In Your Silence

by Grace Lowrie

  ‘Yes, did you get my message? I had a family emergency, but I’m back now. How was your trip?’

  ‘I assume you’ll make up the time?’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ I said tightly. It had been a difficult few days. I’d witnessed a violent attack and a shooting and then spent the aftermath between the police station and the hospital, waiting for news on a friend. I’d missed Melody like crazy throughout and I was seriously lacking sleep. The last thing I needed right now was Sinclair’s patronising tone.

  From the back of the van I retrieved a spade, a fork, a large plastic trug, and crunched my way across the gravel and round the side of the house. It was peeing with rain but the parterre needed a final bit of weeding in preparation for planting. Sinclair followed me, despite the weather, his footsteps ringing out on the stone terrace.

  ‘Where are you with the new exotic garden?’ his tone suggested more of a demand than a genuine question as he cast a disparaging eye over the old rose beds, now stripped of their jewel-like scented blooms.

  I sensed movement in a window above Sinclair’s head and I knew that if I looked up, I would get a glimpse of Melody for the first time since our date nearly a week ago. We’d exchanged a few texts since then, nothing more, but I got the distinct impression that she and her father hadn’t been getting on. The urge to turn my head and reassure myself that she was OK was almost overwhelming, but I didn’t want to give myself away to Sinclair, so I fought the impulse with everything I had.

  ‘I’ve prepared the ground, as you can see, but if I plant new tender species now they’ll rot and die over the winter before they’ve had a chance to establish. I can plant that area in the spring once the soil warms up.’

  ‘And these beds?’ Sinclair gestured to the box-edged parterre, his shoulders hunched against the rain.

  ‘I’ve got all the bulbs and biennials on order, they should arrive in the next couple of weeks.’

  He nodded and I stabbed my fork into the ground to work at a dandelion root a couple of yards from his feet. ‘I noticed that the glasshouse in the walled garden isn’t finished yet...’

  I sighed, sank my fork deep into the earth and straightened up, looking directly down into his bloodshot eyes. He shifted uneasily as I towered over him but refrained from actually taking a step backwards. ‘No, it’s not. But I’ve cleared it out, removed and replaced the rotten woodwork, and filled, sanded and re-painted the timber frame. It’s all ready to take the new panes of glass when they arrive, but it’ll be a two-man job getting them fitted safely and we’ll need a dry day – it’s not advisable installing glass in the rain – it makes it slippery and difficult.’ Like you, I added silently.

  ‘I see,’ he said, feigning nonchalance and taking a sideways step away from me. ‘As long as things are progressing as they should – I don’t like unnecessary delays.’

  ‘Neither do I, but gardening is subject to the weather and the seasons. It’s not as if I’ve been sitting on my hands...’

  ‘No?’

  God he was rude. ‘No. I relayed the entire drive while you were away – you might have noticed on your way in...’

  ‘Look, Mr Hunt, I’m merely trying to establish which work you have completed and that which is still to do, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t use that sarcastic tone with me – I do pay your wages after all.’

  I pressed my lips together, aggravated by his ignorance and superior attitude. How had a man like him fathered someone as smart and generous as Melody? But he took my non-answer as an insult.

  ‘If you’re no longer satisfied with your position, Mr Hunt, I’m sure I can find someone who is – you are welcome to leave.’ His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, and as his voice rose, I realised he was shaking with a pent-up rage, out of all proportion to our conversation. A less passive man than myself might have thumped him – given him the fight he was spoiling for – but he wasn’t worth the trouble.

  Instead I took a deep breath. Tempted as I was to walk away from this ridiculous little bloke in his soggy designer suit, I’d worked too hard on this project; I wanted to see it through, and anyway, I couldn’t leave Melody.

  ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to stay and honour the contract we agreed,’ I said calmly.

  Sinclair nodded curtly, lips white with tension, before marching stiffly back to the house.

  I was relieved to have avoided being fired, but I still had my pride, and being dictated to by an idiot had seriously pissed me off. Abandoning my tools where they were I retreated to the stable block to make myself a cup of tea and count to ten.

