The Silenced Wife Read online

  I wasn’t so great at dealing with the real world.

  Once we were settled, I gazed out beyond the chintzy lace curtains. There was no sea-view, just a view of the narrow, cobbled street that led to the town centre.

  Becky chuntered away to herself in her own language, as she was want to do. With a big huff, Buster lay down on the swirling patterns of the dark-red carpet, his head resting on his front paws. I reached down to pat his head, my hand moving lower to scrunch the fat on the back of his neck. Panic fluttered in my heart for a second – I just didn’t know what I’d do if he demanded that I put Buster down.

  Relax, I told myself. He said he wouldn’t, remember?

  Even so, a rush of fear caused my grip to tighten on the fat rings of the dog’s neck. I peered down at him, it suddenly occurring to me that he might have Aaron’s blood smeared over his snout. Thankfully, he didn’t.

  ‘Ice cream,’ Becky said, stretching out her chubby hands for the salt and pepper pots.

  I straightened up, discreetly moving the condiments out of her reach and patting her clutching hands. ‘Yes, ice cream. In a minute, you have to be patient.’

  I didn’t think that Becky even understood the concept of patience, yet alone knew what the word meant.

  ‘Ice cream,’ she said again, the bottom lip beginning to quiver.

  Oh Christ, not here, I thought in a moment of abject terror.

  A shadow fell across me and I looked up, startled. It was an elderly lady; pen and notepad poised to take our order.

  ‘Hello, my queen,’ she said in a broad, Cornish accent, directly addressing Becky.

  Predictably, Becky angled her body closer to mine because a stranger was talking to her. Mostly, I was just grateful that a potential meltdown had been averted.

  ‘Sorry, she’s a bit shy,’ I said to the smiling woman. ‘Say hello to the nice lady, Becky.’

  Becky refused to look at the woman, her little body going stiff and her arms like a Boa Constrictor, squeezing the life out of me.

  ‘Have you been walking the dog on the beach? What’s his name?’ the woman said to Becky, seemingly unmindful that she was being ignored.

  She had a nice air about her, one of those sweet, homely types that would talk your head off, given half a chance.

  ‘Becky,’ I said gently. ‘Come on, the lady’s asking you a question.’

  ‘Buster,’ she mumbled, to my surprise. She still didn’t make eye contact, though.

  ‘Buster,’ the old woman said in delight. ‘Now that’s a lovely name. I expect Buster would like a drink, wouldn’t you, Buster?’

  Yeah, I thought darkly. To wash away the taste of human blood.

  But I smiled up at the woman, genuinely drawn to her warmth. Briefly, I found myself wondering if she had any grandchildren of her own, for the way her eyes were shining would suggest that she genuinely adored them. It would be a shame if she didn’t, if she was doomed to spend her pre-retirement years fetching drinks and snacks for other people’s children, a constant, painful reminder that her bloodline had died out, that she had no children to lavish with love and presents.

  ‘So, one bowl of water for Buster,’ the woman said, writing it down in her pad. ‘And what would you like, my queen?’ she asked Becky.

  ‘Ice cream,’ she said, braving eye contact.

  ‘Ice cream,’ the old woman laughed. ‘And what’s your favourite flavour?’

  ‘Stwawbewwy fwavour.’

  I couldn’t help but grin – the way she said “strawberry flavour” was adorable. Maybe she was going to have a speech impediment when she grew up, and it was wrong of me to laugh when she got her Rs, Ls and Ws muddled, but I found it seriously the cutest thing. Like when she said “lady-waiter” instead of “radiator”, she would have me in stitches.

  The nice old lady smiled. ‘Strawberry it is. And what about you, Mummy? Would you like ice cream, too?’

  ‘Hmm, I’m not sure about that. I think I’ll have a coffee, please.’

  Aaron took that moment to appear, and he sat down opposite us on the other side of the round table.

  ‘Do you think Daddy would like ice cream, too?’ the woman asked.

  Inside, I cringed, my toes positively curling in embarrassment inside my shin-length boots.

