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

‘How is he?’ he asked.

‘Dying,’ I said, bluntly.

I stopped off at the greengrocer, who bought fresh veg from us at certain times of the year, the newsagent/tobacconist, the pharmacy, because I knew Geraldine who worked there and the Co-op where we bought our own food supplies.

When I reached The Old Bull on my way back, I decided to drop in on Frank’s mother and give her our new number in case she ever needed to reach Frank in an emergency. She was only about fifty yards away from the Post Office telephone kiosk, so she could ring for a chat in the evenings if she felt like it.

I walked briskly up her front path, opened the wrought iron gate and knocked softly on her back door. She must have been in the kitchen because the door opened almost immediately. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth to greet her, but before I could get a word out, she stuck her head out of the doorway, checked the road to see if anyone was looking then, grabbing me by the front of my coat, she pulled me inside.

We looked at each other for a full minute before I broke the ice.

‘Hello, Mrs Mollison, I’m—’

‘I know who you are, Girl, the important thing is, what do you want?’

I ignored her hostile tone and spoke in what I hoped was a confident, but friendly voice.

‘I just dropped by to give you our new telephone number. In case you ever need to get in touch with Frank. Call any time, if you want a chat, or if anything important comes up.’

She picked up a scrap of paper with a partly written shopping list on it, and a pencil.

‘Well?’

‘Spinton 134,’ I replied and turned back towards the door. ‘Sorry to have bothered you.’

‘Wait,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t be rushing about in your condition. She pointed to an open door that led to her living room. ‘Go through and sit down. I’ll make us a pot of tea.’

I wasn’t sure where she meant me to sit, so I stood on the mat in front of the fireplace until she returned. She waved me to the sofa, then put the tea tray on the coffee table and sat down in an armchair opposite me. I expected her to say something like, what do you have to say for yourself? But she didn’t.

‘He’s done the right thing by you then?’

I showed her my ring finger.

‘Yes, we got married on Saturday.’ I looked at my hands, trying to avoid her keen eyes.

‘I have always looked forward to going to my son’s wedding. Getting to know his bride beforehand. Help plan the wedding, the usual stuff.’

‘I’m sorry about that,’ I said, ‘but there really wasn’t time and… well, it would have been embarrassing for you anyway.’

‘I’d still like to have been there, and I wouldn’t have been embarrassed in the slightest.’

She poured tea into two delicate, china cups sat on matching saucers, added milk and passed one to me. ‘I don’t have any sugar,’ she said.

I held onto the saucer with both hands, terrified of dropping it and trying to stop the cup rattling in my nervous hands.

She sipped her tea and swilled it around her mouth like a wine taster. ‘I don’t know how much Frank has told you, but… well, let’s just say your situation isn’t unfamiliar to me. The only difference is, Frank lived up to his responsibilities. His father, didn’t.’

I decided not to let on how much I knew, and stared down at my unsampled, tea.

‘How are you getting on together, Alice? I’ve only heard Frank’s thoughts, and men don’t see things like we do. All I got out of him was, we get on fine.’

‘We get on quite well to say we haven’t known each other long. I only met him the night… I mean, he was away for a while and he’s only been on the farm a couple of months, so… we get on well enough,’ I finished, lamely.

‘You won’t know him that much better in a year’s time,’ she replied with feeling. ‘He’s a man, and men never reveal much of themselves to anyone, not even to themselves.’

‘I don’t know much about men, Mrs Mollison, only what my best friend Amy and I learned from the boys at school, and from the novels we read.’

‘Of course you don’t, you’re not much more than a child.’ She thought for a while, her brow furrowed. ‘Call me Edna,’ she said, eventually.

I smiled at her. ‘Edna,’ I repeated.

‘Seeing as I missed the wedding, and all the fun of helping to organise the reception, can I at least help out with the Christening celebrations? Maybe I could knit a little suit for the baby when it arrives. I can crochet too. What if I made a Christening shawl? I could do it in white, so that would be all right for a boy or a girl.’

I wasn’t actually planning on having a Christening, but I didn’t want to upset Edna after she had been so kind to me. I told her it was a lovely idea, and I’d let her know well before the ceremony so she could help organise it.

‘Your mother is dead, isn’t she?’

I nodded. ‘She died last year. My father has never got over it.’

‘Well, Alice, my dear. I’m not trying to replace her or anything, no one could do that. But, if you need any advice regarding the baby, before, or after the birth, then just ask. I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.’ She leaned forward and reached towards my bump. I just sat there, not knowing how to react.

She retracted her hand immediately. ‘I’m sorry. I was just having a grandmother moment. The little one will have two grandparents at least.’

I thought about my father, the prospective grandfather. I doubted my child would ever get to know him well, if at all.

The wooden-framed mantle