The Silenced Wife

by Collette Heather

  Mum smirked knowingly, standing up from the kitchen chair. ‘Aren’t you going to get that?’

  ‘I guess so,’ I said nonchalantly, fooling nobody. ‘Are you going to come and hold on to Buster?’

  I stood up and together we made our way down the hallway for the front door.

  Mum took hold of Buster’s collar, leaving me free to open the door.

  ‘I can’t wait to meet the man that’s got you so nervous,’ she said as my fingers curled around the door handle.

  I shot her a look. ‘I am not nervous.’

  I didn’t go on to say that I was rather hoping for a swift exit, that Aaron wouldn’t come into the house and say hi. But of course, that would be near-impossible, seeing as he was here to collect Buster. My innate good manners wouldn’t allow me to do such a thing, anyway.

  Buster whined at the door, but he didn’t bark. I felt suddenly sad thinking what a good dog he was. When someone came to the door, he would jump up and down at them excitedly for a minute or two before losing interest. But he had never displayed signs of violence to anybody before, no matter who they were. He was always happy to welcome people into his home.

  It’s not his home anymore.

  And he’s obviously not as gentle as I thought he was.

  As I went to open the door, my mum edged awkwardly backwards with Buster and pushed open the living-room door. The sound of Mr Tumble suddenly filled the hallway.

  ‘Come on, Becky,’ my mum said from behind me. ‘Let’s get you into your pink puffa.’

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, I pulled open the door.

  I had to physically stop myself from gasping at the sight of him on my doorstep. Christ, he was handsome. He wasn’t wearing his long black coat today, but a short, brown leather jacket, snug blue jeans and a cream pullover. It made him look a decade younger. Not that he had ever looked old, but to me, in that moment, he was easily the hottest guy on the planet. He threw me a broad grin that wouldn’t look out of place on the silver screen and a rush of heat swept over me.

  I must have been gawping at him like a sleazy idiot, for he said, ‘Hello Joyce, aren’t you going to invite me in?’

  ‘Sure,’ I mumbled, stepping to one side for him to pass into the hallway.

  He stopped when he was level with me and my heart stopped beating, before resuming at twice normal speed.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he said softly and with apparent sincerity.

  ‘You too. Handsome, I mean.’

  I blushed hot. What an idiot.

  When I looked behind myself, Becky had joined us in the hallway.

  ‘Hi,’ Aaron said, smiling warmly at her. ‘And how are you, today?’

  She smiled shyly at him, and just when I thought she wasn’t going to reply, she muttered ‘fine’ so quietly I thought that I had imagined it.

  I stepped to one side to allow him access into the house. The hallway wasn’t small by any means, but the sheer presence of the man suddenly made it feel much smaller than it had ever felt before.

  He smiled warmly at my mum. ‘Hi. I’m Aaron. Aaron Bailey. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Joyce speaks very highly of you.’

  I took hold of Buster’s collar so that my mum could go and shake his hand. I noticed that the bandage had been replaced by a much smaller plaster.

  ‘Hello Aaron. Margaret Morgan. It’s nice to meet you, too. I cannot apologise enough for what happened with Buster.’

  ‘I’m sorry, too. I hope you know that you are all welcome to drop by and see him anytime you want.’ He turned his smile onto me. ‘You can let go of Buster, if you want.’

  I looked down at the scrabbling dog, who was all wagging tail and writhing body. I wasn’t sure, exactly, why I was clinging onto him; I suppose I was scared that he would go for Aaron. He had done it before, after all.

  I let go of his collar and off he shot in Aaron’s direction, like a heat-seeking missile.

  ‘Hiya boy,’ Aaron said, rubbing his head and tummy and generally making a big, doggy fuss of him.

  Buster was bored of him in less than a minute, and panting, he wandered back down the hallway in the direction of the kitchen, probably looking to see if there was anything he could steal to eat while no one was watching.

  I glanced down at Buster’s stuff, piled up by the front-door, ready to go. Unexpected tears blurred my vision and hastily, I wiped them away. I couldn’t crumble at the final hurdle, for Becky’s sake.