  ‘Oh, he’s not…’ I began, before Aaron spoke over me.

  ‘Bit cold for ice cream, but I could murder a coffee.’

  Becky appeared not to have noticed the faux par about a stranger being her father. It’s not like we spoke much about her dad. Becky hadn’t been talking coherently for that long, and she was still a long way from being properly able to articulate the finer nuances of her feelings. Besides, the main players in her life are me and Granny, there is no one else to speak of – just a few elderly cousins that we see little of. Like me, James was an only child, and he lost his parents to cancer in his early twenties, so there’s no one on his side. Sometimes, she would ask why she didn’t have a daddy, but I sensed it was more curiosity that a deep-rooted grief coming to the fore. She had never met him, so it’s not like she knew any better.

  The old lady finished taking our order. ‘Be back in a jiffy,’ she said, smiling at Becky.

  As soon as she was gone, Becky started gabbling to herself again. Thankfully, she seemed quite content, especially when I produced her favourite teddy from my oversized shoulder-bag.

  ‘Teddy,’ she cried in delight, snatching him out of my fingers.

  Immediately, she started talking to him in her own special language.

  ‘She’s a lively little thing, isn’t she?’ Aaron said, smiling across the table at her.

  While his gaze was not on me, I allowed myself to admire the hard lines and angles of his face. I hadn’t read a Mills and Boon paperback since I was a pubescent, when I used to sneak them out of my long-dead grandmother’s house and would skip to the sex scenes away from the watchful gaze of my mother, but he strongly reminded me of the realistically-painted, rugged heroes I used to admire on those covers.

  He turned his gaze on me and I felt my face flame hot at being caught out staring. I made a big thing of unwrapping the scarf around my neck, my breath catching in my throat at the way his blue-grey eyes gleamed with something that was a little more than friendly. It had been a long time since such a devastatingly attractive man had looked at me in such a way. Hell, it had been a long time since any man had looked at me in that way. I mean, it wasn’t like I dressed provocatively, or ever went out on the town to illicit such attention.

  ‘Yes, she can talk for Britain,’ I found myself saying to hide my blushes. ‘No one knows what she’s chuntering on about, but she can go for hours. How’s your hand? Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?’

  Only when I looked down at his hands, which were clasped loosely on the table top in front of him, did I notice that he wore a thin black glove on his right hand. His left hand was bare.

  ‘It was only a shallow bite, and it’s stopped bleeding. Luckily, I had a pair of gloves in my pocket, and these are tight enough to act as a plaster. It’s fine, don’t worry.’

  ‘Oh. I think I’ve got plasters in my bag, now you mention it, that would be much better than wearing a glove. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know why I didn’t think of that straight away,’ I said, as I rummaged through my vast bag on my lap.

  For a fleeting second, he placed his non-gloved hand over mine, and I felt the tingle all the way up my arm. I immediately stopped rummaging, disconcerted by the strong effect just that light touch had on me.

  ‘Are you married, Joyce?’

  His direct question caught me off-guard and I snatched back my hand, making a big show of closing my bag and placing it on the floor on the opposite side of the chair to Buster. I held my hands in my lap, realising too late that I had been squeezing my finger where my wedding ring used to be. I looked down sadly at my ring-less, middle finger. I had only been going without my wedding ring for the past month, and I was still getting used
to it. It had started to feel overly morbid, visibly making the statement that I was married when my husband had been dead for almost four years. Disrespectful somehow, as silly as that sounds. James was never one for holding me back in life, and I was quite sure that he wouldn’t want to hold me back in death. He wasn’t here, so why pretend that he was? He would’ve told me to just get on with it.

  ‘I’m a widow,’ I said in what I hoped was a level voice.

  My candid reply caught even me off-guard, and I felt my face flame again.

  ‘Me too.’

  His response surprised me; I had not been expecting that. I could feel my eyes widening in my head as I stared at him.

  ‘You are?’

  ‘There’s no need to look quite so surprised, Joyce.’

