House of Silence (4 page)

That’s how it was with Alfie once our
relationship became sexual. I was always aware of the body beneath
the clothes, the steel behind the softness, another Alfie, rather
different from the one he presented to the world. Alfie stripped
for action was Alfie stripped in more senses than one. Divested of
clothing, he looked older, tougher, harder. Instead of the Bambi
brown eyes and the soft blond hair that said, “Ruffle me”, I was
aware of sinew and bone. The contrast was perplexing, but also
exciting.

Dressed or undressed, Alfie was gorgeous. As
he himself put it on one of the many occasions I had trouble
keeping my hands off him, ‘Admit it, Gwen - you don’t stand a
chance. I’m sex on legs.’ Then he grinned and added, ‘
Short
ones.’

So everything was going really well.

Until I mentioned Christmas.

~~~

Turning the pages of a Sunday colour supplement, Gwen
glanced up at Alfie as he finished the last of his breakfast, then
said, with studied nonchalance, ‘How would you feel about spending
Christmas and New Year in Scotland? I’ve got the use of a flat in
Edinburgh. A friend’s going ski-ing and she’s happy for me to keep
the place warm for her.’ Alfie froze, a piece of toast poised in
mid-air. She added, a little uncertainly, ‘It was just a thought.
Hogmanay’s great fun. It’s bigger than Christmas up there. They
have a big festival in Edinburgh.’

He sighed, leaned across the table and
poured more coffee. ‘I have to spend Christmas with my family, I’m
afraid.’

‘Really? The way you talk about them - or
rather
don’t
talk about them - I thought they’d be the last
people you’d want to spend Christmas with.’

‘Well, yes, that’s true. But I still have to
go. Christmas is the only time I
do
go. I see everybody and
get it all over with. It’s a yearly ritual. And I’m the sacrificial
victim.’

‘Oh.’ Gwen bent her head over her magazine
again.

‘Couldn’t you ask someone else? It sounds
like it would be fun.’

‘Everybody spends Christmas with their
family or partners. And if they don’t, they book holidays. I can’t
think of anyone I could ask. And I don’t want to stay in Edinburgh
on my own. Not at Hogmanay anyway. It’s a sociable time... Don’t
worry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I just sort of assumed we’d
spend Christmas together. Sorry.’

‘No need to apologise.’ Alfie swallowed some
coffee and shook out his newspaper, scowling. ‘I’d much rather
spend Christmas with you than my bloody family.’

After a moment, Gwen looked up and said,
‘Could I come with you?’

‘To Creake Hall?’

‘Yes. I’d be interested to meet your family.
And from what you’ve said about the house, it sounds as if there’d
be plenty of room.’

‘I don’t think that would be a very good
idea, Gwen.’

‘We wouldn’t have to share a room. I realise
your mother might not approve.’

‘No, it’s not that. In any case, Rae doesn’t
actually do Christmas. She rarely emerges from her room. One is
given an
audience
.’

‘Then surely she’d hardly miss you if you
didn’t go?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s a point of honour.
I go because... well, because I’ve always gone. Because Rae
wouldn’t understand if I didn’t go. Because Viv thinks it’s
important that I go. And because Hattie likes to see me. And I’m
quite fond of Hattie. The ties that bind, Gwen... It’s all pretty
intense. I don’t think you’d enjoy it.’

‘I don’t think I’ll particularly enjoy
Christmas on my own. My flatmates won’t be here and Brighton in
December is beyond bracing. ’

‘This is beginning to sound like emotional
blackmail.’

‘Well, it’s also sounding as if you really
don’t want me around.’

‘It’s not that.’

‘What is it then?’

‘It’s difficult to explain.’

‘Try.’

‘I’m a different person with my family.’

‘Isn’t everyone? We revert to an earlier
childhood self, usually a self we’ve consciously rejected. I do
realise the whole thing would be a performance.’

Alfie regarded her, his expression grave.
‘Do you?’

‘Well, that’s the nature of families, isn’t
it? Everyone trying to accommodate everyone else. Struggling to
like people they’d normally cross the road to avoid. Trying hard
not to dig up buried hatchets.’

‘For an orphan, you seem to know a lot about
families.’

‘My mother came from a dysfunctional family.
