The Secrets She Keeps by Michael Robotham EPUB & PDF – eBook Details
- Author: Michael Robotham
- Genre: Women’s Friendship Fiction, Psychological Thrillers
- Publish Date: January 2, 2018
- Size: 2 MB
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Avail for Download
- Price: Free
AGATHA
I am not the most important person in this story. That honor belongs to
Meg, who is married to Jack, and they are the perfect parents of two
perfect children, a boy and a girl, blond and blue-eyed and sweeter than
honey cakes. Meg is pregnant again and I couldn’t be more excited because
I’m having a baby too.
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Leaning my forehead against the glass, I look in both directions along
the pavement, past the greengrocer and hairdressing salon and fashion
boutique. Meg is running late. Normally she has dropped Lucy at primary
school and Lachlan at his preschool by now and has joined her friends at
the café on the corner. Her mothers’ group meets every Friday morning,
sitting at an outdoor table, jostling prams into place like eighteen-wheelers
on the vehicle deck of a ferry. One skinny cappuccino, one chai latte, and a
pot of herbal tea . . .
A red bus goes past and blocks my view of Barnes Green, which is
opposite. When it pulls away again I see Meg on the far side of the road.
She’s dressed in her stretch jeans and a baggy sweater, and carrying a
colorful three-wheeled scooter. Lachlan must have insisted on riding to his
preschool, which would have slowed her down. He will also have stopped to
look at the ducks and at the exercise class and at the old people doing tai
chi who move so slowly they could almost be stop-motion puppets.
Meg doesn’t appear pregnant from this angle. It’s only when she turns
side-on that the bump becomes a basketball, neat and round, getting lower
by the day. I heard her complaining last week about swollen ankles and a
sore back. I know how she feels. My extra pounds have turned climbing
stairs into a workout and my bladder is the size of a walnut.
Glancing both ways, she crosses Church Road and mouths the word
“sorry” to her friends, double-kissing their cheeks and cooing at their
babies. All babies are cute, people say, and I guess that’s true.
I have
peered into prams at Gollum-like creatures with sticky-out eyes and two
strands of hair, yet always found something to love because they’re so newly
minted and innocent.
I’m supposed to be stocking the shelves in aisle three. This part of the
supermarket is usually a safe place to slack off, because the manager, Mr.
Patel, has a problem with feminine hygiene products. He won’t use words
like “tampons” or “sanitary pads”—calling them “ladies’ things” or simply
pointing to the boxes that he wants unpacked.
I work four days a week, early morning to three, unless one of the other
part-timers calls in sick. Mostly I stock shelves and sticker prices. Mr. Patel
won’t let me work the cash register because he says I break things. That
happened one time and it wasn’t my fault.
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