Every secret thing
This is my story, and that of my husband and our best
friends. I've changed their names, but
essentially, everything happened as I have written it. I wish it hadn't. I wish
I could just rub out that last awful conversation I had with Amy at the coffee
shop.
Amy and Mike were our oldest friends. We'd known them since college days and
when we married, Mike was Dave's best man and Amy my bridesmaid. Then they
married each other soon after that. At first we saw a lot of each other, dropping in for coffee or having dinner out
together.
When Kirsty was born two years later, we asked them
to be her godparents. They took their duties seriously and never arrived
without a gift for our baby. They were always willing to baby-sit and Kirsty adored them. By this time, Dave had been appointed assistant manager at the bank and we were living in a
starter home in Lansdowne. I stayed home to look after Kirsty
and without my salary as a publisher's assistant there wasn't much money for
shows or dinners out.
Mike had just started his own computer business, Amy was chief buyer for a big
children's clothing store and they had bought a beautiful apartment in Tamboers Kloof, one of those
glass and chrome blocks against the mountain.
Our lives were taking pretty different paths by then, but Mike and Dave kept in
contact with a weekly game of squash. Every Tuesday, without fail, they'd meet
at the gym, get sweaty together and finish with a couple of beers in the pub. The whole male-bonding thing. Amy and I used to laugh about
it but they got quite annoyed if their wives arranged anything else for a
Tuesday night. I think putting the world to rights over the beers was
more important than the game.
Amy and I continued to meet for coffee whenever
we could, but she was often away on buying trips to
I don't know when Amy and Mike gave up on the idea of having children of their
own, but our daughter certainly benefited from their lack of family. They
punctuated the years with fabulous gifts on her birthday and Christmas and
sometimes "because she needs a bit of spoiling." She rewarded
them with hugs and kisses of genuine pleasure, and remained unspoiled, thank
heaven. We stopped protesting their generosity
but I often felt that designer sandals or the latest lap-top computer were a
bit too much for a twelve year old.
But Kirsty, when she turned fourteen, changed from an
impulsive affectionate girl, given to throwing her arms around Mike and kissing
him, to being withdrawn and sulky whenever her godparents visited. She became a
textbook ghastly teenager, stormy and tearful for absolutely no reason,
slamming doors and refusing to come out of her room to greet visitors and
playing pop music until the house vibrated.
Amy laughed it off.
"Heavens, don't worry, I know teenagers are awful, don't you remember
being that age? She's just growing up, that's all."
But I could see Mike was hurt, although the gifts continued
to arrive with every anniversary, usually in an envelope.
Once she was at college however, Kirsty blossomed
into a lovely level- headed girl, a pleasure to live with and a good student.
She qualified as a physiotherapist and took herself off to
After waving Kirsty off to
"Her room feels so empty," I remarked forlornly, feeling the tearful
beginnings of empty nest syndrome.
"Isn't it wonderful?" said Dave, "Let's thank heavens for e-mail
and eat out to celebrate our independence!"
Trust my husband to see things in their right perspective.
We had decided on an expensive steak house in
"Dave! Look over there!" I hissed, "Who's that girl with
Mike?"
Dave took off his glasses and glanced across the room.
"Haven't a clue," he said briefly, "Could be a client. Anyway,
it's none of our business."
Clients don't hold hands with their computer analysts, or slip off their shoes
and run their toes up his leg under the table. I wasn't sure if we should greet
Mike or ignore him, but he solved the problem
himself by leaving through the doors leading to the patio, his arm draped
possessively over the blonde's shoulder.
"So what was that all about?" I persisted. Dave shrugged and refused
to be drawn. Good guys don't gossip, not about their mates, anyway.
By co-incidence, the phone rang the very next day and it was Amy.
"Hi stranger," I said, "Have you just got back from far-off places?"
"No, I've been here, but busy. you know how it
goes. Did Kirsty get off alright?"
"Yes, thanks to your incredible generosity. Honestly, a cheque that size
wasn't necessary, Amy, you two shouldn't spoil her so much."
"Nonsense. What will that buy her overseas? A
couple of hamburgers," she said dismissively. "Anyway, she's our
goddaughter and it's our pleasure. What are you doing this morning? Feel like
coffee? I've got some news."
I met her at a coffee shop, wondering if I should mention that we'd seen Mike
the previous evening but decided not to. Dave was right, it wasn't our
business.
When I saw Amy I was shocked. She had always been slim but now she was
painfully thin, her face drawn and tired. It was three months since we'd met,
and I wondered if she was suffering from some awful disease.
"How are you really?" I asked when the waiter had left. "You
don't look so great."
