Katy Carter Keeps a Secret (17 page)

Hey! If I throw Ann a wonderful surprise birthday party it will really impress her and it’ll be one less thing for Ollie to worry about. I know he’s been racking his brains for what to do for her. Maybe I can pay for it with the remainder of my advance from Throb? That way at least some good might come from my having written this secret book. I know we need to get our roof fixed as well at some point, but there’ll be another two novels in the series to help cover that.

Hugely cheered by the notion of doing something nice with my guilty money, I don’t take a lot of persuading to go to the pub for lunch. By the time I return to the cottage, a few glasses of wine down, I’m feeling far more mellow. Tansy and her seagull-crap speckled Lotus have roared back to Plymouth, Mads has gone to collect the twins from school and Nicky’s sloped off somewhere. All is quiet in the cottage. All is still. I can get on with my work in peace, make a bit of money, retire from writing mummy porn and all will be well. Ollie and I will be the way we always have been and life will go back to normal.

Of course it will.

I scoop my laptop from the kitchen table and relocate to the living room, followed closely by Sasha. Then I position myself on the sofa and flex my fingers over the keyboard. Right Alexi and Lucinda. Where were you?

Oh.

Oh my goodness!

They can’t do that!

Can they?

I slam the lid shut and fan my flaming cheeks. That is the last time I am letting Maddy and Nicky loose on this novel. Even Throb have limits. There has to be another way I can earn money. Do I really need both kidneys?

And then I have my eureka moment, only without a bath and in the sitting room instead. The answer to everything is right beneath my feet!

Maybe it’s inspiration? Maybe I’m tuning into the spirit of Cecily Greville? Or maybe it’s the wine talking, but I really feel that I’m onto something! And I might not have a crowbar but the fireside poker looks sturdy enough to do the job. I’m not going to wait for Frankie to get his butt in gear. I know I’ve promised to wait until he comes back  but it’s been over a month and I’m fast running out of patience.

Patience and cash.

 I’m going to do this myself.

Girl power!

I feel energised! I feel like lightning is zinging through me! I feel alive!

Leaping to my feet I shove the coffee table out the way, roll back the carpet and then grab the poker, wielding it in the style of Luke Skywalker with a lightsabre. The treasure is only inches away from me, I can feel it!

“Let’s do this,” I say to Sasha, who raises her head from her paws and regards me with sad brown eyes. “Don’t look so worried. This is going to be great.”

Now. Where to start? How about that floorboard over there? It’s always been a bit loose and squeaky; it’s right by the door too, so it’s easy to access. Yes, it’s the perfect hiding place. I can’t believe I haven’t thought about it before. That’s bound to be where an old lady would hide her life savings.

I ram the poker into the gap between the floorboards and heave with all my weight but the bloody thing doesn’t give an inch. Think, Katy, think! You need to wedge the board up a bit to ease the poker along. Something small and flat should be just the job. I know! Those glittery flip-flops Tansy gave me last summer will be just the thing. OK, so this probably wasn’t
quite
what Jimmy Choo had in mind, but I think it only proves just how versatile these sandals are and that they were worth every penny. I don’t suppose my Primarni ones would be nearly as good at wedging open gaps in floorboards.

I slide the poker in, lean on it with all my might and
pop
! Up comes the floorboard. Elated, I shine my iPhone torch into the void and see… nothing.

Oh.

I sit back on my heels feeling totally deflated. I’d been so sure that this was the spot. Maddy’s crystal went bonkers here the other day.

OK. This is not defeat. This is just a minor setback. There’s a whole floor here. I’m in the wrong place, that’s all. Just keep digging!

You know when you have a spot on your face and you think to yourself that you’ll just have a little squeeze? And then that little squeeze turns into a medium squeeze and looks a bit red, so you squeeze just a bit more? And then another pimple catches your attention and before you know it your entire face is under attack? Well, after about twenty minutes our sitting room floor has succumbed to a similar fate. I haven’t lifted all the boards, but I’m going that way – until my torch beam picks up a cobwebby corner of sacking and my heart thuds.

Is this it?

I sit bolt upright, my despair evaporating. I’ve found it! I’ve really found it! Who needs the lottery! I have found Cecily Greville’s treasure!

