Little Secrets Page 7

“Thanks,” Jean said, coming in from the office and picking the glasses up between her fingers and taking them to the dishwasher.

  Mia began pouring him a soda, the spits of fizz hitting her fingers as it reached the top. The guy spent so much time in the tavern, yet he never drank alcohol.

  “Are priests not allowed to drink?” she asked.

  “Mia!” Jean turned around and looked at her sharply.

  “I’ve been dying to ask!”

  Father just smiled. “It’s not prohibited, but I prefer not to. Plus, one of the boys usually needs a lift home.”

  She smiled at him as he took the soda and returned to his seat. He was so charitable; it was next level. Although part of her thought maybe he just got a bit lonely hanging out in the church by himself. She imagined it would be pretty creepy there alone at night.

  Jean stood close to her, her bosom pushing warmly onto Mia’s arm.

  “I’ve been dying to ask too,” she said quietly, in that scratchy voice of hers.

  Mia suppressed a giggle as Jean went back into the office. She pulled the wet, fogged-up glasses from the washer, shutting the lid with her foot. Bazza caught her eye and smiled at her, warmly. Why had it taken her so long to notice what a great guy he was? Maybe it was because of the way Frank talked about him as if he was an idiot. Rose as well.

  Mia used to have a crush on Jonesy. He was a cop too, on highway patrol. He was a tall, thin guy, his clothes always looking too short at the ankles but too wide at the waist. Somehow, he always gave Mia the impression that he was laughing at her. One drunken night, she’d given him a blow job around the back of the tavern. He’d gone out for a smoke and she’d pretended that she wanted one too. When she’d taken a puff she’d started coughing. He’d raised his eyebrow at her, told her she was cute and somehow they were kissing before she even knew it. The taste of tobacco in his mouth made her eyes water.

  Desperately, she’d wanted to impress him. To show him that he had underestimated her. That was why she’d given him the blow job, just to see what he’d do. But as soon as his dick was in her mouth she wished she hadn’t started it. She didn’t feel as powerful as she’d thought she would. Afterward, he just zipped up his pants, went back inside and still talked to her in the exact same dismissive way he always had.

  Bazza was different. She had never even noticed him until the night of the big fire. She remembered it vividly. The acrid stink of smoke, the windows of the courthouse exploding, one after another. She’d stood there, hands over her mouth, trying not to cry. Out of nowhere, Baz was beside her.

  “You okay?” he’d said.

  She had just looked at him, and then his big arm was around her. Immediately, everything had felt a little easier, just like when she was with Rose. Every time she thought about him, she could still feel that warm, heavy, protective arm across her shoulders.

  Rose came back into the bar, her hand over her mouth.

  “What?” Mia asked, but Rose didn’t reply. Instead, a small smile crept out from under Rose’s hand.

  “Who was it?”

  “Don’t laugh,” Rose said, and her eyes were all lit up in a way Mia hadn’t seen for a while. Not since she’d told her about being short-listed for the cadetship. Something cold gripped Mia’s stomach.

  “Just tell me.”

  “I sent an article in to the Star.”

  “The Star?” Mia asked, both desperately wanting to know what Rose would say and also frantically trying to put off knowing. “Don’t you think they’re a joke?”

  She wasn’t ready for Rose to go. Not yet, not quite yet.

  “I do, but who cares? I’ve got to start somewhere. I sent them an article this morning. They’re going to publish it!”

  “What article?” Mia asked. “You didn’t mention it.”

  Rose looked at her, and Mia knew her reaction was all wrong. “Just something stupid about those dolls,” Rose said. “It doesn’t matter though—it’s my first byline.”

  “That’s fantastic!” Mia grabbed Rose’s hand and grinned. “I knew I could see your success in the stars.”

  “I guess you did!” she said gleefully.

  “This is so great,” Mia said, letting go of Rose’s hand and turning to put down the tea towel so that she could let her smile drop.

