After the Eclipse
Page 9
“Well, come on now,” he said. “There’s no need to be scared. I haven’t hurt you, have I?”
Olive thought about this, a weird mix of feelings fizzing in her stomach. She lowered her knees slightly so she could see him better. He was right. He hadn’t hurt her. Did that mean there was something she was missing? Some fact she didn’t know about why she was here? Could it be that he was trying to… protect her? Like Cassie did sometimes when Mum and Dad argued? But Cassie had been oblivious to what the arguing meant, that Mum and Dad were getting divorced. So what good was that sort of protection?
Anyway, the look on Sandman’s face told her that this wasn’t true. She wasn’t missing anything. He wasn’t going to let her go. He frowned a little bit, his lips pouting and his eyebrows dipping – but his eyes were hawk-like and fixed on her face. She shivered.
“No,” she said, very quietly. “You haven’t hurt me.”
This was what he wanted to hear. Her voice sounded funny to her ears, rusty after days of only crying. She licked her dry lips.
“Good.” He stood awkwardly by the door, as though he didn’t really know what to do with himself. This frightened Olive more than anything else. He was in control, he was the grown-up here. And he didn’t know what he was doing.
“Are you… here to bring me some things?” she asked.
Sandman glanced down at the bags, and then looked at Olive again.
“Do you like your bedroom?” he asked, ignoring her question. It was like he’d found what he wanted to talk about now, and Olive felt giddy with fear and hope and everything in between.
“I want to go home.”
This was the wrong thing to say. His face darkened and it was like the eclipse all over again as his expression morphed into something else.
“You can’t,” he said.
“Why not?”
Olive was surprised at herself. As though the words weren’t hers. She slapped her hand over her mouth straight away, but Sandman seemed amused rather than angry.
“Because your gran is ill. She asked me to watch you until she’s better.”
Olive felt any hope she had shrivel inside her, like her whole body had become wooden. She wasn’t stupid. Gran was fine. This was a lie. All of it. He wasn’t safe, he wasn’t kind just because he brought her things. He wasn’t her friend and Gran was fine.
Olive was going to tell him so, but she remembered the darkness in his face when she’d said she wanted to go home. She didn’t want the darkness to spread, to catch her too. So she nodded.
“When can I go home?” she asked, quieter. Trying to look like Cassie did when she knew she was in trouble and wanted somebody to forgive her. Maybe – just maybe – he would see that she wasn’t going to cause a problem and he’d let her go.
“Soon.” He gestured at the bags. “More clothes. Food. Take off what you’ve been wearing. You’re disgusting. Get me your other clothes, too. I’ll wash them for you. And you need to wash yourself better, too. But for now, get those dirty things off.”
Olive paused.
“Take my clothes off now?”
“Well I’m not coming back for them.”
Sandman stared at her. Olive felt her insides trembling, like her whole body was TV static. Another wave of dread washed over her.
“Don’t just sit there gawping,” he snapped. He moved towards her, jerkily as though he wasn’t in control of his body. But neither was Olive, and she jumped away, holding in a yelp.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake I’m not going to hurt you.” He stopped. “I won’t need to if you do what I’m asking like a good girl.”
Olive moved robotically. Inched to the edge of the bed. Turned away to pull the dress over her head. She held her hands over her chest, feeling the tepid air brush her sweaty skin. She was shivering again.
“Here.”
He thrust something at her, and she realised it was the Gap bag. A skirt and top, this time. Still old-fashioned, still like clothes you’d give to a younger child. She hurriedly snapped the tags off and slid the foreign material over her head. The top had a collar that caught in her hair and smelled like a shopping centre, like somebody else’s life. She wanted to cry but tried to swallow the tears behind her sore eyes.
“Better,” he said approvingly once she turned back to him. “Much better. Next time I’ll bring you clean sheets, too.”
He started to gather the dirty clothes into the empty plastic bag. Olive held her breath. She wanted him to go. To leave her. Him being in the room was like a suck on the air, like she couldn’t breathe. She stood trembling in the same place while he put the food in the fridge and cleared out the things she hadn’t eaten. He tutted once, but said nothing else.
And then he was heading back to the door.
“Can you tell my family I’m okay?” she asked, the words bursting out of her. “Please? Just tell them I’m okay?”
He didn’t answer her.
The lock clunking back into place on the other side was a sound like the shutting of a coffin lid. Because that was it. She might as well be dead. And if she couldn’t make him let her go, eventually she might be.
11
AFTER MY FAILURE TO get anywhere in my research on Cordy Jones, what had felt like determination to succeed this morning now felt like sheer stupidity. Perhaps Marion was right when she told me not to connect Grace and Olive. But even as I said this to myself, I knew I wouldn’t stop.
I dropped in to Ady’s shop to grab a coffee from the instant machine. He was behind the till with a thin smile on his face. He waved when he saw me. I paid for my coffee and we chatted as the machine clicked and whirred to life, hot water spurting.
