Don't Say a Word

by A. L. Bird

‘Is Louise going to pick me up?’

  ‘No, poppet, it will be me.’

  I don’t know how. I have no car. Dan’s, maybe? He could add me on the insurance. Unless he needs it. Anyway. Detail.

  ‘I’ll pick you up, we’ll come back home, and Dan and me will help you with your homework.’

  ‘I don’t need help.’

  ‘Of course you don’t; you’re wonderful. Now, you read for a little bit then go to sleep, OK?’

  ‘OK.’ He nods, and lets me kiss him goodnight.

  After another ruffle of Josh’s hair, I retreat into the corridor. I pad back into the living room, where Dan is cleaning up the kitchen.

  ‘Hey,’ I say.

  He turns to face me.

  ‘Hey there! Nearly done here. The little guy off to sleep?’

  I nod. ‘He will be soon. He’s just reading for a bit.’

  ‘He’s a star, you know. You’re lucky.’

  Lucky is one of the few things I’ve felt recently. But Dan’s right. Josh is a star. A twinkling marvel, light years from the dark place we left back in Doncaster.

  ‘We’re both very lucky to have you look after us,’ I say. ‘You’re great with him.’

  Dan shrugs. ‘I kind of thought, with my ex, there’d be kids, you know?’

  ‘You’ve still got time,’ I tell him.

  He nods. ‘I guess.’ He turns back to cleaning the kitchen.

  ‘Can I help?’ I ask, looking at the pans still piled up on the side.

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ he says. ‘Relax; put your feet up. You’ve had a nightmare few days.’

  I nod. He’s right. I want nothing more than to be curled up in bed. My own bed. Not the one back at our flat. Not the one here. One I actually own. Mine. I haven’t done that since I was ten. And even then, it belonged to my parents. So I guess I’ve never really had my own bed. But I’m lucky. Sure, I’m lucky.

  ‘I might just turn in,’ I tell Dan. ‘Who knows what this week will bring? I should turn in while I have the chance.’

  ‘Oh, OK.’ Maybe Dan thought we would have some grown-up chat time. That maybe he’d find out a bit more about those scars he found so interesting. ‘Can I make you a hot drink, a nightcap maybe? I have some very nice rum liqueur and two glasses?’

  I smile at the offer. ‘No, I’m good thanks. Goodnight. Thanks again for all you’re doing.’

  ‘My pleasure. Genuinely.’

  I wonder if I should kiss him again. The strain of the day got in the way of those original romantic leanings. The lights are down low in here, I notice now. Perhaps I should stay a little longer?

  But Dan has turned his back again, focused on the kitchen. So I retreat, back towards ‘my’ bedroom.

  Josh’s light is off, I notice. He must have finished reading. Good boy. I walk into my room and leave the door ajar. If anything happens in the night, I want to hear it. I get myself ready for bed, take off the dressing gown, and pour myself into the lovely soft bed. I flick off the light, expecting to welcome sleep.

  But it doesn’t come. I wait and I wait and I try and I try but my eyes just won’t grow heavy. What about Josh’s uniform – where is it? He can’t be Henry the Eighth all day. And shit, what about getting there and to work? I don’t have a car and I’ve no idea about bus routes. And a key! I don’t even have a key! Christ, why’ve I come to bed? There’s so much to do.

  And I’m going to have to talk to Bill in the morning, explain the situation, my weekend phone call. That I’m now living with a barrister we’re using on a case (although, wait, it’s a secret case Tim said – so I can’t even mention it). And somehow explain to Tim that we no longer need Louise (although, maybe we do, I don’t know yet – Dan said to wait). I should really give her a call. And fuck knows what news Sarah is going to phone about this week. It could be anything now. A new home. A new life. Parole for Mick. Anything, and it’s all shattered just like that.

  Takes me back to those early nights at foster homes and children’s homes: how do I get to school? Is it still the same school? How will they treat me in the morning? Will that other, evil-looking kid turn out to be OK? Should I even bother going downstairs in the morning, or just hide here? What are my chances of sneaking out unseen? Having some time to myself, unobserved?

