Free Silent Voices by Gary McMahon

now that they’re dry. I’ll try to be as gentle as I can, but you’re probably going to feel some discomfort.”
    He nodded. He kept his eyes closed, hoping it would help stop the tears from falling. He winced, his entire body tensing and stiffening, bit his bottom lip, and bent his head forward over the bath.
    “Sorry... God, this is bad. Most of them have popped. The rest of them are filled with fluid. I’ll try to be gentle.”
    “How can you do this? How can you do it and still love me?” Immediately, he wished he hadn’t said the words.
    “Don’t be stupid.” Her voice was hard, sharp. “I love you no matter what. You know I do. Why should this change anything?” Her hands moved over the infected area slowly and gently, sparing him more pain. She was good at this; she’d had a lot of practice. “I’ll always love you, whatever happens...”
    You wouldn’t have had to do this for him – for Simon fucking Ridley . The thought hurt him. It was like a knife stirring around inside his skull.
    “Feeling any better?” Her hands... they were magical.
    “Yes. Thanks.” No. No, I feel worse. I feel like a bastard, a hideous monster, for having you do this. I wish it could be different. I wish I was different... “That’s much better.”
    Afterwards, Jane stood up without saying anything more. She brushed the back of his neck with her lips, a small show of affection. Then she went to the sink and washed her hands again, put away the lotion. “I’ll go and get the twins from school,” she said, leaving the bathroom. “I won’t be long.”
    She hid it well, but he could sense the revulsion behind her words. Despite what she said, and how she acted, he knew that she secretly hated him for what she was forced to do. He could smell it on her, like a strange spice. The resentment, the bitterness, the regret that she’d ever become involved with him and his loathsome flesh. It was all compressed inside her, held in by the cage of her bones: some day, he knew, it would come spilling out and everything would change.
    Brendan went into the bedroom and started to get dressed. He picked out the newest pair of trousers he owned: a pair of black chinos Jane had bought him last Christmas. Then he selected his best shirt, the grey one with the fake Lacoste emblem on the breast pocket. The front door slammed shut as he buttoned the shirt. His hands trembled.
    Perhaps she’ll take the kids and never come back. Maybe Simon will take her away and show her a better life... better than this one, anyway.
    Why did he do this to himself? It was a form of flagellation, a self-imposed punishment for crimes he had not even committed. He knew that in reality Simon would want nothing to do with Jane, not now. Their time was past. He probably spent his time shagging models and B-movie actresses, so why the hell would he want to take a faded, washed-up ex-beauty from the old estate to his bed?
    He instantly regretted thinking of Jane in those terms. She was still beautiful, despite the hard times they’d gone through. She still shone; was always the light of his life. Her beauty was a counterbalance to his ugliness.
    Trying to distract his mind, he thought again of the acorn Simon had shown him during his visit. He’d feigned ignorance, trying to make out that he had no idea what the acorn meant or who might have sent it to his old friend, but the truth was that he had more of a clue than he’d let on. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d been so reticent to speak, but it had seemed like the right thing to remain silent, to keep a secret.
    Brendan walked over to the fitted wardrobes, pulled a sturdy wooden box from under the bed and moved it in front of the wardrobe doors, and then stood on the box. The timber joints creaked, but the box held, as it always did.
    He reached up and opened one of the small doors at the top of the wardrobe, near the ceiling. Behind the doors was one long storage space, stretching the entire length of