Keep My Secrets by Elena Wilkes (large ebook reader .txt) 📗

be heading into the darkness towards a cliff edge – as if they might be driving off the end and into nothing.

‘My God, look at the state of you!’

Vanessa was standing in the doorway as Frankie got out of the car.

‘I said to Peter “that child’s never gone out in this, has she?” What on earth were you thinking?’

She enveloped Frankie in a warm bath sheet, soaking clothes and all, as soon as she stepped into the hallway.

‘Keep this wrapped round you, get those shoes and socks off and get yourself upstairs. I’m just running you a hot bath.’

She stood there, tutting, as Frankie picked apart the sodden laces on her trainers, struggling to get them off, and peeled her socks off, inside out.

Peter and Jack bustled in behind her, shaking off the rain like a couple of over-excited dogs.

‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I? Actually, who fancies a hot chocolate? I bet Frankie does.’ Peter grinned round at them all before sloping off into the kitchen. He was over-jolly and bright. He’d left Jack standing in the doorway. Jack’s eyes were large and watchful as his father walked away. He gave Frankie a pointed look and then there was a tiny shake of the head.

‘Yes, she’d love one, I’m sure.’ Vanessa pulled the towel further around her. ‘You have to look after that baby of yours, you know. You can’t just go roaming about in all weathers. Now come on, let’s get you up those stairs.’

Vanessa went ahead and Frankie glanced back. Jack’s face was stony.

‘Are you coming or are you going to stand there shivering?’ Vanessa paused, smiling, mid-step. She didn’t have much choice.

Going into the bathroom, Vanessa bent to turn off the taps before bustling from the bathroom to one of the bedrooms, finding more towels and dry things to put on and a dressing gown and toothbrush.

‘These might be a bit big, you’re only a skinny thing and I’m probably a size bigger.’ Vanessa held out a pair of joggers. ‘But these have a tie waist so you should be okay.’

She shouldn’t be here; she knew that. It allowed them to think all kinds of things about her – things she knew they’d hate if they ever found out the truth.

‘This way.’ Vanessa walked ahead past two tightly closed bedroom doors. ‘I’ve put you in here.’ She pushed open a door revealing a part guest room, part office.

Frankie paused on the threshold, putting a protective hand on her stomach.

‘Are you okay?’ She looked at her, concerned.

‘Just a bit tired.’

‘And we’ve got another long day at court tomorrow.’

The baby quickened again inside her, or was it her heart?

‘I hate going to that place.’

‘I understand completely.’ Vanessa’s eyes were kind and sad. ‘Some things are just too hard to listen to.’ She patted her arm. ‘Look, you need to lie in that bath, relax, and think about nothing but nice things for a while. I’ve put some bubbles in, that’ll have you sorted in no time.’

‘What shall I do with all this wet stuff?’

Vanessa smiled. ‘No problem. While you’re soaking, I’ll put that lot in the washer dryer and we’ll leave these comfy clothes on the radiator. All you have to do is let me look after you, Frankie, if only for one night.’ She gave her a mock stern look.

The thought was almost too tempting. She could easily have lain down right there on the floor and gone to sleep.

‘Okay,’ she said.

‘Good,’ smiled Vanessa. ‘That’s settled then.’

She lay in the bath watching the steam condensing into rivulets down the walls. The wind whistled around the side of the house and the window jiggled a little in the draught. She didn’t dare close her eyes. The draw of sleep dragged at her eyelids and she struggled to keep awake. Her eyes batted open as things began to dawn on her. Charlotte had lain here; she’d looked at the tiles on that wall, she’d seen that bit of a gap where the grout had missed. Her hands had touched the sides of this bath…

She gingerly put the tips of her fingers over the edge. She felt a momentary out-of-body slide: she saw the walls and the door as though it was footage from an old film… someone else’s eyes… eyes that belonged to a dead girl. She blinked, and the room came tumbling back.

She should’ve kept walking tonight. This was more than a mistake. This is wrong.

A wave of guilt rose up again and bit her hard. She took a big, deep breath. So wrong. It would all come out and they would see her for what, and who, she really was.

She’d been to see Martin.

The shame of it twisted her insides.

She knew as soon as the Prison Service envelope landed on the doormat at the home. She could have left it there or put it straight in the bin, but she didn’t. She picked it up, snaffling it away before anyone else could see it. She knew what it contained and what he wanted. The thump in her gut told her she hated him and loved him and neither was winning. If she went to see him then everyone would hate her. If she didn’t go, she knew she would always hate herself.

She’d made a call.

‘Gavin?’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s Frankie Turner.’

Gavin was her social worker: a genuine, nice, but slow kind of guy. Not very good at his job, but no one wanted a social worker who was on the ball, so he was pretty much perfect.

‘I think I should have been to see you or something, shouldn’t I?’ There was the rustle of what sounded like a whole pile of paper. She imagined his desk. Poor Gavin.

‘I think we’re overdue.’

Gavin’s ‘overdue’ made it sound like it was weeks rather than months late.

‘You sound a bit upset. Are you upset?’

‘I’m not upset, Gavin, I just need your help.’

‘Ah.’

There was more crackling of paper. She knew he had no idea. He was the same with all his clients which