In Your Silence

by Grace Lowrie

  She mouthed the word ‘sorry’, anxiety clear in her eyes and I shook my head in disapproval, while she blinked up at me like a contrite child. But in all honesty her little act of thievery didn’t annoy me. In fact, I loved that she’d wanted a piece of me so soon after we first met. Regardless of whether it was to punish or provoke me, it was flattering.

  ‘I’ll have it back now if that’s OK,’ I said strapping it back onto my wrist. She nodded and we exchanged a smile.

  Grabbing a notepad and pen she led me back downstairs, her bed covers trailing behind her like a train.

  ‘What’s with all these taxidermied animals?’ I said, ducking slightly to avoid the protruding tusks of a wild boar.

  G likes to hunt, Mel scribbled down on her notepad. Someone should shoot, stuff, and mount him on the wall – see how he likes it. Her comment amused me, and I made a mental note never to get on her bad side.

  Once we reached the kitchen, Mel opened the pantry and, after much rummaging about, helped herself to a large packet of biscuits. I searched several cupboards for a backup generator but could find no evidence of one. Only the large Aga was still functioning. While I filled the kettle, set it on the hotplate and set about making two cups of tea, Mel seated herself cross-legged at the table in her nest of blankets, spilling biscuit crumbs as she munched.

  ‘Please tell me he didn’t lock you in without any food?’

  She shook her head, picked up the pen and jotted down: I was rationing myself.

  ‘Jesus. He shouldn’t have locked you in at all – it’s abuse.’ She made no move to either agree or disagree and I bit back my frustration. ‘What about Mrs Daly, hasn’t she been?’

  Sacked. Mel wrote the one word without remorse and I set our tea on the table, pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her.

  ‘Sorry there’s no milk – it’s gone off.’

  She smiled sympathetically and I sighed and rubbed my face with my hands. There was so much we needed to talk about; so much I wanted to know; hundreds of questions had been circulating in my head for days, but now that she was here in front of me, it was hard to begin.

  ‘I want to apologise for the other night – I shouldn’t have started drinking – it was stupid and I’m sorry you had to see me in that state. I’ll understand if you want nothing more to do with me, but... you can’t stay here, Mel. I don’t care if he’s your husband, he can’t treat you this way.’

  She stared at me for a moment and then launched a chocolate chip biscuit at me like a missile.

  ‘Ow,’ I said as it connected with my nose and broke into pieces across the table top. ‘What was that for?’ She was already writing, so I took a fortifying gulp of tea before reading her response.

  He’s my FATHER you idiot.

  ‘That’s not what he says.’

  And you believe him over me?

  ‘I don’t want to believe him, obviously... but why do you always refer to him by his first name? Why not call him ‘Dad’?’

  She shrugged and wrote: We’ve never been close.

  ‘OK. So why did he tell me you were his wife?’

  She grimaced. Because he wants me for himself.

  Biting back the sudden urge to vomit, I took her hand and she laced her fingers through mine. ‘You do realise how wrong that sounds?’

  She nodded, and simply stared into my eyes as I tried to digest this new information and internally wrestled with a growing sense of anger. After a while she collected up the notepad and rose to her feet, and I followed her back upstairs.

  Mel led me into her mother’s room; the opulent bedroom of a woman who had been dead and gone for fifteen long years. Not that you could tell. The cluttered space was a veritable monument; a shrine to the deceased, and it cast Sinclair’s dodgy state of mind into sharp relief. Mel handed me a framed photograph of her parents’ wedding day – a plain registry office affair in which her mother looked regal and her father looked impossibly young. If anything Gregory and Cornelia looked more like mother and son than husband and wife, but their happiness was clear to see. Going by the date they must have had Mel less than a year later.

  ‘How did she die?’

  I don’t know – G won’t talk about it.

  The revelation made me hurt for her and for the grief and confusion she must have suffered as a child – no wonder she’d stopped speaking. Before I could assemble any words of sympathy, Mel was writing again.

