Little Secrets: A gripping new psychological thriller you won’t be able to put down!
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Holding it in one hand, as far away from her body as possible, she walked quickly down the corridor. The back door to Eamon’s, past the keg room, was propped open with a brick. They always left it like that when the pub was open. People went into the back alley for cigarettes sometimes, or, very rarely, for make-out sessions. Rose couldn’t imagine anything less romantic. The concrete was cracked and uneven, and the large metal Dumpster stank, even when it was empty. The thing had probably never been cleaned. It smelled like sweet, rotting rubbish and made her want to gag. There was no light out there except for the streetlights around the front and the light that spilled from the open door down the four cement steps. Rose let the bag slide down the steps next to her, then picked it up and hurled it into the Dumpster. She heard it hit the bottom with a heavy thump like a bag of flour, or a dead body. Rose wanted to laugh. It would be great for her career if she found a dead body out the back here, but unluckily for her, it hadn’t happened yet. Although, Jean had told her she’d found a dead cat in there once. She’d said that when she picked it up it was as stiff as a brick. Rose slapped her hands together and walked back inside.
As she passed Will’s door, her curiosity overwhelmed her. She knocked, wondering if he was even inside. The squeak of the bedsprings told her that he was. She thought about running. It was too late. He opened the door a crack, smiling slightly when he saw her.
“Housekeeping,” she said, sarcastically, trying to look past his head into the room.
“I’m fine for now, thanks.” He smiled and went to shut the door in her face.
“Are you sure?” she said, before he could.
“Yes.” His smile widened. “You know, I can’t decide if you are trying to be very helpful, or if I’ve done something to piss you off.”
She blinked. Usually she was the confrontational one.
“Just trying to be helpful,” she said, shooting him a huge, fake grin, then turning to walk away. He might be the weirdest guy she’d ever met. The way he’d hidden his bedroom from her, it was like he didn’t want her to see past him, like he was hiding something. She imagined his room was filled with porcelain dolls and snorted back a laugh as she walked back to the bar. The dolls had only started appearing when he arrived. It was definitely possible, although not very likely. Journalist Uncovers Weirdo Doll Lover Tormenting Town. Now, that would be a good story.
9
“I’m seeing something really special here,” Mia said, staring at the leftover foam in Bazza’s empty beer glass.
“Really?” He leaned forward. She showed him, and his face screwed up as he looked inside. She noticed the way the light lit up the fine hair of his eyelashes.
She leaned closer. “See that line of foam across there.” She pointed at the line near the top of the glass.
“Yeah.”
“That’s your heart line.”
“Really?”
“Look.” She let her voice go really quiet so he’d get closer. “It’s unbroken.”
“Is that good?” He looked up at her.
“It’s really good. It means you’re going to find love. Soon.”
He looked between the line and her. She grabbed an empty glass and flicked on the tap, smiling at him, trying to beg him with her eyes to ask her out. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Thanks,” he said, when she put his beer in front of him. “I wonder what this one will say.”
He left her a tip and went back to his seat next to Frank. Her heart sank a little bit. Had he seen what she was doing and not asked her out anyway? She wasn’t sure if her advance had been rejected or not, but either way she could feel the sting.
“You know, I think he does like you,” Rose said, coming up next to her. “He looks at you like you’re beautiful—he was doing it last night at the gas station too.”
“What, like that?” Mia said, and they both looked to Frank, who was staring at Rose, his eyes soft.
“Yeah,” Rose said and turned away defensively.
Mia sighed and propped herself up on the bar. “Bazza’s dumb but so hot. It’s the perfect combination,” she said wistfully. “I think he’d make a great husband.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Rose said with disgust.
“Nope,” she said, then flicked Rose with the wet, dirty rag in her hand. It left a gray smear on her thigh.
“Yuck!”
