Hush (7 page)

‘Oh.’ Marcus turned this over in his head, wondering at his daughter’s behaviour. ‘Right. So Dad said something about the lessons not going well?’

‘They’re not going at all, actually.’ She pulled a tea towel out of a drawer, wiped her hands, and then picked a plate off the drying rack. ‘Lily seems to have lost interest in the last couple of weeks. No particular reason, I don’t think, but nothing I can do will get her to sit down with me.’

‘You don’t think you’ve upset her somehow?’

‘No, I don’t think so. She’s still happy to cook with me, and we watch films together, and so on.’

‘Hmm.’ Marcus leaned back against the kitchen counter, watching his mother as she concentrated on drying a wine glass. ‘Maybe she needs to go back to school. Be with other kids.’

‘I thought the school recommended that she not go back until she was speaking.’

‘Only because they’re too lazy to deal with her not speaking.’ Marcus realised his voice was unusually harsh, and he took a breath before continuing. ‘We can’t keep her out of school forever, can we? And they can’t refuse to take her just because she won’t talk.’

‘Well, not necessarily because she can’t talk. But they might say she’s difficult, or antisocial, or what have you.’

‘In what way is she difficult?’

‘Oh, Marcus, come on.’ His mother put down the wine glass and the tea towel. ‘
You
find it difficult, don’t you? Having a daughter who doesn’t speak?’

He shrugged, and found himself being forcibly reminded of standing in this same kitchen at the age of fifteen, with his mother speaking to him in the same tone of voice. He’d felt the same defensiveness then, and the same twinge of childish embarrassment. ‘Yes,’ he admitted at last. ‘Of course it’s difficult.’

‘So how do you imagine it is for other people, who don’t have the same love for her that you do? Can’t you imagine how hard it is for them?’

He sighed. ‘But it’s not as though she misbehaves.’

‘Not talking is a form of misbehaviour, Marcus.’

He glared at her, but she held his gaze, steadily. ‘But she’s not – it’s not like that.’

‘How can you be sure? How can any of us be sure, really?’

‘What’s your point, Mum?’

She sighed. ‘I don’t know. I just – I’m not sure it’s working. I think maybe she needs professional help of some sort. Or at the very least a professional opinion. I have no idea whether I’m helping, or making no difference, or even doing her damage. And I’m starting to feel as if maybe I don’t want the responsibility of trying to guess.’

Marcus nodded. Looked down at the floor. Noted the scuff marks on the lino that had been there since he was a teenager.

‘Yeah, that’s fair enough.’

‘I don’t want you to think I’m giving up on her.’ She took his hand then, and when he looked up he realised she had tears in her eyes. ‘Really. If I thought I was helping I would do this for years. But I need to know that I’m doing the right thing for her.’

He smiled, and put his arms around her, marvelling at how small she was; the top of her head rested an inch below his chin. ‘I know, Mum. I’m sorry. I hadn’t realised I was being so selfish.’

‘Don’t start beating yourself up – ’

‘Shh. I won’t start. But I will talk to Anna about taking Lils to see someone. Okay?’

When she nodded he could feel her nose digging into his chest. He tried to remember when it had been the other way around: when she’d been the taller one, and he’d had to stretch his arms to reach around her waist. But she felt so fragile now, it almost seemed as though that person had never existed.

The hospital was an endless succession of waits. Waiting for tests, waiting for test results, waiting for various doctors to collate their opinions on test results. Lily said even less than usual, and spent a lot of time looking out of the window. She was at the end of a row of beds, and with the curtain drawn she could almost pretend they were alone. Richard held her hand and twitched anxiously every time someone came on to the ward.

He’d tried asking her about what had happened. ‘I fainted,’ was all Lily would say, her tone of voice growing more petulant with each repetition of the statement. He tried hounding doctors, hunting down concrete responses, and was met with nothing but a series of apologies.

In the end he gave up, and called Connie, who said she’d come right away.

Darkness fell early, so that the sterile whiteness of the room, and its motionless occupants, were reflected unavoidably in its wall of windows. A short while later, muffled bangs, like distant gunshots, punctuated the silence, and Richard realised it was the fifth of November.
Remember, remember
, his mind whispered. A look from Lily told him that he had inadvertently spoken aloud. The surrounding buildings were too high for him to see the fireworks in the sky, but he craned his neck nonetheless.