I glanced at the newspapers at the till. Grace’s face was still splashed all over them. I’d sold the piece I’d written on Adelaide Upton and filed it with a local online news outlet, but rather than pride I felt simply uncomfortable at the thought that I was once again part of the circus. I was deep in thought when Ady cleared his throat.
“Huh?” I asked.
“I said that it’s awful. That nobody’s found her yet.” He gestured at the papers. “And all these vultures, snooping around the place.” He stared at me pointedly and I felt embarrassment clog my throat, though I wasn’t sure if he’d read my article. “I had two in here earlier. I’m not having Tilly walking to or from school. She’s been pushing me about it and I’d said I might consider it but I think I’ve changed my mind.” He shook his head.
“It’s just a job for some people,” I said quietly.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “I didn’t see you searching with the others last night…?”
“No. Sorry. I was with my gran. And like I said, my head’s all over the place thinking about my sister and work.” I felt guilty. Perhaps everybody was right: I’d be more use out there searching for the poor girl than writing about it.
“You’re definitely working again, then?”
So he hadn’t seen it yet. For some reason the feeling filled me with dread.
“Yeah,” I said, grabbing my coffee and getting ready to head out. “Just one piece so far.” It was good to have a purpose. But why didn’t I feel the satisfaction that I had always felt before?
* * *
By the time I left Ady’s it was just about time for the kids to be coming out of school, and although I had no real intention of doing so I found myself once again pulling up outside the gates and sitting quietly, watching as the children started to filter out.
I’d booked a call with Doctor White that morning and he rang while I was waiting. Gran’s last outburst had scared me more than I liked to admit, and I wanted to make sure the sleeping pills wouldn’t exacerbate her symptoms, but our conversation was muted and I couldn’t focus.
“Well, they shouldn’t,” the doctor said after I explained my concerns. “But you can monitor it for yourself and we can find an alternative if you’re not happy with the results. Just give it a few more days and see how she gets on.”
“I’m sorry I asked you about Grace Butler,” I said, once the doctor had finished. “I know that was rude. I just wanted to make sure I had all the information I could get.”
Doctor White snorted, but accepted my apology. “Listen,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go, I’ve got another patient waiting. If you have any concerns going forward make another appointment and we’ll talk. Okay?”
I watched as the boy in Grace’s group – Alex – made a joke, and the girls burst into false laughter. All except one of the girls, who saw my car. She was the brunette, the ballsy one who’d challenged me. Grace’s best friend, Bella.
“That would be great,” I said. But now my focus was shifting. The doctor hung up with another promise. I watched the crowd across the street more closely.
The girl stopped a second, pausing to let her friends get ahead of her. She met my eyes, her gaze piercing. And then she waved her hand a little and dipped her head in a smile. I didn’t know what to do, shocked by her friendliness. I half lifted my hand to wave back, but by that time she’d already run after her friends.
The parents were out in force again today. Like Ady, they seemed afraid to let their children walk even the shortest distance home. I saw Tilly with a woman I didn’t know – perhaps a babysitter. Even before all of this, her father hadn’t allowed her to walk home alone. I’d wanted to tell Ady that controlling Tilly wasn’t likely to help – there were dangers everywhere – but it didn’t seem my place to say anything.
There were also several other people outside the gates today. Journalists. I’d seen a few in town, and more outside the police station when I’d driven past. I even recognised one from my London days, a woman who I didn’t know well enough to speak to but whose face was annoyingly familiar. I had been tempted to go to the official police updates, but I couldn’t stomach it. The station in Bishop’s Green made me think too much of Olive. I was better off doing this on my own. And I hadn’t written anything beyond the piece on Grace’s mother.
Grace had been missing for five days – almost a week now. By a week, the evidence would be gone, wouldn’t it? A week into Olive’s case the police were already calling the leads “cold”, hopping from one thought to the next, fixating on innocent people because they had nothing else to go on.
If, of course, Cordy Jones was innocent.
I leaned back, itching for a cigarette.
I was just about to pull my car back out onto the road when I noticed the van. It was white, the paint chipped and rusting around the bumper. The roof was covered in pink blossoms from the cherry trees, and it looked like it had been sitting around for a while. I craned my neck, trying to see inside.
The windows were dark, obscured by the moving clouds and the light drizzle that had started to fall. I flicked my wipers on and sat perfectly still for another minute, watching for movement. The flow of children had dried up now. The rain got heavier. One of the teachers was lingering outside the school, his tie flapping in the wind. Still the van didn’t move. The owner probably wasn’t a parent.
Before I could work out whether it was a good idea, I was out of the car. My body moved on autopilot as I marched over to the van, feeling the rain begin to soak me through, coating my glasses in a spray of wetness. The driver became more tangible, a more concrete shape. The shape of a man. And as I got closer, I heard his engine turn on.
“Nope.”
Without thinking I stepped in front of the van and placed my palm on the bonnet. I made a rolling gesture with my other hand, suggesting that he wind down his window. The man seemed to struggle, sitting completely still for a good few seconds.
