How to Keep a Secret

PROLOGUE

Sisters

“What are we going to do? We shouldn’t even be here.” I tugged at my sister’s skirt to pull her away from the window. “If we’re caught, we’re going to be in big trouble.”

I wasn’t about to wait around for that to happen.

My sister was taking those big gulping breaths that always preceded a fit of crying.

Giving her a final tug, I dropped to my hands and knees and scurried back along the path the way we’d come, grateful for the protective shadow of darkness. I wanted to stand up and run, but if we did that we’d be seen, so I stayed low, crawling like a fugitive. It had been a long, hot summer and the earth was dry and crumbly. It was only when I felt a cooling splash on the backs of my hands that I realized I was crying, too. Small stones bit into my palms and knees, and I clamped my teeth together to stop myself making a sound. I brushed past the jungle of honeysuckle and the sweet cloying smell almost choked me. There was nothing sweet about what we’d seen and I knew that when I was grown up and had a house of my own I’d never have honeysuckle in the garden.

There was a rustling sound behind me. I hoped it was my sister and not some nocturnal creature with sharp teeth and an appetite.

I couldn’t see the gate, but I knew it was there. Beyond the gate was the footpath. If we made it that far, we’d be protected by the high hedge. Through the panicked pumping of blood in my ears I could hear the rhythmic crash of the sea. It sounded closer than usual, louder, as if the tide was colluding, helping to drown the sounds of our escape. The salt breeze dried my cheeks and cooled my skin.

Finally I reached the gate and slid through the gap, ignoring the twigs that stabbed my back. There, right in front of me, was the path. Leaning against the hedge were our bikes, right where we’d left them. I wanted to grab mine and pedal hard into the night without looking back, but there was no way I was leaving my sister.

I’d never leave my sister.

There was another rustle

and she emerged through the gate, her hair wild from our frantic retreat.

Now that safety was within reach, anger burst through the anxiety.

“It was your idea to come here tonight.” I almost choked on the emotion that had built up inside. “Why do you always have to do what you’re not supposed to do?”

“Because the things I’m not supposed to do always seem like more fun.” The wobble in her voice reminded us both that this hadn’t been fun at all.

I felt her hand creep into mine and instantly I forgave her. We stood like that for a moment, clinging for comfort.

My sister moved closer. “If I could have chosen my sister, I would have chosen you.”

I would have chosen her, too, although right then I wished there was a way of curbing her adventurous spirit.

“I wish we hadn’t looked.”

“Me, too.” For once my sister sounded subdued. “We can’t ever tell anyone. Remember what happened to Meredith?”

Of course I remembered. Meredith was a cautionary tale.

“I hate keeping secrets.”

“It’s a small secret, that’s all. You can keep a small secret.”

I swallowed, my throat so dry it hurt. We both knew that this was a lot bigger than the other secrets we kept. This wasn’t sneaking out after dark to play on the beach, stealing flowers from Mrs. Hill’s garden or raiding Mrs. Maxwell’s strawberry patch. This was something different. What we’d seen felt like a weight crushing me. Deep down I knew we should tell, but if we told, everything would change. We’d left our childhood back at that window and there was no going back to get it.

“I won’t tell. I’ll protect you. We’re sisters. Sisters always stick together. I made a promise.”

Of course most people who made a promise like that, I thought, didn’t have a sister like mine.

Part One

1

Lauren

Premonition: a feeling that something is going

to happen, often something unpleasant

You couldn’t really blame the party for what happened, although later Lauren wished she hadn’t organized such an elaborate affair. If she hadn’t been so wrapped up in the small details, she might have noticed something was wrong. Or would she? To notice something was wrong you had to be looking, and she hadn’t been looking. She’d been focused on the moment and the excitement of the big day.

And the day started early.

Waking before the alarm, she rolled over in the bed and kissed Ed. “Happy birthday.”

Should she say the word forty? How did he feel about it? How did she feel about it?

She still had five years to go before she hit that number which seemed far enough away not to be worth worrying about. And forty wasn’t old, was it?

Maybe not, but when she’d taken delivery of the birthday cake the day before and looked at the forty candles waiting to be added, she’d thought, We’re going to need a bigger cake.

Ed was still dozing so Lauren lay for a moment, cocooned by the peaceful calm of their bedroom. This had been the first room she’d decorated when they’d moved in. She’d designed it as a sanctuary, a peaceful haven of white with accents of gray and silver. In summer the room was flooded with sunlight and she slept with the window open so she could hear the birds. Now, in January and with London in the grip of a cold snap, the windows were firmly closed. Their house, in an exclusive and sought-after crescent in fashionable Notting Hill, backed on to private gardens. Every morning for the past week the trees had been coated with frost. The cold air slapped you in the face the moment you opened the door, as if daring people to leave the comfort of their homes.

Lauren, who had been raised on Martha’s Vineyard, a small island off the coast of Massachusetts, wasn’t afraid of bad weather.

She peeled back the covers and ran her fingers through his hair. “Not a single gray hair. If it’s any consolation, you don’t look a day over sixty.” There was no reaction and she leaned forward and kissed him again. “I’m kidding. You don’t even look forty.” Except lately, at certain times of the day and when the sun was bright and harsh. Then he looked every day of forty. Working too hard? Ed had always worked long hours, but recently he’d been coming home later and later and seemed unusually tired. She’d subtly planted the idea that he might visit the doctor, but he’d ignored all hints. It was easier to persuade a toddler to eat broccoli than to get Ed to the doctor.

Her phone told her it was past six o’clock, and he showed no sign of moving.

Lauren gave him a gentle nudge. Her day was planned to the minute, and it all kicked off at precisely six fifteen.

She heard the sound of clomping on the stairs. “Mack’s awake. How can one teenager sound like a herd of elephants?”

She wondered if Mack was coming upstairs to the bedroom, but then the sound of footsteps faded and she heard the kitchen door slam.