The Silence Before Thunder

by Kathy Shuker

  ‘No. I wanted something more definite to tell them.’

  ‘I should damn well hope so before you start accusing innocent people and destroying their reputation. And that…’ He pointed at the stud. ‘…is meaningless. In any case, it isn’t Louisa’s.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s most likely to be Eleanor’s. Have you thought of that?’

  ‘Of course. But I checked her jewellery and she doesn’t own anything like this. She doesn’t recognise it either.’

  ‘If she’d lost it, maybe she threw the pair away. And the way her memory is, she wouldn’t recognise it, would she? You’ve no idea how long that tiny thing has been hanging around on the terrace. Really, Jo, it’s about time you got a life. You’re becoming neurotic and small-minded.’

  ‘How dare you? Can you blame me for looking out for Eleanor - after all she’s done for me?’

  ‘And this helps her?’ He looked round the flat, at the half open drawers and the jewellery box with the lid thrown back. ‘Intruding into other people’s lives, making accusations you can’t possibly back up. Frankly I find your behaviour offensive. I want you to leave. Now. And don’t ever abuse your position here to trespass again.’

  ‘Frank, please just listen…’

  ‘Now, Jo, before I lose my temper.’

  Walking back to the house in the rain, the stud clutched in her hand, Jo felt alternately angry with Frank - she had hoped for better - and a fool. Maybe the earring was Eleanor’s after all and maybe it had been a dumb theory. It didn’t change the fact that someone had been up on the terrace with Eleanor though because Harry had heard the row. Sooner or later she was going to have to break her promise to him and tell someone. Sooner, she thought, before Eleanor comes home.

  *

  Louisa didn’t arrive back until nearly eight o’clock. She swept into the studio flat like a summer breeze, smiling, cheerful, the argument of the morning with Frank apparently forgotten. Pregnancy clearly suited her; she looked lovelier than ever.

  He was waiting for her, sitting reading, eyes glued to the page but taking little in. He looked up as she came in.

  ‘Had a good day?’ he enquired.

  ‘Absolutely. You should have come. We had a wonderful lunch at a wayside inn nestling by a river somewhere.’ She threw her bag and jacket on the bed and came across to drape herself across his knee. He put his book down and let her, putting his arms around her. ‘And the play was wonderful.’

  ‘I thought it might have been called off. We had a lot of rain here earlier.’

  She leaned in and kissed him, softly, sweetly.

  ‘We only saw one shower,’ she said, pulling back, ‘when we were inside having lunch.’

  ‘Lucky.’

  ‘Yes. Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. You seem…’ She put a finger to his nose and pressed it gently. ‘What have you been up to then? Lots of brilliant composition I hope to make up for not coming with me.’

  ‘Some. Maybe not brilliant but I had some ideas that might develop into something.’

  ‘Oh good.’ She kissed him again. ‘Clever you. Do you want to go out darling?’ She eased herself off his lap and stood up, turning to look back down at him. ‘Why don’t we wander up to The Mill?’

  ‘But you’re not drinking are you? I got some wine in for me and there’s a can of cream soda for you. They’re on the desk.’

  ‘Oh.’ She glanced round, noting the bottle, already open, a wine glass half full, but also a can and tumbler. ‘All right then. But I quite fancied going out. And the soda won’t be chilled.’

  ‘I quite fancied staying in,’ he countered, ‘and talking.’

  She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. She hesitated then moved towards the bathroom. ‘I’ll just freshen up a bit.’

  By the time she emerged from the bathroom, Frank had topped up his glass and poured soda into the tumbler. He was sitting back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, ankle on thigh. The only sign of his agitation was the constant twitching of his free foot which bounced rhythmically up and down.

  Louisa smiled as she picked up her glass and descended gracefully into the other armchair.

  ‘So here we are then.’

  He noted the slight apprehension in her voice and took a mouthful of wine, swallowing it slowly.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you went to see Eleanor?’ he asked, eyes fixed on his glass.

  She was silent and he raised his eyes to look at her. She was round-eyed, staring at him.