“Streets of Fire” came on and Mia started humming along under her breath. She didn’t understand why Jean didn’t play a more varied mix of music, but she didn’t question it. If Jean wanted to listen to Bruce Springsteen every single night, then that was her choice. It had irritated her at first, but after a while she’d begun to enjoy knowing exactly what to expect out of her evenings. Unlike Rose, she quite liked working at Eamon’s. When she was here, she could just focus on each task: pouring beers, serving meals, mopping the floor, and not worry about the past or the future.
Wringing out the cloth in the sink, she watched the gray water squeezing out from the fibers. She rinsed it, letting the water absorb, wrung it out again and then hung it over the tap to dry. The detergent and grit made the skin on her hands feel tender. She wiped them on her shorts, trying to push herself to remember to put on hand cream before she went to sleep. She was always forgetting, and her flesh sometimes got so dry that the skin around her fingernails would crack.
She watched Rose out of the corner of her eye as she dried glasses, the cloth squealing against the glass. Rose never had problems with dry skin. For the tiniest of moments, she felt a pang of jealousy. Rose was so beautiful. If she wanted to, she could get any guy she liked. She could quit this place and start a family and be looked after. But Mia wasn’t a jealous person. She hated negativity, especially in herself, and she loved Rose more than anything. She put the glass down and went over to her, resting her head on Rose’s shoulder. Rose gripped her in a one-armed hug. Their skin stuck together slightly from sweat but Mia didn’t mind. She loved being close to Rose. It held the darkness that she sometimes felt at bay.
“I’m going to miss you when you’re famous.”
“Shut up,” said Rose, but she squeezed her tighter.
They laughed and Mia picked up her rag again. She sprayed down the counter, the bleachy disinfectant stinging her nostrils, and wiped away the beer rings that had dried and gone sticky.
Steve Cunningham came in, a huge grin on his face. This was unusual.
He walked straight up to Mia and slapped a fifty-dollar bill on the bar. “A round for the boys on me.”
A low cheer came from Bazza’s table, and Mia began pouring the drinks, lining them up next to Steve’s note. Steve awkwardly gripped three in his hands and brought them over to the table.
“Is there something to celebrate?” she heard Frank ask.
“Not yet, but maybe,” Steve said, leaning with both hands on the back of a chair. “My application for a review of the shale mine’s gone through. They’re sending someone next month to survey it.”
“Great job, mate,” Bazza said.
“Knew you’d come through.”
They cheered their drinks, glass clicking against glass, and Mia turned away from them.
“Do you remember how we used to play at the mine?” Mia asked. “It’s weird that it used to be a fun place.”
“Yeah,” Rose said. “Are you thinking about him again?”
“No,” Mia told her, “not really. It’s just weird to think about what that place was like before.”
“It was always pretty horrible.”
Mia wasn’t sure if she agreed. She’d go visit the place sometimes, think about his final moments. Right after graduation, her high school boyfriend had disappeared for three days. They found his body at the bottom of the mine. He’d jumped.
“Cover for me,” Rose said from behind her.
Rose was looking at her phone, a shocked look on her face as she rushed out to the back hallway.
For a fleeting moment, Mia wondered who it could be to warrant that look of exhilaration. Her fingers went to the rose quartz that she wore on a chain around her neck, holding the cold rock, trying to find comfort.
“Tell Steve,” she heard Baz say to Frank. Then he turned to Steve. “Honestly, you won’t believe this one.”
“Why don’t you tell him?”
“You tell it better.”
“All right,” Frank said, and Mia leaned forward to listen. She’d heard them all laughing about something before, but hadn’t caught what it was.
“So we get a call out to the wildlife sanctuary out in Baskerton.”
“Yeah?”
“When we get there it’s bloody mayhem. Ambulances, Japanese tourists running around screaming. It’s nuts. So we find this kid.”
“That poor kid,” Buddy added.
“He’s got his uniform on, probably only fifteen, and he’s just standing there, walking real slow in the grass. We make him give us a statement. He tells us a group of Japanese businessmen had come in from the city, wanted to see some real deal fauna.
