An Act of Silence

by Colette McBeth

  ‘Every single day.’

  ‘So why didn’t you fight against them, those decisions that you didn’t want to make?’

  Good question. If only the answer was so easy. ‘It was difficult. There were other considerations.’

  Cold, hard words.

  ‘Such as? Your career?’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t have given a stuff about that in the end. Some choices are impossible, that’s all.’

  Anna stares at me, eyes sharp, digging beneath my flesh. She shakes her head, can’t compute what I’m saying. She still sees the world in monochrome. Good people. Bad people. Right. Wrong.

  It can’t be that hard to make the right choices, can it?

  Trust me, it is.

  Now isn’t the time to explain.

  ‘I’m afraid the day has beaten me,’ I say. And I make my escape and go to bed, willing tomorrow to come.

  Jonathan Clancy

  ‘Do come through,’ Valerie Sinclair says and leads Jonathan into a living room with grand views over the Thames. They’re up on the top floor, penthouse apartment, the city scuttling about beneath them.

  ‘Nice place.’

  ‘You think? Henry’s choice. I feel rather cut off up here, but some people like that. My husband is one of them.’

  Jonathan considers Valerie. She carries the weary air of someone for whom wealth and status no longer matter. Life is full of surprises, he hadn’t expected to warm to Henry Sinclair’s wife.

  ‘Such a terrible state of affairs, I’m sure Henry will be only too happy to talk to you,’ she says.

  ‘You didn’t mention I was coming?’ Jonathan called an hour ago, first thing in the morning, to speak to Henry about Gabriel Miller. It was Valerie who answered the phone and suggested he come round in person. An unexpected invitation, but not one he was going to decline.

  ‘Do you know, I think it slipped my mind.’ Valerie smiles. ‘Henry!’ she shouts. ‘You have a visitor.’

  Jonathan is examining the Sinclairs’ art collection, one particular painting causing his face to pucker into a frown, when Henry appears.

  ‘Caillebotte,’ the man says, and Jonathan turns to find Henry standing before him. ‘No one gets it right. But I assume you haven’t come here to admire my art.’ His voice has a clipped edge.

  ‘Sadly not.’

  ‘Take a seat.’ Jonathan sits down, rubs his nose with the palm of his hand and plants it on the leather sofa. There’s not much that can cheer him up today but seeing Henry’s face ripen provides a small kick of warmth.

  ‘How is it I can help you? If it’s a quote you’re after, I could have given you one over the phone. I don’t know what Valerie was thinking. I have a very busy schedule today.’

  ‘I knew you would want to carve a few moments out of your diary to speak about such a tragedy,’ Valerie says.

  ‘Of course.’ He feeds her a look of loathing before clearing his throat. ‘It’s such a dreadful set of circumstances. I knew Gabriel as a boy; charming child he was. Full of beans, always up for a wrestle. But I haven’t seen him for years, his professional work isn’t my cup of tea.’

  ‘Henry’s tastes are a little more simple, aren’t they, darling.’ Valerie is pouring tea and offering biscuits.

  ‘I’m sure Mr Clancy here is in as much of a rush as I am, Valerie.’

  Jonathan accepts the cup of tea and helps himself to two biscuits, registering with some glee Henry’s displeasure.

  ‘What is it you want me to say?’ Henry’s tone turns brusque. ‘He had a good upbringing. Linda was strict, not her way to spoil a child, you understand, but he had all the opportunities a boy could wish for. He was brought up to know right from wrong. Look at Linda. There’s a woman who worked tirelessly for what she believed in, and many of the advances in child protection are a credit to her. She was a woman of the utmost integrity. OK . . . maybe not complete integrity. Her behaviour with the contracts was out of character. I’d say it was simply a case of bad judgement. It would be unfair for her whole career to be tarnished by one bad decision, wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Jonathan allows the silence to sit between them and work up a heat until Henry can’t bear it. ‘Is that it?’ he says.

  ‘When was the last time you saw Linda?’ Jonathan asks.

  ‘About nine months ago.’

