By Midnight (Ravenwood)

by Mia James

  ‘I’m finding this hard as well, you know,’ said Silvia as she pushed through the front door and threw her car keys on the hall table.

  ‘I know, Mum! But this is what I mean - even now, now when I need you the most, you can’t help being completely selfish.’

  ‘You won’t talk to me like that! I’m your mother!’ she shouted.’

  ‘Are you? Well, it’s a little bit late to start acting that way now.

  Silvia grabbed her arm, spinning her around. ‘You will show me respect,’ she hissed. ‘Your father—’

  ‘My father? Don’t talk about him! You made his life a misery, yelling at him all the time, telling him how useless he was. Well, now you’ve got what you wanted, haven’t you? I bet you’re glad he’s dead.’

  Silvia’s hand came flying out of nowhere, leaving a stinging mark on April’s cheek. ‘How could you? How could you?

  April ran through the house and out through the French windows onto the balcony looking down over the small courtyard garden. She needed to escape, to find some space, some air - she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. She leant on the white marble balustrade, watching as the tears plopped down onto the stone. April knew she’d gone too far, but she needed to strike out at someone or she’d explode, the pressure in her head was too much to bear. What if it was all her fault? What if the things she’d said to her dad that morning had made him do something that led to his death? What if she’d stayed at home, or ignored Mr Sheldon - maybe she could have saved him? Or you’d be dead too, her mind mocked her, just like Isabelle Davis. And you didn’t help her either, did you? For a moment, April wished it had been her. She knew people said it in films all the time, but she genuinely would have swapped places with her father in a heartbeat. Death was preferable to this living hell. She pulled a raggedy tissue from her pocket and wiped her eyes, taking a few deep breaths. It’s all so unfair, she thought, why can’t I have normal parents? But she didn’t have parents plural, did she? Not any more. April gasped and covered her eyes as it hit her what had happened the last time she’d had a screaming fight like this. I can’t cry again, she thought, squeezing her nails into her palm. I’m always crying. I’ve got to stop this, it’s so childish. But then April knew that was the real reason why she’d been so angry with her mother: she wanted to be childish, she wanted to curl up into a ball and have her mum hug her and kiss her and tell her it was all going to be all right. Some hope: hugs weren’t exactly Silvia’s strong suit, never had been. ‘I’m sorry,’ said a voice.

  April turned around. Her mother’s eyes were red-ringed and wet. ‘Well, this is a first,’ said April sarcastically. She knew she should relent, give her mother some credit, some compassion - after all, she was suffering too - but April was still too angry to be reasonable.

  ‘Don’t, darling, it’s hard enough as it is.’

  ‘Well, why shouldn’t it be? Why should it be easy for you?’

  Silvia shook her head. ‘Because I need it to be,’ she said quietly. The tears were now running down her face and she swiped them away angrily. ‘Because I can’t handle this, it’s too much to bear. I mean, if it’s all about ...’ she trailed off. ‘This shouldn’t be happening to me.’

  ‘To you?’ shouted April. ‘It’s not just happening to you, or haven’t you noticed? And what’s with all these half-finished sentences, and all your stuff with Grandpa? What aren’t you telling me?’

  ‘Oh, and I suppose you tell me everything, do you?’ snapped Silvia. ‘Do you know how embarrassing it was to hear about your truancy from the police? To hear you lie to the police? If your father had been there—’

  ‘Dad knew all about it!’ shouted April. Even before the words were out of her mouth, April knew she had made a mistake.

  ‘How did he know all about it?’ Silvia’s eyes narrowed and she took a step towards her. ‘Did something happen that morning?’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean—’

  Silvia caught April’s arm and squeezed. ‘Tell me!’

  ‘Mum, you’re hurting me,’ said April, pulling away. ‘We had a fight, okay? That was it. I didn’t see him again until ...’ Her voice caught. ‘Until I saw him at the house.’

  ‘But what was it about? You’ve had fights, but you’ve never skipped a lesson before.’

  April rubbed her arm and shook her head. Silvia had been right: it was too hard to bear on your own. But to tell her the truth, to tell her exactly what she had said to her father - no, what she had yelled at him - that morning would mean having to admit to herself that ‘I hate you’ and ‘I’ll never forgive you’ had been the last real things she had said to her father. Could she stand that? Could she bear that? No. Not in a million years.

  ‘I told you. We fought about the boy thing.’

  ‘Why would you fight about that?’

  April took a deep breath and told herself she was only protecting her mother. After all, what good would it do to say the truth out loud? I found out Dad moved us to Highgate so he could investigate some stupid vampire story. Would her mother really want to hear that her husband was deluded? Irresponsible? Downright reckless? Telling her about the job offer from The Sunday Times certainly wouldn’t go down well either. That would definitely colour her memory of the man she loved.

  ‘He told me I couldn’t see Gabriel any more.’

  ‘But why?’

