Hush (27 page)

‘You’re probably right there.’ Richard placed Ed’s drink in front of him. ‘So what brings you in here, anyway? Were you after Rosa for anything in particular?’

‘Nah. Just thought I’d drop in and say hello. I haven’t seen much of her since Ella’s been here.’

‘Ella does seem to keep her busy. That’s teenagers for you.’

‘I guess.’

‘You don’t have kids, then?’ Richard realised he had never asked before. Though presumably Rosa would have mentioned it.

‘No.’ Ed started to say something else, then stopped, and shrugged expansively.

‘Sorry. Am I being nosy? I’m told it’s the barman’s prerogative.’ Richard grinned.

‘No, not nosy. It’s just that my wife left, and my son, when he was a boy.’

‘God, Ed, I’m sorry.’

Ed waved a hand in the air. ‘Don’t be. It’s been a very long time.’

‘Have you had any contact at all?’

‘Not really.’ He looked uncomfortable. ‘I don’t even know where she is.’

Richard shook his head. ‘That’s awful.’

‘Yes, well, I probably wasn’t the greatest husband.’ He shrugged. ‘Still. Twenty-five years, you’d have thought she’d have got over it by now, wouldn’t you? Nothing in life longer than a woman’s memory, that’s what I say.’

Richard laughed, feeling awkward. ‘I guess I’ll find out, if I ever do anything to invoke Lily’s wrath.’

‘You two seem pretty happy together.’

‘Yeah. We don’t really fight, or anything.’ Richard laughed again. ‘Lily doesn’t talk enough for us to fight, I suppose.’

‘There must be advantages to that. Wish I’d married a woman who could keep her mouth shut.’ Ed took a long swig of his drink. ‘Do you ever feel like some of the passion’s missing, though? I used to love a good argument to get the juices flowing.’

‘Really?’

‘Sure. How do you know what really matters to you both, if you don’t ever get passionate about anything?’

‘I don’t –’ Richard stopped, confused. ‘I don’t think we’re lacking in passion.’

‘I’m sorry, son. I’m not questioning your relationship. You’re obviously good together.’

‘Yeah.’ Richard nodded. ‘Yes, I think we are.’

‘Just be careful you don’t leave her at home on her own too much, eh?’ Ed laughed, and downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. ‘Anyway. I’ve got to be off, I’m afraid. But I’ll swing by again soon.’

‘Sure.’

‘Tell Rosa I said hi, will you?’ Ed stuck a hand across the bar for Richard to shake.

‘I will do. Bye.’

Ed ducked his head as he disappeared through the door.

Lily and her father sat in silence outside the head teacher’s office. Lily stared at the closed door, with its dark wood and bronze nameplate, stamped with the name:
Mrs Julia Brennan
. Marcus stared at the floor, occasionally shifting in his chair, lifting his head to glance down the corridor. Secretaries fluttered around them like bees, drawing near and then floating away, with no apparent purpose. They had been there for fifteen minutes when the door swung open.

‘Sorry to keep you.’ Mrs Brennan was brisk, efficient, waving them inside, gesturing them into seats and closing the door behind them. Dr Mervyn was already there, with his notepad and a warm smile for both of them. Marcus did not smile back, but simply nodded, radiating tension.

‘Thank you for coming in today.’ Mrs Brennan directed the remark towards Marcus; Lily, of course, would have been there regardless.

‘It’s a pleasure,’ he replied, his voice blank.

‘Did Mrs Emmett not wish to join us?’

She speaks to him the same way she speaks to us,
Lily realised.
Like he’s a child. Like he’s stupid.

‘She sends her apologies. She’s unwell.’

Anna hadn’t left her room for weeks. Lily had crept past the door every day, careful not to let the floorboards announce her presence. She preferred it when the door was shut, when her mother couldn’t fix her with her strangely unfocused stare, as if she’d forgotten who she was.

‘How unfortunate. Please send her my regards.’

Both of their voices were carefully expressionless.

‘As you know, it’s been over six months now since Lily started seeing Dr Mervyn. We thought it would be best to have a meeting so we could discuss her progress.’

‘I’m very pleased with her progress,’ Marcus offered. He laid a hand on her shoulder, protective. ‘She’s improved enormously. Wouldn’t you say the same, doctor?’

‘Absolutely.’

Lily tuned out the words. They discussed her as if she wasn’t there, touching on her behaviour in lessons, her attendance, her socialisation with the other students. How she’d been since Connie’s disappearance. It was Mrs Brennan’s opinion that Lily had acquired confidence in Connie’s absence; that she was more willing to speak up for herself, now that Connie was no longer around to do it for her. ‘She still doesn’t seem to want to make friends, though,’ she said, as if Lily were four years old.

‘I’m not sure any of Lily’s classmates have shown any indication of wanting to be friends with her,’ Marcus said evenly.

