Hush (32 page)

Lily awoke on the day of her father’s funeral to find the house silent, the sky dark, the world muted and strange. It had been two weeks since the police had delivered the news, and Lily had been numb silence alongside her mother’s hysteria, a grieving shadow that blended into the darkness of the surrounding world and left her mother to it.

The police had tried to find Connie, to no avail. The letters had included no addresses. Through the postmark they managed to trace her back to a hostel, which she had left on Boxing Day morning with no forwarding address. They had promised to keep trying, but Lily didn’t hold out much hope. Connie would be in touch when she felt like it.

Despite that, Lily spent her time at home waiting for the phone to ring. Making silent bargains with it, as though it were a living being that could locate Connie for her, bring her home and make everything the way it should have been. Please, she whispered, as she curled herself up in her blankets and waited for sleep to come.
Please come home. Please don’t leave me here like this.

A week earlier, Lily had gone with her mother to the funeral director’s to choose the flowers, the coffin, to set the date. Her mother had pointed at the things she wanted through her tears, and told lies about how happy they had been together. Lily had swallowed her sickness and her grief along with lukewarm tap water, and watched blurred shapes walk past the window. ‘He would have liked this one,
wouldn’t he, Lils?’ her mother had said, again and again, and Lily had nodded, not seeing, not believing.

‘She doesn’t talk much,’ her mother had said at one point, confidingly, to the kindly woman who was handling the arrangements. ‘Not for years. She’s had a difficult childhood.’

The woman had nodded sagely, and treated Lily with extra delicacy after that.

When they got home there was no confiding, no sense that they were in it together, as there had been in the funeral director’s. Instead Anna retreated to her room and sobbed herself to sleep, while Lily sat in her room nearby and worried about becoming an orphan.

Her grandparents turned up two days before the funeral. They said little, but they created a cocoon of normality around Lily. They cooked meals, insisted on washing at appropriate times and changing clothes every day. They urged her to do schoolwork and made her mother get out of bed.

The day, when it came, felt as if it had arrived too soon, as if no time at all had passed since her father had been at home making Christmas dinner and confiding that he wasn’t happy in his marriage. Lily couldn’t quite believe they would go through with it, when a third of their remaining family was hundreds of miles away and didn’t even know what was happening, but her mother was determined to get it over with and thought that Lily was being ridiculous.

‘You don’t just cancel a funeral because someone can’t make it, Lily,’ she said, her voice stern and impenetrable, like it had been when Lily was very young. ‘It’s got to go ahead, whatever happens. Your father needs to be laid to rest.’

Lily was fairly certain her father wouldn’t mind an extra couple of weeks in the mortuary, if it meant both his daughters attending his funeral, but she said nothing, her grandparents said nothing, and the day went ahead as planned.

It was a quiet affair: only a handful of people, mostly old neighbours and work colleagues. Marcus had spent too much time at home or at work in recent years, and his circle of friends had narrowed accordingly. The service was held in the church in the old village – because, although he had never been particularly religious, he had known the reverend and would have liked to have him presiding over the service – and a cluster of people Lily hadn’t seen for years came to pay their respects. She was surprised to recognise Billy’s father, in the back row, though he didn’t look at her and she didn’t try to catch his attention. He had never shown them any warmth, since everything had happened; Lily assumed it was because he blamed them for his son’s death. She wondered if he was there because he was sorry about her father, or because he wanted the satisfaction of seeing him in the ground.

The service lasted fifteen minutes, and was accompanied all the way through by the muffled sobbing of her mother. When they picked up the coffin to carry it outside, Anna looked as though she might faint with grief; but she collected herself in time to be the first to walk behind it. Lily followed at a slower pace, delaying seeing the grave.

It was deep, and somehow undignified: a shovel still sat to one side, next to a tree. The coffin was lowered at angles, first one side, then the other, the bearers glaring at each other from each side of the grave as they tried and failed to get their timing right. The gleaming wooden box hit the ground right side first, and Lily imagined Marcus being jostled from side to side, his elbows bouncing off the wood as his arms were clasped over his stomach, and she wanted to howl against the indignity of it, an indignity that her father of all people did not deserve.