  What is Josh thinking now, I wonder? Is he hiding? Have I missed signs? He seems happy, but is he miserable with this situation? He’s reading and eating and smiling but maybe it’s all pretend. Maybe he’s going to run away, try his own version. Rather run than be snatched but still, still, he’s got to trust that we’ll be OK. I’m sure he does but are we safe? I think so, Dan is right – the place is locked, he has the key (key, shit, again, why am I in bed rather than at an all-night locksmith’s?).

  We’re fine. I should have checked on Josh though. Make sure he was actually asleep, rather than quietly crying to himself. And that he was actually – there! Oh shit! I leap out of bed and run to the corridor, through to Josh’s door, peer round it.

  He’s there. Of course he’s there. Lovely sleeping form tucked up in the sleigh like my own special present.

  I tiptoe out of the room again.

  Right. Well. I’m up now. And that adrenaline isn’t letting me back to bed in a hurry. About time to check the bad mobile then, right? While I’m hyped.

  Oh shit!

  The bad mobile.

  I left it at the hostel.

  Did I? Maybe I didn’t. Maybe it’s in my room. I rush back in, check through my few meagre possessions. No, no, no. It’s not there.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and bite back tears. How could I have forgotten something like that? Fuck knows what will happen to it. It’s too old even to have proper security locking. Will the refuge keep it for me? Should I go back? I’ll have to, won’t I? But I shudder at the thought, and my heart screams a ‘no’. I’m not going back to that place – somehow I feel if I step back in, I’ll never step out again. Or that when I come back here, Patricia will have taken Josh. He’s more important than the phone.

  But it’s my Chloe radar. One little tool in the arsenal that allows me to know how close discovery is. All those messages, all those breadcrumbs, lost. I bang my hand down on the bedspread. I can’t feel bereft about this. I can’t feel more alone or at threat. I’m here with Dan. I shouldn’t even have been doing Chloe the favour of listening to those messages. I have to treat her as gone. The more gone I can believe her to be, the less chance she has of coming to get us.

  I’m weary again now. The phone’s loss feels like a bereavement and it’s exhausted my brain. But I wouldn’t be able sleep. I would just lie here, visualizing my phone. Someone else getting those Chloe phone calls. Someone maybe bagging the phone up in plastic and sending it to my witness protection team. Shit. Oh, well then – if they listen to it, so what? Perhaps they’ll get it. Perhaps they’ll understand that whatever they do, they can’t keep me in a safe little bubble. If they haven’t grasped that already.

  It’s no good staying in here, just me and my brain. Even if I did manage to sleep, I won’t like the dreams. I push myself off the bed, leave my room, and tap open the door into the kitchen diner, fully expecting Dan still to be labouring on the pots and pans. But it’s all dark in there. Has he gone to bed too? I’ve lost track of time.

  I go back into the corridor and hesitate. Should I go back to my room and try again to sleep? I sigh. Unlikely to happen. I’d rather chat to Dan, and he seemed up for a good conversation earlier. So I’ll try his bedroom.

  I walk along the corridor and knock lightly on his bedroom door.

  ‘Come in!’ calls Dan’s voice.

  So I do.

  Chapter 27

  Dan is lying on the bed, reading a book, his shirt untucked. The lights are low, comfortable, cosy. There’s some light jazz music playing softly in the background. No sleigh bed here – there’s a wrought-iron bedstead with intricately crafted footboard and headboard. My mind flits t
o handcuffs, then away again. I’ve escaped that previously; no reason to worry about it again now. I’m sure.

  ‘What’s up?’ Dan asks, putting his book down.

  ‘Can’t sleep,’ I tell him. ‘There’s too much going on in my head.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ he says. ‘You’ve got so much going on.’

  I give a big sigh.

  ‘Come on,’ he says, rolling over to a sitting position and patting the bed. He puts the book facedown on the bed and turns off the music. ‘Take a pew. Tell Uncle Dan all about it.’

  I give an involuntary shiver. I got sick, over the years, of people telling me they were my uncle. They weren’t. And if they were, I wouldn’t want to be their niece. I remain standing.

  ‘I don’t bite,’ Dan says. ‘Come on. Sit.’

  I sit down on one side edge of the bed and take in his room. He’s said he remodelled it post her so let’s see what he’s done. There’s a large black lacquered wardrobe with a mirror and some fun little alcoves, a stand-alone sink and washstand – complete with shaving towel rail. A cherry-wood chest of drawers stands proudly next to the door, with an old-style shaving kit on a tray on top of it – one of those round brushes, plus a pearl-handled razor blade. Cut-throat, I guess, if he’s keeping to the traditional theme.