  I unhooked his red lead from the coatrack and looked at Mum.

  ‘Shall I get him?’ I asked.

  I wasn’t sure that Becky knew what was going on, but she was subdued. When she caught my eye, she clung to my mother’s legs.

  ‘I want Gwanny.’

  ‘I’ll get Buster then, shall I?’ I said, doing my best not to feel hurt by Becky’s rejection.

  She’s going to hate me for this, I thought dismally.

  I glanced behind myself at the opened kitchen door at the end of the hallway and taking a deep breath, I went to fetch him. I shackled him on his lead, and when I got back, Mum was manoeuvring Becky into her pink puffa jacket, a pair of children’s trainers also dangling from her hand.

  ‘Are we all set?’ Aaron asked when Becky was suited and booted.

  Becky clung resolutely to her granny, refusing to look at me or Aaron. I crouched down next to her, and gently cupped her small shoulders. She flinched at my touch and it was all I could do not to cry.

  ‘Come on sweetheart, we’re taking Buster to his new home. And we’re going to have, lunch, there, too.’

  ‘Is this Becky’s car seat?’ Aaron asked.

  I twisted my head round to see his eyes swivel to the seat propped up on Buster’s basket with all his other stuff. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Great. I’ll put it in the car.’

  As soon as he was gone, I stood up straight and me and Mum prised Becky off her legs. She wasn’t screaming, thank God, but I could sense it, on the horizon.

  ‘Buster,’ she said, her bottom lip quivering.

  ‘It’ll be all right, baby,’ I said, stroking her hair. ‘You’ll still be able to see him whenever you want.’

  The lie tripped easily off my lips and I immediately felt guilty, but I didn’t know what else to say. My heart lurched at the thought of seeing Buster whenever I wanted, because that would mean seeing Aaron too. My conflicting emotions about everything were making my head spin and I closed my eyes for a second, trying to organise my thoughts.

  ‘He’s very handsome, darling,’ my mum said.

  ‘You think?’ I asked casually, only just managing to stop myself from finishing off that gem with I hadn’t noticed.

  ‘Be careful,’ she said, which struck me as strange thing to say. She turned her attention to my daughter. ‘You have to go with Buster now, sweetheart, and you’re all going to have a lovely afternoon, you’ll see. I love you, sweetheart.’

  She leaned down to drop a kiss on Becky’s head and by the time she had straightened up again, Aaron was back.

  ‘Are we all set?’ he asked.

  Becky clung to my hand, by some miracle deciding against throwing a tantrum, I suppose because she just wanted to be wherever Buster happened to be.

  ‘I guess so,’ I replied.

  ‘It was lovely to meet you, Mrs Morgan, I’ll have them back safe and sound by this evening.’

  He scooped up Buster’s stuff, and with a final good bye to my mum, he turned to leave.

  Clearing my throat, I bid farewell to my mother, the end of the dog’s lead in one hand, child in the other. I found that I was unable to look her in the eye for fear of her setting me off.

  ‘Bye, Buster,’ she said, leaning down to give him a final hug. It absolutely killed me to see the way her eyes glistened.

  She shut the door behind us and we were off.

  NINE

  Aaron’s black Range Rover had tinted windows, a fact I found rather strange. It was the first thing I commented on once we were driving down Ca
rgreen Hill, with me in the front seat, and Becky buckled into her seat in the back. Buster sat panting next to her.

  Aaron just laughed. ‘It keeps the sun out. And when I’m in London, I seem to spend half my life in traffic jams and I got sick of people peering in at me, so I promised myself that the next car I got would have tinted windows.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, telling myself that it was an entirely logical and reasonable explanation.

  The fifteen-mile car journey was uneventful. Becky was quiet, seemingly happy to stare out of the window and chunter on to Teddy and Buster. Aaron and I talked about the harsh, March weather and when they were ever going to stop digging up the roundabout outside the big Tesco in Carbis Bay.

  Aron lived between Zennor and St Just, off the nine-mile stretch of main road that connected the two villages, near the tiny hamlet of Morvah. I was taken by surprise when he swerved right down a narrow road I had never noticed before and would have otherwise assumed was just a dirt track used by farmers to access the fields.

