In Your Silence

by Grace Lowrie

  ‘That must be what all your bad dreams are about – he’s not your real father,’ he said.

  His words still made no sense and I cast an eye over the missing persons poster that he was thrusting at me. It was about a five-year-old girl who’d gone missing one summer, sixteen years ago. She’d last been seen wearing a white cotton dress with a rose motif and matching pink tights. I couldn’t see what relevance it had to anything, but when I looked up, Liam was still staring at me in shock, so I returned my eyes to the poster. Next to the picture of the little girl was a second image, but of a woman who, at a second glance, was vaguely familiar. The caption below stated that it was a digital approximation of how the little girl might appear today and added that she had a distinguishing birthmark – shaped like a butterfly – on her right thigh...

  The cheerful voices of the other people around me had become deafening, like a roaring in my ears and the whole planet seemed to shift under my feet. Stumbling to the door I propelled myself outside into the snow, my legs giving way as I opened my mouth and silently screamed into the night.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  I caught Mel a split second before she hit the ground, and as I tried to embrace her she pummelled my chest repeatedly with her fists. It was a reasonable reaction, considering she was unable to scream, shout and swear like anyone else would in her position. She was getting good with her fists now – I would have bruises – but I took it all willingly.

  I regretted letting her see the poster like that, but I’d been in shock; I was still shocked. Why hadn’t I made the connection sooner? I was sixteen when little Melanie Crowe disappeared from a summer fête in a neighbouring town – her face had been everywhere for weeks; every newspaper, telegraph pole and noticeboard in the county – the whole country knew her name. But with her gappy grin and pigtails, I hadn’t associated that little lost girl with Melody Sinclair, until now.

  Before long the beating of her fists ceased and she sagged in my arms, drained.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered, pressing kisses to the top of her head. She didn’t react and I waited as her breathing calmed. ‘Are you ready to go back inside?’

  Gazing down at the now screwed up poster clenched in her fist, she shook her head.

  ‘OK. Will you wait here while I go back and get our things?’

  She nodded absently and straightened up as I released her. Afraid to leave Mel alone, even for a second, I was quick to retrieve the notepad and our coats, scarves, hats and gloves, but when I returned she hadn’t moved a muscle – she was still standing, staring at the paper in her hand, lost in thought.

  We trudged back to the estate without discussion of any kind. Mel was distracted; presumably contemplating her past; silently struggling to accept the idea that she’d been kidnapped and lied to her entire life; that she might be someone else entirely. I worried about how it might affect her and what it meant for our future.

  Now that night had fallen the temperature was plummeting and the snow melt was hardening into ice, making it treacherous under foot. But we reached Wildham Hall without incident and I was relieved to find Sinclair still absent and the electricity supply restored.

  Mel went straight upstairs and I followed her into what I took to be Sinclair’s bedroom. She no longer seemed angry, upset or even anxious; on the contrary, she was unusually serene. My skin prickled with apprehension and I feared I was experiencing the eerie calm before a storm, but I was reluctant to ask either how she was feeling or what she was doing. I suspected she wouldn’t stop to answer me anyway.

  With growing unease I looked on as she lifted a section of panelling out of the bottom of Sinclair’s wardrobe, but rather than a magical passage to Narnia, a solid-looking safe was revealed. As Mel settled herself cross-legged on the floor before the locked, fifteen inch high door, I couldn’t shake an impression of Alice in Wonderland from my head. Were the clues to her lost childhood inside?

  Finally letting go of the poster in her hand, Mel smoothed it out on the carpet so that she could clearly read the details. Taking a deep breath she carefully entered the six digit date of Melanie Crowe’s disappearance into the electronic keypad. The loud click made me jump as the locking mechanism released, and the safe door slowly, silently, swung open.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Inside the safe were stacks and stacks of cash; great pink bricks of the stuff; neatly banded wads of fifties in such mint condition that it could be play money. It was in my way, so I pulled it out, carelessly chucking it aside.

