House of Silence

by Gillard, Linda

  The paroxysms of barking continued unabated, but still no one appeared to greet us. Then from another direction - overhead, I thought - I heard footsteps moving quickly. As they reached the stairs, they broke into a heavy-footed run. A woman turned the corner of the stairs, stopped dead and cried, ‘Alfie!’ She galloped down the remaining flight of stairs, long corkscrew curls flying out behind her, and I feared for her safety. She jumped the last two treads and landed, knees bent like a skateboarder, feet shod in striped socks and voluminous fluffy slippers, on a rug that slid across the polished oak floorboards, bringing her to a standstill, no more than arm’s reach from Alfie.

  I waited for them to embrace, but instead they stood facing each other. Each waiting for the other to make the first move? I couldn’t see Alfie’s face, so there was no way of knowing. Eventually he extended his arm, offering her the flowers, and said, ‘Merry Christmas, Hattie.’

  Seizing the bouquet, she squealed, ‘Ooh, lovely! Are they for me?’ and plunged her face into the blooms. When she emerged again, her nose was freckled with dark pollen from the lilies. Alfie smiled and withdrew a handkerchief from his coat pocket. Dabbing at her face, he said, ‘Yes, they are. But if anyone should ask, they’re for everyone. The family,’ he added with emphasis.

  I could see no resemblance between brother and sister. Hattie’s hair was mousy and her eyes were grey, whereas Alfie’s were brown. She had nothing of his easy elegance or compactness of body. There was perhaps an expression in the eyes, a sadness that I occasionally saw in Alfie’s - an anxiety almost, an eagerness to please. But otherwise, they were chalk and cheese.

  Hattie finally registered my presence and, after regarding me for a moment, said to Alfie sotto voce, ‘Who’s your friend?’

  ‘Didn’t Viv explain? This is Gwen Rowland. She lives in Brighton. We met when I was filming in Sussex. Gwen, this is my youngest sister, Harriet Donovan.’

  Hattie thrust a hand in my direction. ‘Now I remember! Gosh, I’m getting as bad as Rae! How d’you do? Viv’s put you in the attic. Don’t worry, it’s very cosy up there and it’s near the nursery, where Alfie sleeps, so if you two want to sleep together, you can.’ Hattie mistook my look of blank astonishment and explained, ‘There’s a double bed in the attic, you see. The springs are a bit creaky but no one will hear you - we’re all at the other end of the house.’ She turned to Alfie. ‘But you have to have your old room, or Rae will go mad. Well, not mad, exactly. She’s not mad yet, but she gets pretty upset if we change anything, especially at Christmas, so there was no question of putting you both in the attic.’ Hattie turned back to me. ‘Alfie has to sleep where he’s always slept, you see. House rules. And anyway, we didn’t know whether you’d want to share a room, and Viv didn’t like to ask.’ She looked speculatively from Alfie to me, then back to Alfie. ‘Do you sleep together?’

  With a sidelong glance at my dropped jaw, Alfie said gently, ‘That’s none of your business, Hat. You’re making Gwen feel uncomfortable.’

  Her face fell. ‘Oh, sorry! Take no notice of me, Gwen. I’m a bad person. I can’t do anything right. But I mean well.’

  Alfie shrugged off his coat and threw it on to the settle. ‘Be an angel, Hat, and make us some tea, would you? And could you possibly do something about those bloody dogs? Has Viv started riding to hounds now?’

  ‘No, that’s just Harris and Lewis! They’re excited. We’re all excited! It’s Christmas and Alfie’s home! Let’s go and have some tea and mince pies. You can have mine, which are burned but homemade, or Sainsbury’s, which are neither.’

  Putting on a brave smile, I said, ‘I think I could probably manage one of each.’ Alfie shot me a grateful look.

  ‘Good! The burned ones aren’t too bad. Viv put so much brandy in the mincemeat, you almost don’t notice,’ Hattie added cheerfully. ‘Take your coat off, Gwen, and come along to the kitchen. I’ll get these flowers into some water and then make us a big pot of tea.’ Alfie led the way and, as I fell into step beside her, Hattie said, ‘You mustn’t mind me! It’s just that Alfie has never brought a girlfriend home before. We’d always assumed he was gay.’

  ‘Hattie!’ Alfie bellowed over his shoulder. ‘Tea!’

