‘No one else ever went in the lumber room, except to put things in there; and so it came to be that Sarah knew its contents better than anyone else. Admittedly most of the things in there were broken, but she loved them nonetheless.
‘When Amanda and Amelia were old enough to be thinking about finding husbands and starting their own families, the Stephensons fell on hard times. Mr Stephenson ran his own business, and in the winter of Amanda’s fifteenth year the business fell apart. It was quickly revealed that he had built up a lot of debt in the course of trying to save the business, and that he now owed a lot of money to people that he wasn’t able to pay back. The decision was made to sell the country house and move the whole family to London permanently, so that he could find a new job more easily.
‘There were, of course, many consequences that arose from this decision, and for a while Sarah and her family were worried for their jobs. Luckily, it transpired that they were to move to London with the family, although the rest of the servants would have to look for work elsewhere.
‘The most unfortunate consequence for Sarah was that the lumber room, and all its items, were to be abandoned in the country. She almost wept when she found out that the contents of her treasured room would not be coming with them; but of course there would be no space for a pile of broken furniture in the modest London house.
‘Amelia and Amanda, being Sarah’s friends as well as her employers, realised how much it upset her to be leaving all those memories behind. When she explained that the main thing that upset her was the thought of leaving everything by itself to rot in the lumber room, they decided to organise a sale, so that every item of furniture could find a new home. They enlisted Sarah to help with clearing the room, and they had many hours of fun sorting through all of their old toys, which of course, being young women now, they had completely forgotten about.
‘On the day of the sale they laid out everything on their lawns, and invited all of their neighbours to come and see what they had to offer. Because their neighbours were very kind and they wanted to help the Stephensons, they came to see if there was anything that was worth buying, and many of them went home well pleased. But there were still several items left at the end of the day, one of them being the four-poster bed; and Sarah, though she knew there was nothing more that could be done, was very sorry to know that she had to leave it behind.
‘Soon afterwards they all travelled to London to live in the new house. Sarah and her family had all been there before, although they didn’t feel so at home there as they had in the country. When they arrived they made their way promptly to the servants’ quarters (which, because the Stephensons were so kind, were actually just another wing of the house); and because there were fewer servants than usual, the others having lost their jobs, there was enough space for them to have a room each. The rooms had already been assigned, and Sarah made her way to her room straight away.
‘She didn’t know, of course, that Amelia and Amanda had arranged for all of the leftover furniture from the lumber room sale to be brought to her room for her to look after; and so she got a wonderful shock when she walked through the door to find the four-poster bed waiting for her.
‘Although her young friends had tried to explain to their parents how she felt about the lumber room, Mr and Mrs Stephenson never did quite understand, and so from that point on they always referred to Sarah as having been “lumbered” with their old furniture.’
Richard told the story with his eyes closed, preferring to wait until the end to see Lily’s reaction. It was worth it; when he opened his eyes she was facing him, smiling. ‘I like Sarah,’ she said, tilting her head forward to kiss him on the nose.
‘I like you,’ he replied, pulling her closer to him and returning her kiss. ‘And I especially like waking up next to you and knowing we don’t have to go anywhere.’
‘Don’t you have to go to work?’
‘Nah. I told them what happened. They said take as long as you need.’ He leaned in to kiss her properly, so that he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye. He never had been any good at lying.
‘Nice of them.’
‘Well, even horrible newspapers have to be nice sometimes. So. My little invalid.’ He grinned. ‘What can I get you? Coffee? Toast? Pancakes?’
‘Pancakes? Really?’
‘Well, seeing as we have to get your strength up. With maple syrup?’
She nodded. ‘And banana?’
‘Done.’ He laughed softly. ‘Do you think all women are this easily pleased?’
‘Mmm. Probably more so. But you’d have to put up with them chattering all the time.’
‘Couldn’t be having that.’ He took one more look at her, duvet pulled up to her chin, tousled dark blonde hair poking out from under the covers, and then rolled out of bed in one smooth movement.
The house was empty by the time Connie awoke. Nathan had left her a coffee by the bed. He’d dropped the boys at school on the way to work, as he always did. Usually Connie would have been up to make them breakfast, but evidently she’d been so tired she’d managed to sleep through the alarm. She reached out a hand to feel the coffee mug, and found it cold.
They’d argued when she got home the night before. Nothing serious; their arguments were rarely serious enough to be continued from one day to the next. He thought she was overreacting about Lily, worrying too much as usual. Didn’t understand. Would never understand, how it felt: as if she had to protect Lily, shelter her from the world.
Richard would have understood, of course, but there was no sense in phoning him now. They were probably still asleep. Or maybe he’d gone to work.
But he wouldn’t, surely, leave Lily to look after herself.
She wanted to speak to Lily. Such a stupid thing, when you saw someone every week. How to explain that it felt as if you never saw them at all?
