The Silence Before Thunder

by Kathy Shuker

  Eleanor studied the girl’s face long and hard. She sat back, a little heavily.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So I can arrange it when the doctors are happy to discharge you from here?’

  ‘Yes.’ Eleanor sniffed. ‘I hope the coffee is better than this stuff.’ She waved a dismissive hand vaguely towards the door where the drinks trolley usually stopped.

  ‘Now I know you’re getting better.’

  She looked smug, thought Eleanor. No, she looked relieved. Why? Eleanor knew she was missing something. And it was something she felt she ought to know, something she did know perhaps but couldn’t quite grasp.

  *

  ‘The doctors recommended this place to me,’ Jo said.

  Lawrence was sitting at his desk, staring at the website of The Moorhill Centre. It was Monday morning and Jo had sent him the link from her phone, insisting that he look at it while she stood there, waiting.

  ‘I went there on Saturday to look round,’ she said, ‘and spoke to a couple of the patients. The staff call them “residents”. Anyway, they were very positive about how much it had helped and said it was comfortable there.’

  ‘I should think it is,’ said Lawrence. ‘Have you seen the fees?’

  ‘You’re saying Eleanor can’t afford it? I don’t believe that.’

  ‘Not exactly but I’ve told you before: she’s not made of money these days. It’s not something to rush into. It’s expensive.’

  ‘Because it offers great therapy and a comfortable environment. So sell some shares.’ She gestured impatiently with her hands. ‘Take out a loan. Get these supposed friends doing the workshops to pay their keep since you say they don’t. It must be doable. It won’t be for long but Eleanor needs it now, not next year. Or are you suggesting she doesn’t warrant such treatment?’

  He turned in his chair then and stared at her.

  ‘If you could hear yourself, Jo. You sound like a petulant teenager.’

  ‘And you sound like a pompous headmaster. I’ve spoken to Eleanor about this place. She likes the sound of it and has agreed to go. The centre has confirmed to me that they have a place. I’ve downloaded the form to fill in and I’ll get the doctor to fill in the necessary parts of it. All I want you to do is organise the money. I’m just giving you warning. I’ll keep a check on when she’s being discharged.’

  He smiled thinly. ‘You’ve already taken it out of my hands.’

  ‘I’m anxious to do whatever is best for Eleanor. I assumed you would be too.’

  ‘Is Eleanor in a position to make this kind of decision? Does she know she’s paying for it?’

  ‘Yes, she knows. I’m tired of you trying to save Eleanor’s money. It makes me wonder why. What better use of her money is there than to make her well again? The doctor recommended it. I explained that the place was private and Eleanor agreed. As far as I’m concerned that’s good enough. I don’t understand why it isn’t for you too. Or do you have an agenda I don’t know about?’

  His expression darkened. ‘I won’t grace that with an answer.’ He turned back to his computer. ‘Just give me the account details when all the arrangements have been made and I’ll sort it out.’ He flicked her a black look. ‘And you can put your instructions in writing to me too. I’m not taking responsibility for this.’

  ‘Fine.’ She didn’t move. ‘Have you seen Sidney?’

  Lawrence dragged his eyes from the computer screen again and settled a condescending gaze on her.

  ‘The cat? No.’

  ‘He’s disappeared.’

  ‘I warned you he might, if you remember. Push the door to as you leave, will you?’

  Jo walked out of his office, bristling with anger and frustration. She made herself a mug of tea, exchanged a few words with Charlotte and went to Eleanor’s office where she sat for several minutes, staring at her blank laptop but doing nothing.

  Getting Lawrence to agree to the centre had been a victory of sorts but it felt small. That she had manipulated him didn’t concern her much; that she was keeping things from Eleanor did bother her. But, since the fall, Eleanor had no filter; she often repeated what was said to her, sometimes hours or even days after the conversation. And she was brutally honest. If she thought it, it came out of her mouth. Like a child who has recently learned to talk, Eleanor seemed unwilling or unable to stay silent. Jo dared tell her nothing of importance, not until her aunt could understand its significance and keep it to herself.

