House of Silence by Linda Gillard Page B

turned the water off,
but as steam rose from the depths of the bath, the thought of a
long, hot soak proved irresistible. The herd of elephants began to
retreat, the earthquake abated, until there was just the sound of
water cascading into the bath. I poured in some bath oil, removed
my clothes, clambered over the high side and wallowed.
    Bliss... Or it was until I remembered this
was Christmas. A family time. For once I was spending it with a
family, but not my own. Would that make it easier or harder for me
to get through the yearly ordeal of remembrance? Spending Christmas
with Alfie’s eccentric relations surely couldn’t be any worse than
spending it alone, or in the dubious company of the night shelter
derelicts at St. Patrick’s?
    Perhaps I would have a wonderful time. Viv and Hattie seemed very nice and the gardener was... Was
what? ‘Interesting’ was as far as I was prepared to commit myself.
Now, if Alfie would just thaw a little towards his family, surely a
good time could be had by all, even me?
    A good time... My family’s speciality.
Burning the candle at both ends and melting it in the middle.
Perhaps they were all still having a good time, wherever they were.
Given their track record, presumably not Heaven. But surely the
afterlife in the other place must be like one gigantic party, with
people turning up unexpectedly, decidedly the worse for wear. The
music would be too loud, the food would be stale and the white wine
would - naturally - be warm. But Sasha, Sam and Frank would still
be having a good time, of that I had no doubt.
    I lay on my back and studied the ceiling,
seasonably festooned with chains of dusty cobwebs. ‘Merry
Christmas, Sasha... Aunt Sam... Uncle Frank.’ My voice sounded
hollow, echoey, not like mine at all. ‘I’m having a wonderful
time,’ I murmured. ‘Wish you were here...’
     
    I got out of the bath, dried my body and my eyes, got
dressed and donned comfy old slippers. I went back downstairs
again, heading for the warmth of the kitchen and the sound of
voices.
    The slippers were possibly a mistake.
    Marek was at the sink, washing his hands. (I
couldn’t think of him as Tyler now I knew that wasn’t his name.) I
tried to ignore the fact I felt pleased to see him again and in
better light. Such an emotion seemed quite unaccountable, so I
decided not to account for it.
    Viv and Hattie were preparing dinner.
‘Gwen!’ said Viv, smiling broadly. ‘Another cup of tea? Sit down
and make yourself at home. Have you met Tyler?’
    ‘Yes. We had a chat in the garden.’
    Marek twisted round from the sink to nod at
me - it wasn’t quite a smile - then said, ‘You didn’t get lost
then?’
    ‘No. I stuck to the path, as you
suggested.’
    ‘You weren’t tempted to stray?’ He smiled
and, to my total consternation, I blushed. I turned away and sat
down at the kitchen table, from where I was still able to observe
him. He’d removed the scruffy woollen layers and his boots and I
contemplated a tall, long-limbed frame that dwarfed even Viv as she
stood beside him, beating hell out of a Yorkshire pudding batter. I
couldn’t imagine why I’d thought he was old. It must have been his
stooping posture and the silver hair, which gleamed now under the
bright kitchen lights.
    Marek was washing his hands with a clinical
thoroughness, scrubbing at his skin and nails with a brush. As I
watched, one of his hands started to bleed. ‘Oh, stop!’ I
exclaimed. ‘You’re bleeding.’
    He looked up, surprised, and said, ‘It’s
nothing. I just stabbed myself with some holly. Looks worse than it
is because of the hot water.’
    ‘When was your last tetanus?’ Viv said,
taking a break from her batter. ‘Perhaps you should you put a
plaster on it.’
    ‘Have you got one of those Mickey Mouse
jobs?’ he replied.
    ‘No, Hattie had the last of those. We’re
down to bog-standard Elastoplast.’
    He shrugged. ‘I’ll pass then.’
    ‘Serves you right if you bleed to