House of Silence

by Gillard, Linda

  She opened her eyes. ‘Thank you, my dear. Leave the tray for Viv. She’ll come and check up on me in a little while. But I think I’ll settle down now. I’m feeling quite tired. Too much excitement for one day! And tomorrow the rest of them will arrive. We’ll have a house-full. Deborah and Bryan… But not Daniel. Daniel is abroad, I must remember that. He won’t be coming. But Frances will. She’ll be here. With her husband. Now, what is his name? I get this wrong. I think he’s called Henry. Is that right?’ She looked at me, her brow furrowed with doubt.

  I trod carefully. ‘I think Frances was married to a Henry, but I don’t think she’s married to him now. They divorced.’

  ‘Really?’ Rae looked aghast. ‘You amaze me! Nobody tells me anything! Has she married again?’

  ‘Yes, I think she did. But I’m not sure if she’s bringing her husband. If she does bring someone, I think it’s safe to say he won’t be called Henry.’

  ‘What is he called, then?’

  ‘I’m told Frances calls him… darling.’

  Rae blinked at me for a moment, then burst into peals of laughter. ‘Oh, that’s very good! Darling! What a good idea! That’s what I should do - call everybody darling, then I won’t have to remember anyone’s name. Oh, she’s a clever girl, Frances. Always was. Tom was her idea, you know! She suggested him and I said, ‘Yes! Why not?’

  ‘And that’s how Tom Dickon Harry was born?’

  ‘The word was made flesh! That’s what it says in the Bible. I remember that. It’s a Christmas verse, isn’t it? The word was made flesh and dwelt among us.’

  I reflected that in the case of Alfie, the flesh had existed long before the word, but Rae seemed so delighted with her biblical conceit, I let it go. ‘I think I need to get to bed too. I’ve had a lovely day, but a tiring one.’

  As I stood up to go she grasped my hand in both of hers and said, ‘We’ve had a lovely chat, haven’t we? I did enjoy it. I hope I didn’t ramble on too much, my dear. Did I?’ Again, she didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I don’t think I wander quite so much when I talk to other people. I should do it more often. When I talk to myself - in my head, I mean - I get confused. There are too many thoughts… Too many years… So many things happened. And didn’t happen… It’s all too much for me to keep clear in my head. You need a brain like Frances’. She’s a clever girl. Knows what she wants from life and goes out and gets it. I wish I’d been like that. Are you like that?’

  The abrupt question threw me and I had no idea how to answer. Eventually I said, ‘I don’t think I know what I want from life, so it would be hard for me to go out and get it. Even if I did know, I’m not sure I could be that single-minded. I’m not ambitious, you see. And I’m easily distracted. I think I’ve got what I want, then I see something else, somebody else’s life—’

  ‘Somebody else’s man?’ Rae’s eyes lit up with a malicious gleam.

  I thought of Marek and wondered if he was somebody else’s man. I answered truthfully, tiring now of this eccentric inquisition. ‘The grass does sometimes look greener, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Indeed it does, my dear. Sometimes it is greener. I stole somebody else’s man. I did! I wasn’t a beauty, but I had my admirers! You certainly wouldn’t think it to look at me now, would you? But Freddie, my second husband, he was the one for me. I knew the minute I saw him. But I was already married. And so was he. So Freddie and I had to wait. Except that we didn’t. We couldn’t! It was une passion déchâinée! That’s French for we couldn’t keep our hands off each other,’ she explained with a wink. ‘But I stayed married to Victor and he never knew about Freddie, or if he did, he never let on. Then when Victor died, Freddie got a divorce and we were free to marry. And we were very happy, for a while… Hattie was a disappointment, of course. We were both hoping for a son. But then I fell pregnant again! We were overjoyed. But afterwards… things started to go wrong. I was ill. Very ill. It was a woman’s complaint. I forget now… It was all so dreadful.’

  ‘Were you post-natally depressed? After the birth?’

  ‘Perhaps I was… I was very low. And I was so tired. Tired to death. And Freddie just didn’t understand about the baby. What man would? The baby came between us. So did my illness. I used to cry and cry. That drove him away. Freddie left me. Couldn’t stand our miserable life together. He said I wasn’t right in the head. Told me he was leaving me. Then I did go to pieces! And Freddie went abroad.’

