The Secrets She Keeps, page 37
“What have you decided to do?” I ask.
“I’m going to try to get Gina pregnant, but I might hold on to this.”
“Well, I don’t know how long that sample is good for, but this is a one-off opportunity.”
Simon looks at me with a sparkle in his eyes, which could be the champagne. “Do you know?”
“I’ve always known.”
“So he’s not mine?”
“No.”
Simon slips the test tube into his pocket as Jack arrives wearing a Santa hat that is too small for his head. He puts his hand against the small of my back. In the old days, he would have hugged me, but now he is feeling his way back into my affections, always asking permission before crossing any threshold. “What are you two whispering about?” he asks.
“Babies,” I say, leaning my head back to kiss his cheek.
“We’re not having any more,” he says in mock horror.
“Not us,” I say, nodding towards Simon.
“Really? Is Gina . . . ?”
“No,” says Simon.
“But you’re . . . ?”
“Having fun trying.”
“Good for you,” says Jack. “What took you so long?”
“I’ve been waiting for the right woman to come along,” says Simon, giving me a sad, sweet smile.
Shooing them both out of the kitchen, I check the turkey and turn the potatoes. Ben makes a cooing sound and gives me a beautiful smile, his first, lighting up his eyes. He is a precious gift, an oops baby who stumbled into the world and captivated a nation, which shone a spotlight onto our small, humdrum lives for a brief period. I don’t know what they discovered, but certainly not a perfect marriage. That would be boring. We need the darkness to appreciate the light, and the bumps along the road to stop us falling asleep at the wheel.
Will Jack and I last? I have no idea. We’re together and we’re still in love and we have three beautiful children, so I’m putting my money on silver if not gold. Anniversaries, I mean.
Whatever happens, we will always have Lucy and Lachlan and Ben. Children are like time capsules that we shoot into the future, hoping there will still be a world for them to inherit. I don’t know if they are chips off the same block, or if one apple has fallen farther from the tree, but what does it matter?
They are loved. Longed for. Ours.
AGATHA
* * *
The morning after I killed myself, I opened my eyes and saw the light angling through the blinds and felt the sheets against my skin and the cool air being drawn through my nostrils.
Someone knocked on the door and pushed it open.
“Good morning, Agatha, my name is Colin.” He carried a breakfast tray and his white uniform seemed to glow against his black skin. The tray had toast and scrambled eggs made with lots of parsley and a dollop of cream.
“Where am I?” I asked.
“You’re in hospital.”
“Am I sick?”
“Your mind needs fixing.”
Later they let me go to the lounge, where the staff had put up a Christmas tree with brightly colored baubles and twinkling lights and an angel perched at the very top. I looked out the window, which had vertical bars, and I saw the winter outside.
In the afternoon I had a visitor—a nice man named Cyrus who let me hold his hand as I told him about my life. Nobody has ever listened to me like that—not my mother, or my stepfather, or Mr. Bowler, or Nicky, or Hayden, or the fertility doctors, or random men I took home and fucked, hoping to fall pregnant.
“Have you ever been to Tahiti?” I asked him.
“No. Have you?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I go there all the time.”
“Tell me about your other babies.”
“You’ll never understand.”
“I’d like to try.”
That evening I sat in a wheelchair in front of the TV, listening to a choir sing Christmas carols, and I was glad that I didn’t die.
“What would you like to do tomorrow, Agatha?” asked Colin. “We have yoga and Pilates, or you could do some planting in the greenhouse.”
“Oh, I can’t do that,” I said. “My daughter is coming to visit. She’s driving all the way from Leeds.”
“What’s her name?”
“I don’t know, but she’s very pretty and clever and she’ll tell me her name when she gets here.”
On the morning after I killed myself . . . and the next morning . . . and the one after that, which was Christmas Day. . . I learned how to wait.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
* * *
Having penned twelve novels, it is a wonderful thing to come to the blank page with all the same excitement and wonder as when I wrote the first lines of The Suspect in 2002. Often readers ask me if I have a favorite book among those I’ve written, and I always answer that choosing one would be like disclosing that I have a favorite child. (They each have their moments.)
