The Silence Before Thunder

by Kathy Shuker

  ‘Really? Did people think the two events were linked in some way?’ Jo looked from one woman to the other. Neither seemed keen to answer.

  ‘No,’ Imogen said, unconvincingly. ‘Not really. But it was kind of awkward.’

  ‘What was the row about?’

  ‘Money,’ breathed Mari. ‘But I didn’t hear the details because Hugh insisted on taking Vincent into his library. There were raised voices but nothing clear.’ She glanced questioningly at Imogen.

  ‘I heard nothing,’ insisted Imogen. ‘Anyway it’s years ago. Why are you so interested, Jo? Hell, I need to pee again.’

  Jo watched her limp away to the back of the hall and out into the foyer. Mari stood nearby, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other.

  ‘She’s always nervous beforehand. Makes her touchy. She’ll be fine tomorrow.’

  ‘Mari, I don’t suppose Louisa was at that party, was she?’

  ‘Louisa? No. She’s too young.’ Mari paused to reflect. ‘Though there were a couple of younger women there, come to think of it but I don’t think I spoke to them.’ She hesitated. ‘Your mum was there too, Jo.’

  ‘That’s probably why the name rang a bell.’

  ‘You’ve been asking a lot of questions. Is something bothering you?’

  ‘I’m just… trying to get a few things clear in my head.’

  They both turned as Imogen pushed back one of the heavy doors from the foyer with a bang. She tottered back up the hall.

  ‘Are you coming, Mari? Let’s go. The keys are on the table in the kitchen, Jo.’

  Mari smiled a farewell and they both left.

  Jo locked up, pondering the significance of Eleanor dreaming about Hugh Shrigley’s party. Maybe there was none. Or maybe Vincent was the link and Eleanor had known all along what he was like, a loose cannon, not safe to have around. And she, Jo, was the one who had just persuaded him to stay on at Skymeet.

  Chapter 20

  The front door was open before they had even got out of the car. Lawrence processed regally down the steps and held the car door back as Eleanor eased herself out and onto her feet.

  ‘Eleanor. So good to have you home.’

  He put a hand under her elbow, pulling on her, but she pushed it off.

  ‘Don’t fuss, Lawrence,’ she said gruffly, putting a hand to the car body instead, steadying herself. ‘I’m fine.’

  He stepped back, looking awkward, and went round to the back of the car to help Jo with the bags.

  ‘A parcel has arrived for you,’ Eleanor heard him say to her niece. ‘I signed for it.’

  She didn’t hear the reply, too occupied looking up at her home, trying to ground herself. She started walking cautiously towards the front steps but stopped at the bottom. There were only two but there was no rail. Suddenly Jo was by her side, silently offering an arm to hold and she took it gratefully.

  Once inside she paused in the hallway, looking round again, then walked slowly into the sitting room. It all felt surreal, acutely familiar and yet alien too, as if she were still in one of her dreams. She walked to the patio doors and looked out over the garden. Her garden. She frowned.

  Jo joined her, was silent a moment, giving her time.

  ‘Lawrence has taken your bags up to your room.’ She hesitated. ‘Would you rather sleep downstairs? We could make up the daybed in your study.’

  Eleanor shook her head. ‘No, upstairs is fine. There’s a rail. I might need someone around, just to start with.’

  ‘OK. Shall we have lunch, then you can settle in.’

  ‘What time’s the first talk?’

  ‘Six o’clock,’ said Jo. ‘Plenty of time. Oh, here’s Sidney.’

  The cat slinked cautiously into the room. Jo crouched down and picked him up, stroking him, letting him get used to Eleanor’s presence. Eleanor saw her do it but barely registered it.

  ‘Who’s doing that first talk,’ she said. ‘I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘Brian Hunwin. And he’s staying over here tonight so you can catch up. I was keeping it as a surprise. So you see you don’t need to go down to the hall to see him.’

  ‘Good. But I want to hear him speak, Jo.’

  There was the distant sound of a phone ringing and Lawrence’s voice, talking loudly, laying down the law to someone, something to do with parking.

