My Mother's Silence (ARC)

by Lauren Westwood

He waves and I wave back. And then I leave and walk back up the hill. I don’t want to speak to him, and have the moment spoiled by words, or silence, small talk, or even the attraction that I feel for him. Right now, I have nothing to offer to him or anyone. Not until I find out the ‘truth’.

  27

  The next morning, I’m not feeling any better. I stay in my room until everyone else has had breakfast. I eat a piece of toast and then go outside to the garden and drink my coffee on the patio. A boat is making its way slowly out of the harbour, trawling a path through the inky grey water. Everything is grey here. The sea, the sky, my memories. But in the light of day, I know what I need to do. I need to speak to Lachlan – he seemed willing enough to talk about ‘what really happened that night’ when I arrived, and yet I didn’t want to hear what he had to say. And James… If Ginny was going away to Glasgow, then she was likely going with James. I’ll need to talk to him too.

  There’s a commotion as the two little boys run around the side of the house. Bill follows them, throwing a football down onto the wet grass for a kick about. Fiona comes out to watch them. She smiles at me, friendly and genuine, and I feel an intense sadness. I had so hoped that we could all have a happy Christmas: together for the first time in so long. But right now everything seems spoiled.

  ‘Skye,’ Fiona says. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ I make an effort to smile.

  ‘We were thinking of going out to the beach,’ she says. ‘The boys are sick of being cooped up, and it looks like the weather will be clear for most of the afternoon.’

  I have a sudden idea how to kill two birds with one stone. ‘Why don’t I take them to MacDougall’s Farm?’ I say. ‘It would give you and Bill a break. We can go after lunch.’

  ‘That would be brilliant.’ Fiona looks relieved. ‘I mean, are you sure you want to? The boys can be a handful.’

  ‘Oh, we’ll be fine,’ I say, not very sure at all. ‘It will be fun.’

  ‘Fantastic, then it’s settled. Bill…’ she calls out. ‘Skye’s going to take the troops to the farm.’

  One of the little boys kicks the ball hard at Bill. It hits him in the stomach and he gasps as the wind is knocked out of him. The ball ricochets right over the fence at the end of the garden.

  ‘Game over,’ I say as the boys and Bill go off to determine the fate of the ball. Fiona shakes her head. ‘I need more coffee,’ she says.

  As I go back inside, I debate whether or not I should call ahead and try to arrange to speak to James, or just turn up. I decide on the latter. I’m beginning to see that it’s best not to give anyone time to ‘get their stories straight’.

  In the kitchen, Fiona’s making coffee and Emily is buttering a piece of toast. Mum’s sitting at the table mixing bread dough. Her eyes look dark and puffy like she didn’t sleep well. ‘Are you OK?’ I say as I rinse out my coffee mug.

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Fine.’ She seems very flat.

  ‘Skye’s going to take the boys to the farm park,’ Fiona says. ‘MacDougall’s. Isn’t that nice? Emily, do you want to go too?’

  Before Emily can answer, Mum swivels around and glares first at Fiona, then at me. ‘You shouldn’t go there.’

  ‘Oh, the boys will love it,’ Fiona says. ‘They love animals. It will be perfect—’

  Mum’s face changes almost instantly. That look in her eyes: shiny, wild. ‘James is two-timing you,’ she says, looking straight at Emily. ‘And that’s not right. That Katie. She’s such a little…tramp.’ There’s venom in her voice as she pounds at the dough in the bowl. I can feel the pent-up emotion escaping like a cork popping out of a bottle. ‘You have to talk to him. He’ll see reason. I promise you, he will.’

  Emily narrows her eyes as understanding dawns. Fiona moves in front of her, a human shield.

  ‘Mum?’ I try to put my hand on her shoulder but she presses a flour-covered hand to my hip and pushes me away with such surprising force that I almost lose my balance.

  ‘I’m going to get Bill,’ I say to Fiona.

  ‘Bill…?’ Mum says. The mention of my brother’s name brings her back to her senses but her eyes are still confused. I want to comfort her, but I’m too shaken. I’m best getting Emily off the scene as soon as possible.

