My Mother's Silence (ARC)

by Lauren Westwood

  As I’m laying the gifts out on the table, my eye strays to the bookshelf in the corner. I skim the titles, hoping they’ll give me some insight into the person my mum is – or has become. The books are mostly hardback and look like ex-library books. There are a few by authors I recognise, like Maeve Binchy and Joanna Trollope. But then I notice one laid across on top. No Time for Goodbye: Dealing with the suicide of a loved one. Frowning, I go over and pick it up. It’s been well-thumbed through, and there’s a bookmark with the 23rd Psalm printed on it. The words swim before my eyes and I put the book back as I found it. Surely Mum doesn’t think… No. She can’t…

  ‘I have to believe that lightning doesn’t strike twice.’

  I try to get on with wrapping the gifts: taping, curling ribbons and writing tags. But all I can think about is that book. Why would she have it, and has clearly read it, if she didn’t harbour some suspicion? Of suicide…? Even the idea strikes me as ludicrous. Ginny was happy, full of life. The last person who would do something like that. Ginny’s death was an accident. I can’t believe Mum would let any other thought cross her mind even for a second. But if it has… Is that why she’s come unravelled?

  I put away the gift wrap and scan the room for anything else I’ve missed that might explain what Mum was thinking. There’s nothing. Just the book. I leave the room and take the gifts downstairs. I set them by the Christmas boxes and go into the kitchen. After what happened yesterday, I can’t let this go.

  Mum’s sitting at the kitchen table spreading melted chocolate over a rectangular tin of shortbread. ‘Mum,’ I say. ‘Can I have a quick word?’

  ‘Of course,’ she says, not looking up.

  ‘I found a book upstairs. About suicide. Of a… loved one. And I just wondered, I mean, surely, you can’t think that about…’ I can’t continue.

  ‘Ginny,’ Mum says. Her lips set in the familiar straight line. She continues spreading the chocolate. For a long second I think she’s completely blanking me.

  ‘Mum, Ginny didn’t go into the water deliberately.’ I try to sound calm, measured. Inside my heart is racing.

  ‘How do you know that?’ The sharpness in her voice startles me. ‘How do I? I wasn’t there. All I know is that she went out on those rocks. She put herself in danger.’

  ‘Yes, and that was stupid,’ I say. ‘But that’s as far as it went. Jimmy and Mackie said that she was singing out there. Happy. It was just that the seas were so high that night. A rogue wave…’ I shudder.

  ‘The “rogue wave”.’ She gives a grim laugh. ‘I suppose you’ve been gone long enough that you still believe that story.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I say, stunned. ‘There were witnesses. Jimmy and Mackie Fraser.’

  ‘Yes. It was all so very convenient, wasn’t it? The Fraser boys just happen to see her swept away by a wave when no one else sees anything.’

  ‘But that’s what happened.’

  ‘That’s what people said happened. At the time.’

  ‘Yes…’ I cock my head trying to fathom what’s going on in her mind.

  ‘People drink,’ Mum says. ‘People talk. And people lied about that night.’

  ‘Come on, Mum,’ I say, raising an eyebrow. ‘Now you’re just being paranoid.’

  ‘And you’re being obtuse!’ She shakes her head. ‘Oh – I don’t know. Believe what you want – what you need – to believe. It’s better that way. Whether it was a rogue wave, or whether she threw herself into the sea – what does it matter in the end?’

  I open my mouth but nothing comes out. It does matter, I want to say. It makes all the difference.

  ‘But Ginny was the last person who would do something like that. She was so full of life. So… ’ The ripped up coach ticket. The row we had. Surely… surely those things had nothing to do with her death.

  A wave of dizziness sweeps over me and my head begins to pound. I grip the edge of the table until it passes.

  ‘Like I said, I wasn’t there.’ Mum backs off a little. ‘So obviously I don’t know what really happened. Just that the story was a lie. Jimmy and Mackie were up here from Glasgow. Shooting off their mouths down the pub. I didn’t hear it first-hand. But the rumour started doing the rounds. That no one saw anything. Anything at all.’ She shudders. ‘They found her scarf and her jumper when they searched. But no one saw her go into the water.’

  ‘No… that can’t be right.’ I shake my head. ‘When did all this happen?’

  ‘About six months ago.’