  “And they said they want me to write a follow-up piece and they’ll publish that too!”

  It was happening; Rose’s big breakthrough, her ticket out of Colmstock. Rose was always saying they’d go together, but Mia knew it would never happen. She couldn’t leave. She turned back around and threw her arms around Rose.

  “Congratulations,” she said, squeezing her tight and trying her hardest to focus on Rose’s happiness and block out the fear of what her life would be like without her.

  10

  Rose had never experienced happiness like this before. It was just the Star, which she knew was a pretty crappy newspaper, but still she felt giddy. It made her want to smile at people on the street; it even made church slightly more bearable. Slightly.

  The pews were full today. Father stood at the altar, giving his sermon. Usually, Rose didn’t even bother to look interested, but today she tried her hardest to actually listen.

  “‘Now have come the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God, and the authority of His Christ,’” he read. Rose wished they had one of those young, hip priests she’d heard about. Someone who made their sermons relevant to people’s actual lives. She looked around the room, wondering if it was someone here who had left that doll on her doorstep. Should she hate them or thank them?

  Rose was squeezed tight between Scott and Sophie. She always chose to sit between them. It was easier than trying to get them to stop squabbling if they were next to each other. Next to Sophie was Laura, who was leaning against their mother. Last Sunday, Laura had started crying because their mum would not let her sit on her lap. It was loud and embarrassing. But now she seemed happy enough, sucking her thumb with her eyes taking in the room. Church was the one time you saw everyone with their families. She could see the back of Frank’s head. He was sitting near the front with his elderly mother listening intently, as he always did.

  “‘For the accuser of our brethren is cast down,’” Father continued, “‘which accused them before our God day and night.’”

  Bazza was sitting in a row with his three brothers. They looked very alike, with their broad shoulders and dumb eyes. Not that you could have seen their eyes today, or any other Sunday. All four of them were asleep in a line, their chins lolling on their chests.

  “‘They have gained the victory over him by the blood of the lamb and of their testimony; and because they held their lives cheap and not shrink even from death.’”

  Rose wondered what kind of dreams they would be having. She noticed Mia was watching Baz too. Rose caught her eye and made a dumb face, pretending to drool out the side of her mouth. Mia snorted as she tried to hold in her laughter. Mrs. Cunningham, the councilman’s wife, shot her a disapproving look.

  Father hesitated, looking around for the source of the laughter. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Mia and Rose stared back at him innocently, just as Bazza let out a loud snore.

  Suppressing her own rising giggle, Rose looked over to see what Mrs. Cunningham would do. But she just continued staring at the Father, sniffing with disapproval. Unlike her husband, Steve, Mrs. Cunningham was a pain in the butt. It was only Steve who was from England originally, and although she was born in Colmstock, Mrs. Cunningham often mimicked his Pommy accent. Rose guessed she thought it made her sound posh. Really it just made her sound like a fake.

  As soon as the sermon had finished, everyone was on their feet. Rose ducked and wove between people to get to Mia.

  “Nothing to worry about—that’s what you keep saying. B
ut I am worried, Frank.”

  It wasn’t the words that made her hesitate, but the way they were said. There was enough emotion in them to make her head snap up, looking for the speaker.

  “Honestly, mate, there’s nothing to suggest—”

  “Have you read the paper this morning?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Rose felt her face color.

  “I want to know who left that thing on my doorstep.”

  “We’re looking into—”

  “Yes, you’ve said that before. But whoever killed my son is still out there too.”

  Rose took a step closer. It was Mr. Riley.

  “This guy killed our boy, burned down our livelihood—we need to know why.”

  “We are doing everything—”

  “And now we have to worry about our daughter as well? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  Frank didn’t say anything this time. Poor Mr. Riley. The last thing Rose wanted was for her article to upset him. Their family had been through enough.

