In Your Silence

by Grace Lowrie

  In the kitchen I did the washing up and then sharpened the set of chef’s knives; methodically running each blade back and forth across the stone until they glinted ominously beneath the overhead lights. While I was at it, I fetched Gregory’s letter-opener from the study and honed that too, just in case I couldn’t get to the kitchen when the time came. Tucked inside the desk drawer I found my confiscated mobile phone, so I switched it on and plugged it into the wall to charge, deliberately ignoring the influx of old text messages that arrived from Liam.

  In the laundry room I perused the rat poison and the bottles of bleach, reading the warning labels and weighing up my options. Would he smell this stuff if I popped it in his whiskey? If possible I would like him to suffer before he died, but I was conscious of not allowing him enough room to retaliate; getting the dosage right would be tricky.

  A loud bang like a gunshot made me jump and I glanced out the window in time to see a burst of green light sparkle across the sky, closely followed by another and then another. Of course – I could shoot him – what could be more appropriate than for Gregory the hunter to become the prey? And it was the fifth of November; every night this weekend would be filled with loud cracks, bangs and whistles. No-one would identify a rifle shot for what it was, until it was all far too late...

  Chapter Fifty-five

  I was stiff with cold and pacing the tack room in an effort to keep my blood flowing when I heard the subtle clank of the front entrance gates opening. Pressing my face to a crack in the door I swept an eye over the house; searching for a glimpse of Mel whilst straining my ears for any sounds more local than the exploding fireworks overhead. I could just identify the purr of Sinclair’s Mercedes as it crawled up the drive, the wheels crunching on the gravel. He was back.

  I was about to make a run for the nearest trees and sneak through the shadows to get a view of the front of the house, when a movement caught my eye. My hair stood on end and a surge of adrenalin flooded my veins as Mel stepped out the back door with a large gun in her hands.

  Like me she was dressed all in black, but with her long leather boots on and her fiery red hair concealed inside a dark hat. The hunting rifle looked unnaturally long and cumbersome against her tiny frame as she quietly pulled the door shut behind her, tiptoed over to the tree line, and began picking her way through the shadows towards the drive.

  Barely breathing I followed several paces behind her, grateful that the noisy detonations overhead covered my heavy tread. Was that rifle loaded? Was she really intending to kill him or purely hoping to scare him? It would certainly get Sinclair’s attention. But then why had she come outside? Why not confront him inside the house? After what had happened at the garden centre with James and Kat, I’d seen enough gun violence to last me a lifetime – I really didn’t want to witness any more.

  Both Mel and I paused as lights went on in the windows up above. I got a brief glimpse of Sinclair as he darted from room to room, presumably searching for his missing prisoner. Eventually he came back downstairs to the study – which lit up like a stage set as he entered the room.

  Light spilled from the large bay window but didn’t reach far enough to expose those of us loitering beneath the trees. We both looked on as Sinclair helped himself to whiskey from a decanter, opened his briefcase and lifted several files of paper out onto the desk. Sitting down in the window with his back to us, he was blind to our presence and in perfect view; an easy target. My body tensed with anticipation as Mel slowly lifted the barrel of the rifle in her hands and began to take aim.

  ‘Please don’t,’ I whispered.

  Despite the fireworks detonating loudly in the sky above, my voice made her flinch. Thankfully the gun didn’t go off.

  ‘Don’t do this, please. There’ll be no coming back.’ Rolling her eyes Mel glared at me and I offered up a notepad and pen. ‘Talk to me, please.’

  She cast a glance back at Sinclair, but he wasn’t going anywhere; he’d picked up the phone to make a call. With a sigh she lowered the rifle to her side and I realised it must be heavy for her. Transferring it into her left hand, she snatched up the pen and scrawled GO AWAY! on the pad in my hand.

  ‘You do this; you kill that bastard, and he is free of any guilt or punishment; he gets away with what he’s done and you become the criminal! Please, that isn’t you...’