“So he’s showing them around. Telling them all about the mating practices of tiger snakes, or some such shit. But all they want to see is the kangaroos, you know?”
Steve nodded, already smiling, waiting for the punch line.
“So he brings these bloody idiots into the field where the roos are. They’ve got a red one there. Huge. Taller than Baz here. So the boss is trying to be the big man, you know. So he gives his camera to this poor kid and keeps going.” Frank put on a terrible Japanese accent. “Hoi take my photo, hoi!
“The kid is telling him not to get too close,” Frank continued. “But he wants his picture, you know?
“So he gets real close to the big red. Puts his fists up, posing, like he’s fighting it. The red’s not bothered, just chewing away, ignoring him. The kid’s telling him to keep his distance, but the guy keeps saying ‘Take my photo, take my photo,’ and all the other guys are laughing along. They’d probably been drinking.
“The guy gets even closer, fists in the air, and the roo, he doesn’t even look at him, just swipes. Just one swipe.”
“And?” said Steve.
“Pulled his eyeball out.”
The guys cracked up laughing.
“That’s what the kid was doing. The red had jumped off when everyone started screaming. He was looking for it in the grass. The eye.”
Frank banged on the table and took a swig of his beer, and all the men started snorting with laughter again.
“So did you find it?” Steve asked.
Mia went back to drying glasses; the image of a bloodied eyeball in the dry grass was enough. She didn’t want any more details to add to the visual.
Father came up to the bar, looking a bit white. He annoyed Mia, although she would never admit it. He was a really friendly man with the kindest eyes she’d ever seen, but he was just too damn nice. It made her feel guilty for everything unchristian she had ever done, or even thought. It was as if he could sense her jealousy and that was why he’d appeared. To remind her that it was a sin.
He put five empty beer glasses on the bar. He always did that, collected the glasses from the other guys so that she and Rose didn’t have to.
“Thanks,” Jean said, coming in from the office and picking the glasses up between her fingers and taking them to the dishwasher.
Mia began pouring him a soda, the spits of fizz hitting her fingers as it reached the top. The guy spent so much time in the tavern, yet he never drank alcohol.
“Are priests not allowed to drink?” she asked.
“Mia!” Jean turned around and looked at her sharply.
“I’ve been dying to ask!”
Father just smiled. “It’s not prohibited, but I prefer not to. Plus, one of the boys usually needs a lift home.”
She smiled at him as he took the soda and returned to his seat. He was so charitable; it was next level. Although part of her thought maybe he just got a bit lonely hanging out in the church by himself. She imagined it would be pretty creepy there alone at night.
Jean stood close to her, her bosom pushing warmly onto Mia’s arm.
“I’ve been dying to ask too,” she said quietly, in that scratchy voice of hers.
Mia suppressed a giggle as Jean went back into the office. She pulled the wet, fogged-up glasses from the washer, shutting the lid with her foot. Bazza caught her eye and smiled at her, warmly. Why had it taken her so long to notice what a great guy he was? Maybe it was because of the way Frank talked about him as if he was an idiot. Rose as well.
Mia used to have a crush on Jonesy. He was a cop too, on highway patrol. He was a tall, thin guy, his clothes always looking too short at the ankles but too wide at the waist. Somehow, he always gave Mia the impression that he was laughing at her. One drunken night, she’d given him a blow job around the back of the tavern. He’d gone out for a smoke and she’d pretended that she wanted one too. When she’d taken a puff she’d started coughing. He’d raised his eyebrow at her, told her she was cute and somehow they were kissing before she even knew it. The taste of tobacco in his mouth made her eyes water.
Desperately, she’d wanted to impress him. To show him that he had underestimated her. That was why she’d given him the blow job, just to see what he’d do. But as soon as his dick was in her mouth she wished she hadn’t started it. She didn’t feel as powerful as she’d thought she would. Afterward, he just zipped up his pants, went back inside and still talked to her in the exact same dismissive way he always had.
