Unspoken

by Sam Hayes

  I was bored, Daddy. I went all along the path and on to the road above the bridge to look for you. David was passing in his car and stopped to take care of me. Flora’s hands were frantic as she signed and I had to make her slow down.

  ‘And it’s because I love her,’ Carlyle continues. Now I’m not sure if he’s talking about Mary, Julia or Flora. Three generations of Marshall women. Does he love them all?

  ‘Back then, I wanted her so much it hurt. But there was a gap between us – not just our ages, but a gap in time, a gap in the universe. She stood one side, I stood the other. Our destinies were lifetimes apart and I couldn’t bear that. I never meant to hurt her.’

  I adored your father once and I know that, in his own way, he loved me. I want you to know that there are remnants of love in your blood, Julia. Leftovers from an affair that was never meant to be. It’s the most tragic love story, isn’t it?

  ‘Mary,’ I say. He’s talking about Mary. I picture them both – him the cocksure medical student, her struggling to make a living. Mary’s letter mentioned her days in Cambridge, ‘I know what you did to her. It was brutal. And I know that Julia is the result.’

  Carlyle stiffens. His skin washes grey and yet somehow he still maintains that proud posture, the respected doctor. ‘You’re right,’ he tells me. ‘Julia is my daughter.’ I expected regret, but his words are laced with pride.

  ‘She was falling in love with you, you fool. Did you know that? Were you in love with her? Are you some kind of sick—’

  ‘Stop!’ His breathing quickens. The muscles banding around his jaw pull tight, making it difficult for him to speak. ‘I didn’t know she was going to fall for me in that way. When she called me on Christmas Day, it was clear she needed more than a doctor for her mother. She needed someone strong. A father figure and . . .’ He trails off, having the decency not to bring my relationship with Julia into this.

  ‘It was my opportunity to get to know the daughter I’d been denied,’ he continues. ‘I confess that I moved back into this area to make contact with my . . . family. I hoped that after thirty years, Mary would allow me into their lives. I didn’t expect her to come to my surgery that day. I’d planned to approach her at some point, but not like that. I didn’t even know she was registered at the practice.

  ‘Later that day, after her appointment, I called her but she refused to speak to me. Then, when Julia called me out in a panic on Christmas Day, I saw that something was very wrong with Mary, as if something had short-circuited. After all these years, she was still suffering. I was determined to help.’

  So your father put me in The Lawns to make amends for what he did. It was his misguided way of cleaning up the mess he’d made. Part of me liked being there, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. It was some sanctuary from the pain. But I was so desperately worried that he would tell you everything, I had to find a way to stop him destroying you. Destroying us. I admit, I wanted revenge.

  I’m more certain than ever that Julia mustn’t know any of this. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her out of the courtroom. ‘I know Mary wasn’t ill – not in the physical sense.You’ll be struck off the medical register now anyway, but it was a pretty low act concocting a nonexistent illness.’

  ‘I wanted to make sure she got the treatment she needed. It was my fault she’d ended up in that state. None of this was planned with malice or much forethought. I had to help Mary, to make amends. But I also knew that she would never agree to go to a psychiatric hospital. And to convince Julia as well, there had to be a serious medical implication for her mother.’ He sighs. ‘After all this time, it’s as if another person did those . . . things. I’m a different man now.’

  ‘I suppose you’ve left the Marshall family with a hefty bill.’ It gets better. I see the remainder of Northmire’s land carved up and sold off to pay the debt. I see a disturbed man.

  ‘No,’ he says urgently. ‘The account is taken care of. There is a trust fund. My parents left me a large amount of money and I immediately invested it for Julia. That’s what parents do for their children, isn’t it?’

  Part of me wants to ask how much; part of me doesn’t even want Julia to have the money.

  He second-guesses my thoughts. ‘She won’t need to worry about her future. The trustees will be in touch.’

