House of Silence (24 page)

Some friendship.

But when had it actually started? Meeting
him for the second time in the kitchen, I’d blushed. I’d watched,
riveted, as his hand bled beneath the running tap. Something had
already happened then, only an hour or so after we’d met.

Snow was falling again and I’d forgotten to
wear a hat. I thought of turning back but decided to plod on, past
beds of spindly rose bushes. I stopped to look at a frozen rosebud,
dangling at the end of a blackened branch, beautiful, but dead. I
walked on, feeling more and more depressed, until I recognised tall
beech hedges. I’d reached the clearing where Marek had been working
when I first met him.

It had started
here
.

I hadn’t known it, but it had started the
moment I met him, the moment I looked into those unfathomable dark
eyes. What had I seen?

Detachment. A kind of calm. Not the sort
produced by an orderly life. No, Marek’s calm was the
after-the-storm variety. His was the stoical grace of a survivor.
If he seemed imperturbable, it was probably because he’d known
great perturbation. How did I know? Because on the morning I found
my mother dead on the kitchen floor, I experienced a millisecond’s
calm in which I realised nothing worse would ever happen to me.
Then I started screaming. Nobody came because it was Christmas and
our neighbours had gone on holiday, seeking winter sun. I continued
to scream, hoping to wake the dead. I screamed until I was hoarse,
then the calm returned and I picked up the phone. I rang for an
ambulance, then I dialled Aunt Sam’s number, astonished I could
still remember it, even though my mother was dead.

I experienced the worst moments of my life
terrified and alone. Such a thing scars you, but it also makes you
strong. No, not strong.
Certain
. You’re certain nothing
worse can happen. Even if a similar disaster were to occur, it
would have lost some of its shock value. You know you’d recognise
it and think, ‘I’ve been here before.’ You’d know what to do, how
to survive. You’d know that you
would
survive.

I think that’s what I saw when I met Marek,
although I didn’t know it then. I recognised the calm certainty
that life held nothing worse for him, nothing he hadn’t already
dealt with, nothing he couldn’t handle. I don’t think I’d ever seen
that in a person’s face before, except perhaps when I looked in the
mirror.

Beyond the dark tracery of branches, I could
see the mill, black against a lightening sky. I thought of Marek,
alone, celebrating his solitary Polish Christmas, with only ghosts
for company. And I thought of my ghosts... Uncle Frank. Aunt Sam.
My mother. I brushed snowflakes and tears from my cheeks as I
brushed the memories from my mind. That was the trouble. That’s
what got you in the end. Memories.
‘You can never make a fresh
start,’
Marek had said.
‘Memory prevents you.’
I
shivered and turned back towards the house, stepping out to get my
circulation going.

I had no fears for my future, although my
relationship with Alfie was a total mess, was arguably non-existent
given that he appeared to be a non-person. I had no clear idea what
Marek meant to me, or if I meant anything to him, but these
problems lay in the future. I knew I’d find a way of sorting them
out, or at least extricating myself from any awkward consequences.
I was a coper. Always had been.

