HIDDEN SECRETS Read online

  It was at this time that his mother was killed in a car crash, which caused him to suffer a nervous breakdown. The next few years of his life were very vague- the wilderness years as Ben referred to them- but after he recovered he launched himself into building up a reputable cleaning business. After five years, his employees numbered over one hundred people but he always insisted on meeting new clients personally. Before their marriage he had travelled all over the world in order to secure new deals, but now he rarely went outside the U.K.

  It was on one of these trips that he had met, and had an affair with a young woman whose name she didn’t know or care. He said it just happened and she meant nothing to him, but Kate was deeply hurt by his actions and made him leave. She needed time to think about her life, but she couldn’t do that while he was around. The thought of divorcing him was daunting, but she doubted her ability to forgive him. Finding no answer she decided to give him another chance for which he was very grateful. Their relationship at the time had not been ideal, arguments were on a daily basis and she had been relieved when he announced details of a forthcoming trip to London. He was away for four days and she had missed him terribly. When he returned, she unpacked his suitcase and discovered a hotel receipt tucked in a side compartment. He tried in vain to talk his way out of why he had booked a double room, and ordered champagne and an evening meal for two. After a tearful row, packed with insults on both sides, he left.

  This period in her life had been the most traumatic she had ever experienced. It was also at this time that her father was diagnosed with terminal cancer; and it enhanced her feelings of resentment towards Ben. The knowledge of her father’s impending death clouded her judgement. She needed emotional support from her husband, but her pride and his infidelity stood in the way.

  She had spent an agonising few days trying to reach a decision before he persuaded her to give him another chance, which she reluctantly did, even though she lacked the ability to completely trust him.

  When her father died a few weeks later, Ben’s misdemeanours seemed trivial and she put them out of her mind. He had been very attentive, and revealed a compassionate side to his nature she had never seen before. Her weak emotional state had made her vulnerable, but she still felt that their relationship was tainted. That was in the past, but as she looked at the photographs, the bad memories re-surfaced and she feared their relationship was in jeopardy once again. She had suffered so much emotional pain in the past; she was unsure whether she could forgive him ever again. The experience had changed her; she was emotionally stronger and totally unforgiving. Without thinking, she picked up her mobile and called Ben.

  “It’s me,” she said, when he eventually answered.

  “Have you calmed down and come to your senses yet?” he asked abruptly.

  “Where are you?” she ignored his question.

  “I’m still at the office trying to sort this shit out,” he sounded agitated.

  “I know the feeling.”

  “What is it you want Kate?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Talk away, but make it quick.”

  “I can’t talk to you over the phone. Anyway, there’s something I need to show you.”

  “I thought you didn’t want me to come back?”

  “I was angry with you Ben, can we just forget about it for now?”

  “That’s fine by me. I’ll see if I can get away around three; bye love,” he ended the call.

  Kate placed her phone on the table and picked up the photographs again. She was particularly drawn to one which depicted the happy couple sitting at a café table under a huge sun umbrella. The woman was holding a glass of wine in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. Her companion- it had to be Ben- was gazing lovingly at her, as she posed for the camera. It was only now, as she studied the couple in more detail, that she saw it. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? On the third finger of her left hand she noticed a wedding ring. This couple were husband and wife or if they weren’t married to each other, she was someone else’s wife. Turning her attention away from the couple, she studied the surroundings. There was a sign above the table with the name of the café painted in bright red lettering, but she could not make out what it said. Searching for her glasses, she looked at the sign again. The words were slightly blurred, but she could make out the name Max, and a telephone number beneath it. The number was too small for her to read, but the location was clearly visible; it definitely said Southpool.

  “Southpool, it sounds familiar,” she spoke aloud.

  Kate had heard of the place but was uncertain of its exact location, and reached for Ben’s dog-eared road atlas which he refused to throw away. Flicking through the index, she ran her finger down the long list until she found it.

  “Southpool got it.” The sound of a key turning in the front door caused her to look up, as Ben appeared in the door way.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I thought you might like to go out for lunch?” he suggested with a faint smile.

  “If this is your idea of an apology, forget it,” she replied firmly.

  “Don’t start arguing again. All I want to do is take you out for something to eat,” he refused to be drawn into another argument.

  “I’m not very hungry, it’s only 12.30.” she glanced at her watch.

  “We could leave it an hour then. What are you looking for?”

  “Southpool, I’m not certain where it is.”

  “It’s in Devon, on the south coast I think. You should know it’s not that far from where your mother lives,” he replied vaguely.

  “How do you know where it is?” she glanced up at him.

  “The same way I know where London and Cardiff are. I’ve travelled all over the country. You know that, so why do you want to know where it is?”

  “Take a close look at the sign on this photograph,” she held it up without looking at him.

  “You’re not still looking at these are you?” he gave it a cursory glance and added, “I suppose you still think this is me in the picture do you?”

  “Unless you have a twin brother?” she smirked.

  “How strange would that be?”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous Ben,” she stood up, left the room and returned a few minutes later.

