In Your Silence

by Grace Lowrie

  I was no quitter.

  The pub wasn’t as crammed full of bodies as I’d anticipated but it contained enough tables, chairs, pillars, nooks and corners to create a labyrinthine effect. Once inside I feared I’d never find my way out again, but the welcoming warmth and the reassuring scent of furniture wax was enough to draw me in. I could feel heads turning and eyes following me as I walked straight up to the bar and smiled widely at the woman serving, hoping to mask my discomfort.

  ‘Hello there, what can I get you?’

  I pointed at the nearest beer tap, still smiling and grateful that there was enough background music and chatter to obscure my silence.

  ‘A pint of Fosters?’ she said, frowning slightly, and I nodded, beaming at her to make up for my complete absence of Ps and Qs.

  She fetched a clean glass and pulled my pint without further comment and I started to relax until I realised I’d forgotten to retrieve my purse from its hiding place. Smiling awkwardly at the old guy sitting at the bar next to me, I bent down and unzipped my right, knee-high boot. The black leather peeled back like a banana skin, revealing the purse stuck to my naked calf before I quickly zipped it up again. As I straightened up my face burned but the man didn’t say anything, and the barmaid simply told me the price as she set my pint before me. It was almost three times the cost I was expecting, compared to supermarket lager, but I paid it without hesitation and hurried over to a small table tucked in a shadowy corner.

  My drink had spilled down my arm but I tried not to think about it as I settled myself in a seat with my back to the wall. I’d taken several gulps of the cold fizzy liquid to calm my nerves, before discovering I didn’t like lager at all. No wonder Gregory never drank it. Releasing a few furtive burps under my breath, I finally lifted my eyes and risked a glance at my surroundings. To my great surprise and relief nobody was looking in my direction.

  Bar and beer aside, the interior of the pub wasn’t so bad. It had an eighteenth century feel about it with an abundance of varnished wooden surfaces, a large open fireplace, and cushioned velvet upholstery. My heart rate had almost returned to normal by the time Liam and his friends started piling in through the door. They were jovial and noisy and greeted by several of the regulars before finally settling themselves and their drinks around a cluster of tables clearly marked ‘reserved’.

  Keeping my head down I surreptitiously peeked at them over my pint, pleased to see Liam seat himself between two other men and not facing in my direction. Irritatingly the redhead, whose name I’d overheard was Poppy, had positioned herself directly in front of my man, where they could easily make conversation. What kind of name was Poppy anyway?

  By now I was starting to put names to the others, too: Liam’s older brother, Lester, was not as tall but shared the same prominent brow and still had a tell-tale limp from his accident in the summer; and I figured that the attractive pregnant brunette with him must be Liam’s Irish sister-in-law, Maire. The younger, dark-haired, good-looking guy that Liam talked to the most was presumably his best mate James, but try as I might I couldn’t recall the name of his slightly reserved but leggy girlfriend.

  On the rare occasions when Liam spoke to Poppy or any of the other females in the group, I studied his profile intently, but could detect no obvious difference in the way he interacted with them, other than that he was marginally more polite. Several of the men frequently told jokes with filthy punchlines, which made me smile and made the other women roll their eyes.

  I deliberately sipped my drink slowly to make it last and to avoid a repeat trip to the bar – it tasted even worse warm – but soon the bottom of my glass was in sight. The rugby crew had sunk several rounds in the same period of time, but were showing no signs of leaving, and I wasn’t sure how long I could stay unnoticed without at least a drink for cover. I was considering slipping out the back door, retrieving my bike and heading home, when a vibration in my left boot alerted me to a text message. Liam was the only person in the world who had my number.

  Across the room he was talking to James, but I could see he had his mobile in his hand beneath the edge of the table. Warmth spread through me at the idea that he was thinking of me. Reaching down I unzipped my boot, retrieved my phone and clicked open the message:

  Would you like to join us? X

  My head shot up and I stared at him but he wasn’t looking in my direction. Did he know I was here? Had he known all along? Of course he had – how humiliating.