  ‘Really, darling? You didn’t mention it,’ Valerie says.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to bore you with a full diary recital every morning now, would I?’ He plasters a smile on his face, cracks it at his wife like a whip.

  ‘Social call?’ Clancy says.

  ‘You could say that. As I told you, we go back years.’

  ‘You were a regular visitor?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say regular.’

  ‘So this particular house call was . . . out of the blue.’

  ‘I didn’t say that either . . . I was looking out for her. I got the sense she was lost, had been for a long time, lacked purpose after she resigned. And I heard Hugh had died. Thought I’d pay her a visit.’

  Valerie’s eyes narrow, fix on to her husband. ‘Well, that would have cheered her up,’ she says.

  Her comment soaks up the last of Henry’s patience. ‘Look, what is it you want? I have very little time. I have to be at the airport in an hour.’

  ‘You see . . .’ In response to Henry’s plea for haste, Jonathan keeps his diction slow. ‘It’s my belief she had a purpose. What would you know about that?’

  Henry throws himself back in the chair, brings his hands down to slap his thighs.

  ‘I assure you I wouldn’t know anything about this purpose of Linda’s that you refer to,’ Henry says.

  ‘But Bernadette Mulligan told you she was writing a book, did she not? Generous of you to look out for Linda like that, keep tabs on her. I’m sure she’d have been thrilled by your concern, if she had known, that is.’

  Henry reaches for a biscuit, snaps it in two before turning to Jonathan with the full beam of his smile. ‘Look, you know the woman, she could be difficult, tricksy even. She hasn’t been accepting visitors for some time. It’s hard to sustain a friendship when it’s one-sided. But believe it or not, I’m fond of her, and yes, I was concerned for her wellbeing so I did what I could to watch out for her. Of course I offered her my support when the scandal first emerged, and I dare say I tried to limit the damage. But the truth was Linda brought it on herself. She was the one who awarded the contracts to her friend.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware the beneficiary of those contracts was Linda’s friend?’

  ‘Well, an acquaintance. They were acquainted. Our investigation found that the paper trail went back quite a few years.’

  ‘But as I recall it didn’t establish what Linda was getting out of the arrangement.’

  ‘Come on, Clancy, it’s not that hard to hide money if you want to.’

  ‘I bow to your superior knowledge.’

  ‘Look,’ he says, trying to keep his voice even. ‘We did as much as we could to support her throughout, but you can’t carry someone forever. After her actions were uncovered, it’s hardly surprising she didn’t want to see her old political colleagues. She was embarrassed, let the side down. I suppose we reminded her of what she had thrown away. Now if you don’t mind, I have a flight to catch.’

  ‘Busy man. I won’t take up any more of your time. Where was it you said you were going?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Business or pleasure?’

  ‘A bit of both, you could say.’ Henry stands to indicate Clancy’s time is up.

  ‘Thanks for accommodating me. I imagine you have got a lot on your mind right now.’

  ‘I’ll take the lift with you, Mr Clancy,’ Valerie says. ‘I find the air up h
ere quite artificial.’

  October 1996

  Gabriel, aged 11

  My mum reckons I need to think about what I’m saying before I speak. She tells me that before I open my mouth, I need to pause, look at the words from all angles and consider how they will feel when they land on people. This is no easy task. If I think about words too much they stick and come out in the wrong order and make me sound like I need help. The answer is to talk less, but that is easier said than done because when I don’t talk the words pile up and throb in my head and make the room spin around me.

  ‘All I’m asking you to do is be more considerate and think about what you are saying,’ she tells me when I complain. ‘You shouldn’t have been rude to Mr Wallerman, for instance.’

  Mr Wallerman is our next-door neighbour and hoses Pudding with cold water every time she sneaks into his garden. Granted, she’s one thick cat to keep going back for more, but that is no excuse. She was sick last week and I’m convinced he’s poisoned her.

  ‘All I said was that I would get to the truth.’ That threat will be the least of Mr Wallerman’s worries. I have big plans for him.

  Mum gives off a sigh like the iron does when Elena is doing Dad’s shirts.

