a charity shop on her way into Liverpool city centre, parked the car and set off towards the Pier Head. The restaurant at Mann Island was Angie's suggestion and was discreet enough not to risk bumping into anyone who might know Rick.

The light refreshing breeze cooled her down and cleared her mind as she walked along the Strand. On her left was the Albert Dock and she caught a glimpse of a bright yellow boat packed with tourists. The thought of the tour guide giving his running commentary on the sights as well as the history of the Liverpool docks brought a smile to her face. She had taken Charlie on the boat tour with her parents when he was a toddler and he had loved it. They all had, her dad most of all because he had quickly discovered a captive audience and regaled his fellow travellers with stories of his adventures on the high seas. Her mum had been mortified and felt sorry for the poor guide, who could barely get a word in, and had held back to speak to him when they were disembarking. ‘It's such a shame,' she had told him kindly, without the hint of the lie she was about to impart: ‘the biggest boat he's ever been on is the Mersey ferry.' The look of shock on the tour guide's face was nothing compared to Harry's when she confessed a short time later.

The laughter and the sunshine from that day were hard but not impossible to recall as Elle neared the waterfront. The wind began to intensify until eventually she was struggling to walk in a straight line. It was going to be a real challenge for anyone less sprightly and she wondered if her choice of venue had been a good idea. But then the whole meeting could prove to be nothing but a big mistake.

She arrived at the Brasco Lounge with ten minutes to spare. Once through the doors, the contrast with the outside world was stark. The shabby-chic decor with its bare-wood tables and mismatched chairs was warm and welcoming, although not quite relaxing enough to quell Elle's nerves. She checked the scattering of windswept customers who were holding onto steaming cups and chatting to their companions. No one appeared to be anxiously awaiting her arrival.

Elle stood at the bar and stared at the wine list. A glass of pinot was tempting but she would be driving later. Besides, she didn't want to leave any lingering smell of alcohol for Rick to pick up on. She ordered a latte and, like her fellow refugees from the storm, hugged it to her as she settled into a worn leather sofa in a far corner of the glass-fronted restaurant.

She had the perfect vantage point to people-watch and spent her time second guessing who would stumble on by and who would be drawn into the warmth of the restaurant. She pitied the trail of schoolchildren in bright-red blazers who were being shepherded towards the waterfront and she hoped for their sake that they were heading for the nearby Museum of Liverpool and not a brisk walk along the promenade. She was so preoccupied that she almost missed the elegant woman in a dark blue woollen coat with matching hat that she kept in place with a leather gloved hand. She seemed sophisticated and Elle guessed her to be about sixty. She was about to dismiss her as a possible candidate when the woman stepped through the door, took a deep breath and then looked straight towards her. A flicker of recognition crossed her face.

‘Elaine?' she asked as she drew nearer.

‘I haven't been called that for years,' Elle said. It had been Rick's idea to reinvent his wife. He would have loved her to complete the transformation by being as well-spoken as Corinne, but although her accent had softened over the years, she clung to her roots out of loyalty and a good measure of obstinacy.

There was polite argument about getting drinks, which Elle won. By the time she returned with two coffees and a couple of slices of cake, Corinne had slipped out of her woollen camouflage. She looked more elegant than ever, with silky, straight white hair pinned back neatly in a French twist and a simple shift dress with matching midnight blue jacket. Elle felt decidedly underdressed in her jeans and oversized shirt.

They had spoken only briefly to arrange the meeting. Elle had merely explained who she was and had told Corinne that she had something that belonged to her. Now, five minutes into the showdown, the conversation seemed to be stalled on polite pleasantries. Elle had lost her nerve and one look at the chocolate cake she had mistakenly ordered made her fight back a wave of nausea.

‘So, what is it you want to know?' Corinne asked.

The directness of the question jolted Elle out of her mental paralysis, but rather than answer immediately she placed the prepared stack of envelopes on the table in front of her. ‘You loved my dad once, didn't you?'

The twinkle in Corinne's eye was one of surprise. ‘I thought these were lost for ever. May I?' She picked up the letters and began leafing through them as she spoke. ‘I don't suppose there's any point in denying it, is there?'

‘I'd like to think the time for keeping secrets is over,' Elle replied. ‘Please, I need to know.'

Before answering, Corinne wrapped her hands around her letters as if she could absorb each and every word she had written. ‘Your dad and I were in love, yes. I'd even go so far as to say to that we were star-crossed lovers – or so we thought at the time. I came from a very middle-class family. My father was an MP who had great expectations for his only child. I was about to head off to Cambridge to study languages when I met Harry. The sixties may sound like a liberating time to grow up in, but this was very early on, practically still the fifties in many respects, and the old class distinctions were as strong as ever. Your dad saw the division even if I refused to acknowledge it.'

‘You put a lot of effort into reassuring my dad that he was good enough for you.'

‘And I failed miserably,' she added. ‘It drove a wedge between us in the end. I did well at university and one of my father's contacts offered me a one-year placement overseas as an interpreter. I wasn't interested. I wanted to finish my education and return home to Harry and become a teacher, but he thought I would be making a huge sacrifice. I didn't see it that way. We could have been happy, but he wouldn't listen. Out of the blue he decided to join the navy. He promised that when he became a naval officer he would finally be able to take his place by my side. Later, when he realized that wasn't going to happen, he ended our relationship.'