  ‘Jesus,’ Liam muttered, squatting beside me, picking up a bundle and flipping through the end with his thumb. ‘There must be thousands of pounds here...’

  With the money removed I could focus on the slim manila files that had been buried underneath. Dragging them out into my lap I flipped them open one by one, flicking through the contents, scan-reading them and then discarding them each time my patience got the better of me. There were piles of bonds; documents pertaining to various stocks, shares, investments and savings accounts; numerous insurance certificates, and I even found the original deeds to Wildham Hall. That file seemed to include ancient-looking plans of the grounds which would be of interest to Liam, so I passed it to him before turning my attention to the last folder in my lap.

  This was it; the proof I’d been looking for. The file held several papers but on top was a slim envelope with ‘Melody’ written across it in Cornelia’s distinctive handwriting. As I turned it over in my fingers I saw that it wasn’t sealed; Gregory had no doubt read the letter inside. He had always implied that Cornelia’s death was my fault and I was in no particular hurry to have that theory confirmed, so I carefully set it aside.

  Beneath the letter was a creased and faded missing persons poster from mere days after Melanie had disappeared. Laying it out on the carpet beside the recent version Liam had found, I noted that in sixteen years, though the design and format of the poster had changed, the scant few details had remained the same.

  The last remaining scraps of paper in the file were old news cuttings relating to the disappearance, neatly extracted from the local papers with a pair of nail scissors. Reading through the articles I mentally sifted the facts from the conjecture, and then studied the black and white photograph of Mr and Mrs Crowe sitting side by side. The couple looked dazed but otherwise ordinary. Scrutinising their features I searched for signs of my own, but the image was too grainy for me to draw any conclusions one way or the other. So these were my real parents...

  ‘You OK?’ Liam said softly.

  Nodding I offered a half-hearted smile, but in truth I didn’t know what I was, or even who I was for that matter.

  ‘Did you notice that these deeds are all in the name of Melanie Crowe? It looks like Cornelia transferred ownership right before she died. Wildham Hall, the grounds, everything belongs to you – it has done all this time...’

  Even if I could speak, I wouldn’t know what to say to that. Returning my attention to the safe I realised there was still something lurking inside; something tucked right in the back corner, so reaching in I dragged it out.

  Liam cursed under his breath as I stared at the little white, rose-printed dress in my hands, waiting for it to trigger a blinding flash of recognition or memory. But there was nothing – only a vague sense of sadness and a growing certainty that I was once someone else: I was once Melanie Crowe.

  ‘This is unbelievable,’ Liam said, as I neatly folded the dress and set it to one side. ‘What do you want to do? What can I do? Can I get you anything? A cup of tea? Something stronger...?’

  I properly looked at Liam for what felt like the first time in hours. He was sat right there on Gregory’s bedroom floor beside me; solid and substantial; his low voice and patient concern deeply reassuring. On instinct I crawled into the warm comfort of his lap and he wrapped his strong arms around me; burying his face in my hair and rocking me as if I were a child. Maybe I was still a child inside – a lost one.

  ‘So...�
� he murmured, ‘... do you want to go to the police now or in the morning?’

  I looked up at him, startled. Police...? It hadn’t even occurred to me.

  ‘Here, talk to me,’ he said opening the text function on his phone and handing it to me.

  I’m not going to the police.

  ‘Mel, it’s a crime what they’ve done to you – how much more evidence do you need?’ He waved a hand over the accumulated items on the floor around us. ‘And your parents – your real parents – must have been going through hell. They need to know that you’re alive.’

  Not yet.

  ‘I’ll go with you – you don’t have to go through this alone...’

  I jabbed his phone at him.

  ‘OK, not yet, I get it – we’ll go in the morning. I guess it’s getting late anyway. Do you want to stay here tonight or come back to mine?’

  Stay here.