  April shrugged. She looked as if she was reluctant to talk about it, but in reality she was playing for time: why would he forbid her to see a boy he’d never met? She ran through a variety of possibilities and seized on the most likely.

  ‘He said my schoolwork was suffering,’ she said, trying to sound as petulant as possible. ‘He thought ...’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That money was more important!’ said April angrily. ‘He said that he was working every hour possible to send me to that stupid school for gifted pupils and that he wanted me to concentrate. Like qualifications are the only thing that’s important!’

  Her mother gave a small smile and nodded sympathetically. ‘You shouldn’t be so hard on him, love,’ she said, touching April’s hand. ‘That boy was distracting you, remember? Your dad only wanted the best for you and he was working really hard trying to make ends meet.’ She paused. ‘I don’t know if he ever told you this, but Grandpa offered to pay the school fees and your dad wouldn’t hear of it. He was a very proud man. And he was most proud of you.’

  April nodded sadly. She knew her mum was being kind, but she wasn’t sure if it was true. She stared out over the garden, wishing he was here to tell her those things himself.

  ‘Mum, can I ask you something? What do you think happened to Dad?’

  Silvia avoided her eyes. ‘I don’t know. That’s for the police to work out, isn’t it? I’m sure they’ll get fingerprints or fibres or something.’

  ‘But you must have thought about it. Why would someone want to kill him?’

  ‘It could have been anything, darling, a robbery gone wrong, some junkie out of their mind, maybe we’ll never know.’

  April frowned. Her mother was being very dismissive; did she know something?

  ‘Did anyone threaten him?’

  ‘What? No! He would have told me.’

  ‘But he spent years investigating organised crime and drug trafficking, all that sort of thing. He must have angered people.’

  Silvia shook her head. ‘He wasn’t MI5, darling. He was just a reporter.’

  There was a strange faraway look on Silvia’s face. Like she was remembering something, or something was falling into place for her.

  ‘What is it, Mum? Do you know something?’

  ‘No, no. I don’t know what he was working on, we didn’t discuss his work really. I’m sure the police will be following up all those leads.’

  April wasn’t entirely convinced. There was definitely something preying on her mother’s mind.

  ‘Mum, why did you and dad argue so much in those last few weeks?’ asked April quietly.

/>   ‘What? Why? Did we?’

  ‘It’s just all that stuff with Grandpa and the painting and I’d overhear the rows you and Dad used to have. I used to think—’

  ‘What?’

  April shrugged weakly. ‘That I was adopted.’

  Silvia laughed. ‘No, darling, you’re definitely ours. You’ve got so much of your father in you - you’re clever and single-minded and stubborn.’ She reached out to touch April’s face. ‘Oh, he loved you so much.’

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘Of course I love you!’

  ‘No, how much of you is in me?’

  ‘Not so much of me,’ she said sadly. ‘And thank God for that.’

  She walked over and pulled April into a hug, squeezing her tight. ‘It’s just us now, you know that, don’t you? And I’ll never let anyone hurt you, I promise.’

  April nodded. It was all she had wanted to hear since her dad’s death. She brushed a tear away. ‘So what now?’

  Her mother’s face was bleak. ‘I want us to go home, darling.’

  April shivered, thinking of that pool of dark blood spreading across the study floor. ‘Really? Go back there?’

  Her mother looked at her and April had never seen her look so sad.

  ‘It’s the only place he still is,’ she said.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The kitchen was April’s favourite part of her grandpa’s house. Unlike the rest of Thomas’s mansion, it was always warm and welcoming, the shiny black Aga at the far end of the room usually full of cinnamon buns or delicious casseroles courtesy of Mrs Stanton, the butler’s wife and her grandpa’s long-standing housekeeper. When she was a little girl, April would slip down to the kitchen and hide in the corner reading a book while Mrs Stanton bustled around mixing up scones or meringues. Sometimes her dad would even come to join her and play games under the big wooden table - he was probably hiding from the grown-ups too. Today, after her fight with her mother, April needed somewhere to hide herself and the kitchen was dark and deserted; the housekeeper had gone to visit her sister that morning.

  No, not completely deserted ...

  ‘God, you made me jump!’ breathed April as she saw her grandfather sitting at the table.

  ‘Sorry, darling,’ said Thomas. ‘Sometimes I like to sit in the dark. Helps me think.’

  She walked over and kissed his head. ‘Me too. Can I join you?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said.‘Grab a cup, Mrs Stanton’s left me a thermos. Hot chocolate, my grandmother’s recipe.’

  April took a mug from the cupboard and sat down next to her grandfather. He poured her some hot chocolate and they sat in contented silence for a while.

  ‘I used to play with my dad under this table,’ said April quietly. ‘We’d pretend it was a wigwam or the pirate ship from Peter Pan.’

  ‘Ha! Peter Pan, that suits your father all right.’

