After the Eclipse

by Fran Dorricott

  “Police spokesman Michael Ardent said this: ‘We are all very happy to hear that Grace is safe. Investigations into Bella Kaluza’s whereabouts have not ceased, and we only hope to find her in as good health as her friend’.

  “Otherwise there is no new update in the Kaluza case. Listeners are reminded that search parties for Bella continue to…”

  My brain stuttered.

  “What?” I hissed.

  Grace is okay.

  My body felt heavy and the pounding in my head slammed out all thoughts but this. Grace is okay. Grace is okay…

  But the thoughts weren’t happy. Sick with shame, I realised that I was angry. I was wrong. I had been wrong about everything. Wasted hours – valuable hours – of Bella’s life today because they weren’t the same. They weren’t taken by the same person. And it had nothing to do with Olive.

  My chest rose and fell so heavily I thought I might pass out. The thoughts whirling inside my head were out of order, outraged and confused at the same time. What does it mean? How could I have been so wrong?

  I was still in the same position, with my head against the steering wheel and my arms cushioning my ears from the outside world, when Marion found me. I barely heard her over the rushing in my ears. Her hand on my shoulder was warm.

  “Cassie?” she asked. “Cassie, are you all right?”

  “I heard the news, Marion,” I said, tears making my throat tight. “Grace is okay. But what about Bella?”

  23

  October 1999

  SOME DAYS, MICKEY WAS good company. He liked to snuggle up to her as the weather got colder. Sandman started to bring thicker clothes, more jumpers and even a pair of jeans once. Olive wore the jeans for two weeks before he noticed, and when he took them away for laundry she didn’t get another pair.

  At night all she had was a T-shirt unless she wanted to sleep in her dresses, and she would try to keep warm under the duvet – but it was lumpy and thin in places. She wanted desperately to sleep with Mickey near her, as though he might warm her up. But she knew she couldn’t. So every night she hid him in the small bread bin, hoping that Sandman wouldn’t start leaving her bread in there instead of in the fridge.

  Some days, Mickey was less companionable. Once he bit her. Just a little nick, right above her left index knuckle. Sandman, ever watchful, noticed during his next visit and got very angry.

  But Olive had stayed firm. She’d scratched it while trying to sharpen her pencil. Could she – please – have a book to read? For two months, nothing. He liked to toy with her, tell her he couldn’t get one for her. She knew he could. He had access to books now just like he always had. He just didn’t want to give her one. The thought made her sick.

  “Please,” she had said quietly only a few days ago, during his visit one evening. She’d learnt when was best to ask him these questions. Learnt to read his face for signs of stress, or anger. This time, he only sighed and ignored her.

  “Please,” she said again, more forcefully. “I’ve drawn enough pictures. Can’t I have one book? I’ll read anything – even one of your grown-up books—”

  He hadn’t liked that, though. He shook his head with conviction and Olive knew that the conversation was over. He didn’t like her pointing out that he was starving her – not of food, of course, but of life.

  Tonight, it was particularly cold. Olive, less groggy than usual, woke up several times through the night. Sandman watched her less, now. Came less regularly. And, she realised, she was less sleepy now than she had been at first. Hollowly, she thought he must have been drugging her somehow.

  But tonight she wished she could sleep. The cold was persistent, and sleep would not come. She got up to check on Mickey, who was doing fine in his nest of shredded paper and tissue. And then, she heard him.

  Steps on the stairs.

  A feral panic overtook Olive, as it always did. She would never ever get used to it. She shot back to her bed, leaping onto the mattress as she heard the first lock disengage from the outside.

  It was too late for this. And she was too awake. She felt violent shivers of fear making her teeth chatter together. Or it might just have been the cold.

  Sandman entered quietly but something was different than usual. Olive stayed upright, her body rigid, her mind whirring. He cut a dark shape against the pale grey of the badly painted wall.

