My Mother's Silence (ARC)

by Lauren Westwood

  ‘What?’ I look at her. She’s not serious, but it hurts anyway.

  ‘I told you. I’m not going.’ The icy anger in her voice startles me. ‘Why can’t you just accept that?’

  ‘Look, Ginny… I know you said that, but—’

  ‘I am not fucking going anywhere! I am staying here. I am going to have a baby!’

  ‘A…’ No. ‘No… I don’t believe it.’

  ‘I don’t care what you believe, Skye! It’s the truth. And do you know who the father is? Do you even have the slightest clue?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You don’t love him. Or me. Or anyone but yourself. You want to use me, you’ve never asked what I want. You don’t care what I want. I love you, but I’ve had enough!’

  Driving one-handed, she unfastens the bracelet from her wrist. And then she turns and throws it at me. It hits me in the face. My cheek stings with the force of it, with the pain of her words. The hurt of what she feels. The bracelet clatters to the floor. The road curves. There’s a flashing light. She’s looking at me…

  ‘Watch out!’ I shout.

  Ginny screams.

  The road zigs. The car zags. The world shatters. And then… nothing.

  I float out of time. It’s dark, so dark. The mists are closing in. This time for good. I’ll never escape now.

  I open my eyes but there’s nothing there. Nothing but the pounding in my head. My heart, beating in time with the flashing light.

  ‘Skye! Oh my God.’ Her voice. ‘Are you…?’

  I can’t move. I can’t see her. I can’t respond.

  ‘Oh God! No. Wait here. I’m going to get help. Please, Skye… just hang on…’

  No. I want to shout. Stay with me. But I still can’t respond. Light flashes in time with the pulse throbbing in my head. One of the car headlamps is still lit. She runs past it, a dark blur, going in the direction of the flashing light. Dad’s voice: ‘Always go towards the light.’ The light, from the lighthouse.

  ‘The lighthouse…’ I gasp.

  ‘Skye?’ Far away, out of time, I’m aware of a voice. A hand on my back. But it’s not her voice. It’s not her hand. Gradually I come back to awareness. I’m soaking wet. Slumped down on the rocks. Nick… it’s Nick.

  I try to speak but I can’t. I’m gasping and shivering, and sweating all at the same time. My head feels bent like the bars of a cage where a wild beast has escaped.

  ‘I was here with her on the rocks.’ The words come rushing out. ‘She came back with me to the car. She took the keys. She was driving fast. So fast. And she was saying… things. She threw the bracelet at me. Took her eyes off the road. She… hit the rock.’ My teeth are chattering so hard that I bite my tongue and taste blood.

  ‘She thought she’d killed me. So she went off to get help. She went back towards the lighthouse.’ The road of life is full of twists and turns. Best, love, always to go in a straight line. ‘In a straight line.’ I’m gasping now. ‘Towards the light.’

  I’m aware of Nick straightening up, moving away. Leaving me alone, fallen on the rocks. He unclips something from his belt. A walkie-talkie. He speaks into it. ‘She might have gone towards the lighthouse. Check the line from the accident site. No – not along the road. As the crow flies. I’m coming now. We need to get the dogs into that gully you spotted earlier.’

  He comes back to me. Puts out a hand to help me up. I take it and get shakily onto my feet. He tries to draw me to him. I jerk my hand away.

  ‘No, Nick.’ I look away, staring out at the relentless grey sea. I don’t ever want to look at him again.

  ‘Take your time,’ he says. ‘I know this is—’

  ‘You don’t know anything. Please, just go away.’

  Behind me, he lets out a long sigh. I hear his footsteps on the rocks. And a part of me wants to take back what I just said, what I’m feeling now. But I can’t do it. I can never be the woman he sees, the woman he captured in his sketches. That woman was a lie.

  I don’t know how long I stand there watching the waves beat out their relentless rhythm. I’m aware of eyes on me from above, the same place where Jimmy and Mackie supposedly saw Ginny swept off by the rogue wave; the same place where Lachlan must have been when he saw Ginny follow me away from the rocks. Byron and Nick are standing on the viewing platform. I can’t hear what they’re saying until Byron raises his voice.

