Keep My Secrets by Elena Wilkes (management books to read .txt) 📕

It was as though Charlotte was still there. Even the taps smelled of her as she turned them, bending her face to the chilled rush of water. She drank greedily, splashing her face and neck, and then straightened to take a look at herself in the mirror. A complete sight stared back. She had twigs and leaves in her hair and her make-up hung in great hammocks of grey and black under her eyes. She looked pale, and drawn, and very sick. She closed her eyes and the room swam in one appalling queasy wave, as suddenly she heaved, bringing the water and vodka back up in one great gasping torrent. The relief was like a weight lifting, and she leaned heavily on the basin edge, breathing deeply. Throwing up felt so, so good. Rubbing her nose, she reached across for the toilet roll, but her eye caught something lying on the floor. A red strip of what looked like fabric was lying between the foot of the basin and the bath, and she bent to pick it up. It was Charlotte’s hairband. She held it for a moment, smoothing the silky flowers and breathing in that scent as it drifted up. Placing it carefully on the side of the bath, she meticulously pulled each sprig and dry teasel from the ends of her hair before running her fingers from root to tip until it lay across her shoulders in slippery waves. Sliding the hairband over her brow, she pushed it back over her forehead. Tendrils of curls hung prettily around her face. Running the tap, she used wads of toilet paper and began to wipe the dead make-up off. Her young, pink skin began to shine through. She looked so much better.

Pressing her lips together and pinching her cheeks, she unlocked the door and, mustering what remained of her dignity, made her way past the two staring girls and back down the stairs into the cacophony of noise.

Her stomach felt hollow and empty. She really didn’t want to be here anymore. Part of her longed to be at home in her bed. If only she could take Martin back with her. If only they could snuggle beneath the covers together, it would all be okay. Her head thumped with a grinding ache and she started to feel like puking again.

She got to the bottom step. There was a couple with their backs to her, blocking her way. The girl was spinning round, dancing, smiling and flirting with her arms aloft. The man leaned in to whisper in her ear and suddenly the sick feeling in her stomach lurched.

It was Martin.

And Charlotte.

She saw his dark head leaning in against her blonde hair as he tried to hear what she was saying.

They hadn’t seen her. Frankie froze. She was aware of her hand gripping the bannister as the scene unfolded like a drawn-out nightmare. She saw the sudden silly grin lighting up his face, his nodding interest, the way his eyes ran up and down Charlotte’s body as he drank her in like a greedy dog. The girl only observed him from the side of her eye, coolly, totally self-contained and in control, smiling and pursing her lips as though she was dealing with an over-eager puppy. Martin wanted her: anyone could see that.

Martin. Wanted. Her.

Two guys moved past them on their way out. One barged into Martin’s shoulder, making him lift his head and turn. He immediately saw Frankie: his face instantly withdrew. He took a step back and Charlotte looked round.

There was a sudden silence in Frankie’s head.

‘What are you doing?’ She could feel her chin trembling with anger and tears. ‘What are you doing with her?’

Her voice didn’t sound as she wanted it to. She heard her petulant tone, like a whining six-year-old, but inside she felt an absolute adult rage.

‘We weren’t doing anything.’ The ridiculousness of the statement as it fell out of his mouth made it worse. ‘I mean – not in the way you think. It’s not like—’

‘My hairband!’ Charlotte suddenly announced in surprise. ‘Where did you find that?’

Frankie stepped back defensively, the tears threatening to cascade any minute.

‘What about before?’ She gestured weakly in the direction of the garden. ‘What about all that you said? What about us?’

Martin opened his mouth and closed it again. ‘It’s not—’ he started.

‘Can I have my hairband please?’ Charlotte reached out a hand but Frankie slapped it away, her eyes ablaze.

‘Don’t you dare come anywhere near me! I don’t want the thing – it stinks!’ She ripped it from her head but Charlotte went to take it from her. The audacity of the action made her refuse to let go. She really did feel like a kid now. There were seconds of tugging and yanking, neither of them giving in. Frankie pushed her in the shoulder, somewhere between a punch and a shove. The girl staggered.

‘Hey! Oi! Hang on! Hang on!’ Martin got between them, holding his hands up. ‘Stop! Just stop.’ He blocked Frankie. ‘Calm down, Frank, seriously. It’s nothing. You’re getting mad over nothing… really.’

She searched his face looking for the thing that had been there between them: that special thing that made them so different from everyone else, but she couldn’t find it anymore. It wasn’t there. He’d become ordinary and small right in front of her eyes.

With a frustrated yell, she chucked the hairband at Charlotte. Frankie’s eyes desperately raked Martin’s. Why? Why would he need to do this? He’d humiliated her, embarrassed her in front of the one girl that she couldn’t bear to be humiliated by. She spun round. The front door was open and she made a bolt for it, the night wind slapping her tear-washed cheeks as she started to run. Her feet pounded the pavements; her breath was hot and jagging in her throat. She had no idea where she was going, she didn’t care who saw her or what they might think.

How could she