  She booted up her computer and tried to immerse herself in her current editing brief. Normally she would have enjoyed the distraction but she struggled to concentrate. There had been no sign of Sidney since he’d left the house on the Saturday morning. Something had happened to him, she was sure. He wouldn’t stay away from choice. Repeatedly she had called him and gone out searching for him but every time she had drawn a blank. Now, after three-quarters of an hour of fruitless screen time, she got up and went outside again, checking all his favourite places. Half an hour later, she walked down to the village and wrote a card to put in the window of the convenience store, describing him and asking for information to help find him, adding her phone number. On a whim she bought a packet of four sausage rolls and headed back to the house. Stowing the rolls, an apple and a can of fizzy orange in a cotton shoulder bag, she went down to the beach.

  It was deserted. Harry didn’t seem to have been down for a while; she had made a point of glancing down several times recently. Of course he was working part-time at the café now. Or maybe he’d found out that she had gone out with his father. That wasn’t likely to have gone down well.

  She walked to the water’s edge and watched the waves rolling onto the shore and sucking back, eating up the beach. The tide was coming in. She retreated to a rock higher up and sat, her thoughts running in pointless circles. She hadn’t found an opportunity to speak to Vincent yet but she could already guess how that would play out. Louisa must have been out on the estate and not just at the den as she first claimed or she wouldn’t have seen Vincent going to the house. So he would probably accuse Louisa of suspicious behaviour just as she had accused him. It would be one person’s word against another.

  Jo remembered seeing Vincent lose his temper years ago and she remembered him sounding off when he’d had too much to drink. He could be arrogant at times, opinionated certainly - politically he used to be quite right wing - but he always used to back down when challenged. He was a weak character. There again, maybe being weak made him dangerous. Weak people sometimes overreacted didn’t they? And he had been angry with Eleanor earlier that night. But what was Louisa doing out prowling the estate while Frank was away? Maybe Louisa was simply trying to put up a smoke screen. The more she saw of her the more that woman bothered her: Louisa had a steely, vindictive nature. What Jo wouldn’t give to see inside her jewellery box.

  A scuffing noise made her turn her head. Harry had just skidded and nearly fallen down the side of a rock as he picked his way round the cliff edge. He found a surer footing and paused, not far away, looking at her.

  ‘Afternoon,’ she said. ‘Those flip-flops’ll break your neck one day.’

  ‘None of your damn business.’

  ‘Don’t swear at me, Harry. No, you’re right. You wear what you want. It’s your neck. But don’t do it here and cause me a load of hassle will you?’

  He looked at her long and hard, then moved closer and sat down.

  ‘I must have known you’d be here today,’ she remarked mildly. ‘I bought sausage rolls for lunch. Want one?’

  His eyebrows shot up; he nearly smiled. ‘Yeah.’

  She delved into the bag, pulled out the packet and ripped it open, offering it to him. He took a roll and bit into it greedily. Jo took one too. She hadn’t eaten a sausage roll in years; it was surprisingly good.

  ‘How’s the work going at the coffee shop?’

  ‘OK. I was there this morning.’ He chewed another mouthful, rubbing flakes
of pastry from his chin. ‘It’s a bit boring, doing the same stuff all the time.’

  ‘Most work’s repetitive. It’s how you get good at something.’

  ‘I’m not going to get good when dad doesn’t trust me to make the coffee.’

  ‘Ah.’ She changed tack. ‘So what do you want to do when you finish school?’

  He shrugged. ‘I dunno. I like engines. Maybe something with cars. Or a drummer in a band. ’Cept I haven’t got a drum kit yet.'

  He finished his sausage roll. She proffered the packet and he took another.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Doesn’t your dad feed you?’

  ‘You should know. You went out with him. Someone told me they’d seen you together. I’m sure you had great fun discussing all my faults.’

  So there it was, the grudge she knew was coming.

  ‘We didn’t talk about you, Harry.’ She shrugged. ‘We had a meal and a chat. We had a drink. That’s all there was to it.’ She grinned. ‘Anyway, how many faults have you got?’

  ‘Are you going to see him again?’

  ‘Maybe.’ She finished eating her roll and reached into the packet for the last one. ‘Why? Does it matter?’