When it came to facing the future, I was
pretty damn fearless. But facing the past? That was a different
matter altogether.

~~~

When Gwen entered the kitchen she was greeted by all
four sisters who wished her a merry Christmas, despite the fact
that Deborah sat slumped at the kitchen table, in tears. Gwen
returned their good wishes and stared at Deborah who was being
comforted by Hattie. Alfie, frying bacon and eggs, registered
Gwen’s dismay and said, ‘Don’t worry, it’s not bad news. Deb’s son
just rang from Africa to wish her a Happy Christmas.’

‘Thereby assuring,’ said Frances, peeling a
pear, ‘that she has a thoroughly
miserable
Christmas, since
the mere sound of his voice sends her into floods of tears.’

Deborah raised her head from a handful of
crumpled tissues and said, ‘No, Fanny, you’re wrong. I was thrilled
to bits to hear from him. Sounding so happy and healthy! It’s just
that he’s so far
away
.’ Deborah blew her nose vigorously,
turned to Gwen and smiled. ‘Sorry, Gwen. I must look a proper
sight!’

‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I know Christmas
can be a very emotional time for families.’ Alfie shot her a quick
look and, avoiding his eye, Gwen sat down at the table.
Simultaneously, a mug of coffee and a plate of bacon and eggs
appeared in front of her. She looked up and beamed at the
retreating backs of Alfie and Viv.

‘You never stop worrying, that’s the
trouble,’ said Deborah.

‘Not even when they’re twenty-two and six
foot tall?’ Hattie asked, squeezing her sister’s hand.

‘No, it’s a life sentence,’ Deborah replied.
‘They’re always your babies. And I only ever had the one, you see,
so Daniel’s always been very precious.’

‘Where’s Daniel working?’ Gwen asked,
lifting her coffee mug.

‘In Malawi. He loves it! Says he’s never
been happier. And he’s made lots of friends. He monitors food aid
and they’ve given him a motorbike to help him get about. When I
think of my little Dan riding round Africa on a motorbike! Well, I
feel proud and terrified at the same time, if you know what I mean.
Have some toast, Gwen,’ said Deborah, pushing a rack towards her.
‘I won’t eat all this. Or rather, I
will
, but I
shouldn’t.’

Gwen helped herself to toast and tried to
think of an intelligent question to ask about Malawi, but Deborah
needed no prompting to continue. ‘Young people are so brave,
nowadays - well,
some
young people. I really admire them for
that. Dan and I talked it all through before he applied. He knew I
was worried sick but he explained it all to me. I could absolutely
see his point. He said, “Look, Mum, I could commute to London, do a
boring job in a nice safe office and be blown up by a terrorist
bomb on the 17.50 from Liverpool Street. Or I could go to Malawi
and do my bit to change the world.” It’s true, isn’t?’ Deborah
exclaimed with a tearful laugh. ‘So that’s what he’s doing. He says
he wants to leave the world a better place than he found it. Isn’t
that marvellous?’

‘You must be so proud of him,’ Gwen said,
buttering toast.

‘Oh, I am! Terribly proud. But that doesn’t
stop me missing him. I’m divorced, you see, and very single.
And
I’m a teacher—’

‘Deputy Head actually,’ said Hattie.

‘Well, yes, as it happens. So I don’t have
the time or energy to get out as much as I should. And when I do,
it’s usually with other women. Other
teachers
, in fact,’ she
added pulling a wry face. ‘I belong to a terrific reading group -
we have a great laugh! - but it’s all women. These things usually
are. We did have a man for a while, but he was gay and I think he
felt a bit...
out
of it. So I do miss Daniel. He lived at
home while he was a student, you see. I’ve got a tiny terraced
house in Beccles. Do you know Beccles? It’s a nice little town on
the Norfolk/Suffolk border. Very pleasant. Dan went to UEA - that’s
the university in Norwich - and read Geography. He worked terribly
hard and got a first! I was
so
proud. But I still worry...
It’s natural, isn’t it? Your babies are always your babies, even
when they’re grown men. So when he told me he was applying for VSO
in Africa... Well, you hear such horror stories, don’t you? And I’m
ashamed to say, I didn’t even know where Malawi was before Dan said
he was going to work there. My African geography is pretty vague,
I’m afraid. I’m much better on India. We teach that to Year Five
every year and they just love it! I’ve always wanted to go. In
fact, that’s what I plan to do when I retire. And if I can’t find
anyone to come with me, I’m jolly well going on my own!’

‘We’ll hold you to that, Deb,’ said Vivien,
clearing away empty plates.

‘I’d come with you,’ said Hattie with a
sigh. ‘But I
hate
curry.’

Alfie sat down beside Gwen with a plate of
bacon and eggs. As he lifted his cutlery, a mobile phone rang and
he cursed. ‘Who the hell is ringing me on Christmas Day? It’d
better be Steven Spielberg.’ He went over to the worktop where he’d
left his phone, looked at the display, frowned, then answered,
saying, ‘Hi, Kate. What’s up?’

Gwen looked up and watched with a growing
sense of foreboding. At a sign from Viv, Hattie picked up Alfie’s
plate and put it into the Aga to keep warm. Alfie said nothing more
for a few moments, but his face turned pale, then looked
thunderous. He closed his eyes and they remained shut. As the call
went on he screwed up his eyes and said, ‘
Shit!
’’ The caller
said something else, then Alfie spoke rapidly, his voice
