Told in Silence

‘So how was the party?’ she asked when the girl had bounced out of the shop, bags jauntily in hand. Her voice was light, but she was looking at me with the same thinly veiled expression of curiosity and sympathy that she had worn since I had told her about my marriage. ‘Did Harvey enjoy it?’

This seemed to be everyone’s primary concern. ‘I think so,’ I said. ‘Everything went smoothly, anyway. Well, except—’ I broke off. I felt unaccountably shy about mentioning Max – perhaps because to the best of my recollection she had never mentioned him herself. A flash of his dark, scowling face came to me; the rough, earthy smell of smoke that had risen off him as he grabbed my wrist and leant in towards me. The previous night, I had dreamt about him. In my dream he had been cutting down the old apple tree in the garden after dark, naked from the waist up, bare muscular arms swinging with contained power as he hacked with a gleaming silver saw at its trunk. I went forward to greet him, but he acted as if he could not see me, his black eyes burning through me with ferocious concentration, wide and oblivious to the sparks of wood that flew all around us and stung the air. I had woken in a sweat, my heart thumping as if an intruder had slid into something far more threatening than my dreams.

‘I think you met my brother, didn’t you?’ Catherine said, as if she had read my mind. She was watching me very intently now, as if searching my thoughts.

‘Yes – yes, I did,’ I stammered. ‘You don’t look alike, at all.’

‘Everyone says that,’ said Catherine, shrugging. ‘I think we do.’

I almost laughed, looking at her fragile prettiness; the white-blonde hair feathered around her face, the pert nose and full pink lips. ‘Maybe if I saw you together,’ I said.

‘Well, you’ll get your chance,’ she said. ‘He said he was going to pop in here around midday, so he should be here soon.’

‘What? Why would he do that?’ I asked sharply. I saw Catherine’s face crease in confusion, and bit my lip. The echo of my voice, unnaturally and unnecessarily harsh, hung between us. I knew that I was being ridiculous, but the thought of seeing Max again frightened me. I felt an instinctive wariness, the prickling of a sixth sense running over me from top to toe.

‘I wondered that myself,’ Catherine said. ‘He never has before. But maybe it’s not me he’s coming to see.’ Her voice was teasing, but there was anxiety in her eyes. ‘Only joking – I think he just wants to catch up. He moved out from our parents’ a few years ago, so we don’t see each other so much these days. But if there’s a problem – I could call him and tell him not to bother, if you like.’

I hesitated; it would be easy to say yes, but I didn’t want any awkwardness to develop between myself and Catherine, not so soon after I had finally begun to sense the potential for a friendship between us. ‘No, no, of course not,’ I said, softening my voice to compensate for my outburst. ‘I’m sorry. To be honest, I’m just a bit cautious around men these days. I know it’s silly, but since Jonathan, I don’t have much to do with them – well, except Harvey, of course.’ I was speaking without consideration, almost at random, but as I did so I realised that there was more than a grain of truth in what I was saying, and it comforted me a little.

Catherine looked indecisive, her fingers agitatedly running back and forth along the long strands of green glass beads she wore around her neck. ‘Of course,’ she echoed. ‘I didn’t think.’

I sensed her automatic deference to a situation she knew nothing about, and felt guilty. ‘Honestly, it’s fine,’ I said, more firmly this time. ‘I can’t hide away for ever.’ These words had been said to me many times over the past few months, mostly in the form of unanswered voicemails from my former school-friends that had graded from sympathy to worry to sulkiness, and eventually through to silence. I had always hated the sentiment: I wasn’t hiding away, just had no desire to see them or anyone else. Now, though, I discovered that it could be a useful panacea – and when I was the one saying it, I found that I didn’t mind it so much.

‘Well, that’s good,’ said Catherine, breaking away and giggling nervously, ‘because speak of the devil…’

…And he’ll draw near, I thought. The bell above the shop door jangled with brittle force as Max pushed the door open and came in. Hands in pockets, he surveyed the shop for a few seconds, as if it were some curious new world. He was wearing a charcoal-coloured T-shirt that hugged the tops of his arms tightly, outlining the muscle beneath. Seeing him again, I noticed anew the brutally close cut of his hair against his skull, and how tall he was – taller than Jonathan, maybe by three inches or more. He didn’t take off his sunglasses, and it was impossible to tell exactly where he was looking. I found it unsettling.

‘All right, Catherine,’ he said, striding forward and slinging one arm around her neck briefly to kiss her cheek. With a shock, I saw that although I could still see nothing of her in him, there was something of him in her – warped, softened and feminised, but unmistakable. He must have felt me staring, because he wheeled round and directed the blank dark glare of his glasses towards me. ‘Hello,’ he said.