Connie’s arrival scattered their silence irretrievably, as always.

‘Do they know what’s wrong yet? Have they told you anything?’ She directed the question at Richard, bypassing Lily entirely, though she did sit down on Lily’s other side and take her free hand.

‘No. They’ve done scans, and blood tests. We’re just waiting for the results.’

‘What
happened
?’ This time she did look at Lily, her badly veiled accusations fixed firmly on her sister.

‘I fainted.’

‘But why? What happened to make you want to faint?’

‘I didn’t
want
to faint,’ Lily said, irritably.

‘Well, no, I didn’t mean that. But what was happening?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Was it because of Mama?’

Lily exhaled through gritted teeth, but said nothing. Richard looked at her, surprised. He didn’t often see her express signs of irritation, even with Connie, who he knew irritated her intensely.

‘It’s a lot to take in – ’

‘We knew she was going to die, Connie. And I hadn’t seen her for years.’

Connie looked as if she’d been slapped. ‘That doesn’t make it any less upsetting.’

‘I think it does.’

‘You’re just trying to block it out. You always do this – refuse to acknowledge when something upsets you. You don’t talk, you don’t
let go
.’

‘I’m not you.’

‘I’m well aware of that.’

Richard watched as the two sisters faced each other down, silently. Struck by the similarity of their expressions.

‘So if not Mama, then what?’

‘I don’t think anything actually happened, as such,’ Richard said, trying to inject some reason into the proceedings.

‘Well,
something
must have happened.’

‘People faint all the time. I’m sure it’s nothing serious.’ He squeezed Lily’s hand, encouragingly. Her response was weak, but definitely there.

‘They wouldn’t have her in hospital if it wasn’t serious – ’

‘
Connie
– ’

‘Don’t treat me as though I’m some idiot who can be placated, Richard, because I’m not. This is my sister and she was unconscious for five minutes and no one knows why. And she won’t bloody tell me what happened beforehand. I’m allowed to ask questions, and I’m allowed to be pissed off.’

‘Connie.’ It was Lily who said her name this time, little more than a whisper. ‘It’s okay. I’m fine. I feel fine.’

‘But you’re in
hospital
.’

‘Shhh.’ Richard realised that Connie was crying, then, shaking with silent tears. Lily must have felt her trembling. ‘I feel fine.’

Richard looked at the two of them. The swiftness with which their roles could reverse never failed to surprise him. He was sure that half of their communication passed in front of him, completely unnoticed.

He was relieved when a nurse came in, breaking the silence, prompting Connie to wipe away her tears, return to her former self. With their normal roles resumed, he knew where he stood. Could put aside the possibility that he might ever be anything except Lily’s pillar of support, strong, and unshakeable in his priorities.

‘Well, Lily. I think I’m right in saying you have quite a history with this sort of thing?’

The doctor couldn’t have been older than twenty-two, and yet he was talking to her as if she were a child, and
a misbehaving one at that. She glared at him. At her side, Richard took her hand and watched the doctor hopefully.

‘You’re very lucky. Nothing to indicate that you’re not perfectly healthy,’ the doctor continued brightly. ‘But with your medical history we’d like to recommend that you take a break for a while.’

‘What do you mean, her history?’ Richard looked from Lily, glowering on the bed, to the doctor who looked down at her carelessly. ‘I know she fainted a bit as a child – ’

‘Perhaps you’d rather discuss this alone?’ the doctor suggested, raising an eyebrow at Lily. She shook her head firmly. ‘Okay, then. Lily has been treated for various anxiety-related disorders since she was a child. Part of that was due to her tendency to collapse under stress. Part of it – ’ he gave her a significant look ‘– related to her refusal to speak. She was diagnosed with something known as conversion disorder.’ He looked at them both, his expression bordering on scornful. ‘In the nineteenth century it would have been known as hysteria.’

Richard ignored the carelessness in his tone. ‘And what does this disorder involve?’