She and her mother stood in front of everyone, and she followed her mother’s movements as she threw dirt on the coffin, stepped away, made room for the gravediggers to start
filling in the grave. It was a cold day, and it began to rain as they stood there. She heard one of the gravediggers mumble something about getting this over with before the rain really hit, and she felt sick with shame. She knew, then, that her mother had truly never loved her father; if she had loved him, she would have given him a better end than this.

All day, Lily watched out of the corner of her eye for Connie to appear, expecting her to show up like a long-lost heroine in a film, breezing in at the last minute and saving the day. But she never came, and when Marcus’s parents went home later that evening, leaving Lily and her mother exhausted with each other and with everything else, there was no one to break the silence and make the day feel as though it had been worth something.

Richard didn’t go back to work until the fifth of January. The pub was always quiet over Christmas, Rosa had assured him – even on New Year’s Eve they barely had more than their usual Saturday night crowd – and he had taken the time gratefully, without argument. It had been less than a month since Lily had come home from the hospital, and she still didn’t seem quite right, sleeping for long periods of time and spending days on end sitting up in her old bedroom. She had briefly seemed to brighten over Christmas, but the second everyone had left she had retreated back into herself, and Richard felt as if he was unable to reach her.

He’d considered not going back to work, but Lily had insisted, in her quiet way: she was fine, and there was no point him sitting around all day babysitting someone who was fine. So here he was, propping up the bar, half-heartedly skimming the newspapers while he watched two of the oldest regulars playing darts.

‘Richard?’ Rosa’s voice carried down the stairs, along with the faint thumping of the radio. ‘Can you come up here a sec?’

Richard set aside his newspaper and made his way upstairs. Rosa sat on the floor in the middle of the kitchen. The contents of the kitchen cupboards were piled around her, and she was holding a notepad, apparently checking items off a list. She glanced up when he appeared in the doorway. ‘Is it busy downstairs?’

‘Horrendously.’ He grinned. ‘John and Jim have got me run ragged.’

‘I can imagine.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Can you do me a favour?’

‘Sure.’

‘Ed was supposed to be bringing over some veg out of his garden for me, but he hasn’t turned up and he’s not picking up the phone – could you nip over and see if he’s there?’

Richard shrugged. ‘Sure. But, if he’s in, wouldn’t he pick up the phone?’

Rosa laughed. ‘Unlikely. He turns the ringer off most of the time so that he doesn’t get disturbed.’

‘Sensible man.’ Richard grinned. ‘Where does he live?’

‘It’s just a few minutes up the road. Right by your place, actually. Are you sure you don’t mind? We can leave the old boys in charge for a few minutes.’

‘Of course. That’s fine.’

‘Oh, you’re a lifesaver.’ She scribbled something on the notepad, then ripped it off and held it out to him. ‘That’s the address. He should be in – he’s always about at this time of day.’

Richard left, with a nod to ‘the old boys’, who were left in charge often enough that they knew what to do. It was a relief to step outside. The inside of the pub was always dim, but outside all was bright and clear; there had been rain earlier, but the clouds had dispersed and the winter sun was dazzlingly reflective on the watery ground.

He walked slowly through the village, knowing Rosa wouldn’t mind him taking his time. Considered dropping in on Lily, but he didn’t want to crowd her. And a part of him was worried that he might find her back in the cellar. Searching for something that had nothing to do with him.

Ed’s house was only two streets from theirs, his garden backing on to the same woods, at the end of a narrow, circular close where all the houses looked the same. There
was no one around. Richard walked down the front path, eyes on the darkened windows, hoping to see Ed’s face appear behind the glass. He could feel eyes on him, twitching curtains, but could see no one.

He rang the doorbell, and heard a shrill, high-pitched ringing on the other side of the door. There was no answering thunder of footsteps down the stairs, or blurry features in the glass panel. He rang again, holding it for longer. Still no answer.

He was about to leave when he noticed that the gate at the side of the house was open: a passageway led round the back. Presumably if Ed was in the garden he’d be out of range of the doorbell. It couldn’t hurt to take a look.

He walked down the passage. He realised he was tiptoeing, and forced himself to place his feet normally on the ground, feeling ridiculous. Something about the absence of noise, of people, was making him feel jumpy and strange. But that was no reason to start acting like a burglar.

The garden was much smaller than theirs, the woodland fenced off behind it, but it was still large by Richard’s city-bred standards. There were piles of logs to one side, poking out from beneath a tarpaulin. A small stretch of lawn was occupied by a plastic garden chair, spotted with raindrops. The rest of the garden seemed to be one large vegetable patch.

