Hush

by Sara Marshall-Ball

  ‘It sounds like psychobabble.’

  ‘It’s a recognised psychiatric disorder.’

  She looked at him, sceptical.

  ‘Here, look.’ He walked to his bookcase, pulled out a large grey paperback and laid it on the desk in front of her. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. He flipped it open at the index, traced his finger over the right section, entitled Somatoform Disorders, and there it was: Conversion Disorder. Lily stared at it for a moment, then flipped the book closed. It was enough to see the words, without seeing her symptoms listed in black and white.

  ‘So what would you suggest?’

  ‘Well, I would recommend therapy. With someone who is a qualified adult psychologist. I can recommend a few people.’

  ‘What if I don’t want therapy?’

  He looked at her over steepled fingertips. ‘You remember the exercise we tried? Exposing yourself to various stimuli in order to bring back memories?’

  ‘It didn’t work.’

  ‘I beg to differ.’ He smiled again. ‘If you remember, it had quite an effect on you.’

  ‘But it didn’t help me remember.’

  ‘Well, no. But that’s not really the object any more.’ His voice was gentle, prodding her subtly into agreement. ‘It’s not important for you to remember, as such. You just need to stop being scared of remembering. You need to confront whatever it is that’s causing you distress.’

  ‘So where would I find the stimuli?’

  Dr Mervyn raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you tried talking to your sister?’

  then

  Connie stepped out of Gatwick Airport into the wet warmth of late April. She was thinner than she had been when she left, and tanned from working outside, though it hadn’t seemed especially sunny when she’d been there. Her hair was lighter, making her eyes appear bluer, and she looked older. She’d been away for nearly a year.

  The familiarity was momentarily disarming – the chatter of English voices around her, the signposts and symbols that were instantly recognisable. The line of black cabs, and the patient queue of passengers in front of it, were so British that they made her want to cry. She followed the signs to the train station and emerged on to a busy platform, filled with people of all nationalities standing near piles of luggage, watching the departure screens anxiously.

  She got on the first train heading southeast, and secured a cluster of four seats and a table to herself, piling up luggage on the seat next to her and putting her feet on the one opposite. The train crawled lazily through the countryside, past rolling hills, lush trees, picturesque rivers. The sky darkened with gathering clouds, and before long raindrops splattered against the glass, obscuring the view. Connie leaned her head against the glass and closed her eyes.

  The train stopped and the doors opened, letting in a blast of excited conversation and cold air. Several people got on, and Connie slid her feet reluctantly off the seat as an elderly man moved towards her. He took the seat diagonally across from her, and nodded at the space next to him, saying, ‘You can put them back, if you like.’

  She smiled faintly. ‘Thanks, but it feels rude, making you sit next to my feet.’

  ‘I’ve sat next to worse things.’

  He leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes, and after a moment Connie put her feet back where they had been.

  The train continued, the sky growing steadily darker, until all Connie could see through the glass was her own face reflected back at her. A ticket collector checked her ticket, and looked pointedly from her feet to the sign above them which expressly forbade her from putting them on the seat. She glared at him and moved them, snatching her ticket back ungraciously. The elderly man laughed at her expression. ‘At least you know to pick your battles,’ he said, his voice kind, and closed his eyes again.

  An hour later, they arrived at the nearest station to the village, and she hauled her bag on to the platform, shivering the second she got outside.

  The rain had not abated, and made visibility difficult, but she knew exactly where she was going. The steps into the car park were slippery with rainwater, the car park partially flooded. She grimaced, and hopped across it, trying to avoid the worst of the puddles.

  Two cabs waited at the entrance to the station, and she jumped into the first one, giving the driver the address between grunts as she hauled her bag in after her. He nodded and started the engine wordlessly. They drove along the dark roads in silence, as Connie stared out of the window and tried not to think about the reception she would receive. The rain pounded on the windscreen, and the windows were steamy and opaque. Connie traced a ‘C’ in the condensation, and then rubbed it out, creating a clear patch through which she could see the orange glow of street-lamps outside.