  Glancing back at the screen I re-read Liam’s message, my fingers tingling with adrenalin. He’d added a kiss – he’d never done that before – it was a tiny thing but it made my heart beat faster in my chest. And he’d covertly texted me. He could have just shouted my name across the pub; exposing me as a freak on first sight, but he hadn’t; he wasn’t; he was giving me a choice; an out.

  And I was grateful for that.

  But was I ready to meet all his friends?

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  My whole body ached with the urge to go to her. It no longer mattered if Melody Sinclair was wrong for me – I’d fallen under her spell. The crazy beautiful woman had seduced me, gifted me her virginity and then denied me her company for a solid twenty-four hours. It was unbearable. Every little thing made me think of her; from the piece of slate Adam’s burger was served on – it was the exact colour of her eyes when she was angry – to the butterfly pendant Kat wore – the shape of her birthmark. Mel was all I could think about. The hold she had over me was so strong that staying away from her, especially when she was so near, was almost painful.

  After last night’s confession, Bridget had let me off lightly. She didn’t get angry, upset, stroppy or difficult; she didn’t even push me for a more detailed explanation. It was a testament to her sensible and forgiving personality that she calmly departed with a polite wish to remain friends, taking the rest of the wine with her. Her generous understanding was more than I deserved, and a huge relief. And now I was completely free to pursue Melody.

  But if Mel had wanted me to go to her, she wouldn’t be hiding in the corner of the pub – dressed all in black, complete with boots and dark make-up – and spying on me from afar, would she? Or would she? Really I had no idea – the woman was a complete mystery. I didn’t want to frighten her away, so I’d sent her a text inviting her to join us, and now I was on tenterhooks awaiting her reply...

  No. My heart sank.

  Can I ask why?

  I don’t want to embarrass you.

  You won’t embarrass me.

  They’ll think I’m weird for following you here and not speaking and you’ll feel ashamed of me. I’d rather leave.

  Without further consideration I pushed back my chair and strode over to where she sat. She looked startled and rose to her feet as I closed the gap between us.

  ‘I could never be ashamed of you,’ I hissed, cupping her face in my hands. The words came out more forcefully than I’d intended, but I’d reached my limit. I was done trying to resist her. Leaning down I kissed her on the mouth and after only a second’s hesitation she returned my kiss with all the passion she tried so hard to hide; her body pressing into mine and her arms binding possessively around my waist. She bit my lip, hard enough to draw blood, and the sting of pain only made me want her more.

  But as consumed by her as I was, I was also aware of a curious audience behind me.

  ‘C’mon let’s get out of here,’ I said, wrapping one arm firmly round her shoulders, turning and steering her swiftly across the room. ‘Everybody, this is Melody. Mel, this is everybody,’ I said, pocketing my phone, grabbing my jacket and ignoring all the stunned faces around the table. ‘Goodnight all.’ With that I guided a shocked Mel straight out the front door before anyone could express a word.

  The night air was crisp and refreshing after the stuffy warmth of the pub. Pausing on the pavement I helped Mel into my jacket. It swamped her completely and hung down past her knees, but she slipped her phone into a pocket and gazed up at me
with bright eyes and an amused smile hovering on her lips.

  ‘See – no-one said anything at all,’ I said lightly.

  Mel’s grin broadened and she reached up on the tips of her toes to kiss me again. Now that we were alone, our kiss deepened, our tongues wrestling with mutual impatience for more. I groaned, pausing to catch my breath. In my back pocket my mobile was vibrating with incoming, no-doubt-nosey texts from my mates, but I ignored it.

  ‘I don’t suppose you want to come back to mine? It’s nearer than yours...’

  She nodded, but then tried to lead me into the undergrowth beneath the trees.

  ‘Where are you going...?’

  Understanding came when she wheeled her antique-looking bicycle out of the bushes and into the light of a street-lamp.

  ‘You cycled here?’

  She nodded and looked up at me expectantly.