  I think G blamed me for her death for a long time, but lately he’s changed – become more attentive.

  I knew precisely what she meant by ‘attentive’ – it made my teeth clench and my hands ball into fists with angry revulsion, but I held it in check. Relaxing my hands I placed them on Mel’s shoulders and turned her to face me.

  ‘He hasn’t hurt you, has he? Physically I mean – he hasn’t touched you in any way he shouldn’t...?’

  She held my eye as she shook her head and I believed her, though I was still too angry to fully embrace my relief.

  ‘You were definitely not responsible for your mother’s death, understand? I don’t care what Sinclair thinks, says or does, no six-year-old has that kind of power, OK?’

  Mel didn’t look as emotional as you might expect somebody in her position to be – perhaps she’d never had a chance to feel close to either parent, and was used to their absence; maybe she had buried her feelings on the subject very deep, or perhaps she had simply dealt with them. Either way she gently put a hand to the side of my face and nodded her understanding with a serene smile – as if I was the one that needed comforting.

  I’d believed Mel over Gregory Sinclair from the moment she’d thrown a biscuit at my head and called me an idiot, but this extra insight into her family background laid any further doubts to rest for good. Mel was unmarried and she loved me... now if I could only convince her to leave with me.

  ‘It’s getting cold in here and it might be a while before the power’s back on – how do you fancy a trip to The White Bear?’

  Chapter Fifty

  For once I was glad to leave the house. Liam insisted on boarding up the broken window and clearing away the glass in the laundry room before we left, but he was swift and efficient with his big, capable hands, and soon they were wrapped warmly around mine as he led me away.

  The White Bear was a welcoming prospect as dusk fell, with its glowing lights, roaring fire and hot food, despite the smell of wet dog. The place was crowded with local people and their pets, all taking refuge from the power cut, and I was glad to have Liam at my side. He knew many of the patrons personally and stopped to greet them, introducing me by my first name as we stripped off our bulky layers of outer clothing and made our way to the bar.

  Across the room I spotted Poppy sitting at a small table with her brother, Adam. Anxiety brewed inside me while Liam bought our drinks, but the siblings enthusiastically waved us over with matching grins, and when Liam asked me if I was happy to join them, I found myself nodding.

  As Poppy introduced herself she stood up and flung her arms around me in a hug, almost spilling my drink. The unexpected onslaught made me stiffen like a board in her embrace, but the cashmere jumper she wore was wonderfully soft against me cheek. Her hair smelled of cranberries, and as she withdrew, the warmth in her smile was so genuine that it was infectious.

  ‘It’s so good to finally meet you,’ she said. ‘I was just telling Liam the other day that he was selfish to keep you all to himself. There are so few women in our social circle – we need to stick together – and we’re long overdue for a girly get-together.’

  Liam gave my left hand a gentle squeeze as we took our seats; I realised my nails were digging into his skin, and tried to relax my grip.

  ‘This is Adam,’ Poppy said.

  ‘Great to meet you, Melody,’ Adam said, reaching across the table and shaking my hand. ‘Big guy has hardly stopped smiling since he met you. What’s your secret?’ he added with a wink.

  ‘Adam!’ Poppy admonished, elbowing him
in the ribs. ‘Just ignore him – he’s always got his foot in his mouth.’

  Liam shot a warning glare at Adam over the rim of his pint of orange juice, but Adam just grinned back.

  ‘So is the power out at the Hall as well?’ Poppy asked. ‘Is that why you’re here?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Oh, wait,’ she said, placing her hand over mine with a concerned expression. ‘Do you have something to write with? I don’t want to be asking you loads of questions when you can’t answer them...’

  Her consideration was surprising; Liam must have fore-warned her about my muteism. Had he told all his friends about me? The idea of him talking about me behind my back was unsettling, but actually, it was a relief not to have to explain myself for once. Taking the notepad and pen from my pocket I laid them on the table and Poppy smiled.

  ‘Liam said you’re a proofreader, is that right?’