  Fifteen minutes later I was still in the old tack room, the rain hammering down on the slate roof above, when the door flew open to admit a rain-drenched Melody. Slamming the door shut behind her she leaned against it breathing hard. Her hair was dripping, her face was streaked with rain, or tears, or both, and her thin dress clung closely enough to reveal the outline of her underwear. She was a sight for sore eyes.

  I got up to go to her, but she put up a hand to stop me, a determined look in her eye.

  ‘Has he gone?’

  She nodded.

  ‘How long for this time?’

  Shaking her head she shrugged her shoulders, droplets of water spotting the dusty floor. I took another step towards her, dying to scoop her up in my arms, but again she stopped me and this time held up her phone. Clearly she was mad at me and had something to say, so I waited patiently while her thumbs, a blur of speed, tapped out a message. She’d had a mobile for less than a week, stubbornly resisting the predictive text function, and yet her messages where impressively fast and typo free. My phone vibrated in my back pocket and she eye-balled me as I retrieved her text:

  What are you doing? You mustn’t argue with him – he’ll sack you!

  ‘I haven’t done anything. He tried to start a fight and I deliberately didn’t retaliate.’

  Her eyes flashed and she fired off another accusatory text: You goaded him.

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  He wants to get rid of you.

  As I looked at her I finally recognised her anger for the fear it really was – this beautiful creature was afraid of losing me. The realisation was humbling. ‘He can try, but I’m not going anywhere,’ I said, shoving my mobile back into my pocket and advancing on her despite her shaking head and furious expression.

  She pushed her phone into my chest to stop me, and I willingly absorbed the discomfort as I gathered her in my arms and tilted her head back to look at her. Tears leaked from her eyes with frustration.

  ‘Even if I don’t work here anymore, I’ll find a way to keep seeing you. I’ll keep coming back for as long as you want me to, understand?’

  Why? she mouthed.

  ‘Because I like you.’

  Moving up onto her tiptoes she kissed me, softly at first and then feverishly, with all the intoxication of her anxiety. As she pressed close, moulding her damp body to mine, desire engulfed me like flames – I’d missed her so much; my silent temptress; passionate, proud, innocent and alluring – a perfect mess of contradictions that I could no longer live without.

  With a mischievous smile she jumped up higher in my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist and kissing me all over my face. I squeezed her bottom in my hands as I carried her over to the table and sat down with her straddling my lap. Relinquishing her phone she pushed her fingers into my hair, tugging painfully at the roots while I plundered her mouth with my tongue. God I wanted her. She might be a virgin, but right now she was horny as hell and loudly begging me for relief with her body and her dilated eyes.

  On impulse I cupped a hand between her legs and she pushed against the base of my thumb, the cotton of her knickers hot and wet with her arousal in my palm. At first the expression on her face was somewhere between awe and stubborn determination, but as she began to rock her hips she found a rhythm and started panting; her lips parted, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed and fixed on mine. I’d never see
n anything more erotic or more beautiful in my life. She seemed to hold her breath in the taut seconds before she came; her musky seductive scent filling my nostrils and the hammering of the rain intensifying, as if spurring her on. And then she peaked; exhaling in a great, juddering rush, her head falling back as her body convulsed over and over again with pleasure.

  I almost came myself from the sheer intensity of watching her fall apart in my hand. While she was still catching her breath I eased her off my lap and gently set her down in a chair. Counting to ten in my head, I deliberately pictured spreadsheets full of boring figures, willing my erection to subside. Once I was sure I had control of myself, I crouched down before her and looked up into her face.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  A slow smile spread out across her mouth and she bit her lip as she nodded, her emotions as obvious and infectious as ever.

  ‘You are so beautiful,’ I said smiling back at her. ‘Was that... have you ever...?’ Why was it so hard to say the words out loud? Taking my mobile from my back pocket I tapped out a message while she waited with a bemused expression.

  Have you ever come like that before?