‘Hello.’ I was determined to be polite, but all the same I could think of nothing more to say. Now that we were face to face, all I could feel was humiliation at our last meeting – my childish protestations that he had not been invited to Harvey’s garden party. ‘I could make you some tea, if you like.’ I clutched at the idea with relief. It had felt like the right thing to say, but as soon as the words were out, I wished I had kept quiet: it sounded like an absurdly middle-class offer. I felt as embarrassed as if I had suggested that we should all sit out on the lawn together in Edwardian dress, drinking out of bone-china cups and eating scones with jam.

‘Tea,’ Max repeated. ‘Yeah, well, why not.’ He spoke the words in a flat monotone that to my ears was tinged with sarcasm, as if he was doing me a favour rather than the other way around, but all the same I was grateful for the acceptance. I ducked into the back room, pulling the door shut behind me to drown out their voices. I put the kettle on, lined the mugs up with trembling hands. I felt totally out of control of my own body. For a second I screwed my eyes tight shut, breathing deeply, but when I opened them again everything looked eerie and unreal, brightly coloured and two-dimensional. I gritted my teeth; it was ridiculous to be so nervous, nervous at nothing. I bent down and took the milk out of the fridge, then realised that I had no idea whether or not Max took it, or sugar for that matter. The thought of going back in to ask paralysed me. I tapped my fingers against the mugs, willing myself to think. Jonathan had taken milk and one sugar; I would give Max the same. The logic made no sense, but I didn’t care. I filled the mugs with exaggerated care and put them on to a tray. Briefly I considered adding some biscuits, but thought better of it; I didn’t want to seem like an overeager housewife. I pushed my way through the door, tray in hand. Max and Catherine were talking by the counter, their heads close together in a way that suggested something more than idle chit-chat.

‘Tea!’ I said brightly, brandishing the tray. Catherine sprang apart from Max, coming towards me. For a fraction of a second, like a trick of the light, her beaming face looked false and untrustworthy.

I handed Max his mug and watched as he raised it to his lips. From the wince that passed over his face, I assumed that I had been wrong about the sugar, but he continued to drink without comment; it gave me a perverse sort of satisfaction. Silence fell. We made a strange little tableau: Catherine perched on the counter, bright watchful eyes on her brother as she sipped, myself and Max standing a couple of feet apart in front of her. I felt a dizzy, vertiginous sense of rising and falling – as if I had been plucked out of the scene, surveying it from a great height, then returned to earth again.

‘Do you get a lunch break?’ Max asked suddenly. I thought at first that the question was directed at Catherine, but she just looked steadily back at me, awaiting my answer. As I floundered in shock, Max pushed the sunglasses up on to his forehead and his unsmiling eyes met mine. With the contact, I felt my heart twitch, not understanding why.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I usually just go to the café across the road.’

‘Let’s go, then.’ He put down his mug, still half full. The set of his shoulders was challenging, tensed for combat. I swallowed, tasting an acrid tang behind the sweetness of the tea. My eyes flicked to Catherine again. What exactly was happening here? The thought that I was somehow being set up, pimped out to this ridiculously unsuitable man, was so incredible that I could barely give it credence, and yet what other explanation could there be? Catherine’s face was tentatively eager, urging me on, but she looked so innocent, as if there was nothing here to worry about or be afraid of. Perhaps she thought that I needed a male friend. If so, I wished she had alighted on a less threatening candidate. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders. I was an adult – I had no obligation to waste my lunch hour with a complete stranger.

I opened my mouth to say that I was busy, but in the brief pulse between the decision and the words, something happened. Slowly and deliberately, Max held out his arm, as if to encourage me to slip mine through his – an exaggerated pantomime of a polite Victorian gentleman. The gesture looked so ludicrous on him that a sharp peal of laughter burst from me. I glanced up and saw that he was smiling too, teeth glinting wickedly in the dark cavern of his mouth. On impulse, I picked up my handbag and moved towards him. It was only a lunch, after all. There could be no harm in this.

‘I’ll be back by one,’ I told Catherine.

‘No worries – I’ve got sandwiches here, anyway,’ she said airily. ‘I’ll see you at Mum and Dad’s next week, Max?’

‘Yeah, maybe,’ Max threw back over his shoulder as he pushed the door open. I had been used to chivalry, but all the same I was surprised when he held it open for me to go through. I did so, blinking as light flooded my eyes. The heat of the day had intensified over the morning, and now everything looked faintly sticky and glistening. I could feel the heat of the pavement through the thin soles of my sandals. I pulled my cardigan off, leaving my shoulders bare to the sun, and I thought I saw Max’s eyes flick there, a quick reflexive action that was over almost as soon as it had begun. We walked in silence to the café. A few people passed us as we went, and I thought I saw something in their eyes: wariness, perhaps, or concern. Watching Max stride along the street, I could understand why. He walked with controlled force, as if he were on a mission that would not end well. Staring straight ahead, he seemed to dismiss everything around him. He doesn’t fit this quiet town,