  I don’t know what got into me. I think I was vaguely irritated with Alfie for not hugging his sister, for refusing to show her some token of affection when she was so clearly pleased to see him. As we followed him along the corridor, I looked at Hattie meaningfully, pointed silently to Alfie’s back, and mouthed, ‘He isn’t’. Then I winked.

  Hattie clapped a hand to her mouth and giggled noisily, like a dishwasher on its drain cycle. Alfie turned round and regarded the pair of us. ‘Oh, God,’ he groaned. ‘I can see you two are going to get on famously.’

  Hattie linked her arm through mine and squeezed it. ‘Oh, I do hope so!’ I looked at her pollen-stained face gazing up at mine. The expression was that of a wide-eyed, eager child; the awkward, unprepossessing body that of a woman well into her thirties.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  Hattie led us into a kitchen that was scarcely less palatial than the hall, but a good deal warmer. The dogs barked madly and launched themselves at us. Hattie kneeled down to make a fuss of them, ruffling the terriers’ ears affectionately. ‘Gwen, this is Harris and Lewis. Lewis is the bigger one with the soppy face. Harris is very old and much more dignified. Aren’t you, Harry?’

  Alfie gave up waiting and set about making tea. He was lifting the kettle off the Aga when the back door opened and a low female voice called out, ‘Hattie? Are you there? Can you take Ma some tea? I forgot to take up her tray after lunch.’

  ‘Viv, come in! Alfie’s here! And Gwen. They’ve arrived!’

  ‘Already? I didn’t hear a car. Hang on, let me get my boots off…’

  There was a scuffling sound, then a tall, middle-aged woman appeared at the kitchen door, dressed in cord trousers and a thick fleece jacket. She bore no resemblance to Alfie, nor to her half-sister. Her short, dark hair, lank with wind and damp, showed a little grey, but her brown eyes were lively and humorous. Her rangy physique - she looked tall, even in stockinged feet - conveyed an impression of energy. This, I thought, was a woman who got things done.

  Vivien removed her gloves, shoved them in her pocket and extended a large hand towards me. ‘Gwen! Welcome to Creake Hall! Delighted you could come. Please excuse the gardening togs. We thought you’d be here a bit later and I was trying to get some last-minute jobs done while the weather holds. Has Hattie shown you your room?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Hattie quickly, as she set a plate of mince pies on the table. ‘Alfie wanted tea.’

  Vivien turned to face her brother. She didn’t hug him either, just extended her hand and shook his firmly. ‘Thanks for coming, Alfie. Rae will be so pleased to see you. She’s not been too good lately. Well, it’s been a difficult year… and she doesn’t get any younger.’

  ‘Nor do we,’ said Hattie.

  Vivien glared at her, then turned back to Alfie and said, ‘A visit from you will buck Rae up no end.’

  Alfie didn’t respond, other than to change the subject. ‘How’s the latest book going?’

  Vivien looked pleased at the enquiry. ‘Oh… A lot of false starts. Rae’s not really on top of it much of the time. But we’ll get there in the end. Slow but sure. I think it will be a good one. Perhaps not one of her best…’

  I could see Alfie had already lost interest so I asked, ‘What’s the new book called?’

  ‘Tom Dickon Harry and the Fortress of Fear. Well, that’s the working title.’

  ‘Sounds too much like Tower of Terror’, Alfie said as Hattie poured mugs of tea from an enormous brown teapot.

  Vivien looked at him, eyebrows raised. ‘Surprised you remember that one. It must be ten years old.‘

  ‘That was the book that came out after the documentary. It was everywhere,’ said Alfie, gulping his tea. ‘It made me famous, didn’t it?’

  ‘Well, Rae
doesn’t really care about titles. Not any more. That’s my department. Marketing and mammon.’

  ‘She’d be completely lost without you, Viv,’ Hattie said, offering me the plate of mince pies. It was all too clear which were hers. I selected the least charred and put it on my plate, crumbling the pastry surreptitiously so there would be less to eat. Alfie declined - which I thought both clever and cowardly - and watched me, the corners of his mouth twitching. As soon as Hattie got up to refill the teapot, he grabbed the remains of my pie and lobbed it silently at one of the dogs who raised its head, caught and swallowed in one swift movement. As Hattie returned to the table, I made chewing motions, avoiding Alfie’s eye.

  ‘Shall I take tea up to Rae?’ he asked.