  ‘Gramps, please,’ said April. ‘He’s dead. Can’t you be nice about him even now?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Princess,’ he said, tapping her hand. ‘You’re right. He was a good man. I didn’t agree with him on many things, but he loved you - and your mother. For that, I mourn your loss, I truly do.’

  ‘I know you still think of me as a little girl with pigtails—’

  ‘Not at all!’ he roared, squeezing her tightly. ‘You are a fine, beautiful woman, Princess,’ he said, then quickly corrected herself. ‘Sorry,’ he said, evidently remembering her outburst before the Halloween party. ‘No more Princess for you.’

  ‘No, it’s okay Gramps,’ she said, touching his huge hand. ‘You can call me Princess if you want. But I still need you to treat me like a grown-up. Especially now.’

  He looked at her sideways. ‘What do you need?’

  ‘I need to know what actually happened to my dad.’

  Thomas began to protest, but April put her hand on his arm.

  ‘Gramps, I need to know. How can I let him go if I don’t know what happened?’

  ‘Some things are better left alone, Princess.’

  ‘Please, Gramps. Please.’

  He stared down at his cup, then nodded. ‘I’ve spoken to my friends in the police and I can only tell you what they told me. They think that someone was waiting for him when he came home from work.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said April, her hand over her mouth.

  ‘There was a struggle in the living room and your father’s study. Then whoever it was ... they cut his throat. Your dad bled to death.’

  April was crying now and Thomas held her close. ‘I’m so sorry, Princess, I wish it wasn’t so. I honestly do.’

  ‘But why, Gramps? Why would someone do that to him?’

  ‘I think a lot of people ask themselves the same thing every day and I think the answer is always the same: we’ve moved too far from nature.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s simple. We surround ourselves with concrete, we walk on carpets, only touching wood when we sit at a desk, and so we assume we have all come such a long way from our caveman roots. But the animal is there, just under the skin, ready to kill someone for a crust of bread. Or in this day and age, for drugs or money. I know there’s no comfort in this for you, but it’s the truth.’

  To her surprise, April found great comfort in it. She had been treated like an adult; her grandfather had assumed she could handle the truth. And she thought he was right about human nature. Since she had come to London she had encountered nothing but aggression and mean-spiritedness. Yes, she had made a few friends, but it was certainly easy to see the people he described just below the civilised surface: teeth bared, claws extended, ready to climb over each other to get what they wanted. And now, for whatever reason, those same animals had taken her beloved, gentle father from her. It wasn’t a comfortable truth, no, but it felt good to face up to it nonetheless. Her tears soaked into her grandfather’s shirt and strong shoulder and April breathed in his familiar scent; clinging to something real, something solid.

  ‘Can I ask you something else?’ she said, wiping her eyes on his handkerchief.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Why is the family called Hamilton?’

  Thomas glanced at her, as if for a moment he was unsure of her meaning. Then he laughed. ‘What a curious question,’ he said, an amused smile on his mouth.

  ‘Not really,’ said April. ‘I don’t know anything about our family history, apart from the fact that we come from “the Old Country”. Whenever I ask anyone about it, they say something vague about Eastern European royalty. I’ve never got a straight answer.’

  Thomas shrugged. ‘Like all families, Princess, we have a few skeletons in our cupboards. That’s why we don’t talk about it much, but you can be sure you are from a good family with a noble ancestry.’

  ‘But why Hamilton? If you came from Romania, then why such an English name?’

  Thomas smiled. ‘That was my doing, I’m afraid. When I came here in the sixties there was still a very strong class system and there was a lot of prejudice against anyone, well, 'different.I am proud of my heritage, make no mistake about that, but I took a practical decision: I guessed if I changed my name to something more English, lost my accent and put on a three-piece suit, I would be accepted.’ He gestured upwards towards the house. ‘I was right.’

  April nodded. She could tell there was more to say, such as why did her grandfather come here in the first place if he was so family-orientated and what were those skeletons in the cupboard, exactly? But for now, April was happy that no one was ducking her questions. She had enough to deal with at the moment without finding out that her family were wanted by Interpol or something.

  ‘So what do I do now, Gramps?’

  ‘You go on. You may not feel it right now, but you are from a long line of strong women. Your mother, however? I think you know this is hitting her harder than she will tell you, so you’re going to have to be strong for her. It’s not what you want, but it’s what families do, what they have alwa
ys done. And the Lord watches over good families like ours.’

  ‘That’s nice, but I’m not sure I—’

  ‘Believe in such things?’ he finished her sentence for her. ‘Don’t worry, little one, it doesn’t matter to Him, He will still protect you. Anyway, it’s good to believe in things. That was something your father and I agreed on. He believed in something. It’s too rare these days.’

  ‘What did he believe in?’

  ‘Many old-fashioned things. Honour, family, hard work. All good things. And he also believed in you, my darling.’

  ‘Why does everyone keep telling me that now?’