I never got to meet my grandparents because they would have nothing
to do with her. I think she ran away from home when she was
sixteen, gave herself a new name, a new life. Or maybe they threw
her out. I gather they were very religious. They’d have seen Sasha
was going the same way as her older brother and sister. Fast track
to Hell.’

Alfie smiled. ‘And you think
my
family sounds interesting?’

‘I know about families, I just don’t
do
families. Maybe if I came to Norfolk with you, you might
actually enjoy the festivities more. I could lighten the
conversational load. Mothers usually like talking to their sons’
girlfriends.’

‘Rae wouldn’t. She hasn’t really taken on
board that I’m a man. I’ll always be a boy to her. And Rae dictates
the terms. I don’t really have any choice but to play up to that.
It’s what she expects. And wants.’

‘It’s very good of you, Alfie.’

‘What is?’

‘To give up your Christmas to spend time
with them. When it’s clear you hate every minute of it.’

‘I owe them.’

‘What do you owe them?’

‘It’s hard to explain.’

‘You keep saying that! I don’t think one
owes family anything. It’s just an accident of birth and at some
point in their teens, most kids realise they’ve been born into the
wrong family. It’s nice if families are friends, if they love each
other, but mostly they don’t. And why should they, if they have
nothing in common but blood?’

‘Why indeed? Self-interest, perhaps? Or just
survival. The tribal instinct, wanting to belong. Wanting to be
loved, even where one can’t love... Do you really think it’s better
to have no-one?’

‘I have no-one, so I don’t ask the
question.’

‘That’s one of things I admire about you,
Gwen. Your pragmatism. There’s no nonsense with you, is there? So
what will you do?’

‘For Christmas?’

‘Yes.’

‘Eat too much and watch old Morecambe and
Wise DVDs, I expect.’ She tossed the magazine onto the floor where
it joined a pile of discarded newsprint. ‘No, I’ll volunteer to do
a stint at St Patrick’s.’

‘What’s that?’ Alfie frowned. ‘Sounds
suspiciously worthy. I think you’re about to ratchet up the guilt
factor.’

‘St Patrick’s is the night shelter in
Brighton. I’ve done it before. It’s good fun. And more meaningful
than stuffing yourself till you can’t move.’

Alfie assumed a tragic expression. ‘You’re
breaking my heart.’ She hurled a cushion at him. He fielded it and
said, ‘No, seriously!’

‘I didn’t mean to sound holier-than-thou,
it’s just that... well, I like to keep
busy
at
Christmas.’

Alfie tossed the cushion back on to the
sofa. ‘Something tells me there’s something you’re not telling
me.’

Gwen fixed him with a look. ‘You mean like
all the stuff
you’re
not telling
me
?’

Alfie avoided her eye and folded his
newspaper. ‘Come on, spill the beans. You know I can see right
through your Plucky Little Gwen routine.’

She drew her legs up to her chest and
circled them with her arms. ‘It’s an anniversary,’ she said
quietly.

‘Of?’

‘My mother’s death.’

‘Oh. I see. I’m sorry.’

‘She died of a drugs overdose in 1994. On
Christmas Eve.’

‘Oh,
shit
.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Was it suicide?’

‘No. It must have been her Christmas present
to herself. Or a present from her dealer boyfriend. An overly
generous one.’

Alfie didn’t reply, then his expression
changed. With a sharp intake of breath he said, ‘You didn’t get up
on Christmas morning and—’

She nodded without looking at him. ‘I knew
something was wrong as soon as I woke up. There was no stocking at
the end of the bed. She always left me one, even though I was too
old to believe in Father Christmas.’

‘Bloody hell, Gwen... Were you on your
own?’

‘Yes. I rang for an ambulance. Then I rang
my aunt.’

‘The drunk?’

She shrugged. ‘I didn’t have too many
options.’

‘How old were you?’

‘Twelve.’

‘
Christ
, Gwen!’

‘Can we change the subject, please? I just
wanted you to realise that I wasn’t doing the clingy girlfriend
thing, I was just hoping that - I mean, I really wanted to spend
Christmas with
you
. I didn’t care where. Or how. I just
wanted to wake up on Christmas morning and find
you
at the
end of the bed. I haven’t told you about Sasha to make you feel
awful, I’ve told you because... well, I just wanted you to know.
What Christmas means to me. Will
always
mean to me.’

He sat down beside her on the sofa and put
his arm round her shoulders. ‘I’m really glad you told me. And...
