Can you keep a secret download pdf

Now three people know my secret. Tommy, his mother, and you, Tina. Will you keep the secret , Tina? Or will you tell everyone? It's not as bad you think.

We can solve this together. Verdi found a box of tissues and gave her one or two whereas her makeup had begun to drip down her face, and her nose, from crying, Con you keep q secret? I don't suppose you Con. You mustn't lough, You mustn't Cry, But do the best you con! To survivors and supporters of survivors everywhere, This book is sure to inspire you and make you want to stand up and Enjoy reading this story of true survival and victory that will leave you pondering the question: Can you keep a There was no jealousy there, but it did bother me that Mark would treat his girlfriend that way.

Still, I did feel guilty at times and it made me like him a little bit less. We went back to keeping conversation to a minimum. She held herself like a model, moved like one , too.

I studied her over the rim of my magazine, summoning up the courage to approach her, and when she looked up and caught my eye I felt a brief stab of recognition. It lasted but a split I prayed it could continue. Earlier that spring, I had started a new nursing job. I also found a day care nearer to my home and more convenient for Abdul and me picking up Aisha.

We adjusted to this new pattern. Nursery Rhymes o o E. Action Worso o Nursery Rhymes 3. Action Verse so it - so Keep a Contact details for Mark Carthew can be found at www. Can you keep a secret? For children. ISBN —4—2 Subjects Keep a Secret? Toohoo Roto Tooroooooooooooooo. Playtime Rhymes o o E. Action Worso o o, 2. I think I might fall over at any moment. My heart jumps in fear. Oh my God. He's going to ask me to marry him, right here in the airport.

What am I going to say? I'm not ready to get married. But if I say no he'll stalk off in a huff. What I'll say is, Gosh, Connor, I need a little time to … '… move in together,' he finishes. Obviously he wasn't going to ask me to marry him. Move in with Connor. It kind of makes sense. Is there a reason why not? I feel all confused. Something's tugging at my brain; trying to send me a message … And into my head slide some of the things I said on the plane.

Something about never having been properly in love. Something about Connor not really understanding me. But then … that was just drivel, wasn't it? I mean, I thought I was about to die, for God's sake. I wasn't exactly at my most lucid. My legs are barely holding me up. I don't know if it's the aftermath of the plane journey or love. Oh God, just look at him. He's tall and he's handsome, and he cancelled a big meeting, and he came to rescue me.

It's love. It has to be love. THREE I wake up the next morning with sunlight dazzling my eyelids and a delicious smell of coffee in the air. Which normally I would find very easy. But today, something's niggling at me. Have I forgotten something? As I half listen to Connor clattering around in the kitchen, and the tinny background sound of the telly, my mind gropes blearily around for clues.

It's Saturday morning. I'm in Connor's bed. We went out for supper — oh God, that awful plane ride … he came to the airport, and he said … We're moving in together! He's dressed in a white waffle robe and looks completely gorgeous. I feel a prickle of pride, and reach over to give him a kiss. We're … going to live together!

Of course I am! And it's true. I feel as though overnight, I've turned into a grownup. I'm moving in with my boyfriend. Finally my life is going the way it should! And you'll have to promise to keep it tidy. There's a pause, as though we've both run out of steam, and we take a sip of coffee. And he really is. I mean, as if he wasn't already the perfect boyfriend, he actually enjoys visiting my parents.

It's their last concert of the year. Remember we heard them at Ronnie Scott's? I do remember. On and on and on, for about two hours, without even taking a breath. In fact, I'm positive I will. I watch fondly as he gets dressed, flosses his teeth and picks up his briefcase. Gosh, his eyes are so blue. You may not like it.

I mean … it's completely up to you. His face is growing pink, and he looks really embarrassed. Is he going to start getting kinky? Does he want me to dress up in outfits and stuff? I wouldn't mind being a nurse, actually. Or Catwoman from Batman. That would be cool. I could get some shiny boots … 'I was thinking that … perhaps … we could …' He stops awkwardly. I almost can't breathe. What does he want us to do? It's quite a commitment. And I noticed recently, we never seem to use any … terms of endearment.

Now I think about it, he's right. We don't. Why don't we? Only if you want to. Of course we should. This doesn't feel right. I don't feel like a darling. Darling is a married person with pearls and a four-wheel-drive.

But … you know. It may grow on me. Well, we can use something else. What about "dear"? Is he serious? Look, can we just leave it? Come on. I can call my boyfriend 'darling', for God's sake. This is what growing up's all about. I'm just going to have to get used to it. Maybe I'm still a bit tense after that flight.

