The Silence Before Thunder

by Kathy Shuker

  Hugh Shrigley had been a journalist and writer of political essays; he had also written a book of short stories and one full length novel. None of his writing had made a particular impact but family money had made him a wealthy man and he had been a small-time patron of the arts, occasionally sponsoring a play or an exhibition. He had also been a vocal supporter of the Labour party. Having read about him, Jo thought she dimly remembered the name though she might have been imagining it. He had died some twenty-five years previously following an accident at home. He had been only forty-four.

  She minimised the page and returned to her document. It was six thirty already and she had been working all day, trying to get ahead of an editing job which should have been sent off by the previous Friday. There had been too many distractions, too many issues fighting for dominance in her brain, but at last she was writing up her final notes.

  ‘There,’ she muttered. ‘Done.’

  She would have a short break, check again that everything was in place, then send it off. She sat back in the chair.

  It was something to do with a party. That’s what Eleanor had said. Caught up in the mystery of the name, Jo had forgotten that. A party. A party as in drinks and celebration? Eleanor wasn’t a big party animal though it could have been a special occasion maybe. Or perhaps a political party? If Hugh Shrigley supported Labour, maybe it was that. Eleanor used to be quite passionate about politics herself and quite the socialist when she was younger, but later she had been proud to call herself a floating voter, insisting that there was something in most of the parties she liked and a lot she hated. ‘In any case all their policies shift with the wind,’ she used to say. But why would she dream about a political party? Jo’s eyes roamed round the room. Maybe there would be something in here about it. If Eleanor had belonged to a political party, if something had happened to upset her and make her leave, there might be some record of it here….somewhere. Could she have missed something before, something important?

  She left the desk, walked across to the bureau and had just pulled the top down when her phone rang. It was on the desk. She went back, picked it up and scanned the screen.

  ‘Hi Matthew. How…’

  ‘We need to talk.’

  His voice was cold and demanding. Her heart sank; she became defensive.

  ‘OK but I’m in the mi…’

  ‘I’m not asking you, Jo,’ he said curtly. ‘I’m telling you. We need to talk. And I’m not doing it on the phone. Can I come round?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes, now.’

  ‘I suppose so. But what’s this all ab…?’

  ‘Code?’

  She told him. ‘Matthew?’

  The call went dead and she stared at her phone in amazement.

  *

  Disillusionment swamped him and anger came in waves, interspersed with moments of utter dejection. Striding through the village, Matthew forced himself to pause by the wall, looking out over the beach. He watched the waves rolling in, listened to the soft roar of the surf and took some deep breaths, trying to get a grip on it all. He had been so upset when he got the note that he’d hardly been able to think straight, then anger had bubbled up inside him and he had reacted on reflex and made that phone call. But he could still just turn round and go home; he didn’t need this. He’d been slowly getting his life back on an even keel, hadn’t he? He had even dared to think that Jo might be someone he could care for again. Yes, he and Harry had been having some issues but what parent didn’t with their adolescent offspring? They would have been OK. Then Jo had come along and… He felt sick.

  He straightened up, took a step away and turned back for home. Then immediately changed his mind and set off again through the village. He had to do this now. The issue had to be addressed and it had to be done while he could face it, while his anger was still fresh and he could use it to get through. People didn’t understand. His sister didn’t understand. She kept telling him not to be angry, to let it go, but it was only his anger sometimes which had allowed him to cope. Without it, despair would have got the better of him. And in this case there was Harry to consider. Matthew was angry and Harry deserved his anger.

  He strode on, up the footpath to the woodland gate and quickly let himself into the Skymeet estate. When he reached the house and rang the bell, Jo opened the door almost immediately.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ She looked both anxious and cross.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  She said nothing and stepped back. He walked past her and, after glancing up and down the hallway to check there was no-one else about, entered the sitting room.

  Evening sunshine streamed through the patio doors, filling the room with a glowing, warm light. The colourful intimacy of Eleanor’s furnishings, the apparent strength of her presence in the room gave him pause. Sidney took one look at him, jumped off the sofa and immediately edged round him and out of the room.

  ‘You’ve scared my cat away,’ said Jo, following him into the room. The throwaway remark sounded forced.

  Matthew turned to face her.

  ‘So?’ she said. ‘You demanded to see me.’

  ‘You’ve been seeing Harry.’ There was no point hedging round the issue; in any case it consumed him. ‘A woman your age with a teenager. He’s not even half your age. He’s fifteen,’ he said bitterly. ‘I could report you to the police.’

  She stared at him open-mouthed. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘Come on, don’t pretend. Though I suppose you’re bound to deny it. But it’s all making sense to me now. It was never about me was it? You went out with me to find out more about him. You certainly asked enough questions about him. So is that how it works for you? Being with me, thinking about him - was it all a game? Are young boys what you get off on?’

  She took a step towards him, pulled her right arm back and slapped him hard across the face. He put a hand to his cheek; it throbbed.

  ‘Get out.’ She pointed to the door. ‘Get out now.’

  ‘No, not until you’ve explained what’s going on. And why? How could you do that to me?’