  The driver pulled up outside the house, and Connie felt a momentary shock at seeing it still standing there, exactly the same as it had been when she left. There were lights on in the living room; she could see the glow through the gap in the curtains. She paid the driver with a note and told him to keep the change, though she had no idea how much she’d given him.

  As she walked to the front door she felt sure she was being watched, the dark windows above her looming like eyes. She wondered whether she should knock, and then shook her head at her own ridiculousness and dug around in the front pocket of her bag until she found her key. It turned easily in the lock, and the door swung open into darkness.

  She waited, breathless, but there was no indication that anyone was coming to greet her.

  She could hear the murmur of the TV in the living room, and movement in the kitchen: someone making dinner. She closed the door behind her quietly and crept forward, wondering about the best way of announcing herself. She considered shouting hello, but she felt nervous, almost unwelcome. She realised she had been envisaging some kind of hero’s welcome all the way home, but now she was here she didn’t feel anywhere near so certain of being well received.

  Admonishing herself for being ridiculous, she dropped her bag on the floor and stepped forward more confidently. ‘Dad?’ she called, and she felt rather than heard the movement freeze in the kitchen. No answering call, though. ‘Mama?’

  Her mother stepped into the doorway, confusion giving way smoothly to relief. ‘Connie,’ she breathed, rushing forward to hug her, and then hesitating when she was just a step away. ‘It’s – it’s really you?’

  ‘It’s really me,’ she confirmed, allowing herself to be swept into a hug. She felt her mother’s sharp edges digging into her as their collarbones pressed together.

  ‘Oh, darling, I thought you were dead,’ her mother whispered into her hair. ‘And the last words we ever spoke were an argument –’

  ‘Shh. It’s fine. I’m not dead.’ Connie stepped away awkwardly, brushing her mother’s tears out of her hair. ‘Where are the others? It seems quiet.’

  Her mother looked anxiously back at the kitchen doorway. ‘What made you decide to come back?’ she asked, ignoring Connie’s question.

  ‘I don’t know, really. Just got bored of sleeping in strange beds.’ Her mother looked at her sharply, making Connie laugh. ‘On my own, Mama. I promise.’

  ‘Good. Good.’ She looked behind her again. ‘Have you – spoken to anyone? Lily, or anyone?’

  ‘No. You know what Lily’s like on the phone.’ Connie looked at her mother closely, trying to work out what in her behaviour was so off-putting. She was acting like a trapped rabbit. And she kept looking at the kitchen door as if something horrible was going to burst through it. ‘Mama? Is everything okay?’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’ Her mother turned to face her, lifted her hands to Connie’s cheeks. ‘It’s so good to see you home.’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t call. It just seemed – well. I needed some space.’ She thought about what she had glimpsed through the kitchen window on the night that she left, and flinched involuntarily.

  ‘It’s okay. That doesn’t matter now.’ Her mother’s gaze again, darting
back to the kitchen door. What was she afraid of?

  ‘Mama?’

  ‘Yes, darling?’

  ‘Where’s Dad? And Lily? Have they gone out?’

  Her mother looked down, reaching out for Connie’s hands. ‘Look at the state of your nails, darling. They’re filthy. Really… really filthy.’ She rubbed the pads of her fingers along the edges of Connie’s nails. ‘You haven’t been taking care of yourself, have you?’

  ‘Mama.’

  ‘Don’t.’ Her mother looked up then, and the expression in her eyes was so desperate, Connie felt what she was trying to say, without really understanding it.

  ‘Mama, please.’

  She opened her mouth, but then shook her head, no sound escaping. From behind her, in the kitchen, a male voice carried easily, though it didn’t speak particularly loudly.

  ‘You’re going to have to tell her some time, Anna.’

  Connie looked up, and found herself looking straight into the eyes of the man she had run away from.

  now

  Connie opened the door to find Lily standing on the other side of it. She looked lost, and a bit sheepish. ‘I went to see Dr Mervyn,’ she said, and Connie ushered her inside.