  ‘Taking Alfie?’

  Rae looked startled and peered at me, as if surprised there was someone else in the room. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Freddie took Alfie abroad?’

  ‘Oh… Yes. He did. He took Alfie away. I wasn’t fit, they said. Not a fit mother, so Alfie had to go too. Abroad. With Freddie. And I was left with the girls. Well, they weren’t girls any more, they were grown women, apart from Hattie. Vivien looked after me. And she looked after Hattie. She was very good with her. She let her help in the garden and taught her to cook and knit and sew.’ Rae pointed at the sampler above her desk. ‘Hattie made that for me. As a present after Freddie left.’

  ‘That was kind - to think of making something for you when she’d been abandoned by her own father.’ I looked again at the sampler and re-read the little verse. It had left me cold before, but now, seeing the sampler in its context, I was moved by a young girl’s efforts to console her mother with a few trite words and coloured threads, touched by a child’s simple faith that the sun, though hidden, is always shining.

  ‘Hattie’s clever with her hands, I’ll say that for her. Her brain isn’t all it might be, but she can wield a needle. And draw and paint. Left-handers often are artistic, aren’t they? Freddie certainly was.’

  I seized my opportunity. ‘Rae, is Alfie left-handed?’

  The wandering eyes focused. ‘My goodness, what a question!’ She was alert now, her eyes fixed on me. ‘Why ever do you ask?’ Her voice sounded quite different. Sharp. Almost harsh. I felt a shiver go down my spine and experienced a sudden desire to return to the light and warmth of the sitting room fireside.

  ‘I just wondered. As Freddie and Hattie were left-handed.’ I watched and waited for her reply.

  ‘I don’t remember, I’m afraid. I only see my son once a year. And when he was a boy, there were so many years when he lived with his father. So I don’t remember details. Why don’t you ask Alfie?‘ There was something cold and flinty about her eyes now and I felt the tables had been turned. Rae was watching me.

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll do that. I’ll ask him.’

  When I emerged from Rae’s room, Alfie was standing at the top of the stairs. I don’t know why, but I thought he looked as if he’d been there for a while.

  ‘Alfie! Were you waiting for me?’

  ‘No, I just came to see if you were OK. If you needed rescuing.’

  ‘No, I’m fine. And Rae was fine too. Not nearly as difficult as I was expecting.’

  ‘You were in there a long time.’

  ‘Was I? I suppose I was. We had quite a nice chat. It was hard keeping up with her, but we covered a lot of ground. She’s frightened, isn’t she? Frightened of stepping outside that room. It’s like she’s trying to hold something together.’

  ‘Her mind, I think.’

  ‘Yes. And she thinks if she stays in that room, just thinking about the past, she’ll be able to do it. It’s like a kind of mental agoraphobia.’ I moved away from Rae’s door towards the window. Peering into the darkness, I could see nothing outside apart from the moon and one or two bright stars. I wondered if I was looking in the right direction for Marek’s windmill. ‘Rae talked a lot about the garden. She was quite lucid about that. I think she misses it terribly. It’s so sad.’ I turned back to face Alfie. ‘What does Marek have to say about Rae?’

  ‘Marek? Who’s Marek?’

  ‘Tyler. Marek is his real name.’

  ‘Really? Sounds foreign. I thought he was vaguely Scots.’

  ‘He’s half Polish. Haven’t you ever
talked to him?’

  ‘Can’t say I have, other than to pass the time of day. Men don’t ask each other questions, Gwen, they just compare notes. Anyway, how come you know so much about him? You only just met.’

  I moved away from the window where I was getting cold and leaned against a radiator, warming my hands. ‘We chatted in the garden. And while you were rehearsing with Hattie. He used to be a psychiatrist apparently. I wondered what he made of Rae.’

  ‘No idea, I’m afraid. Does Viv know he was a psychiatrist?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you. He might have been speaking to me in confidence. He didn’t say he was. I assumed everyone else knew.’

  ‘Why would he confide in you?’