Bazza was different. She had never even noticed him until the night of the big fire. She remembered it vividly. The acrid stink of smoke, the windows of the courthouse exploding, one after another. She’d stood there, hands over her mouth, trying not to cry. Out of nowhere, Baz was beside her.
“You okay?” he’d said.
She had just looked at him, and then his big arm was around her. Immediately, everything had felt a little easier, just like when she was with Rose. Every time she thought about him, she could still feel that warm, heavy, protective arm across her shoulders.
Rose came back into the bar, her hand over her mouth.
“What?” Mia asked, but Rose didn’t reply. Instead, a small smile crept out from under Rose’s hand.
“Who was it?”
“Don’t laugh,” Rose said, and her eyes were all lit up in a way Mia hadn’t seen for a while. Not since she’d told her about being short-listed for the cadetship. Something cold gripped Mia’s stomach.
“Just tell me.”
“I sent an article in to the Star.”
“The Star?” Mia asked, both desperately wanting to know what Rose would say and also frantically trying to put off knowing. “Don’t you think they’re a joke?”
She wasn’t ready for Rose to go. Not yet, not quite yet.
“I do, but who cares? I’ve got to start somewhere. I sent them an article this morning. They’re going to publish it!”
“What article?” Mia asked. “You didn’t mention it.”
Rose looked at her, and Mia knew her reaction was all wrong. “Just something stupid about those dolls,” Rose said. “It doesn’t matter though—it’s my first byline.”
“That’s fantastic!” Mia grabbed Rose’s hand and grinned. “I knew I could see your success in the stars.”
“I guess you did!” she said gleefully.
“This is so great,” Mia said, letting go of Rose’s hand and turning to put down the tea towel so that she could let her smile drop.
“And they said they want me to write a follow-up piece and they’ll publish that too!”
It was happening; Rose’s big breakthrough, her ticket out of Colmstock. Rose was always saying they’d go together, but Mia knew it would never happen. She couldn’t leave. She turned back around and threw her arms around Rose.
“Congratulations,” she said, squeezing her tight and trying her hardest to focus on Rose’s happiness and block out the fear of what her life would be like without her.
10
Rose had never experienced happiness like this before. It was just the Star, which she knew was a pretty crappy newspaper, but still she felt giddy. It made her want to smile at people on the street; it even made church slightly more bearable. Slightly.
The pews were full today. Father stood at the altar, giving his sermon. Usually, Rose didn’t even bother to look interested, but today she tried her hardest to actually listen.
“‘Now have come the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God, and the authority of His Christ,’” he read. Rose wished they had one of those young, hip priests she’d heard about. Someone who made their sermons relevant to people’s actual lives. She looked around the room, wondering if it was someone here who had left that doll on her doorstep. Should she hate them or thank them?
Rose was squeezed tight between Scott and Sophie. She always chose to sit between them. It was easier than trying to get them to stop squabbling if they were next to each other. Next to Sophie was Laura, who was leaning against their mother. Last Sunday, Laura had started crying because their mum would not let her sit on her lap. It was loud and embarrassing. But now she seemed happy enough, sucking her thumb with her eyes taking in the room. Church was the one time you saw everyone with their families. She could see the back of Frank’s head. He was sitting near the front with his elderly mother listening intently, as he always did.
“‘For the accuser of our brethren is cast down,’” Father continued, “‘which accused them before our God day and night.’”
Bazza was sitting in a row with his three brothers. They looked very alike, with their broad shoulders and dumb eyes. Not that you could have seen their eyes today, or any other Sunday. All four of them were asleep in a line, their chins lolling on their chests.
“‘They have gained the victory over him by the blood of the lamb and of their testimony; and because they held their lives cheap and not shrink even from death.’”
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