More Than Words

More Than Words
Keren Hughes and Jodie Harrold

978-1-912768-84-4

https://amzn.to/2zvoMnC
https://books2read.com/u/mdlLDl


Prologue

I try to calm my shaking hands as adrenaline rapidly travels through my body and up my arms, until my whole body is nearly convulsing in shock. Gasping, I try to take in deep breaths to be able to distinguish what I am seeing and hearing. It takes all my concentration. After gaining the control to slowly take in the blurring lines on the piece of paper before me, I am finally able to form words.
“They left me everything? As in everything? Even their house?” I ask in shock as I stare at the solicitor sitting before me. “What about my parents? Did they not leave anything to them?”
I continue my frantic attempt to absorb the knowledge before me as the solicitor sighs in frustration. Having asked him the same question multiple times in a row, I can understand why he’s frustrated. I am too.
“No. As you can see, it is written in this will that their sole beneficiary is their grandchild—you. They left you everything for you to do whatever you please.”
He pauses as he shuffles through some papers stacked on his desk, looking for something.
“There is a letter addressed to you, which is my reason for asking you to meet me today. Their only request was for you to read it before you make a decision.”
He slides the envelope towards me as he talks. I stare at it in fascination. Realising I have been silent for so long, he clears his throat to get my attention.
“I will leave and give you some time to digest what has been brought to your attention. I will be back in five minutes.”
After staring at the envelope for what feels like hours—but in reality, is only a couple of seconds—I tear into it. I’m taken aback as a flurry of photos falls over my lap and to the ground.
Bending to pick them up, I gasp in shock as I see all the photos of me with my grandparents as I grew up and some more recent ones.
One stands out the most; there I am with a large grin on my face. My grandad John stands behind me looking worried, and I’m holding a revolting looking cake to my grandma who’s behind the camera.
Inside the envelope is also a letter. I begin to shake as I see my name in cursive writing, knowing it to be my grandmother’s.

To our dearest Evie,
If you’re reading this, we know you’re going to be upset and confused. We wanted everything to be left to you, for you to have a future. We remember the joy in your eyes when you used to play in the park as a child, and then how that joy turned to inquisitiveness as you blossomed into a teenager. But then it slowly faded away after university. We wished that there was anything we could do to bring that little girl back, when you were so full of life and weren’t afraid to do anything.
Do you remember when we used to bake together? You would get flour everywhere! However, you enjoyed it so much that I didn’t mind finding flour in all the nooks and crannies for months on end.
I remember the day you and Grandad tried to make that surprise chocolate cake while I was in town with the girls, buying more ingredients for a special recipe I had found. When I came home, all we could smell was burnt cake, as you had left it in the oven for too long. But the way that your eyes filled with pride as you presented that cake to me, with Grandad trailing behind you looking worried. Oh, the look on his face was priceless! Even though it was burnt, we ate it. We knew how much it meant to you, and over the years you perfected the art and became an amazing baker. You managed to take my recipes and make them better. I hope you keep that passion, that it will live on after me and you. I hope you take that box of recipes and produce some amazing treats with them, and eventually pass them down to your children, with your recipes added in there.
We are proud to be able to call you ours. You were ours, just as much as you were your parents’. Which is the reason why we decided to leave everything to you.
We knew you may need help one day. At first, we didn’t know what it was for—I just called it intuition—but as time went past, we had our suspicions. We hope that you can live the life that you are meant to live, without restraints holding you back. We want you to be free.
We love you with all our hearts,
Grandma and Grandad.

I shuffle to wipe the tears spilling down my cheeks as they hit the paper before me, not wanting to ruin the last remains of my grandma’s handwriting. I stare in disbelief as I scan the letter repeatedly, trying to make sense of what she meant. I kept what had happened between me and Greg quiet, not wanting anybody to step in and possibly make things worse.