  ‘I’m taking the kids to the farm park, Mum,’ I say. ‘Come on, Emily.’ I don’t wait for a response. But as I’m going out, I hear Mum’s cane clatter to the floor followed by swearing. I’m frightened by this version of Mum that I don’t recognise. I hurry outside to find Bill. ‘They lost the ball,’ he says, with a shrug. ‘I said that would happen if—’

  ‘Mum’s in a state,’ I say. ‘I’m taking the kids now.’

  My brother’s face drains of colour. ‘Fine, I’ll see to her.’ I can’t tell if he’s angry at her or at me. He spots Emily who’s followed me out.

  ‘Dad?’ she says, her voice high like a little girl’s.

  ‘Everything’s going to be fine, love,’ he says. ‘You go and have a good time.’ He digs in his pocket and tosses his keys to me. ‘Best if you take the Audi.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘Come on, boys.’ I turn to my nephews. ‘Let’s go ride the train and have some fun.’

  ‘Yay!’ they scream.

  I give Emily the keys and instruct her to get her brothers inside. As they go off, I follow Bill back up to the house to get my coat and handbag.

  In the kitchen, Mum’s crying. I feel awful that I ever mentioned the farm park to Fiona without telling her that it might upset Mum, and cause another incident with Emily. Awful that my presence here seems to be rocking the boat no matter what I do. I hear Fiona and Bill both speaking softly to her, trying to calm her down. I make a swift exit. This time, running away seems like absolutely the right thing to do.

  28

  It’s a relief to be out of the house. Bill’s Audi Q5 is big, but easy to drive. Before we leave, Emily runs to the cottage to get the boys’ iPads and some snacks. I let her sit in front with me, something she’s probably not allowed to do ordinarily. I glance over at her as I pull out of the yard. It’s a little unnerving: like this could just be one more time driving with my sister. I did most of the driving back then, which left her free to pick the music and sing along. Maybe that’s why I developed my passenger seat phobia: I don’t like not being the one in control. Right now, I don’t feel like I’m in control of anything.

  When the house is behind us, Emily seems to relax a little. She asks if she can put on a CD, and I agree immediately, hoping she’ll choose something I like that will enable me to get out of my own head. I’m a little disappointed when, instead, she chooses a disk of candyfloss Euro-pop music, with a pounding beat that sets my teeth on edge. Since riding in the car with Lachlan, I’ve had a hankering to hear some traditional music, like the songs I used to write. I haven’t completely given up on that part of my old dream. I remember the conversation I had with Nick Hamilton about the creative process and feel a flash of excitement. If he can live his dream of being an artist, maybe there’s hope for me…

  ‘Who wants crisps?’ Emily asks. She’s got her rucksack on her lap and has fished out some bags of Mini Cheddars.

  ‘Me!’ Both of the boys call out at once from the back.

  Emily tosses them each a bag. ‘Do you want some crisps, Aunt Skye?’

  I focus on the road where an oncoming lorry is a little bit over the line. ‘Sure,’ I say.

  ‘Here, catch…’

  It all happens in an instant. A loud rushing noise as the lorry passes us. The orange bag tossed towards me, a little too high, glimpsed in my peripheral vision. The bag hits my shoulder. I jam on the brakes, swerve off the road onto the hard shoulder, and into loose gravel. The car fishtails. I brake harder. In the back someone yells and an iPad hits the floor. We come to a stop inches from a ditch aside the road. My hands are clammy on the wheel.

  ‘Jesus,’ I yell, putting my hand to my temple. ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘I’m sorry!’
Emily says.

  But when I look at her, it takes me a few seconds to realise who she is, where I am. My head is pounding. Ginny. Throwing something at me. It hit me. It hurt.

  I have no context for the thought. And yet I’m sure it happened. It’s the same as the other flashes I’ve had over the years. But this one couldn’t be real. Or if it was, it couldn’t have happened the night she died because we weren’t in the car together. I want to tear the thoughts from my head and the emotions that go with the memory. Hurt, loss. Disbelief. They can’t be real either.

  ‘Aunt Skye?’

  I look over at Emily. Her lower lip is quivering like she’s about to cry. I feel terrible for lashing out at her.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say, trying to calm my breathing. ‘Sorry about that. It startled me, that’s all.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she says again.