What I will say is that I strive to push myself as a writer, never falling back on a formula or writing the same story twice. This is particularly true of The Secrets She Keeps, a novel whose structure, substance, and twin voices are the most ambitious I’ve ever tackled. If I have succeeded it is because of some wonderful editors, most notably Mark Lucas, Lucy Malagoni, Rebecca Saunders, Ursula Mackenzie, Colin Harrison, and Richard Pine.
I am indebted to my wonderful publishing teams at Little, Brown Book Group UK, Hachette Australia, Goldmann in Germany, and the renowned Scribner in the United States, who are publishing me for the first time. I hope this is the start of a beautiful partnership.
A special thanks to Lisa Soussa, who generously donated to the wonderful charity Dreams2live4 and won the right to have a character named after her in the novel.
Saving the best until last, I acknowledge my beautiful and talented daughters, Alex, Charlotte, and Bella, and the woman they most take after, their mother, Vivien, my wife, the one. She knows she’s the favorite.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
* * *
© TONY MOTT
Michael Robotham is a former investigative journalist whose psychological thrillers have been translated into twenty-three languages. In 2015, he won the prestigious Gold Dagger from the UK’s Crime Writers’ Association for his novel Life or Death, which was also shortlisted for the 2016 Edgar Award for Best Novel. Michael has twice won a Ned Kelly Award for Australia’s best crime novel, for Lost in 2005 and Shatter in 2008. He has also twice been shortlisted for the CWA Ian Fleming Steel Dagger, in 2007 for The Night Ferry and in 2008 for Shatter. Michael lives in Sydney with his wife and three daughters, who are growing up and leaving home.
MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT
SimonandSchuster.com
Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Michael-Robotham
ALSO BY MICHAEL ROBOTHAM
The Suspect
Lost
The Night Ferry
Shatter
Bombproof
Bleed for Me
The Wreckage
Say You’re Sorry
Watching You
Close Your Eyes
Life or Death
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ISBN 978-1-5011-7031-7
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Table of Contents
Dedication
Epigraph
Part One
Chapter 1: Agatha
Chapter 2: Meghan
Chapter 3: Agatha
Chapter 4: Meghan
Chapter 5: Agatha
Chapter 6: Meghan
Chapter 7: Agatha
Chapter 8: Meghan
Chapter 9: Agatha
Chapter 10: Meghan
Chapter 11: Agatha
Chapter 12: Meghan
Chapter 13: Agatha
Chapter 14: Meghan
Chapter 15: Agatha
Chapter 16: Meghan
Chapter 17: Agatha
Chapter 18: Meghan
Chapter 19: Agatha
Chapter 20: Meghan
Chapter 21: Agatha
Chapter 22: Meghan
Chapter 23: Agatha
Chapter 24: Meghan
Chapter 25: Agatha
Chapter 26: Meghan
Chapter 27: Agatha
Chapter 28: Meghan
Chapter 29: Agatha
Chapter 30: Meghan
Chapter 31: Agatha
Chapter 32: Meghan
Chapter 33: Agatha
Chapter 34: Meghan
Chapter 35: Agatha
Chapter 36: Meghan
Chapter 37: Agatha
Chapter 38: Meghan
Chapter 39: Agatha
Part Two
Chapter 40: Meghan
Chapter 41: Agatha
Chapter 42: Meghan
Chapter 43: Agatha
Chapter 44: Meghan
Chapter 45: Agatha
Chapter 46: Meghan
Chapter 47: Agatha
Chapter 48: Meghan
Chapter 49: Agatha
Chapter 50: Meghan
Chapter 51: Agatha
Chapter 52: Meghan
Chapter 53: Agatha
Chapter 54: Meghan
Chapter 55: Agatha
Chapter 56: Meghan
Chapter 57: Agatha
Chapter 58: Meghan
Chapter 59: Agatha
Chapter 60: Meghan
Chapter 61: Agatha
Chapter 62: Meghan
Chapter 63: Agatha
Chapter 64: Meghan
Chapter 65: Agatha
Chapter 66: Meghan
Chapter 67: Agatha
Chapter 68: Meghan
Chapter 69: Agatha
Chapter 70: Meghan
Chapter 71: Agatha
Chapter 72: Meghan
Chapter 73: Agatha
Chapter 74: Meghan
Chapter 75: Agatha
Chapter 76: Meghan
Chapter 77: Agatha
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Michael Robotham, The Secrets She Keeps