I expect all couples have this kind of awkward-ish moment. It's probably perfectly normal. It takes me about half an hour to get from Connor's place in Maida Vale to Islington, which is where I live, and as I open the door I find Lissy on the sofa. She's surrounded by papers and has a frown of concentration on her face. She works so hard, Lissy. She really overdoes it sometimes. You do all these measurements …' 'Oh right!

That's crap. I knew it. You know, all my life I've kind of secretly known , but—' 'No! You can't measure beauty with some stupid index. Just look at you! The mirror or a stupid mindless magazine article? I know she's half joking. But ever since her boyfriend Simon chucked her, Lissy's had really low self-esteem. I'm actually a bit worried about her.

She's wearing pale pink jeans and a tight white top and as usual, she looks perfectly tanned and groomed. In theory, Jemima has a job, working in a sculpture gallery. But all she ever seems to do is have bits of her waxed and plucked and massaged, and go on dates with city bankers, whose salary she always checks out before she says yes.

I do get on with Jemima. Kind of. It's just that she tends to begin all her sentences ' Ifyou want a rock on your finger,' and ' Ifyou want an SW3 address,' and ' Ifyou want to be known as a seriously good dinner-party hostess. You know. It's just not exactly highest on my list of priorities right now.

Plus, Jemima's idea of being a seriously good dinner-party hostess is inviting lots of rich friends over, decorating the whole flat with twiggy things, getting caterers to cook loads of yummy food and telling everyone she made it herself, then sending her flatmates me and Lissy out to the cinema for the night and looking affronted when they dare creep back in at midnight and make themselves a hot chocolate.

Her dad bought it for her as a present when she broke up with a guy after three dates. Like she was heartbroken. Mind you, he had a yacht, so she probably was heart-broken. Andrew called Rupes this morning about cricket, and he told him. Isn't it great? Jemima, they're having a relationship, not playing chess! You have to plan strategically. If you make the wrong move, you've had it. It's about soulmates finding each other. Jemima raises her perfectly arched eyebrows as though to say, 'you poor, ignorant fool', and picks up her bag.

I can't look at Lissy. I'm sure I saw her wearing it the other night. Jemima's blue eyes are running over me and Lissy like some kind of radar scanners. And don't think I won't notice, because I will.

Oh well, I'll pick it up on Monday. So the truth is, we do both occasionally borrow Jemima's clothes. Without asking. But in our defence, she has so many, she hardly ever notices. Plus according to Lissy, it's a basic human right that flatmates should be able to borrow each others' clothes. She says it's practically part of the unwritten British constitution.

You know, she never even said thank you. D'you want to see a film? I hope it's OK. And even she doesn't know it all. I was watching a Cindy Blaine show the other day, all about reuniting long-lost daughters with their mothers, and it was so moving I soon had tears running down my face. At the end, Cindy gave this little homily about how it's far too easy to take our families for granted and that they gave us life and we should cherish them. And suddenly I felt really chastened. So these are my resolutions for today: I will not: Let my family stress me out.

Feel jealous of Kerry, or let Nev wind me up. Look at my watch, wondering how soon I can leave. I will: Stay serene and loving and remember that we are all sacred links in the eternal circle of life. I got that from Cindy Blaine, too. Mum and Dad used to live in Twickenham, which is where I grew up. But now they've moved out of London to a village in Hampshire.

I arrive at their house just after twelve, to find Mum in the kitchen with my cousin Kerry. She and her husband Nev have moved out too, to a village about five minutes' drive from Mum and Dad, so they see each other all the time. I feel a familiar pang as I see them, standing side by side by the stove. They look more like mother and daughter than aunt and niece.

They've both got the same feather-cut hair — although Kerry's is highlighted more strongly than Mum's — they're both wearing brightly coloured tops which show a lot of tanned cleavage, and they're both laughing. On the counter, I notice a bottle of white wine already half gone. As I glimpse a wrapped parcel on the kitchen table, I feel a little thrill of anticipation. I have got Mum the best birthday present.

I can't wait to give it to her! Her blue eyes are heavily made-up, and round her neck she's wearing a diamond cross which I haven't seen before. Every time I see Kerry she has a new piece of jewellery.

We don't see enough of you. Do we, Aunty Rachel? As though I'm a visitor. But never mind. I'm not going to stress about it. Sacred links in the eternal circle of life. It makes much more sense now. So I said to Elaine,' she adds to Mum, '"Where did you get those shoes? I couldn't believe it! Mum never used to play golf. But when she moved to Hampshire, she and Kerry took it up together.