  ‘Honestly, that mouth of yours will get you into trouble.’

  Adults are weird. On the one hand they say you should always tell the truth, then the next minute they tell you not to say what’s on your mind. And it’s not as if my mum follows her own rules.

  ‘Do you always think about what you say?’ I ask her.

  ‘I wouldn’t survive in my job if I didn’t.’

  ‘So when you told Henry to fuck off out of our house last week, you really meant it?’

  My dad’s newspaper drops down to the table, reveals his face behind it. A smile lurks at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Gabriel! Don’t use language like that.’

  ‘I’m only repeating what you said.’

  ‘About bloody time,’ my dad says. ‘If you ask me, the man’s a—’

  ‘Nobody is asking you.’

  My mum was having a day at home. This is different to a day off work. All it means is she spreads her papers over the dining room table and talks loudly on the phone. Sometimes she has visitors, but not the kind who come round for a chat and a coffee like Bernadette. These people wear suits and carry briefcases and spread their papers over what’s left of the dining room table. It was Henry’s turn today. He does this fake punching me in the stomach routine whenever he comes round, as if I’m four years old and he’s Rocky Balboa. My dad drank loads of wine once and told him he was a prat. My dad is a very good judge of personality, let me tell you.

  Anyway, Henry was here and I was off sick. Elena had popped to the shops, i.e. she wanted a cigarette. Their voices reached me from the dining room, firing off like gunfire and then falling silent, which is how I knew the rhythm of the conversation was all wrong. I crept closer to the door and peered through the keyhole. Sure enough, there was a charge in the air. If I’d poked my head around I swear I would have got an electric shock.

  ‘What exactly is it you want me to do?’ My mum’s words sounded strong and mean and wobbled a bit like she was trying hard not to shout them.

  Normally I wouldn’t have listened because the boredom would kill me, but I got the strong sense I should hang around because if Henry was in shit, I would have emptied my savings account to watch.

  ‘Don’t be naïve, Linda,’ he said in a tone I knew my mum would call patronising. ‘This is a case of people trying to make trouble, nothing more.’

  ‘He’s told you that, has he?’

  ‘Of course he has. He has denied everything.’

  ‘Well, if he hasn’t done anything wrong, he has nothing to fear.’

  Henry laughed even though my mum hadn’t said anything funny.

  ‘Linda, my dear, I would have thought you of all people would know how charming he is . . . how liberal with his affection he can be. But that is a very long way from what he is being accused of.’

  My mum gave him this weird snaky smile, as if she’d just found out she was holding four aces. I’d never noticed it before but it was obvious now that she disliked Henry as much as me and Dad, she was just better at faking it.

  I don’t think Henry realised that my mum’s smile was not a display of genuine affection because he seemed to take it as encouragement.

  ‘One word from you, Linda, and the investigation is dropped. Nothing more. It will save time and money in the long run – after all, they’re hardly going to get a conviction.’

  A meaty silence fell over the room. My stomach tightened, clenched in a fist of nerves because there was my mum stroking her chin, looking like she was giving his request some serious consideration. If this was spectator sport, I’d have been screaming in her corner, stick it to him, don’t back down. I didn’t know what their argument was about but I knew I didn’t want Henry to win it.

  ‘Henry, do you know something . . .’ She was still smiling. Maybe the smile was real after all. Maybe Henry knew her better than me because it looked like he was going to get what he wanted.

  ‘You really do disgust me.’

  Firecrackers and horns and victory trumpets went off inside my head.

  She was good, my mum. Very very good.

  ‘Careful, Linda, we all have our secrets.’ Henry’s face had gone the colour of my dad’s vintage wine. He wiped his greasy brow of sweat. ‘How is Gabriel, by the way?’

  At the sound of my name I jumped, dived into the living room for cover, but not before I heard her say, ‘Get the fuck out of my house.’

  Sometimes my mum is the business.

