‘Your father is holding a celebration next week at-’
‘I do not care!’ He cut her off like an executioner the head of a condemned man. ‘I will not attend any celebration of his!’
‘It is Adaira’s birthday.’
Silence.
This time, it wasn’t cold, though. I could feel a definite atmospheric thawing from the other end of the tube.
‘She’ll be introduced into society, Ricky. I want you to be there.’
‘I don’t care what you want!’
A pause. Then:
‘She wants you to be there, too.’
Another pause.
‘Ricky?’
Silence.
‘Ricky? Will you do this for her?’
More silence. Quite extraordinarily silent silence. Original, inimitable Ambrose Silence.
‘Ricky, please, I…’
‘Where?’
His voice was like a freshly sharpened blade of ice.
‘At the hall.’
‘Of course!’ The ice-blade flashed with dark danger. ‘Of course, it would have to be there!’
‘Thanks to you, it can be. Without you, we-’
‘Don’t!’ Now, the ice-blade lay at her throat, ready to strike. ‘Don’t thank me! Don’t you dare!’
‘But I have to! Without your generosity-’
I took my ear away from the tube, stuck a finger inside, turned it in the hope to remove dirt, and reapplied the ear. Had I heard right just now? Generosity?
‘-without your kindness, we would never have-’
Apparently, my ears still weren’t working properly. Kindness? Mr Masterfully Merciless Ambrose?
‘Silence, woman!’
And there was silence. I didn’t know many men who could silence their mothers with a single command. In fact, I probably didn’t know any. But Rikkard Ambrose managed without the slightest problem. The silence that echoed on the other end of the tube was absolute. It was the silence of unspoken secrets, deep hurts and dark deeds in a long-buried past.
It was she who finally broke it.
‘Please.’ Just that one word. ‘Please, Rikky.’
‘Don’t! Don’t ask this of me!’