unnaturally calm.

‘How much did they take? Was it just
valuables or have they cleared me out? CDs?... DVDs?... I assume
the laptop went too?... Suits?... Bloody hell. Have I got
any
clothes left?... OK, well, tell the police it looks like
they’ve taken anything of any value and it’s probably the same
outfit as last time. Tell them I was burgled in the exact same way
seven months ago. I’d only just finished replacing everything... I
know, Kate, but there’s nothing I can do about those bloody French
doors, other than put an iron grille across them!’ Alfie was
silent, clawing at his hair while he listened. ‘Yes, OK, I’ll drive
up now... No, don’t bother, just leave everything as it is. Is it
snowing in London?... Well, could you do me a favour and put some
cardboard or something across the doors to keep the rain out?
That’s a new carpet. I presume they didn’t have room for that in
the van... I’ll get there as soon as I can. There won’t be anything
on the roads, so say a couple of hours... Thanks for letting me
know... No, don’t be ridiculous - you weren’t to know! Thank God
you
didn’t
go down and check. These guys are obviously
professionals. You might have got hurt. Look, I’d better get going.
I’ll see you later. ’Bye.’

Alfie switched off his phone, put it down on
the kitchen table and surveyed the five anxious faces turned
towards him. ‘That was the woman who lives in the flat above me. As
you probably gathered, I’ve been burgled.
Again
. So I have
to go back to London to sort things out and talk to the
police.’

Hattie started to cry. Deborah slid the box
of tissues towards her and put an arm round her shoulders.

‘I’ll come back tomorrow, Hat,’ Alfie said.
‘As soon as I can.’

‘Do you need somewhere to stay in London?’
Frances asked. ‘If they’ve trashed your place, I can give you a key
to my house. There’s no one there.’ She looked away and prodded her
untouched pear with an expression of distaste. ‘Mike moved out last
month. He’s living with his mistress now,’ she added sullenly.

There was a silence in which the sisters
registered another shock. Frances had always been the one who
walked away. This was the first indication that in the latest
marital breakdown, she was the one who’d been abandoned.

‘Thanks, Fan,’ Alfie said gently. ‘If the
flat’s not habitable, Kate will put me up for the night. If you’ll
excuse me, ladies, I’d better go and break the news to Rae, then
get on the road.’

‘It might be easier if you leave that to
me,’ Viv said. ‘She’ll get very upset. I really think you’ve got
enough on your plate at the moment.’

‘Thanks. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d really
appreciate that.’

Gwen stood up. ‘I’ll come with you. You’ll
need some help tidying up.’

Hattie looked up, her face distraught.
Seeing her expression, Alfie said, ‘No, stay here, Gwen. I’d rather
deal with it on my own. I’ll be totally foul and that really isn’t
how I wanted you to spend your Christmas Day. Stay here and
entertain the troops. Perhaps you could spend some more time with
Rae. Distract her a bit.’ He turned to Viv. ‘I’ll try to be back
for Boxing Day lunch.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll hold it for you,’ Viv
said with a forced smile.

‘But what about your presents?’ Hattie
exclaimed. ‘You can’t go without opening them!’

‘Afraid I have to, Hat. I’ll open mine
tomorrow. And I’ll give you mine tomorrow. You can have a two-day
Christmas this year. Double the fun.’

He turned and left the kitchen. The women
sat in silence, apart from Hattie who sat weeping quietly on
Deborah’s shoulder, then raised her head to announce tearfully, ‘He
didn’t even eat his breakfast!’ Gwen pushed her own plate away,
then rose from the table and went in search of Alfie.

Gwen knocked on the door of the room known
as the Nursery, a room she’d not yet seen.

‘Come in.’

Alfie was packing toiletries into a bag and
didn’t look up until Gwen exclaimed, ‘Oh my God... It’s a
museum
.’

‘Yes. And I’m one of the exhibits.’

The room was a good size, light and painted
in cheerful blues and yellows. The walls were decorated with a
series of framed fairy tale prints which Gwen recognised were by
Arthur Rackham. There was a single bed in a corner, covered in a
bright patchwork quilt and on the bedside table stood a lamp shaped
like a sailing ship and a Mickey Mouse alarm clock. Beside the bed
was a bookcase full of old children’s books, the kind with embossed
and illustrated cloth covers and titles such as
The Boys’ Book
of Steamships
and
The Romance of Modern Invention
. A
complete set of
Tom Dickon Harry
books in hardback and
paperback occupied the top shelf.

In the centre of the room, on a faded rug,
stood a wooden rocking horse, his tail and mane sadly depleted. A
motley collection of soft toys in various states of decrepitude
propped each other up on a chest of drawers. Numerous board games
and jigsaw puzzles were stacked on open shelves and a tennis
racquet, hockey stick and cricket bat protruded from an umbrella
stand. In the corner of the room stood a model castle with archers
on the battlements and mounted swordsmen at the drawbridge. Under
the window, on top of a blanket box, stood a wooden ark surrounded
by Noah, his family and numerous animals arranged in pairs. On the
floor beneath, a wooden engine waited on a circular track, ready to
haul six brightly painted carriages in perpetuity.