  ‘Jenny’s coming later too,’ Jo was saying, raising her voice to block him out. ‘She’s doing a talk in The Mill at seven thirty but she can’t stay, I’m afraid. She sent her love in case you don’t get a chance to meet up.’

  ‘Oh.’ Eleanor’s brain reeled. There was too much to process: the place, the sounds, the activity, the information. She felt buffeted by it. It had been noisy and busy both in the hospital and at the centre but this was home. She had expected it to be easier, that she would slot back in, like a toy building block which had slipped out of place but was easily nudged into position.

  ‘So you’ve come back to torment us then? I thought the peace was too good to last.’

  The voice came from behind her. Eleanor turned a little too fast and had to steady herself, putting out a hand to the nearby cabinet. Charlotte was standing in the doorway, hands on hips, staring at her accusingly.

  ‘Your lunch is ready on the table in the conservatory,’ she announced crisply. ‘It’s going cold.’

  ‘It’s your fault; you shouldn’t have been in such a hurry, you old hag,’ said Eleanor, waving her away with a dismissive hand.

  ‘I’m not at your beck and call, you know. You can eat it or leave it. But I’ll have you know there’s people in this country starving who’d be glad of it.’

  Charlotte turned and stalked out and Eleanor smiled. Now that felt more like home.

  *

  The afternoon passed smoothly. Brian arrived and Jo left him and Eleanor to chat, taking the opportunity to check in with Lawrence and Nancy in case of last minute problems. By the end of the afternoon, Eleanor was still adamant that she wanted to hear Brian speak and Jo took her down to the village in the car. He had proved a big draw and the whole area swarmed with people. Jo parked in a reserved place and walked with Eleanor into the hall, stopping frequently as local people asked after Eleanor’s health and expressed their pleasure at seeing her back on her feet. They found seats near the rear of the hall and settled in a few minutes before the talk started. Virtually every seat was occupied and the audience buzzed with anticipation. The stage spotlights illuminated a chair and a table with a pitcher of water and a glass. The hall lights dimmed. The audience fell silent as Nancy walked out onto the stage accompanied by Brian. She began a fulsome introduction. They were up and running.

  Jo listened to the first few words but took little in. She glanced round the audience who seemed rapt. In the glow of light from the stage she searched faces, unsure what she was looking for exactly. She had become paranoiac. Eleanor wasn’t at risk here, among a crowd of well-wishers and strangers. Maybe Eleanor wasn’t at risk at all. Here, in the mundane surroundings of the village hall, listening to Brian telling witty - and sometimes improbable - anecdotes of his time in office and hearing the laughter of the audience, the idea seemed as absurd as it ever had.

  The talk came to an end. Brian fielded a few questions then Nancy gave her vote of thanks. Jo leaned across to Eleanor.

  ‘Shall we go home now? Charlotte’s left a meal for us.’

  There was no immediate reply. Eleanor was staring at the programme as if struggling to take it in.

  ‘Or did you want to see Jenny? She’s not on for another half hour.’

  ‘No. It’s Louisa speaking next up at The Mill, isn’t it? Have I read that right?’

  ‘You want to hear Louisa?’

  ‘Yes. We’ve got time for a drink first, haven’t we?’

  Jo opened her mouth to argue and closed it again. There was no point.

  *

  Louisa was nervous. It was obvious from the set of her shoul
ders and the tautness of her voice. Instead of embracing the audience with an occasional sweeping gaze, she darted nervous looks, desperate not to make eye contact, and spoke in pinched sentences.

  She had been practising off and on all day long, flipping through the notes on her laptop, murmuring to herself, her lips sometimes moving when no sound emanated from them.

  ‘Keep it as spontaneous as you can,’ Frank had told her, part concerned, increasingly frustrated. ‘It’ll go down better that way.’

  ‘Easy for you to say,’ she’d snapped back, then leant in and given him an apologetic kiss in that temperamental way she had. ‘Oh Frank, why can’t I have your gift for speaking?’

  He shrugged. ‘Develop your own. Don’t care so much. People want to be entertained, so entertain them. Surprise them, shock them even. Talk to them, not at them. Tell them that story you told me about seeing a woman climbing out of a bedroom window at six one morning, wearing nothing but her underwear, how it spawned the character of…whichever one it was.’

