Unspoken: A story of secrets, love and revenge by T. Belshaw (i want to read a book .TXT) 📕

measured the ground at the back of our existing barn and marked it out with stakes. The work on the foundations would start mid-December, and the barn would be completed in late January. Miriam hid in the front room while Michael was here. She hadn’t seen him since their seaside visit in August. He did ask how she was, which I thought was nice of him.

Edna died in the first week of October. A neighbour found her slumped on the kitchen floor when she went round to borrow her garden shears. On the shelf was a letter to Frank. The neighbour passed it to the vicar, who passed it to me. I burned it in the stove, unread.

Edna’s funeral took place on a dreadful, wet, windy, day in the middle of the month. During the service, the vicar, once again, gave out a dire warning on the evils of the demon drink. I wondered if he was chastising himself in the speech, or whether he knew about Frank’s temperament. There was no other point in bringing the matter up, as Edna had never been a drinker. Like Miriam and me, she had once lived with a man whose only concern in life was obtaining his next alcoholic fix. I sat in the church with five other mourners, two of whom were gravediggers who sat on the back pew just to get out of the pouring rain. The three genuine mourners were me, Edna’s next-door neighbour, and a thin, sour-faced woman, who, it transpired, had only come to the service in case Frank turned up.

Just about all of the old folk in the town had a burial plot booked with the church. Most had lived in the surrounding area all of their lives, since the place was little more than a village. Middle-aged people tended to be buried in the council-owned cemetery, where the cost of burial wasn’t as exorbitant. Most people described themselves as Christian, even if they had never been to church in their lives.

Edna’s plot was at the back of the church, on the opposite side to my parents. The ground was prone to bogginess in winter, so the plots were much cheaper. The pile of soil at the side of the grave, oozed moisture. The diggers would have their work cut out shovelling spadesful of cloying mud, back into the hole. The rain, that had been heavy as we entered the church, had eased, and we were treated to a fine drizzle that got down the back of your clothes and sat in your hair until it formed enough of a raindrop to drip from it. My heels sank into the soggy ground on the perimeter of the grave site. The Reverend Villiers, who was obviously more important than us, got a strip of coconut matting to stand on. As I had done at my father’s funeral, I took a handful of the soil and dropped it into the grave as the vicar was reaching the height of his graveside rant. He shot me a look of disapproval as he asked God to forgive Edna’s sins. I doubt she had any, not real ones, although the church would consider getting herself pregnant, out of wedlock, as a biggie. Women, it seemed, always managed to get pregnant by themselves, I wondered what the Virgin Mary would have to say about that.

Reverend Villiers called to me as I stepped away from the grave, to make my way back to dry land.

‘We have a problem with the payment for Edna’s funeral, Mrs Mollison.’

‘I gave you all of the money that Edna had given me,’ I replied, wondering why he was telling me about it.

‘The thing is… Oh, I hate it when I have to do this… The thing is, Edna’s money falls fifteen shillings short.’

I shrugged. ‘So, why did you go ahead with the service?’

‘We thought one of our charities would make up the difference, but they just don’t have the funds, so, sadly, as Frank isn’t around, it means that you are her only surviving relative. I’m sure Edna would have been embarrassed by this oversight. It isn’t the time or place to argue about a few shillings.’

I was about to tell him that I was no relation of Edna’s at all, but I bit my tongue. The vicar had the ear of every nosy busybody for miles around and I didn’t really want my private life discussed at every church event for the next ten years.

‘Send me the bill, I’ll make up the shortfall,’ I said. It was the least I could do for Edna. She’d had a bad enough day as it was.

The skinny woman caught up with me as I walked out of the church gates. Her name was Gloria, a most unfitting name for such a miserable woman.

‘You’re Frank’s wife, aren’t you?’

I didn’t reply.

‘He owes me a pound from the bank holiday,’ she said.

I shrugged and walked on, eager to get home and dry out.

Gloria grabbed me by the elbow.

‘I said—’

‘I heard.’

‘Well then, what are you going to do about it? He said he was desperate and needed the money to buy baby milk and nappies. He was asking everyone who passed by. I said I’d help as I knew his mother, but I think he tricked me, because he went straight into The Old Bull a minute after I had given it to him. I can’t afford to hand out pound notes like that. I’m not a rich woman.’

‘I have no idea who you are,’ I said, leaving it at that. The rain was picking up again. I turned up my collar and walked on. She had to almost run to keep up with me.

‘I own the wool shop,’ she said. ‘You were supposed to buy a pram from me, but you let me down on that too. Deceit seems to run in your family.’

I stopped dead, and turned to face her; I’d had enough extortion for one day.

‘Now, listen to me, and make