  ‘That was cool,’ Jamie yells out from the back. ‘Can we do it again?’

  I laugh – it seems the right thing to do. I pull back onto the road and we continue onwards. But despite the boys going back to their video and Emily turning the volume up on the music, the incident has upset me. I feel like turning around and going home. But I can’t let the kids down, and besides, going back to Mum in a state is hardly appealing. Most of all, though, I need to speak to James.

  The car park at MacDougall’s is more crowded than last time now that school’s out for the holidays. As soon as we’re out of the car, Jamie runs behind a reversing Jeep. My heart is in my mouth as I take his hand and tell him to be more careful.

  ‘I need a wee,’ Robbie yells, running on ahead.

  I roll my eyes at Emily. She gives me a smug little smirk in return. It seems that the earlier incident is forgiven.

  The shop is busy with people stocking up on Christmas gifts and food, and there’s a queue of children waiting for the train to see ‘Santa’s reindeer’. I send the boys off to the loos. Emily and I join the queue for hot chocolate and I look around to see if there’s some kind of office where James might be. The boys return and then run off again to look at the toys and jigsaws in the shop. I’m feeling on edge and the queue is taking forever, and—

  ‘Skye? Is that you?’

  I turn around. The man standing behind me is shorter and smaller than I remember, and his once impressive head of wavy blonde hair is thinning. He’s wearing glasses too. But the moment he smiles, it’s like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

  ‘James!’ I say. ‘Hey there!’ We lock in a warm embrace.

  ‘I heard you were back,’ he says as we come apart. ‘And you look amazing! Your mum must be over the moon that you’re home.’

  I’m aware of Emily watching us. Her face is a mixture of admiration and disgust, like she’s wondering if I’ve shagged every man of a certain age within a fifty-mile radius. Her brothers return, running up to us.

  ‘Are they yours?’ James asks, ruffling the hair of the two little boys.

  ‘God no,’ I say. ‘They’re Bill’s.’

  ‘Aye, wee Bill,’ he says, exaggerating his accent and giving Emily a wink. ‘Your dad is a good sort, you know?’

  Emily gives him her ‘whatever’ look.

  ‘Do you have time for a coffee?’ I say to James. ‘I’d love to…’ I hesitate, ‘catch up.’

  ‘That’d be great,’ he says. ‘Let me just go check that the assistant manager is back from break.’ He steps up and has a word with the coffee cart girl, then waves us to the front of the queue. ‘Whatever they like,’ he directs, ‘on the house.’

  I do the obligatory protest and he insists, which is just so like James. Mum may have her grievances, but I could never hold a grudge against him. He’s so uncomplicated… so guileless. He pops off to have a word with a man at the tills and returns as we’re collecting our food and drinks.

  ‘All sorted,’ he says. ‘Shall we find a big table?’

  ‘Actually,’ I say, taking a breath, ‘I was wondering if we might be able to have a quick word. Alone. Emily can watch her brothers.’

  James’s sunny face flickers for a second like he’s sussed something’s up. ‘How about they go see the animals?’ he suggests. ‘My boys are with Clemmie, their nanny. If your three get on the train, they can meet up at the other end.’

  ‘Perfect,’ I say.

  James takes a walkie-talkie off his belt and sorts everything out. Emily doesn’t want to go, but I promise to buy her a notebook in the shop later if she looks after her brothers now. She gives me her devastating look, and agrees.

  When the kids are on the train, I go with James to a covered area at the back of the barn with picnic tables. We sit down and watch the train trundle up the glen. James tells me some of his grand plans: for Scotland’s longest zip line, and the Hogwarts-themed soft play that’s under construction in the large barn.

  As he talks, I consider how to broach the subject of that night. So far James has been just about the only person I’ve seen since I’ve been back who hasn’t looked at me and seemed immediately to think of my dead sister. Which is great – or it would be. Except now, I need to talk about her. Finally he seems to realise that he’s been doing all the talking. He asks me how I’m settling in, and I take the plunge.

  ‘It’s been difficult,’ I say. ‘Mum’s not in a good state after her fall. And for me, everything is a reminder of Ginny. As you can imagine.’

  His face seems to close up. ‘I’m sorry we never had a chance to talk about what happened,’ he says. ‘I thought I’d see you, but then you left. I’m sure it was devastating. You two were so close.’

