**The Loud Silence**
“He just wont speak to me!” Lucy nearly sobbed into the phone. “Ive apologised five times, even bought three types of cheese! Nothing. He just sits there, glued to his computer, as if I dont exist.”
“Well, dont dance around himcome over to ours,” suggested Emily. “Let him cool off. Mums baking her cabbage pastiesmy favourite. And yours! The whole flat smells like heaven, not frost.”
Lucy smiled. She remembered the mouth-watering scent of fresh baking that always drifted from Aunt Maggies kitchen. And the taste of those pasties, tooonce a week, sometimes more, she and Emily would devour them after school. They had been neighbours, classmates, and the closest of friends.
How many times had they dreamed about the future, imagining their careers, their princes, their families growing up side by side? Lucy adored visiting Emilys home, where life was loud and warm. It might have lacked perfect order, but laughter filled the air, guests were always welcome, and Aunt Maggies cooking was divine.
Her own mother had been strict and quiet, their home spotless, friends rarely allowed. Her parents never raised their voices, never fought outright. But her mother knew how to hold a grudge. If offended, she could go weeks without speaking to anyoneher husband or Lucy. Lucy remembered hating that icy silence as a child, the ache of being ignored. Once, at sixteen, shed hurled a book at her mother, desperate for any reaction. Her mother had only raised her eyebrows and walked out. That day, Lucy swore shed never live like that.
Now, her husband was doing the same.
There had been warning signs before marriage. Bells, even.
Once, James joked in front of friends that Lucy had “won the lottery”landing a husband with a flat. Shed laughed and quipped back that the jury was still out on who was luckier. Hed taken deep offence and spent three days stone-faced.
Another time, hed sulked for a week because she refused to stay up late with his mates and went to bed. But in the whirl of love, it had all seemed trivial.
The day Lucy called Emily, James had been silent for four days. The reason? Shed forgotten his favourite cheese for breakfast. Not on purposeit had slipped her mind. Desperate to escape the suffocating quiet, she rang her friend, humiliated, guilty, invisible. Worst of all, it felt horribly familiar. This was her mothers script, the one shed vowed never to follow.
With an invitation to pasties, Lucy grabbed her coat and fled. If James wanted solitude, fine. His young wife would enjoy better company. Aunt Maggie was delighted to see her. Over tea, the older woman quickly noticed Lucys downcast eyes. Hearing the reason, she shook her head.
“Listen, love, if you dont nip this in the bud now, youll spend your life tiptoeing. Sounds like his family never rowedjust stewed in silence. He doesnt know any other way.”
“My parents did the same. Polite, sour-faced silence.”
“Exactly! And were they happy? Do you want that?”
“No, but every time I try to talk, James just says, Leave me alone.”
“Then leave him aloneproperly. Cook for yourself. Go to the cinema with friends. Make sulking pointless. Silent types usually want an audience.”
“You think itll work? What if he gets worse?”
“Dunno. Id try. If notwell, Id walk. Lifes too short for that nonsense. How can you share a bed with someone who wont even speak to you?”
The next morning, staring at Jamess turned back in bed, Lucy felt something newnot hurt, not despair, but cold resolve. *No*, she told herself. *This ends now. Hes not my mother. I wont live in silence.*
She remembered Emilys parents: “Mum and Dadll argue for two days over where to plant the cabbages, but give each other the silent treatment? Never! They might shout, but theyre laughing an hour later.”
*Two hours.* It sounded impossible. But it was a start.
That evening, after James ate alone and slumped before the telly, Lucy switched it off and sat opposite him. “James, we need to talk. Not about cheese. About us.”
He reached for his phone.
“Im serious. I wont play these games anymore. Silence isnt solving anythingits cruelty.”
“Leave me alone,” he muttered.
“Fine,” she said evenly. “But know this: from tomorrow, Im out. You stay silent? Then youve nothing to say. Ill live my lifecook for myself, watch my shows, see friends. Youll be my flatmate. If thats what you want, carry on.”
She walked away. No begging, no excuses. Just new rules: her life wouldnt pause for his sulks.
James snorted and turned the telly back on.
Next morning, no breakfast waited. He drank black coffee and left. That evening, no dinner. No one asked about his day. Lucy chatted loudly with Emily, planning a cinema trip.
Later, she approached him. “I get that youre angry. Thats fine. But lets set a limit. Two hours. Its seven now. At nine, we talkcalmly. If you wont, then the problem isnt meits you refusing to communicate. And Ill act accordingly.”
James stared. His best weapontimewas being taken.
“Thats ridiculous,” he snapped.
“No, ridiculous is adults pretending the other doesnt exist. Two hours. Nine oclock.”
At nine, he didnt come. But at eleven, climbing into bed, he broke first. “You sound like one of those telly therapists. Its daft.”
Lucy breathed deep. A week ago, shed have cried or snapped. Now, she just said, “It hurts when you shut me out. I feel invisible. Ill listen if Ive upset you. But I wont spend weeks guessing why.”
James was quiet. But this silence was differentthoughtful, not cold.
“Fine,” he said suddenly. “Forgetting the cheeseits disrespectful.”
“Not buying cheese means I dont respect you?” she asked gently. “Or maybe Im human and forgot?”
He had no answer. His grievance sounded petty out loud. Next morning, he woke early and made breakfast for two.
“Truce?” Lucy checked.
He nodded.
“Brilliantactions speak louder!” she beamed. “Ill make your favourite fish tonight.”
Six months later, the silences hadnt vanishedold habits die hard. But now, there were rules.
“Youre sulking?” Lucy would ask calmly. “Right. Two hours. Then we talk.”
And somehow, it worked. James would stew, but only for those two hoursor sometimes a whole day. Lucy wouldnt fuss; shed go out, wait for his peace-offering breakfast.
Shed learned the hardest lesson: escaping a family script isnt enough. You must write your own.