  ‘Are you serious? He’s still practising?’

  ‘He’s only fifty or so.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess.’ Connie walked through to the kitchen. ‘Do you want tea? I was just going to make some.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lily stood in the living room, feeling awkward. She was suddenly aware of how quiet the house was, and couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her sister at home without the boys around, drowning out the silence with childish screams. ‘Boys at school?’ she called.

  Connie appeared in the kitchen door, looking puzzled. ‘It’s gone six,’ she said.

  ‘Oh. Yeah.’ She remembered now. The darkness setting in while she sat in Dr Mervyn’s waiting room. She must have been there for hours. She felt suddenly dizzy. Connie noticed as she reached out a hand to steady herself on the back of a chair.

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  Lily tried to remember, but the whole day had condensed into sitting in that chair, waiting. The time she’d been in his office was microseconds, already gone. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Lily, you’re thirty-three years old.’ But the tone was kinder than the words, and Connie guided her into a seat. ‘What do you want to eat?’

  ‘Where are the boys?’

  ‘Karate. Nathan’s picking them up. They’ll be at least half an hour yet.’ Connie disappeared into the kitchen again, shouting behind her. ‘Toast? Soup? Pasta? I think I’ve got some stuff in the freezer if you want.’

  ‘Um.’ She felt as though her brain had atrophied, and she couldn’t remember how she’d come to be here. ‘Soup?’

  ‘Sure.’ Banging, of saucepans on counters. And a crackling. Connie rummaging in the freezer. ‘Carrot and coriander okay?’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks.’

  For a few minutes Connie banged around in the kitchen, and Lily stared into space, wondering why she was here. Dr Mervyn had suggested it, so she had come. But what had he expected her to say, now that she was here?

  Connie appeared in the doorway again. ‘Does Richard know where you are?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Do you want me to call him?’

  Lily shook her head. ‘I will. In a bit.’

  Connie ducked back into the kitchen for a moment, and then reappeared carrying a bowl of soup, which she set down on the coffee table in front of Lily. ‘Leave it for a minute, it’s hot. Are you sure? It would only take a second, to call him. He’s probably worrying about you.’

  ‘No. Thanks.’

  ‘Lils.’ Connie leaned forward, took her hand. ‘Can you tell me why you went to see Dr Mervyn?’

  Lily considered the question. ‘I think I was scared.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Myself.’ Lily leaned back in the chair, so that Connie was forced to drop her hand. ‘The collapsing, you know. And, um. Bad dreams, and things.’

  ‘That house?’

  ‘Yeah, partly.’ Lily groped for the words, clenching and unclenching her good fist. ‘Dr Mervyn suggested I speak to you.’

  ‘Why? What does he expect me to be able to do about it?’ Connie’s voice was defensive, and Lily looked down at her hands and didn’t answer. ‘Does he think I’m the reason you’re not well?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What, then?’

  Lily found her eyes crawling the walls, as if searching for what she wanted to say. ‘Did you ever read the coroner’s report?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘Billy’s? Or Dad’s?’

  Lily looked at her, confused. It had never occurred to her that their father’s death would also have been investigated: it had been so straightforwardly awful. ‘Billy’s.’

  ‘Oh. No, I didn’t. I don’t think I understood what a coroner’s report was, at the time. And I doubt Mama would have let me read it even if I’d wanted to.’

  ‘What about when you were older?’

  Connie shrugged. ‘I was there, wasn’t I? So there was no need.’

  ‘You weren’t ever curious?’

  ‘What is this? You know what happened, don’t you? He fell; he hit his head and he broke his neck. End of story.’

  ‘But –’ Lily’s protest sounded feeble, but felt terribly important ‘– I don’t remember. It feels as though if that’s all there was to remember then I wouldn’t feel like something was missing.’ She looked up at Connie, pleadingly. ‘Do you know what I mean?’