  I half expected her to laugh at me, but she looked serious as she read my question, considering her reply and keeping me dangling with anticipation. At length she looked straight at me, defiantly, and shook her head; and I knew it was the truth. Oh lord, I’d corrupted an angel, I was going straight to hell.

  ‘God I’m sorry, Mel, did I hurt you?’

  She shook her head adamantly and squeezed my hand, but it didn’t assuage the sense of guilt that was now creeping inside me. Rising to my feet I rubbed my face with my hands, traces of her delicious scent taunting me, while she retrieved her own phone, tapped out a message and shoved it under my nose.

  It was amazing – I want more. Please.

  Her polite audacity made me laugh out loud and she grinned back at me unfazed. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ I said, pulling her into a hug, ‘ but I really should get back to work.’

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Holy moly. So that was an orgasm!

  I’d read all about it of course; I’d swotted up on the theory behind the vagina, the clitoris and the G-spot, but touching myself there had always been about as underwhelming as a medical examination. Nothing like being touched by Liam.

  For a moment there I’d been afraid I was going to wet myself – pee all over his hand like an excited puppy. But wow was it amazing. I actually saw stars! Splodges of coloured light anyway, and now my whole body felt relaxed as if all my bones had been separated and put back together again more loosely. And if Liam could do that to me with one hand, fully-clothed, I couldn’t possibly imagine what the rest of his naked body would do to me...

  I think he thought I was joking when I asked for more, but I really meant it – I even said please. I hope he meant it when he said he liked me and that he wouldn’t leave, because I was in no way ready to let him go.

  The heavy rain diminished to a persistent drizzle as Liam worked his way methodically around the terrace and then the walled garden; weeding beds and turning the earth as he went. I wanted to join in and help, but he was surprisingly insistent about my staying indoors. I sat in the upstairs bedrooms sulking – splitting my attention between proofreading the website text for a company which made pregnant bumps for the entertainment industry, and watching Liam digging with mesmeric masculine power and skill.

  As the day wore on I started to worry. Was he regretting what had happened between us in the old tack room? Was my inexperience a turn off? I’d considered lying about it but he’d have seen straight through me. And why didn’t he orgasm? He looked aroused and yet he’d kept his clothes on and held back again. Was he going off me?

  From the nursery window I could see him carefully weeding around the rosemary bushes, pulling out handfuls of spaghetti-like mint roots. On impulse I picked up my phone and messaged him:

  Why won’t you let me help? I want to be near you.

  He glanced up at me and smiled as he paused in his work, breathing hard. Wiping his forehead on his bicep and his hands on his thighs, he then reached into his back pocket to retrieve his mobile. I didn’t have to wait long for his reply:

  I want to be near you too, more than you know, but I don’t want you getting ill again.

  His words were touching, but it was not the answer I’d wanted, so I sent another:

  I won’t – I’ll wear a big coat.

  He laughed as he read it; I could make out the lovely warm rumble right through the glass, but he shook his head as he replied:

  Stay put, you’re too distracting.

  Sod that. Discarding my manuscript I ran down the back stairs, past the kitchen and towards the back door; but he’d anticipated my impatience and I ran straight into a wall of hot, damp muscle as he intercepted me in the laundry room.

  His distinctive earthy scent engulfed me as he bent down and kissed me firmly on my startled mouth.

  ‘I mean it, Mel,’ he growled. ‘You’re all I can think about and I have so much to do. If I stand any chance of holding onto this job, then you have to let me work.’

  His confession gave me hope – he was all I could think about too – but I didn’t want him to lose his job. It dawned on me that I was letting my newly discovered lust get the better of me. One orgasm and I was behaving like a fool.

  ‘And anyway it’s miserable out there,’ he added more softly. ‘How about I take you out on another date at the weekend? Anywhere you like...’

  I shook my head.

  ‘We could go for dinner again, or go see a movie...?’

  Stepping back away from him I stared at the phone in my hands. Why was he so keen to make me leave this place? I was happy here and if he kept his job we could stay friends without my having to leave.

