Katy Carter Keeps a Secret (30 page)

“Those TV harrises keep calling the house and trying to get me to sign stuff too,” Guy adds despairingly. “The words are far too long and I can’t be arsed to read any of it. I wish they’d just go away. Maybe they would if I signed?”

“No! Don’t sign anything!” Holly and I chorus.

“Of course I won’t!” Guy rolls his eyes. “That was a joke.
I’m
not that stupid.”

They both look at me pointedly and I sigh.

“OK. I get it. I’m an idiot and I should never have signed the contract without looking at it properly. Nobody knows that better than me.”

“Bit late now though,” says Holly. “Seriously, Katy, what are you going to do?”

I stare dejectedly into my cider because I cannot for the life of me think how I can get out of writing two more books. Holly’s right: this was what I always dreamed of but, like some fairy tale where the heroine gets granted her dearest wish only to learn that it isn’t really what she wanted after all, life as a bestselling novelist isn’t turning out quite as I’d imagined. I always thought I’d want to sing my success from the rooftops, but apart from the fact that
Kitchen
isn’t in the genre I want to write, I also have Ollie to think about. The more publicity
Kitchen
receives, the harder a time he has at work. It’s a nightmare for him.

Oh God. I’m going to have to tell him I’m writing two more, aren’t I? There’s no way I can keep that a secret. No way at all. But it’s going to make his life impossible at St Jude’s. What if he decides he wants to break up with me because of this? He’s been so quiet and distracted lately that I’ve no idea what he’s thinking. He’s keeping something from me too, I’m certain of it, but I’ve no idea what.

And, a nasty little voice reminds me, I never did see him give Ann that necklace…

I gulp a big mouthful of my drink. I am so
not
going down that road right now. I have quite enough to deal with as it is. Besides, if Ol’s being quiet then it’s because he’s having such a tough time at work; of course it’s that and nothing more sinister. There have been lots of hushed calls, late meetings and discussions with senior management as St Jude’s do their best to field any awkward questions from parents. I know it sounds bonkers and medieval, and quite frankly what his girlfriend does in the twenty-first century is nothing whatsoever to do with Ollie, but unfortunately the school doesn’t see it that way. I’m half expecting the Inquisition to knock on my front door at any moment and drag me away for a spot of torture followed by a nice big bonfire.

In any case, the fact of the matter is that there’s no hiding my identity now and definitely no way I can get out of the contract. In desperation I even faxed a copy to Frankie and Gabriel’s scary agent Seb, just in case he could find a loophole, but no joy.

“Next time do yourself a favour and get an agent before you sign anything,” was his (too late) advice. “There’s no way I can get you out of this. You’ll just have to grit your teeth, do the promo, write the next two books and hire me in the future.”

The irony is that if the royalties keep rolling in like they are at the moment then I can probably afford to hire Seb. Like Holly said, I really should be thrilled; even though my percentage of the total profit is tiny, our bank balance is looking the healthiest it’s ever been, and my need to dig up floors in search of treasure is a thing of the past. I don’t even need to moonlight as a supply teacher at Tregowan Comp anymore, but do you know what?

I wish I did.

I’m missing the way things used to be. I miss having to come up with creative ways to find money and being delighted by a jumble-sale find. I miss chatting to Steph in the staffroom and always having to think on my feet to be one step ahead of my students, and I definitely miss school macaroni cheese. But most of all I miss the way Ollie and I used to be, because we were a team pulling together and we told each other everything. We never had any secrets – apart from my odd splurge with Visa and Barclaycard, although those never really counted – and we were the best of friends even if we had to eat beans on toast and lie awake listening to the
drip drip drip
of water plopping into buckets while we figured out a way we could afford to fix the roof. If only I’d known then just how happy I was. I wish so much I’d appreciated it more and hadn’t taken things for granted.

My eyes fill because there’s no way a full bank account makes up for the strained atmosphere in the house or the silences that stretch between me and Ollie recently. If Seb can’t rescue me, nobody can. I’m going to have to write those bloody books – and keep even more secrets, or else Ollie’s career is finished.

There has to be a way out of it all, surely? Or a solution? I just haven’t figured it out yet, that’s all.

“Shall I tell you what I think?” Guy asks, pushing his shades onto his forehead and giving me a very serious look.

