House of Silence

by Gillard, Linda

  ‘Viv’s right,’ said Deborah, wiping her eyes. ‘Someone has to confront her with the truth. I mean…’ She laughed nervously. ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’

  ‘She’ll go barking mad!’ said Frances.

  ‘She’s already mad!’ Viv exclaimed. ‘Maybe if we remind her what actually happened Ma will go sane!’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Gwen

  When Viv had composed herself I got to my feet and, for something to do, drew the kitchen curtains. The sky was light and clear now. Snow still lay on the ground, but it looked as if it might be a fine day. Somehow, that made me feel even more depressed. I turned away from the window to find Marek watching me. He regarded me, unblinking, with an intensity I’d come to realise was characteristic of him and which reminded me - briefly, but long enough to bring a flush to my face - of our lovemaking the night before. I felt a sudden surge of happiness then, of rightness. I thought how very glad I was Marek had been here, in this kitchen with me, witnessing the family’s story. His support, though mostly silent, had meant a lot to me. To Viv and Hattie too, I suspected.

  I made Viv some fresh tea and persuaded her to eat a piece of toast. She chewed dutifully and said, ‘I presume Tom told you the rest?’

  ‘Hattie told us her version of it. And then Tom arrived… and he told us how he came to be involved.’

  ‘That was a disaster,’ said Viv, shaking her head. ‘A complete disaster. Though I must say, Rae seemed much happier once she had a real person to pin her fantasies on. I suppose what I’m saying is, she was happier once she’d finally retreated into her delusions. She’d hovered between two worlds - fantasy and reality - for years. Freddie had tried to put a stop to it, but he couldn’t. Rae just wouldn’t let go of her dead child. Her determination that he should exist wore us down. In the end we all gave in and accepted Alfie. Colluding with her seemed the easiest thing to do.’ Viv nibbled at her toast, swallowed and then continued. ‘Rae set out the toys in the nursery again. She’d go and sit there every day - sometimes she’d ask me to sit with her - and she’d talk to this imaginary child. Read stories to him. Sometimes she’d make up stories for him… I think that was probably the origin of the Tom Dickon Harry books. Alfie - or the idea of him - seemed to spark her imagination. Rae had only ever written adult fiction before and she’d never been very successful. Her novels were all out of print and the literary establishment had forgotten her. She was quite bitter about that and had been looking for a new direction. So I suppose there was a plus side to the Alfie business, in a way. The death of Alfie led to the birth of TDH and the rebirth of Rae as a writer.’

  ‘How on earth did Hattie cope with having an imaginary brother?’ I asked.

  ‘We told her the family had to play a sort of game to help Rae get over Alfie’s death. Hattie had an imaginary friend, the way children do, so it wasn’t too much of a stretch for her to imagine that Rae had an imaginary child. Of course we didn’t realise then what we were asking of Hattie. I shudder to think now… Deborah was away at university, so she wasn’t affected that much. Then Frances left home and went off to college. She’d always kept herself pretty aloof anyway. Freddie was the one who found it hardest. He felt as if he’d not just lost his son, he’d lost his wife as well. He was convinced Rae would never get well all the time she believed in Alfie. He waited, hoping she’d make a full recovery, but of course she didn’t. For years she lived a kind of dual existence. At one level she knew exactly what had happened - she remembered the miscarriage, she knew there was no child - but at another level, the fantasy was completely real to her. And therefore unassailable.’

  ‘A fantasy life can be lived as intensely as real life,’ said Marek. ‘In some cases the fantasy can seem more real.’

  Viv nodded. ‘That’s exactly how it was for Rae. She wasn’t interested in her real children. She wasn’t even interested in Freddie. He found that very hard of course and he— well, he looked for consolation elsewhere. Can’t say I blamed him. Mental illness is absolutely exhausting to deal with. It casts a shadow over the whole family. There’s no normality. You can never really relax. And eventually you run out of compassion.’

  ‘From the sound of it, Viv,’ said Marek, ‘I don’t think you ever did.’

