House of Silence (37 page)

‘If I didn’t want to see Marek, I’d give us
another chance. But I don’t think it would have worked. I think of
you as a friend. I think I always did. A friend I slept with. And
you were lovely to sleep with! But it wasn’t love. I don’t think it
was ever going to be love, do you?’

‘And what you feel for Marek - is that
love?’

‘I’ve no idea. It’s very different. It isn’t
anything I’ve ever felt before.’

He smiled. ‘Sounds wonderful... Well, I wish
you both luck.’

‘Thank you... Would you like to keep in
touch? Or would you prefer—’

‘I don’t know, Gwen. I don’t know anything
about anything any more. Can I give you a call now and again? I’ll
really miss talking to you. You were a good listener.’

‘Yes, call me whenever you like. I hope we
can stay friends, but I’ll understand if we can’t. I betrayed you,
Alfie. I’m not proud of that.’

‘And I was deceiving you. I’m not proud of
that. Let’s call

it quits... May I kiss you goodbye?’

He stood waiting for an answer, so I
murmured, ‘Yes, you may.’

I stood up as he approached, steeling myself
to meet his large, brown eyes, sad as a Labrador’s. A little smile
played at the corner of his mouth. He raised a hand to my hair and
removed a piece of thread. He held it between his fingers,
regarding it fondly, as if it was something precious.

‘
This
is what I shall remember...
Pieces of thread. On your clothes. And in your beautiful hair...
Goodbye, Gwen.’ He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.