  It happens a few weeks later, on Halloween. We’re at Tommy’s house because his mum Kate is painting our faces. Kate isn’t just any mum face-painter, she puts make-up on people for a living. I don’t mean lipstick like my mum wears but proper stuff that turns men into lions and children into elves. She lathers our face in white and then red down our cheeks for blood. She even paints our eyelids white and tells us to keep them closed if we really want to scare people. When I itch my nose, Kate slaps my hand away. ‘Stop fidgeting, you’ll ruin it.’ This transformation into a zombie is a serious business.

  We’re there for . . . like . . . hours. At least two. It’s almost made me change my mind about wanting to be an actor, because this is way more boring than I’d imagined. ‘I’m starving,’ Tommy moans. So am I. The hunger is filling my head with bubbles and making me shake inside.

  ‘Well, you can’t eat now, you’ll mess it all up. Why didn’t you eat before?’

  My mum says Kate’s away with the fairies, which might explain why she forgets to feed us sometimes.

  Tommy groans. ‘Don’t worry, more room for sweets,’ Kate says.

  This is another thing that makes Kate different to my mum. My mum would say no sweets without something proper in your stomach. Kate classes a Twix as a meal.

  It’s the first year that we’re allowed to go out trick-or-treating alone, although my parents had to be reassured that Michael is accompanying us. Michael is Tommy’s older brother.

  ‘Don’t think I’m going anywhere with you two losers,’ he says, and gives Tommy a punch in the ribs.

  ‘Oi, fuck off, would ya.’

  ‘Thomas! Do not let me hear you use that language again in this house.’

  ‘But you’re fine to use it outside.’

  ‘Do not encourage him, Michael,’ Kate says. ‘I need you to make sure they’re OK.’

  ‘They’re never going to be OK, look at the state of them.’

  ‘Just a few streets, Mikey. I promised Linda.’

  Michael hasn’t let Kate anywhere near his face. He has a Grim Reaper’s mask that has pretend blood dripping all the way down it.
>
  ‘Two streets and that’s it.’

  ‘Make sure you don’t lose them,’ Kate tells Michael as we jump out into the night.

  ‘You two come straight back, do you hear me, no messing about. If anything happens, Linda will kill me.’

  Michael takes us to a few houses on Tommy’s street where we do our zombie song (words our own) and get a Mars Bar from one and a satsuma from another. Like who the hell hands out satsumas on Halloween? We try a few more houses but no one answers.

  ‘Would ye feck off and leave us alone,’ a man shouts from behind one door. Tommy’s neighbourhood is only ten minutes away from mine but the big difference is you have to look behind you a lot when you walk around here.

  ‘Time to go home, dickheads,’ Michael says.

  ‘We’ve only just come out. Mum said an hour.’

  ‘As if I’m going to walk the streets with you two fuckwits for an hour. I’m going to the Common. Don’t even think about following me.’

  Michael’s bark is worse than his bite, so we start trailing him anyway. ‘Get lost,’ he says and picks up speed, ducking under a tree before he loses us for good. Tommy and I are extra slow because our sleeves are tied together. We’re not just zombies, we’re zombie Siamese twins. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

  I’ve eaten the Mars Bar but I’m still starving, the kind of hungry that sends waves of sickness rushing up from my stomach to my throat. The roadside is too bright; headlights pulse, streetlamps flash. The blare of the horns shudders through me and all the time I’m trying really hard not to spew all over myself and Tommy. Eventually he drags me into the Common where it’s cool and dark. Relief. Fear too. ‘We shouldn’t,’ I say. ‘My mum’ll go nuts.’

  ‘Like she’s going to know,’ Tommy says. ‘Let’s hide behind that tree and see who we can spook.’

  It’s a shit idea but before I get the chance to voice my reservations he drags me behind the massive oak that borders the path.

  I’m not hot or cold, I’m both at the same time which is all kinds of weird, let me tell you. The sensation is so odd I begin to believe that Kate is magic and has turned me into a real-life zombie. I slump down because the night has hoovered up all my energy and the urge to close my eyes and sleep to beat off the sickness overwhelms me, but Tommy has different ideas. ‘Come on, Gabe, there’s someone coming.’