Page 7 of The Girlfriend’s Secret

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I get out of bed and leave my husband engrossed in his book, creeping down the hallway past my youngest son’s bedroom. It’s a room that has been empty for over a year but is now occupied. My little boy is in there again, although I would never verbally call him my little boy because at twenty-five, he would be more prone to teasing me if I said such a thing. I also think about how he is not alone in his room because Haven is in there with him.

It’s funny, but it was only a few minutes ago that I was wondering if somebody could be eavesdropping on my conversation on the other side of the bedroom door. Yet now, I realise I am in a position to do exactly that to somebody else’s conversation.

But I shouldn’t do it. I should just move on to go and get my drink from the kitchen before returning to bed. So why do I linger in the hallway? Why do I move my head closer to my son’s bedroom door? Why am I now trying to hear if anything is being said on the other side of it?

I just want the best for him.

But am I behaving in the best way to get that?

It doesn’t take long for me to detect that words are being spoken.

I can hear Haven talking. It’s a soft voice, but it’s audible.

What is she saying?

It could be nothing. Some anecdote from her past, or from travelling, or a simple comment about plans for tomorrow. But it’s none of those things. Instead, she is talking about me.

‘I don’t think your mother likes me very much,’ I hear Haven saying to Joel. ‘And I’m not sure I like her either.’

FIVE

LIANE

It was hard to sleep with Haven’s words ringing in my ears. Okay, so I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping on a private conversation but, then again, it was a conversation that was occurring in my house. Maybe I had a right to hear it, and I think I did, considering I was the person being discussed.

Haven said that she thinks I don’t like her and, given the vibe I have been getting from her, she might be right about that so far. But then she also said that she didn’t like me, and while that could just be a natural reaction to her sensing my unease towards her, it still felt shocking to hear.

Have I been awful to her in any way? As far as I can tell, I have been nothing but welcoming. I have opened up my home to her and allowed her to stay here. Sure, I’ve only done that because she comes with my son, but still, I could have said no and told her to stay with her own family, whoever they are, because she hasn’t opened up about them to us yet. But no, I have allowed her into my home. I also allowed her to attend my mother’s funeral, to be alongside Joel on what was a difficult day and, really, just a day for close family and friends. So how can she say she doesn’t like me? It could just be me being overly emotional after recent stresses and strains, or there could truly be some substance there.

I wish I had been able to hear what Joel had said in response to Haven’s statement, but I couldn’t. He must have been whispering and I failed to hear anything after that. Maybe they both just drifted off to sleep. Perhaps Haven was not thinking clearly, consumed by jetlag and the stress of the funeral and meeting so many strangers.

Who knows?

Not me.

All I know is I slept badly and now I am leaving my bedroom to go and make myself some breakfast. Food should cheer me up. Or at least I think it might until I enter the kitchen.

The first thing I notice is the mess.

This room was tidy before I went to bed, but as I walk in and see the surfaces, I can hardly believe my eyes. What has happened in here? There are dirty plates on the counters, half-filled cups of orange juice, and crumbs all over a chopping board. Add to that an empty packet of ham, two pieces of bread going stale on the side and two empty crisp packets and it looks like somebody had quite the feast in here.

At first, I think about my husband. He left for work about half an hour ago and usually makes his breakfast before he goes to his office. But he doesn’t tend to consume ham, bread and crisps at this time of the day and, even if he did, he wouldn’t leave such a mess in his wake. He is very good at tidying up after himself, so I doubt this was him. The next suspect then would be Joel, and my son has been known to go rummaging for food in the early hours of the morning while the rest of the family sleeps. But that was when he was a ravenous teenager, and even then, like his father, he always made an effort to tidy up after himself. But if it’s not him then it means it must be her.

Could Haven have made all this mess? It’s possible. If so, I don’t object to her helping herself to some food if she was hungry, because she is a guest here and I want her to feel comfortable. But I do object to her leaving my kitchen in such a state, especially after I worked hard to get it clean and tidy again after hosting my mother’s wake yesterday.

Disinfecting surfaces and sweeping the floor had been the last thing I had wanted to do after laying my mother to rest, but I had forced myself to do it, with my husband’s help, because I knew it was important to keep a clean environment. It’s second nature for me to reach for a dustpan and brush anyway, given my day job, but it’s always been important that I make the effort as much with my home as I do with my clients’. My fragile mental state won’t be helped by living in a messy home, so I made sure there was no mess. But despite that, I am now surrounded by one.

I hear footsteps coming down the stairs and realise Joel and Haven are surfacing from their slumber, and suddenly I feel like an intruder in my own home. I should be totally relaxed here, but I feel awkward as I hear them approaching. I feel how Haven should have felt when she arrived here, only she didn’t feel awkward at all. Why am I now the one suffering from that feeling instead of her?

‘Morning, Mum,’ I hear Joel say behind me and I turn around to see my sleepy son entering the kitchen, his bleary eyes still displaying the effects of the jetlag he will be battling after such a long flight from Australia.

‘Good morning,’ I say before I see Haven enter the room behind him. She looks sleepy too, not that fatigue seems to have had too much of a negative effect on her appearance. She still looks good, even with bedhead, jetlag and no make-up.

‘Morning, Liane,’ Haven says cheerfully, the lilt of her voice catching me off guard. Maybe she didn’t make this mess after all. If she did, she would surely be a little sheepish about it. Wouldn’t she?

‘Anyone for a cup of tea?’ Joel asks as he approaches the kettle, and Haven answers in the affirmative before taking a seat at the breakfast bar that is still littered with various food and drink items. But I don’t answer because I’m still trying to figure out who made this mess.