  I could almost hear her teeth grinding together as she held back tears of anger and frustration. Who am I then? Because I don’t know anymore, she wrote across the page.

  Lifting my hand I went to caress her face but she jerked back away from me, her hand tightening around the rifle. ‘You’re the same person I fell in love with. You are smart and funny and brave and beautiful and none of this shit has to change that. Not if you don’t let it.’

  She stared at me for several seconds, her face tinged alternately red, green and blue beneath the fireworks before she re-employed the pen in her hand. I don’t even know what my name is anymore.

  My heart ached. For all her spirit, courage and obstinacy, she was still a girl lost. ‘Well,’ I said, quietly clearing my throat. ‘You’re free to choose – or you can give yourself an entirely new name if you want to – change it by deed poll. You’re an adult – you have money – you are free to be whoever you want to be...’

  Turning back she contemplated Sinclair through the window. He was still talking on the phone and shuffling papers on his desk, full of his own self-importance and oblivious to the fact that his life hung in the balance.

  ‘Whoever you decide to be, you don’t want to spend the rest of your life in prison, surely? Not because of that fucking bastard in there...?’ Slowly she shook her head and I took it as a good sign. ‘Can I have the gun?’

  She glanced down, as if she’d forgotten it was there, and I shoved the notepad into my jacket pocket so that she could pass the rifle to me. My pulse thudded with relief as I disarmed it, removing and pocketing the cartridges for good measure. With a shiver Mel wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Come back to the stables and we’ll work out what to do next,’ I said, offering her my free hand.

  Shaking her head she retrieved her own mobile from her pocket.

  I’m going to confront him and I need your help.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea... wouldn’t it be better to leave it to the police?’

  Mel’s mind was made up, that much was clear as she added: I need you to make sure he listens.

  It was no small thing that she was asking for my help. Despite the challenge in her demeanour, her request was a plea from the heart. She was determined to go in there and face Sinclair, alone if necessary, but if he chose to ignore her or lock her up again, she would be powerless to make herself heard.

  Regardless of my reservations, Mel deserved to have her say; a chance to confront the man who’d taken everything from her. And I loved her – I would be whatever she needed me to be.

  ‘Lead the way.’

  Chapter Fifty-six

  ‘Melody – there you are – how did you get out? Where have you been? Where have all the things gone from your room?’ Gregory’s voice was somewhere between irritation and genuine panic as I stepped into the study. His eyes widened as Liam filled the doorway behind me. ‘What are you doing here? I thought I told you to leave.’

  ‘You locked Mel in a room and left her without enough food to eat; did you really think you would get away with that?’ Liam’s voice was low, calm and steady, and all the more effective for it.

  Gregory blanched. ‘It’s none of your concern what goes on in this house.’

  ‘Mel is my concern. If it was up to me you’d already be in prison by now, so I suggest you sit down and read what she has to say.’

  ‘I’m not going to be threatened by a mongrel like y—’

  Liam moved around me, the rifle held casually in one hand and took two menacing steps in Gregory’s direction. Instinctively Gregory shifted back behind his desk and abruptly sat down. His eyes darted nervously between th
e gun and the empty space in his cabinet as Liam gently rested the rifle by his feet.

  Approaching Gregory’s desk I tapped, You’re not my real father, into my mobile phone and showed him the screen.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he muttered.

  You kidnapped me.

  His eyes widened further, his face taking on an unhealthy grey tinge. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said, with a tremor in his voice. Liam moved up behind me in a show of silent support, his shadow looming across the desk while Gregory shrunk into his chair.

  You stole me from my real parents when I was 5.

  Sweat broke out on Gregory’s forehead. ‘That’s crazy – I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  How could you? What kind of sick person does that?

  He shook his head, trembling. ‘You don’t understand; it wasn’t me; I didn’t want to; I only went along with it out of love...’

  Cornelia.