"Alright. Life's just getting me down a
bit."
"Are you on holiday?"
"No, didn't I tell you? I resigned two months ago. Mike's making the most
ridiculous amount of money these days and I suddenly thought,
what am I slaving away for? So now I'm doing pottery.taking
painting lessons." Her voice trailed off.
"That's nice," I said dubiously, "How's Mike then?"
"He's fine."
There is definitely something wrong here, I thought.
"He's taking flying lessons."
"Yes, I know, he told Dave. Apparently he's bought his own plane?"
"Oh, you know Mike, he loves his toys. He's tried to justify it by saying
it will be a tax write-off but really he just likes the idea of zooming around
playing superman."
She twiddled her coffee cup.
"Actually, Mike and I are getting a divorce."
I was stunned. She gave a twisted little smile.
"Don't look so upset, Fran, it's not the end of the world."
"Isn't it?" I had difficulty in speaking. "Must you? Can't you
two work this out?"
"No," with finality. "This has been
coming on for a couple of years, it's not just a
sudden decision."
"How could you get to this stage and not tell us?" I cried.
"Mike didn't want Dave to know we were having problems."
"What? You mean he hasn't said anything to him at all?"
"No. He kept hoping we'd sort of...come right."
"I can't believe this, you always seemed to get on so well."
"Well, in front of other people we always did. But we're like two complete
strangers at home. He moved into the spare bedroom a year ago."
"It must be awful, living like that."
"And d'you know why we
didn't separate ages ago? Mike can't bear to let his friends and his bloody
family think that his marriage has failed. Can you believe it, we've had his mother over to Sunday lunch twice a month all
these years.. she sits there going on about what a
wonderful son Mike is and how lucky I am to be married to him and what a pity I
never had children because Mike would make such a perfect father.and
I have to listen to this with a straight face. Meanwhile I know that the minute
he's dropped her off after tea, Mike will drive straight round to his little
blonde tart he's been keeping down on the High Street. He didn't even have the
decency to buy her a flat in another suburb. More convenient for him, I
suppose."
I was silent.
"And while I'm letting it all hang out, I may as well tell you the rest.
I've never spoken about this to anyone else. but he
used to get drunk at the weekends and hit me. Didn't you ever wonder why I wore
long sleeved blouses sometimes in summer? That's stopped now, since he's taken
up with these lady friends of his, thank heaven."
She looked at my stricken face and laughed.
"But the worst. are you
ready for this? The worst is the pornography. He's got a collection he
positively drools over. He downloads stuff from the Internet, and he's got a
box of postcards. I saw some once and nearly got sick. Little
girls of about ten years old. I suppose he's a paedophile really. You
should see his latest girl - she's practically over the hill compared with his
others and she's only seventeen.
I was appalled.
Funny, generous, successful Mike. Kirsty's godfather, my husband's
best friend. a monster?
I was absolutely certain that Dave knew nothing about this side of him and I
wondered what he's say when I dropped this bombshell.
As if reading my thoughts, Amy said, "By the way, I know you and Dave are
as one, and all that nonsense, but please don't mention this to him. Not the
divorce or anything else. Mike must be the one to tell him, when he's ready
to."
"Amy, that's crazy. If you're divorcing, everyone will know soon enough,
including his mother and Dave. Surely he can't go on pretending nothing is
happening?"
"Not after the end of this month, he can't. I'm moving out and the lawyer
says it will take about three weeks to file the papers. But let him be the one
to tell Dave. They've got a game next week, he'll
probably mention it then."
I drove back, my mind frozen with shock. Amy's news had completely altered my
picture of Mike and in one morning all those years of friendship and love he'd
shared with us were stained with something evil and
repulsive. And I couldn't help thinking- Kirsty! Had
he ever tried to do anything to Kirsty? Was that why
she turned so cold towards them both? Had she been damaged for life without our
knowing?
That evening it took a superhuman effort not to report my meeting with Amy. Not
that I wanted to be the one to say "By the way, did you know your best
friend is a filthy old paedophile, a druggie and a weekend wife-beater?"
Luckily there wasn't much time for him to notice my silence as he went
out to a ratepayer's meeting and I pretended to be asleep when he got home.
Two days later I was in the garden when the telephone rang.
"Fran?"
It was Amy, her voice soft and flat.
"It's Mike. His plane crashed. He's dead."
"Stay there. I'm coming round."
She was sitting on the sofa staring into space, her eyes dry.
"Do you think he killed himself?" she asked tonelessly.
"Of course not. It was an accident, surely."
"Do you believe in the power of thought?"
