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

sink first,’ I said. ‘The mirror will be all steamed up though.’

I waited until she had gone into the bathroom before tip-toeing through the parlour. I put my ear to the door and waited. Less than a minute later I heard a squeal louder than the piglets make when they get their heads stuck in the fencing. I held my hand over my mouth and returned to the kitchen to carry on drying my hair.

Half an hour later, Miriam walked back in the kitchen tapping the pocket of her house coat continuously. She had a smile on her face the size of a quarter moon.

‘You look like you’ve found a fiver on the bathroom floor,’ I said.

‘It’s better than that,’ she replied. She took the letter from her pocket and kissed it twice before holding it over her heart. ‘It’s from Michael; he’s asked me to an afternoon tea dance next Saturday. Will it be all right if I have a couple of hours off? I’ll make up the time in the week.’

I made out I was having to think about it seriously.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘I’ll clean out the piggery for you tomorrow.’

I burst out laughing and rushed forward to hug her.

‘Of course, you can have the time off, my darling. Take the whole afternoon, go for a walk afterwards, or maybe he’ll take you back to his house for…’

‘Oh, my goodness,’ she said, eyes wide. ‘Do you really think he’ll—?’

‘He’d better bloody not,’ I replied, laughing again. ‘Just relax and have a wonderful time, Miriam. I hope it’s the first of many afternoons out. You deserve this; you’ve been alone too long.’

Miriam burst into tears, so I hugged her again until she had quietened down.

‘I don’t know if I can remember all the dance steps,’ she said with a worried frown on her brow.

‘We could practice in here,’ I suggested.

‘What shall I wear, I’ve got nothing that would suit a tea dance.’

‘It’s not being held at Buckingham Palace,’ I said. ‘Have a look at my mother’s wardrobe, you’re about her size and she had clothes for all occasions.’

‘I couldn’t,’ said Miriam, ‘could I?’

When Frank came back at six, he immediately took off his shirt and began to run the tap in the new sink.

‘Oi,’ I called. ‘You can’t strip off in front of respectable, married women. Get yourself into the bathroom.’

Frank turned around puzzled.

‘Married women?’

As Miriam preened, I told him about Michael’s letter. Frank winked at Miriam and stepped towards her, bare chested.

‘He’s a decent bloke, Mike, but he’s still in mourning and I doubt he’ll ever come out of it. But he’ll appreciate your company, Miriam, I’m sure of that.’

Frank picked up his shirt, slung it over his shoulder and headed for the bathroom.

‘Don’t mind him, Miriam,’ I said as he walked away. ‘He doesn’t have a heart; he has a swinging brick.’

Later that evening, we sat around the kitchen reading novels. I had an Agatha Christie from the library. Miriam was reading Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind, for the third time, while Frank sat on a kitchen chair with his back to us, engrossed in his book.

‘What are you reading, Frank, is it any good?’ I asked.

‘Grahame Greene,’ he replied, as though that was enough to say that it was.

I stood up to get a drink of water from our new sink and had to pass Frank to reach it. As I walked by, I glanced down at the book he was so immersed in. I tilted my head to one side and read the top line of the page.

Miss Jane Marple was sitting by her window…

I turned to Miriam with a big grin on my face.

‘We’ll have competition on Monday night for the sleuthing.’

Miriam didn’t look up from her book. Frank looked up from his and shrugged.

‘It was the only thing on the bookcase I hadn’t read, except for that George Orwell, Road to Wigan Pier and that is so depressing.’

‘My father got it from the library months ago, he’s never read it. I’d better take it back; he must owe a fortune in fines on it.’

As if he had heard his name mentioned, a shout came from the front room. Miriam dropped her book on the floor and rushed through to him. I followed, with Frank just behind.

I gave Miriam a hand to pick my father up from the floor and get him back into his chair. I’ve picked up heavier piglets. Miriam checked his trousers for damp patches and I picked up the half empty bottle of whisky that he had knocked over. I was about to put it back at the side of his chair, when he snatched it out of my hands and held it to his chest protectively.

‘I saw you,’ he croaked.

‘You saw what?’ Miriam asked, ‘What did you see?’

He looked at me from under his heavily lidded eyes.

‘I saw you,’ he said again, then he closed his eyes and hugged his whisky bottle.

I walked back to the kitchen puzzled. What had he seen? Then I realised he must have spotted me open the safe, or at least walk by him counting the money. I didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty about it. The money would be paid back, and anyway, what use was it sat inside a locked, metal box for all eternity? I worked hard for this farm and I didn’t feel I was being greedy by allowing myself a few luxuries. I wished to God I could somehow get my father into the new bath. He stank.

Chapter 54

Jess

That evening Alice managed to eat a whole bowl of Gwen’s broth, and after a coughing fit which saw her expel a large amount of phlegm into a plastic bowl, she was able to sit up, propped on the pillows and speak without gasping for breath anywhere near as much as she had earlier in the day.

‘Blimey, Nana. Those antibiotics work fast.’

‘I don’t think it’s the pills, Jessica. I’ve been trying to clear that gunk for days. It