I know immediately that I am going to leave my hometown; I need to get away from my past as quickly as possible. Saying goodbye to my family is going to be the hardest thing, but I need to leave. They may not understand why, but I feel the urge to create distance between me and my past. This money gives me the freedom to do what I could have only dreamed of before—to create a future for myself. I need to take what my grandparents have given me and leave. I smile at the thought of making a new home for myself, of having a place that I can call my own. Where I can leave dishes in the sink for more than five minutes, place my shoes wherever I want them to be, and lounge around the house doing nothing for a day. A life where I can dress how I want, instead of having an outfit laid out for me by Greg. Where I can make friends with other men and not be reprimanded for speaking to someone of the opposite sex. In fact, a life where I can actually have friends full stop.
The opening of the office door pulls me from my thoughts, and I quickly wipe my tears and face the solicitor. He smiles as he makes his way to the desk and shifts paperwork again. The mess that has ensued makes me want to go over and file it all, rather than having stacks of paperwork on top of each other.
“All of your grandparents’ assets will be transferred in your name by the end of the week. You will then be free to sell the house and do what you wish.”
He extends his arm towards me and shakes my hand as though he’s just done a business deal. I wonder if he can hear how hard my heart is beating.
As I make my way out the door, I quickly turn.
“Thank you for having me here and giving me that envelope.”
I smile as I briskly walk out the doors to accept my fate.
***
I stare at the numerous pregnancy tests before me as I’m slumped on the toilet seat. It’s not possible. I thought the first couple were just defective—is it even possible to get a false positive the way you can get a false negative?—but after the fifth test, I’ve realised my fate.
They are all positive. The thought of bringing up a child in this type of hostile environment terrifies me. I may be stupid for putting myself through this, but could I do that to another human being? My child. I couldn’t—no, I wouldn’t—do that. Greg would either beat me the moment he found out or make me abort the unborn baby. Abortion is out of the question; I couldn’t do that to a living being. I’m not against it for other people, they have their reasons, but it isn’t a possibility for me. I just know that I could give this baby a life, I could bring this baby up. It would be my salvation.
I need to leave. I jump up as quickly as I can, ignoring the excruciating pain that travels up my side from the movement. I run through the house to get the binbags out of the kitchen, and I throw as many belongings as I can into them, only wanting a few tops and the jewellery that my grandma Heather gave me.
Looking at the time, I know I’ve only got an hour to get out of the house before he returns. I pack as quickly as I can and am about to make my way to my parents’ house, but first I turn and race back into the bathroom to grab all the pregnancy tests and boxes. I don’t want Greg to have any inclination of what is going on.
After I’ve locked the door to the apartment, I race down the stairs, jump into my car and reverse out of the parking space. I drive down the road as fast as I dare, not wanting to be pulled over for a speeding ticket at this time. As I make my way onto the motorway, I dial my mother’s number.
“Hello, sweetheart. Are you okay?” I hear the muffled voice of my mother through the car speakers.
“Umm … Yeah. I-is it okay if I stay at yours for the night? It’s an emergency.”
I hear my mum go silent on the other end. I can imagine that she’s sitting there scratching her head.
“Of course you can. Are you sure you’re okay? Is this about Greg?” I hear her say over a muffled reply from my father.
“I’m fine; I just need to get away. I’ll be half an hour. I’ll explain everything when I get there. I’ll see you soon. Love you.”
I quickly end the call before my mother gives my father the phone, knowing he won’t let me get away with only half answers.
I knew it wouldn’t take long for her to figure it out. I had tried to hide it as best as I could. But I couldn’t prevent it.
***
Curled on the sofa, I wait for my mother to come back into the room with a coffee. I wince as I shuffle, trying to get comfortable. I suddenly feel my mother’s warm hands gently grasp my side where my top has risen. She pulls it all the way up and gasps at the sight.
“Who did this to you?”
“It’s nothing, Mother. Don’t worry. I fell down the stairs the other day; you know how clumsy I am.” I fake a laugh, trying to make her believe the lie.
“I’m not stupid, honey. I’ve seen plenty of those. Was it Greg?” She looks me in the eyes.
I nod my head ever so slightly. I don’t want to actually admit what happened, and I don’t want her to have a tainted view of me or think that I deserved it.