  ‘Well, I thought so,’ I say. ‘But now I’m not so sure.’ I take a breath and dive in the deep end. ‘James, were you planning on going away with her? To Glasgow. Was she going to the audition… without me?’

  He stares at me, his eyes narrowing. ‘What?’

  ‘She ripped up the coach ticket I bought for her,’ I say. ‘But she had another for the day she died. Which she didn’t use, obviously. So can you just tell me the truth, so I can… put it to bed?’

  ‘Hold on a minute…’ He puts his hand on my arm. ‘Slow down, Skye. I really have no idea what you’re talking about. I certainly wasn’t going away with her. She dumped me. Back in August. Three months before she died. But you knew that, right?’

  ‘No.’ I stare at him, stunned. ‘She didn’t. I mean… you and she were so… tight. You were so good for her.’

  ‘I don’t know if I was good for her or not, but she definitely wasn’t good for me. She messed with my head,’ he says.

  ‘I’m starting to think that she messed with mine too,’ I say.

  ‘When she dumped me, I felt like my world had fallen apart,’ he says. ‘I started drinking a lot. Taking drugs. It was me who brought the stuff that night.’

  ‘You?’ I look at him, surprised. No one admitted bringing the drugs that night, though later on, an Irishman who’d dropped in at the party was arrested on charges of supplying.

  ‘Yeah, me. Not that O’Rourke bloke.’

  I feel sick to my stomach. It seems that the police got this wrong too. Or was it another example of everyone ‘getting their stories straight’? I can believe that Byron and his mates lied. But James?

  He stares down at his hands. ‘Those three months were the worst time of my life. But Katie saved me. She was there, helping me through it. Which was why…’ he rubs his hands through his hair ‘… I felt so conflicted.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘When Ginny got to the party, she took me aside. I was already drunk, and Katie was there. But I went with her.’ He shakes his head. ‘She said that she loved me. That she’d made a mistake. She didn’t want to leave home, and she wanted to get back together.’

  ‘OK…?’

  ‘But I’d been so hurt by her. I’d realised by then how she toyed with people. She put on that vulnerable little girl act and had people falling at her feet. People like me. I’d convinced myself that I hated her.’

  Hearing th
e words – and everything he’s just said – I feel a little shocked.

  ‘I got upset. I accused her of cheating on me.’

  ‘No – she would never do that.’

  He gives me a long look. ‘That’s what she said. And then she laughed at me. Acted like I was turning her on. She wanted to have sex. And I hated the fact that I wanted to, even though I didn’t… if that makes sense. But I told her that we were over. That I’d moved on.’ He looks stricken. ‘She started to cry. I wanted to comfort her. But I played the hard man. I walked away.’

  ‘You left her there – on the rocks?’

  ‘No, we weren’t on the rocks. We were in my car, up near the lighthouse. I didn’t see her go near the rocks.’ He frowns. ‘If I had, I wouldn’t have left her there. Obviously.’

  ‘Obviously,’ I say.

  ‘I went back to the fire. Drank some more. And from there it gets vague. Maybe Katie remembers more. I don’t—’

  ‘Maybe Katie remembers what?’ A lilting female voice comes from behind us. We both startle a little and turn around.

  ‘My…’ she says, ‘have I interrupted a wake—’ She cuts off. ‘Skye!’ Her face colours as recognition dawns. ‘I’m sorry. I—’

  ‘Katie. Hi.’ I stand up and come around the bench to hug her. ‘You’re looking well.’

  She is looking well, but then she always had one of those open, friendly faces with a mouth that turns up into a natural smile. She was a year behind us at school, so we weren’t exactly friends, but she always seemed nice. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her cheeks are rosy from the cold. She’s dressed in an expensive-looking padded jacket with a fur collar and a matching scarf and gloves. It strikes me that Ginny would have hated having anything to do with a place like this. But Katie looks perfectly in her element.

  ‘So do you, Skye.’ She beams at me. ‘You’ve inspired us to plan a trip to America. Maybe next summer. You must give us some tips.’

  ‘Sure. I’d be happy to.’

  ‘Everyone OK?’ James asks her.