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Silent, The Boy
Two Years Previously, Lucy
Sunday lunchtime. She spent a while sipping ice coke in a café near the pier. The next stage of her plan would include a visit to Katie Whittaker, Terence Harlesden's ex-wife and Arthur's former daughter-in-law. She must do this straightaway, to get the answers. No one else seemed to want to tell her the truth. The Harlesden family were keeping secrets about Dad's affair with the tall, dark haired woman she kept remembering from the music room at Lyme House. Even the police hadn't investigated this. Hopefully, Katie Whittaker, an outsider like herself, would give her the information she needed.
Disastrous meeting with Arthur H last night, she texted Maxine.
Her phone bleeped. On my way out, Maxine had texted her. Got a photo shoot in an hour and can't talk. What happened?
She started another text, but gave up halfway. Too intense, too personal.
Maxine again: r u okay? Did something happen with Arthur?
Arthur says my dad did it.
Maxine: Doesn't mean anything. Trust your gut instinct! Me and Ash will call you later. See you Sa Max xx
Made her feel a bit better. Max was right: keep on going, don't accept a police theory just because it's easy and convenient for everyone.
Max and Ash were planning to drive over on Saturday to discuss tactics. Ash, in particular, wanted to disrupt the concert series on the final night and demand the truth about the fire in front of the audience. Ash liked confrontation. Thrived on it.
But what would be the point of ruining the concert? The elderly Arthur Harlesden had loved Dad, yet he believed that Dad was responsible for the fire, just like the police and most people did. She ought to accept this as the truth, return to Sheffield and forget about Lyme House. No, she owed it to Dad to clear his name. He was an innocent man, in terms of the fire.
She paid for her drink and left. She'd already looked up Terence's ex-wife on the internet and located an address for a house near the church in the village halfway between Lyme House and the town. She hoped the address was the right one.
She was approaching the village, walking faster, her stomach muscles clenched in anticipation. She passed a bookstore and a delicatessen with umbrella-like covering. Everywhere was shut. She found the house, a large leafy country detached in a cul-de-sac with ivy sprouting from the walls and a freshly painted door. A lovely smell of lavender. Calming. She spotted a grand piano in one of the front rooms. Another musical branch of the family. She rang the bell, waited half a minute.
A boy, of about nine or ten, answered the door. She took a step back. Heard herself asking, 'Is Katie Whittaker in?' Her own voice sounded surreal to her.
'My mum's out.'
She thought she was about to faint. Dad looking straight at her through the boy's eyes, the only difference being eye colour. The boy had brown eyes, unlike Dad's blue-green, but otherwise the face was similar to Dad's. She had a couple of old photographs of Dad as a boy. This boy in front of her looked exactly the same as the boy in the photographs at home. Even the dimple under the chin that she herself had inherited. The boy was Dad. The affair ten years ago. The Harlesden secret that had escaped the attention of the police. The boy would just about...
'What are you staring at? he said, rudely.
A boy in a hoodie, aged about fourteen or fifteen, came out and shoved the younger boy aside. 'Get out of my way,' he snapped. 'What do you want?' the older boy said to her, in the same obnoxious tone.
'She's asking for Mum,' the little boy said, staring curiously at her, as if he too had made the connection.
'My mum's not in,' the older boy said, and slammed the door in her face.
Sunday lunchtime. She spent a while sipping ice coke in a café near the pier. The next stage of her plan would include a visit to Katie Whittaker, Terence Harlesden's ex-wife and Arthur's former daughter-in-law. She must do this straightaway, to get the answers. No one else seemed to want to tell her the truth. The Harlesden family were keeping secrets about Dad's affair with the tall, dark haired woman she kept remembering from the music room at Lyme House. Even the police hadn't investigated this. Hopefully, Katie Whittaker, an outsider like herself, would give her the information she needed.
Disastrous meeting with Arthur H last night, she texted Maxine.
Her phone bleeped. On my way out, Maxine had texted her. Got a photo shoot in an hour and can't talk. What happened?
She started another text, but gave up halfway. Too intense, too personal.
Maxine again: r u okay? Did something happen with Arthur?
Arthur says my dad did it.
Maxine: Doesn't mean anything. Trust your gut instinct! Me and Ash will call you later. See you Sa Max xx
Made her feel a bit better. Max was right: keep on going, don't accept a police theory just because it's easy and convenient for everyone.
Max and Ash were planning to drive over on Saturday to discuss tactics. Ash, in particular, wanted to disrupt the concert series on the final night and demand the truth about the fire in front of the audience. Ash liked confrontation. Thrived on it.
But what would be the point of ruining the concert? The elderly Arthur Harlesden had loved Dad, yet he believed that Dad was responsible for the fire, just like the police and most people did. She ought to accept this as the truth, return to Sheffield and forget about Lyme House. No, she owed it to Dad to clear his name. He was an innocent man, in terms of the fire.
She paid for her drink and left. She'd already looked up Terence's ex-wife on the internet and located an address for a house near the church in the village halfway between Lyme House and the town. She hoped the address was the right one.
She was approaching the village, walking faster, her stomach muscles clenched in anticipation. She passed a bookstore and a delicatessen with umbrella-like covering. Everywhere was shut. She found the house, a large leafy country detached in a cul-de-sac with ivy sprouting from the walls and a freshly painted door. A lovely smell of lavender. Calming. She spotted a grand piano in one of the front rooms. Another musical branch of the family. She rang the bell, waited half a minute.
A boy, of about nine or ten, answered the door. She took a step back. Heard herself asking, 'Is Katie Whittaker in?' Her own voice sounded surreal to her.
'My mum's out.'
She thought she was about to faint. Dad looking straight at her through the boy's eyes, the only difference being eye colour. The boy had brown eyes, unlike Dad's blue-green, but otherwise the face was similar to Dad's. She had a couple of old photographs of Dad as a boy. This boy in front of her looked exactly the same as the boy in the photographs at home. Even the dimple under the chin that she herself had inherited. The boy was Dad. The affair ten years ago. The Harlesden secret that had escaped the attention of the police. The boy would just about...
'What are you staring at? he said, rudely.
A boy in a hoodie, aged about fourteen or fifteen, came out and shoved the younger boy aside. 'Get out of my way,' he snapped. 'What do you want?' the older boy said to her, in the same obnoxious tone.
'She's asking for Mum,' the little boy said, staring curiously at her, as if he too had made the connection.
'My mum's not in,' the older boy said, and slammed the door in her face.
Published 26th Jun 2023
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