  ‘He didn’t confide in me! I just asked him if he’d always been a gardener. I had a feeling he hadn’t.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. There was something about him that said, “Colourful Past”. You can tell, can’t you? Well, I can. Some people seem… fragile. I don’t know how to describe it, really. He just didn’t seem like a gardener to me. Far too deep. So I asked him what he used to do. And he told me.’

  ‘Why did he chuck psychiatry? That must have been a good living.’

  ‘I don’t know. He was a bit vague. Disillusionment. Burnout, maybe. I didn’t like to enquire… How were things downstairs?’

  ‘We played Scrabble. One of our many ways of spending time together without actually having to communicate.’

  ‘Who won?’

  ‘Viv. Hattie makes up words and tries to pass them off as Anglo-Saxon and I wasn’t really concentrating.’ He yawned. ‘I’m knackered, so I thought I’d have an early night. Two more sisters arriving tomorrow, plus this bloody concert, so I’m off to bed.’ He leaned forward to kiss me. ‘We’ll observe the social niceties tonight, shall we? I’ll sleep in the nursery and you can sleep in your romantic garret. Maybe tomorrow night?’ He lifted a hand - his right - and stroked my cheek.

  I decided it was now or never. Taking hold of his hand, I said, ‘Alfie, you’re right-handed aren’t you?’

  He looked surprised. ‘Yes. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I just wondered. Are you ambidextrous at all?’

  He laughed and said, ‘No, I’m not! Why on earth do you want to know? Have you got some athletic Kama Sutra routine lined up for tomorrow night?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘How disappointing. So why do you want to know?’ He folded his arms, leaned back against the banister and grinned. ‘Now you’re looking distinctly shifty! Come on, Gwen, spill the beans. What’s all this about?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘There’s a photograph. Downstairs. In the sitting room.’

  The light wasn’t good on the landing so I couldn’t swear to it, but I thought Alfie turned pale. Certainly his features froze and his broad smile became fixed.

  ‘What photograph? What are you talking about?’

  ‘The photo of you playing cricket. You’re about twelve, I think. Eleven or twelve. And you’re holding a cricket bat. Left-handed.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  ‘I wonder why? I don’t remember. There must have been a reason I suppose.’

  ‘You aren’t just holding the bat, you’re actually playing. You’re standing in front of the wicket, waiting for the bowler.’

  ‘Really? And I’m holding the bat left-handed?’ He was silent, his head bowed in thought, then suddenly he looked up. ‘Ah! That was the summer of ’91. I was twelve, you’re quite right. I’d broken my arm - my right arm - playing rugby. I fell very heavily on frozen ground - might as well have landed on concrete. While I was in plaster, I started to play some sports left-handed - table tennis, badminton. I was crap, but it meant I could run around a bit, do some sport. And the playing of sport was more or less a religious observance at my school. The only way you could be excused games was if you produced a death certificate - your own or a family member’s.’

  ‘So you played cricket left-handed?’

  ‘Well, I tried. My arm still wasn’t strong enough to play right-handed, so I gave it a go. I expect that’s why someone took the photo. Plucky little Donovan making a complete prat of himself, trying to be a sporting hero. It’s all coming back to me now… I was out for a duck and the games master thumped me on the back and said, “Nice try, Donovan. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” God, he was an arsehole.’

  ‘Who took the photo?’

  ‘Don’t remember. Maybe someone took it for the school mag. Or the school brochure. The Head liked to brag about his celebrity kids and I was one of them. Rae was already well known by ’91. The first two TDHs were out by then. She donated copies to the school library. Boys used to read them by torch-light in the dorm.’

  ‘Oh… I see.’

  He laughed. ‘You don’t sound very convinced! What did you think? That I was some sort of impostor or something? An evil twin?’

  ‘No, of course not! I was just puzzled, that’s all. It seemed… a bit odd. But I knew there must be an explanation. I just wondered what it was.’

  ‘You need to get to bed. My bloody mother has tired you out.’

  ‘Do you think I should go down and say goodnight to Viv and Hattie?’

  ‘No, don’t bother. Viv was asleep on the sofa when I left and Hattie was talking about turning in soon. They’ll realise Rae has taken it out of you. Go on up to bed. Big day tomorrow.’

  ‘All right, I will then. Good night.’

