The Silent Girls (38 page)
Authors: Ann Troup
Miriam gave the name a moment or two’s thought, ‘No, doesn’t ring a bell, and I’ve lived here all my life.’
Elaine was surprised, the village hadn’t seemed exactly extensive when she had driven through and she’d always imagined that there was an intimacy in rural communities that dictated everyone would know everyone else. But her mother had told her that the family had moved away when she was young, so perhaps it wasn’t so unusual after all. ‘I know the family moved to Bristol a long time ago, but I’m sure there was an aunt still here – Ruby I think.’
Miriam stiffened slightly, ‘Ruby Tyler.’ She stated the name with a tone of grim disapproval.
The unexpected change in Miriam’s efficiently cheerful persona was quite disconcerting.
‘I think so, I never knew her surname. She was just someone who was mentioned once or twice.’ It was true, Jean had never talked much about her family, or her childhood, but the never-met Aunt Ruby stood out in Elaine’s memory as the lady with the cottage garden where Jean had liked to play. It was one of the few things she had been able to imagine from the snippets of information her mother was always so unwilling to share. From Miriam’s reaction it seemed that Aunt Ruby might not be the warm and cosy woman that Elaine had always pictured.
‘Well, I’m ever so sorry to tell you, but Ruby’s been gone a long time. Must be twenty years at least now.’ Miriam had adopted a more conciliatory tone, as if she had consciously decided not to speak ill of the dead.
‘Oh well, never mind. I’m sure I’ll enjoy my stay anyway.’
‘I’m sure you will’ Miriam agreed with a degree of warmth that Elaine hadn’t been expecting after the mention of Ruby.
To her surprise Miriam leaned forward and patted her on the hand, ‘None of us can help our family, can we?’ she said. ‘But you seem like a nice girl. Anyway, I must get on, Esther will be wanting her tea and God knows what Brodie’s been up to since I’ve been gone. Well, here’s your key, and don’t forget I’m across the way if you need me.’
As the curious little woman waddled away, her floral apron flapping against her legs, Elaine was reminded of Jemima Puddle-Duck and found that she was smiling at the comparison.
*
Despite the fact that it really did have roses around the door, the cottage wasn’t quite the bucolic idyll she had imagined when she’d booked. It wasn’t so much how it looked; it was quaint enough, even twee in places, right down to the wood burning stove in the inglenook and the horse brasses over the mantel. Now that she was alone with the mismatched furniture, the chintz and the ticking clock it all felt slightly oppressive, as if the cottage was waiting for her to do something that would bring it to life. Though the wind buffeted the windows and forced the trees outside to look as if they had to bow and pay homage, it wasn’t cold enough to light a fire, so she cast around for another way to drive the shadows out.
The place needed light, it needed noise and it needed movement. She found a radio in the kitchen and tuned it in to Radio 4. Voices flooded the two rooms and she felt herself begin to relax. Having filled the kettle and set it on the stove to boil she was happy to discover that Miriam had been kind enough to leave milk in the fridge and tea and coffee in the cupboard. She switched on a couple of lamps, letting puddles of light the colour of orange squash illuminate the gloom. Satisfied, she hauled her bags upstairs and into the whitewashed bedroom.
By the time she’d put her toiletries in the bathroom and had wedged that damned clock in a cupboard, she felt as though she had made a dent in the moribund atmosphere. Hiding the clock had established the fact that she would mark her own time in this place. It had felt like a small act of rebellion, and left Elaine feeling stupidly victorious at taking matters into her own hands. She laughed at herself for being so pathetic and settled herself onto the sofa where she toasted Jean with a cup of tea. ‘Cheers Mum, sorry about the rough journey, but we’re here now. I’ve brought you home.’
Jean lay still and quiet in the boot of the car, fortuitously unaware that she had been wrapped in a cheap plastic bag (a fact that would have offended her sensibilities no end) or that she had been returned to the last place on earth she would have chosen for her final resting place.
CARINA™
ISBN: 978-1-474-04679-4
The Silent Girls
© 2016 Ann Troup
by Carina, an imprint of HarperCollins
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