  ‘I…I did go to the hospital, it’s true. I thought I ought, you know? I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it. It’s an awkward situation, isn’t it?’

  Frank found he wanted to laugh, a raucous, mocking laugh which stuck in his throat somewhere. ‘Awkward. Yes, I suppose it is. It’s certainly awkward not knowing that your fiancée visited your ex-lover the same night she fell off the cliff.’

  The silence was profound. Frank drank another mouthful of wine. The glass was emptying rapidly but he didn’t care.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Louisa looked at him defiantly.

  Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gold ear stud. He held it up between his index finger and thumb for her to see.

  ‘This.’ He tossed it to her and it bounced from her chest down onto her lap.

  ‘What’s this?’ She picked it up, examining it.

  ‘Your earring. I found it in your toiletry bag. A good place to hide it I suppose. Certainly Jo didn’t find it.’

  ‘Jo?’ She looked worried now.

  ‘I found her here earlier, searching the place. She found the pair to this on Eleanor’s terrace. It’s time to start telling the truth, Louisa. What were you doing there?’

  She stood up, still cradling the tumbler in one hand, holding the stud in the other, and walked to the dressing table. She put the earring down with elaborate care and turned to face him.

  ‘I went to see Eleanor. I wanted to talk, just talk, nothing else. You and she were a couple for so long, I wanted to be sure she wasn’t going to try to get you back.’

  ‘You went to warn her off.’

  Louisa straightened her back, lifting her chin. ‘Something like that. I was scared. You don’t realise how obsessed you still are with her. I knew she’d pull you back in if I didn’t do something about it.’

  She stopped abruptly and drank some soda.

  ‘And what did you do exactly?’ he prompted.

  ‘Nothing. There was no answer to the doorbell but there were lights on so I went round to the back. I’d only been there once before - that night last year when Eleanor had us all round for a final barbecue. But I did go on to that terrace, yes. I remembered it and I paused to look at the view. The clip on one of my earrings was a bit loose and it must have dropped off. I didn’t notice at the time. Anyway, I never saw Eleanor. I chickened out. I didn’t hurt her Frank. I suppose that’s what Jo’s trying to prove. But really, you of all people…’ She shook her head, eyes wide and indignant. ‘…you must know I wouldn’t do that.’

  He stared at her, long and hard. Her expression gave nothing away.

  ‘I don’t know what to think. You lied to me. Why would you do that?’

  He finished his wine and got up to refill the glass. Louisa walked across to join him by the desk. She tentatively put an arm round his waist.

  ‘I know I was wrong, Frank. I’m sorry. I went to see her on the spur of the moment and I was too embarrassed to mention it afterwards. Then we heard about Eleanor’s fall. How could I say then?’

  He said nothing.

  ‘What did you say to Jo?’ she asked.

  ‘I told her it wasn’t your earring, but I knew it was.’ He turned to face her and smiled sadly, raising a hand to finger her delicate ear lobe. ‘You have such cute ears; I always notice your earrings. Anyway, I remembered you buying them
. It wasn’t until after she’d gone that I found it. I remembered that you often drop odd safety pins and all sorts into that toiletry bag. And that’s where the pair was.’

  She frowned at him. ‘What do you think she’ll do now?’

  ‘Nothing. She’s got no proof you were ever there. Unless someone saw you. Did you see anyone? Vincent perhaps?’

  ‘Vincent did see me ringing the doorbell, but that’s all. He must have seen that there was no answer. I pretended to walk away after. But he was behaving oddly too and then he disappeared. I told him he’d better not mention it or he’d be in trouble too. There was no-one else around.’

  ‘Vincent,’ said Frank thoughtfully. ‘What was he doing?’

  ‘I don’t know. He was outside her house, looking up at it. He looked like he was praying. But he’s always doing that.’

  ‘Hm.’ Frank drank another mouthful of wine.

  ‘I’m appalled that Jo should break in here and go through my things,’ Louisa said crossly. ‘Little madam. So full of herself, so holier than thou. I hope you told her off, Frank.’

  ‘She thought she was doing the right thing by Eleanor. But yes, I told her off. She won’t bother us again.’