My fear of spiders has been miraculously overcome as I reach my hand down into the gap. My skin’s tingling and my heart’s racing as my fingers close around the rough fabric. Golly! It’s really heavy. There must be a fortune in here. Gold coins maybe, or jewels or even ingots? To be honest I’m not certain what an ingot is exactly, but I think finding a couple could be very good news for us. Beyond excited, I grit my teeth and heave with all my might. There’s a jolt, then a clanking a bit like Maddy makes when she sneaks a couple of bottles into the vicarage. And finally I fall backwards onto the floor as the loot pops out of the hole in the floorboards.

Success!

Closer inspection reveals my find to be a hessian sack tied up with scraps of lace and ribbon, beautiful fabric remnants that surely must have once belonged to old Miss Greville. This bag has to be where she put her life savings.

“I’ve found it, Sasha,” I breathe. The dog barks excitedly and bounds around the room, leaping the holes in the floor with canine ease and waving her plumy tail in delight. I feel like doing exactly the same and if I had a tail it’d be wagging for sure because this is it! I’ve found the treasure!

Feeling as though I’m about to pass out with anticipation, I unknot the ribbon with trembling fingers and then peer into the bag.

What?

This doesn’t look much like treasure to me. More like the recycling.

Six dusty old bottles with 1805 embossed on the dark glass? Seriously? This can’t be right! I thought I’d dug up treasure, not Cecily Greville’s trash.

I place the bottles on the floor, very carefully because surprisingly they seem to still be full. Then I shake the bag hopefully, but there’s nothing except for a cloud of dust and a rather disgruntled spider.

I slump back against the sofa, deflated. This isn’t what I was expecting. Not at all.

I’m contemplating heading to the fridge and pouring myself an enormous glass of wine before beginning Operation Fix the Floor
when I hear the kitchen door slam.

“Katy! I’m home.”

Shit! Ollie doesn’t usually get home before at least seven and it’s only five now. If he sees the state of this room he’ll flip! I’d hoped the treasure would have smoothed things over but unless he wants a glass of ancient home-made plonk I’m in big trouble.

“I’m in the sitting room,” I call back, jumping to my feet and doing my best to push the floorboards back into place. But will the bloody things fit? Of course not. They might have been perfectly happy to slot together for the past four hundred years but they don’t want to play now. I shove as hard as I can but still no joy.

Bollocks!

“Katy?”

“Be right with you!” I trill. “Just finishing this sentence!”

I hear the fridge door open and the hiss of a ring pull as Ollie opens a can.

“How about we grab a takeaway?” he continues. “I’ve had the most bloody awful day. I was meant to be on a leadership training course but the bloody supply teacher did a runner at the eleventh hour and we had to cancel. I nearly called the agency and got you in.”

I feel faint at the very idea. Thank God he didn’t.

“Anyway, all I want to do now is collapse in front of some mindless telly with a Chinese and my gorgeous girlfriend,” he says and he sounds so tired that my heart goes out to him. Without intending to I’ve totally ruined both ends of the day for the man I love. The fridge door shuts, and I hear him chatting to Sasha and then his footsteps as he heads to the sitting room.

Three, two, one—

Ollie’s standing in the doorway; his eyes are enormous behind his glasses. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t panic!” I say, jumping to my feet while he gazes around in shock. “It looks worse than it is!”

The trouble is that as I say this I don’t quite believe it myself. Our floor has more craters than the surface of the moon and the air’s thick with the dust of centuries. Oh dear. I think this looks just as bad as it really is.

“I can explain!” I cry when he shakes his head in disbelief. “You see, I—”

But Ollie holds his hands up. “Do you know what, Katy? I’m too tired to even hear it. All I wanted to do was come home and relax. Is that too much to ask?”

“I was looking for treasure!”

“Katy, I don’t care if you were looking for sodding Godot,” he replies wearily. “All I want is a rest but I can’t even have that.”

“You can! Of course you can. This won’t take me a minute to fix. Why don’t you have a bath while I do it?” I say desperately. I can’t bear to see him look so defeated. All I wanted to do was help but I’ve gone and made things ten times worse.

In fact, forget ten. I’ve made things
twenty
times worse.

