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

After the service, we trooped around to the grave site at the far end of the churchyard. The vicar apologised for the oak branch that hung over the two graves. He promised to get it cut back, but I told him to leave it. The tree was probably the reason my mother chose that spot in the first place.

When the coffin was lowered into the ground, I said my last goodbye to my father and tossed a handful of dirt into the grave as the vicar prayed. No one else did, in fact I was glared at across the open grave by the landlord of The Old Bull’s wife, who had come to say goodbye to the man who virtually kept them afloat for the last eighteen months. Both she, and the vicar, gave me a sterner look when I dropped in my mother’s favourite fountain pen.

‘I hope you found her and you’re happy again,’ I whispered.

When the Reverend Villiers had done praying, we stepped away from the grave to allow the gravediggers to backfill the plot.

There were about thirty people at the funeral. I knew half a dozen by name and as many by sight. Some of the others might have been customers of ours that I never got to meet. Like the owner of the dairy that took the majority of our milk.

‘I’m so sorry to meet you in these circumstances,’ he said. ‘I’ve been buying milk from your farm for years. I’m Maurice Hepplewhite and I own Middleton Dairies.’

‘I hope you continue to buy it,’ I said, wondering if he was about to impart bad news. I gave him my best Rita Hayworth smile, in case it helped sway the decision.

‘I certainly will. In fact, I was hoping to persuade you to buy a few more cows. Your milk is of exceptional quality. I drink it raw myself.’ He smiled and held out his hand. I shook it.

‘I’ll definitely think about it,’ I said. We had plenty of pasture, but the overwintering facilities couldn’t hold more than one or two more at best. The price we’d have to pay for buying in just two animals wouldn’t be cost effective. I needed a bigger barn.

Martha began to get niggly, so I told Miriam to take her home for a feed. Barney and Benny, who were representing the workforce, tipped their caps to me and walked away with her. I sat around for a while on a seat just outside the church, thinking about how much my life had changed over the past year. I was so wound up in my own thoughts, that I didn’t notice the man walking up the church path until he was standing right next to me.

‘I hope everything went as well as it could, Alice.’

I knew that smooth as honey voice as he got the first two syllables out. I looked up into the midday sun, screwed up my eyes and tried to move my face into his shadow.

‘Godfrey, what are you doing here?’

‘I saw your announcement in the Births, Deaths and Marriages column the other day, so I thought I’d come down to see how you were coping.’ He looked around. ‘You don’t have anyone with you?’

‘Miriam was here, but she’s taken Martha home for her feed. The farm lads went with her, they have a lot on at the moment. I just felt like sitting in the sunshine for a while to think about things.’ I got to my feet. ‘I’ve got an empty head now. All my thoughts have leaked out.’

Godfrey laughed. ‘May I walk you home, I need the exercise, I’m always on my backside.’

‘I’d love you to,’ I said, smiling.

He offered me his arm, I slipped my own through it, and we walked through the church gates and onto the main road. His car was parked on the opposite side.

‘I love your car; it reminds me of the ones in the gangster films. You know, Edward G. Robinson and James Cagney.’

‘Little Caesar?’ he asked.

‘That’s the one. Amy and I have seen it three times. We’ll go again if they bring it back for the film festival this autumn.’

‘I’ve only seen it once. Maybe I could join you?’

‘Do you know a nice, handsome, gangster type, about your age?’ I asked him.

‘Not a gangster type, no. It wouldn’t be good to hang around with gangsters in my profession. Why do you ask?’

‘Because Amy wants to meet one,’ I said.

Godfrey laughed again. ‘Sorry, I can’t help there.’

‘Could I ask a favour?’ I said when we’d walked a few yards further.

‘Anything,’ he said.

‘I am enjoying the walk, but, well, would it be cheeky of me to ask for another ride in your car? I did enjoy it so much last time.’

He led me over the road to the Alvis, and opened the passenger door with a flourish. ‘Your carriage awaits, Madame.’

I had to stop myself leaping into the seat. When I was safely installed, he closed the door and climbed into the driver’s side.

‘Shall I take you home or would you like a drive around the countryside for a while? I know which one I’d prefer but I also know what you’ve just been through, so, you choose.’

‘I haven’t been through as much as you think,’ I said, quietly. ‘I’ve seen this day coming for eighteen months. It just got closer every day, that’s all. He hasn’t really been my father since my mother died.’

‘Home?’ he asked, teasingly, knowing I’d say no.

We drove out of the town until we hit the narrow lanes, then we drove slowly along, admiring the countryside. It should have been a busman’s holiday for me, looking at fields full of cows and sheep, but this was different. He talked to me as an equal, laughed at my silly little jokes and answered seriously when I asked a question. It was an adult discussion. When we had gone a few miles, we stopped at a country pub that I didn’t know existed, and we found a table outside,