  And then he flicked the lights on. He’d finally replaced the bulb about a month earlier, although Olive still didn’t like to use it.

  Olive squinted, her senses flailing as the bright light and brief smell of something other than the room assaulted her.

  “Oh good, you’re awake,” Sandman said. His eyes were bright, glittering in the harsh light. Olive’s stomach flipped over.

  “Ye—”

  “Do you know what day it is?”

  Olive did, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t want Sandman to find the tally she’d been keeping on the wall under her bed. That was the only thing stopping her from going mental – that and the diary she was keeping, a stash of pages written on the cheap paper he brought her, thin and slightly grey.

  “It’s October eleventh.”

  Something was definitely wrong. Everything was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be here tonight. He always came for the Health and Hygiene checks on Thursdays. Olive’s trembling was now more to do with the thought that maybe he wouldn’t stick to his routine any more, and that was all she had left.

  But Sandman’s face was sort of happy. She hadn’t seen him like this since that first day when she’d climbed into his van.

  “Is that… special?”

  “Two months! Eight beautiful weeks since I saved you.”

  Olive swallowed. She didn’t dare question what he meant by “saved”. Two months. Her heart started to hammer faster, louder. Would he let her go? Was this the end of some sort of trial…? Olive squashed the thought like a bug. Hope was no good.

  It was then that she saw his hands. How he was holding something.

  “Is that a newspaper…?”

  Sandman glanced down. Smiled a little. Then he thrust it at her. It was a newspaper. Two of them, actually. And a beaten-up copy of a Roald Dahl book with a crease right down the front cover.

  “Happy Anniversary,” he said.

  She took them from him, almost expecting him to yank them away. Her hands were shaking. Sandman watched as she lowered them into her lap, and then he reached out a hand. Swooped it down on top of her head, in an awkward patting motion. Like you might pet a dog.

  Olive flinched. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice.

  He didn’t wait for her to say anything, or do anything else. He just spun on his heel and left the room.

  When he was gone, Olive waited for what seemed like an hour. Until her heartbeat had returned to normal. Until her face felt less numb, her body slowly returning to itself. The newspaper had bits missing.

  Olive let out a small sob. These were her pages. He’d cut them out. That was what he thought he had saved her from.

  Her pages. Her family were still looking for her.

  Again that little balloon of hope started to float inside her. And for a minute, just a minute, she let it.

  24

  MARION HANDED ME A cup of tea and then moved to sit in the armchair across from me. I noticed for the first time how thin she was getting, the dark circles under her eyes more pronounced than usual, and the realisation only made me feel worse.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded. “Were you trying to hide it from me?”

  Marion’s eyes flashed, whether with anger or hurt I couldn’t tell.

  “Don’t be stupid, Cassie. I tried to call you but you weren’t home.”

  I fought to keep my features neutral. My fault. Again.

  “I just feel so…”

  “Cheated?” She arched an eyebrow.

  “Overwhelmed.” I corrected. But Marion was right. I felt cheated. And the thought made me sick.

  �
�It’s okay, Cassie,” Marion said quietly. “I get it.”

  “No, I don’t think you do.”

  I wanted to hit something. I half-rose in my seat, sloshing hot tea down my hands and onto my legs. The pain brought me back, and I sank back down again.

  “Cassie, stop for a second. Don’t do this – don’t beat yourself up.”

  “How can I stop? Bella Kaluza is on her own and we have nothing. What about her parents? Where were they?”

  “Bella’s mum went to work just after her daughter left for school and the dad’s a taxi driver with fares to alibi him. We don’t have nothing,” Marion said firmly. “We still have Darren Walker. And those text messages. They started before Bella was taken, didn’t they? The threats?”

  “What?” I frowned.

  “You said yourself that Walker knows both girls. He works at the school twice a week selling vintage clothes and old books out of the back of his van. He started this “car-boot sale” with one of the school mothers, but now she only helps out at one session. Today he lied about Bella Kaluza, said he’d never met her.”