  That can’t happen, I think in a panic. I was working this out, about Mary, about keeping Julia safe, about keeping quiet. How can I destroy my own wife? The death of her mother will be pain enough, let alone finding out about her father – the man she fell in love with. ‘If you want to do something for Julia, then you’ll never tell her who you are.You’ll never make contact with her again. You won’t reply if she approaches you, and the money must go to a charity. One that Mary would approve of.’ I think quickly. ‘A charity for disadvantaged kids. Give the whole lot away.’

  He doesn’t protest. My fingers slip round Mary’s letter tucked in my pocket.

  Nothing can compensate for what happened, Julia. All the money in the world couldn’t heal me. And in turn, I have created a debt so huge to my own daughter, I am left with no option but to default.

  ‘And what about those photographs you have of Julia and the kids? Are you some kind of stalker?’ Anger rises in me again as Carlyle returns with a swift answer, as if he was already on trial.

  ‘From time to time I watched Julia.’ He swallows and his jaw clenches. ‘I was working for a medical agency, and whenever I could, I travelled to Cambridgeshire. I wanted to know that she was OK. That she was happy.’

  ‘From time to time? By my calculations, you’ve been around every street corner, behind every lamppost, spying on my wife every month for the last three decades.’ I don’t want him to see the veins on my neck stand out. I glance at my watch. If I’m too long, Julia will worry.

  ‘Is it so wrong to want to see your daughter grow up?’ He asks a question I can’t refute. ‘The photographs were all I had. When Mary and I . . . when Mary got pregnant, it was not an act of hate on my part I just wanted her so much; so much that it hurt.’ He pauses, reliving it. ‘I was stunned that it went to court and even more stunned to learn that she was pregnant. She was pregnant with my child.’

  In my mind, the punch lands cleanly on the side of his face, toppling him back off his chair with a broken jaw. ‘You gave up your right to fatherhood when you raped Julia’s mother.’

  ‘I was eighteen. I was stupid and irresponsible, and at the time I truly believed Mary wanted me to . . . to . . .’ Carlyle actually has the guile to show remorse. His delusions don’t wash with me. ‘We’d been drinking, taking drugs. She said no but . . . but she always said no. That was the thing with Mary. Sometimes no meant yes.’ His head sinks into his hands. ‘I don’t know any more,’ he whispers.

  Looking back, Julia, I blame myself for what happened that night. The jury said so, didn’t they? Your father raped me, and the dirt, the shame, the guilt has stuck to me ever since. There’s no washing it off. It was a game gone wrong. I was out of my league and made an incorrect move. I lost.

  Suffering that blame has stopped me from healing. I’ve lived my life on a tightrope, just waiting for someone to trip me up. And I was balancing just fine until I saw your father again.

  ‘Whatever Mary claimed about the . . . the sex, I wasn’t responsible for her wounds.’ Carlyle speaks freely, anticipating my questions. ‘After . . . after we’d . . . when it was over, I went back to the wedding party. It had stopped raining. I walked rather than take the boat across the lake as we’d done earlier. It was quicker. I assumed Mary would join me once she was dressed. Looking back, I shouldn’t have left her alone at night. I was drunk and didn’t realise how much she’d had. Combined with the drugs she’d taken . . .’ Carlyle wipes his hands down his face. ‘Mary’s perception of what happened is so different from what I intended. But I did not cut her afterwards. I swear I did not do that to her.’

  It was a release, Julia. Can you understand that? An attempt to re
place the wretched pain inside me with a greater one. I was trying to fool myself, and of course, everyone else. It was the poison coming out and I wanted your father to take the blame. If I’m honest, there’s only one way to escape now.

  After it happened, I lay on the floor and cried. I was sick; I was alone; I was scared. I had been ripped in two and there was no one there. No one came looking for me; there was no one to care for me. David was back at the wedding party. No one even missed me.

  Across the room, I saw David’s knife still lying on the floor. He’d jimmied the lock with it earlier. My stomach cramped as I reached for it. Several hours passed. I turned the knife over and over in my hands. I licked it. I wiped it down my forearm. I hated myself. I had allowed David to take me in a way no woman should. If I couldn’t have my life any more, why should he have his? I was scared no one would believe me about the rape. I had to make sure he was put away for good.

  Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I pushed the blade into the sole of my foot, Julia.

  It felt good.

  I did it again and again. The silver edge slipped in easily. The pain of my cuts overtook the pain of what your father had done to me. It focused my mind. I was anyone but David’s victim.

  The blood flowed.

  I was numb, but already a plan had formed. I would tell the police that David attacked me. It cut both ways – a release for me and a prison sentence for him. It was his knife. He had already raped me. Then I would tell them he tried to silence me by cutting out my tongue. I stuck the knife in my mouth. It was agony, but then the pain eroded into a peace I never anticipated.

  ‘Yes, I know you didn’t hurt Mary with that knife,’ I say. I have Carlyle’s full attention.

  Slowly, slotting together the pieces, his eyes squinting, he shakes his head. ‘How did you know that Mary was hurt with a knife?’

  ‘I know more than that. I know it was your knife.’ I dodge the question. ‘And it was Mary that used it. She did it to herself.’

  Shock seeps over Carlyle’s face – every molecule soaking up the implications. His mouth forms an open bow; an expression of realisation, understanding even. I continue. ‘She hated herself after what you did to her. She felt dirty, wretched, as if her life had ended. Nothing surprising there. She’d been raped.’ If there was a window in this pit I would be at it, staring out, gripping the sill to stop me thumping him.

  ‘I let her down,’ he says. ‘I can understand why she did it. At the trial, part of me believed I deserved to go to prison. Part of me even hoped I would.’

  ‘Oh you’ll be going to prison all right.’ I circle the table, my fists itching to take a swing. ‘For the kidnap of my daughter at the very least. And DI Hallet still has your card marked for Grace’s murder. Fine retribution, don’t you think?’

  ‘I did not kill Grace Covatta,’ he says. Back to the expressionless state. Carlyle banks his shoulders defiantly. ‘I was so sorry to learn of her death.’

  I check the guard is out of earshot. ‘I doubt if—’

  ‘I saw Mary with Grace on the night she was attacked.’ He interrupts with flat, emotionless words. I let him speak. I need to know what he knows.

  This time round, I needed justice, a resolution, Julia. Can you understand? I couldn’t let David get away with it again. Not with this young girl; not with the black mascara tears on her cheeks, her freezing feet, her hopeless devotion for a man who should have known better. Grace Covatta got into the Land Rover of her own free will.

  ‘Grace was a patient of mine. A problem patient. She had trouble with her parents; she’d got herself pregnant. I’d diagnosed depression, too. She came to see me about once a month to begin with. I would listen and advise. She trusted me. But then her visits became more often – once a week, sometimes three times a week. Then she started calling me at home, insisting we meet. I was worried that it wouldn’t look good professionally. People at the practice were talking. I was stupid. I cared for the girl. I met with her a few times out of the surgery, and from that she assumed we had something going. In the end, it was her crush that killed her.

  ‘On the day she was attacked, Grace called me a dozen times, making a terrible nuisance of herself.’ Carlyle shakes his head at the memory. ‘I suggested she change doctors but she got hysterical and told me she loved me. She threatened to tell her parents that the baby was mine if I didn’t let her come to my house that night. I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘And was the baby yours?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he replies indignantly. Against my better judgement, I believe him. ‘During that night, there was a terrible noise at my door. It was Grace. She was in a state. When she threatened me again, I explained that a simple paternity test would prove I wasn’t the father of her baby. I took her in for a short while but then offered to call her a taxi or phone her parents. She wanted none of it. She became hysterical again and took off into the night. She was wearing very little and the weather was atrocious. I was worried about her freezing to death and insisted she take my coat.’ Carlyle takes half a glassful of the water that’s set between us. He is sweating as if the story is a cross-country run.

  ‘But just as I was going back inside, I heard voices in the lane. I strained to see who was out there. Someone was with Grace. I walked to the end of the front path and listened. She was definitely talking to someone.’

  ‘Who was it?’ I have to know if he knows.