  ‘Sylvie. But I’m not sure about that. This isn’t suburbia; it’s rural England. I think the people round here might be a bit strait-laced for that.’

  ‘Nonsense. People are the same the world over. Trust me.’

  Now, as he sat in The Mill function room watching her give her talk, he saw her shoulders drop, saw her smile start to assert itself and her speech become more flowing. She had worked through it. He knew she could do it.

  Then he found himself wondering how genuine it had all been in the first place and the doubts which had been niggling at him began to crowd in again. He had never thought that you could - or would - fake nerves. But he had suspected for a while now that Louisa sometimes cultivated her insecurities and exaggerated them. It got her his attention; it kept him close and under her control. And sometimes when it suited her, she slipped those insecurities off as she might a dressing gown, with a shrug of the shoulders. He had watched her do it with others at parties, manipulating them, coy at times, cheeky at others. Looking at her now, wandering with assured steps up and down the stage, engaging with her audience, getting her timing just right, the transformation was remarkable. Louisa wasn’t necessarily the person she seemed.

  He was confused. He kept feeling cheated. When they were getting ready to come out, an hour before the talk was due to begin, Louisa had told him that she’d started her period so she couldn’t be pregnant after all.

  ‘What about the test you did?’

  ‘It must have been a mistake, darling. I think maybe I took it too soon after missing that period. Or I did it wrong.’ She looked at him doe-eyed. ‘Or maybe it’s my age. Terrible thought. And I’m gutted, really gutted. And for you too. I am sorry. Are you very disappointed?’

  He didn’t know what he was. He hadn’t planned on having a child but the idea had grown on him and now… And Louisa hadn’t looked as upset as her words had implied. She seemed to have taken it in her stride, brushing the news aside with less interest than she would have given an indifferent review. Now he was wondering if she had ever thought she was pregnant in the first place, if she had even done the test. Was it all a devious game she was playing to keep him on side? He sometimes caught her watching him when she thought his mind was elsewhere.

  Perhaps he should leave, go for a walk and clear the agitation of his thoughts. Would Louisa notice? Did it matter if she did? He had enjoyed feeling needed but he didn’t like being played.

  In a flush of annoyance he got up and edged past his neighbours to the side aisle where it was dark. He planned to slip out anonymously but before he could move any further, someone entered through the double doors from the bar area and for a second he saw a tall, stringy silhouette against the light, a man, slightly hunched. Frank stood, frozen, watching the man flash a pass at the attendant on the door. It was Vincent. Unmistakeable. Frank watched him search the audience then fix on one figure. Following his gaze, Frank saw that he was watching Eleanor. It was the first time Frank had registered that Eleanor was here. She was sitting on the back row with Brian Hunwin on her farther side.

  Frank held back. He didn’t want to get caught up with Vincent and now the man was heading for the exit again. So what was that about?

  Frank looked back at Eleanor. Her gaze was fixed on the stage, her head turning a little as she followed Louisa’s movements. The light from the stage wasn’t bright enough to make out her expression. He had known she was back at Skymeet but he hadn’t expected her to come to Louisa’s talk. She was wearing one of her trademark long dresses and her head with its spiky hair had been cleverly wrapped in a scarf, turban-like. She looked as intriguing and Bohemian as she had in their youth. Compelling. He almost smiled. There was a vacant seat this side of her and he experienced a strong desire to go and sit in it and just be with her. But that wouldn’t do would it, not in such a public place, and perhaps never again. Did he really want to restart that roller coaster relationship and would she even consider him if he did?

  He dragged his gaze away, slipping out of one of the rear doors into the foyer and then out into the cool of the evening.

  Chapter 21

  On the Saturday morning, Eleanor woke but kept her eyes closed, holding on to a scene from her last dream which still flickered through her head. She had been at the party again but this time the scene has moved on, like an old home movie which kept sticking at the same place but has now corrected itself and started rolling once more. She automatically replayed it, picking over it, examining its bones. Bits of it were astonishingly clear.