  Marion’s gaze was searching as she stared at me. Waiting for the penny to drop. Darren Walker might not have had anything to do with Grace but he knew Bella. He knew her and he had lied. Whoever had sent me those texts had wanted me to back off before Bella had even been taken.

  “Walker does know her then?”

  Marion nodded. Yet somehow this didn’t make me feel any better.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” I asked.

  Marion pursed her lips, deep in thought. She didn’t answer me for a moment.

  “I need to tell somebody.” She looked up at me, her midnight hair shining as she brushed it back off her face. “But this sounds crazy.”

  “What about your arsehole partner?” I asked. “Can’t you talk to him?”

  Marion shook her head. “No. I just… Okay, we have Darren Walker. A guy who is clearly unnerved by the police, who ducks official questions and lies. I’m sure he knows something he’s not telling us – but I don’t think that information is Bella Kaluza’s location.”

  “Wait,” I said. “What?”

  “He’s… He’s slow and thoughtful, and something is stopping him from talking to us but he seems more afraid than anything. I mentioned the eclipse and he got really jittery and muttered something about ‘back then’. I didn’t really notice at the time because he was so worked up – but now I can’t help thinking that you were right. About the eclipses and the timing.”

  “Come again?” I said, my tired strung-out brain fighting to keep up. “I don’t follow.”

  “I think you were right. About there being a connection with Olive. And the eclipse. Grace was a good distraction but the eclipse, Bella, that timing – it’s too much to be a coincidence.”

  She was staring at me. She was flushed. Sweat beaded along her hairline. Her whole body looked tense, as though she had been holding something in for too long and now it was about to come bursting out. I noticed this without really seeing, though, because suddenly all I could see was Olive, walking off because I wasn’t being attentive. Keep an eye on her, Cassie. Old guilt rose in me, the feeling that I was to blame. That we were to blame – Marion and me.

  “A link between Olive and… Bella?”

  Not Olive and Grace.

  Olive and Bella.

  I’d been so focused on trying to link all three girls that I hadn’t looked at just the two of them. Just Bella and Olive.

  “And here’s the other thing,” Marion said, still breathless. She was sitting so close I could see her pulse in her throat.

  Blood roaring in my ears I asked, “What other thing?”

  “The mood ring,” Marion said slowly. “The one Grace had – with the old black gem and the mermaid tail. You told me you thought it was just like Olive’s? I found out this afternoon that Grace and Bella argued about it a few days before Grace went on holiday with her father.”

  “Why did they argue?” I asked. I felt myself getting giddy, sweat marking a trail down my spine.

  “Because it wasn’t Grace’s ring. She only took it after it was confiscated during class – a history teacher told us what happened.”

  “A teacher?” I thought of the curly-haired teacher I had seen on the news. The teachers I’d seen posting on the school’s official Facebook and Twitter. The texts I’d had, which sounded convincingly like they had come from a teenager…

  Marion nodded. “Grace only ended up with the ring because somebody else didn’t want it.”

  I kept my thoughts about the teachers to myself. Wild theories wouldn’t get us anywhere. With a jolt I realised what this meant. I knew why Marion had told me I was right. About Olive and the eclipse.

  “It was Bella’s ring.” Marion laid a hand on my knee, whether to keep me calm or to keep me from running I didn’t know. “Somebody gave it to Bella as a gift.”

  “And before that,” I said, fear shooting through me like a fiery arrow, “it was Olive’s.”

  25

  Saturday, 21 March 2015

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING I rang the hospital first thing to check on Gran. I’d slept poorly, woken by nightmares where Gran was hurt again, this time while she was supposed to be safe on her ward.

  Without my mobile phone, I had no way of knowing whether I’d had any more text messages from the unknown number, and this thought hung over me like a black cloud. Every car that drove by might be the one that knocked Gran down, the driver the man who had taken Bella. Who had taken Olive.

