Sarah Pinborough - Into the Silence

When the national singing competition had begun, a light had come back on in Barry's eyes and they'd started smiling at each other again. And they hadn't done badly, coming second and third in their category in two of the four years it had been running. She'd known she was the weaker singer, but she hadn't thought it really mattered.

Not until she had the stroke at any rate. Her dry fingers rose and touched the slight dip at the left edge of her mouth. No more singing for her. Apart from losing some of her ability to shape the sounds, her bloody brain couldn't guarantee her all the words to a song any more. It made her feel like a helpless, ugly fool. Not that they'd talked about that either. They'd just got on with it and made do. But she was sure she'd seen the glint in her husband's eyes when the doctors had told her she wouldn't be taking part in this year's competition, and it was a look that broke her heart. He badly wanted to win, and she'd never realised. Was his life lacking so much?

It seemed clear to Dyllis that Barry was almost glad that she'd had her stroke. And they didn't talk about that either. Although these days she sometimes couldn't find the right words for things anyway, like that time she'd gone to the post office and kept insisting poor Enid at the counter give her a pound of bananas rather than the six first-glass, class not glass , stamps she'd wanted. Maybe that side effect was a blessing. It seemed to Dyllis, as the road carried them into the outskirts of Cardiff, that the only way for a marriage to survive was not to communicate. If you started talking, just where would you stop?

'Shit!' The octaves forgotten for a moment, Barry's voice was full of the earth of the farm as he wrestled with the steering wheel while the car suddenly shuddered, jolting them across the road. The Escort cut across the white lines, slewing into the opposite carriageway, and Barry finally braked, bringing them to a halt up against the barrier at the other side of the road.

For a moment they sat, just wrapped in their breathing, Dyllis slowly releasing her death grip on her handbag, and Barry leaning into the wheel.

'Bloody blowout.' His head turned slowly in her direction and his eyes were soft and full of dread as he reached over and squeezed her knee. 'You OK, love?'

Dyllis nodded and smiled. Her thin shoulder hurt where the seatbelt had dug in and her heart was pounding hard in her chest, but the warmth and care in her husband's touch almost made the accident worthwhile. Maybe she'd been hard on him. Maybe her stroke had made her brain play tricks on her. Maybe there was some love left, after all.

'Are you sure?' Barry stared intently at her head, as if he thought the shock might bring on another stroke, the stroke, the one that would leave her with more to worry about than stamps and bananas.

'Really, I'm fine.' She squeezed his hand.

'Right. You stay here while I change the tyre. We'll be at that B amp; B in no time.' His eyes drifted away and his smile was awkward on his face. Watching him get out of the car, Dyllis knew that he was sorry. Sorry that they'd left so late, sorry about her stroke, and sorry that he was excited to sing on his own. It was funny the things you could say in a marriage without really saying anything at all.

'I'll come too.' Leaving her best handbag in the footwell, she stepped outside.

Although they were right on the edge of the city, the road was dark, only the beam from the torch Barry was working with casting long shadows across the tarmac. The rain had eased to a light mist dusting her cheeks, and the breeze that carried it whispered a chill at her neck. Shivering, Dyllis pulled her coat tight round her.

'Are you all right?' she asked.

'Yes, just need to change the tyre.' Barry's disembodied voice drifted from the other side. The jack clunked on the hard ground, and Dyllis could hear her husband's concentrated breath as he worked the machine and the car slowly rose. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted, and the lost trees rustled on either side of the road, their shapes simple darker outlines against the midnight blue of the sky. It was like the depths of the ocean, she thought, twisting to look at the trees behind her. Anything could be in there, but you just couldn't see it.

Beyond the low metal crash railing was a line of thick, gnarled trunks, rising up into shadowy branches that creaked and entwined themselves to create a barrier of nature. A border not to be crossed. Dyllis looked back at the broken car and the thick tarmac of the road, and then the crash barrier on the other side. They were trapped in the road. She shivered again, this time trying to shake her feeling of unease. This was ridiculous. She wasn't a child. There was nothing to be afraid of in the dark.

Barry emerged from beside the car, and pulled the spare tyre out of the well in the boot, replacing it with the damaged wheel. He grinned at her. 'If you want to warm up, you could collect up the bits of rubber we've left all over the road and dump them on the side. Probably dangerous to leave them out here.'

Dyllis nodded, staring out across the road around her. Maybe she should have stayed in the car. Wandering around in that gloom didn't seem too appealing. She swallowed hard, and then realised Barry was looking at her, mildly amused.

'Don't you tell me you're scared of the dark after all these years, Dyllis Llewelyn. You and me have crossed pitch-black fields to get to stuck sheep and cows in early labour. What's the matter with you, woman?'

He was teasing, not scolding her, and she laughed a little and shrugged. 'Must just be city nights that scare me.'

'Tell you what…' He heaved the wheel into position. 'Why don't we have a song?'

'Oh, don't be so daft.'

'You never used to think it was daft to sing with me.' He screwed in the first wheel nut. 'Come on, it's only you and me. If you forget the words, just hum it.'

Dyllis looked at a piece of torn rubber lying damaged in the middle of the road. She should really go and get it. 'Well, what shall we sing?' She took three furtive steps away from the car.

' La Traviata. Un Di Felice .' Barry's voice floated out to her. 'It's our best one.'

She smiled. They'd come second with that the year before last. The judges said they'd never heard it sung so beautifully by untrained singers.

They didn't pause to count in. Barry and Dyllis Llewelyn just started singing into the night. Her lungs opening, and letting the words flow without any conscious thought, Dyllis started to relax. She picked up the first piece of heavy torn rubber and tossed it towards the side of the road. Something rustled in the undergrowth, the noise climbing high into the tree.

Dyllis stared, the music in her throat faltering. Behind her, even though he was in a crouched position, Barry's voice soared: a lyrical bird in flight, set free to reach the skies. It was beautiful. Even in her best days, she hadn't come close to that quality of sound. Dyllis could sing a tune, but when Barry sang it was as if he poured all those things they didn't talk about into the melody.

The rustling moved to another tree, as if some watching creature had jumped from one to another. Taking two steps back, Dyllis looked up, the song frozen in her now. Barry didn't seem to notice her quietness, his half of the duet still filling the silent night as he fixed the spare tyre in place.

There was something in the tree. Something bad. Cold crept up through Dyllis's toes and fingers, and she started to tremble. Her eyes wide, she peered into the gloom of the overhanging canopy. In the middle of the twisted, shadowy shapes was an area of complete darkness. A blackness that was beyond empty. Her mouth falling open, she tried to breathe but, looking into that awful nothingness, it seemed that everything she knew was being drained from inside. Behind her, Barry's singing faded, the sound sucked away, pulled back from her ears.