Hidden Hours

by Sara Foster

  Savvie turns and hurries back towards the television. Eleanor goes into the kitchen and finds a tin of beans and some bread. A short time later she is taking trays of beans on toast to the girls. Savvie grabs hers gleefully, while Naeve offers a quiet ‘Thanks’.

  Eleanor sits and waits for them to finish, not feeling the least bit hungry.

  Eventually, Savvie puts her knife and fork down with a clatter. ‘That was great,’ she says, her eyes still on the telly. Then she turns to Eleanor. ‘Mum and Dad never let us eat in the snug.’

  Eleanor snorts with laughter. ‘Now you tell me! Don’t let on then, okay? Our secret!’

  When she looks across she sees that Naeve is also smiling to herself. It isn’t much, but it buoys Eleanor through the next hour of cajoling them to switch the TV off and get into their pyjamas.

  The girls are both in bed by the time Eleanor hears the front door open. Savvie is spreadeagled on top of her covers, cheek pressed against the pillow, snoring softly. Naeve’s door is closed but Eleanor doubts she is asleep.

  Eleanor has been lying on her bed, browsing the web on her phone. She tenses as she hears the door, already forgetting the contents of a salacious gossip article about Johnny Depp. She jumps up and heads down from the upper floor, seeing Naeve already in front of her. They both hesitate at the top of the stairs.

  By the front door, Susan and Ian are slowly taking off coats and scarves and boots. No words pass between them, not even a look. The clock on the wall is the only perceptible noise, until Naeve breaks the silence. ‘What’s going on?’

  As Susan glances up at her daughter, Eleanor sees that her eyes are puffy and red. ‘Come on,’ Susan says, heading up the stairs and reaching out to Naeve. ‘I’ll tuck you in and we can have a talk.’ She doesn’t even glance at Eleanor, just moves right past her as though she weren’t there.

  Naeve frowns at Eleanor before she turns to follow her mother, but goes as bid. Which leaves Eleanor alone with her uncle.

  ‘Come into the front room,’ Ian says, beckoning her downstairs.

  She takes the stairs slowly, then follows him through the large double doors.

  ‘I need a drink,’ he mutters, walking over to a large cabinet set against the far wall. He takes out a bottle of amber liquid and turns to wave it at Eleanor. ‘You?’

  ‘All right,’ she agrees, and he grabs two tumblers and pours them both a fingerful. He sets them on the large coffee table and Eleanor picks hers up and has a sip, then realises that the last time she felt this acrid burn down her oesophagus she was in the midst of getting drunk on The Atlantic. She recoils and sets her glass down quickly, not wanting to touch it again.

  ‘Susan and I have both made statements to the police about my whereabouts on the night Arabella died,’ Ian begins, tipping his drink down his throat in one smooth movement and going across to the cabinet to pour himself another. ‘Although since Susan was at the party and then went to the office for a while, we might need to get Naeve to make a statement too.’

  Poor Naeve, Eleanor thinks. ‘Did you tell them about the ring?’ she asks quietly.

  She watches her uncle’s jaw clench along with his fist as he lifts up the bottle again. ‘I thought that would be your first question. I haven’t mentioned it. We don’t know how you came by it, so how can we begin to explain that to the police? Susan mustn’t find out about it either, she’s close enough to the edge as it is. After the memorial she now has to face Nathan and Ernie, and I’m not sure what will happen. They have friends in high places, I know that much. I’ll deal with the ring, Eleanor, and I’ll make sure Naeve keeps quiet. For all of our sakes, you mustn’t say anything, okay?’

  In the low light his glare is so fierce, so intense, that Eleanor finds herself complying. ‘Okay,’ she agrees, but this is just to buy herself some time. What will Ian say if she confesses to confiding in Will? The thought of it makes her squirm. Can she really expect Will to keep quiet for them all, forever?

  Her uncle is watching her closely, as though he is near to reading her thoughts. She needs to divert his attention to something else. ‘Can you tell me again what happened when you found me on the doorstep?’

  Ian grimaces. ‘I picked you up and you cried out, “Stop! Stop!” but your eyes were glazed, I don’t think you knew it was me. My entrance into the house was awkward, I struggled to hold you and banged about a bit, and Naeve appeared. I was sharp with Naeve because I didn’t want her to witness the state you were in. I told her to go back to bed.’

  ‘And what about Susan?’

  ‘She wasn’t happy either when she saw the state of you.’ He pauses. ‘I managed to get you upstairs and took your dress off, and covered you over as best as I could. I half-expected we’d be calling a doctor in the morning. I couldn’t believe it when you got up and went into work.’

  Eleanor flinches at the image of him putting her to bed, undressing her as she lay there, comatose. She doesn’t know how to respond.

  ‘Eleanor, please,’ her uncle says, ‘keep quiet, otherwise that ring might land one of us in great trouble.’

  Eleanor’s sympathy is dwindling, and anger is rushing in. She had believed her uncle when he told he was desperate to protect his family, his daughters, but now – is this closer to the truth? Is he much more concerned about saving his own skin than what might happen to Naeve and Savvie, or to Eleanor? Or about what might have happened to Arabella, for that matter?

  She jumps up as a wave of fury crashes over her. ‘Do you know you have a thirteen-year-old daughter upstairs who thinks her mum and dad are hiding things from her? What do you think it’s doing to her, being told not to talk about this or that, without any explanation? Would you rather she was frightened of you than found out about your affair? Do you really imagine you are protecting her from anything? Do you think she senses nothing from the horrid atmosphere in this place? There were journalists outside the house all afternoon; we had to run the gauntlet just to get in the door.’