  I nodded, took a sip of water and picked up the pen. Yes, but I’m thinking of going into copywriting.

  ‘Wow, really, why?’ Poppy said.

  I think I’d be better at it than some of the copywriters I work for.

  Poppy snorted with laughter and showed what I’d written to Adam, who grinned at me.

  ‘Adam’s a copywriter for a website developer,’ Liam whispered in my ear.

  I bit my lip and Adam shook his head, smiling ruefully. ‘You’re probably right – I’ve read some appalling copy over the years.’

  ‘You should get Melody to do some proofreading for you,’ Poppy suggested. ‘At least you’ll get an honest opinion on your writing.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m brave enough,’ Adam said, pulling a face. ‘But our company is always looking for good copywriters, so I might be able to get you a foot in the door...?’

  That would be amazing, thanks, I wrote, surprised and relieved that I hadn’t offended him too badly.

  Adam picked up his bottle of beer. ‘I’ll have a word with my boss and find out what they’re looking for,’ he said as his lips pressed against the top of the bottle and he drained the contents.

  ‘Just imagine – you could end up working together!’ Poppy smiled warmly, and I understood why everyone was so drawn to her.

  Adam glanced at his watch and then up at his sister. ‘I’m afraid we should be going.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess,’ Poppy sighed. ‘I wish we could stay and get to know you better, but we said we’d take some food home for Mrs Kenmore, our neighbour.’

  OK.

  As Poppy hugged me goodbye I was reluctant to see her go. I was glad to have Liam all to myself again, but we had difficult things to discuss – like what to do about my father – and my brief conversation with Adam and Poppy had left me feeling too exhilarated to be serious. Were all Liam’s friends that nice and easy to get on with? Gregory had always insisted that meeting new people would be traumatic for me – that others would be intolerant of my condition, that they’d be cruel. But I was starting to realise that Gregory was wrong about a lot of things.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ Liam said when they’d gone, tenderly brushing his thumb across my lips.

  Nodding I stretched up and kissed him on the mouth – right there in the crowded pub – and he went to find a menu with a broad smile on his face.

  Once we’d devoured two portions of cheesy chips, I licked the salt from my fingers, eyed the puddle of water that had leached from my boots, and waited for Liam to say what he wanted to say.

  ‘Mel... I know we haven’t been together very long, but I do love you... and, well... with things being the way they are... I wondered if you would consider moving in with me?’

  I’d known it was coming. And I should be flattered. I was flattered. Only...

  ‘I realise it would be a big change for you,’ he continued, ‘I know you’re used to having your own space and everything, but we could find a bigger house to rent... and I can stick most of my stuff in storage...’ The earnest expression on his face made my heart ache. I loved him, and I loved the idea of sharing my life with him; falling asleep in his arms every night; waking up to his smile each morning. But...

  Picking up my pen, I wrote slowly, agonising over each word: I love you too, and I want to be with you, but it doesn’t seem fair that I should have to leave my home just because G is behaving like a loon.

  ‘You’re right – it isn’t fair. But it’s his house isn’t it?’ I nodded. ‘And you can’t stay with him after everything he’s done... everything he might do...’

  What if I get him to leave me alone?

  ‘How are you going to do that?’

  Threaten to go to the police or something.

  ‘But you still couldn’t trust him, surely? I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving you alone with him.’

  It was humiliating to think that I might need protecting from my own father. He was a pompous ass and he had an unhealthy obsession with his dead wife which was now, by extension, making him inappropriately possessive of me. But he was spineless and essentially harmless, wasn’t he? Maybe you could move in with us? I wrote.

  Liam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Even if your father agreed to that, which, frankly, is highly unlikely, I still wouldn’t be there all the time to protect you.’

  I can handle Gregory myself, I don’t need protection.

  ‘Mel, he’s physically bigger and stronger than you, and he’s clearly unhinged...’

  Irritated by Liam’s calm, common sense I shoved my notepad aside, stood and pushed my way through the over-crowded pub to the ladies toilet. It was vacant as I entered, which was lucky since Liam was right behind me and followed me inside.