  Six months. Around the same time that the tone of Bill’s emails began to change.

  I pace back and forth in front of the table.

  ‘Mum,’ I say. ‘I can understand how upsetting that must have been. But we know her…’ I catch myself. ‘Knew her. She was happy. A free spirit. Yes she occasionally did stupid things, but that was just what she was like.’

  Mum shakes her head. ‘I don’t know anything. Not any more.’

  ‘Yes you do,’ I challenge. ‘You and Ginny were close.’ I go up to her and try to hug her. She pushes me away.

  ‘Please, Mum,’ I say. ‘You know that she would never have committed suicide. Don’t you?’

  The pause is a little too long. I feel a tremor shoot down my spine. Is there something she’s not telling me?

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ she says, brisk now, like she wants to end the conversation. ‘It was a terrible accident. That’s what I… believe.’

  ‘Good,’ I say, allowing no more room for argument. ‘I’m glad we’re agreed.’

  19

  I know it’s wrong, but I feel angry at Mum even for listening to the village tittle-tattle, let alone allowing it to affect her the way it clearly has. I’m sure it must have been upsetting: Lachlan mentioned something about ‘talk’ in the village, and I didn’t even let him finish the sentence. But there’s always gossip about one thing or another, and this sounds like absolute rubbish. Mum should have known better than to give it any credence. Especially in this case, where there was a proper investigation, with people like Jimmy and Mackie giving formal statements.

  I go up to my room and try to read a book, but the conversation keeps going through my mind. I wish we’d never had it. Does Mum know something that I don’t? I set the book aside. My head is reeling and I can’t focus—

  Outside there’s a crunch of gravel. A car. The engine goes off and instantly, doors bang and there are excited voices. I leave the room and go downstairs. Mum’s already hobbling to the door.

  Bill and his family have arrived.

  It’s a whirlwind as the two boys come into the house. They practically knock Mum off her feet hugging her, cane and all, and then run off to the kitchen.

  ‘Jamie! Robbie!’ I hear Fiona calling from outside.

  It’s too late, they’re long gone. As Mum turns to follow them, I give her a look of mock horror. ‘You’d better make sure they don’t eat everything,’ I say.

  She smiles, looking almost like I remember her from before. My earlier anger evaporates, and I’m just glad to see her happy. ‘You’re right,’ she says. ‘Boys…’ she calls out, and heads after them with her awkward gait.

  I go outside to where Bill is unloading some bags of food. Fiona has her head stuck in the car and I can see that Emily, my niece, hasn’t budged, and seems to be lost in her own world listening to headphones.

  ‘Bill!’ I say, going up to my brother.

  ‘Skye!’ He holds out his arms. I wince a little as he hugs my bruised ribs. ‘It’s so great to see you here,’ he says.

  ‘Um… thanks,’ I say. I decide to leave it at that – for now.

  ‘I want to hear everything,’ he says, ‘but first I need to catch those little blighters. See you inside?’

  ‘Sure. Everything OK there?’ I nod my head to where Fiona is clearly having a heated discussion with her daughter.

  ‘Oh, it’s fine,’ he says with a slight roll of his eyes. ‘It’s her age. Didn’t want to leave her friends bac
k at home. Or her fast Wi-Fi.’

  ‘Right,’ I say with a smile. ‘I feel exactly the same.’

  Fiona gives up the fight. The car door slams shut with Emily still inside. Fiona turns to me and smiles. ‘Skye,’ she says. ‘Sorry about that. It’s lovely to see you.’ She comes up and hugs me. ‘Are you OK?’ she says. ‘You look a little pale.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘But I did have a bit of a mishap yesterday.’

  ‘Oh?’ Fiona says. ‘Is everything OK?’

  I give her a very brief account of my ‘swim’, minus the part about the paramedics and having to be rescued by a handsome, reclusive stranger. I also omit any mention of Mum’s reaction. If she’s truly been harbouring even the slightest suspicion – no matter how unwarranted – that one daughter committed suicide, then what I did was unforgivable. ‘It was pretty stupid,’ I sum up.

  ‘Well, I guess you have to be careful this time of year.’ She goes to the boot and unloads more bags. ‘All those ocean currents and undertow. Not that I would know. I’m strictly a Jacuzzi lass myself. Even a swimming pool is too cold for me.’