  ‘Good night.’ He kissed me gently and stroked my hair. ‘Just try to relax and enjoy yourself tomorrow.’

  ‘I am enjoying myself. Everyone has been so kind to me. So welcoming. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d be really excited about having a proper family Christmas.’

  ‘Is that what this is?’

  ‘Yes! I wish you could appreciate it. It’s special, Alfie! A special family time, for your mother and your sisters. Do try to see things from their point of view. You’re an event on their calendar.’

  ‘A class act, in fact. Three nights only. All performances sold out.’

  ‘Alfie, I was being serious!’

  ‘So was I. Get to bed, Gwen. I’ll see you for breakfast. Oh - don’t touch the porridge if Hattie’s made it.’

  ‘How will I know if she has?’

  ‘Stick a spoon in it. If the spoon stands up, Hattie’s had a hand in its making. She has a special recipe. I believe the ingredients include eye of newt and toe of frog.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Sweet dreams.’ He squeezed my hand, then turned away. I watched him amble along the corridor, his hands in his pockets. He opened a door, looked back at me and raised his hand to blow me a kiss, then disappeared.

  I climbed the stairs to the attic, my heart scarcely less heavy for my conversation with Alfie. Everything he’d said was thoroughly convincing. He’d made no attempt to avoid my eye as he regaled me with his story and there was no reason to doubt anything he’d said. But I’d spent my childhood and teens sifting truth from lies, as the unholy trinity of my feckless family tried to protect me, themselves and each other from the harsh realities of life. I’d developed one hell of a crap-detector.

  So as I climbed into bed and snuggled down under Hattie’s patchwork quilt, I had to face the fact that I didn’t believe Alfie’s story.

  Not a word.

  ~~~

  Around midnight, Viv woke from her doze on the sofa, stiff and cold. She got to her feet, poked what remained of the fire until it was nothing but hot ash, then settled the fireguard in front of it. She turned out the lights and went upstairs.

  Stopping at Rae’s door, she listened for a moment, then knocked gently. There was no answer. She turned the handle slowly and entered. By the light of a bedside lamp she could see Rae sleeping, propped up in bed, her head on one side, her mouth slightly open. Her large, ugly hands lay on top of the quilt and twitched now and then.r />
  Viv approached the bedside table and lifted the tea tray her mother had shared with Gwen. Rae’s eyes opened and swivelled wildly round the room.

  ‘Sorry, Ma. Did I wake you? I just came to check on you.’

  ‘Has she gone? That girl?’

  ‘Gwen? Yes, she went to bed. Everyone’s gone to bed. It’s late.’

  ‘“Gwen”, did you say?’

  ‘Yes. That’s her name.’

  ‘I thought she told me it was Gwyneth.’

  ‘No, it’s Gwen.’

  Rae made an exasperated sound and waved her hand. ‘Oh, I shall never remember! I’m no good with names.’

  ‘Gwen won’t mind what you call her, Ma. People understand. We all get forgetful as we grow older.’

  ‘Apparently Frances calls all her men “Darling”!’ Rae chuckled at the memory. ‘Clever girl, Frances…’ Rae lowered her voice and said, ‘She’s clever too.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Gwyneth.’

  ‘Gwen.’

  ‘I meant Gwen. She’s clever. I could tell. She asked me questions.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Alfie.’

  Vivien set the tray down again. ‘Did she?

  ‘Yes, but I told her I couldn’t remember. Well, I can’t, can I? Don’t remember anything. Mind like a sieve!’

  ‘I’m sure Gwen understood, Ma.’

  ‘Exactly. That’s what I’m saying! She’s a clever girl. So we must be careful.’

  ‘Careful?’

  ‘Careful when we speak about Tom.’

  ‘Alfie,’ Viv replied wearily.

  ‘Yes, of course. Alfie. Is he left-handed?’

  Viv blinked at the random question. ‘Alfie? No, you’re thinking of Freddie. Or perhaps Hattie.’

  Rae wasn’t listening. ‘She’s clever.’

  ‘Hattie?’

  ‘No, of course not! Alfie’s girl… Gwen.’

  ‘There’s no point getting anxious, Ma,’ said Viv, picking up the tray again. ‘Let me make you some more camomile tea. It will help you sleep.’