‘The symptoms are wide-ranging and unspecific. It involves the conversion of stresses or traumas into physical symptoms that the body is forced to deal with. These could be seizures, tremors, fainting… loss of speech.’ He looked at Lily once again. ‘All of the symptoms are manifestations of mental disturbance of some kind, and, as such, should not pose any genuine physical threat.’

‘You’re trying to say she’s making it up.’

‘Not at all.’ The tone was as careless as ever. ‘The symptoms are very real. But they are not an indicator of a physical illness, and therefore Lily does not belong in a hospital. She should go to her GP and discuss treatments for anxiety. I would recommend some counselling.’

‘I can go, then?’ Lily’s voice was calm.

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you.’

The doctor left the cubicle, and Lily began to move herself out of bed, shifting her stiff limbs slowly under the sheets. Richard tore his gaze away from the curtain to look at her.

‘How could you not have told me about this?’

She shrugged, stretching her legs off the side of the bed.

‘Lily, I’m serious. You knew there was something wrong and you never said?’

‘
You
knew there was something wrong.’ She had her back to him as she spoke.

‘Not something like this. Not talking is not the same as – as collapsing, or having seizures, or – ’

‘I’ve never had seizures.’

‘But you could. If you let this go untreated, who knows what things your brain could convince your body it needs to do? How could you not have told me?’

‘I’ve had treatment.’

‘And it’s worked spectacularly well, obviously.’

She stood up, trying to pull her hospital gown around her so that she was fully covered while she looked around for her clothes. She didn’t answer him.

‘Lily, please. This is serious. We need to talk about it.’

She located her clothes on the chair next to her, and started to pull them on under her gown.

‘Please.’

She looked at him. Looked away. Sat down on the edge of her bed to put her socks on.

‘I want to go home,’ she said, quietly.

He drove her home that night, amid a skyful of celebration. When they passed the fairground, the firework display was at its pinnacle, and they paused for a moment to watch the
lights blazing in the sky, to hear the shouts of delight that floated through the air and landed softly on their ears.

Lily was almost asleep by the time they got home, and Richard half-carried her up the stairs to their flat, depositing her in the bed. She fell asleep immediately, without even asking for a story. He watched her for five minutes until her breathing became deep and even, and then he eased her gently out of her trousers, and pulled the duvet up to her shoulders.

The answerphone light was flashing in the living room. He thought of work for the first time since he’d left that afternoon. Realised that he’d probably screwed up. He wandered through to the kitchen, poured himself a whisky, and took a long swig before topping it up and carrying it back through to the living room. Turned on the TV, though he knew he wouldn’t watch it. He flicked to the 24-hour news channel and turned the sound down.

They hadn’t been able to guarantee that it wouldn’t happen again. They’d asked if anything upsetting had occurred recently, and then said a reaction like hers wasn’t surprising, considering the circumstances. Recommended a holiday. He’d almost laughed.

He wondered if he was doing something wrong, letting her be the way she was. Maybe it wasn’t healthy. He took it for granted; tried to make it as easy as possible. Maybe he actually made her worse, letting her spend so much of her life in silence. But then, that was why she loved him.

He assumed.

As he assumed so much. Because, of course, she never said a fucking word about it.

In one motion he lifted the glass in his hand and flung it against the wall, sending whisky flying up his arm and across the room. Splashing brazenly across the wall. The glass shattered, and fell in a million pieces behind the unit which held the TV.

He breathed deeply, shakily, and waited to see if she’d wake up.

Not a sound.

He pressed ‘play’ on the answerphone, and listened as his boss explained in weary tones why he would never make it as a journalist.

Lily awoke to the sound of breaking glass. Lay in perfect stillness to see what would come afterwards. Nothing but the low rumble of the television and, after a minute, the electronic chatter of the answerphone, indecipherable.

She could remember lying in bed as a child, listening to her parents arguing. Breaking glass had always been followed by slamming doors. And then the agonising wail of her mother’s tears. Anna had never troubled to keep quiet, never worried about who heard what.

Lily lay in the darkness, listening, but no further sound came from the living room. She waited for two hours until she heard Richard move, and then she turned over and pretended to be asleep. He crept into the bedroom, slipped under the covers with a minimum of movement. Didn’t disturb her, except to lean over and lightly kiss her on the forehead.

She fell asleep with the imprint of his lips still burning on her skin.