  I steeled myself to listen to the old answerphone messages on the landline instead. Thankfully there was only one from Henry. I almost didn’t call him back, worried what it might mean if somebody was watching me, monitoring what I knew, checking who I called. But paranoia wouldn’t bring Bella home.

  “How’s the holiday? Are you having an okay time? I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch more.” I launched in immediately when he answered the phone, getting in first so he couldn’t ask how I was. After my reaction to having seen Darren Walker in the youth group photo Henry had dropped me back home and made me promise to keep in touch. But since I didn’t have my mobile any more, it was easy to put off the lecture I’d get when he found out how personal this was becoming.

  “I thought you were avoiding me,” Henry said. “Your mobile has been going to voicemail. After that other little girl and what happened with her… I thought you might want to talk about it. You still owe me that dinner…”

  “Sorry. I broke the screen on my phone. I’ll need to get a new one.”

  “You’re distracted.” Henry paused, it sounded like he was sipping a hot drink, and then he let out a sigh. “I assume you’re feeling a bit rough because of the poor Kaluza girl?”

  “Yeah. I know I was wrong before, about Grace obviously. Or, I wasn’t right anyway.” I rubbed my face with my free hand. Clearly the conversation was going this way whether I wanted it to or not. “But I still can’t help thinking there’s a connection to Olive here. Even more so now that I’m not trying to force Grace into the equation. Marion agrees.”

  “Oh, she does, does she?” Henry said slyly. “I see you’ve been busy with Maaarion.”

  “I’m not talking about that with you,” I said, but smiled despite myself. “Look, I know you’ve probably got more interesting stuff to do – walking or drinking or whatever it is you do for fun on holiday, but… since you’re here…”

  “Oh, just ask me.” Henry laughed. “I promise I won’t pester you about Marion again. Just don’t start with all this ‘asking nicely’ rubbish. You’ve never asked nicely for anything in your life.”

  I thought about feigning hurt but knew Henry would see right through it.

  “Did you find anything out about Darren Walker, like I asked before? Apparently he lied about knowing Bella despite proof to the contrary. Marion seems to think he knows more than he’s saying. I’m sure she’ll be speaking to him again, if she hasn’t already,
but I need to know if I can link him to – anything.”

  To Olive. To see if Darren Walker might know something about who abducted my sister.

  “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

  * * *

  I drove to the hospital first, wanting to see Gran before I met with Bella’s teacher – the man who had confiscated Olive’s mood ring from her. Gran was sleeping when I got there, but with Marion’s support echoing in my head, this time I woke her.

  “Morning,” I said. I plopped down a bouquet of flowers. They were already wilting but the bright colours made the stark hospital room seem that little bit more bearable.

  Gran smiled at me. “Cassie!” she exclaimed, in a rare moment of recognition. “What lovely flowers. Are those for me?”

  “They are indeed,” I said. I smiled back, surprised that the motion came easily. Was that all it took? A single greeting that was meant for me and nobody else? I pulled my other hand from behind my back and showed Gran the box of chocolates I’d brought her as well.

  “Ooh,” she said. “My favourites. Wherever did you get those?”

  Exploitative? Maybe. One of the few perks of Gran’s poor memory was that she never remembered that the “rare” chocolates she’d loved all her life were now two quid a box and even Ady sold them.

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  “You know, I could do with a nice can of Coke.” Gran took the chocolates and immediately delved into them, ripping the cellophane off like a small child at Christmas. “I never used to like it, but she leaves it lying around half finished. And it’s so sweet and sticky. Waste of pocket money but still kind of tasty.” Gran smacked her lips.

  “It’s a bit early in the morning for that,” I said, although she was already eating chocolate so I wasn’t sure what harm it could do.

  “That’s not what she says.” Gran stuffed one of the little chocolates in her mouth and smiled, her eyes twinkling. I didn’t ask who she meant because I already knew.