I look up, waiting for a response, and she leans over and hugs me as gently as she can, smoothing my hair as she whispers soothing words, and that’s all it takes for me to break down.
***
I shake my head, clearing it so I can focus on my goal. I turn my phone off as I want to make sure that Greg can’t get ahold of me—I’ll need to change my number soon, so I don’t have to be afraid each time the phone rings. It will only take him an hour, maybe two tops, before he figures out that I’m not coming back. He knows that today is usually shopping day, and I always forget to charge my phone, so thankfully, luck is on my side for the time being.
Having known that I’m pregnant for just an hour, the protectiveness that I feel for this unborn baby shouldn’t be natural. I’m not the maternal type. After being with Greg for the last four and a half years, I knew I didn’t want to bring a baby into this type of life. I did everything I could to prevent it; I secretly had the contraceptive injection so I wouldn’t fall pregnant. But he found out and decided to get his payback, trying everything to get me pregnant. Even if it was against my will. Looks like he succeeded, I thought. I shake my head, wanting to get rid of that thought before it fully festers in my mind. I won’t allow my child to grow up thinking he or she was a mistake or not wanted.
The driver’s side door opening startles me. I jump and turn, ready to kick and scream, before I realise it’s my father. As I visibly relax, his sharp eyes take in everything; I notice his eyes narrow, then soften. He reaches in and gently grabs me in his arms, cradling me to his chest as if I were a child. The full force of what has happened makes my body shake as I sob into his chest. He whispers soothing words into my ear as he helps me from the car and guides me into the house. I notice my mother standing in the foyer with a hand over her mouth, unshed tears brimming in her eyes.
How I managed to pull into my parents’ driveway without realising makes me feel unnerved. I can’t have been completely aware of my surroundings like I usually am.
As my dad turns into the living room, I see my uncle sitting there in his police uniform. I start to shake and try to get away, but my father’s arms clamp tighter around me.
“You need to finally make him suffer for what he’s done to you,” he whispers in my ear. “No more hiding.”
Reporting Greg to the police has never been an option before. He warned me that if I ever did, he would hurt me so much worse than he ever had before—and that pain didn’t have to come as physical beatings or mental abuse; it could mean hurting my parents. So, I never went to hospital with my injuries in case they saw signs of abuse and reported it to the police, as they are duty-bound to do. I never dialled 999. I always dressed to cover myself from head to toe, sometimes using makeup to cover bruises—something I became an expert at doing.
I instantly feel overwhelmed. Do I really want to report him? What if it goes to court and I don’t have any physical evidence of what he did to me? He’d get off and then come after me ten times as hard as before.
My heart races in my chest, feeling like it’s trying to burst free of its constraints. I try to swallow past the lump in my throat as I feel tears sting the backs of my eyes.
I can do this. I will do this. I have to do this. For myself, but more importantly for the innocent life inside me. My child deserves the best start in life, and that can’t happen with Greg walking free. He has to pay for what he’s done.
I can’t live my life constantly looking over my shoulder, in fear of every street corner, every dark alley …
The blows he dealt me over the years made me feel weak. But I know now that I’m not weak. I am strong. I am willing to fight back. For my life and for my child to grow up without him.
If he isn’t behind bars when my baby comes into this world, I dread to think what he would do if he found out. He’s not a real man, so he could never be a real father. But he’d want access, and he’d fight me for it. It would go to court, and if they found in his favour, I’d have to allow my child to see that piece of shit on a regular basis.
Over my dead body.
I sit on the sofa and am instantly squashed with my mother and father on either side of me. My mother’s hand reaches into my lap and takes hold of my hand. As I look up at her, she gives me a reassuring smile.
I can do this. I know it will hurt my parents to hear my story, but they need to know the truth. I need to stop lying and covering up for that bastard. He’s the one to blame in all of this and it’s about time I stopped blaming myself for making him hurt me.
That’s one thing he always said, “You know I’m only giving you what you deserve. You brought this on yourself. I wish I didn’t have to do this, but you give me no choice. You make me hurt you.”