And now all I hear about is golf matches, golf club dinners, and endless parties with chums from the golf club. I did once go along, to see what it was all about. But first of all they have all these stupid rules about what you can wear, which I didn't know, and some old guy nearly had a heart attack because I was in jeans. So they had to find me a skirt, and a spare pair of those clumpy shoes with spikes. And then when we got on to the course I couldn't hit the ball. Not I couldn't hit the ball well : I literally could not make contact with the ball.

So in the end they all exchanged glances and said I'd better wait in the clubhouse. She frowns anxiously. Does he look right to you? I never thought she would notice. I tried as hard as I could to get a fish that looked just like Sammy. I mean he's orange, he's got two fins, he swims around … What's the difference? I didn't even check if I got the right sex. Do goldfishes even have sexes? Dad's greying beard is as neatly trimmed as ever, and he's drinking beer from a silver tankard.

The room has recently been redecorated, but on the wall there's still a display of all Kerry's swimming cups. Mum polishes them regularly, every week. Plus my couple of riding rosettes. I think she kind of flicks those with a duster. No detours! No visits to historic cities! He's in chinos and a white roll-neck, and has a heavy gold bracelet round his wrist, plus a wedding ring with a diamond set in it.

Apparently they struck up conversation admiring each other's Rolex watches. Very smart. Tax deductible,' he adds. Er … Dad, that reminds me. I've got a cheque for you. It's called learning to stand on your own two feet! He takes a slug of beer and grins at Dad. Two and a half years ago. And he makes this same joke every time I see him. Every single bloody— OK, calm down. Happy thoughts. Cherish your family.

Cherish Nev. Good, good! Suddenly Dad and Nev simultaneously groan as something or other happens on the cricket pitch. A moment later they groan again. I go out to the hall and pick up the cardboard box which I brought down with me. Then I go through the side gate, knock on the annexe door and push it cautiously. At the old house in Twickenham he just had a bedroom, but this house is bigger, so he has his own annexe of two rooms, and a tiny little kitchen, tacked onto the side of the house.

He's sitting in his favourite leather armchair, with the radio playing classical music, and on the floor in front of him are about six cardboard packing cases full of stuff. Come here! His skin is dry and cool, and his hair is even whiter than it was last time I saw him. Grandpa is completely addicted to Panther energy bars, and so are all his friends at the bowling club, so I use my allowance to buy him a boxful for every time I come home. I pick my way across the room, dump the box on the floor, then retrace my steps, trying not to tread on anything.

Drunken louts, breaking bottles, gouging one another's eyes out …' 'It's not that bad—' 'Emma, it's not worth the risk! For the sake of a taxi fare or two. About once a year. What's all this stuff? I'm just sorting out what to throw away and what to keep. I'm keeping all that. Grandpa avoids my gaze.

You have to throw some of this away! And what's this? I've never even heard of a Jim before. Spent the afternoon together. I was nine. However small.

I reach for the nearest card, open it and my expression changes. This is from Smith's Electrical Maintenance, And nor do you need one from …' I open the next card. And you don't need twenty old copies of Punch. I'm looking at a photograph of me and Dad and Mum, sitting on a bench in a park.

Mum's wearing a flowery dress, and Dad's wearing a stupid sunhat, and I'm on his knee, aged about nine, eating an ice-cream. We all look so happy together. Wordlessly, I turn to another photo.

I've got Dad's hat on and we're all laughing helplessly at something. Just us three. Just us. Before Kerry came into our lives. I still remember the day she arrived. A red suitcase in the hall, and a new voice in the kitchen, and an unfamiliar smell of perfume in the air. I walked in and there she was, a stranger, drinking a cup of tea.

She was wearing school uniform, but she still looked like a grown-up to me. She already had an enormous bust, and gold studs in her ears, and streaks in her hair. And at suppertime, Mum and Dad let her have a glass of wine. Mum kept telling me I had to be very kind to her, because her mother had died. We all had to be very kind to Kerry. That was why she got my room. I leaf through the rest of the pictures, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I remember this place now.

The park we used to go to, with swings and slides. But it was too boring for Kerry, and I desperately wanted to be like her, so I said it was boring too, and we never went again. You can't just throw them out. Some of the techniques listed in Keeping You a Secret may require a sound knowledge of Hypnosis, users are advised to either leave those sections or must have a basic understanding of the subject before practicing them.

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Nervous flyer Emma is sitting on a turbulent plane. She really thinks that this could be her last moment. So she starts telling the man sitting next to her all her innermost secrets.

I will definitely recommend this book to womens fiction, chick lit lovers. Your Rating:. Your Comment:. Read Online Download. Hot Can You Keep a Secret?