My Mother's Silence (ARC)

by Lauren Westwood

  On New Year’s Eve, the bonfire is lit on the beach. The dry wood crackles as the sparks and cinders fly up into the black sky. The crowd begins to gather in front of the stage where the ceilidh band is set up and ready to go.

  I pick up Dad’s guitar and tune the strings. The wood is solid in my hands, a reminder of the fact that although I’ve lost so much, I still have a lot to be thankful for. It’s a new year, and a new start. Not quite the one I’d planned, but if there’s anything I’ve learned over the last few weeks, it’s that it’s best not to cling too dearly to plans.

  Nick left on Christmas morning, taking with him his dog, and a piece of my heart. It was another thing that I broke and couldn’t fix. Late on Christmas Eve, I’d gone over to his cottage. All I could see when I looked at him was the man who found my sister’s remains, the steely cop who knew all my secrets. And after everything that had happened, I knew that his sketches would remain unfinished; that I couldn’t be the woman he’d captured on the page. He obviously knew it too, because he was already well on his way through a bottle of wine. He told me that I’d hurt him: the way I’d looked at him, the way I flinched from his touch. He told me that for three years he’d been healing, getting his life back on track. And that the last thing he needed to do was fall for someone: me. And then he’d kissed me. Hard, angry, the lips that had once breathed life into mine were taking it away. He told me to go, and I left. By morning, he was gone.

  And I missed him. Once again I’d let the past dictate my future, I’d let my chance at happiness slip through my fingers… I was filled with a new regret, deeper than any I’d felt for any other man.

  In the days that followed, I did a lot of thinking and a lot of walking on the beach. I missed the sight of Kafka streaking in the surf, I missed… a lot of things. Lachlan came by, and I was glad to see him – he’d proved himself to be so much more than the ‘almost man’ by coming forward. We didn’t talk much about the past, or Ginny, or the new investigation. Instead, he talked about the future, including his plans to start a traditional music session at the pub. And I’d felt a stirring of something inside of me, something like a dream I could cling to: making music, writing my songs, rediscovering my heritage, encouraging young musicians. I’ve agreed to help him organise it, and it’s something that I’m looking forward to.

  My second visitor was much less welcome, and yet, someone I also had to face. Byron. He came the day after Boxing Day, looking smaller, penitent. We sat in the Land Rover, and when I’d seen that tartan rug folded on the seat, my anger had crystallised. Anger for myself, but also for Ginny. He’d apologised again, explained again. Hung his head, even cried a little. He’d come clean to the police and was waiting to see if they were going to take it further. I’d listened, unmoved and unfeeling, until he’d told me his news: he was leaving. He was going back to Glasgow to be nearer his son; maybe try to patch things up with his ex. And I’d known at that moment that I didn’t want him punished any further – not that it was up to me. I’d wished him luck, and meant it. I told him that I forgave him, and meant that too. Then I’d done something else I hadn’t been planning. Told him that I’d play at the festival if it wasn’t too late. He said it wasn’t; that he could arrange it.

  And now, it’s time. The rest of the band filters onto the stage, and there’s the usual ribbing and banter among musicians. I feel a strong sense of joy that I’m performing here, in front of the home crowd. Old songs that are part of the landscape of my soul, and new songs I’ve written as a tribute to Ginny.

  When we’re ready to start, the mayor speaks into the microphone, thanking everyone for coming, and wishing everyone a happy, safe New Year’s. He introduces the band and then turns to me. ‘And as we’re not so good at keeping secrets here in Eilean Shiel,’ he quips, ‘I think most of you already know about our special guest for tonight.’

  I smile and give a little wave. There are a few claps and a lot of whispering.

  ‘She’s been a country music star across the Pond,’ he continues. (I wince a little at the exaggeration.) The noise from the crowd ramps up a notch.

  ‘But we’ll never forget that she’s one of us, our own hometown lass from just across the water. So raise your hands and let’s give a special welcome to Skye Turner.’