  The party was in Hugh Shrigley’s flat and she was there with Frank, bickering as always but still in the early flush of young love. Hugh was his usual affable self, a generous host, too keen at times to top up your drink or press you to a fresh one. His wife was away, had taken a late summer holiday to Paros with her sister, and Hugh seemed a little intoxicated with his freedom. He spoke louder; he flirted innocently but ostentatiously as if pleased with himself. Eleanor too fizzed with youthful energy; she laughed at every joke; she was a little bit drunk. Sometimes she hated this sort of party but Frank had persuaded her to come and she was glad. It had a good atmosphere and everyone was happy.

  Hugh made a point of joining them. He and Frank had known each other for years and though Hugh was the elder by some twelve years or more, they invariably enjoyed a boyish banter, each trying to outdo the other in clever, old-world insults. It was an idle, amusing rivalry. Frank, she knew, scoured the larger dictionaries, searching for long-forgotten terms of abuse, ready to trot them out at their next encounter. Only at gatherings populated largely by writers would such an arcane contest take place, she thought.

  But this evening, Hugh seemed taut with information he was keen to share. He had another rivalry with Frank: they were both collectors of fine things and he liked to show off his latest acquisition, and he had by far the larger income with which to indulge his hobby. Before speaking, he glanced round almost theatrically and made a point of dropping his voice.

  ‘You must come into the library…’

  Still cocooned in her bedclothes, Eleanor frowned, still half-asleep, but determined, while it was fresh, to correct any inaccuracy in this dream which she was convinced was a memory. Did Hugh invite her too or just Frank? No, she was sure he had invited both of them. They had been standing together; he hadn’t singled Frank out.

  ‘…I’ve got something to show you,’ he’d said.

  But they never went into his library. Vincent had arrived, all loud voice and waving arms and indignant posturing. She remembered that bit of the dream clearly. He’d burst in, bellowing Hugh’s name and calling him a mean-minded scoundrel. Hugh had agreed to back a play Vincent had written but Vincent was denouncing him for reneging on the promise when preparations had already been set in motion.

  ‘That’s not true, Vincent,’ Hugh had responded. ‘I never promised you that. You’re drunk. We’ll talk about it when you’re sober - if that ever
happens.’

  But Vincent kept ranting and refused to back down and Hugh insisted on taking him away from the party and into his library. Ten minutes later, Vincent had gone, storming out, pushing people aside, swearing.

  On the roof of Eleanor’s Devon home, just above her bedroom, a seagull mewed loudly and her eyes popped open with the sudden inappropriateness of the sound. The scene in her head instantly evaporated. She was lying on her side and lay still for a moment, staring at the lamp on her bedside table and her reading glasses, returning to the present, trying to place herself back home. But she felt disjointed, incomplete. She hadn’t finished remembering that dream and that made her anxious; this was important in some way.

  She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes again, holding them tight shut, trying to recapture it. She wanted the images to keep moving; she needed to know what happened next. But all she kept seeing was Vincent leaving the apartment. Or maybe she just heard him go…or someone said he’d gone. Lawrence perhaps. No, Lawrence had gone into the library as soon as Vincent left, didn’t he? Did he? Did Hugh come out again to speak to her and Frank? Damn it all, she couldn’t remember. Damn, damn, damn. She felt her hands clenching on the bedclothes in frustration, her breathing become heavy with the concentration. The images in her head wouldn’t form properly now; they were vague and insubstantial. But if she didn’t get them quickly back into focus, she might never be able to raise them again. She had lost too many memories already.

  It didn’t matter how hard she screwed her eyes up, it wouldn’t come. Maybe… Her eyes flicked open again. The idea scared her. What was she blocking out?

  She worked herself up into a sitting position and made an effort to let her breathing settle. Glancing around the room, it all looked calm and unthreatening. There were her neat fitted wardrobes; there was her dressing table with her hair brush and her jewellery box and a tumbling pile of get well cards she had dumped there the previous day. Her handbag had been abandoned on the slipper chair by the door. A soft, warm light permeated the cotton curtains. The darkness was all in her head: corners that turned into fog and gloom; distant shadows from the past glimpsed through half open doors.