  Louisa muttered something, turning away. Frank didn’t hear it, his thoughts elsewhere.

  Chapter 17

  Eleanor sat in the chair by her patio doors and looked out at the gardens. It was Monday evening and Jo had just left. Already Eleanor had been at The Moorhill Centre for more than three days. It was strange how quickly it had become where she was, her room, her home.

  A movement caught her attention on one of the paths. A man was walking out there, a patient she had seen sitting at a nearby table at lunch time. Except that the staff didn’t call them patients, they called them residents. Resident. The word sounded too permanent. Eleanor was particular about words; when she was writing she would sometimes spend ages choosing just the right word to describe something. Words were loaded. The original meanings had often changed with years, sometimes centuries, of use, all sorts of subtle layers weighing them down. So much depended on the context or on the manner in which it was said. Odd how clearly she knew that now when not long ago she could barely pronounce a single one.

  But being ill these last weeks had made Eleanor more aware of it than ever, perhaps because she felt vulnerable, or perhaps because so many people had been evasive or offered empty words of encouragement. To start with she had been happy to accept those platitudes as she swam towards what felt like a very distant shore. But now she was over that and she needed a grasp on reality. ‘You’re looking better today’, was a common throwaway line. Better than what? Better than a half-dead corpse? ‘Getting your memory back could take some time’. That meant she might never get it back, didn’t it? She looked for hidden agendas; she was sure people lied to her. Were they trying to protect her from the truth? Didn’t they think she would find out eventually? If only everyone wouldn’t be so hearty and enthusiastic, just honest.

  She watched the man walk out of sight. How she wished she could get up and go wherever she wanted like that, alone, unaided, not fussed over, though the thought of it scared her too.

  ‘You will,’ Jo had said earlier. ‘That’s why you’re here. And you’re getting better all the time.’

  Even Jo told half-truths. Eleanor could see it in the girl’s eyes and it worried her because Jo wasn’t like that. Her niece was a naturally direct person, not garrulous but honest, so what was going on?

  Jo had turned up at seven looking worn and distracted.

  ‘How’s it going?’ she’d asked.

  ‘Going? I don’t know. I just do as I’m told.’

  ‘Really?’ A grin. ‘I find that hard to believe. How’s the coffee?’

  Eleanor smiled then. ‘The coffee’s OK. I’ll give them that.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘You’ve just missed Lawrence.’

  ‘Lawrence was here?’

  ‘Yes. Is that a surprise? He brought me those grapes. Bit of a cliché but I do like grapes.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  Eleanor pulled a face. ‘Nothing much. Just nosey about where I was, I think. He asked how I felt - the usual. How was my memory? Everyone seems obsessed with my memory. Oh and he asked if I felt like writing. Worrying about the next book. Thinking about his salary no doubt.’

  ‘No doubt.’

  Jo seemed preoccupied. She always looked preoccupied these days.

  ‘What did you tell him about your memory?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Eleanor said crossly. ‘If you don’t remember, you don’t know you’ve forgotten.’ She shook her head. ‘No, sorry. That’s not true. I do miss things. Except I’m not sure what it is I’m missing. I get vague feelings but they’re just holes. And sometimes bits of memories…odd images, you know? No, of course you don’t know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘Not really. Tell me. What sort of images?’

  ‘Oh darling they come and go. Last night I woke from a dream. Something from the past, I think. It felt very real and I was sweating but afterwards I couldn’t remember it. Something to do with a party or something like that. And there was a name. I kept murmuring a name. But I don’t know who it was. Or if it was anything.’

  ‘What name?’

  ‘I think it was Hugh… Hugh…Hugh something.’ Eleanor concentrated on it for a minute but knew from experience that nothing came to her if she tried too hard. ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘So what did you say to Lawrence about your memory?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think I said it was rubbish. Because it is.’

  Jo nodded, thoughtful. ‘You look tired. Have they been working you hard?’

