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

I strained to hear him as he got further away from the stairs, but then he returned and shouted up to me.

‘You want to know why men drink so much? Women, that’s why.’

I turned onto my side and prayed for sleep. When it came, it was like an anaesthetic, and I knew nothing more until late morning.

Chapter 62

June 1938

The next day, I slept in. I was always up well before the sun, but the stress of giving birth and my father’s death had taken their toll and I didn’t stir until nine o’clock.

Miriam had Martha downstairs, so I lay in for an extra twenty minutes before the pressure on my bladder forced me to leave the bed.

‘Morning,’ Miriam had Martha draped across her shoulder while she rubbed her back. ‘How’s your back, do you need a rub too?’

I yawned. ‘A lot better this morning,’ I said with the back of my hand over my mouth. ‘Sorry, Miriam, but I have to use the bathroom.’

I sat on the pan and admired my new bathroom, yet again. The lie-in had done me the world of good. I hadn’t felt so fresh for weeks. When I returned to the kitchen, I found I was ravenously hungry. I cut two, Miriam-sized, lumps of bread and spread them liberally with butter. I topped them both with a thick slice of ham, then put the kettle on. I had eaten one sandwich and started on the other by the time it had boiled. I looked over my shoulder to the parlour door. Shouldn’t I be in mourning?But then, I’ve had months to prepare for the occasion, maybe I am all mourned out.

‘I’ll have to find a funeral director today,’ I said, more to myself than Miriam. ‘I’ll get the people who saw my mother off. They did a decent job. I’ll ring them after breakfast.’

‘I’ll make the tea,’ said Miriam who considered brewing tea part of her job. ‘It’s so nice to see you eating again.’

‘I could eat a whole pig,’ I said. Miriam looked up quickly. ‘I’m just getting some revenge for yesterday,’ I said, laughing.

Still chewing on the crust of my sandwich, I stood over the Moses basket and studied my sleeping daughter. I was tempted to stroke her cheek again but was wary of waking her up.

‘We need to get a pram, soon,’ I said.

‘They’ll try to sell you a Silver Cross,’ said Miriam.

‘The woman in the Post Office tipped me off about them. Apparently, they’re the only ones worth buying,’ I replied.

‘They’re beautiful, and they last forever, but they’re so expensive. I could never afford one. I got a third-hand Pedigree pram and I had to pay that on the never, never. It took four years to pay off.’

‘I don’t think I’ll buy new,’ I said. ‘There’s bound to be a good second-hand one for sale locally.’

‘That’s the best idea. I’ll ask around for you when I’m up at the market,’ said Miriam.

‘Are you going today?’ I asked.

‘As soon as I’ve washed your breakfast things. Is there anything I can get you?’

‘Aspirin. Oh, and can you push a note through Amy’s letterbox, please? She won’t know about the baby yet. She’ll want to meet her as soon as she can.’

I got a sheet of notepaper and my mother’s favourite fountain pen from the tallboy drawer, and wrote a quick note.

Amy, come and meet Martha. She arrived yesterday. Alice. PS. I need your advice re: prams.

Amy’s advice was the best. She ought to be a solicitor.

As if the word had summoned him. My handsome, gangster lawyer, knocked on the front door as I was folding the notepaper in half. He took his hat off as I opened the door and looked me up and down as he stood on the doorstep.

‘Do I dare to assume that congratulations are in order?’ he asked.

‘Assume away,’ I said. ‘Martha arrived yesterday.’

I moved away from the doorway to allow him to enter. He passed my father’s stinky old chair and placed his briefcase on the table.

‘Is your father up and about today?’

‘He’s in the parlour,’ I said. ‘He fell out of his chair and died last night.’

Mr Wilson looked genuinely sad. ‘My goodness, what a day you’ve had. If there’s anything I can do to help?’ He looked a little guilty. ‘Not that I’m touting for business, but there will be legal issues that will need to be dealt with. We do provide those services.’

‘I wouldn’t go anywhere else,’ I said, smiling.

‘Have you contacted the doctor?’ he asked.

‘It’s a bit late for that,’ I replied.

It was his turn to smile, and what a smile it was. It made me smile a gooey, dreamy smile back, then I blushed when I realised what I was doing.

‘You’ll still need one to sign the death certificate,’ he said.

‘I’ll ring him in a few minutes then, I’ve got to get the funeral director to call too. We can’t leave him there much longer. It’s summer he’ll begin to…’ I stopped myself saying, stink, just in time.

My dreamy, gangster lawyer, opened his case, took out a few sheets of paper and laid them on the table.

‘You are now Alice Mollison. Here is your certificate.’ He picked up a letterheaded sheet with the details of my name change. It was signed in two places at the bottom.

‘It’s a bit late for Martha though, she was born yesterday, so it’s been a bit of a waste of time, really.’

‘Ah, have no fears about that. She’s a Mollison too. Your certificate is dated last Tuesday. I received it in the post from the judge who verified it on Friday, but sadly, I was too busy to bring it over.’

While I was reading my life changing document, he produced a few sheets of typed paper, written on his company’s letterheaded paper, and my birth certificate and the other documents I had provided.

‘I took the opportunity of detailing a typical estate-trust document. I’ve inserted your new name, so that you can see