His Silence - Chapter 36

‘You sure you want to go with him back on your own?’ Callum hisses at me as we finish with lunch. Mary takes my plate from me; she lingers for a few moments, looking once over her shoulder before disappearing through the kitchen door. What does she think we’re talking about?

‘I’d watch out for her if I were you,’ I say to Callum. ‘I think she’s gonna be keeping an eye on us. It’ll be fine with Oliver though, I’ll catch you later. Try and get talking to people if you can. Ask them about life here; see if you can get anything more out of them.’ It'll be fine with Oliver; I've no idea what he even wants to do with me? 

I give him a hug and stand. Oliver’s waiting for me by the kitchen door, he’s looking at the ceiling, but I’ve a feeling he’s getting impatient with me for taking so long. I hurry after him. What sort of exercises does he want to practise with me? I think back to my earlier conversation with Mary, but there wasn’t much she gave away, other than her talking nonsense about finding your life partner.

Oliver smiles at me. ‘I promise you, Danielle, what I’m about to teach you will change your life in more ways than you can imagine.’ He totally believes what he’s saying.

We head back towards the annexe, the salty air kissing my cheeks. Oliver waves to Abraham whose back by the vegetable patch. I don’t look towards him; there’s something about him that unnerves me, I keep my gaze fixed on the path ahead. Oliver holds the door of the annexe open to me as we arrive.

‘Do you want to come through into my room?’ he asks.

I stand still for a second, replaying what he said to me over in my mind.

‘OK,’ I say.

He opens his door. His room’s a similar size to mine. In the corner to my right there’s a television. His window’s open a smidge.

‘Please sit,’ he says. He’s directing me to a plush purple armchair by the window. I sit, feeling the cool air race up my arms as I do. Oliver moves over to his bedside cabinet on the right hand side of his bed. He yanks the top drawer of the cabinet open. ‘I’ve always hoped that one day I would be able to give these back to you.’ He lifts out a small notebook and a few other items. An image slips into my mind of him sitting in here, holding my parents belongings, thinking about what happened fifteen years ago over and over again. Why couldn’t they have been kept in a safe, where no one could touch them? ‘I’m sure you’ll be interested in all of these, but this book, this was actually your mother’s diary. She kept it the nine months she was pregnant with you.’

I stare at him. This was Mum’s diary. God, what the true crime podcasters would give to get their hands on this. I take it from him, tears prickling my eyes. Mum held this book. It’s like I can almost reach out and touch her. I flick through the pages, staring at Mum’s neat, tidy handwriting. My writing’s so untidy compared to hers. I want to read it, I want to lap up everything she’s said, but I’ve a feeling I’m going to have to wait until tonight when I’m in bed, or before dinner.

‘Um, what about the other items?’ I ask, looking back at Oliver.

‘Ah, yes, this watch belonged to your father; it’s a very nice watch, a Rolex, your parents were quite well off when I first got to know them. I imagine if you choose to sell it, it might fetch you quite a bit of money.’

‘You’ve never actually told me how you met, and why you ended up living here,’ I say.

I take the watch from him, a shiver racing through me as my skin comes into contact with the cool metal. Did Dad feel a sense of pride at having saved up enough money to buy something so expensive? Years ago, I thought there was no way I would ever own anything that once belonged to Mum and Dad. They didn’t have anything at the house where they were killed, apart from a few sets of clothes. They’d only been living there for three weeks.

Oliver sits on the edge of his bed. ‘I was newly married at the time we met; we got chatting one afternoon on the promenade, they lived in Southend. But . . . a year later, my wife and I were involved in a car accident and she . . .  she didn’t make it.’ He rubs his hands together.

Did he get the scar above his eye from the accident?  I look away. ‘Oh God, Oliver I’m really sorry.’ Now I wish I hadn’t asked. I’ve always found it awkward when someone gets emotional with me.

He shakes his head. ‘It’s fine. It happened a long time ago now. But as I’ve always believed, everything happens for a reason, and although I suffered a tragedy, like you did, it led me to the path I’m now on. But your parents and I, we remained firm friends, and shortly after my wife passed away, your mother made the suggestion we live together and things grew from there. Now we’re a thriving community; I’m so proud of what we’ve all achieved together.’

‘So, you and my parents really were the founders of this place, then?’ I ask.

He nods enthusiastically. ‘Yes, Danielle, and look at what we’ve achieved and how we’ve helped everyone. And you too can achieve the same level of happiness everyone here has achieved. Now, if you’d like to, I’d like to practise these exercises which I believe Mary may have spoken to you briefly about before lunch.’

‘Um, she did, yeah,’ I say, my body tensing. He hasn’t explained yet what he wants to do. I want to take Mum’s diary back to my room and read it, I don’t want to complete whatever stupid thing he’s got lined up.

‘Firstly, I want you to focus on your breathing; can you do that for me, Danielle? I’ll shut the window, so there’s no distraction from any noise outside.’ He gets up off the bed and heads over to the window, gently shutting it. The back of my neck prickles, tension coils around my stomach. I feel like I’m being trapped in the room with him. Oliver sits back on the bed. ‘That’s better, now, focus on your breathing, in and out; close your eyes.’ I don’t want to close them, but there’s something about his voice, it’s so smooth, like honey. I’m unable to resist. I close my eyes. I sense him move closer to me, his breath tickles my nose. I shift backwards in my chair. ‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ he says. ‘I want you to picture a place where you feel most at ease. Somewhere where you can be yourself.’ I'm in the garden, back home. Emma’s beside me, like she was the other day, sunbathing. My shoulders drop. ‘That’s it, that’s excellent, now, slowly, I want you to count backwards from ten, and I . . .’ The vision distorts. My spines pressing into the back of the cupboard. No, please. There's a scream coming from downstairs; coats are flapping in my face. ‘Danielle, Danielle.’ Oliver’s voice tries to reach me, but it’s like I’m drowning. Mum’s calling out, begging Harvey to stop. No. There are footsteps. Thump, thump, thump. Harvey’s staring at me through the gap in the wardrobe, his shirt soaked in blood.

‘No!’ My scream snaps me out of the vision.