  I made up some stupid reason why I wasn’t driving her home straight away. She was a little nervous but relieved to have a lift. It made me wonder what had happened inside David’s house. Why was she so troubled? Memories that I thought I had locked away fell as fresh as the snow on the fields.

  On a whim, I veered the Land Rover round and doubled back towards David’s house. She asked where we were going but I couldn’t reply. I didn’t know. I turned down Lightning Lane, which I imagine is etched on to your mind like a tombstone now. It’s where we used to walk the dogs; where all the village kids used to smoke, do you remember? I parked but left the engine running. I couldn’t risk breaking down. I got out of the car and told Grace to do the same. By then, she looked puzzled, frightened, but clearly relieved to be out of David’s house.

  ‘I couldn’t tell who was out there with Grace. It sounded like a woman’s voice. Then a vehicle started up. A big, noisy thing. When the lights came on, I could just make out the rear numberplate. It was unusual and easy to remember – an old-style or private plate. I ran after them, hoping to identify the driver. But I was too late. They drove off.’ Carlyle stops as the guard suddenly knocks and opens the door. I nod at him and he leaves again.

  I told her to walk with me. It was crazy. She put those silly heels back on and wore the borrowed coat from David slung around her shoulders. She told me her mum would go spare that she’d been out nearly all night. Her face was as alive as mine had once been – eager yet refusing to see the truth.

  We walked on for a few minutes and she kept stumbling in her heels. I suggested she take them off. She tossed the shoes away with abandon. Her toes sank into the iced grass and she giggled and shivered at the same time.

  ‘Don’t get in the rowing boat,’ I remember saying to her, and she asked what I meant. By then a thousand other words were queuing up and I couldn’t answer. Speech was a novelty and didn’t have to make sense or fit an order.

  Grace said she wanted to go home; she looked scared – what with the moonlight reflecting from her cheeks and her skin mottled blue.

  ‘I can make everything better, if you follow me,’ I told her.‘I know what he did to you. I can heal you. He won’t get away with it again.’

  She didn’t understand me, I could tell, but despite her nervousness, she walked on. I think she’d been drinking. Her lips were frozen into a lopsided grin and I doubt that she knew what the next thirty years would hold if I didn’t help her now.

  ‘I know about you and David. I know what he just did to you.’

  ‘He didn’t do
anything,’ she replied instantly. She was so immature. So naive; that nervous laugh. She was trying to protect him.

  ‘When Julia was showing me around Northmire Farm a few days later, I saw that same vehicle in the barn.’ Carlyle stands up and paces about. ‘I know it was Mary out there that night with Grace. It was her Land Rover I saw in the lane.’

  Eventually we approached a hedge and couldn’t go any further without hurtling down the deep dip that the local kids believed was an old Roman amphitheatre.You know where I mean – that unusual hole in the fields. By then, Grace was several paces ahead of me. I picked up a heavy branch and swung it at her head. She fell to the ground instantly. Blood wept into the snow.

  She remained on the ground as I worked. Another blow and she was unconscious. I dragged off the jacket and flung it into the darkness – then the rest of her clothes. I couldn’t stop, all the while vowing vengeance. The branch battered her again.The knife – you know, the one I always keep in my walking coat pocket – made quick work of her feet, her tongue.

  It was all done, just as before. A perfect replica.

  I pulled the knife from Grace’s mouth. I ran.

  David would be punished for sure this time. His coat was a few yards away. His DNA was all over Grace. I didn’t care about anything else. It was my chance.

  I got into the Land Rover. I drove.

  Home, behind the barn, I burnt Grace’s clothes. I wrapped the knife in the newspaper and hid it in the back of the Land Rover. No one ever used that old vehicle.

  I went inside and undressed, hiding my muddy clothes balled beneath the bed. I tried to sleep but couldn’t. I stared at the ceiling. I waited for David’s life and my misery to finally end.

  I never meant for her to die, Julia, I swear. But when I saw David and Grace together, something twisted inside me. Something drove me to believe I could put things right. By hurting her in the same way I’d done to myself thirty years ago, I believed the connection would be made and your father would be put away once and for all. No one could get away with it twice.