I’m sick of being petrified of my own shadow and I won’t let my child—my innocent, pure child—be tainted by a life with that man in it.
Steeling myself for what’s to come, I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, drawing it in through my mouth and out through my nose.
Opening my eyes, I face my uncle sitting opposite me with a tender smile on his face. I open my mouth and suddenly, the dam breaks and everything comes pouring out. I can taste the salty tears on my lips as I tell him the truth, but I don’t care. For once, I’m going to cry it out and let it wash over me, taking my pain with it.
My life as a victim is over. This is the first day of the rest of my life as a survivor.
Chapter One

Evie

6 years later

“Mummy, wake up,” I hear Maya say as she squeezes my arm.
Trying to conceal my grin, I wrap my arms around her and pull her into the bed, yanking the covers over us in the process. I make her giggle and thrash around as I tickle her.
“Morning sweetheart.” I yawn as I hug her.
“Are we making cupcakes and pies today, Mummy?” Maya says, staring at me with her large grey doe eyes, “because I really want some Rose specials.”
They’re Maya’s favourite. A concoction I made up when I was pregnant and craving something sweet, I had eaten that much that she has been addicted to this day. As it’s a chocolate and vanilla swirl cake with mint and orange ganache on it, I don’t blame her. It’s basically a fancier version of a chocolate orange.
“Of course; it’s Sunday.” It’s become our tradition to bake on a Sunday, typically because I would always bake with my grandma on a Sunday, and I want to keep that little bit of tradition running through the family.
“We’ll go to the bakery after we eat breakfast, but try not to get flour everywhere this time. We trod it in the house last week.” I look her in the eyes and start to tickle her again, so she knows I’m just playing. She insists on measuring the flour every time we go on a Sunday, so we usually end up wearing more then we put into the recipe.
Pulling the duvet from over the top off our heads, I pull us both up. With Maya in my lap, I sit there and welcome the comfort that she brings. Then I put her down, and we make our way down the stairs and into the kitchen. I place her on the worktop. Immediately, she opens the cupboard and pulls out her cereal of choice. I laugh at her hair, which closely resembles a mane this early in the morning. With her long wavy brown hair and grey eyes, we look very much like mother and daughter. Thankfully she took after me in that department.
“Mummy, I need a bowl,” she says impatiently as she shakes the cereal box in front of my face.
I pull her down from the work surface, and she makes her way to the table in the corner of the kitchen-dining area. I follow her and place the bowl and milk next to each other.
“Remember not to make a mess this time. Pour the milk carefully,” I warn as I eye her picking the milk up.
I make my way to the coffee machine and turn it on. I can’t function throughout the day without a coffee. I think that was one of the main reasons I added a small coffee shop into the bakery—everyone needs a coffee with a cake or tart. Queen of Tarts is probably one of my greatest accomplishments, after my daughter of course.
***
I laugh as I watch Maya dump icing sugar into the standing mixer and a plume of sugar-smoke, as Maya calls it, hits her in the face.
Giggling as she inhales the sweet smell, she exclaims, “Look, Mummy! Look at how high that went!”
“That one did, sweetie. Let’s be careful, though.” I eye the mess on the floor, a mix of flour and different types of sugar. “We still need to ice these cupcakes before we go home.”
I take the tarts and large cakes into the walk-in freezer and place them so they’re easily accessible to be put in the display case tomorrow morning. As I walk back into the decorating room, I see Maya adding the last ingredients into the icing. I have always been impressed with how she knows the recipe for the icing; she never gets it wrong. It brings me comfort that she will be able to keep the bakery going when I can’t anymore.
“Okay, let’s ice the cupcakes then.” I pull a separate rack for Maya to decorate.
I always let her decorate her own. She usually takes them to school to give to her friends and teachers, but with it being the Easter holiday, we’re going to take them home and gorge on them. I continue decorating the cakes that I make for the Easter season and add little chocolate eggs to the top, making them look like little nests.
Just as I finish putting the cupcakes for tomorrow away, I see that Maya has finished hers.
“Wow, sweetheart. They look delicious, I can’t wait to have some later.” As I look into her eyes, I see them brighten and pride take over her face.
