Page 2 of One Secret

I open the door to find my friend already holding the once-white rucksack. Age has mottled it to a beigey-gray and only two of the three badges fixed over the front pocket still have their face plates.

'I figured you would have something in here?' Lily-Anne says. She's holding the bag like it's a recently deceased animal she found under her car.

I roll my eyes and take the rucksack.

Trained by our techno-culture, I instinctively reach for my phone before anything else. The screen is flashing that I have a new message.

From "C".

Habits from the armed forces are hard to break, including handling your privacy. So, my messages are set to hidden until I unlock the device. But I know what the message says because it's always the same two words:

"I'm here."

Considering how I'd just spent the last five minutes and the fact that I've yet to work out how to break it off with the man responsible, the message should fill me with dread.

Instead, I feel something uncurling inside my chest. Like a knot of tension finally allowed to release. Allowed to breathe.

Well, I think, at least he's not dead.

After seven weeks (according to my doctor), I'd been starting to wonder… He'd never been away so long before.

'Everything all right?'

Lily-Anne leans against the door jamb, eyes full of concern as I stare at my phone.

Deliberately, I drop the thing into the deepest, darkest recesses of the bag and make a vow to ignore it. At least for now.

I flash a bright smile.

'Fine,' I reassure her before turning to more important matters at hand: like my breath.

I'm quick to locate my travel-sized toothbrush and toothpaste, dump my bag at my feet under the sink, and finish cleaning up.

'Thanks for letting me ambush your bathroom,' I say around the white bubbles, as I work up a froth.

Lily-Anne smiles sympathetically.

'No problem. I remember what it was like with my sister. She had terrible morning sickness.'

Morning sickness. Ha!

It's eight-thirty in the evening.

'The first thing my kid is going to learn,' I vow before doing the spit and rinse routine, 'is how to tell the fucking time.'

I grimace at myself in the mirror, then make sure my hair is still in place. The hotel I work at is classy, making my undercut an issue. A center parting and some careful pinning of the longer layers, however, hides the sides of my head and masquerades my hair into a chignon.

I smooth a few strands back into line.

'You get it a lot at night?' my friend winces.

'I get it whenever I smell something I would usually find delicious. Donuts, pastries, sushi…' I shudder just at the thought. 'Time is irrelevant.'

Up until now, I've been safe on my walking commute. Most of the buildings in this district are commercial offices. And any nearby cafes are long dead and closed by the time I'm heading for my evening shift at The Blue Star.

'Some absolute idiot has set up a bagel stand a block over,' I explain. 'Never seen it before or I'd have gone a different way.' I glare at the universe in general. 'Who the fuck wants cream-cheese bagels at this time of night?'

Lily-Anne is giggling.

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