  Vivien helped herself to a Sainsbury mince pie. ‘That’s a nice idea. Thanks, Alfie. Would you go with him, Hattie? I don’t think we should spring any surprises on her. Let’s take things gently. While you’re doing that, I’ll show Gwen her room. You’re in the attic, Gwen - did Hattie explain?’

  ‘At length,’ Alfie snapped, before I could reply. Hattie squirmed visibly.

  ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘what I’d really like to do, is see some of the garden before the light goes. Is there any chance you could give me a quick tour, Vivien?’

  ‘Call me Viv. Yes, of course! There’s a lot to see but we could certainly make a start. The light’s rather magical just now, with the trees silhouetted against the sky and the sun setting. Let’s go and take a look! You’ll need a coat. It’s pretty cold out there.’

  ‘I left mine in the hall. I won’t be a minute.’

  I made my way back to the hall and retrieved my coat. On the return journey I took a wrong turning and ended up in the sitting room, confronted by what appeared to be a shrine to Alfie: a collection of photographs capturing his every mood and age. I dragged myself away and retraced my steps, listening out for voices in the kitchen. As I laid my hand on the kitchen door, I heard Alfie say firmly, ‘The only person likely to blow it is Fanny.’ Then he added in an undertone, ‘We just need to keep her off the booze.’

  As I entered the kitchen, five pairs of eyes, human and canine, turned to me.

  ‘I’m ready’, I announced, buttoning up my coat.

  Viv stood up and smiled. ‘Right. We’ll have a lightning tour.’

  Hattie began to clear the table, loading crockery on to a tray. She still looked anxious. I hoped Alfie hadn’t been mean to her in my brief absence. ‘Delicious mince pies, Hattie,’ I said. ‘Thanks for going to all that trouble.’

  She cast me a look of abject gratitude. ‘They’d have been even nicer if I hadn’t burned them. I’ll get it right next time. I’ll use the timer.’

  From the back door, Viv called out, ‘Take Ma her tea, Hattie. Then take Gwen’s things upstairs.’

  ‘No, really,’ I protested. ‘There’s no need!’

  ‘Please let me, Gwen. I like making myself useful.’

  ‘Well, thanks very much. But don’t unpack for me. I haven’t finished wrapping all my presents.’

  ‘Presents? Have you brought us presents?’

  ‘Just little ones.’

  ‘Oh, how exciting! What did you bring me?’

  Viv reappeared at the kitchen door, boots in hand. ‘Hattie, for goodness’ sake, stop badgering Gwen!’ She turned to me and said, ‘You really shouldn’t have, you know. We didn’t expect anything. We’re delighted to entertain a friend of Alfie’s.’

  ‘She’s more than just a friend,’ Hattie announced, standing at the door with a tea tray, waiting for Alfie to join her.

  ‘Hattie! That’s enough!’ Vivien said sharply.

  ‘Anyway,’ Hattie replied, a note of defiance in her voice. ‘I’ve got a present for Gwen.’

  ‘Have you?’ Viv looked surprised. Clearly not to be outdone, she said, ‘As it happens, I’ve got her a little something too.’

  ‘Well, mine,’ said Hattie mysteriously, ‘is a big something.’