Corinne had already picked out the envelope that held the very last letter she had sent him. She took it out and stared at it.

‘And was it the end?'

When Corinne looked up, her eyes were glistening but she staunched her tears as she watched Elle place another smaller set of exhibits on the table in front of her. Corinne had the good grace to blush.

‘I went on to become a teacher – that part of my life at least went according to plan. And as you know, your dad became a teacher too. It was inevitable I suppose that our paths would cross again.'

‘Had he always wanted to teach?' Elle asked. It was a question she had never before considered. She had grown up knowing that he had once been in the navy and she had simply assumed his training had given him the skills and discipline to take up physical education.

From the look on Elle's face it was obvious she'd already started making the connections for herself. So Corinne answered, ‘No. He deliberately chose teaching so there was a chance we would bump into each other again.'

‘He told you that?'

Corinne nodded.

‘But he met Mum before he left the navy. Which means that while he was deciding to settle down with her, he still picked out a career that would lead him back to you,' Elle said, thinking out loud.

Corinne nodded again but less confidently this time, even though it was a statement of fact.

‘And when your paths crossed again, you resumed your affair.'

Corinne had taken a sip of coffee and took her time placing it back on the saucer. She dabbed her lips with a serviette. ‘We resumed our friendship,' she said carefully. ‘And yes, it was a friendship that was secret from our respective spouses, but a friendship nonetheless. We both had families and your dad took his responsibilities seriously.'

‘So he stayed with Mum, the woman who wasn't too good for him, out of duty?' Elle asked, the words catching at the back of her throat.

‘Isn't it possible that he loved us both?'

Elle shook her head. As someone who struggled to love just one person, it was beyond her comprehension that someone could truly love two people at the same time. Not honourably, at least.

‘The point is, he stayed. That was the path he chose. I, on the other hand, didn't have quite the same sense of duty or honour. It was ironic, frustrating even that your dad always believed I was his better but I was the one who walked out on my marriage. I had married for all the wrong reasons. I was expected to fill the mould my parents had prepared for me and, at the time, I was happy to go along with their plans because I wanted to punish Harry for rejecting me. But I ended up wasting too much of my life with the wrong man. Even though it became clear that I couldn't be with the one I loved, I couldn't continue to live a lie.'

‘But my dad could,' Elle said flatly. ‘Did he get in touch after you sent him the sympathy card?'

Corinne was busy tidying up the pile of envelopes, seemingly preoccupied. ‘I met your dad briefly a few months after your mum died.' She was shaking her head. ‘He was inconsolable. He felt so guilty.'

‘But you were both free, weren't you?' Elle challenged. ‘Why didn't you make up for lost time?'

Corinne seemed not to be listening. ‘He thought she'd burnt them all. Where did you find them?'

‘My son found them buried in a box in the garden. Hold on a minute …
She
burnt them? Mum?' Elle asked, not quite ready to let her mind process the information. Slowly the truth revealed itself like a slow-motion train wreck. ‘Oh my God. Mum found the box and she came to the same conclusion that I came to. Even if she had been aware of Dad's earlier relationship with you, she would have seen the tickets. She would have known.'

Ellie was desperate for Corinne to jump in and correct her assumptions, but her response was an almost imperceptible nod. ‘He tried to convince her that he had remained faithful but …'

‘But you don't have to have sex to break your marriage vows,' Elle finished for her.

In the silence that followed, she scrutinized the old lady's face. There was something Corinne wasn't telling her.

‘I don't remember them falling out. When was this?' Elle asked, but then didn't wait for the answer. She had worked it out for herself. ‘If my dad thought the letters had been burned then it could only have been mum who buried them in the garden. Despite everything, she still loved him. She couldn't destroy something that he cared so deeply about. Charlie was just four years old when she died. If he can remember her burying the box then it must have been shortly before she had the stroke …' She pushed herself back hard against the sofa, as far away from the letters as she could possibly manage. ‘That was why she died. Those bits of paper are what killed her.'

‘Harry was wracked with guilt, Elle. He blamed himself and it destroyed him. He could barely face me.'

Elle stood up so quickly she jarred her shin against the table. ‘I have to go.'

Without a backward glance she made her way through the restaurant and was still buttoning up her coat as she stepped out into the storm. She walked towards the river and carried on walking. Elle was two miles away before she found what she had been looking for: a section of the promenade that was completed deserted. She leaned over the railings and looked down into the raging waters below. Her frozen hands wrapped tightly around the cold metal. She wasn't thinking, her mind as numb as her fingers. All she could see was the thread of her life unravelling year by year, zigzagging at a furious rate. She put her booted foot on the lower bar of the railings, which lifted her a few inches higher. She didn't want to think, she didn't want to be shocked out of the trance. Denial was a state of mind that had served her well for years. Elle had only enough strength to keep one thought and one person in her mind's eye. Charlie. His face acted like a dam but the pressure kept building until she couldn't hold it back any more. She stared down into the grey depths of the Mersey and then without warning the first emotions were ripped from her body and her screams were whipped away by a pitiless arctic gale.