Hadn’t seen them, in fact, for years?
She pulled the covers over her head. Considered staying there for the rest of the day. For a split second she could imagine it: Nathan’s face, when he got home to find that she’d spent the whole day in bed.
He’d call a doctor, of course. One that wasn’t him.
She pushed the covers back again, reached for the phone. Maybe Richard would be at work. Then changed her mind. Retracted her hand and sank back into the bed, exhausted.
Maybe she would leave it until tomorrow.
then
There were bars across the windows in Lily’s room, which cast shadows on the floor of checked black and white tiles. They made an odd, criss-crossing pattern of light and dark with no symmetry which Lily tried to deconstruct, to no avail. She looked until her head hurt, and then she stared at the walls, which were plain white and required no effort on her part.
The first morning, she had awoken early, with no idea of what was required of her. She could hear movement outside the door, but she didn’t dare leave the room by herself, and so when the nurse came for her she was sitting on her bed expectantly. The nurse took her hand and led her through the house, past rows of doors – open, now, and revealing the identical cells contained within – up stairs, down hallways, chattering all the way. Lily followed passively, half-listening, watching everything as she passed. There were other children here, both boys and girls, but no adults. ‘You won’t find any grown-ups in this wing,’ the nurse said cheerfully, which Lily took to mean that they were banned, kept elsewhere.
The nurse led her to a large bathroom and shut the door behind them. She ran her a bath, gave her soap and a towel and clean clothes to change into – her own clothes, Lily realised, though she didn’t remember bringing any – and then sat on a chair in the corner of the room and read a book while Lily bathed. She wasn’t used to having someone watching over her, so she made as quick a job of it as possible. When she dressed herself her skin was still damp. The nurse handed her a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, and, when she was finished, brushed her hair for her and twisted it into a single long plait wh
ich fell in the centre of her back. Lily never wore her hair like that, preferring it loose, but she made no comment.
When they left the bathroom, there was another girl waiting outside – older, but still with an accompanying nurse, and hundreds of scratches on her forearms, some silvery, some dark, some vivid red. She didn’t look at Lily, but stared straight ahead, at the door she was headed for. Lily’s nurse took her to a room with lots of windows, and left her there.
That first morning, Lily had discovered there were lessons, of sorts. The number of children varied from day to day, the ages ranging from a year or two younger than Lily to girls in their late teens. There were no boys older than thirteen. This was not something she deduced, but something she was told. No boys over thirteen. No girls over eighteen. No children under five. Age was an important factor, she gathered. Age, and gender. In a place where they were defined by the aspects of themselves that were theirs alone, these were the things that bound them together, the common differences by which they were categorised.
In the morning they were all together. They were taught normal subjects, like reading and art and maths and science. There was a lot of disruption in the classes – temperamental children screamed, threw things, started fights. The girl Lily had seen outside the bathroom was prone to arguments and screaming fits, and was frequently taken out of the room to calm down.
The morning classes became something of a routine. Lily worked out that if she sat in the far corner, near the windows, away from all the cupboards that lined one wall and held the art and craft supplies, she could be left in relative peace. The other kids clamoured for art and craft – they liked chaos, mess, and the opportunity to throw paint in each other’s eyes. Lily sat in the corner, reading books and solving maths puzzles, and no one bothered her.
The nurses had sometimes asked her to read to them, to which she’d responded by closing the books and putting them back on the shelves. They had persisted for a few days, until she’d stopped getting the books out altogether. She stuck with the maths puzzles, which required no verbal demonstration.
After these lessons, there was group therapy. Lily sat on the edges of these sessions, swinging her feet in the air, watching them whoosh backwards and forwards, getting closer and closer to the floor. She imagined tiny people on her toes, riding them like a rollercoaster, screaming to get off every time her feet ventured closer to the black and white sea below.
Lunch was the same as it had been at her old school: noisy, chaotic, unpleasant. Food tasteless, bordering on inedible. She chewed rubbery meat that could just as easily have been vegetable and tried not to catch anyone’s eye.
After lunch she had one-to-one sessions with Dr Hadley. Lily waited in her room until a nurse came for her, and guided her back to the office she had first visited with her father. Dr Hadley would talk to her, ask her questions, note her lack of response. He generally asked closed questions, allowing her to nod or shake her head as required. When he asked open questions – forgetting, maybe, or deliberately provoking her – she simply stared at him until he rephrased them.
And after that, her parents: her mother angry, unforgiving; her father, just her father. Every day, the same.
‘We’ve invited you here today because we’ve reached the end of our period of initial assessment.’
‘Yes.’
Her father was next to her, holding her hand. Her mother was on his other side.
‘As you’re probably aware, Lily hasn’t made a great deal of progress that would be immediately obvious. She is still emphatically non-verbal in her communication. However, we do feel that significant progress is being made with regard to her communication skills in general.’