“About what?” I ask nervously. Guy’s opinions (although very entertaining on the telly) aren’t for the faint-hearted, and I could really do without a lecture on why Cornwall should be independent.

“About what you should do,” Guy says. He picks up Holly’s hand in his big paw and squeezes it. “I think it’s time you just told Ollie everything. Just like I tell my missus everything. Like how much fish I catch, how many pints I’ve had, when that blonde in Newlyn gave me her phone number—”

“Actually you didn’t tell me that.” Holly pulls her hand away and glares at him.

“Bollocks,” says Guy. “Well, I meant to, baby. Must have slipped my mind. The point is I was going to tell you all about it. She was a right minger anyway.”

“So that’s all right then?” My sister gives him a look that could freeze lava, and poor Guy slides his glasses down again. “I’m the mother of your unborn child and there you are chatting up other women?”

“I never chatted her up! She wouldn’t leave me alone! I don’t even know what I did with her twatting number anyway!”

“So you took it then? How typical!” Holly huffs and off they go as usual, bickering and hurling insults at one another while the rest of the pub try to pretend World War Three isn’t breaking out over here by the window.

“Err, I hate to interrupt your row,” I interject, “but you were saying, Guy? About what I should tell Ollie?”

Guy pauses, mid flow. “What? Oh yeah! I was saying you should tell him the truth.”

I stare at him. Just how much has Guy had to drink? Or has all the fame turned his brains to mush?

“The truth?”

“Yeah, you know. It means that you tell somebody what’s really happening and don’t hold anything back,” says Holly. “Unlike Guy here, who conveniently forgets to tell me that random women give him their phone numbers.”

“That’s fame for you,” Guy shrugs. “Bet Frankie gets it all the time.”

“Not from women,” says my sister sharply. To me she adds, “But actually, Guy’s right for once. Just tell Ollie everything about the Throb contract. Tell him that you made a mistake, how worried you are and how hard you’ve tried to get out of it.”

My stomach’s knotting like one of Guy’s fishing nets just at the thought.

“But things are bad enough as they are. If Ollie thinks there are two more books he’ll be horrified!”

“He’ll be even more horrified if he finds out once it’s too late to make any plans to deal with the fallout,” Holly points out. “And it’s not good to keep secrets from people you love, is it Guy?”

“Ouch! My ankle!” he yelps as her pointy boot makes contact with his shin. “No! Course not, baby!”

I drain my drink and jump up to my feet, because my sister’s right, isn’t she? I’ve been keeping secrets for far too long and so has Ollie, and all it’s done is make us both unhappy. Well, from this point on, I am resolved! I will tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. At least that way we’ll both know what we’re dealing with.

But maybe I should have another cider first? Just while I prepare myself? It doesn’t do to rush these things.

“Don’t put it off,” Holly says sternly, some sisterly sixth sense telling her exactly what’s going through my mind. “Tell him now before you can chicken out. You’ll feel better for it, I promise.”

I glance at Guy, who’s rubbing his ankle and wincing. Right now he’s hardly an advertisement for the benefits of telling your partner the truth. On the other hand, I’m kicking myself daily at the moment. Holly’s right. There can’t be any more secrets between Ollie and me. No matter what happens, no matter what the consequences, he needs to know everything.

And I am going to tell him.

Chapter 25

“Book Nook in Bristol called. They’re expecting you for a signing on Saturday,”
Ollie calls as I let myself into our cottage. “I said you’d phone them back tomorrow to confirm.”

He’s standing at the Aga stirring something while Sasha sits at his feet, staring up at the pan and drooling. I don’t blame her either because it smells delicious. If I wasn’t feeling sick with nerves, I’d be drooling too.

“I’m making lasagne,” Ollie says, with his back still to me, and my heart sinks a little because Ol always cooks lasagne when he’s stressed. He says that the chopping and dicing and making cheese sauce takes so much attention that it’s the perfect distraction after a tough day. Judging by the huge pile of chopped veggies and bubbling vat of cheese sauce, he’s had a very stressful day indeed.

And I’m about to make it worse.

I can’t back out now. Ollie needs to know what I’ve done and all I have to do is find the courage to tell him. I do wish he wasn’t facing away from me though. As I look at him I have a horrible twisting feeling inside because nothing feels quite right anymore. We’re not the way we usually are. We’re not us.