  ‘Yes. That’s why you brought me here, isn’t it? Phys-i-o-ther-apy - see, I can even say it now - that’s all morning. Occ-up-a-tion-al therapy and speech therapy all afternoon. I get weekends off for good behaviour, except I don’t because they make you do everything yourself - dressing, eating, washing. Always at you, they are. It’s exhausting.’

  ‘Maybe I shouldn’t come again until the weekend then.’ Jo smiled. ‘I could take you out on Saturday and we’ll have lunch or something.’

  Her voice tailed off. There was definitely something going on in her head. Eleanor studied the girl for a moment then it clicked and all Jo’s strange behaviour began to make sense.

  ‘You’ve met a man,’ Eleanor declared triumphantly.

  ‘No, what, down here? I’ve only been here a few weeks.’

  Eleanor raised her eyebrows. ‘There are men in Devon.’ She waited, watching Jo pointedly. ‘So come on. Who is it?’

  ‘OK so I have been out with someone, yes. You know him in fact: Matthew Croft? I’ve mentioned him before. He’s on the festival committee.’

  ‘Matthew Croft.’ Eleanor frowned. She closed her eyes; it sometimes helped to bring an image to mind. ‘No, I don’t think I do.’

  ‘Computer guy. He took over Millie’s last winter.’

  Eleanor opened her eyes and smiled. ‘Yes I do. Serious man. Personable but intense. Something about his wife; can’t remember what. Please tell me you’re not going out with a married man.’

  ‘Of course not. His wife died before he came here - of cancer. Very sad. The trouble is, Eleanor, he still loves her.’

  Eleanor snorted. ‘Of course he does. What do you expect?’

  ‘I don’t know. Just…’ She pulled a face and sighed. ‘I’m not sure I’m in the right place at the moment to be what he needs.’

  ‘What he needs? Is he what you need?’

  ‘I don’t know that either. It’s complicated.’

  ‘Ha. It always is, Jo. Love, sex, family. It’s never simple.’

  ‘I know.’ Jo hesitated, frowning. ‘You were with Frank a long time. You remember that now don’t you?’

  Eleanor was silent. She could see Frank clearly in her mind’s eye, could even remember a host
of odd unconnected memories of their time together but they were still jumbled, out of order. And she thought she remembered the final parting, not distinctly but hazily, the emotion of it more than the words.

  ‘Yes, I remember Frank.’

  ‘If you could do it all again, would you still choose him?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Eleanor distantly, still sorting through the memories.

  They fell silent. Jo reached into her bag.

  ‘You remember the literary festival I’ve been talking about? The programmes have come through. Here, I thought you might like to look through one.’

  ‘Ah yes the festival. Hand me my glasses will you?’ Eleanor read the front then flicked through the pages. She could read for short spells now, especially if the typeface wasn’t too small. ‘Can I keep this to look at?’

  ‘Of course. I’ve managed to fill the last vacant speaking slots.’

  ‘I think I’d like to come to this festival. I should be home by then, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘That’s not a good idea, Eleanor. There are going to be too many people there, pushing and shoving, you might get hurt. And it’ll be very tiring.’

  Jo was doing it again: telling a half-truth. Maybe the preoccupation wasn’t about the man after all.

  ‘Shirley,’ Eleanor said suddenly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘No, that’s not right. It’s…No, I had it there for a minute. Yes, yes, it’s Shrig-ley.’ She smiled with satisfaction. ‘Hugh Shrigley. That was the name I was saying when I woke up.’

  ‘Hugh Shrigley? I don’t know who he is.’

  ‘Neither do I.’

  ‘Is it important?’ said Jo, leaning forward.

  ‘Important? I’ve no idea.’ Eleanor leaned forward too. ‘In what way might it be important?’

  *

  Jo sat in Eleanor’s study, staring at her laptop. She had a page of information about Hugh Shrigley up on the screen in front of her. More of a half page, in fact - a tantalising glimpse of a life which apparently no-one thought merited more detail. She had lost count of the number of times she had done this. Returning home from The Moorhill Centre the night before, she had immediately searched the name on the internet and had found several articles about him but they were all short and all said identical things. And while it was mildly interesting, none of it explained why Eleanor should have been dreaming about him.