He was gone before I could bring myself to
speak. I stood, staring blindly at the door as it closed behind
him.

~~~

Alfie had arranged things with Viv. There was to be
no fuss. Farewells were to be said privately and he was to take his
leave of Creake Hall with no ceremony. As he descended the stairs
for the final time, he took a last look at the portraits on the
walls and derived some small satisfaction from the knowledge that
they had no more right to be there than he had. Perhaps less. What
was it Rae had said? It had almost unmanned him, as had the old
lady’s pitiful tears and the quiet dignity with which she’d
eventually said goodbye. Alfie didn’t remember his own mother, but
the woman he’d almost come to think of as his mother had said,
‘You’ve been more of a son to me than I was ever a mother to my
girls. You put me to shame, Tom.’ Then she’d taken hold of his
hand, grasped it firmly and said, ‘I want you to know, I’m very,
very proud of you! I couldn’t have wished for a better son. I could
only have wished for my
own
. Goodbye. God bless...’

Alfie arranged his belated Christmas gifts
on the hall table, setting Gwen’s apart from the family’s. He
picked up two carrier bags containing presents intended for him,
then set them down again. Reaching into his jacket pocket for a
pen, he leaned across the table and pulled one of the gifts towards
him. He struck out the word “Alfie” on the label and wrote “Tom”.
He repeated the exercise with each of the remaining parcels. He put
his pen away, picked up the carrier bags and struggled through the
unwieldy oak door for what he believed - and very nearly hoped -
would be the last time.

Gwen

I hate goodbyes. They feel like little deaths to me.
I had to endure a minor holocaust of sad farewells at Creake Hall,
some sadder than others. Deborah hugged me to her ample bosom, as
if I were the daughter she’d never had. Frances took my hand in
hers and regarded me thoughtfully, her elegant head on one side, as
if I were the subject of a particularly challenging portrait.

‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Gwen,’ she
said, unsmiling. (It occurred to me that Frances had perhaps
trained herself not to smile to discourage wrinkles.) ‘I’m sorry it
didn’t work out between you and Tom. Really, I
am
. He’s a
nice guy and I think you were probably rather good for him. And
good to him. He needs that, poor lamb.’

Anxious to change the subject, I said, ‘It
was nice meeting you too. Perhaps we’ll run into each other in
London.’

‘I’ve got a website. Get in touch if you’re
in town. Perhaps we’ll do lunch. That would be fun,’ she added,
still unsmiling. ‘Really,’ she added, her beautiful eyes earnest
now. ‘It
would
.’

I decided I liked Frances after all. Alfie
had said she was an acquired taste, like Guinness or Marmite, and
he was right. But I liked both. And Frances.

Hattie insisted on accompanying Viv and me
on the drive to Norwich station, so it only remained for me to say
goodbye to Rae who’d kept to her room since her fainting fit. After
I’d said goodbye to Deborah and Frances, I made my way upstairs,
knocked and entered Rae’s room. There was a heady smell of
hyacinths now and I caught sight of vivid blue spikes in a china
bowl as I made my way to her bedside. Rae didn’t speak but waved me
to sit down.

She’d aged. Yesterday had clearly taken its
toll, but Viv said Rae had refused to see a doctor. Now she lay
back on her pillows, evidently weak, but her eyes remained alert.
Her hands scrabbled at the bedclothes, as if she was anxious to sit
up. I smiled and laid my hand on one of hers. It became still
beneath mine, so I left it there.

‘I’ve come to say goodbye, Rae.’

She took several deep breaths before she was
able to speak. ‘Must you go so soon? I’ve so enjoyed your
company.’

‘I’d like to get back home.’

‘And where is that? If you told me, I’m
afraid I’ve already forgotten.’

‘Brighton.’

‘Oh dear, that’s a long way! Is Viv taking
you?’

‘No, I’m going to catch a train. Viv’s
taking me to Norwich station.’

‘I do wish you could stay another day. But I
expect you’re anxious to get away... A fine sort of Christmas
you’ve had here! I am
so
sorry, my dear.’

‘Please don’t be! I’ve had a wonderful time.
I feel as if I’ve made lots of new friends. In fact, you almost
feel like family to me. Everyone has been so kind. There have been
problems, I know, but in some respects, this was the nicest
Christmas I’ve ever had. I shall remember it forever. And I shall
remember all of you very fondly.’

Rae struggled to lift her head off the
pillow. ‘But will you come back? I do wish you would! I would so
love to show you the garden in spring. That’s the best season. Come
back in the spring, my dear, and Viv will show you round the
garden. There’s such a lot to see at that time of year. The bulbs,
the blossom in the orchard, all the trees breaking into leaf. It’s
glorious!’

‘I’d much rather
you
showed me round
the garden, Rae.’

Her smile faded. ‘Oh, I very rarely go out
nowadays. But I can see it all from my windows.’

‘But you don’t smell it. Or touch it.’
Speech failed me as I suddenly remembered something Marek had said,
his voice unsteady with emotion as his hands had stroked my naked
body.
Like the petals of a magnolia. So smooth... and firm.
I took a gamble and, fixing Rae with a look, said, ‘When was the
last time you touched the blooms on your magnolia, Rae?’

Her mouth formed a startled “O”, then she
made a little tutting sound. ‘Some years ago, my dear. Far too
many,’ she added sadly.

‘Well, I’d like to come back when the
magnolia is in flower. Will you show it to me? And will you show me
round your garden? If you aren’t up to the walk, we’ll get a chair
and I’ll wheel you round.’

She hesitated, then a mischievous light
appeared in her eyes. She narrowed them and said, ‘I do believe I’m
being bullied!’

‘No, not bullied. Cajoled.’

‘Nagged!’

‘All right then - nagged! But do we have a