  Rose inched closer. Frank looked around, noticing the movement. He locked eyes with her and she ducked away, running out the front doors of the church. Mia was already there, waiting for her. She had leaned against the wall, the morning sun making her look like an oil painting of gold and bronze. For a moment, she looked sad, but when she saw Rose her face changed.

  The bell on the door of the post office chimed when they bounded inside. Rose ripped the Star off the shelf and began flicking through the pages. Looking for her name, part of her still not really believing she would see it.

  “Look!” Mia said, stabbing the page with her finger. There it was. Her name in black and white. Her insides glowed.

  “Page ten,” she said. “Not bad!”

  “Page ten is excellent! I’m framing it,” Mia said, grabbing another copy of the newspaper. She put it on the register and plopped a chocolate bar on top. Rose listened to Mia’s small talk with the clerk, staring at her article. Grinning, she folded the newspaper under her arm. On the shelf next to the papers was stationery. A pale blue notebook caught her eye. Rose had this thing about notebooks. She loved buying them, like if she got a perfect one the ideas she wrote inside would be perfect too. She flicked through the pages. Each page had faint gray lines and the corners were rounded. The white notebook she had now wasn’t even half finished, but she could always buy this one now to use after it was. It would be something to mark the occasion. After all, it was her very first publication.

  Rose smiled at the cashier and put down the notebook on top of the Star.

  “You should get her to sign this,” Mia said, tapping the paper. “First publication of the most famous journalist of our times.”

  Rose cringed with embarrassment as Mia laughed and the cashier smiled and nodded politely.

  * * *

  “Breakfast of champions.” Mia broke the chocolate bar in two as they left the store. She gave half to Rose as they walked back toward where Mia had parked outside Eamon’s.

  They passed the Rileys’ grocery store, or what had once been their grocery store. It was half burned now, the whole side of the building black from where the flames had licked it. The courthouse was worse though. The building, which had once been one of the nicer-looking ones in town, was now a mess of charcoal.

  “You know, the Rileys’ daughter got a doll,” Rose said. “Baz told me.”

  “God. That poor family.”

  “Mr. Riley was angry with Frank in church—I overheard him.”

  Mia shrugged. “I bet he was. But it’s not like it’s Frank’s fault.”

  Rose looked at the charcoal. “They’ve got the worst luck.”

  Mia and Rose had been at Eamon’s when it had happened, just one month ago. Everything was normal. Just another slow Wednesday shift. Then out of nowhere, phones started beeping and ringing. Within an instant, the cops were on their feet and running out the door. Something was happening. They had looked at each other, mouths open in question, and then Jean had come out of the office and walked straight to the doorway. Through the windows next to her, they could see the glow of it. Orange against the black night.

  “What do you want to do today?” Mia asked, very forcibly changing the subject. The chocolate in Rose’s hand was starting to melt. She put it in her mouth and then licked the brown drip from the side of her wrist.

  “I need an interview,” Rose said after she swallowed, enjoying the feeling of the sugar hitting her empty stomach as she chewed the melting chocolate.

  “Frank?”

  “Nah, I doubt it. He doesn’t want anyone worrying about it,” Rose said slowly as they walked down the pavement.

  “Do you think he’ll be angry about what you wrote?”

  “Hope not.” The truth was, Rose hadn’t even considered what Frank would think until she’d seen how upset Mr. Riley was outside church that morning.

  Passing Eamon’s, Rose looked inside at the darkened bar. It was strange to imagine that Will was inside there right now, alone.

  “Will’s weird, don’t you think?” she asked Mia.

  “Who’s Will?” Mia said, licking her fingers.

  “The guest.”

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot his name. Yeah, I guess. Why?”

  “I just don’t understand why he’s in town—it doesn’t make sense.”

  “He’s visiting family,” Mia said.

  Rose stopped and looked at her. “How do you know that?”

  Mia laughed. “Because he told me, idiot.”

  “Why?” Rose pressed.

  “What’s with you? Do you li-ike him?”

  “No,” Rose said. “You know I don’t!”