  “Take a look at that,” she pressed the photograph into his hand.

  “I’m sick of looking at these bloody photographs, just throw them in the bin love.”

  “Just look at it Ben please; then look at this,” she waved his gold watch in the air.

  “Why have you got my watch?” he asked cautiously.

  “Because this person-who you claim isn’t you-is wearing your watch. Don’t you think that’s weird?” he gave the photo a fleeting glance.

  “You can’t seriously believe that watch there is mine?” he stabbed the photo.

  Storming into the kitchen, Ben scooped all the prints together and threw them into the bin. While he was out of the room, Kate slid the photo of the café into the road atlas, turned the page over at the corner, and placed it back onto the shelf. When he returned she was sitting on the sofa with her legs resting on a cushion,

  “I thought you weren’t coming home until later?” she said.

  “I decided to take the afternoon off, I’ve had a meeting cancelled,” he paused.

  “Are we going out for lunch then?”

  “I suppose so, but I won’t be able to eat a big meal.”

  “You can have whatever you want love,” he smiled and added.

  “Right, I’m going to take a shower.”

  “O.K.” Kate nodded.

  As soon as she heard the shower burst into action, Kate rushed into the kitchen and retrieved the photographs from the bin. She needed to hide them somewhere Ben wouldn’t look. The only place she could think of was her sewing box, so she hurriedly emptied the contents onto the carpet and placed the photographs inside. Replacing the spools of cotton untidily on top, sh
e closed the lid.

  There was something niggling at the back of her mind, and she was compelled to discover the identity of the couple in the photographs. This could only be achieved by visiting Southpool, and she was determined to travel there the next morning. Ben didn’t have to know anything about it, as far as he was concerned the photos had been disposed of.

  The shower fell silent, followed by Ben’s footsteps padding across the landing towards their bedroom. Ten minutes later, he appeared in the lounge doorway dressed in a pair of grey trousers and a black shirt. He looked smart and handsome, and Kate kissed him gently on his lips.

  “That’s better,” he said with a smile.

  “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. Let’s not talk about it again,” she replied.

  “Are you going to get changed love?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be ten minutes,” she jumped up.

  “Wear your red dress, the one with the black buttons,” he raised his eyebrows.

  “It’s the middle of the day Ben, it’s far too revealing.”

  “I know,” he replied with a provocative smile.

  “I’m not wearing it,” she called over shoulder making her way up the stairs.

  Kate’s mobile rang before she had chance to undress. Glancing at the screen, she recognised her mother’s number as it flashed across.

  “Hi mum, how are you today?” she enquired cheerfully.

  This was not the best way to start a conversation with her mother, who then spent five minutes relaying a blow by blow account of her inflamed bunions! Steering the conversation away from her ailments, Kate informed her she would not be accompanying her to visit her father’s grave.

  “You know I hate going to the cemetery mum. It’s nothing personal, I remember my father in my own way,” she spoke quietly.

  She didn’t need reminding that her father had died; he was in her thoughts constantly, especially today, the anniversary of his death. The image of his emaciated body ravaged by cancer was not a sight that could easily be forgotten. The thought of constantly visiting his grave was a depressing reminder she did not want to relive. Today she was going to keep her mind occupied with other thoughts.

  “I’m sorry mum but I’ll have to go; we’ll call round to see you when Ben has a free weekend,” this seemed to pacify her and the call ended.

  After taking a hurried shower, Kate dried her hair and slipped the red dress from its hanger. As she walked slowly down the stairs, a smile spread across her face. Ben loved to see her in the tight-fitting dress, and Kate relished in the sensuality it evoked. From the door- way she cleared her throat.

  “I’m ready,” she whispered provocatively.

  “Wow you look fantastic.” His eyes wandered slowly up and down her body and Kate felt a tingle of excitement as he slipped his arm around her waist. Then she was in his arms. Her eyes closed as he drew her close, and tenderly kissed her. When they parted she was breathless and flushed from the depth of his passion.

  “Let’s go,” Ben took her hand and she didn’t resist.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I thought we could try that new Italian in the high street, one of the girls in the office says it’s fantastic, and not too expensive,” he replied.

  “And which girl would that be?”

  “I don’t know her name, why do you ask?” he asked sharply.

  “I’m only joking, its sound fine,” she replied with a smile.

  Half an hour later, they sat down to order their meals in the newly opened restaurant, and spent an enjoyable afternoon in each other’s company. The food was excellent, and after a couple of glasses of wine, Kate became relaxed and sleepy. Neither of them mentioned the photographs, but Kate did not intend to forget about them. She knew there was a reason why she had received them, and she was determined to discover why. If she had known the consequences of her actions, she would have left them in the bin.

  CHAPTER 2

  Patrick Hinds opened his eyes and slowly lifted his head from the pillow. His mouth was dry and a dull throbbing pain surged across his forehead as he swung his legs out of bed. Vague images flashed through his mind as he recalled the previous evening. He had no memory of how he arrived home; the last thing he could remember was drinking with an old tramp in ‘Benny’s Bar,’ whose name now evaded him, but his appearance remained clear. He looked and smelled like an old sea dog, a musty unwashed smell that had lingered in his nostrils. Nicotine stained his white beard, and he barely had a tooth in his jaw. The few clothes he wore were threadbare and filthy; but despite his repulsive appearance, Pat had financed his drinking all evening.