“Thank you, Mummy. I can’t either! Are we going home now? I’m hungry.”
“Of course. Are you going to help me make spaghetti and meatballs tonight?” I grab her and place her down on the floor.
Maya holds the box of cupcakes in her arms, and we make our way out of the shop. I always try and make simple things for tea, so she can help me, usually just by stirring the sauce or pasta.
She nods her head as we make our way home, too absorbed in watching the birds fly around the sky.
***
Just as I finish placing the icing on the last tier of a wedding cake for Mr and Soon-To-Be¬-Mrs Smith, my friend and employee, Ryan, bursts through the door.
“Oh! My! God! That hot hunk of a man just came in. Oh how he makes me swoon,” he says, over-exaggerating every word as he plonks himself down in a chair. “Sadly, he doesn’t bat for this team. You really should get to know him.”
Rolling my eyes at his usual tactic to get me with any man in this town, I close the door to the freezer just as Maya walks in.
“Mummy, look at the drawing I’ve just finished in my colouring book!” Enthusiastically, she shows me a colouring of a giraffe.
“Wow, sweetheart! You’re getting so good.” I watch as Ryan quickly nods his head in agreement. “I hope you have been good for Ryan at the till.” I raise my eyebrows at her.
“I haves been good! Just ask Uncle Ry!” She skips towards him and flings herself into his awaiting arms.
“Of course. You have been amazing, my little fairy!” He stares at me in mock annoyance, then starts playing a hand game with her to keep her distracted.
I always have Maya with me at the bakery in the holidays; she alternates sitting back here with me, or sitting at the till while Ry is here, colouring in one of her new colouring books.
As I start to get the decorations ready to place onto the cake, I hear Ry take Maya out, muttering something about leaving me in the zone. I make quick work of stacking the tiers for the Smiths and adding the sugar flowers that I made late last week. Thankfully, I didn’t need to come in on the weekend to finish the cake, as they are having a late wedding.
Once that is finished and has been picked up for delivery, I make my way to the front part of the shop. I love that the front of the bakery is set up almost like a restaurant, so customers can stay in and have a cup of coffee or a cake, but still have the choice to take things away. The back is reserved for baking or making a cake if I have an order for an event through my website. I notice that Maya is in her usual spot, with Ry standing next to her, talking to the last customers of the day and, as usual, being a flirt to anybody who listens. Chuckling, I go and stand behind Maya.
I watch as Ryan locks the front door after everybody has left. “Want me to put all the things from the till into the safe?” he asks.
“Yes, please. I’m going to move all the cakes from the display cases and put them back in the freezer. I’ll be making fresh ones tomorrow anyway, so they can go out while they’re baking.”
“Can I help with the cakes tomorrow, Mummy?” Maya asks as I’m making my way to the display cases.
I turn and see her looking at me with hope in her eyes. “Of course. I need my little helper.” I grin as I give her a cupcake from the display case. “This is a treat for being so good today.”
She smiles, and just as she goes to take a bite Ry runs in and jokingly cries out “Where is mine? I have been good today too, haven’t I, Mummy?” He pretends to fall on the floor and cry as he keeps up this façade.
Maya sits there and bursts out laughing at his acting. “Yeah, Mummy. Uncle Ry has been good too! It’s mean not to give him a treat.”
I play along, as it is our usual routine. “Well, looks like we’ll have to have Ryan over then and cook him dinner, huh?” I say, looking at Maya.
Ryan stands up and, with the biggest grin, gives me a hug. “I think tea is the perfect treat.”
Maya shakes her head as we make our way out of the shop and towards home.
***
Curled on the sofa, with a glass of wine in my hand, I wait for Ryan to come back downstairs. After we’d eaten our takeaway—I was too lazy to cook—and after watching Snow White, Maya demanded that her uncle Ry took her to bed and read her a bedtime story. With the length of time he’s been up there, I guess he’s been roped into reading more than one, but then the thump of feet on the stairs brings me to the conclusion that he has managed to get away.