  ‘So if you want me to stay then arrest me.’ He takes a step towards Nick, his fists clenched at his side. ‘Oh yeah, you’re not even a fucking cop, are you?’

  ‘You obstructed a police investigation, mate.’ Nick stands his ground. ‘You’ve admitted as much. So I suggest you stick around for now.’

  ‘I’m not your mate.’

  ‘You said in your statement that you found her in the car. But that wasn’t true, was it?’ Nick presses. ‘She crawled out of the car and you found her. You assumed she was alone. That she was driving and had got in the accident. You moved her: put her in the driver’s seat – that’s why she wasn’t wearing a seat belt when she was found.’

  ‘I couldn’t leave her in the fucking road, could I? I had to do something. The Jeep had bad shocks. I didn’t want to drive her. But I put her back in the car. I even covered her with a blanket.’

  ‘Yeah, you were a real hero in all of this,’ Nick says with a sarcastic snort.

  ‘Look, just fuck right off, OK?’

  Byron turns and strides off. Nick’s teeth are clenched and he tightens his fist. He’s got a right to be angry. At Byron and all the other arseholes who lied. And especially at me.

  ‘Skye, do you want a hot drink? I’ve got a flask in the car. You’re shaking.’

  I turn, startled. Lachlan is standing there. He’s got a blanket. I don’t speak, but I let him drape it over my shoulders. We walk slowly back up to the car park. When we arrive, Byron is sitting in the Landy fuming. Lachlan opens the back door of his Nissan and helps me inside. I sit, curled up in a ball. I’m freezing, but I keep the door open.

  ‘Why did you lie?’ I say softly. ‘You went along with the story even though you saw her come off the rocks.’

  He lets out a long sigh. ‘I didn’t know what happened,’ he says. ‘Maggie came to find me, and I… well… was otherwise occupied for a while, so I didn’t see you or Ginny get into the car.’ He blushes a little. ‘Then Byron said you were alone when he found you. I assumed that you’d driven away and she’d stayed behind.’ He’s silent for a long moment. ‘I guess, at the end of the day, I thought it was better for you if people didn’t know that you’d seen her that night. I figured that you might have found out what was going on with her and Byron, and… well… it just seemed better to keep questions to a minimum.’

  I shake my head and pull the blanket closer around me. The others lied to protect themselves, but Lachlan lied to protect me. I don’t know if that makes me feel better… or a whole lot worse.

  ‘It was wrong,’ he says. ‘And I’m sorry. For all of it.’

  I nod, but I’m unable to speak. He stays with me for a while, and though I can’t express it, I’m grateful not to be alone. Eventually, he goes over to talk to Nick. I don’t want to listen, but I can’t help but overhear Lachlan’s question: ‘What are you hoping to find after so long?’

  ‘Bull is a trained cadaver dog,’ Nick responds. ‘He can find decades-old human remains buried twenty feet underground. You remember that case of the missing girl down Oban way about four years ago? The one who was found down in the old lead mine…?’

  Cadaver dog.

  I reach out to close the door, trying to shut everything out. But my hand is shaking too hard. It’s much, much too late.

  ‘The bottom line is…’ Nick is saying, ‘we’re in a wilderness out here. Even with the dogs, you can’t find a body if you’re looking in the wrong place.’

  As they continue to talk, I stare out at the hazy grey water. I don’t know for how long. Maybe minutes, probably more like an hour. Lach
lan goes over to Byron, comes back. Nick is on the radio again to his mates at the accident site. A hole opens up inside of me as I hear a crackling on the radio.

  ‘Yeah… would have been able to see the light from here.’

  ‘Sheep trail… pretty treacherous… slow going.’

  Another crackle.

  ‘Dog seems to have a whiff down that ravine…’

  ‘I’m coming down,’ Nick says. ‘There’s nothing more I can do up here.’

  ‘Yeah, mate… what’s that? Sorry… hang on.’

  The voice on the other end of the walkie-talkie goes dead. Nick starts walking over to me. I put my hands over my face.

  The radio crackles again.

  ‘You’d better get down here. We’ve found something.’