  ‘Are you afraid of what people will think of you? Because you shouldn’t be.’

  I tapped out a reply: I couldn’t care less what people think of me.

  ‘Then why are you so reluctant to go out in public?’

  Just because I’m comfortable with who I am doesn’t mean I like being stared at and taunted.

  He gaped at me in surprise. ‘Mel, if people stare at you it’s because you’re beautiful and they’re envious – either that or they want you for themselves. And I can’t imagine anyone taunting you, why would they...?’

  As much as I appreciated Liam’s kind words, he obviously didn’t understand what it was like being different; being an outsider; being me.

  ‘Mel?’ His features were drawn with concern.

  I shook my head again, abandoned my phone on the side, stepped around him and stalked outside to the stables. Dragging out my trusty bicycle I hopped up onto the saddle and steered myself out into the rain. Liam stood observing me from the terrace, and I regretted the look of worry that was clear on his face, but I needed this. With a life like mine, full of frustrations, I needed to feel free; and this was the best way I knew how.

  Leaving Liam behind to get back to work, I pedalled fast along the smooth pathways that he and Olly had so skilfully restored. The sinuous surface provided the perfect track on which to race around the grounds; free-wheeling down the slopes and skidding around the bends; the wind in my hair and the rain on my face. Maybe I was crazy, and maybe Liam was realising that and would never give me another orgasm. Maybe I would remain a virgin forever. Right now I didn’t care, I only needed to ride.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  It had barely stopped raining for three weeks. Once or twice an abrupt downpour descended from the skies, batting the last leaves from the trees, drilling the surface of the lake and spattering the paths with mud. But for the most part it was a persistent misty drizzle; the kind that hung in the air, slunk between the trees and subtly seeped into your hair and clothes until you were soaked to the bone. All that moisture kept the night temperatures from dipping too low, and softened up the ground which made planting easier, but I saw far less of Mel.<
br />
  I used the time to fill the flower beds with scented wallflowers and sackfuls of spring-flowering bulbs – narcissus, tulips and alliums – to provide a successional display of colour once the winter had passed. In the walled garden I re-stocked the herb beds with fresh marjoram and sage, cut back the summer-fruiting raspberry canes, planted garlic and onion sets and sowed several rows of a hardy variety of broad bean. Working long hours I kept myself busy and tried to think about other things.

  Recently, and unexpectedly, I’d bumped into my ex-girlfriend. It wasn’t clear from our brief exchange whether she was back in Wildham for good or not, but it was strange to realise it made no difference to me. Cally was caught up in her own life, and though I still cared about her, in truth, I’d moved on.

  Lester was back in rugby training now that his leg had healed, and was grateful for the physical distraction. Though Maire was doing well and her scans showed a healthy baby, my brother was worried about the birth. Whenever he wasn’t with his wife, he was checking his phone continuously. We all teased him about it, but I understood his concern; I knew how much Maire meant to him, now more than ever.

  Once I’d run out of planting work, I ripped up the entire formal lawn below the terrace. I began by stripping out the lumpy, weed-infested grass; enriching the ground with fresh topsoil, sand and fertiliser; and rolling and raking the bare earth to a perfectly level finish. Laying and piecing together the fresh green lengths of turf was like completing a giant jigsaw puzzle, but the result would be an emerald carpet neat enough to play croquet on.

  It was no coincidence that the projects I chose to focus on were all within reach of the house; I was drawn to Mel as if she held gravitational power over my mind and body. For the most part she simply worked inside where it was warm and dry; casting an occasional glance in my direction through the windows. But for an hour each day she emerged through the mist like an apparition to meet me for lunch in the stables. I looked forward to those moments every minute we were apart.

  Through unspoken mutual agreement, we maintained a careful physical distance between us; covering safe topics of conversation like the grounds, the changing season, rugby and music. I discovered that she liked Paloma Faith and Natalia Kills – artists I knew little about, but made a mental note to look into. One day she brought an absurdly outmoded disc-man with her, and I donned her headphones while she played me ‘Go’ by Delilah.