  Perched on the edge of the bed, he held his head in his hands and sighed. How had he allowed his life to be ruled by alcohol? Without the excessive drinking he could have been the editor of a prestigious newspaper, instead of a discarded reporter covering news that no one wanted to read.

  At barely twenty three years old, he was awarded The Young Journalist of the Year, and presented with a cheque for £250. That was a lot of money in those times, but the accolade of winning the trophy had been the ultimate achievement for a young journalist. However, with it came the added pressure to maintain high standards, which he struggled to achieve. It was at this point in his career that his drinking began to escalate, and eventually take control. Still dwelling on the past, Pat turned to look at the glass trophy on the shelf. It was long forgotten and covered with dust and dirt, not too dissimilar from how his life had turned out. How much longer could he continue to abuse his body this way? How much longer would his body tolerate the abuse he mercilessly unleashed on it night after night? He knew his health was beginning to suffer as he finding it increasing difficult to eat, and his weight had plummeted. Together with the feelings of regret and guilt that constantly overwhelmed him, a deep depression plagued him and persisted for days at a time. It was because of his heavy drinking that his wife had left him and taken their young son with her over thirty years ago. His son Greg, had been only two years old at the time, and Pat had missed seeing him growing up. He too had been very young, too young to be a father. At twenty one years old he could barely look after himself let alone a wife and child. The drink helped, but then it started to take over his life. His wife Trisha had taken Greg to her mother’s while he was out drinking, leaving a note on the kitchen table. At the time he thought she would be back in a few days, but he was never to see either of them again. Trisha may have seemed young and naïve but she wasted no time in filing for a divorce, and convinced the courts that her husband was an inapt parent, with a chronic drinking problem. Consequently he was denied access to his child at all times until he could verify he had stopped drinking. This was to prove to be an impossible task, and Pat gave up any ideas of ever seeing his family again. Perhaps he didn’t want reconciliation, even though he missed his son, he did experience a degree of release from the huge responsibility. Later in life though, he realised how wrong he had been. If he had tried harder he could have turned his life around, but it was easier to walk away and take solace from the bottle. He later heard that after Trisha had remarried and taken Greg to live abroad with her new husband, but it was never confirmed.

  Greg would now be in his thirties; perhaps even married with children of his own. Or had he followed in his father’s footsteps and become an alcoholic? Because that’s what he was and he could deny it no longer, Pat Hinds was an alcoholic; and it was time to stop, before it stopped him. The words sounded ironically familiar because he had tried to stop drinking before, but only because his job was in jeopardy. A local support group had seemed a good idea at the time, but after the first meeting he had convinced himself he didn’t have a problem and never attended again. It was a totally humiliating experience which had left him in need of a drink and consequently, he spent the rest of the evening draining a bottle of 25 year old single malt. He never felt the urge to discuss his drinking habits with a bunch of strangers ever again.

  He was reminded of his own fat
her now. As a young boy, there were many times when his father would come staggering along the cobbled streets falling drunkenly though the front door. His parents were both of Irish descent, but moved to England where his father drifted from one menial job to another drinking most of what he earned. When he died prematurely ten years later, his mother was left to rear four children single-handedly. Through the years, she constantly reminded him of the perils of the demon drink, but as soon as he was old enough to work he began to get a taste for alcohol. Perhaps it was in his genes inherited from his father, or a form of escapism, but he didn’t want to die prematurely like him; it was time to do something about it.

  Rising to his feet, he headed in the direction of the bathroom where he caught a glimpse of his drink ravaged reflection in the mirror. Sunken eyes and three days of beard growth aged him beyond his fifty six years. His hair was thick with grease and plastered to his head, and his sallow skin exuded an aura of severe illness. Turning away from the disturbing image, he filled the basin with cold water and splashed the icy liquid onto his haggard face. The temperature of the water awakened his senses as he dragged a towel roughly across skin. Fingering his stubbly chin, he contemplated shaving in an attempt to improve his disgusting appearance. Reaching into the wall cabinet for the necessary equipment, his hands trembled as he selected an old disposable razor and a can of shaving foam. As carefully as possible, he drew the blade over his cheeks and under his chin, but his trembling hands were out of his control and blood dripped into the white basin. Cursing his clumsiness, he dabbed the cuts with tissue and continued, determined to finish the task. Feeling slightly better, he turned on the shower and stepped into the stream of cold water. Picking up the first bottle of coloured fluid he found, regardless to its contents he washed his hair and body in record time. Minutes later, he stood wrapped in a towel shivering from head to foot inspecting the contents of his antiquated wardrobe. The only half decent outfit he could find was an old suit which had been hanging there for at least a decade. A shabby once white shirt hung next to it, and he snatched the garments from the rail and dressed.