  ‘Yes... yes... I’m sorry...’ Gregory started weeping, hiding his face in his hands as his shoulders began to shake. It was pathetic. It was nauseating how quickly he had broken down and admitted to being complicit in ruining my entire life; so far his pitiful confession hadn’t given me any sense of satisfaction at all. Glancing up at Liam, I was unsurprised to see my own disgust reflected in his features. He turned away and went to sit in a chair across the room, seemingly confident that Gregory posed no threat, and I returned my attention to the small screen in my hand.

  Tell me what happened.

  Gregory drew a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiped his face and blew his snivelling nose.

  ‘She... she wanted a child so badly... you can’t begin to understand... she’d had five miscarriages and two still births and I couldn’t bear to see her go through any more. I loved her so much... I just wanted her to be happy...’ He paused to blow his nose again and took a few shaky breaths. ‘She just brought you home one day. I tried to talk her into taking you back, but she was a changed woman – so happy – so utterly smitten – and I could never refuse her anything, not really. She cut your hair and dressed you up as a boy at first; so that no-one would recognise you. But then she fired all the staff and started dressing you up in wigs and frilly dresses; like you were a doll. And she kept you safely within the grounds and stopped you from speaking to anyone but her. It was like her own private world, just the two of you; she even shut me out. I tried not to mind too much because she was happy – really happy – for a while. But it didn’t last. She knew what she’d done was wrong and the guilt started to eat away at her. She couldn’t give you up, but neither could she live with what she’d done to you; to your parents...’ Gregory sighed heavily.

  She killed herself.

  Gregory glanced at my mobile screen and nodded forlornly. ‘Sleeping pills.’

  So why didn’t you take me back to my parents?

  Gregory shrugged avoiding my eye.

  WHY? I shoved the mobile in his face, tempted to hit him with it.

  ‘How could I? I’d have been arrested and it would have destroyed Cornelia’s good name...’

  You could just have left me somewhere with an anonymous note!

  He shook his head. ‘I couldn’t take that risk...’

  I stared at him, appalled. Coward.

  He bristled at the insult. ‘It’s not like you’ve had a bad life – I never felt like I was your father, but I still tried; I’ve provided for you; protected y—’ His head snapped back as I punched him as hard as I could. There was a crunch as my fist connected with his nose and blood sprayed across his shirt front. ‘Argh, my nose!’ he yelled, clutching his face.

  Liam was beside me in an instant. ‘Nice,’ he commented, positioning himself protectively between us, but Gregory was too concerned with his own face to think about physical retaliation.

  ‘Ah shit, that hurt,’ Gregory muttered, gingerly pressing his handkerchief to his nose and tipping his head back to stem the blood.

  My hand tingled with urge to hit him again, but Liam was in my way, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry OK?’

  ‘So what are you going to do about it? Liam said.

  Gregory glared at Liam and then at me. ‘I’ll make it up to you, Melody, I can give you money; lots of it; I’ll even sign the house over to you if—’

  ‘The house already belongs to her, we’ve seen the deeds,’ Liam growled. ‘Try again, arsehole.’

  ‘Oh. right, OK.’ Gregory stammered. ‘Then I’ll go to the police – that’s what you want, isn’t it? I’ll hand myself in – I’ll tell them everything.’

  Liam turned to me. ‘What do you think?’

  Truthfully I was disappointed. Gregory and Cornelia had taken away my family, my freedom; even my voice. I’d hoped that by confronting Gregory, hurting him and making him squirm, that I’d feel better; that I’d feel triumphant or relieved, but it didn’t change anything. I still despised myself for having been a victim all my life without even realising it. I nodded my agreement, weary of the whole thing.

  ‘Hey, are you OK?’ Liam’s voice was quiet as he gently cradled my face with one hand. His warm touch was familiar and soothing, and I closed my eyes as I leaned into his palm with a sigh. How was this wonderful man still here at my side; kind and comforting, after everything he’d found out about me; after everything I’d said to him? Would I ever be worthy of this gentle giant? He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, and I could hear Gregory shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

  When I opened my eyes Liam’s steady gaze held mine. ‘Shall we all go to the police station together?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Do you mind if I tidy myself up first? I’ve got blood all down my shirt,’ Gregory was as vain as ever and amazingly calm under the circumstances.

