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Contents (121)
  1. THE SILENCE
  2. Susan Allott
  3. Copyright
  4. Praise for The Silence:
  5. Dedication
  6. 1
  7. London, 1997
  8. 2
  9. Sydney, 1966
  10. 3
  11. Ivanhoe, New South Wales, 1966
  12. 4
  13. Sydney, 1967
  14. 5
  15. Sydney, 1967
  16. 6
  17. Sydney, 1997
  18. 7
  19. Sydney, 1967
  20. 8
  21. Sydney, 1967
  22. 9
  23. Sydney, 1967
  24. 10
  25. Sydney, 1967
  26. 11
  27. Sydney, 1997
  28. 12
  29. Sydney, 1967
  30. 13
  31. Sydney, 1967
  32. 14
  33. Sydney, 1997
  34. 15
  35. Sydney, 1967
  36. 16
  37. Sydney, 1967
  38. 17
  39. Leeds, 1967
  40. 18
  41. Sydney, 1967
  42. 19
  43. Sydney, 1997
  44. 20
  45. Sydney, 1967
  46. 21
  47. Ivanhoe, 1967
  48. 22
  49. Leeds, 1967
  50. 23
  51. Sydney, 1997
  52. 24
  53. Sydney, 1967
  54. 25
  55. Sydney, 1997
  56. 26
  57. Sydney, 1967
  58. 27
  59. Sydney, 1967
  60. 28
  61. Sydney, 1997
  62. 29
  63. Sydney, 1967
  64. 30
  65. Sydney, 1967
  66. 31
  67. New South Wales, 1997
  68. 32
  69. Sydney, 1967
  70. 33
  71. Sydney, 1967
  72. 34
  73. Sydney, 1997
  74. 35
  75. Sydney, 1967
  76. 36
  77. Sydney, 1967
  78. 37
  79. Sydney, 1997
  80. 38
  81. Sydney, 1967
  82. 39
  83. Leeds, 1967
  84. 40
  85. Sydney, 1967
  86. 41
  87. Sydney, 1997
  88. 42
  89. Sydney, 1967
  90. 43
  91. Victoria, 1967
  92. 44
  93. Sydney, 1997
  94. 45
  95. Victoria, 1967
  96. 46
  97. Sydney, 1967
  98. 47
  99. Sydney 1997
  100. 48
  101. Sydney, 1997
  102. 49
  103. Sydney, 1997
  104. 50
  105. Sydney, 1997
  106. 51
  107. Victoria, 1967
  108. 52
  109. New South Wales, 1997
  110. 53
  111. Leeds, 1967
  112. 54
  113. Sydney, 1997
  114. Author’s Note
  115. Notes
  116. A note about language
  117. Acknowledgements
  118. Questions for Reading Groups
  119. Erin Kelly interviews Susan Allott
  120. About the Author
  121. About the Publisher

Her mum was moving around in a busy, quick way, putting things into a bag that was open on the bed. ‘Brush your hair,’ she said as she left the room. ‘Get all the knots out!’

Isla found the brush and followed her mum into the kitchen. She pulled the brush through her hair a couple of times, hoping she might get away with making just the hair you could see look tidy. There was a big, matted knot at the base of her neck which caught the bristles of the brush.

Mummy sat down at the table with a pen and paper. She picked the pen up and put it down again, picked it up and sucked the end, put it down. Isla kept brushing her hair as softly as she could. She could see her mum hadn’t written anything on the page yet.

‘Come here,’ Mummy said, and pulled Isla onto her knee. ‘Let me brush it.’

Isla tensed herself for pain, but her mum was careful, taking one strand at a time. Isla stayed still and hoped her mum might have forgotten about the aeroplane. Mummy sniffed and blew her nose a few times, but she didn’t talk.

There was a knock at the door and Mummy put the brush down, turned Isla to face her and kissed her cheek. ‘I need you to be good,’ she said. ‘Please be good, darling, all right?’

Isla nodded, and tried to be good, which meant not saying things out loud except for good manners. She tried not to think of the bad thing. Daddy on the floor, Mummy on the bed. It was clearer than before and she couldn’t not think it. She sat very still on the chair in the kitchen, ankles together, and smiled at her mum. Mummy smiled back because she didn’t know Isla could see her in her head with her legs stretched out, kicking Daddy backwards. Nobody knew except her. She was like the smooth, brushed hair with the very bad knot underneath.

Mummy ran to the bedroom and when she came out she was holding the bag that had been on the bed. Around her shoulders she wore a long, grey coat that Isla had never seen before. Isla got the bad feeling again, looking at the coat. Her mum rushed past to open the front door. When she came back inside, the coat and bag were gone.

‘Oh God oh God.’ Mummy leaned over the kitchen table, picked the pen up and wrote something, carefully, looked at it and shook her head. She put the pen down and walked towards Isla, holding her hand out. ‘Let’s go,’ she said. ‘I’ve packed you a bag.’

10

Sydney, 1967

Mandy stood on the back of the couch to reach the curtain rail with the duster. Funny what you saw from this angle. A dead fly on one of the blades of the ceiling fan; a layer of dust on top of the display cabinet. And a taxi, outside Louisa’s house, waiting at the kerb.