by C K Williams
“Back then?”
“Of course. I liked you. I thought it might be fun to go home with you. And there was something very alluring about your voice. The way you said it. Let me drive you home. I’ll always remember that.”
“And I’ll always remember what you answered,” I say. “‘I’m not scared’.”
Kate nods.
And then she says: “You know what?”
“What?”
“That was a lie.” She looks at me, legs stretched out in front of her, arms behind her head. It is warm in this room, and bright. “Back in Newcastle, when we first met, that was a lie. It was the fighter in me. Refusing to be scared even though I was. Scared of what might happen to me out walking, on the way home, clutching my keys, holding my phone to my ear, pretending to be talking to someone. Scared of what might happen to me, taking home a man I didn’t know to have sex with. Scared of admitting I was scared.”
“And now?” I ask.
She smiles at me. Lowers her arms as she grins. “Now I’m brave enough to admit that I’m scared. It’s a scary thing, life, isn’t it?”
I think of standing across from Daniel in the sacristy, pulling him close. I think of speaking the truth and what it costs. I think of Alice Walsh. And then I think of Kate, how she knelt in the snow on the graveyard, a bag over her head. How I thought the yew tree was laughing at me. Creaking. Crackling. I look out at the tree in her garden, where I was threatened, where Elizabeth Adams took her life.
“Yes,” I say.
“And a bit of a miracle,” she adds.
I am still looking at the yew tree. Even in the winter, it does not look bare. It does not look dead. Its leaves are green, and spring will come, and then it will be warm again outside, warm and bright.
But I know that that is an illusion. In the spring, leaves will grow. It will be green, bright green, and it will be warm outside, warm and bright.
I put my head on her shoulder, looking out at the yew tree, at the snow so bright in the light of the moon. I listen to the whispers of the wind. To her breath and mine. I think of eating fish and chips with her at Fish City in Belfast tomorrow. I think of giving Daniel my number before I leave. I think of visiting her at her new practice, in Dublin, in Germany, in Australia. Where the sun shines bright and warm and the bartenders are handsome and where I met a friend for life when I had least expected it.
“Yes,” I say. “It is a bit of a miracle.”
Evidence #10662
Category: E-Mail, Victim
Status: Not sent
Description:
The last e-mail drafted by Alice Walsh.
Betha,
* * *
I want to tell you something. I just don’t have the words to do so. I think I don’t have the words because we don’t talk much in my family. There is still so much shame. So many things we don’t discuss. Normal things. A woman’s period. Sex. Death.
Peace.
Sometimes I feel like my dad is ashamed that there is peace now. As if peace meant that he had lost.
I don’t think I ever told you, not you, not Enda, because it isn’t a thing you tell people, but Dad was arrested during the Troubles. Mum thinks he was tortured at Ballykelly. But we don’t talk about that, either. As if it was another thing to be ashamed of. Getting tortured.
And we don’t talk about how my mum didn’t want me before I was born. We don’t talk about how my dad made her have me. And how I think he shouldn’t have done that, even though of course I want to be here. I want to be alive.
We don’t talk about that child that was growing inside of me.
I remember that my mum and I were best friends. When I was a child, she was my best friend. Could I have been the best friend to this child? Was I the only one this kid had, and I got rid of it?
Did I make a mistake, Betha?
Maybe. But at least I had a choice.
It’s crazy, isn’t it? I take it all for granted. That I can have sex with whomever I want and that I can love whomever I want and that I can decide what to do with my body and that I can go be a doctor or a journalist or a mechanical engineer if I want.
And peace. Peace especially. I just take it for granted, but it’s not.
Is it going to get worse?
I want it to get better.
I want to be better.
I want to be better with you, Beth.
If you want that, too. If you want to be with me. Preferably for ever, because I’m in love with you.
Or at least till the end. Because of course it has to end at some point. I realised that just the other day. There will be an end to life one day. But there are many, many years ahead, and it will get better. It is already better. I can love whomever I want. Be with whomever I want. I have the right.
It’s our future, and it will be glorious.
Just you wait.
THE END
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We hope you enjoyed Local Whispers!
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And don’t miss the chilling Flowers for the Dead, another gripping thriller by C. K. Williams, which traces one woman’s quest to face the trauma of her past and bring her attacker to justice when she receives a parcel containing a purple wildflower, a copper thimble, and a letter from her small hometown in the Yorkshire Dales, drawing her back into the mystery…
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Get your copy here!
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank the Society of Authors and the Author’s Foundation for the grant that enabled me to travel to Northern Ireland in 2020 as part of the research for this novel.
My heartfelt thanks go out to Jolene, who was kind enough to come talk to me in Belfast over Afternoon Tea, and to Clara Clasen, for connecting us.
Many thanks also to Gareth and Emma from the gorgeous Mourne Country House who were the most generous hosts we could have wished for.
I would also like to thank the very nice man I met at Waterstones Newry standing before the history section, from which sprung an enlightening conversation about history, politics, racism, capitalism and the future of Nothern Ireland. My thanks also go out to the staff of that Waterstones, who were very attentive.
In general, I was welcomed with the greatest warmth, and everyone was incredibly generous with their time; I could not have wished for kinder people or a lovelier time when researching this book in Ireland.
As always, and in this instance in particular, I owe a great debt of gratitude to my agent, Thérèse Coen, who always bears my conduct with the greatest grace and patience, even during a global pandemic. I also thank Caroline, Jo, Hannah, and Nicole, the brilliant team at Hardman & Swainson Literary Agency.
Thank you also to Bethan, Charlotte, and the equally brilliant team at One More Chapter: for your time, your patience, for pushing me to make this the best book it could be – and for the most beautiful cover art!
Thank you to Tony for a conscientious copyedit revealing critical information – such as that yew trees are evergreens.
I would like to thank my colleagues: Verena, Michi, Mitja, Maria, Jens, Tom, Charlotte, and the students of the Novel Writing Workshop at the University of Bonn. I would also like to thank Stefan Plasa and Marion Gymnich from the University of Bonn, for believing in me before I’d earned it.
Thank you, always, to Nils, Matthias, Laura, dad, mum. Thank you, mum, for coming on this research trip with me, and showing me how to have a good time.
Thank you for reading…
We hope you enjoyed Local Whispers!
* * *
Do leave a review if so on all your preferred platforms to help spread the word!
Don’t miss the chilling Flowers for the Dead, another gripping thriller by C. K. Williams, which traces one woman’s quest to face the trauma of her past and bring her attacker to justice when she receives a parcel containing a purple wildflower, a copper th
imble, and a letter from her small hometown in the Yorkshire Dales, drawing her back into the mystery…
Get your copy here!
Be sure to follow C. K. Williams on Twitter @ckwilliams13, on Facebook @ckwilliamswrites, and check out her website at www.ckwilliams.eu for all the updates on her latest work.
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Happy reading!
C. K. Williams has lived in the United States, Canada, Australia and Paris and is a regular visitor to the UK. When not teaching creative writing at Bonn University, Williams loves to cook (and bake). More often than not, you will be able to find Williams on a train flitting to and fro in Europe or the United Kingdom, realising once again that she has forgotten to bring lunch, and proceeding to buy all the croissants that live in Bruxelles Midi.
www.ckwilliams.eu
Also by C. K. Williams
Flowers for the Dead
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