"Oh come on, Amy, you didn't really want him to die. No, I don't believe
that thoughts can crash a plane, absolutely not."
I made her some coffee and sat with her on the sofa and held her hand. I felt
more upset than Amy looked, she seemed to be too calm
and showed absolutely no emotion. Suddenly she jerked slightly.
"His mother. Oh lord, I'll have to tell his
bloody mother. Come with me, please."
I drove her to the retirement home. Amy was perfectly controlled, even
remembering to lock to door of her car before we went in. She held the old
lady's hand and stared out of the window, while his mother cried soundlessly
against her shoulder. I stood in the corner feeling like an interloper,
listening to the words tumbling out between sobs.
"He was the best, the best son - they say God always takes the best. Oh Mikey, how could you go like that? Amy, how could you let
him take up flying? I knew it would end badly..oh Mikey, Mikey."
The Matron came with a sedative and after half an hour we left.
"Come home with me, Amy. Sleep at our house tonight, you don't want to be
on your own."
"No thanks, I've got things I must do. But thanks. For
everything."
And that was that.
Amy didn't have to upset his mother by telling her they were on the brink of
divorce, or the reason why. None of their friends had to know a thing,
including Dave, although I planned to tell him later when the time seemed
right.
Amy asked Dave to give the eulogy. He worked on his speech for two nights
before the funeral and I prayed he'd get through it without breaking down.
But he was fine, and all the things he said about Mike were true, his love for
his friend shining through for all in the church to hear. The tears ran
unchecked down my cheeks, but they were tears for Dave and Amy.
Mike had been popular, and the church was packed with friends and business
acquaintances.
"What a tragedy for Amy," they said at the tea afterward. "What
a lovely couple they were. How she'll miss him." I watched Amy smiling
sadly at people who came up to offer their condolences and thought how
difficult it must be for her, pretending her grief.
When Amy put the house up for sale shortly afterwards, Dave said,
"Isn't she taking it well? Keeping busy, that's the best thing. Lucky,
Mike had a flat on the High Street he'd bought as an investment, it will suit
her perfectly. That huge apartment of theirs probably has too many
memories."
She came to supper soon afterwards.
"I find it helps so much to talk of Mike," she said wistfully, with a
wan little smile. "And it's so comforting to be with you folks who
knew him so well."
She'll tell Dave now, I thought. I hope she'll be tactful and leave out the
stuff about the porn and the drugs. Just tell him about the girl friends and
the divorce.
She spent the rest of the evening talking about Mike.
What a lovely man he'd been. His fabulous sense of humour, how he'd helped
people in trouble, what a hard worker he'd been. What
a wonderful father he'd have made, if only.
"It was his wretched work that killed him," said Amy sorrowfully.
"He never let up for a minute. He was under terrible strain you know. I'd
give anything to bring him back."
"I know you would, old thing," said Dave, his eyes moist. "I
miss him more than I can say and it's ten times worse for you. But at least you
can look back on all those happy times together."
"I was just so blessed for twenty years," she said softly. "Twenty wonderful years."
"You made Mike a very happy man, Amy," said Dave gently.
She looked up into his concerned, affectionate face.
"Yes, we had each other, and that's all we ever wanted."
She didn't look at me, not once.
That was over a year ago, and that was the last time we saw Amy. She's completely
cut us out of her life. Dave's hurt, he can't understand it. He keeps urging me
to invite her round for supper, or for drinks. I've tried to, a couple of
times.
But I know she'll never come.
If only she'd never told me.
Ginny Swart
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|
Name |
Comment |
Date |
|
James Tobias |
Would love your input on just one
of my pieces. Show me yours and I'll show you mine? |
2008-02-15 |
|
Mandy |
This is a captivating piece of writing
Ginny. It kept me guessing and wondering and I am still trying to piece it
together. Points 5 - Perfect! This piece of writing, in my opinion, cannot be
improved! |
2008-02-15 |
|
Louis |
A remarkable tale of deception and
abuse. A wonderful example of how characters can drive a plot. I am not new
to Ginny's work. She rates as one of the
most respected writers in my eyes. Her words are strong enough to
engage men, and flamboyant enough to attract women. Most of her stories
have a twist. This one is no different. What starts off as
a banal family introduction, becomes a compelling read as blow after blow,
Ginny unravels subjects like love, abuse and a motive for murder. In
the story, a question is raised, |
2008-02-17 |
|
James |
There is no doubting your talent. What
caught my attention (outside of the story) was the glowing crits at the end. I decided to look at your other
submissions and sure enough there was the very same justifiable praise. Points 4 - Pretty close to perfect. I was captivated |
2008-02-21 |