  The crowd cheers and the other musicians clap. I stand up from my stool and take a bow. I spot Byron near the pub with a small boy, who has the same square jaw and sandy blonde hair. I feel a slight twinge at what might have been, either for me… or my sister. Mum, Bill and his family are sitting on the rugs in front. Emily’s face is shining up at me… so like hers.

  The mayor hands the microphone to me. I don’t have a speech prepared, but I know that there are some things that need to be said between me, and everyone here.

  ‘Thank you.’ My voice reverberates through the mike. ‘I appreciate your support. Fifteen years ago, I left Eilean Shiel, and most of you know why. I had just lost my sister. Ginny.’

  A hush spreads through the crowd when I say her name. ‘I’ve got a lot of regrets,’ I continue, ‘and the biggest one is that I stayed away for so long. Because home is not just a word, or a house, or a pin on a map. Home is people, and family, and the place where your roots are. The place where the healing can begin.’

  There’s more murmuring and some more claps. I cue the musicians behind me to get ready.

  ‘So tonight, I’d like to dedicate this performance to absent friends. The ones that we’ve shared the good times with and the bad. The ones who are part of this place that we call home.’ I grip the microphone tightly as my voice finally breaks. ‘The ones who may be gone, but live on forever in our hearts.’

  I cue the band, pick up Dad’s guitar, and begin to play.

  Time runs differently during a performance. It seems we’ve only just started when we get to the last song and the crowd raises a glass and their voices for ‘Auld Lang Syne’. Tears run down my face as the words touch my heart. But the deep ache of longing is tempered by a strong flame of hope. A new year… a new start… I’ve come full circle. I’m back where I belong.

  The band gets a huge round of applause from the crowd on the promenade and the people on the boats in the harbour. As we leave the stage, Bill and the boys rush up and give me a hug and a well done, echoed by Fiona and Emily. James and Katie come up to congratulate me, and even Annie MacClellan and her husband come up and shake my hand. It seems an unspoken gesture of truce, one that I am more than happy to accept. Since it looks like I’m going to be staying for a while, I’m hoping that some of my old friends might become new ones.

  Mum comes up to me and gives me a hug. I can see from the redness around her eyes that she’s been crying. ‘It was beautiful,’ she says. ‘A wonderful tribute. Thank you.’

  ‘Of course, Mum. I meant what I said. About… healing.’

  ‘Yes. I think that now, maybe we can.’

  ‘Oh, Mum.’ I put my arms around her. She feels more substantial; more like she used to. A rock in my life. One that I don’t ever want to let go of again.

  When we come apart, her eyes are shining. But not with the strange, otherworldly look from before. In fact, ever since Ginny’s remains have been discovered, she’s been firmly grounded in reality. It’s too early to hope, but I can’t help doing so.

  Lorna comes up to us and congratulates me, then asks for Mum’s help to sort out a minor crisis involving some duplicate raffle tickets at the WI booth.

  Mum takes my hand and squeezes it. ‘Off with you now,’ Mum says to me. ‘Go and enjoy yourself. I’ll see you… tomorrow.’ She and Lorna exchange a look that I can’t quite interpret. I guess it’s because I’ll be spending my first night in Skybird. I moved in this morning after Mum announced that she wants to have my old room painted. A big step forward.

  ‘OK…’

  ‘Happy New Year, love,’ Lorna says. She takes Mum’s arm and the two of them go off. As the crowd around the stage begins to disperse, I spot Lachlan with the
curly-haired woman from the pub. His arm is around her, and she’s laughing at something he said. I feel happy for him: glad that maybe he won’t be alone on New Year’s. And glad that I will. Sort of.

  I pack up my guitar and get ready to head home. I feel an unexpected little pull of dread in my stomach at the idea of spending New Year’s in a new place, a new bed. Especially one so recently vacated…

  ‘Skye.’

  My whole body jolts with adrenalin at the voice, whispered close to my ear. I turn. He’s there, his eyes a deep and intense blue, his face soft with no trace of anger.