deal?’

With what looked like a superhuman effort,
Rae hauled herself away from her pillows and leaned forward,
offering me her large, knobbly hand. ‘It’s a deal!’

I took it and we shook. She sank back onto
her pillows, laughing. As her laughter subsided, she sighed and
looked at me. ‘You’ve been good for me, Gwen. Good for all of
us.’

‘Please don’t mention it. We’re friends
now.’

‘Indeed we are! Now don’t let me keep you,
if you need to be getting along. I wouldn’t want you to miss your
train. We don’t need to say goodbye, do we? Not a proper goodbye at
any rate, because you’ll be back in the spring!’

I looked at my watch. ‘I’ve got a little
while yet. Viv said she’d give me a shout when she’s ready... Rae,
before I go, can I ask you something? Something rather personal.
You don’t need to answer if you don’t want to.’

She smiled. ‘I don’t think I have any
secrets left, my dear. What did you want to know?’

‘I wanted to know - I wanted to understand,
why you wanted a son so very badly.’

Rae looked surprised, but not shocked.
‘That’s a very good question. One that nobody’s ever asked me
before. Perhaps if they had - well, there’s no point in speculating
now, I suppose.’ Her gnarled fingers clutched at the covers. On a
sharp intake of breath she said, ‘I had a brother. And he died...
My father never forgave me.’

My heart in my mouth, I said, ‘Was it
your
fault he died?’

‘Oh, no! Not at all. My mother gave birth to
twins, you see. My brother Raymond and me. Neither of us was a
large or healthy baby - we were several weeks premature - and poor
Raymond didn’t survive. He lived for two weeks, then died. It must
have broken my parents’ heart, to watch me grow and thrive, while
Raymond struggled for life. And then to see him lose the fight...’
She turned to me and said, her voice quite matter-of-fact, ‘The
wrong child died, you see. That’s what my father said. I heard him
say it to my mother when I was unfortunately old enough to
understand what he meant.’ She looked away towards the window and
her breathing seemed to become laboured. ‘I felt as if I’d been
turned to stone. Looking back now, I think my heart
was
turned to stone. My father had wished me
dead
.’ She waved
her hand in a hopeless gesture. ‘I was just a little girl, I didn’t
know what to do. I couldn’t bring Raymond back. I knew I hadn’t
been the cause of his death, but somehow I felt responsible. As if
I’d stolen something that was rightly his.

‘I decided to do the only thing I could. I
resolved to try to be something like the son my parents had wanted
instead of me. And when I grew up and married, I dearly wanted to
present my father with a grandson. I saw it as making some sort of
reparation... But of course that didn’t happen. Then, when I
finally lost my own son, I understood just what my father had gone
through. I felt as if I was being
punished
- punished for a
second time because, Heaven knows, my father had never made any
bones about my being a disappointment to him! He punished me for
not being his beloved son and when I lost mine, it just seemed like
the last straw. Something snapped. It seemed so terribly
unjust...

‘They tell me I went mad. I ignored my
husband and my other children and I reverted to a world of
make-believe where I could be what I’d always longed to be: the
mother of a son. It seems so sad and foolish now. To have turned my
back on all that I had. Four healthy daughters. A loving husband.
It
was
madness.’

‘But a madness brought on by grief.’

‘Yes. But also by a lifetime of living in
the shadow of Raymond. The child who might have been... And Raymond
would have been the perfect child, you see! In my imagination, he
was a paragon! Everything I could never be!’

I considered Rae’s words for a moment, then
something occurred to me. ‘Tom Dickon Harry was based on
Raymond
, wasn’t he? Not Alfie!’

‘Oh, yes! How clever of you to realise. I
claimed TDH was based on Alfie, but that wasn’t strictly true. The
idea was already there in my head - had been for my entire life -
in the form of my dead brother. I’d wanted my son to be an
incarnation of my brother, so that the long shadow he’d cast would
no longer fall across my life. And when I lost my baby, I refused
to accept that was my last chance... to be free.’ She shook her
head slowly. ‘It was many more years before I found a way to be
free of Raymond.’

‘Writing the books?’

‘Yes. I re-created Raymond - my
idea
of Raymond - as the boy-hero of my books. This strangely
old-fashioned, heroic little boy, who isn’t very strong but who’s
clever and resourceful. That was how I’d always imagined my twin
brother, as he grew up alongside me, in my head. He was my hero,
and he became the hero of my books... But of course, by then, there
was another long shadow.’

‘Alfie.’

‘Yes. My own lost son... It all became very
muddled in my mind. I felt free of Raymond, but I couldn’t let go
of Alfie, my imaginary son. He was always there in the background,
the other boy who might have been.
Should
have been... Then
one day Frances introduced us to Tom. Tom Wilson. He was
just
as I’d imagined Alfie! He even looked something like
the photographs she’d chosen to represent him. Tom was all I could
have hoped for in a son: charming, intelligent, articulate. We
talked about books and the theatre and we discovered we shared a
passion for certain poets.’ Rae lowered her eyes and smiled. She
looked positively girlish. ‘I’m ashamed to say, I think I fell a
little in love with that boy... He reminded me of Alfred, you see,
my second husband. He’d also been a blond charmer and was a very
cultivated man. I was besotted with Tom, even before they filmed
the documentary. And
that
dreadful experience was only
redeemed for me by his presence. He was so kind and attentive. So
funny! I knew I couldn’t bear to live without him in my life. So
once again I retreated into a make-believe world where Tom
was
Alfie. So I could
keep
him.’