***
Thumping travels throughout the flat, shaking the bathroom, as Greg tries to get into the room. He’s been on one of his drinking weekends again, he always comes back either extremely happy, or like this, wanting to do anything to frighten me. I shouldn’t have provoked him really. I should have just cleaned the dishes last night. But I thought I had more time; he wasn’t meant to be back until late tonight. Not at nine in the morning.
“You can’t lock me out forever, Evelyn! You’ll let me in eventually.” The pounding on the door ensues.
Panic consumes my whole body as I hear the door creak and groan, about to give way. I try and find a more substantial barricade to place in front of the door separating us, but there’s nothing. Only the bending door separating me and him. Finally, I feel the door give way, and I jump back to prevent myself from getting crushed. I see Greg’s red face, reminding me of …
***
“Hun, where’d you go?” I’m snatched out of my memory by Ryan crouching before me, shaking my shoulders with a concerned look on his face.
Only then do I realise the tears streaming down my face, some landing in my empty wine glass.
“Oh, nowhere. I’m fine.” I shrug off his hands and try to act nonchalant.
I’ve only given small bits of information about my past to Ryan, and he knows not to push me. Instead, he sits next to me and pulls me into his arms, giving me the comfort he knows I need.
“I think it’s time you move on darlin’, try and make a life for yourself, instead of living in this shell that you’ve created. It’s obviously not helping you. I know you struggle to sleep; I see the bags under your eyes at work.” The more Ryan talks, the thicker his voice gets with emotion.
“I have made a life for myself! I have Maya. I have you. I have a business that’s successful! I don’t understand how that’s not living,” I ramble, as quickly as my lungs will allow.
“I don’t mean that; don’t get upset.” He looks into my eyes with sorrow. “You haven’t given anybody a second glance since you’ve been here, and trust me, I tried to test you. I thought you just weren’t interested in men, but even women didn’t catch your attention. And I’ve seen some women flirt with you who are so hot they could make me straight, if that was possible.”
Giggling, I lean back and lean into Ryan.
“You know that I love you, right?” I ask as I snuggle in closer, enjoying his warmth.
“I love you too, you sap. I just think maybe trying to go back into the dating scene might be a way for you to finally heal.” Suddenly, he gets this glint in his eye. “Like that hot hunk of a man earlier!”
Confused, I try to shuffle through the events of today in my brain.
“The one you came in the back raving about?”
“Yes! You’d go perfectly together, plus he lives for your pies.”
Winking at me, he pulls me up and leads me into the kitchen.
Leaning against the work surface, I watch as Ryan pulls two cups out from the cupboard and fills them from the coffee machine.
Turning to me and handing me my cup, he cocks his head as he asks, “Why are you so afraid to date?”
“I hate answering that question,” I reply, mumbling into my coffee. “You obviously know some of what happened.” I look at Ryan and he solemnly nods his head. “I’m afraid that it will happen again. I’m not ready to be hurt like that again, to go through that again.”
“But how do you know that you’ll be hurt again if you don’t just try? You’ll never know what the future holds, but you can never let the past hold you back. You can’t stay hostage to something that happened years ago; you need to let go and live.”
He looks at me with his eyebrows raised.
I huff, knowing he’s right.
“But how will I know I won’t be hurt again?” I whisper as I try to keep the tears at bay. It’s a futile attempt, because a few slip out anyway.
“You won’t know if you don’t try.” Ryan turns on his heel. “Come on, you’ve got to be up early for tomorrow. Mind if I stay tonight?”
Looking at the time, I gasp in shock.
“It’s midnight? How did that happen? Yeah, of course, it’s alright. The spare room is made up for you as usual.”
Ryan walks towards me and smiles, giving me a kiss on the top of the head, before making his way to the spare room. I’m grateful for having a friend like him; he knows when I’ve drained myself mentally. Turning in the opposite direction, I head towards my bedroom.
I stare at my large queen-sized bed as I walk in and notice for the first time in years how lonely it feels. How lonely it is to go to bed by myself and not have someone to keep me warm and safe for the night, for somebody to love me—truly love me—and only me.