I saw his expression flicker between fear and anger. Anger succeeded, and he revved the accelerator. I fought the urge to jump back, knowing that would mean he’d won. Instead, I kept one hand on the van and moved around so I could bang my hand against the driver’s window.
“I just want to talk to you!” I yelled.
And then, finally, he let the window down. I tried to calm my breathing as he stared at me. Up close, he was less intimidating. But he still had a car that was capable of running me over if I wasn’t careful.
The bloke was small, skinny like a weed, and dressed in an Adventure Time T-shirt. He had several days of beard growth, crooked teeth, and he smelled faintly of Lynx body spray.
“What d’you want?” he asked.
“I could ask you the same question.” I gave him my best authoritarian stare. At first he didn’t budge, but then I saw his resolve begin to waver as he shifted in his seat.
“What are you doing sitting outside a school?” I tried to cling to the moral high ground, praying that he didn’t ask me the same question.
“I’m allowed to be here,” he said.
Somehow I doubted it.
“Yeah, right. Come on, mate. Don’t give me that. You’re being a creep.”
This got him. It was probably a bit rough off the cuff, but I was still pissed off that he’d threatened to run me down. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water.
“N-no,” he stammered. “No! I just… Gracie—”
I slammed my hand down on his car again, making him jump.
“Stop,” I said. “Gracie. Only her family call her that. You know her?”
“Ye-yeah,” he admitted. “She’s a friend, like. Nothing weird, I promise. We talk sometimes.”
I failed to see how that could be the truth. This guy was, what, at least as old as I was? Late twenties maybe, but more likely in his mid-thirties. What on earth would an eleven-year-old want with a guy like him?
Before he could say anything else I pulled out my phone.
“What are you gonna do?” the guy asked. “Please don’t get me in trouble. I know it’s not the right day—”
“Why shouldn’t I?” I demanded. “You’re sitting in your car outside a school. What are you doing here?”
“I’m allowed to be here,” he whimpered again.
I stared at him. “Really?”
“I swear. I come every week.”
“And you talk to Grace. What about? How do you know her?” I still had my phone in my hand, but I didn’t hit the dial button. For one, because Marion would skin me alive if she knew I was down here hanging around the school and making a nuisance of myself. And, I thought, I might get more out of him by myself.
“What do you do at the school?” I prompted again. “Do you know where she is?”
“No! I just…” The guy rubbed his hands over his face and let out a long sigh as though trying to calm himself down. “We’re sort of friends. I used to know her dad, like. Before he moved out of town. Gracie’s nice. Sometimes she sees me after school when I do the car boot. You can ask the lady I run it with sometimes. Gracie says hi. That’s all.”
I thought again of Cordy Jones, of how he’d been friendly with children too. I went cold, shaking my head. What kind of idiot was this guy? But then, it was so ludicrous it might be true. Like Cordy might have been telling the truth when he said he was innocent, my brain suggested, somewhat unhelpfully.
“Why are you here today?”
“I wanted to… I just thought I’d look for her. See if I could figure it out…”
“You could be out there searching for her,” I said. I was aware of my hypocrisy – I could also be out there searching for her. Walking the streets, going through the woods and down by the lake. But that felt too much like searching for a body – not a person. And maybe this guy just felt the same way.
“I tried looking,” he said quietly. “I was out last night wi
th a bunch of people, teachers and police, like. But I just hoped she’d turn up here… I just thought maybe…”
My phone was beginning to get wet with rain and felt slick in my hand. I stepped back a little and glanced down the road. There was nobody there. Nobody to have seen us – or to back up his story. Now what?
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Darren,” the guy said without missing a beat. “Walker. Please don’t call the police. I swear I wasn’t here to cause trouble. I don’t – I didn’t—”
“Shut up.” I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “Let me think, will you?”
But the more I thought the more confusing it got.
“I want your address,” I said. “And your phone number.” And every other damn thing about you. “I’m not going to ring the police right now, but I’m going to confirm what you told me. All right?”
Darren Walker stared at me, confusion evident on his face. “Uh, okay.”
I handed my phone through the window on the notes app, indicating that he should type the details there. He hesitated, and then did as I’d asked. When he handed my phone back, I realised that his hands were shaking. I stood for a second before saying anything else.
“If you mess me around, you’ll regret it,” I said. He nodded. “And I’d better not catch you around here again anytime soon.”
With that, I went back to my car. I made a note of the number plate of the van and watched until it drove away. I didn’t know whether I’d done the right thing. Just because I wasn’t going to tell Marion right away didn’t mean he wasn’t odd. And it certainly didn’t mean I wasn’t going to do some digging.
I looked at my phone, realising too late I could have asked Walker to let me see his phone and he’d probably have obliged. He could have been lying about his name – about everything. I should have asked him more questions. But I wasn’t thinking straight.
I went back to Cordy Jones. There was something that made me think of him after seeing this guy skulking around the school. A reminder of the past, maybe? The obvious suspect? I’d given up guessing why my mind worked the way it did. But now Cordy was in my head, and I needed to do something about it.