Told in Silence. Rebecca Connell

soil. Opposite, Harvey and Laura are exchanging eloquent glances, saying nothing.

      ‘Excuse me for a minute,’ I say, standing up. I walk shakily away from the table, unsure as to where I am going. A waiter steers me confidently back, pointing at a small gold door set into the back wall. I nod and thank him, slip into the cloakroom and lock myself into the nearest cubicle. I lean my back against the wall, closing my eyes. The air conditioning blasts down on me, making me shiver. I feel humiliated and furious. I don’t care what they think of me – I only care about Jonathan. I don’t want them to colour his opinion of me, to make him see me as a laughable mistake. I curl my hands into tight fists. Already I can feel it happening.

      I unlock the cubicle and push my way out, going to the mirror. I glare at my reflection, gold-lit and soft-focused. I will not be made a fool of. I will go back in there and show them just how contemptuous I am of them and everyone like them. Jonathan will take my side, and if he doesn’t…I draw in breath sharply and wheel around, fighting my way through the heavy gold door. I walk slowly and deliberately back to the table, approaching it from behind. They cannot see me, but as I draw nearer, I can hear their voices. I stop, momentarily frozen. She’s very pretty, I hear Laura saying, and there is a general murmur of assent. And she has spirit, Harvey says. She’s very young, of course, but that’s all right. If anything, it’s a good thing. His voice drops lower, and I can’t hear what he is saying, but I can hear his tone: purring, warm and approving. Now and again, Jonathan makes some eager interjection. She’s very special, I think I hear him say.

      I can feel my whole body glowing, pulsing with delight and excitement. All at once my scorn withers up into nothing, and my heart feels light and empty, as if the hurt were never there. Now that I have heard them praising me, I realise that it is what I have wanted all along. I don’t hate these people. I want them, need them, to love me. As I walk back to the table, my head held high now, I can barely stop myself from laughing out loud with relief.

      Later, outside the restaurant, Jonathan embraces me in the rain and pulls me closely against him, planting kisses in my hair. They like you, he murmurs. I knew they would. He kisses me long and hard, then strokes the damp hair back from my face, holding it in his cupped hands, studying me as if I am a rare and thrilling discovery. ‘I love you,’ he says. When I hear him say it, I start to cry, tears spilling from my eyes and dissolving into the rain, and I have never, never been like this – so luminous with happiness that it is raging and burning inside me, and I can’t control it, I can’t contain it, it feels as if nothing can extinguish it ever again.

      Catherine was good with customers. She always seemed to know exactly what to say to them, when to compliment and when to offer a tactful alternative, how to close a sale and leave them feeling proud and boosted by their purchases. Behind the till, I sat and watched her. Head cocked prettily to one side, Catherine admired the girl as she came out of the changing room and did a self-conscious twirl, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. The jeans were slightly too small for her, cutting into her flesh and sending a faint red line running across her back. I tried to think of what I would say if I were in Catherine’s place. Sorry, I think you need the next size up? I wouldn’t be able to do it. I would lie and tell her that they looked great, and then when she got home she would try them on again at more leisure in a less flattering light, and wonder what I had really thought.

      ‘Lovely!’ Catherine said. ‘Why don’t you try these with them, though?’ She handed the girl a wide blue belt and a pair of tan high heels. As the girl fastened the belt around her and slipped her feet into the shoes, I saw her transform before my eyes. The belt hid the tightness of the jeans at her waist, the heels elongating her legs and making her look elegant and almost willowy. From the look on her face, she was seeing the same thing. Ten minutes later she was loading her purchases on to the counter and pulling out her card. I rang the sale through, smiling at Catherine over the girl’s shoulder. She was clearly glowing with her success, eyes bright and eager. What would it be like to have that kind of talent for something, that kind of satisfaction in what life had given to you?

      ‘So how was the party?’ she asked when the girl had bounced out of the shop, bags jauntily in hand. Her voice was light, but she was looking at me with the same thinly veiled expression of curiosity and sympathy that she had worn since I had told her about my marriage. ‘Did Harvey enjoy it?’

      This seemed to be everyone’s primary concern. ‘I think so,’ I said. ‘Everything went smoothly, anyway. Well, except—’ I broke off. I felt unaccountably shy about mentioning Max – perhaps because to the best of my recollection she had never mentioned him herself. A flash of his dark, scowling face came to me; the rough, earthy smell of smoke that had risen off him as he grabbed my wrist and leant in towards me. The previous night, I had dreamt about him. In my dream he had been cutting down the old apple tree in the garden after dark, naked from the waist up, bare muscular arms swinging with contained power as he hacked with a gleaming silver saw at its trunk. I went forward to greet him, but he acted as if he could not see me, his black eyes burning through me with ferocious concentration, wide and oblivious to the sparks of wood that flew all around us and stung the air. I had woken in a sweat, my heart thumping as if an intruder had slid into something far more threatening than my dreams.

      ‘I think you met my brother, didn’t you?’ Catherine said, as if she had read my mind. She was watching me very intently now, as if searching my thoughts.

      ‘Yes – yes, I did,’ I stammered. ‘You don’t look alike, at all.’

      ‘Everyone says that,’ said Catherine, shrugging. ‘I think we do.’

      I almost laughed, looking at her fragile prettiness; the white-blonde hair feathered around her face, the pert nose and full pink lips. ‘Maybe if I saw you together,’ I said.

      ‘Well, you’ll get your chance,’ she said. ‘He said he was going to pop in here around midday, so he should be here soon.’

      ‘What? Why would he do that?’ I asked sharply. I saw Catherine’s face crease in confusion, and bit my lip. The echo of my voice, unnaturally and unnecessarily harsh, hung between us. I knew that I was being ridiculous, but the thought of seeing Max again frightened me. I felt an instinctive wariness, the prickling of a sixth sense running over me from top to toe.

      ‘I wondered that myself,’ Catherine said. ‘He never has before. But maybe it’s not me he’s coming to see.’ Her voice was teasing, but there was anxiety in her eyes. ‘Only joking – I think he just wants to catch up. He moved out from our parents’ a few years ago, so we don’t see each other so much these days. But if there’s a problem – I could call him and tell him not to bother, if you like.’

      I hesitated; it would be easy to say yes, but I didn’t want any awkwardness to develop between myself and Catherine, not so soon after I had finally begun to sense the potential for a friendship between us. ‘No, no, of course not,’ I said, softening my voice to compensate for my outburst. ‘I’m sorry. To be honest, I’m just a bit cautious around men these days. I know it’s silly, but since Jonathan, I don’t have much to do with them – well, except Harvey, of course.’ I was speaking without consideration, almost at random, but as I did so I realised that there was more than a grain of truth in what I was saying, and it comforted me a little.

      Catherine looked indecisive, her fingers agitatedly running back and forth along the long strands of green glass beads she wore around her neck. ‘Of course,’ she echoed. ‘I didn’t think.’

      I sensed her automatic deference to a situation she knew nothing about, and felt guilty. ‘Honestly, it’s fine,’ I said, more firmly this time. ‘I can’t hide away for ever.’ These words had been said to me many times over the past few months, mostly in the form of unanswered voicemails from my former school-friends that had graded from sympathy to worry to sulkiness, and eventually through to silence. I had always hated the sentiment: I wasn’t hiding away, just had no desire to see them or anyone else. Now, though, I discovered that it could be a useful panacea – and when I was