Secret Smile

'I'm quite clear about everything.'

'I hope you know now that I was never in love with Brendan. Never. I left him and

'Please, Miranda,' she said in a disgusted tone. 'Let's leave that.'

'No, listen, I just want you to understand that I was never trying to wreck things between you two, never; I wanted you to be happy; really I did; he was the one who was…' I let my words trail away, realizing what I sounded like. 'Like you said, it doesn't matter any more. That's all finished with. He's out of both of our lives. I wanted to know if you're all right, that's all, really. And that we were all right. It would be terrible if we allowed him to alienate us from each other.'

'I know,' she said in a small voice. Then she leaned forwards and for the first time her face lost its smoothness. 'I should tell you something.'

'What?'

'It feels almost wrong. After Troy and – you know, I thought I'd never be happy again. And it's all happened so suddenly.' She blushed. 'I've met someone.'

'You mean

'A nice man,' she said. 'He's quite a bit older than I am, and he really seems to care for me.'

I put my hand over hers. 'I'm very, very glad,' I said warmly. Then: 'No one I used to know, I hope?'

The stupid attempt at a joke fell flat. 'No. He's a junior hospital manager. His name's Laurence. You must meet him sometime.'

'Great.'

'He knows about everything…'

'Of course.'

'And he's very different, from, you know…

'Yes. Good. Great.'

'Mum and Dad say they like him.'

'Good,' I said again hopelessly. 'Really good. I'm so happy for you.'

'Thank you.'

I bought a big bunch of tulips and daffodils and irises and hopped on a bus that stopped a few hundred yards from my parents'. The scaffolding had finally gone from the outside of the house, and the front door had been painted a glossy dark blue. I knocked and listened: I knew that they'd be there. They never seemed to go anywhere these days. They worked, and then my mother sat in the house watching television and my father spent hours in the garden, plucking weeds from borders and nailing bird boxes to the fruit trees at the end.

There was no reply. I walked round to the back and pressed my nose against the kitchen window. Inside everything gleamed new and unfamiliar: stainless steel surfaces, white walls, spotlights on the ceiling. Dad's favourite mug stood on the table, beside it a plate with orange rind on it and a folded newspaper. I could imagine him methodically peeling the orange and dividing it into segments and eating them slowly, one by one between sips of coffee, frowning over the paper. Everything the same, and everything changed utterly.

I still had the key to the house so I fished it out and opened the back door. In the kitchen I found a vase and filled it up with water and crammed the flowers in. There were a couple of segments of orange left on the plate on the table, and I ate them absent-mindedly, gazing out at the garden that just a few months ago had been a mess of potholes and discarded kitchen units, and now was neatly tended and planted out. I heard footsteps on the stairs.

'Hello?' It was my mother's voice. 'Who's there?' she called from the hallway. 'Who is it?'

'Mum? It's me.'

'Miranda?'

My mother was in her dressing gown. Her hair was greasy and her face was puffy with sleep.

'Are you ill?' I asked.

' Ill?' She rubbed at her face. 'No. Just a bit tired. Derek went out to get some garden twine and I thought I'd have a nap before lunch.'

'I didn't mean to wake you.'

'It doesn't matter.'

'I brought you some flowers.'

'Thank you.' She glanced at them without taking proper notice.

'Shall I make us some tea or coffee?'

'That'd be nice.' She sat down on the edge of one of the chairs.

'Which?'

'What?'

'Tea or coffee?'

'Whichever you'd prefer. I don't mind.'

'Coffee,' I said. 'And then we could go for a walk'

'I can't, Miranda. I've got, well, things to do.'

'Mum…'

'It hurts,' she said. 'The only time it doesn't hurt is when I'm asleep.'

I picked up one of her hands and held it against my face. 'I'd do anything,' I said, 'anything to make it better.'

She shrugged. The kettle shrieked behind us.

'It's too late for anything,' she said.

'I loved her,' said Tony. He was on his third beer and his words were slurring together. Everything about him seemed to have slipped a bit – his cheeks were slack and stubbly; his hair was slightly greasy and fell over his collar; his shirt had a coffee stain down the front; his nails needed cutting. 'I loved her,' he repeated.

'I know.'

'What did I do wrong?'

'That's not the way to look at it,' I said weakly.

'I wasn't good at saying it, but she knew I did.'

'I think…' I began.

'And then,' he lifted up his beer and drained it. 'Then when she ran off like that, just a note on the table, I wanted her dead and she died.'

'That's not connected, except in your mind.'

'Your fucking Brendan. Charming her. Promising her things.'

'Promising her what?'

'You know – whirlwind romance, marriage, babies. All the things we used to argue about in the last few months.'

'Ah,' I said.

'I would have agreed in the end, though. She should have known that.'

I sipped my wine and said nothing. I thought of Laura, laughing, her head tipped back and her mouth open and her white teeth gleaming and her dark eyes shining with life.

'Now she's dead.'

'Yes.'

On Sunday, I ran again. Seven miles through drizzling mist. I had coffee with Carla, who'd also known Laura and wanted us to spend the hour exclaiming with a kind of scarifying relish over how awful it all was.

I worked on the company accounts. I was restless and agitated. I didn't know what to do with my spare time. I didn't want to see anyone, but I didn't want to be on my own. I sorted through old correspondence. I threw out clothes that I hadn't worn for over a year. I went through all my e-mails and deleted the ones I didn't want to keep.

At last I rang up Bill on his mobile and said I'd like to talk to him. He didn't ask me if it could wait till tomorrow, simply said he was in Twickenham but would be back by six. We arranged to meet in a bar near King's Cross that used to be a real dive, but was now minimalist and chic, and sold cocktails, iced teas and lattes.

I had another bath and changed out of my sloppy drawstring trousers into jeans and a white, button-down shirt. I was there fifteen minutes early. When he arrived, he kissed me on the top of my head and slid into the seat opposite. He ordered a spicy tomato juice and I had a Bloody Mary, to give me courage. We clinked glasses, and I started asking him how his weekend had been. He held up a finger.

'What's this about, Miranda?'

'I want to stop working for you,' I said.

Reflectively, he took a sip of his drink and put it back on the table.

'That sounds like a good idea,' he said.

'What!' He just smiled at me in such a kind and tender way that I had to blink back tears. 'Here I was plucking up the courage to tell you and all you can say is that it sounds like a good idea.'

'It does.'

'Aren't you going to beg me to stay?'

'You need to start over.'

'That's what I've been thinking.'

'Away from the whole family thing.'

'You're not like family.'

'Thanks.'

'I meant that in a good way.'

'I know.'

'I feel like my life's one great big enormous ghastly mess and I need to scramble free of it.'

'What are you going to do?'

'I guess I'll try to get a job with an interior decorating company, something like that. I've got enough contacts by now. Shall I give you three months' notice, or what? And will you be my referee?'