  She waved a hand dismissively. ‘Oh, I did my best. I had to keep going, for Hattie’s sake. The poor child looked on me as a surrogate mother. But Freddie reached the end of his tether and he left. It wasn’t a marriage any more, not in any real sense. And Freddie was still an attractive man, not even fifty. He went abroad, so I decided to have one last stab at laying the ghost of Alfie to rest. I told Rae that Freddie had taken Alfie with him, that Alfie had wanted to go and live with his father. She was very upset and confused to begin with, but then she appeared to accept the news. She actually used it to develop her Alfie scenario! She concocted this story that faithless Freddie had deprived her of her only son on the grounds she was an unfit mother. That’s when the photos started to appear. Rae cut photos of boys out of magazines and newspapers and stuck them in frames. She said they were photos Freddie had sent her from abroad. Fanny couldn’t bear to see these awful things scattered around the house - they were so obviously clipped from magazines - so she took some photos herself and gave them to Rae. I suppose that was another mistake on our part. But Fanny was so clever. Over the years she managed to photograph boys who looked similar to each other and similar to Freddie - blond and brown-eyed. But their faces were never very clear, or the boy was photographed at a distance, so it wasn’t immediately obvious they weren’t the same child. Though I gathered from Tom,’ said Viv, turning to me with a rueful smile, ‘that you spotted they were fakes.’

  ‘I happened to notice one of the boys was left-handed. And Tom isn’t. That was the first thing that made me wonder about him.’

  ‘We put up with the fake photos to keep Rae happy. I even sent her fake letters from Alfie. She went on and on about how she never heard from him, not even a Christmas card, so I started to send a monthly letter home, supposedly from Alfie away at boarding school in the north of England. Deborah, bless her, faked his school reports! I remember she made Alfie good at sport and English and hopeless at maths. I’m ashamed to say that, after a while, Alfie began to seem almost as real to me as he did to Rae. I used to quite enjoy writing those letters. And they gave her so much pleasure! It was hard to believe what I was doing was wrong, but now I look back, I can see it was. But we didn’t have a master plan, we just made it up as we went along. What else can you do if someone simply won’t accept a death? The only advice we’d ever been given was to play along with her. So we did. Rae just wore us down - me, especially. Alfie’s existence made everything easier somehow. Calmer. Because Rae was calmer. And of course happier.’

  ‘What happened to Freddie?’ I asked. ‘I think Tom said he was dead by the time they filmed the documentary.’

  ‘He died of a heart attack in 1989, when Alfie would have been about ten. I wasn’t sure how the news would affect Rae so I kept it from her for a while. When I finally told her, she took it fairly well. Disappeared into herself, in fact. She talked less and less of Alfie and spent a lot of time alone in her room, scribbling in notebooks. One day she presented me with a stack of them and said she’d written a book for Alfie - would I type it up for her? That was the first of the TDHs. Tom Dickon Harry and the Haunted House. I read it and realised it was rather good and - just to humour her, really - I suggested we send it off to a publisher. Well, the rest is history… I thought this new interest would be marvellous for Rae, stop her mind wandering back to Alfie. I didn’t bargain on her claiming her non-existent son was the inspiration for her boy hero! Nor did I bargain on the books being a runaway success. I suppose Tom told you how we came to approach him?’

  ‘Yes. He mentioned his relationship with Frances.’

  ‘Tom was another of Fanny’s bright ideas. Seems lunatic now, but at the time it looked like the only way to save Rae from public
humiliation. By then she was a literary figure of some standing, with seven or eight TDH books under her belt and a huge fan base. There was a lot at stake, one way and another. So we did what we thought was best - best for Rae, best for the family. But looking back now, it seems like a series of disastrous misjudgements. Tom’s impersonation - good as it was - was directly responsible for Rae’s second breakdown and she’s never really recovered. I don’t think she ever will. She’s nearly seventy-three. Old age is taking its toll. God knows how she’ll cope if Tom pulls out, as I imagine he will now. There was a time, early on in his career, when he needed us - needed the cash and needed the kudos of TDH - but I think that’s long past.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ I replied. ‘Tom also needed a family. He’s attached to you all, in his way. Especially Hattie. I think he might find it quite hard to make the break.’

  ‘You think so?’ Viv was thoughtful for a moment, then said, ‘But he will make the break, won’t he?’