There was a shed at the far end, with its door ajar. If Ed was around, that was presumably where he’d be. Richard picked his way through the vegetable patch on the narrow dirt pathway and knocked lightly on the open door.

‘Yep?’ Ed didn’t sound even slightly surprised that someone would be knocking on the door of his shed. Richard walked in.

It was larger than it looked from the outside, and mostly taken up with tools that hung from every available bit of wall space. But there was an armchair, and that was where Ed sat, sifting through a tub of seeds.

‘Ah, Richard. Good to see you. How’s it going?’

Richard was glad he didn’t need to explain what he was doing wandering round Ed’s private property without an invitation. Maybe it was one of those things that was acceptable in villages.

‘Yeah, good, thanks. And you?’

‘Oh, not so bad, you know. Just getting things ready for spring. Want to take a look?’

‘Sure.’

Completely forgetting the reason he was there, Richard followed Ed through the garden, making what he hoped were appropriate noises of interest as Ed pointed out the various features. ‘Obviously it doesn’t look its best at this time of year. You should come back in a couple of months when things are really getting going.’

‘Sounds great,’ Richard said, hoping he sounded appropriately enthusiastic. He had never really understood the attraction of gardening.

‘You done much with your garden since you moved in?’

Richard shrugged. ‘Not really. I don’t think either of us are natural gardeners.’

‘Yeah, it’s a big space, if you’re not really interested.’

Richard frowned. ‘You’ve been there, then?’

‘I used to do some gardening for Lily’s mother. After she went into hospital.’

‘You never said.’ His voice was guarded. It seemed like an odd thing to have gone unmentioned.

‘Didn’t I?’ Ed shrugged, and carried on walking. ‘Was there a reason why you dropped round, by the way, or did you just want to say hello?’

‘Oh, sorry, I completely forgot. I’m meant to be at work.’ Richard laughed, struggling not to sound uncomfortable. ‘It was Rosa who sent me, actually – she said you were supposed to be bringing her round some veg out of the garden?’

‘Oh, sure. Come in; I think it’s all bagged up in the kitchen.’ Ed led the way through the garden back to the house, stopping here and there to snap off a dead shoot. The back door led into a utility room, crowded with wellies and bottles of gardening-related chemicals. A pile of boxes almost obscured the washing machine.

‘Don’t worry about taking your shoes off,’ Ed said cheerfully, leading him through to the kitchen. By comparison this was spotlessly clean – there was nothing on the worktops except for a block of knives and some tins for tea and coffee. A set of red bar stools, garish in comparison to the rest of the decoration, were the only indication of homeliness. Ed opened a cupboard and pulled out a carrier bag of vegetables. ‘Here you go.’

Richard smiled and took the bag. ‘I take it you grow more than you know what to do with?’

‘I don’t get through that much on my own. But it’s nice to be able to pass it on to friends. Actually, there are some seeds in the shed I was going to give her. Would you mind hanging around a minute while I grab them?’

‘Sure, no problem.’

‘Great. I won’t be long.’ Ed clapped him on the shoulder, and went back outside.

The house was silent except for the humming of the fridge. A doorway at the end of the kitchen led through to the living room, and Richard peered round the door, curious. The living room was much more homely – there was art on the walls, framed photos on the mantelpiece. A large, garish rug made the place seem much more colourful.

Richard stepped into the room, intrigued by the photos. The one closest to him was of a little boy – fair-haired, smiling, about six years old. He sat astride a bicycle, both feet on the ground, clearly proud of himself for holding it up. There were gaps in his smile where he’d lost his teeth.

Another photo showed the same boy, but older – maybe ten now. He was on a swing, and a blonde girl of the same age sat next to him. They were both grinning and waving at the camera. There was a note of familiarity, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

‘Okay?’ Ed appeared in the doorway, making Richard jump. He hadn’t heard him come in.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean – I wasn’t snooping.’

‘Didn’t imagine you were,’ Ed said, briskly. There was a moment’s silence, while Richard tried to place what was wrong with the situation, and then Ed held out a small bag of seeds. ‘Here you go, then.’

‘Great. Yes. Thanks.’ He took the bag and tried to shake off the awkwardness.

‘I’ll see you out, if you like.’

‘Great.’