  Alfie opened the door for her and Hattie set off along the corridor, rattling crockery, triumphant.

  ~~~

  Vivien led Gwen through a dingy lobby littered with dead leaves, dried mud and discarded boots and shoes. Once outside, she paused for a moment to allow her guest to take in the view: a formal garden divided by intersecting brick and gravel paths into a patchwork of flowerbeds edged by lavender and low box hedging.

  ‘The structure’s pretty formal, as you can see,’ Vivien said as they walked across a paved area broken up by clumps of low-growing plants that Gwen thought might be herbs. ‘But I like to keep the planting pretty informal. The plants have to be hardy - we’re not far from the coast here - and they have to earn their keep, year round.’ She turned to Gwen and smiled. ‘I’m ruthless! There’s no room for slackers in my garden! Take this bronze fennel, for example.’ Vivien stopped by a skeletal, spindly plant, almost as tall as she was, and touched the umbrella-shaped seed-heads, festooned with spiders’ webs. ‘It’s good for flowers, for scent, for seeds - the birds love them - and it’s good with fish! What more could you possibly want in a plant? It’s one of my favourites. And it looks just as good in winter as in summer.’

  As they moved along the path, Gwen said, ‘I love gardens in winter. You can see the shapes more. The structure. I think trees are just as beautiful without their leaves, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, definitely! And there’s more time to stand and stare in winter. It’s the only quiet time for a gardener. A time to take stock. Plan for the future.’

  ‘Is the garden as old as the house?’

  ‘Bits of it are. Creake Hall was an Elizabethan manor house originally and some of the garden walls are sixteenth century. Over there - can you see? That’s the original walled kitchen garden. Hattie cultivates that. We also have a gardener who helps out and does odd jobs around the house. There’s always something that needs doing in a place this old. The garden went to rack and ruin while Rae was ill. She used to be a very keen gardener - it was she who taught me - but,’ Vivien sighed. ‘She never leaves the house now. Barely leaves her room. Observes it all from her window… And leaves me notes.’

  Gwen glanced up at Vivien, observed her mouth set in a thin line and said, ‘It must be very difficult for you and Hattie. I mean, coping with Rae… Families can be such a trial, can’t they?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Vivien replied. ‘But if you don’t marry and don’t have a career - well, the expectation is there. One has to do one’s duty. After all, nobody chooses to become old and infirm, do they? Lord knows who’ll look after me when I’m old and losing my marbles. Some paid stranger, I suppose. God forbid it should be Hattie!’

  ‘What happened to Rae? Or would you rather not talk about it?’

  ‘Oh, it’s common knowledge. The papers had a field day. She had a breakdown about ten years ago. A second one. Hasn’t Alfie told you about this?

  ‘No, he hasn’t.’

  Vivien peered at Gwen in the failing light. ‘What has he told you?’

  Gwen thought of all the information Alfie had given her about his family and tried to remember something repeatable. She drew a blank and said, ‘Not a lot. I know about the books of course. And how successful they are. But I don’t know much about the family history. Hardly anything, in fact.’

  ‘Well, I think all you really need to know about us as a family, Gwen, is that we’re… fragmented. We aren’t close. Never have been, never will be. Oh, I’m fond of Hattie, but she’s only a half-sister and I’m old enough to be her mother. Ours is a strange relationship… We’re an odd bunch of siblings altogether! The only thing we have in common is Rae. Our ambivalence towards her. And our concern for her. But since Rae’s literary estate is worth millions and the house is worth another couple, concern for Rae hardly falls into the category of pure altruism. Alfie comes to see her once a year and we’re all very grateful to him for that. It keeps Rae going. He’s her obsession now - has been since the last breakdown. He’s her precious son. But sh
e was never a mother to him. Never a proper mother to any of us, if truth be told. Rae was very ill after Alfie was born and her second husband, Freddie - that’s Alfie’s father - looked after him, with the help of a series of nannies. Until Freddie decided he couldn’t cope any longer and ran off with one of them. Taking Alfie.’

  ‘How on earth did Rae cope with that?’

  ‘She wasn’t really living in the real world. I think her mental state insulated her against the worst of the pain. Nothing much ever got through to Rae in those days. That’s one of the reasons her husband left her. In the end Rae dealt with her loss by writing.’

  ‘The Tom Dickon Harry books?’

  ‘Once she got going, they just poured out of her, one after another. I think she saw TDH as her son, not Alfie. TDH was somehow more real to her.’

  ‘Perhaps she felt she could exercise more control over an imaginary son than a real one.’

  ‘Yes, that’s a good point. Maybe she did.’

  ‘I don’t really understand the creative process of writers, but I gather their characters can seem as real to them as actual people. Alfie says it’s the same with actors. You think you’re just playing a rôle, but the rôle can take you over. You become the part. The boundaries can become blurred.’

  ‘Is that so? Well, Alfie would know, I suppose… Damn, that’s the bell!’

  ‘Bell?’

  ‘That’s Hattie ringing a school bell. The kind they used to have in playgrounds. It means I’m needed back at the house. I expect there’s some problem with Rae. Look, do you want to carry on, on your own? You can’t get lost. Just follow the path and keep turning left. You’ll get back to the main entrance eventually. Don’t be alarmed if you come across a man somewhere in the grounds. It’s just Tyler, the gardener. He always works until it gets dark. Stop and say hello. He’s not the most forthcoming of individuals, but he’s a nice chap. Almost part of the family. Sure you’ll be happy finding your own way back?’