  The hedgerow was high either side of the narrow, tractor-furrowed road, but through the occasional gap I saw nothing but endless fields, cows, and stonewalls.

  After half a mile or so, we turned a sharp left. The bumpy road turned more wriggly, and after roughly another half a mile, high, wooden gates loomed into view.

  ‘You live here? How does the postman find you?’

  Aaron laughed. ‘Didn’t you notice my post-pox by the side of the road? There was a sign above it that said private property, no trespassing. It was behind that tree.’

  I hadn’t noticed. A knot of anxiety twisted in my guts when I suddenly realised that I hardly knew this man, and here me and Becky were with him, in the middle of nowhere, without my car.

  It’s not the middle of nowhere, I reminded myself. It’s his home.

  I forced myself to relax. Aaron, however, had picked up on my sudden bout of nerves.

  ‘Hey, relax, I’m not a serial killer.’

  ‘Yes, well, if you were a serial killer, you would say that, wouldn’t you?’

  He laughed. ‘I thought you liked all things horror? Wait there, I just have to unlock the gates.’

  The engine still running, he pushed open the car door, climbed out, and went to the keypad by the side of the high gates. When he stood next to the solid gates, he didn’t even come up half way.

  I watched as he punched in a number, and the gates swung inwards.

  ‘Mummy? I want to get out.’ Becky said behind me, but I barely heard her, because the sight of his house had floored me.

  I blinked, for a moment there quite sure I was hallucinating. When he had said that he lived in a mansion, he wasn’t kidding.

  ‘Jesus, mother of God,’ I muttered under my breath, feeling hopelessly out of my depth.

  ‘Mummy?’ she said again, jolting me out of my reverie.

  ‘It’s fine, sweetie,’ I said absently. ‘We’ll be getting out of the car in a second.’

  ‘Are you royalty?’ I asked when Aaron got back into the car.

  He slammed the door and turned to look at me. ‘Not quite, but I suppose you could call me aristocracy, even though I hate that word. My parents are long dead, and this is my family home. It’s been in my bloodline for centuries.’

  ‘Oh,’ was all I could say when he shifted the car into first and drove up the long, straight, tree-lined gravel path.

  The house at the end of the driveway – or mansion, more accurately – was a rather squat, square building. The simple design in no way diminished its beauty, and the long, sash windows suggested to me that it might be Georgian. Seven oblong windows neatly lined the second floor, and directly beneath each of these windows were the ground floor windows. The front door, beneath the top middle window was framed by two stone columns, and at first glance looked identical to the windows. The shallow, sloping roof had three small windows, on top of which sat two little chimneys.

  The sheer symmetry of the property was breath-taking.

  Aaron killed the engine, and all was quiet, save for Buster’s panting coming from the backseat.

  ‘Well, are we going to get out of the car?’ Aaron asked. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’

  ‘I can’t believe you live here,’ I murmured, still not believing what I was seeing.

  ‘Just wait until you see the garden. That’s something else all over again.’

  ‘There’s more garden?’

  I know that he had told me his house had two acres of land, but that fact was kind of mind-boggling. Through the trees that lined the driveway – which had to be at least a quarter of a mile long – I had glimpsed vast expanses of neatly mowed lawn, lined with yet more trees and high foliage.

  ‘Yes. The land behind the house backs out right onto the cliff edge. The view is spectacular. Shame it’s still so cold, it’s a lovely spot to have lunch.’

  I could feel my mouth hanging open as he spoke, and promptly shut it again. ‘Surely not right onto the cliff edge? What about the walkers on the cliff path?’

  ‘Not all of the Cornish cliffs are accessible for walkers. Yes, there’s the famous Zennor to St Ives hike, and a load of others, but a lot of the Cornish cliffs are restricted. There are hamlets, and the occasional house like mine, that sever access. The path takes you back onto the main road quite a way before you reach my garden. And even if a stray rambler did go off-track, it would be a wasted journey because they’ll hit a twelve-foot fence.’