  Mia raised her eyebrows and they kept walking toward her car.

  “So, why did he tell you?”

  “Rose,” Mia said, grinning, “I know you’re not one for polite conversation, but I am. When I served him the other night I asked him what he was doing in town. It’s just good manners.”

  Rose thought on that for a second as they reached Mia’s car. Rose pulled open the passenger-side door.

  “And he said he was here to see family?” she asked, but Mia wasn’t even listening to her anymore. She was looking over at the police station. There was a commotion going on; four women were standing out in front, talking loudly.

  “There she is!” one of them called.

  The four of them turned, staring at Rose, then walked down toward them, copies of the Star under their arms.

  “Uh-oh. You’re in trouble,” Mia whispered.

  The four women were middle-aged, and still in their church clothes. Rose recognized one of them as her former year-six teacher, Mrs. Scott. Beside her stood two women with matching blond bobs and black regrowth and a doughy-looking woman with tears running down her cheeks.

  They watched the women approach, the sun bouncing off the concrete around them. Rose swallowed her last bite of chocolate.

  “Are you Rose Blakey?” the doughy woman asked.

  “Yes.”

  The woman reached out and touched her arm. “Frank says that he never said anything about...about...”

  “Pedophiles,” one of the blonde women finished. Rose noticed the gleam in her eye. Her expression of concern was forced. Rose could tell this was the most excitement she’d had in years.

  The doughy woman began letting out loud, snorting sniffs.

  “Mrs. Hane,” Mia whispered in Rose’s ear. “She lives on my street.”

  “Your daughter got a doll too?” Rose asked.

  Mrs. Hane nodded sadly.

  “My sister got one.”

  “Laura?” asked Mrs. Scott.

  “Yeah.” A twinge of guilt pulled at Rose’s stomach. “Listen, what I wrote i
n my article was really just a theory—it doesn’t mean—”

  “See, that’s exactly what Frank said,” the second blonde woman butted in. “He’s a great police officer and an honest man. Not a lie comes out of his mouth.”

  “If Frank says there is nothing to worry about, there isn’t.” Mrs. Scott rubbed Mrs. Hane’s arm. “He’s our protector—nothing bad will happen to any of the children while he’s around.”

  Rose was shocked at how much faith they had in Frank. It was true, he knew everyone in Colmstock, and everyone seemed to know him. But the way they talked about him, it was like he was some sort of messiah. Rose could never think of him that way. Maybe she’d seen him drunk one too many times.

  “Listen, Mrs. Hane,” Rose said softly. “I think it would be great if I could speak to you and your husband later about all this. Get the full story for my next article.”

  Mrs. Hane sniffed, “Do you think it would help?”

  “I’m happy to make a comment if you need,” one of the blonde bobs butted in.

  “I’d like to hear your opinion on all this,” Rose said, ignoring the other woman.

  Mrs. Hane looked unsure. “Honestly,” Rose added, “it would just be great to talk to someone else who’s been affected.”

  Mrs. Hane looked at her friends, then back to Rose. “And our picture would be in the Star?” she asked.

  11

  Mia sneaked little looks at Rose as she drove. She was gripping the Star tightly in her hands like she was afraid that somehow her article would disappear off the pages if she gave it the chance. Her face was thoughtful. She was probably planning her questions for the Hanes. Mia hoped they wouldn’t get angry. After all, Mia had never even spoken to the round-faced family even though they had lived on the same street for her whole life. She had seen them pile their kids into the car a few times. The mother had even nodded hello to her once, but that was all the contact she’d had with them.

  Mia was trying her hardest to shake off the groggy feeling she’d had all morning. She couldn’t really sleep when she’d got in from work at 1:00 a.m. Then she’d had to get up at eight o’clock for church. She could feel herself slipping into a dark mood and she didn’t want that. Her dark moods could get really bad sometimes; she’d feel like she was drowning. She thudded the steering wheel with her thumbs in time to the radio.