Told in Silence. Rebecca Connell

a full minute to compose himself, smoothing the flat of his hand slowly and repeatedly over the knot of his tie. I squinted harder at the man, but could make out little but the short, angry-seeming drags he was taking on his cigarette; hard, muscular movements.

      ‘I didn’t realise that you didn’t want him here.’ Laura fluttered, her hands making desperate shapes in the air now as she spoke. ‘I mean, I didn’t specifically tell Patricia and James that they couldn’t bring him, I wouldn’t really have thought of it – and after all, he did know Jonathan, I thought they were quite friendly once—’

      ‘Actually,’ Harvey cut in levelly, ‘I don’t think Jonathan liked him at all.’

      ‘Oh dear…’ Laura began to flap, her eyes darting wildly back and forth between Harvey and the man underneath the apple tree. ‘I’m not sure…I don’t think I can…’

      ‘Of course you can’t,’ Harvey said, so softly that I could barely catch the words. ‘All the same, next time, perhaps you could finalise the guest list with me.’ His tone was perfectly pleasant, almost soothing. Before Laura had a chance to reply, he had turned and melted into the crowd, clapping yet another well-wisher on the back. Laura looked after him, wringing her hands, her face haunted. I knew that she would worry about the incident for the rest of the afternoon.

      I drifted away from the central tables to get a better look at the man whose appearance had jolted Harvey’s famous equilibrium. As I stood on the fringes of the group, staring across at him, he saw me and half raised his hand in a silent salute. Automatically, I waved back. He paused, stubbing out his cigarette against the tree, then beckoned me over. I hesitated, glancing back, but curiosity drove me forward; I walked slowly across the lawn, the pointed heels of my shoes sinking a little into the earth with each step. As I drew closer I realised that Harvey was right. This face had no business at his garden party. The features were bold, tough and cruel; brutal slashed cheekbones, a hard, unsmiling gangster’s mouth. His dark hair was cropped close to his skull, bristling along the strong lines of his bones. His shoulders looked tensed for battle, and his body gave the impression of being hard-packed into a container a little too small for it, restraining its force. If I ran into you in an alleyway, I thought, I would be terrified. I could smell the powerful scent of nicotine and burnt smoke rising off him.

      ‘All right,’ he said when I halted a few feet away from him. His voice was every bit as harsh as his appearance, a faint rasping rattle running underneath the surface that made me want to clear my throat. When I didn’t reply, he lit up another cigarette, keeping his eyes warily on me, cupping his hand secretively around his mouth.

      ‘Hello,’ I said at last.

      ‘Max Croft,’ he said, thrusting his hand out so that I had no choice but to take it. He crushed mine for a few painful seconds before throwing it back. ‘I think you work with my sister.’

      It took me a beat to understand who he meant. I looked more closely at him, and could see no trace of Catherine’s elfin prettiness in his face. ‘Really?’ I said.

      He gave a grin more like a sneer, showing even, regular teeth. ‘Well, you tell me,’ he said. ‘Do you or don’t you?’

      ‘If you mean Catherine,’ I said, ‘then yes.’

      ‘That’s the one.’ He was silent for a few moments, leaning back against the apple tree and smoking, his lips sucking on the cigarette in a way that made my skin prickle with revulsion and fascination. ‘Nice do,’ he said eventually, jerking his head in the direction of the clustered guests. His voice was lightly laced with irony.

      ‘For those who were invited,’ I said. His mocking tone had set off a small fire of protectiveness in me, and I folded my arms. ‘Harvey didn’t seem to think you were one of those.’

      Max raised his eyebrows, looking at me speculatively. ‘Come to kick me out, then?’ he asked. I was silent. ‘Look,’ he said after a few more drags, ‘I don’t want to cause any trouble. I don’t think your old man likes me very much, but it’s not down to anything I’ve done. I liked Jonathan – we didn’t have a lot in common, granted, but he was a good guy. We played a few games of pool, hung out a few times. If your old man doesn’t think I was a suitable friend, then that’s his problem.’

      I frowned, trying to remember. As far as I could recall, Jonathan had never mentioned this man. I had certainly never seen him before. I thought of Harvey’s quiet words to Laura: Actually, I don’t think Jonathan liked him at all. There was no way of telling who was right. The silence threatened to stifle me. ‘He’s not my old man,’ I said.

      Max shrugged. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Obviously. He might as well be, though. Seems you’ve been well and truly welcomed into the family bosom. Just shows what an untimely death can do, eh? But for that you might still be knocking on the back door pleading to be let in.’ His voice had dropped, taking on a nasty, sarcastic quality.

      A bright flush of anger swept over me. This man was being insufferably rude, and he had no business saying these knowing things to me, as if he knew more about me and my family – for family they were, in a way – than I did myself. I drew in a sharp breath and turned to go. In the same instant, he had leant forward and caught me easily by the wrist, the tips of two fingers still holding his cigarette, burnt down to the stub now, sending heat coursing across my skin.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking straight into my eyes, and I felt my whole body jolt with something strange and dark. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. It just makes me angry to see a girl like you shut away with those two. They’re not so bad, don’t get me wrong, but they’ve got no life to them. You’re, what? Twenty? Twenty-one? You should get out more.’ Incredibly, I thought I saw his left eye briefly flicker in a wink. He dropped my arm, still staring at me. ‘I’ll see you,’ he said, making it sound like a promise and a threat. I backed away from him, breathing hard. My heart was thumping in my chest, as if he had pulled a knife on me.

      The next few hours slipped by like minutes. I watched, as I might have watched a scene in a dream, as Harvey commanded everyone’s attention and made a short speech, thanking all the guests for coming and saying how pleased he was that he was able to celebrate his birthday with so many of his friends and family. The polite smattering of applause fell into my ears like rain. As people gradually started to peel away, the sky above began to darken. I helped to find coats, showed departing guests to the exit. The wind was picking up, shaking the green and lilac crêpe paper tied to the chairs, setting up a low insistent rustle across the lawn. Drinks were finished, glasses cast aside, presents left in the hallway. I stood smiling and thanking people for coming, saying the same lines over and over, kissing and shaking hands with what might as well have been so many brightly dressed puppets. ‘I saw you talking to Max Croft earlier,’ Miranda whispered as she left, intent on imparting one final sting, ‘he’s not our sort, not our sort at all.’ As I waved off the last of them, a light drizzle began to slash against the windowpanes.

      I went back out into the empty garden, feeling the rain soaking into my skin, collecting coldly in my hair. Far in the distance, I could see Laura, sitting still on a bench by the rose garden. I walked down towards her, my shoes sucking and sticking to the damp earth. She was gazing at the yellow rose bush, the one she had planted in memory of Jonathan. I remembered her digging the cold ground, her head bent down, shoving the spade in with such violence that it shook her whole body, sending gravel spraying in a fountain around her, muddying her dress. The roses were in bloom now; huge, gorgeous blooms the colour of sunshine, trembling with fat drops of rain. I sat down beside her, and for a long while we didn’t speak. Her face was set and distant, as if she were sorting through her memories and finding nothing new there.

      ‘Do you ever wonder?’ I said. ‘Do you ever wonder what happened?’

      Laura raised her head slowly, searchingly; didn’t speak.

      ‘I don’t mean…I know that we know what happened,’ I said. ‘But…’ I didn’t know how to continue. All at once, and without warning, I felt the old familiar grief and incomprehension rising to the surface, sending