  The walls are covered in classic old film posters – The Kid, with Charlie Chaplin hugging a young boy to him. King Kong, the powerful gorilla holding a woman aloft above a building. The Red Shoes – a scantily clad ballerina dances, watched by two men. On another wall, The Godfather, a man in black next to an anonymous hand pulling the strings of a marionette. There’s also a picture of woman, her naked back to the camera, cello markings branded onto her back. It’s a powerful, sensual, mix.

  ‘You’ve had fun with this room,’ I tell him.

  ‘You like it then?’

  He seems pleased. I wonder how many women he’s had in here since he redid it, after his ex left.

  I nod. ‘Yes, it’s cool. Very masculine.’

  ‘Well, last time I checked I was a man, so …’

  I mock-hit him on the arm.

  ‘So come on, what’s bothering you?’ he asks me. ‘Assuming you didn’t just want an excuse to come into my sleeping quarters.’

  Yes, let’s assume that.

  ‘Oh, there’s so much, Dan! Like – getting to school and to work tomorrow. I don’t have the car. How am I meant to do that?’

  ‘Simple. Tomorrow I’ll be your taxi driver, but I’ll make a call during the day and add you to the insurance, until it’s safe for you to pick up your own car. Next!’

  ‘Really, Dan – you’d do that?’ Why is he doing so much for me? What’s in it for him? Maybe he just thinks I’m worth it. It shouldn’t be that hard for me to believe.

  ‘Of course I would. We’ve got to sort this out for you. Come on, what else is troubling you?’

  ‘Just all of it – I wanted to do so much for Josh, you know, and now he’s basically homeless and –’

  ‘Hey.’ Dan takes my hands. ‘Two things. Some of the best people I know have been homeless.’ He kisses me on the nose. ‘Besides which, you’re not homeless, you’re here with me.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Second of all, you are a fantastic mother, so do not worry on that score. Josh clearly adores you, and you do very well for him.’

  ‘What – putting him in a position where we get kidnap threats under the door, and people from social services threaten to take him away?’ Saying it out loud again makes it worse. I feel suddenly shaky. ‘I mean, Jesus, Dan – what if someone had got him? What if some idiot assesses us and thinks he’s not safe with me? I can’t lose Josh, I just can’t Dan, you’ve got to understand –’ I’m crying now, and the words sort of melt away into sobs.

  Dan’s pulling me into a hug. His eyes are moist.

  ‘It’s OK, Jen. I get it. I know what it’s like to lose someone. You’ve just got to do whatever it takes to make it OK.’

  ‘How? How is it going to be OK? They could call any minute and tell me Mick is out, or that someone’s coming to take Josh to a children’s home. They can do that!’

  ‘Not on my watch, Jen. You protect Josh, and I’ll protect you, OK?’

  I nod. ‘OK.’

  ‘And you’ve got to look after yourself too, OK? Put yourself first occasionally and –’

  ‘And Josh – what about Josh?’

  ‘OK, put yourself and Josh first. That’s all that matters, OK? That you’re happy, as well as safe.’

  ‘You matter a bit too,’ I tell him, looking up from our hug.

  ‘No I don’t,’ he tells me. ‘Not in the scheme of things. Don’t let me under your skin.’

  ‘You do,’ I insist. ‘You do matter.’ And I want to show him he matters. So I kiss him. On the lips. Not the gentle, timid kiss of earlier. A proper kiss. A kiss that should tell him how so so grateful I am for all that he’s doing, but also how so so (actually so so so) attractive I actually find him, and how I so much enjoy being with a man like this (OK, any man, in this moment) after such a long (crazily crazily) long time.

  And I think, yes, he does get it, because he’s kissing me back, and he’s leaning heavily towards me now, pinning me down almost on the bed, so much that I can’t move almost for the weight of him on top of me, and I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, he’s too heavy, I –

  ‘Jen, what’s wrong? What’s wrong?’

  What is wrong? I don’t know. But I do know.