  ‘Nick!’ I don’t care who sees, I want to kiss him. But before I can do so, he holds up a hand, a bemused expression coming onto his face.

  ‘We have a problem,’ he says.

  ‘Oh?’ I’m so happy he’s here that I don’t consider his words, and I don’t want to. I don’t want anything to come between us. Not now… ‘What problem?’

  His hands slip around my waist. ‘I thought you said your mum used to be a maths teacher,’ he says.

  ‘Yes,’ I say breathlessly. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well apparently, she got muddled up on the dates. I paid for the cottage until the end of January. But now she tells me she’s rented it to someone else. In fact…’ his look is one of mock horror ‘… they’ve already moved in. Now, I know people make mistakes but really, that’s just unaccepta—’ I stop him talking with a kiss, long and deep on the lips. I feel like I’m going to melt in his arms. Someone whistles but I don’t care. I want to stay here, where I belong.

  When we finally break off, the laughter fades from his eyes. ‘Skye,’ he says. ‘The way I acted before… I was a complete arse. In truth, I was… terrified. Of what I was feeling and of losing it so easily. That’s why I left. I’m sorry.’

  I put my hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, satisfying myself that he’s really here.

  ‘It was wrong of me to push you away,’ I say. ‘But as soon as you left, I realised that I’d made a big mistake. Again.’ I lean my head against him and he strokes my hair. ‘I kept thinking…’ I glance up at him ‘… how much I really missed your dog.’

  ‘My—’ He gives a hearty laugh. ‘Then you might be interested to know that I’ve already dropped him at the cottage.’ He presses himself close to me. ‘Though I’m not quite sure what the sleeping arrangements are going to be.’

  ‘Hmm, that’s a tricky one,’ I whisper in his ear, aware of his heartbeat quickening.

  He brushes a finger down my cheek and whispers back. ‘When can we go sort it out?’

  I put my hand on his and smile. ‘How about now?’

  Epilogue

  On a clear evening in late March, Mum and I walk slowly down to the end of the garden. The water below the rocks is black and still, and Orion hangs just above the village of Eilean Shiel. The lights across the water shimmer in the darkness, their reflections, just a little distorted, shine up from the sea. A church bell tolls in the distance, the sound rhythmic like a celestial heart.

  When I arrived in Eilean Shiel, I never expected that I would become the person I am today. I was so tired from running, my life wasted before it had even begun, the future a mixture of darkness and shades of grey. But coming back and discovering that my roots were still alive, somewhere deep beneath the frost, has revitalised me. Made me into something better than I was.

  Over the last few months, Mum’s had her ups and downs, good days and bad days. Grief works in its own time. When Bill and his family left to go back to Glasgow, she looked like she’d aged ten years in a single day. She sat in the kitchen, the kettle cold, her strength dissolved in an unstoppable flood of tears. I was there for her, and later on, Lorna had come round and taken her out for a nice meal. The next morning, she’d been back to normal. Whether that’s ‘fine’ or ‘OK’ – only time will tell.

  I too was sad to see my brother and his family go. I’d got very close to Fiona, and have come to see her as the best kind of sister-in-law, the kind who is also a friend. Emily too has gained a special place close to my heart. When I look at her now, I see my niece, not just a girl who resembles my sister. A girl with her own hopes and dreams, whom I will be proud of no matter what she chooses to do with her life. And I’m happy that I got to tell her just that before she left. That, and the only words that matter in the end: ‘I love you.’

  Bill and I aren’t quite where I’d like us to be, and I know that he still resents my long absence even if he now understands the reasons for it. I’m hoping that I can eventually become an older sister he can be proud of; one who is finally present to make new family memories. Before they left, Bill reminded me of something that Dad used to say: ‘if it hurts when it’s over then it must have been good’. And in spite of everything, spending time with them has been good. And I hope that this is just the beginning.