  I glared at him and crossed my arms as he bolted the door shut behind us.

  ‘Are you getting stroppy with me?’ he said cupping my face in his large hands and peering into my eyes. ‘Because I’m not letting you walk away from me anymore. I don’t care how cross you get, you’re stuck with me now.’

  Stupid man. Couldn’t he see I needed to be by myself? Twisting out of his grasp I surveyed the small space. I’d not been in many public bathrooms before, and this one was surprisingly quaint and clean, with just the one toilet and a sink unit that resembled a traditional dressing table mounted on a raised platform along one wall.

  ‘You have every right to feel angry and frustrated, Mel – tell me what I can do.’ I turned back to Liam and he smiled, unfazed by my wrath. ‘You wanna hit me? Go on, do it, I can take it and it might make you feel b—’

  I punched him in the stomach, the muscles in my hand and arm jarring at the sudden impact. Liam didn’t flinch.

  ‘Hey, don’t hurt yourself – look, like this...’ Taking my hand he gently tucked my thumb behind my other knuckles, ‘...and try to throw your arm out level with your shoulder.’

  I jabbed him again and he smiled.

  ‘Good, that’s better, how did that feel?’

  Damn I loved him. Grabbing his head I kissed him, revelling in the taste of him, lightly seasoned with salt. He grew hard as I pressed myself into the warm, solid contours of his body, and he groaned. His primal response to my kisses never failed to excite me. I wanted him to fill me with his patient strength; make me feel invincible the way only he could. When I gave him a squeeze of encouragement he grabbed my bottom and lifted me up into his arms.

  ‘Is this your way of avoiding the matter at hand?’ he said, kissing along my jaw to my earlobe and down my neck. I unbuckled his belt and fly and he walked me backwards and set me on the counter beside the sink. ‘You really want to do this here?’

  I nodded, hopping down and hastily pushing down my leggings and knickers. He muttered something unintelligible as he caught a glimpse of my naked parts, quickly producing a condom and rolling it on. Up on the platform I turned my back to him and re-established eye contact in the mirror. His gaze was dark with desire as it connected with mine. Bracing my hands on the counter-top, I leaned forwards, lifting my hips, and tipping my bottom up towards him.

  ‘Oh Jesus, y
ou want me to...?’

  I nodded slowly, the ache between my legs growing in direct response to the need in his expression. Maybe Mrs Daly was right; maybe I did have the devil in me – or perhaps the great god Pan had corrupted me. Either way I didn’t care. This lust; this craving for sexual pleasure was something Liam and I shared, and I wanted to celebrate it.

  Slowly and deliberately he entered me, one hand on my hip and the other pressed to my clitoris. The moment was intensely intimate against the background hum of the crowded pub – Liam with his trousers round his ankles and me with my head almost pressed to the mirror, our eyes locked...

  We both jumped guiltily as someone tried the door handle, and then smiled at each other with relief that the door was locked. Wasting no more time Liam took me exactly as I needed him to. With a smooth and faultless rhythm, he steadily drove away a week’s worth of fear and frustration; gradually increasing the pace with thrust after measured thrust; skilfully winding my insides tighter and tighter until I was floating somewhere near the ceiling. I came with an almighty judder and he let go inside me, stifling a low, guttural moan in the base of my neck.

  We left the ladies toilet separately – Liam ducking out first and then waiting for me outside the door so that we could weave our way back to our table hand in hand. But as we passed the community noticeboard near the door, Liam did a double take and stopped dead in his tracks. Releasing my hand he used a finger to lift the corner of a leaflet advertising window cleaning from where it obscured a poster beneath. As he stared at the board his whole body tensed, and unease unfurled in my stomach. What was it? What was wrong? Ripping the poster from the wall he turned to me, his face pale and his eyes uncharacteristically hard.

  ‘He’s not your father,’ he said.

  What? It was hard to hear him against all the chatting and laughter and the chinking of glasses behind the bar Had I misheard?