  Connie’s face was blank confusion. She inhaled sharply, as if about to speak; then she shook her head. ‘Finish your soup,’ she said, her voice tired. ‘I’ll drive you home.’

  They got back to Drayfield after nine. Connie led the way up the front path, pointlessly, because she then had to wait at the door for Lily to find her key. They pushed open the door on to a brightly lit hallway, but no sound.

  ‘Hello?’ Connie’s voice, louder than usual as she stepped over the threshold. Lily was already kicking off her shoes, walking towards the kitchen, but Connie felt oddly cautious. Something in the silence felt wrong. She was reminded of another time, years before, when she had walked into this house to find things not quite as they should be.

  ‘Richard?’ she called, but still no answer. She closed the front door behind her, and followed Lily into the kitchen.

  Richard was nowhere to be seen, but the patio door was wide open. Lily stood motionless near the doorway. Her expression was sheer terror, but Connie couldn’t understand what she was seeing that would scare her so much.

  ‘Is he outside?’ she asked, putting an arm on Lily’s elbow, causing her to jump. Lily looked at her briefly, but didn’t reply.

  ‘Let’s go and look, shall we?’ Connie said, her voice halfway between parental and exasperated. She took a step forward, and then heard Richard’s voice, carrying in through the open door.

  ‘What the hell are you playing at?’

  Both Lily and Connie darted forward at the same moment.

  then

  Her grandmother looked older than Connie had remembered her looking, and more tired. Her smile as she opened the door was genuine, though, and her hug as warm as it had ever been. ‘Look how grown-up you are,’ she sighed, and Connie was shocked to see tears in her eyes. She hadn’t registered, until she was face to face with it, that the loss of her father had also been the loss of her grandmother’s son.

  ‘I’m afraid Grandpa’s still finding things a bit of a struggle,’ she said, leading Connie through to the kitchen. ‘But Lily will be thrilled to see you. Will you be staying long?’

  ‘Well, it depends,’ Connie hedged. A slightly surreal feeling was setting in: after almost a year of travelling by herself, of flitting from job to job and town to town without ever really speaking to anyone, it felt odd and abrupt to be back on familiar ground. There were school photos of her o
n the wall; her and Lily, aged seven and ten, sitting tall in school uniform. Lily was missing two teeth, and the gaps made her smile seem wider, somehow.

  ‘How was your mother?’

  Connie shrugged. She didn’t want to talk about her mother. She felt very aware that her clothes were dirty, that she hadn’t showered for two days, that she hadn’t brushed her hair or her teeth since the plane had landed that morning. She’d been lucky that she still remembered her grandparents’ phone number after all these years: she couldn’t have stayed with her mother, and the thought of spending the night in a random hostel after the shock of her homecoming was more than she could bear.

  ‘Do you know that she’s been having some problems? They’ve been talking about hospitalising her.’

  Connie tried to suppress disloyal thoughts: melodramatic, attention-seeking, weak and pathetic. Making such a fuss, when she’d never really loved him anyway, while the rest of them carried on as best they could. Her feelings must have showed on her face.

  ‘They were very much in love, once,’ her grandmother said gently, and Connie knew it was the nicest thing she could find to say about her.

  ‘Well, she’s moved on,’ Connie said bluntly. The expression on her grandmother’s face made Connie realise she already knew. ‘How long?’ she asked, not sure she wanted to know.

  ‘As I say, they were in love, once. It was a long time ago. Anna needed comforting, and she found someone who would give her what she needed. Don’t judge her too harshly.’

  ‘She cheated on your son. Don’t you hate her?’

  Her grandma smiled sadly. ‘No, dear. I don’t hate her.’

  ‘I missed his funeral.’ The words, barely a whisper, were uttered in the direction of Connie’s feet.

  ‘Oh, Connie. I’m so sorry.’ Her grandmother stepped forward to wrap her arms around her. ‘We wanted to wait, but your mother just wanted to get it over with. We did try to find you, but – well, you did a good job of keeping yourself hidden.’