  Now as Mum and I walk down the dew-fresh lawn, I stop and look back. Nick is standing at the door, a solid, comforting presence in my life. One that I never expected to find, or deserve. It’s still early days, and I haven’t been the easiest person to be with as the investigation has progressed. Yet he’s stuck by me. When I’m with him, I feel a sense of calm stability, like my old soul is already well acquainted with his. He inspires me to be the best version of myself, and at last I’m learning to love and be loved.

  Sometimes it feels strange to no longer be a vagabond. But now that I have Mum back in my life, and my family, I know that I’m right where I should be. After a few tense months, the investigation into my sister’s death closed. The coroner rendered a verdict of accidental death. No charges were filed against anyone involved, for which I was grateful. The conversations seem freer with everyone in the village now, with the taboo subject of Ginny faced, discussed and cried over. Finally, we can start the process of healing, or at least moving forward. I’ve thought long and hard about Ginny, the person I thought she was, and the person she wanted to be. The choices she made that took away her future. It was unintentional, and tragic, but it happened.

  ‘Are you ready?’ I look at Mum as I unscrew the top of the urn with my sister’s ashes. I cling to it for a moment, feeling the smooth weight of it in my hands. Heavy for a jar, and yet so light to contain the weight and memory of a life. Scientists say that energy is neither created nor destroyed, it just goes to a different state. The life force that was Ginny’s lives on, not in the contents of this jar, but in the hearts and minds of the people she touched.

  ‘Yes,’ Mum says, her eyes shiny with tears. ‘It’s what she would have wanted.’

  I take off the lid. It’s as if by opening this vessel, I’m releasing the love, the memories, and the other half of my soul.

  The wind is blowing from the north. As I shake the contents of the jar, the grey ashes unfurl in a long stream blowing out to sea. They tumble and dance on the currents of air like playful sea birds unfurling their wings after a long winter’s sleep. Finally, my sister is where she would have wanted to be. Part of the sea, part of the wind and the sky. And I’m right there with her…

  ‘Come on,’ I say, taking Mum’s hand. ‘Let’s go.’

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  Books by Lauren Westwood

  My Mother’s Silence

  A Letter from Lauren

  I want to say a huge thank you for choosing to read My Mother’s Silence. If you did enjoy it, and want to keep up to date with all my latest releases, just sign up at the following link. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.

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  My Mother’s Sile
nce is a special book for me in many ways. I have always wanted to write a book that expresses my love of Scotland and Celtic music. I grew up listening to The Thistle and Shamrock radio show on NPR, hosted by Fiona Ritchie MBE, which is a testament to the power of traditional music throughout the world. When we listen to my Scottish CDs in the car, my children sometimes have to cover their ears when the pipes come in, however, I am proud to be passing on this heritage to them. If you are interested in learning more about this music, I have put together a playlist on my website.

  Eilean Shiel and the characters and events in this book are fictional. However, the setting was inspired by the beautiful Lochaber region of the Scottish Highlands. The lighthouse is a composite of three lighthouses I visited on my most recent trip to Scotland while researching this book, and primarily the one at Ardnamurchan, the westernmost point of mainland Great Britain.

  I hope you loved My Mother’s Silence and if you did I would be very grateful if you could write a review. I’d love to hear what you think, and it makes such a difference helping new readers to discover one of my books for the first time.

  I love hearing from my readers – you can get in touch on my Facebook page, through Twitter, Goodreads or my website.

  Thanks,

  Lauren

  Acknowledgements

  There are many people I would like to thank for their assistance with this book. My agent, Anna Power, my editor, Jennifer Hunt and her team at Bookouture, who were willing to take a chance on my work. I would also like to thank Ronan Winters, Chris King, and Francisco Gochez who have been with me on this writing lark for over thirteen years. I would also like to thank my parents, Suzanne and Bruce Remington, and Monica Yeo for their love and encouragement. Finally, I would like to thank my family: Ian, Eve, Rose and Grace who put up with so much, and are a continuing and much-needed source of support and inspiration.