  ‘Yes. If I know Alfie - and I’m not sure now that I do - I think he will.’

  Viv didn’t reply. She sat still, gazing into space, her face tense with worry. I felt a sudden impulse to give her a hug, but self-consciousness and common sense held me back. I loved this family, but I didn’t understand them. I suspected I needed them more than they needed me, so I held back. When Viv finally met my eyes, I simply smiled and said, ‘If there’s anything I can do—’

  ‘Thanks, Gwen. You’ve been a great help, just listening. It was high time all this was sorted out. You’ve given us the kick up the backside we all needed.’ She stood up, cinched her dressing gown at the waist and said, ‘I’m going to go and see Hattie. The poor girl must be put out of her misery. Though God knows how you break news like this.’

  Marek said, ‘Would you like me to come with you? I wouldn’t want to intrude, but if you’re concerned about how she might react…’

  He left the sentence hanging in the air but the relief flooding Viv’s face answered his question. ‘Oh, would you? I’m worried what might happen if she goes off the deep end.’

  ‘I’ll leave all the talking to you. But if things get out of hand,’ he added vaguely, ‘you can leave her to me.’

  ‘Thank you so much.’ Viv’s eyes were bright with tears - whether of gratitude or fear, I couldn’t tell. Both probably.

  As Marek followed her out of the kitchen, I decided I would go up to my room and finish packing. I switched out the kitchen lights and made my way along the passageway to the hall where I found Viv and Marek standing at the foot of the stairs, gazing upwards. Rae stood on the half-landing in her dressing gown. One hand clutched the banister rail. From the other hung a doll dressed in a blue babygro. A few paces behind her stood Hattie, her face pale, but composed.

  Rae drew herself up to her full height. ‘Vivien… I have something to say to you.’

  ‘Ma—’

  ‘It’s over. Do you hear? It’s finished. Alfie’s dead.’ Rae shut her eyes and leaned on the banister for a moment, steadying herself. ‘He’s always been dead…’ She opened her eyes again and continued. ‘I have explained - explained everything - to Harriet. And now, I’m feeling very tired. I would like to go and lie down.’ She looked over her shoulder as Hattie took a tentative step forward. Rae turned back to Viv, and said, ‘Would you please look after Hattie for me?’ Her voice failing now, she added, ‘I want you to… to take good care of her.’

  As Rae crumpled, Marek launched himself up the stairs, taking them two at a time and caught her just before she hit the ground. Hattie shrieked as the doll fell from Rae’s hand, tumbling down the stairs, its limbs jerking, until it landed at Viv’s feet.

  Upstairs a door opened and heavy footsteps pounded along the hall. Deborah’s head appeared over the banister and she leaned forward, panting. Her eyes widened and a hand flew to her mouth. ‘Good God! Is Ma dead?’

  ‘No, she fainted,’ said Viv.

  Deborah stared as her sister bent down to pick up the doll. ‘Oh God, Viv, that isn’t— is it?’

  Viv gazed into the doll’s serene and glassy blue eyes. ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is.’

  As Marek passed her, carrying the unconscious body of her mother, Deborah’s lower lip began to tremble. She looked down at the group of anxious faces below and said, ‘Would somebody please tell me what’s going on?’

  Marek carried Rae back to bed and Hattie went with him to make her comfortable. Viv took Deborah back to her bedroom, leaving me standing at the bottom of the staircase, feeling useless and dreading the descent of Frances or, worse, Alfie.

  A door opened and closed quietly and Marek appeared on the half-landing. He’d only been gone a few moments, but I felt as if I hadn’t seen him in an age. I hadn’t looked at him properly for hours, not since we’d come back to Creake Hall, so it felt strange, watching him descend the stairs - this man with whom I was barely acquainted, this new lover, so very much older than me, with his silver hair and disquieting navy blue eyes.

  When he reached the foot of the stairs, he stood facing me and said, ‘I think I’d better go.’

  ‘Must you?’

  ‘I think so. The family needs time to settle down again. They won’t want outsiders. I’m going back to the mill. I’ve told Viv she can give me a call if she needs me, but I think Rae will be OK.’

  ‘And Hattie?’

