Secrets Too Fragile to Keep

ONE

THE SUITCASE BY THE DOOR

Twenty-nine years ago

It was the suitcase by the door. That’s when I knew it was different.

A single, solitary suitcase that belonged to my dad.

The big blue one that lived on top of the wardrobe.

The one with the scuffed corner and the zip that got stuck all the time, making him swear.

The one that he would take on family holidays.

The one Mum would pack for both of them, except this time I knew it only had his clothes in it.

I kept thinking that I had got it wrong. That I was jumping to conclusions. That I had somehow misread it. But much as I tried, I came back to the same place, the only explanation there was.

Mum was in the kitchen. I could hear her moving about, filling the kettle, and making a cup of tea she absolutely would not drink. Her cups of tea always went untouched when she was sad.

At ten years old, I was used to reading the signs of trouble brewing between my parents.

Sometimes it would fizzle out into nothing.

Other times it could go on for hours. But the suitcase had never been brought out before.

There was a stillness in the air, like the energy had changed into something strange and unfamiliar, but something I understood, even then.

Aaron and Will were upstairs. At seven and four years old, they stayed out of the way.

I was standing in the hallway, staring at the suitcase.

Dom, my younger brother by eighteen months, was sitting halfway down the stairs. His knees up against his chest, his hands locked around his legs.

We looked at each other. Neither of us said anything. We didn’t need to.

Dad came down from his bedroom. He was wearing his coat. He paused as he reached Dom, then took his hand and brought him down to where I was standing.

‘Boys,’ he said, letting out a long sigh. ‘I’m going to be away for a while.’

He glanced towards the kitchen door.

‘Where are you going?’ I asked before he could say anything else.

He crouched down, resting his arms on his knees. His aftershave was strong, freshly applied. I noticed he was wearing a clean shirt under his coat, and his hair had been combed back, still damp from where he’d showered.

‘I just need a few days away. Got to sort some things out.’

He reached over and rubbed my arm in some sort of gesture of reassurance before standing up again and ruffling Dom’s hair.

‘Don’t go,’ I said, grabbing his hand. ‘You don’t have to go. You can sort things out here.’

The words came out before I had time to even think about them.

His gaze fixed on mine, and I could see a deep sadness there. ‘Oliver––’

‘We don’t want you to go,’ I said, the panic rising in my voice. ‘Me, Dom, Aaron, and Will. We want you to stay. Just fix whatever it is here. You can fix it. You always do. Don’t leave us.’

His breath caught like he had been punched in the stomach. He was quiet for a moment, and I genuinely believed that I had convinced him to change his mind. I had put forward the strongest case possible that I could at ten years old. It had to be enough. It had to.

‘I’m not leaving you,’ he said gently. ‘I promise. But I need some space.’

He pulled us both into him, his hands cupping the backs of our heads. I felt tears building up behind my eyes. I squeezed my eyes tight shut, didn’t want Dom to see me crying.

After a few precious seconds, Dad straightened up and gently pulled our hands from around him. I knew then that he was still leaving.

Dad picked up his suitcase, the one that was just for holidays but was now for something more permanent. With one last look at both of us, he turned and left. The click of the lock had never been as loud as it was that day.

Dom and I stared at each other for a long moment. Silent communication passed between us. Dad had gone. Properly gone. I should have found a way to stop him. But I hadn’t been able to change a thing. Dom sat back down on the stairs.

I looked up at the first floor. I could hear Aaron laughing at something on the TV. Will was talking to his cars. He loved his garage.

I would have to pretend I knew nothing until Mum told them. And then they would find out that I hadn’t been able to stop Dad from leaving. That I hadn’t been able to change what had happened. That sometimes words weren’t enough.