  There was no answer. A seagull landed nearby and sidled towards them. Jo and Harry both waved an arm at the same moment and it skittered away up the beach. Harry finished eating and brushed off his fingers, then stared out to the incoming sea.

  ‘I wish you’d let me tell him that we’ve met,’ said Jo. ‘If I explain, he won’t mind that you’ve been coming here.’

  ‘Yes he will. He probably won’t say anything to you but he will. Then I’ll get it in the ear back home. Again. He’s always on my case.’

  ‘I don’t like living a lie, Harry.’

  ‘Then don’t see him.’ There was a painful silence. ‘I don’t see how you can be friends with him and with me.’ He wouldn’t look at her.

  She choked back a sigh of frustration, reminding herself how young he was and how hurt. She remembered her own bravado after her mother died but it had all been show, probably fooling no-one but herself, and at least she’d had Eleanor.

  ‘Don’t do this, Harry. It’s playground stuff. “You can’t be friends with me if you’re friends with him.” My date with your dad doesn’t affect our friendship. It was just a date. Casual. You’ve had dates, haven’t you? They don’t always mean anything. It was simply a relaxing evening. I don’t get much down time what with hospital visiting and work.’

  He looked at her. ‘OK. But don’t tell him I come here, right? You promised, remember?’ He gave her a mischievous smile. ‘Anyway it’s kind of neat that he doesn’t know.’

  ‘For you, maybe.’

  Jo finished eating and changed the subject. ‘You haven’t seen my cat anywhere, have you? You know, the grey one without a tail? He hasn’t been home since Saturday.’

  He shook his head. ‘Cats stay out sometimes don’t they? Especially in the summer when it’s warm.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Have you found out anything about that night?’ His tone was conspicuously casual.

  ‘No. Have you remembered anything more about it? Like the voice you heard maybe?’

  ‘No.’

  She gave up. She couldn’t force him to tell her - and maybe he didn’t know.

  ‘I’m going away on Saturday to stay with my aunt,’ he said.

  ‘Has she got kids?’

  ‘Yeah. Two. Adrian’s thirteen and his sister Cheryl’s seventeen.’

  ‘Looking forward to it?’

  He shrugged.

  Climbing the steps half an hour later, Jo’s thoughts shifted to Sidney again; he was never far from her mind. It struck her now that he had disappeared just two days after that conversation she’d had with Louisa. Louisa again. Was that a coincidence?

  She reached the garden as her phone rang. It was Matthew.

  ‘I was just wondering,’ he said diffidently. ‘Harry’s going away to stay with my sister for a few days. I thought maybe you’d like to come round? On Saturday maybe? It’s a chance for me to cook something other than pizza or chips.’

  She hesitated.

  ‘Don’t worry if you’re busy,’ he said. ‘It was just a thought.’

  She looked back towards the beach and the lad she couldn’t see. She couldn’t allow Harry to dictate who she saw and what she did.

  ‘No, I’d love to come round. What time were you thinking?’

  *

  It was the following Thursday the eighteenth of August when Eleanor finally left hospital. Jo took her aunt in her car along with two suitcases of clothes. The Moorhill Centre wanted Eleanor to have clothes suitable for ‘activity’ and Jo had gone shopping on Eleanor’s behalf, buying lightweight sportswear that she knew her aunt would never normally wear. And good luck to the staff persuading her to wear it now, Jo thought as she packed it in the cases.

  Driving away from the hospital, Eleanor was quiet, unusually so. Jo glanced across, concerned.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’

  Jo felt inadequate, unsure how much or how little she needed to do for her aunt. How ill was she still? Eleanor had managed to walk a few steps with her niece’s help from a wheelchair to the car but it seemed like only yesterday there had been tubes sticking out of her body everywhere and she could barely move a muscle. The speed of her improvement had taken everybody by surprise.

  She glanced across again. Eleanor was staring out of the window. Jo made idle remarks about the festival and the workshops, trying to fill the silence. Still there was no reaction.

  ‘I guess it’s odd to be out again after all that time in hospital.’

  The suggestion of a grunt. Jo cast about. Ever since the word Dartmoor had crossed Jo’s lips, temperature seemed to be a pressing issue on her aunt’s mind.

  ‘Are you warm enough?’