  I laugh. ‘I’m with you,’ I say. ‘It’s just that when we were kids, we used to swim out there all the time. The cold never fazed us a bit.’

  ‘Right.’ She grins. ‘But don’t go saying that around the wee scallywags. I don’t want them getting any ideas.’

  ‘Sure. Can I help you with the bags?’

  ‘I’ve got them,’ she says. ‘But if you want to have a go with that one, be my guest.’ She indicates with her head towards Emily.

  Fiona goes off into the house where I can hear the boys yelling and Bill trying to calm them. They sound so happy and excited, and I feel a little bit like a spare wheel. At her age, maybe Emily does too. ‘Hey there, Emily,’ I say. I knock on the window of the car. ‘You OK? Do you need anything? I’m going inside.’

  Saying that I won’t be hanging around does the trick. Even though I’m almost three times her age, I can still remember what it’s like to be in a teenage strop. That feeling of isolation – that everyone else in the entire world is against you and complete morons to boot. But it’s only worth keeping up as long as there’s an audience.

  Emily opens the door. ‘Hi,’ she says.

  I stare at her, unable to tear my eyes away. I last saw Emily just over eighteen months ago. She was ten years old and a bit of a tomboy: with short-cropped strawberry blonde hair, freckles and thin, gangly legs that seemed too long for her body. But now, she looks totally different. Her hair is lighter and long down her back. Her skin is pale, almost translucent, and the freckles have been replaced by a constellation of pimples around her mouth. But it’s her eyes that burn into my mind. A pale and striking shade of blue.

  Ginny’s eyes.

  In fact, there’s such a strong resemblance, that if they weren’t separated by years – and death – they could be twins.

  She frowns as if it’s weird that I’m staring. I guess it is. ‘What are you listening to?’ I deftly change the subject.

  ‘A pop compilation,’ she says.

  ‘Yeah? Who’s on it?’

  ‘Um. There’s lots. Adele, Katy Perry, Taylor Swift. Some oldies too – like Oasis.’

  Oasis. For a second I feel like I’m in a strange time warp. ‘I probably know a few of the “oldies”,’ I say with a laugh.

  ‘Well, you’ll definitely know this one.’ She scooches over in the seat so I can sit down, takes out an earbud and hands it to me.

  The familiar intro… the chord progression… the first riff. ‘Warrior Woman’. I can’t help but feel a stab of pride that it’s on her playlist. It’s not me singing but it’s my song. My one hit of sorts – not for me but for Chelsea Black, a big country star. She got the fame, though as the writer I still get royalties each time it’s performed. I’m proud of that song, and glad that Emily knows it.

  We both hum along for a little bit, and I take out the earbud. ‘Thanks,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, sure. It’s a good song.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so.’ I smile. ‘Your dad told me that you’re learning guitar.’

  She flushes a little. ‘Yeah. But I’m not very good.’

  ‘Everyone has to start somewhere,’ I say. ‘Maybe we can do some music together while you’re here.’

  ‘Yeah, OK. That’d be cool.’

  ‘Great,’ I say. ‘Shall we go inside? Mum – your grandma – has been baking all morning. Mince pies, ginger biscuits, shortbread…’

  ‘I don’t eat carbs. They make you fat.’

  ‘Oh.’ God – twelve years old. I consider giving her a lecture on eating a balanced diet that gives you energy, but then decide to skip it. I won’t have many chances to win her over.

  ‘Anyway, I’m going inside.’ I get out of the car, relieved when she gets out too. But almost immediately I’m seized by a coughing fit.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, recovering. ‘It’s just that I’m not used to the cold any more. How about a cup of tea? There are no carbs in tea.’

  She screws up her face in an unconscious gesture of distaste and once again I have an uncomfortable flash of recognition. ‘Is there any hot chocolate?’ she says.

  ‘I don’t know. Let’s find out.’

  Just as we’re about to go in, Bill comes back outside. ‘There are some carb-free mince pies in there.’ He winks at Emily. ‘I don’t know how your grandma does it. But she’s a genius. Packed solid with protein.’

  I laugh. Emily rolls her eyes. ‘Come on.’ I hold out my arm to lock with hers. Ginny and I used to lock arms like that. She looks surprised for a second, then does it. I try not to think about how natural it feels.