  I had no answer for that, and was saved from having to reply when Becky piped up from the backseat:

  ‘I’m hungry, Mummy.’

  ‘Well that’s good,’ Aaron said, swivelling round in the seat and smiling broadly at her. ‘There is ice cream for pudding today.’

  ‘Ice cream,’ she repeated excitedly.

  ‘Oh my God, you are such a transparent briber,’ I said, smiling at him.

  ‘I know, I’m shameless. I’ll say and do whatever I have to, to get what I want.’

  A little shiver of excitement coursed through me. Didn’t every girl secretly wish to be wooed by a man like that? To be pursued by a suave, educated, James Bond type who underneath the cultured exterior was quietly a caveman?

  He looked at me with such smouldering intensity that I felt my face flame. Abruptly, I turned away from him and fumbled for the door. On numb legs I exited the car, going straight to the backdoor to retrieve Becky. I helped her out of the car and immediately after, Buster erupted through the door behind her. I only just managed to grab the end of his lead in time before he shot off.

  ‘Don’t worry, he can’t escape. The place is surrounded by fencing.’

  Shrugging, I bent down to unclip his lead and he shot off without so much as a backward glance.

  But my kneejerk reaction of a thought caught me by surprise: Is that to keep people out, or to keep people in?

  I frowned at the strange thought and looked around myself; I couldn’t see any fencing. Immediately to my left and to my right, all I could see was trees, which were a considerable way away. To the left of the wide house was an attached garage, big enough to house at least four cars, and I couldn’t see anything beyond the right of the house because of the high hedgerow that ran parallel with the house, forming a walkway.

  Unaccountably, I was jittery. Becky clung on to my hand; she seemed as overwhelmed as I felt.

  I gazed up at the façade of the vast house. The stone was a gorgeous, vibrant colour, glowing almost yellow in the low sun. The white painted, sash windows were so classy and elegant I felt quite shabby standing there, and completely out of my league. I wasn’t poor by any means, but this place was just so intimidating.

  ‘Come on, let me show you inside.’

  I scanned the surrounding area for Buster, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘He’s fine, don’t worry. He can’t get lost or run off. Let’s leave him to get acquainted with his new surroundings.’

  I can’t say that I shared his confiden
ce with regards to Buster, but I put aside my misgivings and allowed him to lead me and Becky through the high, front door and into the lavish hallway.

  I think it would be accurate to say that my jaw hit the highly-polished, Herringbone floor. I looked around myself in amazement.

  ‘This is incredible,’ I breathed.

  It truly was. The square footage of the hallway alone was probably greater than the entire ground floor of my home. Paintings adorned the wood-panelled walls – great big oils with thick, ornately carved gold frames depicting hunting scenes and dark landscapes of the countryside. Intricately patterned, red and gold hued rugs broke up the Herringbone floor, and in the left-hand side of the vast space, the widest, spiral staircase I had ever seen in a private home with stone steps and a black, wrought iron banister curled upwards out of sight. I craned my neck backwards to admire the stone rose on the ceiling high above me, complete with chandelier dangling from the middle of it. The ceiling had to be twenty feet high, at least.

  Becky clung like a limpet to my side, completely silent for once.

  ‘Shall we go through to the living-room, ladies?’ he said, going towards a closed door on the opposite side of the impressive staircase.

  In a daze, I followed him over towards the door, the low heels of my boots clicking on the hard floor and echoing in the vast space.

  ‘After you,’ he said, throwing it wide.

  I think I might have let out an audible gasp.

  ‘I can’t believe you live here,’ I said like a complete bimbo.

  This room was even more impressive than the hallway, if that were at all possible. It certainly looked more expensive. Priceless, perhaps. The same, Herringbone floor followed from the hallway into here, but that’s where the similarity between the two spaces ended. This room was decidedly art-deco. The walls and high ceiling were painted white. My gaze was immediately drawn to the huge, chunky white fireplace, over which hung a small, abstract oil that looked suspiciously like an original Picasso.

  I went straight over to it to peer at it more closely.

  ‘Is that..?’ I began.

  He just nodded.