  ‘Do you have a helmet? You should really wear a helmet – I’ll have to get you one if you’re riding around on the roads...’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Right.’ Swinging one leg over the frame I settled myself on the cracked leather saddle. It squeaked under my weight but thankfully didn’t buckle. The bike didn’t have any extra gears, but the tyres were plump with air and the brakes appeared to work when I squeezed them. There was no luggage rack over the rear wheel but there was a large wicker basket mounted on the handlebars which, when jiggled, seemed sturdy enough to take her weight. ‘Hop on then,’ I said, patting the basket.

  With her arms crossed, lips pursed and one eyebrow raised, she looked at me, unimpressed.

  ‘What? Don’t you trust me? My house isn’t far, I promise.’

  Rolling her eyes she swung one booted leg across the back wheel behind me, braced her hands on my shoulders and then stepped up to perch on the pegs which protruded from either side of the rear axle.

  I chuckled. ‘Or that might be more comfortable...’

  We wobbled a little as I set off, Mel’s fingertips biting into my shoulders – it had been a while since I’d ridden a bike – but once I’d got my balance we were flying; the wind stinging my face and the girl I loved, warm at my back.

  We reached my front door in a matter of minutes and I was quick to get us inside. Darting around the lounge I switched on the electric fire, drew the curtains, tidied away the local papers, straightened the cushions and moved a dirty mug into the kitchen. I hadn’t been expecting company and I was anxious to make a good impression.

  Casting off my jacket she gazed around the room and then stepped over to warm her hands in front of the artificial fire. The dark dress, heavy black eye-liner and purple nail-polish she wore made her skin, hair and eyes seem paler than usual, and for all her small stature, Mel made a striking, seductive, almost unreal impression on my ordinary little living room.

  Clearing my throat I moved closer to her and she turned towards me.

  ‘Can I get you a dr—’

  She pounced; her hands cold and her kisses searing. Her tongue sought out mine and her fingers wormed beneath my shirt and jumper, her short nails clawing at my back. We only stopped kissing long enough to tear off our clothes, neither of us wanting to break physical contact for any longer than was strictly necessary.

  Collapsing onto the rug, I took her down with me and she insisted, in her own silent and persistent way, on having me right there and then. Her skin was flushed, her nipples erect, and she was gloriously wet between her thighs. As she urged me flat on my back and straddled my lap, I only just managed to get a condom on. Holding my eyes with hers she positioned her body at the perfect angle to take me, and this time I pushed up inside her with relative ease; the tight heat of her making me moan. Lying beneath her, at her mercy, I matched her thrust for thrust as she rode me, and as she pinched my nipples hard enough to leave bruises, we both came fast and hard; bathed in sweat, gasping with exertion and trembling with sweet, sweet release.

  Afterwards she flopped down onto her back beside me and I rested my head between her soft, bare breasts, listening to her heartbeat while she idly stroked her fingers through my hair. As much as I’d enjoyed losing myself in the moment, I now wished I’d been able to last longer, go slower and make love to Mel the way she deserved to be made love to.

  ‘I love you,’ I confessed.

  Her fingers stilled, her breathing halted and her heart-rate stuttered in her chest, but there was no taking it back now, so I ploughed on.

  ‘That’s what I should have said yesterday – that regardless of whether you ever find your voice or not, I love you, Mel.’

  After a few minutes, when she still hadn’t moved, I summoned up enough courage to lift my head and look at her face. Smiling tightly she looked away and I silently cursed myself for being a reckless fool.

  ‘Coffee?’ I said.

  Chapter Forty

  His house was tiny – a dolls-house – especially with him taking up all the space in it. The ceilings were low, the living room was the size of my bathroom, and his kitchen was little more than a cupboard. It smelled faintly of Chinese food. I was conscious of his neighbours living just the other side of the walls, as if in the next room, when in fact they were in a separate dwelling. It was a peculiar concept to get my head around.

  As Liam filled the kettle I pointed quizzically at the small washing machine tucked between the sink and a tiny refrigerator.