  41

  Someday, in the elusive, ever-changing strands of the future, I’ll unwrap my memories as I did on the coach. Some will be shiny visions of days long gone: Dad putting lights on the tree, the dogs asleep by the hearth, Ginny and me singing songs in front of a crackling fire, Mum’s face glowing as she brings in a tray of home-made biscuits. Others will be lonely and empty: stretches of road through desert, dive hotel rooms, a bottle of wine and a five-minute phone call home. And then, there will be the memory of this Christmas. Instead of twinkling lights on the tree, it will be the flashing blue lights of the police car. Instead of the patter of children’s feet, it will be ‘the knock at the door’. Instead of carols and laughter it will be the voice of the young DS as he shows his badge when Bill answers the door, three hours after Lachlan brings me back to the house. ‘I’m here to speak to Mrs Turner. Can I come in?’

  Bill stands aside. The DS enters. Nick is there too. He comes in just behind the other man. He looks at me, his face grim. I look away.

  Mum is sitting at the table with the jigsaw. She presses her lips together in a thin line as she did at Dad’s funeral. Her face is lined now and her hair is white. But for all that our bodies have aged, the sense of loss cuts just as deeply. Pain doesn’t age.

  Mum offers the two men a cup of tea. Bill goes to make it. Fiona has Emily take the boys outside. I pace back and forth in front of the fireplace. The lights on the tree, the glittery baubles, the garlands, the ornaments – they all seem gaudy and garish. Pointless.

  The DS sits down on the sofa looking nervous, Nick stays by the door, his arms folded. I wish he wasn’t here, wish I never had to see him again. Most of all, I wish that I could still somehow be the woman he’d come to care about, but know that it’s impossible now. That we are impossible now.

  ‘Mrs Turner, ma’am, I really am very sorry…’ the DS begins to speak.

  I can’t listen or stay in that room any longer. I go into the kitchen and collapse in a chair. Bill stands at the window. He doesn’t make the tea or turn around. In the other room, the DS is speaking to Mum:

  ‘… need to do some tests, but the circumstantial evidence is pointing that way. They found a pair of earrings, and a set of car keys.’

  ‘… ran towards the lighthouse to get help. Wouldn’t have seen the edge of the ravine in the dark…’

  ‘… fractured skull… probably very quick… wouldn’t have suffered…’

  ‘… Give you a call when we’re ready to release her remains.’

  Her remains. I shudder at the thought of my sister, the girl who wanted to fly, dying alone in a dark hole. Frightened, filled with remorse at what she’d done. Running to get help and not making it. How much better and more fitting a death from the cliffs would have been. Maybe that’s why everyone hid what they knew. I don’t believe it for a second, but it’s a nice idea.

  Bill abandons any pretence of making tea and goes back to the other room. I stand up too. Force myself to be strong and follow him as far as the kitchen door. My brother ignores the DS and instead focuses his anger on Nick, laying into him. Questioning him about exactly what was found, why they think it’s Ginny, and what’s going to happen next.

  Nick answers patiently and professionally. I feel a mixture of anger and admiration that he can stay so cool and detached. He repeats what the DS has said about the circumstantial evidence, adding that in his new statement, Lachlan confirmed that he’d seen Ginny come off the cliffs and follow me back up the path. He also confirmed that Ginny was wearing the bracelet and earrings that night. I think of how happy I was when I gave them to her, I think of how much I loved her – love her still – and the loss hits me all over again. I grip the doorframe to steady myself. Nick sees me, takes a step towards me. I shake my head. His face seems to close up and I can see the hurt there, the understanding dawning in his eyes. He masters himself, though, turning back to Bill and answering the question about what comes next. The investigation will be reactivated. The police will need new statements from everyone, and there will be an inquest. They could decide to pursue charges of perjury or obstruction. It’s going to be a tough time.

  Bill starts in again, but Mum raises her hand. She’s been silent all this time, sitting at the table with the jigsaw.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says, taking in both Nick and the young DS. ‘Both of you. For taking the time to come here and tell us.’ Her voice is calm and even. It sounds completely normal.

  ‘Of course, ma’am,’ the DS says.

  Nick doesn’t say anything, keeping his head bowed. This time, he seems to be avoiding looking at me. I want to say something, I want things to be different. But my throat is dry, I’m too numb even to move.

