Free The Second Silence by Eileen Goudge Page A

beige Formica counters gleaming. Even the souvenir plates on the rail over the table shone as if freshly washed. Noelle must have gone out of her way to keep it nice, knowing how much it meant to her grandmother. Mary felt a tiny stab of unwarranted jealousy.
    She sat down at the table by the window. It looked out over the backyard, where an old tire swing hung from the stout branch of a linden tree, its shadow a flattened oval on the scuffed grass below. Nothing ever changes, she thought. Even with life as she’d known it about to erupt like a sleeping volcano, her mother moved about the kitchen exactly as she had on any one of a thousand mornings, wiping the stove-top where a few drops of coffee had spilled, carefully rinsing the sponge, then poking a finger into the African violet on the sill to see if it needed watering. Mary had the sudden uneasy sense of her past as something tangible, a book she could open at random, in which the story of her life was written, predetermined and immutable. It must have shown on her face because Doris paused to glance at her curiously as she carried the steaming mug to the table.
    ‘You hungry? I could scramble some eggs.’
    How could I possibly eat at a time like this? Mary wanted to scream. But all she said was, ‘No, I’m fine. I’ll make myself a sandwich if I get hungry later on.’ Hearing the creak of floorboards overhead, she froze with the mug halfway to her lips. In a low, fraught voice, she asked, ‘Did she say anything about what happened last night?’
    Doris shook her head. ‘No, just asked after Emma. When I told her that Robert had her, she went white as a sheet and rushed upstairs to phone him.’
    She lowered herself carefully into the chair opposite Mary. Sunlight poured in through the gingham curtains, reflecting off the gold crucifix that had snagged on the top button of her blouse. It seemed to wink like an all-knowing eye, reminding Mary that it had been years since she’d been to church. She felt like praying now, getting down on her knees and begging the Lord to make all this go away.
    Mary sighed, cradling her mug with both hands. ‘Has she told him yet—that she’s leaving him?’
    Doris nodded. ‘They had dinner together last night to talk over what was best for Emma.’ Her mouth tightened. ‘I warned her not to. I had a feeling it would lead to no good. And I was right.’
    Mary felt a flash of annoyance. That was what counted most, wasn’t it? Her mother always had to be right, first and foremost. Well, Doris wasn’t the only one with a dim view of Robert. Mary recalled how horrified she’d been nearly nine years ago when Noelle announced that she was engaged … to Corinne’s former boyfriend. A man old enough to be her father. A man whom Mary was convinced to this day had somehow pushed her friend into committing suicide.
    In the shock of the moment she’d said something that had taken Noelle years to forgive her for. Stunned and disbelieving, Mary had blurted, ‘You can’t be serious! The man’s a monster. He’ll destroy you, just like he did Corinne.’
    Her words had been like a sharp instrument puncturing her daughter’s bubble. The rosy flush drained from Noelle’s cheeks and her eyes glowed unnaturally bright in a face pale as ash. ‘I don’t recall asking your advice,’ she’d said, her voice cold. ‘I learned a long time ago that it didn’t pay to ask anything of you.’
    Mary’s heart ached now with the knowledge that she’d been right all along. Unlike her mother, she’d have given anything to have been proven wrong. For years, she’d noticed how unhappy Noelle was and recently, when Noelle began confiding in her, she’d urged her to—
    ‘He wouldn’t even let me speak to her.’
    Mary swung around in her chair. He daughter, white as chalk with dark circles under her huge gray-blue eyes, stood barefoot in the doorway. Her curly black hair lay in a tangled skein about her shoulders, and she was still wearing