  ‘Do what to you?’ Her eyes narrowed; she smiled grimly. ‘You don’t really want me to explain, do you? You’ve already decided: judge and jury. But yes, I’ll tell you what’s going on, Matthew, since you’re too wrapped up in yourself to notice. Yes, I’ve met Harry. I stumbled into him on Eleanor’s private beach a few weeks ago. I had no idea who he was but it didn’t take a degree to see that the kid was unhappy. He said he came to this beach because it was quiet. He comes round the headland when the tide is low enough to scramble round. He said he liked to be alone. Odd when he looks like one of the loneliest kids I’ve ever seen. We got talking. We skimmed stones. He was messing around in the sea and dropped his phone into the water and was upset because it had pictures of his mother on it. Pictures incidentally that you don’t seem to care about.

  ‘He got wet so I brought him up here to dry off and we played chess. Pretty shocking stuff, isn’t it? And he told me about his mother. He also told me that you wouldn’t talk about her. It eats him up, do you know that? He thinks you’d rather forget her, that maybe you’re glad she’s gone. So, Mr High and Mighty One, throwing out your filthy accusations, perhaps you’d like to consider what kind of father it is who makes his son feel like that?’

  She stopped talking but continued to glare at him, breathing heavily.

  He struggled to process it.

  ‘That’s all there is to it?’ he said eventually.

  ‘For God’s sake, Matthew, why would you think anything else? Don’t you know me?’ She scoffed. ‘Clearly that’s a stupid question. But I can see you’ve just been looking for something like this as an excuse to mess up your first chance at a relationship since you lost Sophie. Because you’re scared. Well, don’t you dare blame me.’ Her eyes blazed.

  ‘So why didn’t you tell me? All that time we spent together and you never ment
ioned meeting him. Why hide it if it’s all so innocent?’

  ‘Why? Easy. Because Harry made me promise not to say anything. He said you were always on at him and you’d tell him off for coming here. I thought, if it helps him to come and potter round this beach…’ She shrugged. ‘…why not, he isn’t doing any harm. And on the odd occasions I see him, he talks to me. I guess maybe that does him good too.’

  Matthew frowned and ran a hand through his hair. He pushed his fingers into the back pocket of his chinos, pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to her.

  ‘Someone pushed an envelope through the letter box while I was at work today. This was in it.’

  She took it and unfolded the paper. Matthew had read it through so many times he knew it off by heart. He watched her scan the typed letter.

  Are you aware that your young son is having secret meetings with Joselyn Lambe on her aunt’s private beach? I’ve seen them. Maybe they do it other places too. You ought to check where he goes and what he does. But she’s quite the little seducer and no match for him, poor child. He probably thinks a little romp in the sand makes him very grown-up. She should be stopped. The police would certainly like to know.

  Jo read it twice, her face puckering with disgust. Silently, she handed it back.

  ‘You see why I had to speak to you?’ he said.

  ‘You assumed that what the letter said was true,’ she said dully. ‘You didn’t give me the benefit of the doubt.’

  ‘Why would someone write that if there was no truth in it?’

  ‘Because they like to cause trouble. Because they have a grudge. How should I know?’

  ‘What was I supposed to think?’

  ‘It’s anonymous and cowardly. Do you normally believe anything that’s said to you, especially crude printed notes pushed through your door?’

  ‘Jo, look at it from my point of view. I had to question it.’

  ‘No, I’ll tell you my point of view. I don’t understand why you refuse to talk about your wife to your own son or why you don’t want any photos of her around the house. You can’t let go of her and yet you can’t cope with her there either. Harry needs you right now. So he talked to me because I let him talk about his mum. Stop blaming other people and get over yourself.’

  ‘Don’t tell me how to cope. You haven’t been through anything like I have. You can’t judge me.’

  ‘Maybe not. But Harry can.’

  She walked to the cabinet in the corner, poured a generous measure of gin into a glass and added tonic. She drank a mouthful, swallowing it slowly before turning and grudgingly holding up the bottle to him. He nodded and she poured him a drink too, walking away, leaving it on the cabinet for him to retrieve. He crossed to pick it up.

  But Harry can. Her words kept echoing through his head. He didn’t like them but he couldn’t refute them either. He drank a long draught of gin and sighed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said curtly.

  ‘You don’t sound sorry.’

  ‘What am I supposed to do, go down on my knees and beg your forgiveness?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Matthew, you know as well as I do what sorry should sound like.’

  She stepped across to the patio doors, cradling her wine glass, looking out over the garden. He came alongside her.

  ‘I’ll have to tell him that you know,’ she said. ‘And how. I don’t want him thinking I broke my promise.’

  ‘He’s my son. I’ll do the talking to him.’

  ‘You don’t know how.’

  ‘Excuse me. And when did you become such an expert in child-rearing? A series of broken relationships behind you; an engagement you couldn’t make last out till the marriage; not the remotest likelihood it seems of you having any kids of your own.’