  ‘Yes.’ Still Eleanor stared out of the window.

  A few minutes passed. They drew to a halt at traffic lights.

  ‘Are you cross with me?’ said Jo.

  Eleanor turned her head, eyes wide. ‘Cross? No. Why should I be cross?’

  ‘I’m not sure. You’re very quiet.’

  Eleanor looked away again. ‘I’m scared. This place I’m going to…’ She stopped speaking suddenly.

  The lights changed and they moved off again. Again Jo glanced across. Maybe she was having a relapse; maybe the excitement of leaving the hospital had been too much for her.

  ‘I don’t know what to expect,’ Eleanor said suddenly.

  Jo breathed more easily. ‘It’ll be fine. Honestly. The people there are really nice. And it won’t be long till you’ll be able to come home. It’s just a stepping stone.’

  Another brief silence. ‘I’m scared of going home too.’

  Jo felt her insides lurch. Perhaps Eleanor had finally remembered how she came to fall.

  ‘What makes you scared of going home?’

  ‘I don’t know. I remember home…I think…’ Again a pause. ‘…but it feels unreal.’ A long, stretched silence. ‘And there’s something else.’

  Jo could barely breathe, waiting, but Eleanor didn’t elaborate. ‘What?’ she asked eventually, taut and impatient.

  ‘I don’t know,’ repeated Eleanor. ‘I don’t know what it is.’

  She said nothing more. Jo negotiated a busy roundabout and turned onto the road that would take them across the moor. It was a bright, clear day. Hopefully the views would be stunning. She became aware of Eleanor staring at her.

  ‘Is there a reason I should be scared?’ her aunt demanded, frowning.

  ‘No.’ Jo spoke too quickly. ‘Of course not. What made you ask that?’

  Eleanor didn’t reply and they travelled much of the rest of the way in silence. Jo wondered at the speed and ease with which she had just lied - and how long she could or should keep th
is up.

  Chapter 15

  ‘This was stuck in the handle of the gate,’ said Charlotte. ‘I was just reaching to put the code in and there it was. It’s addressed to you.’

  Jo frowned, taking the offered envelope. It was a long, white anonymous affair with J. Lambe typed on the front. She felt the blood drain from her face and slipped an anxious finger under the flap of the envelope, ripping it open. It held one sheet of white A4 paper and a couple of typed lines of text:

  Your cat is shut up in the shed at the demolition site. You should be more careful. Just think of all the awful things that could happen to him otherwise.

  ‘It’s about Sidney isn’t it? I knew it would be.’ Charlotte was watching her face anxiously. She had fretted over the cat’s disappearance almost as much as Jo had.

  Jo looked up, her face pinched. ‘Yes.’

  She turned the sheet over but there was nothing else on it. No identifying marks, nothing. It was a typical sheet from a pack of inkjet printer paper, used by millions. It could have come from anyone - inside or outside the estate. She handed Charlotte the note.

  ‘The demolition site?’ Jo queried. ‘What does that mean?’

  Charlotte quickly read it. ‘It’ll be The Old Orchard. You must have seen it. The house there has been fenced off for ages. It’s derelict. Someone bought the site to redevelop but went bust or something. There’s all sorts of legal wrangling going on. I’m sure there’s a shed at the back of it somewhere.’ Jo was looking at her blankly. ‘It’s up beyond the pub, the first lane on the right and a short way along on the right again. You can see it from the main road. But who’d leave a note like that? I mean…’

  ‘I’ll go and look,’ said Jo, snatching the paper back.

  ‘It might be a trick,’ Charlotte called to her retreating back. ‘Be careful.’

  The lane was narrow with a field on the left and a straggle of houses on the right. Jo passed a cottage and an overgrown orchard and then she was there. Charlotte was right: the place stood out. A mess of high metal fencing surrounded the gardens of an old double-fronted house with broken windows. The grass at the front was knee high and rubbish and dead leaves were piled up in drifts along the path to the door. A couple of the metal barriers had tilted and shifted, by accident or intent it was hard to tell, but it was easy to get between them. Jo glanced round uneasily. Was it a bad joke? A trap of some kind? Either way she had no choice but to check it out.