  ‘Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that, that’s all. I mean, what are the chances?’

  ‘People die, Joyce. That’s what they do.’

  His matter of fact response didn’t shock me as much as it might a person who knew nothing of death. I fully understood how light or dismissive words were capable of hiding a broken heart.

  I shot a sideways glance at Becky; I didn’t want her to get traumatised by talking about her dad, or even the death of Aaron’s wife, for that matter. It was bad enough that Buster had bit a stranger, yet alone her listening to such a difficult, morbid conversation.

  I cleared my throat. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ I said, meeting his gaze.

  The old lady took that moment to return with a bowl of water for Buster, which she placed next to him on the floor. He sprang into action, lapping noisily at the water, his tail quivering and held out straight.

  ‘Thirsty boy, aren’t you?’ she said affectionately, before rushing off again, presumably to fetch our coffee and ice cream.

  ‘I’m sorry for yours, too,’ he said gravely when she was gone.

  He stared deep into my eyes and I had to lower my gaze, honestly feeling like he was seeing straight to the real me, past my public façade to all my secret thoughts and feelings that I kept shielded from the world at large.

  ‘But enough of this doom and gloom, we’re here to talk about your dog. I think he should be enrolled in obedience classes. I know of a fantastic man in Penzance – an acquaintance of mine has used him before, and this guy does house calls. Don’t look so alarmed. I’ll pay. This is my idea, after all.’

  Money was no problem. Even before I had sold mine and James’s London apartment to move in with my mum here in St Ives, we had been living mortgage free. James – who had been a University professor in life – had taken out substantial life insurance, not to mention being in possession of substantial savings which had all been left to me. Not that I needed it, for I had savings of my own already, thanks to a reasonable career and inherited money from my rich grandmother on my mother’s side.

  ‘If you insist on me doing this, then I’ll gladly do it, but I will pay. I am not a charity case,’ I said rather primly.

  A smile tugged at his mouth, and to my dismay, I felt my heart flutter.

  ‘I’m sure you’re not. We can discuss the finer points of our arrangement over dinner tonight.’

  My stomach flipped and I felt my cheeks burn hot. Dinner? With this gorgeous stranger? I couldn’t possibly, I thought in horror. What about Becky? I glanced over at my daughter, who was oblivious to this sudden turn in the conversation because her little eyes were glued on the approaching old woman who was carrying a tray, on top of which were perched two cups and saucers, a little jug of milk and a tall, thin glass with pink scoops of ice cream in it.

  I was pleased for the momentary diversion and sent my silent thanks to the woman.

  ‘There you are, my queen,’ she said, setting down the ice cream in front of Becky. ‘Enjoy.’

  ‘Thank you,’ both Aaron and I said in unison to the woman.

  When we were alone again, he leaned in closer to me and spoke quickly and quietly. ‘You do know how lucky you are that I’m not insisting you put down your dog? Most people would, especially when said dog is living with a child. I could knowingly be putting your daughter in danger. But I have the ideal solution to that problem.’

  ‘I looked at him blankly, unsure of where he was going with this. ‘A solution?’

  ‘As Buster is a dangerous dog, I insist that he comes to live with me. I could never live with myself, knowingly putting your daughter in the path of danger.’

  My heart kicked up a notch in pure indignation, partly at the mere suggestion that I could ever out my daughter “in the path of danger” and partly at the defamation of Buster’s character.

  ‘Buster’s not dangerous.’

  I believed that wholeheartedly – he had never shown signs of aggression before.

  ‘And I trust your judgement, so that’s why I’m not insisting on a trip to the vets.’

  I glanced nervously across the table at Becky, who thankfully seemed more entranced with her ice cream than with us.

  ‘And when were you planning on doing this?’ I asked, tight-lipped.

  ‘As soon as possible. I’ll take him now, if you like.’

  Becky looked up at me, her jaws working on the ice cream. Did she understand what we were talking about? I wondered. If she did, she showed no outward signs of it. It was so hard to tell with children that age with regards to what they did, or didn’t, understand. It certainly was with Becky, anyway.