  She stretched a pained smile. ‘Thanks for that, Matthew. Now I know just how low you’re prepared to go. And no, I’m no child expert. But at least Harry talks to me, really talks. So I trust what he tells me.’ She paused as if having an internal argument. ‘And since you know about his visits now, I guess it makes no difference if you know this: Harry was on the beach the night Eleanor fell. He told me. He saw someone with her and thinks whoever it was might have pushed her. That’s why I’ve been so protective of her. I’m scared for her.’

  He shook his head and gave an ironic smile.

  ‘What? How is that funny?’ she said crossly.

  ‘You shouldn’t take it so seriously. Harry lies. He’s been doing it ever since Sophie fell ill.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘It’s true. It was just silly things at first, nothing really, attention seeking I suppose. Then when she passed away it got serious. He fell in with the wrong crowd, started taking drugs, told me a pack of lies about where he was going, what he spent money on, who he was with. His imagination is very fertile. Then he started petty stealing to finance the habit.’

  She was frowning at him.

  ‘You don’t want to believe it but it’s true. Eventually he was picked up by the police. Might have been the best thing to happen really. It’s been a battle since but he’s clean now. I think. Even so, I’m sure he tells me lies. I catch him out in it every now and then. I guess it becomes a habit - or he thinks it’s cool in some way.’ Matthew drained the glass, walked across to put it on the cabinet and turned. ‘Before accusing me of being a bad father, you should get all the facts first. I chose this place to live in so I could get Harry away from the bad crowd and into something good and fresh. He’s not a bad kid. But he lies. I try to do my best by him, I really do. You only heard his side of the story.’ He threw her own words back at her. ‘Do you believe anything that’s said to you?’

  He walked out into the hall and to the front door. Jo came quickly behind him and reached him just as he opened it.

  ‘I do believe you try your best, Matthew - the best you can, given that you’re so unhappy yourself. But why does Harry try to escape his home all the time? I think it’s because it feels empty. He yearns to talk about his mum, to keep her with him. You wouldn’t talk to me about her. Are you telling me that you do talk about Sophie with him, that she’s not a forbidden subject in your house? Is he lying about that?’

  He paused, glaring at her, opened his mouth to speak then closed it again. He walked out but turned before she could close the door.

  ‘I don’t want you meeting Harry,’ he said. ‘Is that understood?’

  ‘Why not? We’re doing nothing wrong and he likes coming here.’

  ‘You don’t get it do you? He doesn’t understand rules and you’re encouraging him to trespass. And it seems like you’re making him think the worst of me.’ She started to protest. ‘I haven’t finished. I want you to remember that he’s a kid and he lives here. He needs rumours about his relationship with you like he needs a kick in the teeth. Leave him alone.’

  Matthew strode away without giving her a chance to reply, down into the woods and heading for the gate, his pulse thrumming in his head, fists clenched. He felt winded, head all over the place. It wasn’t up to Jo to interfere in his relationship with his son. What did she know? They were fine - better in fact - without her.

  Chapter 18

  Petterton Mill Cove heaved with people. The August Bank Holiday was a few short days away and it seemed as if half the country had descended on the small seaside village. Jo had seen it busy before but had never felt so assaulted by it. There were too many people trying to drive the narrow lanes, tentatively squeezing their cars past each other, blocking roads, getting frustrated; there were too many people swarming over the beach, claiming territory, playing ball games, shouting and shrieking; there were too many people vying for places in the cafés and queueing to be served. Jo’s nerves were frayed; she wished they would all go away. It felt airless as if the place and all the chattering, laughing, sweating people were closing in on her.

  She didn’t sleep the night after Matthew’s visit. He had been unforgiveable
, the way he had behaved; he had no right to speak to her like that. And to actually believe the filth written on that note… How could he? And then there’d been that jibe about her relationships. That had been cheap. Some people were luckier in love than others, everyone knew that. So he had managed to find the love of his life, had he? Well, bully for him. Would it have lasted? He would never know. There were so many things she wished she had said. How easy it was to think of clever rejoinders after the event.

  But then she wished she’d said nothing at all. He was right: she barely knew either Matthew or his son, nor did she have any understanding of their relationship or the particular strains and pressures it had experienced these last few years. And, though she had experienced loss, her family life had always been disjointed, fractured even, her relationship with her mother a complex weave of love, frustration and distaste. Yes, she could admit it to herself now, she had hated her mother’s pernicious and self-destructive way of living, had even at times hated her mother for living it. Though exquisitely painful, her loss had been a very different one. She was in no position to hand Matthew family advice. And how could she even think of taunting him about Sophie and where their relationship might have gone? What had she become?

  But still their argument went round and round in her head. The news of Harry’s drug habit upset her. Perhaps she understood Matthew’s attitude after all. On top of the loss of his wife, watching his son descend into drugs must have been another hell to endure. Did Harry still habitually lie? Had he made up the story about Eleanor’s argument that night? Doubts stalked her. Perhaps she had been on a wild goose chase, looking for clues where there were none, searching for someone who had never existed.

  She still had Harry’s phone, a constant reminder of her rashness in taking it. What had she been thinking of and what was she going to do with it? It had now become much more complicated. On the Thursday, after two days of indecision, she picked up her phone and rang Richard’s sister. It rang four times before being answered.