Every Secret Thing by Rachel Crowther

Author:Rachel Crowther
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bonnier Publishing Fiction

August 1995

Stephen

Stephen wasn’t entirely sure that this meeting was a good idea, but he made his way to the Northern Line platform at Waterloo buoyed up by a sense of purpose. It was weeks, now, since any of them had seen each other, and he’d kept thinking he ought to do this. Not quite restitution, but . . . Well, anyway, he would see what came of it. Three stops later he bounded up the escalator, and when he came through the ticket barrier and out into Oxford Street, Marmion was already waiting.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

‘You’re not. I’m early. I’m always either early or late. It’s very nice to see you, Stephen. It’s very nice of you to suggest this.’

She still looked as drawn and as enervated as she had in those last few days at High Scarp. His father had looked like that after his heart surgery last year, Stephen thought, but he’d bounced back since then. He looked better than ever, now.

‘I thought we’d go to Pizza Express,’ he said. ‘Is that OK?’

When they were sitting down, Stephen smiled across the table. ‘You look very well. Have you been away?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t really, but I have been away. A couple of weeks on the beach.’

‘Where?’

‘The Isle of Wight. But it felt like the South of France, this year. We got through gallons of suncream.’

‘Snap. We’ve just got back from Bournemouth.’

They looked at each other for a few moments, then dropped their eyes at the same moment to the menu. He had nothing to feel guilty about, Stephen reminded himself. Nothing except a temptation to brush her under the carpet along with the rest of them, and he was here, wasn’t he, resisting that?

‘What do you fancy?’ he asked.

‘I always have the Veneziana. Ever since –’

She stopped. Their first tour with the choir had been to Venice, two summers ago. Stephen remembered Marmion and Bill hand in hand, leaning over the side of a vaporetto, the sun catching their faces as it sank towards the lagoon.

‘I’ll have the same,’ he said. He turned to summon the waiter.

When they’d placed their order, Stephen sat back in his chair. The truth was that he had absolutely no idea what to say. Were High Scarp and Cambridge and the others all off limits? Music, then? Her family?

‘What are your plans for the rest of the summer?’ he asked.

‘I’ve got a job,’ Marmion said. ‘In a bookshop, covering someone’s maternity leave.’

‘That’s good.’

‘I quite enjoy it,’ Marmion said. ‘I think they thought – Cambridge graduate, must know about books. I haven’t confessed that I’m practically illiterate.’

Stephen could see from her face how much the effort at joviality was costing her. ‘I’ve got a job too,’ he said. ‘At Gatwick.’

‘With your father?’

‘Not working with him, but he suggested it. I’m driving a shuttle bus.’

‘Really?’

‘To and from the long-stay car parks,’ Stephen said. ‘Not very exciting, but the pay’s reasonable. I need to save up for Dubai.’

‘Of course.’ There was a moment of silence, and then she said: ‘What does your father do there? I’ve never asked.

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