  ‘OK.’ He kissed my temple. ‘Probably a good idea; the roads are icy.’ I stood up and he staggered to his feet beside me. ‘You sure I can’t fix you something to help you sleep – a hot chocolate or something?’

  Just take me to bed.

  ‘Yes ma’am.’ With that he swept me into his arms and carried me to my room.

  At my insistence Liam made love to me, repeatedly, late into the night. He didn’t speak of what we’d discovered or pester me with questions; he simply let my body do the talking; let my wandering hands, erect nipples and moist thighs be his guide. And I was grateful for that.

  But in the early hours of the morning I woke from the same old nightmare, the one I now realised was based in fact. It may have all happened too long ago for me to remember the specifics, but the raw emotion – the upset and confusion of being snatched away from everything, and everyone, I knew and loved – had shadowed me all my life.

  For a while I lay there watching Liam sleep; letting his slow, steady breathing calm and console me, then I crept out of bed, retrieved the envelope with my name on it, and tiptoed over to the nursery windows. It was a clear night and the icy landscape below sparkled in the moonlight; reflecting back enough silvery light to read by. My hands shook as I unfolded the letter from Cornelia, but it was time to find out what she had to say.

  My dearest Melody,

  Please know that I love you and that I am sorry for all that I have done. I should never have taken you from your parents; it was a selfish act, especially when I have first-hand experience of the terrible agony of losing a child. All I can offer in my defence is that I was not in my right mind at the time. I fell in love with you on first sight; immediately and completely. I wanted you for myself and I was convinced I could give you a better life.

  I see now that I was wrong, but I cannot simply take you back, for fear of jeopardising Gregory’s position. Neither can I live with this guilt. It grows heavier with each passing day. I pray you will forgive me for my weakness.

  As I write this I console myself with the knowledge that Gregory will be a wonderful father to you and love you as I do. I’ve made sure that you will be well provided for. My only wish is that you live a long and happy life, have children of your own one day, and do not judge me too harshly.

  Sincerely yours,

  Cornelia Sinclair.

  Her words were nauseating and I bit back the urge to vomit as I balled the letter up in my fist. But I already knew I hated her. What was worse was how much I now hated myself. How had I let the Sinclairs do this to me? It was deeply humiliating. Somewhere along the way I’d simply accepted Gregory and Cornelia as my parents; I’d never questioned it; never once tried to fight back or run away. What a fool I’d been – how utterly gullible – I felt ashamed of myself.

  Shivering, I stared at the fragmented ghost of my reflection in the window. In all good conscience could I really inflict this ridiculous, ugly mess on someone as wonderful as Liam? Didn’t he deserve better?

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Mel was already up and dressed when I surfaced, and she was armed with a note:

  I need you to go. I need time to get my head around everything.

  ‘What time is it?’ I said, rubbing my face and then extending my arms out into a full-on satisfying stretch and yawn.

  She held up her bedside clock and I was surprised to see it was almost eleven a.m. but my newly reinstated watch confirmed it.

  ‘I thought we were going to the police station this morning?’

  She held up another sheet of paper which read: I’m not ready to go to the police yet.

  ‘OK, but you can’t stay here alone; what if Sinclair comes back?’

  She shrugged and held up another prepared note. Clearly she had already anticipated everything I was going to say. This one said: He’s a coward. He doesn’t scare me anymore.

  ‘Mel, the man abducted you and essentially kept you prisoner for sixteen years! Last weekend he locked you in your room with barely enough food to eat... coward or not, he can’t be trusted.’

  Her next note read: Please respect my wishes and go.

  Her last words hurt. Needing to close the distance she was putting between us, I pulled her into a hug, but her body was tense and unyielding against mine. ‘Look, I can’t pretend to understand how you must be feeling, but please don’t shut me out. I’m here for you; let me help you.’

  It seemed she had run out of prepared notes, so she picked up a pen and wrote on the back of one: I need to do this by myself. Please.