‘How so?’ Her father again.
‘These things obviously take time. Lily is gradually starting to show a willingness to participate in group activities. She pays attention to what is going on around her in a way that she didn’t when she was first admitted. Even in two short weeks, she has shown a significant level of improvement in her general alertness and interaction with the outside world.’
Her father squeezed her hand. ‘Is it appropriate for her to be here while we discuss this?’
‘It is. We think – ’ and at this point he fixed his gaze pointedly on Lily ‘– that Lily listens to everything that goes on around her. And, as she is aware that her refusal to speak is not a normal or acceptable mode of behaviour, there is no need to conceal from her the fact that she is here because of that. She knows that we are trying to encourage her to communicate. Meetings like this reinforce the fact that we are working on your behalf, rather than as an independent body to which she doesn’t necessarily need to pay attention.’
‘I see.’
Her father fell silent for a while. Lily watched him as he watched her mother, who stared fixedly at the floor and did not move her head, even once.
‘What would you recommend?’ he said finally.
‘I would recommend a further stay of no less than six months, with visits from you on a monthly basis.’
‘We wouldn’t be allowed to see her?’
‘We feel that your presence is… reinforcing her current behaviour. She is essentially being rewarded on a daily basis for behaving in a way which we don’t wish to reward. We think we would make progress much more quickly if your presence weren’t so pervasive.’
Her father nodded, swallowed. His expression was very similar to that of her mother’s. ‘Would we receive regular updates?’
‘One of our nurses can speak to you on the phone once a week.’ Dr Hadley smiled, and leaned forward on his elbows. ‘It’s in her best interests, Mr Emmett. I promise.’
Her father nodded again, though he didn’t look as if he agreed in the slightest.
now
‘You must understand the position you’ve put us in.’
‘Actually, no. Not really. Not at all, in fact.’
Richard shifted his hands in his lap, considered making some kind of emphatic gesture. In the end he just let them twitch, meaninglessly. Defeat was etched in his every movement, even while his words carried a promise of defiance.
‘We can’t employ people who act in this way.’
‘My girlfriend was in hospital.’
‘Yes, we understand that. But how much time would it have taken to have told us that? It was over an hour before someone realised you had actually gone. Then we had to find someone to finish your work, check the facts – and obviously we wasted time looking for you, trying to contact you – it’s just not professional, to be frank.’
But to be Richard… Not the time.
‘I realise that. I’m sorry. I had an emotional reaction to a situation as opposed to a professional one.’
‘Sarcasm is not going to help you –’
‘That wasn’t sarcasm. I’m just trying to defend my position.’
‘There is no defence, Richard. If the same thing happened today, you’d behave in the same way, wouldn’t you?’
‘Of course. So would most people, I imagine.’
‘Not serious journalists. You see, this is where the difference lies. If you really cared – if it was your number one priority – then you’d understand that. But your priorities lie elsewhere.’
‘With my family. It’s not like I’m privileging a different newspaper or – or calling in sick to watch TV or whatever.’
‘We’re terribly sorry –’
‘You’re not, though, are you? You’ve never really thought I could make it, and now I’ve proved you right, and you’ll be glad to see the back of me.’
‘This kind of talk isn’t going to get us anywhere.’
Richard looked from his managing editor, Sam, to his line manager, Ellis, and saw his hopelessness etched on their features. These were the men who had hired him five years ago, when there was some possibility that he might rise to the challenge of professionalism. They looked weary, and unsympathetic, and he knew that there was no real hope for him here.
&nb
sp; ‘We’re not saying there isn’t a place for you here, Rich. You know it’s not like that.’
‘No, I’ll always have a place making cups of tea.’
‘You’re being melodramatic.’
‘Well, I’ve had a fairly tiring and dramatic few days, and this isn’t really what I wanted to come back to.’ He looked from face to face, searching for some kind of emotion, but found only flat disdain.
‘You can’t pretend it’s a surprise.’
‘To be told I will never write features because of one fuck-up? It is a surprise. Actually, it’s a pretty fucking major surprise.’
‘If we could try to keep the bad language to a minimum –’
‘Oh, this is ridiculous.’ Richard stood up and walked out, just barely managing to control himself enough to not slam the door behind him. He was trembling as he grabbed his coat. He hesitated for a moment in front of his desk, and then grabbed the photo of Lily that he kept there as well. It was a statement, he knew that. If he didn’t take the photo he could pretend that he might come back, that he was just going for a walk to cool off. Taking the photo was effectively telling them that they could stick their job.
He did know that, and he did it anyway.
Five years was long enough.
Lily was sleeping when the phone rang. She hadn’t been back to work yet, though she’d been doing a vague imitation of working from home: checking her emails regularly, toying with the ideas she’d been working on for the last couple of months. Nothing that could be strictly referred to as productive, but she was doing enough to keep herself afloat.
Hush Page 9