Ed showed Richard to the front door, and watched him all the way down the front path. He waited until Richard was halfway up the street before he closed the door behind him.

Lily left the house not long after Richard left for work. The air was cold and damp, rain threatening in the grey of the clouds, and the streets of Drayfield were quiet – just a few pensioners who nodded politely and without recognition as she walked past. She pulled her coat closer and kept her eyes on the ground as she made her way to the bus stop.

It wasn’t much of a stop, just a post with a sign and a lone bench with half of its slats missing. A mother, not much older than Lily, perched on the edge of the bench and pushed a buggy back and forth with one hand. She didn’t look up when Lily sat down next to her.

It was the first time she’d really ventured out on her own since they’d moved there, and she hadn’t been prepared for the
strangeness; sitting on the same bench where she’d once sat as a child waiting for the school bus. It was twenty-one years ago and yesterday and somehow another lifetime altogether, all at once. She looked to her right, half-expecting to see the ghost-children standing there, waiting to be whisked off to school. All she saw was empty air.

The bus turned up, with only three other passengers on board. Lily made her way upstairs and sat at the front. She liked looking through the front window in slow traffic: enjoyed the way the perspective made it seem as if the cars below vanished beneath the front wheels of the bus, only to reappear a moment later, unscathed.

The journey was quicker than she remembered; either her sense of time had shifted as she’d got older or there was less traffic at this time of day. Probably a mixture of both. She disembarked in the centre of town, and immediately felt assaulted by people. Farnworth wasn’t a particularly busy town, but it had been weeks since she’d been in the company of strangers, and suddenly there were hundreds of them: walking in different directions, walking into her, almost walking through her as though she wasn’t there at all. Without paying attention to what she was doing she found herself standing in the corner of the bus station, flattened against the glass, counting her breaths in an attempt to slow her pulse. Her vision blurred, and for a second she thought she was going to faint. Then the crowds cleared, and the moment passed.

It had been raining heavily, and the pavements were slick, dotted here and there with puddles of brown water. There was still a wetness in the air that clung to her skin and made her throat feel damp as she breathed. She set off in the opposite direction to most of the crowds, heading away from the centre of town. Within minutes the streets had expanded, rows of wide, three-storey terraces springing up on either
side, their yellowish bricks streaked with sooty residue from centuries of pollution. There were fewer people here, and half of the buildings carried ornate plaques which designated them as non-residential: solicitors’ offices, walk-in health centres, dentists. She counted the numbers until she found the one she was looking for: a small bronze plaque announced Mervyn & Partners Health Services, with a list of names and qualifications underneath. His name was at the top. Dr Alastair Mervyn, Consultant in Child Psychiatry.

She’d looked him up before coming here, but, even so, seeing his name printed in bronze triggered an odd mixture of emotions. There was affection, and a sort of longing; she’d often wondered how he was getting on, though she’d never thought to contact him before. But there was also fear: what if he refused to see her? Or, worse, couldn’t remember her at all?

She stood outside on the pavement, staring at the plaque. Fat drops of rain started to fall, spotting the pavement around her and landing heavily on her head, but she didn’t move. Didn’t notice time passing, people shaking their heads as they walked around her on the pavement.

And then the door opened, and some people came out: a father and his son, who couldn’t have been older than ten. The father held the son by the hand, helping him down the large stone steps, and a woman stood behind them, holding the door open, watching them go. ‘See you next week, then.’ She went to close the door, and then noticed Lily standing there. ‘Oh, hello, dear. Can I help you?’

Lily hesitated. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Why don’t you come in?’

The father and son brushed past her, leaving just Lily, standing awkwardly on the pavement. She looked around her, but couldn’t think of an excuse not to go in. So she nodded, and stepped over the threshold, letting the woman close the door behind her.

She stepped into a hallway, large and dark and distinctly Victorian in décor. For a moment she was reminded of the institute, but most of that had been much more clinical in appearance; it was only the doctors’ offices that had been lined with books and mahogany panelling. This was more homely, with a narrow, burgundy-carpeted staircase leading up to what could have easily been bedrooms. The woman led the way through to the front room – a large, airy reception area, decorated predominantly in green and lined with waiting-room chairs – and made her way behind the desk. There were two other people in the room, a woman in her forties and a girl in her teens, sat a chair apart from each other. The woman was reading, while the girl stared sullenly at the floor.