  ‘Um, it’s been a while. I just felt a bit …’

  ‘We don’t have to, I’m sorry,’ he says. He pulls away.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ I say. ‘More than fine, but can we maybe …’ Maybe what?

  I don’t want to say it – ‘I’d like to be on top’ sounds so crude. So I don’t form the words. Instead, I roll him gently over, I put one leg either side of him, and I straddle him. I’m in control again. I can breathe.

  And, like that, we undress each other. He sees my scars, and my tattoo, but he doesn’t comment. He reads them, I hope, like I thought my dream man would. And although I can’t see her, I imagine the cello-woman on the wall. Her markings are imposed upon her, but they are now part of her. They make her who she is, and she is celebrated. So, as Dan celebrates me, I let him in. I could cry, so easily, but I don’t. Because the fact of not having felt this for ten years is a strength, not a weakness – it’s a strength that I’ve been protecting Josh so long.

  As Dan comes, I arch myself away from him, willing my insides to respond in tandem with his. But as I’m arching up, Dan holds on to my wrists. Hard. And pulls me back towards him again.

  Odd, when he told me that he didn’t matter and I should put myself first.

  Chapter 28

  The morning is delicious.

  I wake up to sunlight and a snuggling Daniel.

  ‘Hey,’ he says, kissing me gently.

  ‘Hey,’ I say back.

  He hugs me tightly and I relax into his grasp.

  ‘Treasure this moment,’ he says.

  ‘I am,’ I tell him.

  ‘Whatever comes next,’ he says. ‘Just remember now, being here with me.’

  I prop myself up on one arm.

  ‘Why so intense?’ I ask him.

  ‘Because if you don’t savour these moments at the time,’ he says, ‘you’ll spend a lifetime trying to get close to them again.’

  I rest my forehead against Dan’s, and we stay there, thoughts separated only by skin. The moment is captured. Then, it moves on. Reality won’t wait. ‘We should get out of bed,’ I tell him. ‘You’re playing taxi driver to me and Josh this morning, remember?’

  ‘I’m sure Josh would rather have a lie-in, then you and I can phone in sick. We could stay here, all day.’ His tone is lighter now, more jocular.

  ‘Nope,’ I tell him, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. ‘That’s not what being a parent is.
Now, where’s my dressing gown?’

  ‘I’m not a parent, I’m a chauffeur,’ Dan mutters. ‘Don’t worry about the dressing gown; we’ll have a naked breakfast.’

  ‘I refer you to my first comment re parenting. Come on, be good.’

  ‘All right, all right.’

  Dan gets out of bed, wraps himself in a gown, and splashes some cold water onto his face at the sink. ‘I’ll put the kettle on then grab a shower,’ he tells me.

  We take it in turns to get up then, when we’re fully decent, I go in to wake Josh. He’s already awake and dressed for school (not in Henry the Eighth regalia; seems I did manage to pack his uniform). He gives me a big grin. He won’t stop grinning all the way through breakfast, looking from me to Dan and back again.

  ‘What are you so cheerful about?’ I ask him.

  But I know. He knows. Even if he doesn’t get that there’s been sex, he gets the change in the dynamic. We’re all lovesick with each other.

  On the drive to drop Josh off at school, Dan treats Josh to a rendition of the Star Wars theme tune. Josh joins in, and even I do for part of it. When we get to the school gates, we quieten down. I turn round to face Josh.

  ‘If there’s anything, anything at all, that seems odd to you at school today, you get the office to call me and I will come straight over, you understand?’

  He nods. ‘I understand, Mum.’

  ‘I’m sure there won’t be anything, but …’

  ‘I’ll just tell the teachers that my dad came back from the dead over the weekend so if they see a zombie patrolling the grounds, it’s for me.’

  Ah, good point. The school doesn’t know the real version of the story. Well, the version that Josh now knows, anyway. Total reality is on a strict need-to-know basis, and so far I’m the only one who’s had to know it. And Chloe, of course.

  ‘Josh, I’m serious. Look, let me come in and have a little word with the teachers.’

  Josh shakes his head. ‘It’s fine, Mum. Honestly. All that stuff about seeing Dad. I don’t need it. I’ve got you, and I’ve got Dan. We’re good.’

  And he leans forward, kisses my cheek, jumps out of the car, and runs off towards the gates before I can even consider escorting him there.