  ‘The worst is over. They just need time.’

  ‘And kindness.’

  He smiled. ‘Yes. That too. Viv will look after them all.’

  ‘And who will look after Viv?’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on her. Were you planning to leave today?’

  ‘If I can. I don’t know if there are any trains on Boxing Day.’

  ‘You won’t drive back with Alfie?’

  ‘No.’

  Marek hesitated, then said, ‘You know you can come and stay at the mill if you need to get away.’

  ‘Thanks, but I think that would just confuse me further. I need to be on my own for a bit. Sort out all that’s happened… And I have to talk to Alfie when he wakes up. Attempt to explain.’

  ‘Under the circumstances, I don’t think you owe him anything.’

  ‘No, I know. But I’d still like to try and make a good ending.’ I looked up at Marek and said carefully, ‘He wasn’t just a lover, he was a friend.’

  His expression didn’t change. ‘Perhaps he still is. Or could be.’ He laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘You don’t need to close all the doors and bolt them, Gwen. You might feel differently when the dust settles. When you get back to Brighton.’

  ‘Differently about you, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. And I’d understand if that was the case.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll feel differently when I’m back in Brighton?’

  ‘No. But I still think you should take some time out. A lot has happened and a lot of it happened to you. You maybe rushed into something because— well, just because I was there. Because I listened.’

  ‘I never realised just listening could be so exhausting.’

  ‘It depends what you’re listening to. Listening - really listening - to pain is very hard. And you waste energy trying to think of ways to help. But the best way to help - often the only way - is just to listen.’

  ‘I do want to take some time to think. Mainly because how I feel about you now is exactly how I felt last night. That’s the point, really. I think I want to stop feeling what I feel about you and do some thinking about it. I mean, for a start, I live in Brighton and you live in darkest Norfolk. It will require quite an effort to even see each other.’

  ‘And I imagine you’re not wild about returning to the vicinity of Creake Hall in the immediate future.’

  ‘No, I’m not. You see what I mean? It will be complicated.’ He nodded. ‘I’m not saying “no”, Marek, I’m just saying— oh, I don’t know what I’m saying! Especially not when you look at me like that!’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like you looked at me l
ast night.’

  ‘Looking’s not a crime, surely?’

  ‘It is the way you do it.’

  ‘In which case, I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.’ With that he bent down and kissed me.

  All thoughts of an early return to Brighton evaporated as Marek’s long arms enfolded me. His long arms made me think of his long legs and one thought led to another, so that I briefly considered dragging him up to my attic bedroom, but a door banged upstairs and I heard brisk footsteps move along the corridor.

  Marek extricated himself and said, ‘I’m off. You know where I’ll be if you need me. My number’s on the board in the kitchen. I’ll wait for you to ring. If you decide to, that is.’

  ‘Of course I’ll ring you!’

  ‘I hope you do. Take good care of yourself.’

  ‘You too.’

  He turned and walked away in the direction of the kitchen.

  As I watched his retreating figure, I called out, ‘Marek!’

  He spun round, his brow furrowed, his dark eyes concerned. ‘What’s wrong?’

  I hesitated, then feeling very foolish, said, ‘I’m missing you already.’

  He grinned and said, ‘Good. See you in Brighton… Maybe.’

  I made enquiries about Boxing Day trains and drew a blank. Alfie offered to drive me all the way to Brighton, but I declined. The thought of sitting side by side in awkward silence for several hours was enough to reconcile me to spending another night at Creake Hall, which is what Viv and Hattie wanted me to do anyway. I knew Marek was right about the family needing to close ranks and bury their figurative dead, but they weren’t ready to do that yet. Everyone was braced for Alfie’s departure and none of them believed they would ever see him again. I would provide some distraction at least, a reason for them to hold things together for one more day, so I agreed to stay another night. Viv insisted she would drive me to Norwich the next day and from there I could begin my train journey home.

  Hattie and I spent much of the day sewing, saying very little. We were both exhausted, but the silence was companionable and I kept a watchful eye on her. I sensed that, as she sewed, she was piecing her life back together again in the light of her new knowledge. Every so often she would heave a great sigh, but I thought it was probably a sigh of relief.