  ‘Don’t take too long,’ Liam warned, without taking his eyes from mine.

  Liam wrapped me in a warm hug and we stood in silence listening to Gregory as he made his way upstairs, moved about in the bedroom and ran the taps in the bathroom above. After a few minutes there was a loud thump followed by an ominous stillness. Drawing apart we exchanged a look before simultaneously making a dash for the stairs.

  Liam reached Gregory’s en-suite bathroom before me, and swore as he took in the sight of Gregory’s body slumped on the floor; convulsing with a hideous gurgling, choking sound amid a spreading pool of dark liquid. Grabbing a towel and quickly dropping into a crouch over the body, Liam tried to stem the blood, but the gaping red slit at Gregory’s throat was deep and rapidly decanting his life force like wine across the tiles. With one last spraying cough, Gregory stopped moving, the ugly, wet sound replaced by a sickening silence.

  As Liam retrieved his mobile from his back pocket and dialled 999 he distractedly wiped his fingers down his jeans; the same way he always did, except this time it wasn’t mud he was wiping off his hands. The rusty metallic smell of the blood was overpowering in the confined space. A cacophony of fireworks started up again; whistling, cracking and reverberating across the sky outside the window – an exuberant display of celebration at odds with Gregory’s unseemly demise. I felt light-headed, as if I might float right out of my body, as I stared at the recently sharpened letter-opener lying glinting at me from the bathroom floor. I’d done it – I’d killed him – I was a murderess now.

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  It was mere minutes before sirens started up in the distance, but no matter how quickly the emergency services arrived, it would make no difference to Sinclair now. Leading Mel back into the bedroom, I made her sit down with a brandy while I set about getting the entrance gates and the front door open. Concerned by how still and pale with shock she had become, I quickly returned to her side, but she didn’t move.

  I was totally unprepared for how aggressive the police were as they made their entrance. I called out to let them know where we were, but they swarmed through the house fully armed and clad in body armour as if taking down
a lethal terrorist cell, rather than responding to a suicide. One forced me down onto my knees at gunpoint yelling at the top of his lungs, while the others spread out, quickly checking the body in the bathroom and rapidly assessing every other room. With my hands up and my face pressed to the carpet I tried, unsuccessfully, to explain the situation, but they didn’t appear to be listening – their priority was to get me in handcuffs.

  Once various officers throughout the house had conveyed their discovery of a suspicious firearm and declared an ‘all clear’ over their network of radios, a senior, plainly-clothed officer appeared in front of me. I was granted enough space to sit back on my heels and tried to keep my irritation out of my expression as I raised my gaze to meet his.

  ‘Liam Hunt?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, it was me that called you—’

  ‘Detective Inspector Fletcher, Hertfordshire Police.’

  ‘Right, are the cuffs really necessary?’

  ‘Liam Hunt, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Gregory Sinclair. You do not have to say anything—’

  ‘Are you kidding me? He killed himself!’ The detective carried on cautioning me regardless.

  ‘A week ago Gregory Sinclair reported you for harassment. Now he’s dead and here you are in his house covered in his blood,’ he said.

  I stared at him in shock. ‘What? But... I tried to help him—’

  He cut me off. ‘Two months ago you were involved in a fatal shooting at Southwood’s Garden Centre—’

  ‘Oh come on, I wasn’t involved, I just happened to be there – it was nothing to do with me!’

  ‘—You also have a known history of violence.’

  ‘I was cautioned once when I eighteen but I was drunk—’ I said, staggering to my feet.

  ‘When you’ve been a police officer as long as I have, Mr Hunt, you stop believing in coincidences. You can explain down at the police station.’

  ‘No, stop!’ Mel’s voice rang out as clear as a bell, making every hair on my body stand to attention. The fireworks outside had ceased and everyone turned to look at her as her words hung in the air.