‘I feel certain that if she just gave it a try…’

And on, and on. Lily kept a list of things that were not mentioned: Connie being attacked. Lily being locked up in the school overnight. Eleanor being expelled for bullying behaviour.

All in the past, now, of course.
And we want to put the past behind us, don’t we?

‘Dr Mervyn is of the opinion that he may be contributing to Lily’s ostracisation,’ Mrs Brennan said. ‘Because the children are aware that she sees him, of course. And that other people don’t. He thinks that it marks her out as different.’

More different than not speaking for years, or being accused of murder at the age of eight… Lily looked at Dr Mervyn, disbelieving. She couldn’t imagine him saying anything of the sort.

‘He also thinks that she’s ready to make a go of it on her own. Without him, I mean.’

Lily noticed her father’s hands, which were clenched into fists on his lap. ‘Really? Her progress is that good, is it?’

‘You must have observed yourself, Mr Emmett, that her speech is almost entirely normal now.’ Dr Mervyn’s voice, carefully expressionless.

‘Yes. I had.’ A pause. ‘Thank you.’

‘That’s what I was brought in to help her with, as you know. I feel that we’re getting to the point where I can no longer be of assistance.’

‘You’ve cured her, then.’

Dr Mervyn laughed, without humour. ‘Psychiatric illnesses aren’t that simple, of course. Lily has had a difficult start in life, and she would benefit from ongoing support. I would love to be able to provide her with that, but the school has limited resources and it is their view that I have done what I set out to do, namely improving her conversational skills. They feel that ongoing treatment is optional, rather than a requirement.’

‘She meets your minimum requirements, then?’ Marcus smiled blandly at Mrs Brennan.

‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ she said carefully.

‘When we first discussed Lily seeing Dr Mervyn, you requested that she get treatment because she wasn’t meeting the school’s basic requirements. I assume the purpose of this discussion is to inform me that those basic requirements have now been met, and Lily is as fit to attend school as any other pupil?’

Lily watched Mrs Brennan’s face. She looked furious, though Lily wasn’t sure why. ‘Yes,’ she said, eventually. Reluctantly.

‘Great. Thank you for your time. And thank you, Dr Mervyn, for all your help.’ Marcus stood up, held out a hand for Dr Mervyn to shake. ‘Come on, Lily. You need to get back to class.’

They arranged to meet in the same café as before. Nathan arrived late this time, and Andrea was already there when he walked through the door. She was leaning over the counter, elbows on the glass, looking at something on the back shelf. ‘Hazelnut,’ she said, unaware of Nathan standing behind her. The man behind the counter nodded curtly –
an excellent choice, madam
– and plucked the hazelnut syrup off the shelf on his way to the coffee machine.

‘What’s the occasion?’ Nathan’s voice made her jump. He found it oddly satisfying, managing to catch her off-guard when she was usually so collected.

‘Does there need to be an occasion?’

‘Guess not. Just seems a bit extravagant for nine in the morning.’ He grinned, then called over the counter, ‘Two of those, please.’

The waiter waved his hand in acknowledgement. ‘Take a seat. I’ll bring them over.’

They sat at the nearest table, Andrea leading the way. Nathan would have preferred a seat further in, where there was less chance of them being spotted, but he said nothing, following her lead.

‘I wasn’t sure you’d want to meet me,’ he said, still grinning, trying to conceal his awkwardness.

‘You sounded upset.’

Nathan shrugged. ‘I guess.’

‘Well, never let it be said that I won’t help a man in need.’
Andrea smiled faintly. ‘I can’t stay long, though. I need to get to work. As do you, I assume?’

‘Actually, I’m on holiday.’

Andrea raised an eyebrow. ‘Shouldn’t you be lounging around in bed, then?’

‘Is that an invitation?’ He tried a rogueish grin, but it fell flat. ‘Sorry. I’ve been pretending I’m at work.’

‘To get out of the house?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Connie asked me if I’m having an affair.’

Andrea nodded, and they said nothing, for a while. The waiter brought their drinks over, and they leaned forward slightly in their seats, the scent of hazelnut blending invitingly with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Nathan ran a finger through the foam, lifting it to his lips before he registered the expression on Andrea’s face.

‘What?’

‘You’re just like an overgrown child really, aren’t you?’

He licked his finger and smiled. ‘Not at all. Connie thinks I’m Mr Sensible Doctor. She thinks I’m pretentious because I listen to classical music and read literature as opposed to books.’

‘If you refer to it as “literature” then you probably are pretentious.’

He laughed. ‘Yeah, maybe.’ He lifted his teaspoon, stirred the rest of the foam into his coffee. ‘Better?’

‘Much. So, what did you say when she asked you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

Nathan took a sip of coffee. ‘Yeah. I walked out.’

‘Ah, yes. I can see why she thinks you’re so grown-up and sensible.’

‘Fuck off – what would you have done?’

The words were said defensively, with no malice, but Andrea flinched nonetheless. ‘Don’t swear at me.’