“I’m going to the pub,” Ollie says, “and I might be some time because I bloody well need a drink. Possibly two. Maybe when I come home we might have a floor again? Just a thought. Up to you. Floors are probably overrated.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ollie this fed up. Not even when I accidentally flooded the bathroom or dyed all his clothes pink by leaving a rogue sock in the wash. No, usually he finds my disasters amusing and we have a laugh about them. Then he helps to put things right, and we end up having a lot of fun before sloping off upstairs for even more fun. That’s what we normally do.

But not today. No, today he looks scarily like a man who is at the very end of his tether.

I lapse into silence as Ollie picks up Sasha’s lead and calls her. Moments later I hear the front door slam shut and his footsteps passing the cottage. He’s gone, and if I want him to come back and stay I’ll need to fix a bit more than just this floor.

I pick up the dusty bottles and stow them under the stairs. Then, and with a very heavy heart, I make a start on replacing the floorboards. I don’t care about how awkward they are, or about splinters and spiders. I only care about Ollie. I hope I can as easily sort out all the other gaps that have suddenly appeared in my life.

Chapter 14

DAILY DAGGER

CORNISH TEACHER’S SEXY SECRET

BY: Staff Show Business Reporter

TANSY TOPHAM REVEALS: “I didn’t write a word of my bestselling novels!”

SHE’S HAD an amazing career, from lads’
mag pin-up to WAG to fashion designer to bestselling novelist. Incredibly, Tansy Topham’s literary efforts have even outsold the Booker list.

But far from writing the books herself, Tansy – wife of England striker Tommy Topham – leaves the hard work to a ghostwriter.

“I’m far too busy with my fashion lines and being on telly!” Tansy boasts. “Anyway, have you ever tried typing with acrylics? I just say I want a story written and there it is! It’s easy!”

So far Ms Topham has ‘written’ three novels. Her first book,
Thrilled by His Touch
, sold 200,000 copies in six weeks and her second,
Tamed by His Touch
, stormed straight to the top of the bestsellers list. The books might be simplistic and downmarket but they are undeniably racy.

“My books are about WAGs and sexy footballers. I haven’t read them yet but everyone tells me they’re dead good,” Tansy explains.

“I’m lucky to have a really talented writer in Cornwall who does the books for me. I can’t say who it is because it might get them into trouble at work, as they’re an English teacher and my books are full of sex! Oh! You won’t put that bit in, will you?”

Do you know the identity of Tansy’s saucy ghostwriter? Contact the newsroom on the number below, or drop us an email.

“The press think it’s me!” Ollie exclaims. “They’ve been camped outside school all day trying to get comments from parents and kids. We’ve had complaints, the school governors have called an emergency meeting, the Head’s going crazy and the priest has had a fit. It’s an utter disaster.”

He’s sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands and an expression of utter despair on his face. He’s had the day from hell and it’s all my fault.

Again.

He’s only just about forgiven me for the pulling-up-the-floor episode. Putting it all back proved a lot trickier than I’d thought and I’d had to pay a local builder to give me a hand. Ollie winced when he saw the bill but didn’t say anything. He hadn’t needed to. I already felt bad enough and there wasn’t even any treasure to show for all the grief either, just six dusty bottles of plonk. And now this.

I smooth the tabloid out onto the table and scan it again.
Simplistic and downmarket
? How very dare they! I slaved over those books. I polished that prose. It was art!

“What the hell was Tansy thinking?” Ollie groans. “She’s created havoc.”

“She
wasn’t
thinking,” I sigh. “This is Tansy, after all. Thinking isn’t really her forte. In fairness she did mention she might have said something, but I didn’t worry too much since they all know at the comp that I write books. It never occurred to me for a minute that the press might think it was you.”

He sighs wearily. “I guess it makes more of a story if the writer of sexy books is the Assistant Head of a Catholic school. That way they can dig up all kinds of salacious stories. What does it matter whether or not they’ve outed the wrong person? Papers are selling.”

Books are too, but I keep this observation to myself because I think it would be the last straw for Ollie. I only received a one-off fee but Tansy will be doing very nicely as the royalties flood in. The last time I checked Amazon,
Thrilled
was riding high at the top of the charts, with the rest of the series catching up fast. At this rate Tansy will be choosing a new Lotus by bedtime.