  We go inside and unlink arms to remove our shoes. I can hear shrieking from the kitchen: the decibel level certainly rises when there are two seven-year-old boys on the scene. Fiona is in the kitchen talking to Mum. I want her to like me and for us to be a normal family. I’m an aunt. I have a brother and a sister-in-law. And, of course, Mum. I am very blessed.

  ‘Nice tree,’ Emily says. ‘But kind of naked.’

  I laugh. ‘We thought we’d wait until you got here to decorate it. Maybe later, after you’ve had time to settle in.’

  ‘Will you show me your room?’

  ‘What’s that?’ I say, startled.

  ‘You shared with her, right? With Ginny.’

  The name seems to come from nowhere, like a noisy ghost playing tricks on my mind.

  ‘I did,’ I say carefully.

  ‘I wish I had a twin,’ she says.

  ‘Emily?’ Fiona calls out from the kitchen. ‘Come say hi to your nan.’

  Emily tosses her phone and headphones on the sofa and marches into the kitchen like she’s off to fight a duel at sunrise. I follow behind.

  Mum’s sitting at the table with the boys, drinking a cup of tea. When Emily walks into the room, the blood drains from her face. The hand holding the teacup begins to jitter and shake. She opens her mouth and closes it again. I hold my breath, sensing the recalibration process that seems to be going on in her mind.

  ‘Emily,’ Mum says, her voice a little hoarse. I exhale, relieved that she’s recognised her niece. ‘Come here, child.’ She holds open her arms. Emily goes to her and gives her a quick hug, her body tall and slender like a willow branch. Seeing the two of them like that, I feel an ache inside. I go over and help Fiona unload the bags of food she’s brought.

  Mum pulls out a chair for Emily and continues to stare at her. Fiona scolds the boys for not saying hello to me. I go over and give each of them a hug. Robbie, the quieter of the two, pulls away, staring ruefully at the plate of crumbs before him. Jamie gives me a goofy smile. They’re both easy to love, and I feel sad for all the time I’ve missed out seeing them.

  ‘Now can we have more?’ Robbie says, his eyes pleading like a puppy.

  ‘Oh, go on then,’ Fiona says. ‘But just one more biscuit each.’

  ‘Is there any hot
chocolate?’ I ask Mum. ‘I think that’s what Emily wants.’

  ‘Of course,’ Mum says. ‘I’ll make some straightaway.’ The boys pipe up that they want some too.

  ‘I’ll make it,’ I say. I put my hand on Mum’s shoulder pressing her down in the chair. She scowls at me but I ignore it. I put the kettle on and find the cocoa in the cupboard. Emily comes over and helps me make it. I get the sense that she’s disconcerted by the way Mum’s looking at her. But I can’t blame Mum this time. There is quite a strong resemblance between Emily and Ginny.

  When the hot chocolate’s made, I go to the sitting room. Fiona follows me. ‘Whew, that’s them sorted,’ she says. ‘For now.’

  ‘It’s a long journey,’ I say. ‘They’re probably tired of being cooped up in the car.’

  ‘And now they’ll be on a sugar high,’ Fiona says. ‘I’ll have to get Bill to take them to the beach.’

  ‘That sounds good,’ I say. ‘And have they been to MacDougall’s Farm? They’ve got animals and a little train.’

  ‘Really?’ Fiona says. ‘I’m surprised we haven’t been.’

  I think back to Mum’s negative reaction when I mentioned James. ‘I’m sure you have much better things in Glasgow,’ I say, waffling a little.

  ‘Anything that gets them outside is good…’ Fiona launches into a diatribe about keeping the boys occupied. It’s a perfectly normal conversation between two women of a similar age. I’m glad she’s here. I hope I can get to know her better.

  Bill comes back inside and goes to check on the others in the kitchen. Fiona turns back to me. ‘And your mum?’ she says in low voice. ‘How’s she been?’

  ‘Um, she doesn’t want to accept help,’ I say, honing in on what really is the least of my worries. ‘From me, at least. But she seems… fine. Most of the time.’

  Fiona cocks her head. She can obviously see right through to the truth. ‘It must have been hard coming back and seeing her after so long. But we’re here now. I’m happy to help with her. It takes a village…’