‘Sorry.’ He was instantly contrite. ‘Seriously, though. What would you have done? I needed some time to think.’

‘About what? Whether you were having an affair?’

‘No, you’ve made it pretty clear that we’re not having an affair.’ He smiled wryly, and she smiled back, despite herself.

‘Glad to see you got the message.’

‘I did have to think about what I wanted, though. With you, I mean. Because if I wanted an affair then that’s as bad as having one, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t think it’s as straightforward as that.’

‘But I’d have to tell her, wouldn’t I?’ He leaned forward, his voice urgent. ‘I can’t just pretend that everything’s the same as it was and I’d never thought about sleeping with you?’

Andrea sighed, and took a long sip of her coffee before answering. ‘Why are we here, Nathan? Am I just here to soothe your conscience?’

‘I don’t know. I just felt like I needed your input.’

‘I told you I don’t want to be your marriage counsellor.’

‘That’s not what I want.’

‘Then
what
?’ Her eyes flashed, suddenly irritated. ‘You keep dragging me out of work for these weird chats, you have no idea what you want, I’ve told you that
I’m
not interested and yet you keep calling me. Why? I want to help, but I don’t want to involve myself in your failing marriage.’

‘My marriage isn’t failing.’

She laughed. ‘Well, there’s your answer, then, isn’t it?’

‘What do you mean?’

She shook her head. ‘You’ll figure it out.’ She downed half of her remaining coffee in one swig. ‘For what it’s worth, I don’t think you should lie to her. But there are ways of telling the truth which don’t involve telling her every single thought that’s passed through your head. You know what I mean?’

He shrugged. She finished her coffee and stood up.

‘I hope you work things out, Nathan. Really.’ She leaned down, kissed him on the top of the head. ‘Could you please never call me again?’

He laughed humourlessly. ‘If you insist.’

‘Thank you.’ And she was gone.

Lily wasn’t sure how long it had been since Richard had left. She had gone upstairs when she’d heard him moving about, eaten breakfast with him, evaded his questions about what she’d been doing in the cellar. As soon as he’d gone out to work she was back downstairs, sifting through the boxes, searching without any object in mind.

It had been getting steadily lighter over the course of the morning. There were windows near the ceiling, slim horizontal bars of natural light nestled within the dense brickwork. The cellar was more shadowy than the upstairs of the house, but the menace of the darkness had faded with the rising of the sun. The ghost-children were barely visible now, and Lily paid them no attention, focused on the contents of the box in front of her.

It seemed to be made up entirely of items that had once belonged to Connie. She recognised some of them – toys, items of clothing – and there were other things, such as schoolbooks, which had Connie’s name printed on the front in childish letters. She flicked through a few of them, making a mental note to show them to Connie when she came for Christmas. She wondered if it was different looking at items from your childhood when you had children of your own. Did you see yourself as part of an endless cycle, age producing youth, with your own childhood memories gradually dispersing in amongst those of your children?

She lost herself in the box for a while. And then a shadow flitted past one of the windows near the ceiling. Lily looked up, but she couldn’t see anything. She felt uneasy, realising suddenly that the ghost-children had gone, that the silence had thickened around her as she sat sifting through old memories.

She stood up, abandoning the box as it was, items scattered all over the floor. Took the steps two at a time and emerged into the relative liveliness of the house: she could hear the fridge humming, a clock ticking in the living room, the chatter of people as they walked up the lane.

She felt restless. Wanted to carry on searching, but didn’t want to go back down to the cellar. She climbed the stairs to her old room and went to her desk, opening and closing drawers at random. There was nothing there except a few pens, ink long since dried out, and a scattering of paperclips.

She sat on the floor, surrounded by paperwork, casting around for something to distract her. And then caught sight of the skirting board.

There had always been a gap, just under the window, where the wood had come loose. She had used it for storing paper-thin secrets: notes, drawings, pictures.

Letters.

The gap was obvious if you knew where to look, widened by the bundle of letters stuffed inside, the paper poking out above the wooden edge of the skirting board. She pulled them out, and recognised Connie’s handwriting on the envelopes. The letters she’d sent from Germany. There hadn’t been many – you could only say so much in a one-way correspondence where you were trying not to reveal your location or talk about the past – but Lily could remember receiving them all. She traced her fingers over the German postmark, smiling, remembering how exotic it had seemed back then, how distant and strange.

She removed the elastic and shuffled through the letters, odd sentences jumping out at her from the letters which had lost their envelopes.
It’s been snowing for three weeks and I don’t remember my feet ever being so cold… The hostel where I’m staying is nice, they’ve been giving me language lessons in the evenings… I wish you were here, it would be so nice to have someone to talk to, even though I know you wouldn’t talk back…

She sat on the floor for a long time, sifting through every word. It might not help her remember, but it was still a relief to know that not every aspect of her childhood had been lost: that, somewhere in their past, there was a Connie who had sent kind words across continents, and a Lily who had waited to receive them.