I’m honoured that you did.’

She rubbed her nose with the back of her
hand, blinking hard. ‘St Patrick’s is good fun actually. We have a
laugh. And it’s a wonderful antidote to self-pity. Which is just
what I need at Christmas.’

‘Maybe I need a dose of St Patrick’s too...
Look, Gwen, if I took you to Creake Hall you’d have to promise me
you wouldn’t ask any questions or ask me to explain anything. You’d
just have to take everything and everyone as you found them. Some
of them will be glad of the distraction of a new face. Others might
resent it. I just don’t know, I’ve never taken anyone home before.
It’s uncharted territory.’

‘Alfie, I really appreciate the offer, but
if your family are likely to resent an outsider—’

‘No, it’s not that. They aren’t the problem,
it’s
me
that’s the problem, wanting to keep my bloody life
compartmentalised. I really don’t think you’ll like the person I am
with my family, the person I have to become. Famous son of the even
more famous Rachael Holbrook. It’s just a performance. I’d want you
to remember that.’

‘Of course. You’re sure they won’t
mind?’

‘They’ll be fine. Anyway, they don’t get to
vote. I’m the Young Master. When the Prodigal returns, everyone has
to jump to it. I could probably exercise some sort of
droit du
seigneur
with the local girls, but I’ve never actually tried.’
He sighed. ‘I suppose I’ll have to scrap that idea now if you’re
going to be there, keeping an eye on me.’ She threw her arms round
his neck and kissed him. ‘Just come with low expectations, Gwen -
of me and my family.’

‘I’ll prepare myself for the second-worst
Christmas I’ve ever had.’

‘I doubt you’ll be disappointed.’

‘Thank you, Alfie.’

‘What for? Your second-worst Christmas?’

‘No, for lending me your family.’

‘Take them!
Please!
I have absolutely
no use for them. I only wish,’ he added ruefully, ‘they had no use
for me.’

Rae

Dahlias... So it must be autumn.

Red, orange, burgundy... and that frightful
acid yellow. They must go. Vivien will have to tell him. Tell the
gardener. What
is
his name?
Tyler
. That’s it. Tell
Tyler that the lemon is quite wrong. What can he have been thinking
of? I must write a note for Viv and she can give it to... to the
gardener. Tyler. Yes, that’s his name.

The apples will be ready. And the pears.
They must be stored properly. The Newton Wonders keep very well if
they’re stored correctly. It will be a good crop, there’s been
plenty of rain.

Rain, rain go away. Come again another
day
...

I hear it on the roof, rapping on the window
panes, cascading from an overflowing gutter. It must be blocked. He
needs to look at it.
Tyler
... I can see him down there in
the garden, tidying the beds. And not before time, they look a
mess! There are so many jobs to be done at this time of year, so
many things to think about, my head spins! There’s no room for
stories now. Not any more. The stories have gone...

He’ll be home for Christmas. Alfie. As
usual. We’ll have Newton Wonders and some of the Coxes. With the
Stilton and port. Alfie likes a glass of port. Just like his
father! But Freddie won’t be there. Freddie’s gone.

I
think
Freddie’s gone... Yes, he
went away a long time ago.

I think he’s dead. He is, I’m sure of it.
Freddie went away. And then he died...

Vivien said I drove him away, but I don’t
remember. He took Alfie with him. Viv said it was all for the best.
Alfie went away to school - to a
good
school - and he was
very happy. We had letters telling us how happy he was. I have them
somewhere. In one of these drawers, I forget which. Vivien would
know. She tidies my desk and keeps things safe for me.

Freddie died...

He must have been old, I suppose. Like
me.

But Alfie didn’t die, I’m sure he didn’t.
I’m
practically
sure... No, Alfie didn’t die because he’s
coming home for Christmas! Which must be soon. Where’s my diary? I
know it’s here somewhere. Vivien leaves the diary open for me, on
top of my desk, and she marks it so I know what day it is. And
which month. But I know it’s September - I can see the
blackberries!

He needs to pick them. Tyler. Harriet can
help. That’s a job she can do. Make herself useful, get out in the
fresh air. It’s September, so the blackberries must be picked and
bottled.

No... We don’t do that any more. What
do
we do with them? Ah, yes, we
freeze
them! Vivien
freezes the blackberries and we have blackberry and apple
pie...