Past Secrets by Cathy Kelly

Maggie left the beach at Salthill and got the bus back into the city. The bus was only half full and she sat a few seats behind a group of schoolgirls still in uniform.
    Half listening to their chatter, she stared listlessly out the window. She’d come to no conclusions because she couldn’t think about Grey. Her mind refused to cooperate, racing off on ideas of
    its own. She had to work late the next evening instead of Shona. Were they out of coffee? Should she and Grey go to see the new Pixar film? Anything was better than thinking about what had just happened.
    From the depths of her handbag, her mobile phone rang. On auto-pilot, Maggie retrieved it, saw that her father was calling and clicked answer.
    ‘Dad,’ she said, managing to sound bright. Her entire world hadn’t just crashed and burned, no. All was well. Faking happiness wasn’t
    that what communicating with your parents was all about?
    ‘What’s up, Dad?’
    ‘Hello, love, it’s your mum.’
    Maggie’s hand flew to her chest.
    ‘She’s in hospital, she’s broken her leg.’
    A breath Maggie didn’t know she’d been holding was released. ‘I thought you were going to tell me something terrible,’ she whispered, cupping her forehead in one hand with relief.
    ‘It is terrible,’ he went on. ‘Your mother insisted they did a bone density scan in the middle of it all, and it seems she’s got osteoporosis. The doctor says he doesn’t know why she hasn’t broken bones before.’ Her father had to stop talking for a moment and gulped. ‘I don’t know what to do, Maggie. You know how your mum copes with everything and all, but she’s taking this badly. She keeps saying she’s fine but she’s been crying. Your mother crying.’
    He sounded shocked. Una Maguire could see the silver lining in every cloud and had taught her daughter that a smile was easier to achieve than a frown. Mum never cried, except at films where a child was hurt or the dog died.
    ‘Maggie, I know it’s not fair but could you come home for a couple of days … ?’
    Maggie could imagine her father standing obediently outside the hospital entrance, not using his mobile phone inside as per the instructions on the hospital walls, even though nobody else obeyed them.
    Dad, with his wide-open eyes, his few strands of hair and his endearing inability to deal with daily life to the extent that Maggie felt he ought to wear permanent L-plates. Dad, who’d never seen her mum cry over anything.
    ‘I’ll be home tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry about a thing.’
    It was, after all, the solution to everything.
    You’re running away, said a voice in her head: a voice that sounded remarkably like Shona when she was in Dr Phil mode. Shona loved Dr Phil and felt that America’s favourite television doctor’s principles could be applied to every life situation.
    Are you doing the right thing? Ask yourself that. Would you advise a friend in a similar situation to do what you’re doing? Will running away solve your problem? Dr Phil asked all the right questions and so did Shona.
    No, no and no. Maggie knew the answers. But
     
    Dr Phil hadn’t the benefit of Maggie Maguire’s Guide to Life.
    Don’t stuff your bra to make your A-cups look like B-cups. Boys won’t get close enough to notice but nasty girls from school will. Nobody wants to be No-Tit Maguire for a whole month, as Maggie knew from experience.
    Guys who say things like ‘I’ve never met anyone like you’ are not lying, exactly, but probably don’t mean it the way you think they do.
    Maggie had a new piece of advice to add to the Guide:
    When in doubt, put your running shoes on. Nothing will improve but at least you don’t have to stare your defeat in the face on a daily basis. And if you can’t see it, surely it can’t be there?
    In a trendy little internet cafe close to the apartment, she ordered a latte and a session on the web. Flicking through flights to Dublin, she found one that left the following