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

had responsibilities before, Frank,’ I replied, annoyed for allowing myself to be coerced into the conversation.

‘I know, but now he’s gone… Listen, Alice, I’m being serious here. There will be no more Friday nights with the lads in the pub. I swear to you, I swear on my mother’s life, I swear on Martha’s—’

‘Don’t you dare drag that poor little bugger into your fantasy, Frank,’ I spat. ‘Leave her out of it. If you want to condemn your mother to an early grave, that’s up to you, but leave Martha out of it.’

‘I don’t say these things lightly, Alice.’

I had expected him to get angry, but he didn’t. I shrugged and sipped my tea.

‘You’ll see,’ he said. ‘I really do mean it. I have respons—’

I bit that time. ‘Responsibilities? Yes, Frank, I heard you the first time.’

‘I know you’re angry, Alice, and you have every right to be, but I’ll prove I can be a good father. Isn’t that what you asked me to do last night?’

I was amazed he could remember. ‘Talk is easy. You’ve got a lot of work to do to get back into our good books, Frank.’

Just then the phone rang. I got up, but Frank was quicker. ‘I’ll answer it. You drink your tea.’ He hurried into the front room before it stopped ringing.

I gave him a minute or so, then thinking it was more likely to be for me anyway, I followed him through.

He hung up the phone as I entered the room.

‘That was the landlord of The Old Bull, asking if we still want the daily bottle of whisky now that your dad’s dead. I told him to cancel the order from today. He wasn’t best pleased. He asked me if I wanted it. I told him I’m off the drink now that I’m a father myself.’ He looked down at the documents on the table as he spoke.

I rushed forward, scooped them up, opened up the safe, slipped them inside and locked it again, putting the bunch of keys back in my pocket.

‘Your lawyer friend has been then?’

I bridled, and spoke too defensively. ‘He’s not my friend, he’s a lawyer. He brought my Deed Poll name-change certificate round. Both me and Martha are Mollison’s now, so you can register her any time you like, Frank.’ I smiled at him, thinking he would be pleased at the news.

‘What was the other thing? I saw the words Estate Trust and the name of the farm.’

‘That’s farm business, Frank. You know the rules on that.’

‘But, I’m the man of the house now, Alice. I was speaking about responsibility and I think I should be given the chance to prove myself. I’m part of the family now. You have my surname; we have our baby. Let’s not spoil all that by being selfish.’

‘I’m not being the slightest bit selfish, Frank. The farm is a family business, and it will stay a family business… A Tansley family business, no outsiders allowed.’

Frank thumped the table. ‘I’m the man of the bloody house now.’

‘Man? You should start to act like one. My father has only been gone a few hours and there you are trying to take his place. We haven’t even buried him yet for God’s sake.’

Frank decided not to argue the point and walked back into the kitchen to resume his lunch. When I walked in myself, I found Miriam cooing over Martha’s cot, her bag of shopping still in her hand.

‘I got the aspirin, and I posted your note to Amy,’ she said.

I shot a glance at Frank. He was chewing his sandwich with a sulky look on his face.

‘Thanks, Miriam. I’m so looking forward to seeing her.’

Before we had lunch, Miriam and I decided that it was time for me to attempt to feed Martha.

I sat in my chair and squeezed out enough milk for a feed into a bowl, then I transferred it to one of the three feeding bottles we owned. There was a back-up formula bottle on the cold shelf and a second, nestled in a pan of warm water, in case Martha refused the newly expressed breast milk. Miriam stood alongside me and made encouraging noises, while I summoned up the courage to pick her up.

Martha was making niggly noises as feeding time approached, so I bit the bullet and lifted her out of the basket. As I sat down with her, she took one look at me and screwed up her face. I panicked and stuffed the teat of the bottle in her mouth. She pulled a face like I had just tried to force-feed her lemon juice. Miriam tapped me on the shoulder and shook the warmed-up formula at me. We exchanged bottles and before Martha could work herself up into a fury, I shoved the teat in her mouth. It worked like magic. Martha looked me straight in the eyes and suckled at the rubber teat, as if it we had shared this moment forever. She drank every last drop of the milk and I waved the empty bottle at Miriam in celebration. Then I got too cocky and slipped her onto my shoulder. As soon as I got her into position, she started bawling. I was determined to finish off the feeding routine, and started rubbing her back. She gave one almighty burp, and then, as if she had been shocked into submission, she fell asleep.

I rocked her for an hour, refusing Miriam’s offer to give me a rest. At two o’clock, I laid her down and took off the tea towel, covering the plate of doorstep sandwiches that Miriam had made while I was nursing the baby, and tucked in hungrily.

Amy came around straight after work. She squealed when she saw me, then she squealed again when she saw Martha.

She didn’t even ask whether she was allowed to pick her up, she just grabbed her and walked quickly around the room singing Bye Baby Bunting to her, over and over again. Martha didn’t make a peep.

When