  ‘I hope both of you have a lovely Christmas.’ Mum gets up from the chair. She walks with them to the door, slowly, but standing straighter than I’ve seen her before.

  ‘You too… uh… thank you, ma’am,’ the DS says.

  ‘Thank you.’ I hear the catch in Nick’s voice. His face, though, reveals nothing.

  The door closes. It’s over. Mum turns. Frowning, she walks slowly over to the Christmas tree, bends down and reattaches a bow that had fallen off one of the presents. ‘Well, that’s that,’ she says.

  None of us speak. Mum walks out of the room to the kitchen, barely using her cane at all. Bill takes Fiona’s hand and together they sit on the sofa, both looking stunned. I perch on the arm of a chair and stare into the cold black grate of the fireplace.

  I don’t know what to do. Having cocked things up so completely and inexorably, I simply do not know what the right thing is to do. Water runs in the kitchen sink and there’s a clatter of dishes. Mum’s doing the washing-up. The three of us sit rigid.

  Then the boys burst in the front door. ‘Muddy boots!’ Fiona yells, standing up.

  Emily enters behind them, clearly in a strop. ‘Jamie kicked me in the shins,’ she says indignantly. She turns to her brother, hands on hips. ‘Father Christmas is so not coming for you.’

  Bill stands up. I stand up.

  Real life makes an entrance, and as always, it’s the star of the show.

  Grief works in strange ways. I’d expected a pall to be cast over the house, a terrible undercurrent of sadness running so deep that it even affected the children. But instead, with Mum as a barometer, the opposite seems true. It’s as though Mum has suddenly become years younger.

  Over the next few days she throws herself into preparations for Christmas, and her friends come round one by one bearing casseroles and pies. They give their condolences, have a chat, and generally find out for the gossip circuits how she’s holding up. The answer is, pretty well. I overhear her talking: ‘Yes, it’s good to finally be able to put her to rest.’ ‘Yes, it’s very sad, but it’s better to know.’ At first it seems strange that the dam of silence is broken and having the subjects-not-to-be-mentioned out in the open. But the thing that makes me the most relieved is that Mum becomes much more normal with Emily, talking with her, baking with her, getting to know her. There are no more breaks with reality.

  I, on the other hand, don’t know how to feel. I go through a kaleidoscope of different emotions, from sadness to anger, to elation at how much better Mum s
eems. I need time alone, and yet I also want to be there for my family. Bill, too, seems to be struggling. On Christmas Eve, we have a family dinner. Again I’m struck by how Mum seems like a different person: almost like the person she used to be. But when she launches casually into a discussion of ‘what happens next’ and asks Bill and me our opinion of whether or not Ginny would want to be cremated, her ashes scattered to the wind, it’s a step too far. Bill stands up and pours himself a brandy from a bottle that I haven’t seen before. Fiona makes several valiant attempts to change the subject, and even Emily looks a little horrified. Mum eventually seems to notice the silence. ‘What?’ she says, looking at each of us in turn. ‘Do you think I’m acting strangely?’ Her brow creases. ‘Maybe I am. But I’m just so happy that she’s been found. That finally we can lay her to rest. Is that… wrong?’

  ‘No, Mum,’ I say, my voice hoarse. ‘I guess not.’

  She sighs. ‘I want it all out in the open,’ she says. ‘This is the first Christmas we’ve been together in so long. I want to be able to mention Ginny’s name. Relive my memories of her. I just feel… I don’t know… relieved.’

  ‘It’s going to take time to come to terms with it all,’ Bill says. ‘I don’t think we can just move on overnight.’

  She gives him a kindly look. ‘You’re right, son. I know that. And maybe I’m being selfish here. You and Skye are affected by it as much as I am.’

  ‘I don’t know how I feel,’ Bill says. ‘I’m just worried about you.’ He takes in me and Mum.

  My eyes fill with tears. ‘I’m just so sorry,’ I say. ‘My timing, as usual, was terrible.’

  Mum puts her hand on mine. ‘Having you back is the greatest gift you could have given me. And now, in a way, I have her back too.’

  ‘If you think so, Mum,’ I say, ‘then that’s good.’ I smile, feeling only love for her.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ she says. ‘And I’m so grateful. You did the right thing, Skye. For all of us. You brought your sister home.’

  42