  ‘Do what?’

  Rolling her eyes with irritation she clamped her mouth shut in a hard line. There was no point arguing with her, she was too stubborn, and considering everything she was going through, I didn’t want to force her into anything.

  ‘He’s still got your phone – how will you contact me when you need me?’

  I can email you from G’s PC.

  I sighed heavily in defeat, and she rewarded me with a fleeting peck on the lips before leaving me to dress alone.

  Something was different this morning; something had changed. Last night Mel and I had been about as intimate as it was possible for two people to get – our bodies melded and synchronised in an orgy of intense love-making powerful enough to arouse and stimulate all the senses and block everything else out. It seemed to be what she needed and I was happy to oblige. But today something was off. Mel was calm and collected again, but something had altered in her demeanour that I couldn’t put my finger on. And her insistence on being alone worried the hell out of me. I wanted to respect her wishes, of course I did, but there was no way I was abandoning her now.

  I said goodbye and let her watch me leave Wildham Hall. At home I showered, changed, and filled a rucksack with supplies before turning around and sneaking back onto the grounds, unseen. The air had turned milder and the cloudy sky now matched the last of the dirty grey slush underfoot. But at least I no longer left tell-tale footprints behind everywhere I went.

  In the stables I made myself a moderately comfortable base, from which to keep an eye on the woman I loved. I had food and drink; blankets and a hot water bottle to stave off the cold; a powerful but lightweight pair of birdwatching binoculars; and a book to help pass the time. By positioning myself in a chair to one side of the window I could observe the house; monitor the windows and the back door and listen out for anyone approaching along the driveway, all without being seen. It occurred to me that our roles had now been reversed and where Mel had once stalked me, it was now my turn to stake her out from the shadows. But my motives were pure – regardless of her past, Mel was the most precious person in the world to me – I would do anything to protect her and keep her safe. If it came to it I’d die for her, it was that simple.

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Once Liam was safely out of the way I set about tidying up. Gregory had been gone seven days now and I figured he’d return soon. I would be ready for him when he did.

  I started in his bedroom. I didn’t bother putting anything back in the safe – I figured the contents belonged to me – but I clo
sed and locked the door and eased the wooden panelling back into position; hiding all outward signs I’d been near it. As I passed his en-suite bathroom I paused to eye the electric fan he kept up on a shelf in the corner. It had a cable long enough to extend to the bath and should be easy enough to switch on and chuck in. But that plan would involve me bursting in on Gregory while he was naked, which was not an idea I relished. Shaking my head I closed the door.

  I carried the cash, the files and the dress upstairs and stashed them in an old chest in the eaves of the house, where he would not find them. As I was about to descend from the top landing I pondered the possibility of pushing him down the stairs. But I would need to lure him there first and take him by surprise, and even then he may not fall far or injure himself badly enough for my liking...

  Safely back on the first floor I turned my attention to the wrecked nursery. There was nothing I could do about the broken door lock; the timber frame had splintered with the force of Liam’s entrance, but I cleared all the shredded teddy bear remains into bin bags, laboriously hoovered up every last stray wisp of stuffing, and made the bed. Eyeing the prison-like windows I mentally ran through all the other bedroom windows, assessing whether any of them were suitable for pushing Gregory out of. But we had no balconies and none of the upper windows reached the floor, so forcing a grown man out of one would be near impossible. I abandoned that idea.

  The sealed nursery windows were a fire hazard and I made a mental note to see if Liam could get them unsealed. I didn’t dwell on thoughts of setting Gregory alight for long though. It was far too risky – the whole house might go up – and it would create a horrible smell.

  As I carried the five remaining cans of food back down to the pantry I calculated how hungry I’d be by now, if Liam hadn’t come to my rescue. That bastard hadn’t left me nearly enough food. But of course locking Gregory up and starving him to death, although fitting, would take far too long.