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

black felt tip scrawled across the front. Her throat constricts momentarily. She tries desperately not to swallow.

‘I’ll leave it here.’ He props it on the windowsill and picks up his wine glass. ‘I always like to see stuff addressed to Frankie Turner.’ His tone is over-bright. ‘It’s good you kept your own name. Maybe I should’ve taken your name instead of keeping my own, what do you think?’

She should reply but can’t find her voice.

‘Are you expecting something nice?’ He glosses over her silence. ‘You should, you know. You should treat yourself to nice things.’

She clears her throat. Her fear feels shrill and acute.

‘Oh, it’s probably just something from eBay,’ she manages. ‘Yes… actually, I remember now. I bought a silk scarf. I’d forgotten all about it.’ The thudding pulse in her neck moves into her jaw.

‘It’s just I thought I recognised the writing.’

‘Yeah, probably. I’ve ordered from that seller before. She sells some nice stuff…’ She’s horrified at herself, how the lies slip out so easily.

He glances down and smiles. ‘Ah. Right. You see, you don’t get anything past me these days. Not now I’m a real homemaker and house-husband.’

He’s trying to sound upbeat but the whole atmosphere in the room has changed. Her eye keeps sliding back to the thing that’s sitting there on the sill. She knows the writing too. Her lungs feel like thin paper bags.

‘Dinner will be on the table in ten. Will that give you enough time to drag yourself out of that bath, do you think?’

‘I’ll be there!’ Her voice sounds tinny and false. He doesn’t appear to notice as he goes over to the bag and absent-mindedly squeezes it. Her heart goes with it.

‘Is it a man or a woman, this seller?’

‘It’s a woman. At least I think it is.’ She lifts her arms to re-pin her hair that doesn’t need re-pinning. The air pressure has dropped, and she realises her hands are trembling. She’s not going to query why he’s asking. She wants him to just go. Please. Leave it alone.

He picks up the bag and turns it over.

‘It’s just that it’s got an “X” on the seal… Like a kiss. Do women normally do that?’

She lets her hands drop into the heat of the water and turns her face to him, forcing her expression to appear calm.

‘You can open it if you want, Alex. It’s just a scarf.’

He looks back at her, his fingers pausing on the sealed edge. There’s a heart-stopping terror that he might call her bluff, but she doesn’t allow herself to blink. Her gaze is steady, open, innocent.

He drops his eyes and his face collapses. ‘Shit, Frankie, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’ The bag slides awkwardly back onto the sill. ‘I feel like I’m going mad… like, seriously mad. I’m sorry I keep doing this. I don’t mean to. You’ve asked me to stop and I can’t. I’m so sorry.’

‘Alex…’ She holds out a dripping hand. ‘Alex,’ she soothes. ‘It’s alright. It’s okay. I would rather you tell me how you’re feeling than hide it. Okay? I get it.’

He touches her fingers with his own and gives them a little squeeze.

‘Whatever you’ve got into your head isn’t real.’ She tries to get him to meet her eyes. She gives his hand a little shake. ‘I’m here, you’re here. It’s just us. Are you listening to me?’

He nods dumbly.

‘Now go and check on that banana cake before I become so much of a prune we’ll be having me with custard instead.’

They laugh and the pressure around them relaxes. She listens to his gentle tread as he makes his way back down the stairs. The thud in her throat sets her neck and shoulders shivering. Hauling herself slowly out of the water, she stands for a moment before shakily reaching for a towel from the rail. The wind outside has gathered strength. Behind the window blind there’s the pattering shapes and shadows of trees. Her eye keeps being drawn to the parcel, sitting there, bland and innocuous. She knows the writing. She knows it as intimately as her own.

A tingle of fear inches across her scalp.

She has no idea what he has in store for her, but she knows something is coming. She’s always known. It’s taken him fifteen years. Fifteen years and now here he is – all her past and present and future is in this grubby yellow bag that she knows she has to open, knowing the moment she breaks the seal, she’ll be undone too.

Chapter Two

She pauses with one hand on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, noticing that the zip on her bag is not as she left it. Her fingers tighten on the wood, but she knows she’s not going to say a word.

The table in the kitchen is laid for dinner.

‘This looks fantastic.’ She tries to keep her voice upbeat while sliding into the bench seat. He’s already put out a tureen of mashed potatoes and broccoli and a second bottle of wine. ‘Napkins, too.’ She barely recognises her own voice.

If he’s aware, he’s clearly not going to remark on it.

‘Isn’t it nice to eat at the table for once rather than on our laps?’

He deposits a huge cast iron pot onto the waiting mats and takes the lid off with an oven-gloved hand. Steam mushrooms in a cloud and she waves it away.

‘That smells dee-vine.’ She says it as though she means it, but her stomach feels sour and bloated with anxiety.

He puts down two plates and proffers the serving spoon. ‘Dig in.’

She helps herself, ladling out the rich chunks of meat and gravy.

‘Is that all you’re having?’

She can hear the disappointment.

‘I’ve got tons already.’

‘That’s hardly anything. Do you feel okay?’

‘I’m just a bit knackered to be honest but it all looks fabulous.’

‘Here.’ He picks up the hidden spoon and dollops a whole pile of potato onto her plate. The sight of the glistening butter makes her feel queasy, but she distracts herself by