His Silence : His Silence - Chapter Three by Jacob1395 |
I finish off the slice of cake Emma gave me, put the plate back on the coffee table and wipe chocolate crumbs from my mouth. There are still a couple of empty wine glasses on the table, with red lipstick stains on the rim. Callum and I tried to insist on helping with the washing up earlier but Emma refused our offer. ‘Enjoy your day, birthday girl?’ Michael asks, holding his hand over his mouth, he’s still halfway through a bottle of Peroni. ‘God I’m knackered, and to think I’ve got to head into work in the morning, I told Emma we should’ve done it yesterday, that would’ve at least given me a day to recover.’ He laughs. I nod vigorously. There’s no way I want Michael or Emma getting upset again. I feel bad enough I didn’t end up doing a song with Michael. He was pretty deflated about it earlier. ‘Yep it was great. You and Emma always pull out all the stops.’ ‘Well, we just want you to have the best time.’ Michael flicks on the television, the ten o’clock news starts playing with the familiar BBC theme tune. He grumbles something, but I can’t quite work out what he’s said, it’ll be something about politics, I bet. It’s his favourite subject to moan about when he’s had a few drinks. The letter from Harvey crosses my mind again. What does he want from me? ‘Michael, can I ask you something?’ He shifts on the sofa. ‘Sure, ask away,’ he says, half-yawning. I swallow. ‘What . . . what did you think when my brother was arrested? You must’ve seen the news when it first broke like everyone else.’ Did you ever think I might kill you, like Harvey killed Mum and Dad? I shove the thought to the back of my mind. ‘This is about the letter you received, isn’t it?’ he asks, raising an eyebrow. I cross my arms. ‘Um, yep,’ I say. He nods. ‘Look, Danielle, if you want to speak to your brother it’s your business, no one else’s. I know Emma doesn’t want you to, but I think . . . I think she’s scared it’ll drag back old, painful memories for you. I can see her point, but this is your life.’ ‘So, you don’t mind if I go and see him?’ I say, my heart ricocheting against my ribs. Michael takes a swig of his beer. ‘If he wants to talk to you, and you want to hear what he has to say, then I think you should, although, I would take whatever he tells you with a pinch of salt.’ ‘But what if he . . .’ I stop. Michael’s waiting for me to continue. ‘But what did you think of him though when it was announced he’d been arrested? You must remember.’ Michael sighs. ‘I thought the same as pretty much everyone else did in the country. It was unbelievable, shocking, but . . .’ he stops. ‘But what?’ I say, urging him to continue. Michael’s never said this to me before. This is crazy. He glances at the living room door then flicks his gaze back to me. ‘Do not repeat this to Emma, I don’t want her thinking I’m planting ideas in your head, but, when his picture was first released to the media, I thought . . . there was something about him that made me think he looked haunted, not by what he’d done, but it was like he was scared, petrified. I don’t know, don’t ask me to explain it now, but, I just got a sense something wasn’t quite right. Like you, I always come back to the why, why would a fourteen-year-old boy kill his mother and father out of the blue like that?’ I think back to what Callum told me once before, sometimes there doesn’t have to be a reason. I blink my eyes rapidly. ‘So, will you . . . will you come with me to the prison?’ At least if Michael comes, I won’t have to think about putting pressure on Callum. Michael rubs his hands against the botte of Peroni. ‘Yes, I’ll come, but I think it might be best if we don’t let Emma know, she’ll only worry herself.’ ‘I won’t say anything.’ I get up from the sofa. ‘Just gonna take this into the kitchen,’ I say, picking up my plate. In the hallway I watch Emma in the garden puffing on a cigarette. She’s on the phone. Something flitters in my belly. Mum always complained to Dad about him smoking, and his smoking only got worse in the three weeks before the murders. I never saw him without a cigarette in his hands. One time, I snatched it from his fingers, before he could place it against his lips, and threw it to the ground. I could’ve started a fire, thinking back now. My body trembles. It’s only ever late at night and sometimes in the morning when Emma smokes. She’s been trying to give up for years; it’s why she wears far too much perfume to cover the scent. I hurry into the kitchen, get rid of the plate then breeze back into the hallway. As I pass the living room door I notice Michael’s fallen asleep, or he’s resting his eyes. Upstairs I pull my laptop out from under my bed and open the government website, still saved in my search bar. I’ve thought about this moment so many times I can’t believe it’s happening. My body shakes. I fill in my name, Harvey’s name, his date of birth and prison number. I hover the cursor over the submit button for what seems like a long time, before I press send. It’s done. Now I think of it, I’ve no idea what to say to Harvey. Years ago, I thought I would come out with it and say, ‘why did you do it? Why did you kill our Mum and Dad?’ I could always hear the anger in my voice as I imagined it. Now, I’m not sure. There’s something about the tone of his letter playing on my mind, and now, with what Michael’s said to me I don’t know what to think. It’s like Harvey’s trying to tell me something, like there’s some sort of hidden message. I pull the letter out from under my bed and read it again. Nothing jumps out. I sigh. All I can do is wait.
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