  ‘What? There’s nowhere else for it to go – we don’t all have laundry rooms...’

  There was amusement in his eyes as he explained, and no trace of reproach in his tone, but it occurred to me that it might be insensitive to point out all the differences between his house and my own. It didn’t change how I felt about him. Presumably most of the population of Great Britain lived like this; it was my situation that was abnormal, not his. Even so, it seemed unfair that a man as tremendous as Liam was constantly forced to bow, stoop, and sidle in the place he called home.

  Leaving Liam to make drinks I drifted back into the only other downstairs room. The weirdest thing, once I’d gotten over the compact scale of the place, was how plain everything was. It wasn’t so much the absence of clutter – collecting and displaying precious artworks and ornaments was a particular obsession of Cornelia’s, one that Gregory had avidly preserved and continued in her memory – I hadn’t expected Liam to share the same compulsion. No, it was the overall mutedness of the interior décor which surprised me – cream walls; boxy furniture; beige synthetic furnishings... no real colour, or pattern or personality. Was this house decorated to his taste or someone else’s? An ex-girlfriend perhaps...? Above the fireplace was an empty picture hook and I stared at it as if it might provide some sort of clue. Then my eyes landed on a wine glass by the mantelpiece. There was a trace of dark liquid left inside and a smudge of pink lipstick at the rim; tiny, minor, details that clawed painfully at my eyes as I turned away.

  The plain décor extended up a narrow flight of stairs and into a clean, compact bathroom. I had a thorough nose through the cupboard below the sink and the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, but was relieved to find a complete absence of feminine products. I took my time touching his things – weighing his heavy electric razor in my hand; sniffing his deodorant, shower gel, shampoo and aftershave; committing it all to memory. I wanted to know him; be a part of him; keep him for myself. On impulse I put his toothbrush in my mouth; partly to taste him and partly to leave a trace of myself behind.

  Across the carpeted landing the bedroom door was temptingly open and I slipped inside and switched on the light, aware that downstairs the kettle had already boiled. The large bed was neatly made, but I was relieved to see an unruly stack of gardening books piled on one bedside table and a colourful jumble of potted plants competing for light and space on the window sill – reassuring evidence of the Liam Hunt I knew.

  The wardrobe door creaked traitorously as I inspected the interior, but only Liam’s clothes hung inside, alongside dozens of empty hangers. Pressing a sleeve to my cheek, I inh
aled the comforting scent of his washing powder as my gaze fell on a large cardboard box half hidden in the bottom.

  ‘Mel? You OK?’ Liam called up the stairs.

  Realising I was almost out of time, I quickly lifted the box flaps and scanned the contents. There were books, CDs, a collection of feminine hair things, a mug bearing the name ‘Cally’ and a small teddy bear; none of which I had time to properly investigate, because I could hear Liam starting up the staircase. What really captured my attention was a framed black and white photograph showing Liam with his arm around his ex.

  Cally was dressed plainly; the sort of woman who was beautiful without having to wear flashy clothes or draw attention to herself. Tall, dark and elegant, she was everything I was not. And they looked happy in the picture; young, relaxed, content. Why had she left him?

  Jealousy churning in my stomach I quickly closed the box, slammed the wardrobe shut and turned to face the bedroom door just as Liam came into view. Wearing only a pair of boxers and a smile, he had to turn his large bare shoulders sideways to duck inside the room. His hair was still ruffled from my fingers and I was immediately conscious of the bed between us; a renewed throb of desire pulsing between my thighs.

  ‘Hey. I just wanted to check you’re alright,’ he said. ‘Look around as much as you like – I’ve got nothing to hide...’

  He was always so understanding; so forgiving; too good to be true, and here I was snooping through his things. What was I searching for? An excuse to ruin things between us? So what if he chatted to women in the pub? So what if he’d lived with a woman before? He clearly didn’t anymore. And it was me, Melody Sinclair, standing here in his bedroom now, wearing nothing but his shirt.