Page 3 of The Girlfriend’s Secret

‘Have you had something to eat? Can I get you a drink?’ Frederik asks, concerned that in amongst all the welcoming of well-wishers in my home, I have forgotten to give myself some sustenance to help fuel me through this difficult day. He would be right because I haven’t taken a bite of a sandwich since we got back here, nor have I had the smallest sip of water either. The truth is, I lost my appetite when I lost my mother and while I know I need to eat to stay strong, it’s easier said than done. At least grief might help me lose a little weight and that can’t be a bad thing. I don’t think I’ll ever return to the slim days of my twenties, but losing a few pounds as I enter my fifties can’t hurt. And then, as if to emphasise that thought currently running through my head, I catch sight of Haven at the buffet table, stuffing a ham and cheese sandwich into her face before pouring herself a glass of red wine from one of the bottles Frederik had set out before we left for the church.

As I watch my son’s girlfriend, it’s as if she is totally oblivious to the sorrow that surrounds her. Rather than demonstrate slow and thoughtful movements, aware that she is in an uncomfortable environment with people who are grieving deeply, she is acting as if she is at an all-inclusive hotel and can’t wait to gorge herself on whatever she can get her hands on. As she sticks another sandwich in her mouth, I have no idea how she maintains such a slender figure, before remembering how I could eat anything I wanted at that age too and it didn’t seem to make a difference. She’ll realise that such luck runs out one day, but for now, she is fully in her era of calorific consumption, and she doesn’t seem to care who sees it.

If I’m honest, my reason for watching her with increasing levels of disdain is less about how much she is eating and more about how she smiled at me back in the church. It was such a strange thing to do in that moment as tears rolled down my cheeks and the pallbearers had just placed down the coffin. Why smile? Why not just look at me and offer something else, like a look of pure compassion or sympathy? I’d have even understood if she had quickly averted her eyes from mine due to the awkwardness. But to smile suggests she wasn’t feeling awkward in that moment at all. It also suggests she wasn’t even feeling sad. But how can someone not be sad at a funeral? The occasion demands it. Any happiness is left at the church door and not regained again until hours, days or maybe even months later. But not so for Haven. Not so for this woman who has infiltrated my family and who might be here to stay depending on how things go between her and my youngest son.

I see Joel then, watching as he sidles up to Haven, sliding an arm around her impossibly slim waist before giving her a kiss on the cheek. It’s sweet of my son to be checking on his girlfriend, especially here where she doesn’t know anyone anywhere near as well as him, and Haven turns to acknowledge the gesture. But she doesn’t just smile like she did to me at the church, nor does she stop chewing on her latest sandwich. Instead, she opens her mouth and pulls a funny face, not unlike a young child who is messing around at the dinner table in front of their parents.

It’s an immature move, but my son responds with a small laugh. Perhaps it was just an awkward reaction on his part, or maybe he did actually find it funny, despite the circumstances. Lord knows he could use a little levity at a time like this. But whatever the effect of the silly facial expression, it’s another example of how Haven seems totally nonplussed about being here, in my home, at my mother’s funeral, and surrounded by her boyfriend’s family, whom she barely knows.

If I had met Frederik’s family like this, I’d have been on my best behaviour. It would have been all ‘pleases and thank yous’, but mostly I would have kept myself to myself. Fortunately, I never had to experience this because I met Frederik’s family in much brighter circumstances, accompanying my man as we met his parents for a meal in town one Saturday night. Sure, it was still nerve-wracking, but it was better than meeting them after somebody had just died. I had initially felt sorry for Haven and how her first time around us would be under these unfortunate circumstances. But the more I watch her, the more I see she doesn’t seem to need anybody to feel sorry for her.

‘I just can’t believe it,’ comes the female voice nearby, and I turn to see one of my mother’s best friends, Ruth, lingering to my left. ‘Val was so fit and active. I just don’t understand how she could have fallen down the stairs. She’d never been the type to be unsteady on her feet.’

‘Unfortunately, it could have just been age catching up with her,’ Frederik says with a sad shake of the head. ‘Or perhaps a simple accident. I suppose we’ve all been guilty of almost toppling down the stairs at one time or another, no matter how old we are. I know I’ve almost lost my footing a few times myself.’

‘But Val was always so careful. I can’t believe she could just slip and fall like that,’ Ruth replies ruefully. ‘Was it definitely an accident?’

‘Of course it was. The police have no reason to think otherwise,’ Frederik replies quickly.

‘But could it have been something other than her just falling?’ Ruth asks.

‘Like what?’ Frederik asks.

‘I don’t know,’ Ruth says. ‘I just can’t envision Val ever being weak and vulnerable, I suppose.’

‘Me neither,’ I add before the memory of seeing Mum at the bottom of the stairs flashes before my eyes again and I have to turn away as the tears take hold.

As I hear Frederik accept some condolences from Ruth, I rush to find the nearest tissue box. But on the way, I hear something that makes me stop still.

It’s her. Haven. She’s talking to an elderly man by the buffet table.

And what she says turns my blood cold.

‘Accidents are awful, but they happen all the time. At least she didn’t suffer. At least it was over quickly for her.’

I stare at Haven and wonder how she could say such a thing. How does she know my mother didn’t suffer? How does she know she wasn’t lying in pain for several agonising minutes or even hours before she passed? How does she know even the slightest thing about what happened?

Then I see it again. It’s not directed at me this time, but I still see it.

That same smile.

Out of all the people in my house right now, only one of them seems happy.

Her.

THREE

LIANE

Most of the mourners have now left my house, but my home is far from empty. That’s because my husband is here, as are my two sons. After a long day, it’s finally time for family. Well, almost. There is still one person here who isn’t technically family.

Haven.

‘What a lovely send-off she had,’ Haven says as she joins Joel on the sofa with yet another glass of wine. How many has she had now? ‘I thought the funeral was really sweet and it was nice to see how many friends she had.’

I’m not sure I’d ever describe a funeral as sweet. Such a word is usually reserved for occasions like christenings, weddings or surprise birthday parties. Yet here is Haven talking about my mum’s funeral as if it was something to be savoured rather than survived.

‘I never knew she was so popular,’ Joel says. ‘But I guess that was Grandma. Always full of surprises.’