Darren O’Sullivan - Our Little Secret - a gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist from bestselling author Darren O’Sullivan

He made his way through the crowd, trying his best not to interrupt the conversations of strangers he walked into, cursing and thanking his mate in equal measure. He remembered how he had awkwardly offered his hand as a way of introducing himself. At the same time, she went in for a kiss on the cheek, missing and landing near his ear, causing him to accidentally touch her on her side, not firmly, but enough for them both to know.

He would never forget that moment, yet he never spoke of it with her.

Steve stayed long enough to ensure the conversation was flowing smoothly before he splintered off to talk, rather loudly, to her friend about his future plans. It left Chris aware that it was just him and this beautiful woman getting to know each other. He hoped his nerves wouldn’t show though he could feel his face was still burning.

As they talked he struggled to understand how she could be so beautiful, so smart, so funny and after discreetly glancing down at her hand, so unmarried. He remembered how her soft green eyes never left the smoky grey of his as they spoke, and that he didn’t learn her name until embarrassingly late into their conversation because he was so nervous, he hadn’t asked.

Her name was Julia.

In that first meeting he learnt that she was a journalist for a local paper and had been for seven years, starting straight out of university. He learnt that she loved her job, and that being a writer was something she had wanted to do ever since she started her first diary as a child. He asked her if she wanted to write other things, a novel or perhaps something for TV. She said she liked where she was. Telling people’s stories and finding the hidden truth was enough. She told him that she truly believed she could make a difference. It wasn’t her being naive, just faithful.

He told her about his work. He remembered she was baffled as to what he did but asked if he loved it. He did, and she said that was all that mattered.

As the night drew on the crowds left, leaving the quieter murmurs of couples enjoying each other’s company, and as Chris ordered Julia and himself another drink he began to think beyond the moment. He wondered if he would see her again. He wanted to ask her for her number but couldn’t find the courage despite her giving all the signs of enjoying his company. Steve once again intervened and rather unsubtly asked how they were going to stay in touch. She immediately asked for Chris’s phone and tapped her number straight into it.

‘So you don’t lose it and forget me,’ she said.

He wondered if that was remotely possible.

He remembered how the rain felt warm on the back of his neck as he stole a kiss outside the bar before she got into a taxi. And how he laughed into his pillow like a child might on Christmas Eve that night, because he knew in that moment what he still knew now. She was the one.

He remembered being excited at the idea of seeing her again.

He remembered, in that moment, meeting her, he felt more alive.

And then jolting back to the present he remembered she was gone, strangled as he helplessly watched, unable to save her.

Opening his eyes, he was back on the cold platform. He looked at the clock.

Ten forty.

Seven minutes.

Chris took his wallet from his back pocket and opened it. A picture of his wife looked back. Carefully he took it out and held it in his hands and for a moment time seemed to matter less. It was from their honeymoon nearly two years ago now. Her skin was sun-kissed. Her smile was as wide and as carefree as the day they met. He remembered the beach they were lying on as he took it. Quiet and peaceful, a secret no one else knew of. And they just lay there, her head nestled in the gap between his shoulder and chest as he stroked her hair.

He pictured how they had spent day after day like it. Sleeping and talking and kissing without anyone to interrupt them. He told her stories of his father and she told him about her dreams and plans for the future.

He remembered how excited he felt as they discussed buying a bigger home and having a little family, both fantasizing about a daughter they would call Sophie, with her eyes and his smile. Their fantasy baby would crinkle her forehead when concentrating, and gently rub the bridge of her nose when falling asleep, just like Julia did.

He remembered how she told him he would make a brilliant daddy and how his heart felt full because of it. He thought about the night they stumbled across a cave bar in the side of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. Its locals rough around the edges with their dirty fingernails, stained T-shirts, and thick beards. But welcomed the non-Spanish-speaking couple with a kiss on each cheek. He thought of how she got drunk and he played guitar. He remembered feeling like those were the best weeks of his life.

It was his favourite picture of her. He could feel the Mediterranean sun every time he looked at it. Its warmth reaching his soul through that smile. But it felt cold in his hands, her smile not as bright. It told him what he already knew. He had let her down. There would be no bigger home, no little family, for he couldn’t save her from dying. He couldn’t stop her killer, even though every atom in his being was desperate to do just that.

He wanted to say something, anything. There were under seven minutes left and he desperately wanted to talk about how he felt. It didn’t matter that no one would hear it but the slowly moving rain cloud; he needed to voice them. Chris had always struggled to tell her his thoughts. The kind that are frightening for people to reveal, ones that once said couldn’t be unsaid. He wanted to share his deepest feelings about how when she looked at him it felt like the whole world stopped moving. As if all of the energy that had ever been created was holding its breath and that when she kissed him he felt lost within it.

He wanted to say that every mistake he had made, all of the times he had failed, were justified because each one brought her closer to him and had shaped him into the man who she would love. He wanted to say that nothing else mattered besides her. He wanted to tell her he would gladly trade places with her and would be happy to have died knowing she could live. But he couldn’t find the words. And she couldn’t hear him. He couldn’t turn back time.

Six minutes.

Closing her smile into the palm of his hand, he placed his wallet on the bench behind him. He had no need for it now. He thought it might be more use to someone else. He left it open, showing a £20 note inside. Stepping back he thought of the old expression his father used to say about being generous.

‘It is only money; can’t take it with you,’ he often said to Chris, even when he was too young to understand what it meant.

Even now, after seeing him fall ill and succumb to disease, he always remembered his father as he was when Chris was a young boy. The way his greying beard felt as he came in to kiss Chris goodnight, an air of tobacco wafting across him whilst he pretended to sleep and the way his father told stories about his mother. How they had met, when they had married.

She too had succumbed, although at no age when a person should, an age that robbed him of his ability to remember her beyond the images his father gave him. Then he remembered a moment he had long forgotten. One where his father took him outside into the garden on a cold, clear night.

‘Chris, do you know why we are outside?’

‘No.’

‘I’m going to show you where Mummy went.’

‘Where?’

‘Look up.’

‘I can’t see anything; it’s too dark.’

‘Give it a moment.’

After a few seconds the stars began to show themselves and as he looked, the more he could see. There were thousands. He had never seen so many stars.