  I turned my attention back to the man that had exploded into my life and torn apart my existence in a few short seconds. ‘I’m not sure that now is convenient, as it happens. My mum will want to say goodbye, and all Buster’s stuff is at home and…’

  I had to stop speaking because, to my utter dismay, I had a lump in my throat.

  ‘I’m sorry. I think I’m doing the kindest thing I can, in the circumstances.’

  His voice was soft; soft enough to hurt.

  ‘Stwawbewwy,’ Becky said.

  I let out a laugh, then panicked it had come out nearer a sob. Hastily, I wiped my eyes.

  ‘Yes, sweethearts, strawberry. Is it nice?’

  ‘Ice cream.’

  I smiled at her, loving her so much in that moment that it was a physical thing, a tugging sensation deep inside of me. I reached out to push aside a couple of strands of blonde hair that had wandered near her eye.

  ‘We’ll discuss the details at dinner, tonight,’ he said.

  I looked at him incredulously. He was so calm, so self-assured.

  You can’t just steal my dog! a little voice screamed in my mind.

  ‘Are you always so forceful?’

  ‘When I have to be. Do you live far from town? Because it would be nice to share a bottle of wine with dinner. If you’re too far away to walk into town, I’ll arrange for a taxi to pick you up. Do you like seafood? I was thinking that we could eat at Shelley’s.’

  “Shelley’s” was one of the most highly acclaimed seafood restaurants in St Ives, if not the entirety of the South West. I’d never eaten there before, purely because I couldn’t see the point in waiting months for a table.

  And maybe also because no one had ever asked me to go there with them before, but that was hardly the point.

  ‘Shelley’s? You’ll never get a table at such short notice, not even this time of year. Besides, I haven’t said yes, yet.’

  ‘Your dog savaged me. I would say that it’s the least you could do.’

  ‘I don’t know…’ I began, not thinking of an excuse quick enough.

  Or maybe, more to the point, I didn’t want to. Because the truth was, my social calendar was embarrassingly bare.

  ‘Good, that’s that settled then. Can you get a babysitter at such short notice? If not, I have a few connections.’

  ‘I live with my mother. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to babysit.’

  Even though I was purposely sounding sarcastic, I was still speaking the truth. Thanks to my mum, I would never again be short of a babysitter, but I rarely took her up on her heartfelt
offer. Yes, she had recently been diagnosed with early stage Alzheimer’s, but I trusted her implicitly. Just lately, she’d been nagging at me to go out at night and “have a good time”. Well, it would seem that she was about to get her wish.

  He grinned at me, and his handsome face looked instantly ten years younger. Boyishly handsome, I decided with an unwelcome flutter of my heart. ‘Great. I’m glad that part is settled.’

  I reached for a lump of sugar with the little tongs and plopped it into my white cup – anything to distract myself from the fact he was giving me the jitters, because that wouldn’t do at all.

  ‘Do you like your ice cream, Becky?’ I asked, quite unnecessarily.

  She appeared to be in a world of her own, chatting incoherently and happily to Teddy as she shovelled it in.

  ‘I think we should take that as a yes,’ Aaron said, smiling at my daughter. He turned the full-force of his attention back onto me and I couldn’t suppress the shiver that coursed through my body when his icy, blue-grey eyes bore into mine.

  This guy was going to be trouble, I could feel it with every ounce of my being.

  He smiled, as if sensing my discomfort. ‘I think we should arrange tonight.’

  FOUR

  Me and mum lived at the highest point of town on Cargreen Hill. Like the name suggests, the road followed a steep incline and we lived right at the top. It was an undeniably grand, semi-detached house with a distant view of the sea that lapped against the beach where I had met Aaron just this morning. We couldn’t see the beach itself, thanks to the high wall on the other side of the road, but the view of the ocean from Mum’s bedroom upstairs was spectacular, nonetheless. It was arguably the ideal house in which a heartbroken widow could bring up her only child.