I can’t bear it.

“Do you want a glass of wine?” Ollie’s asking, still stirring the cheese sauce vigorously and not turning round to give me a kiss. “I’ve opened the last of that white Maddy hid here. Lucky she did. I needed a drink so much I’d probably even have raided that stuff you dug up, if Dad hadn’t taken it.”

“Geoff took Cecily Greville’s booze?” This is news to me.

“Yep. He caught Nicky with it, apparently; the bugger was sneaking it out to a sixth-form party, and before I could say anything Pa had confiscated the lot.”

Drinking. Naked waiting. Partying when he should be revising. Nicky’s life is way more exciting than mine was at his age. Or even now, come to think about it.

“Why did your dad take it away though?”

Ollie takes the saucepan from the hotplate, sets it onto a mat and turns to face me. He looks tired and there are faint lines around his eyes that I’m sure never used to be there.

“You know what a wine buff Dad is. He probably thought it looked interesting. Anyway, there’s white open if you want it.” He raises his own glass to me. “Thank the Lord for Reverend Richard and his Lenten booze ban. I needed this.”

My heart sinks even more. “Bad day?”

He shrugs. “The same as always. I can’t see anything changing soon to be honest. I guess I just have to ride it out. It’ll calm down in time, I’m sure. The parents will be bored of it all soon and find something else to moan about. Like Carolyn says, it’ll all die down and things will go back to normal.”

I feel a needle-prick of alarm because he’s wrong, isn’t he? None of this is going to go away any time soon. In fact, it’s all about to get ten times worse.

And hang on. What’s it got to do with Carolyn? Why is he talking to her and not me? See, this is where it’s all going wrong. What if he prefers her to me? What if she’s actually better for him than I am? Let’s be honest; I’m hardly enhancing his life lately.

What if once I tell him about the other two Throb books he decides that being with me is more trouble than it’s worth?

Wine. I need wine.

Heading to the fridge and retrieving the bottle, I pour myself a very generous glass and then sit down at the table. My hands are shaking.

“I need to tell you something,” I say quietly.

Ollie’s ladling layers of pasta, meat and sauce into a casserole dish. His brow furrows with concentration and I know his attention is on the dinner not me.

“What’s Maddy done now?” he asks.

“This isn’t about Maddy. It’s about me. Or maybe I should say it’s about us. And you’re not going to like it.”

Splat. A big gloop of meat sauce misses the dish and lands on the floor, and Ollie stares at me.

“What do you mean, about us?” he whispers. His face is very pale all of a sudden.

“Well, not
us
as such but it’s about us,” I say. “Or more accurately it’s about the book.”

Ollie exhales heavily and sits down opposite me. His cheese sauce begins to congeal in the pan and neither of us tell Sasha off when she wolfs the spilled sauce up from the quarry tiles. We can both sense that A Big Talk is coming.

“Katy,” Ollie says gently, “we’ve talked ourselves round and around about the bloody book. What’s done is done. We’re dealing with it at work and you have to stop beating yourself up about everything. I know you didn’t do any of it on purpose.”

“I didn’t! I really didn’t,” I say. “But Ollie, there’s something I haven’t told you.”

“Oh God,” he says. “Why do I have a sudden sense of foreboding? What is it now? Have you smuggled Pinchy back from New York? Should we be expecting the FBI any time soon?”

I try to laugh but sound more like a strangled chicken.

“Hey!” Ollie reaches out and takes my hands. “Don’t look so worried. Whatever it is we can sort it, I promise.”

“I don’t think we can,” I say sadly.

“Well, let’s try. There’s nothing we can’t do if we put our minds to it,” he promises. “Just tell me, Katy. What is it? What’s wrong?”

I take a deep breath. No more secrets; that was what I’d decided and that’s how it has to be. And then I tell him everything. All about the contract I can’t get out of, the next two books I have to write, how I’ve pleaded with the publisher, begged Seb to help and basically tried everything I can to get out of writing them.

“I’m so sorry,” I finish, hanging my head. “I’d do anything I could to be able to walk away from the contract. I’ll never write another book again after this, Ollie. I promise. I know what it’s done to you at school and how it’s ruining your career. No more books for me again ever. I’m through with writing. Your career has to come first.”