  Ian stands up too. He looks shocked rather than angry, but when he speaks his voice has deepened. ‘Eleanor, I thank you for all you did for the girls today. Please remember, though, that while we have welcomed you into our house, and you are part of our family, you do not need to tell me how to parent my daughter. We are doing our best. You are still so young – you think that if you tell the truth about everything, then all will be well. Real life doesn’t work like that, Eleanor. The truth can blow people apart.’

  ‘And I promise you,’ Eleanor says, standing her ground, ‘that the lies will do that too. It might just take a little longer. Which would you rather – slow torture or quick relief?’

  Her uncle moves closer. At once the room seems darker, with only the lamp in the corner casting an insipid yellow glow, as though it hardly dares to shine too brightly.

  ‘All we need to do,’ he growls, ‘is to hold our nerve. Would you really wreck everything for just a few more days of waiting? The truth is that somehow you ended up with that ring. The truth is that neither Susan nor I were involved in whatever terrible thing happened to Arabella that night. We have invited you into our home, we have given you the benefit of the doubt, we have agreed that you were not involved in what happened – even though you were obviously off your face on some sort of drug high. If you wanted to confess you had the ring then you should have done it right at the start, before the rest of us were dragged into it. Now, if you care for our daughters, if you care anything for us, Eleanor, I implore you to keep quiet and not destroy our family.’

  They stand facing one another, chests rising and falling as though they have just run a marathon. Something in Eleanor is building. She is afraid she might explode from being dragged back into things she had hoped she would never have to re-live.

  She glares at her uncle, eyes flashing, and snaps, ‘You sound just like my dad.’

  37

  trespassing

  May 2005

  ‘You didn’t get bitten, did you?’

 
After his snapped remark, Eleanor’s father begins to descend from his ladder as she tells her mother about the snake. As he walks over, at first Eleanor thinks he is coming to comfort her, but then he is there with his hands on his hips, watching her, his voice tired and annoyed. And the way he says it – his tone suggesting that it would be highly inconvenient if she had done something so stupid – makes her bristle. Her mother sighs and adds, ‘You probably shouldn’t be down there on your own, just in case,’ shrinking Eleanor’s world in a sentence. It’s all of this that makes Eleanor begin to yell.

  ‘You don’t even care!’ she shrieks. ‘Just leave me alone!’

  She runs away from that hateful house and back towards the waiting, protective bulk of the shed, charging in and throwing herself on her bunkbed, half-hoping and half-dreading that her mother will appear.

  For a moment she had almost forgotten the incident that set all this off, but now she recalls that soft, cool form slithering next to her, and she jumps from her bed and begins heaving the covers back in a fit, checking all around the mattress and doing the same on the upper bunk. When she is sure it is all clear she tries to lie down again, but there is no chance she can relax now. This is all her parents’ fault. They have deserted her. Aiden has deserted her. She hates them. Hates them.

  She stiffens as she hears footsteps approach the shed. The door swings open, and both her parents come in. Her mother smiles at her, but it is her father who comes over, pulls her up to sit, and wraps his arms around her. ‘I don’t mean to be so grumpy and distracted,’ he murmurs into her neck. ‘I’m sorry you had a scare.’

  Her mother sits down next to her and rubs her leg gently. ‘Are you okay, now?’

  ‘Listen,’ her father moves away from her but keeps hold of her shoulders, and she sees a new fervour in his face. ‘We wanted to keep this as a surprise, but we’ve got something that will really cheer you up.’

  Eleanor can feel herself lifting, as though her insides are filling with helium. He seems so excited; surely this will be good.

  ‘We’re going to move our mattresses today. We can finally sleep in our new house tonight!’

  He looks so exhilarated that she hopes he doesn’t notice that her glance flickers to her mother, who raises her eyebrows and nods, her shoulders lifting, clearly hoping that Eleanor will say the right thing.

  ‘That’s great, Dad,’ Eleanor replies, and hugs him again so he can’t see her face, because she doesn’t feel it’s that great at all, and she can’t understand why, when she has been longing to get out of this shed for months.

  ‘We’ll have a picnic tonight,’ he continues. ‘Why don’t you and your mum head out for some supplies now, and have a bit of girls’ time together.’ He looks from one to the other as though he is bestowing an almighty gift, and they both smile back as required.

  ‘Can Solomon come tonight too?’ Eleanor finds herself asking.

  Her mother looks surprised, her dad bemused.

  ‘I don’t think so, love,’ he says. ‘Why on earth do you want that old codger at our family celebration? You’re a funny thing, fancy asking that.’

  Eleanor smarts as though stung. She remembers Solomon’s wistful face as he’d talked about his family. She imagines him now, alone, stroking Charlie while he sits in his old armchair and watches his ancient TV.

  ‘Why, don’t you like him?’ she persists. She grips the key in her pocket. What would they say if she told them about Lily’s art room? Would her dad make fun of that too? Would they take the key off her immediately, without any hope of discussion?

  ‘Martin . . .’ Eleanor’s mum says, her tone a warning.

  ‘Solomon’s fine,’ her dad answers, ‘but this is a special night just for our family.’

  Eleanor knows better than to say more.

  ‘Come on, then.’ Her mum gets up and winks at her. ‘Let’s take our chance while we’ve got it, hey?’

  It seems a long time since she’s been in a car with her mother. The school bus still picks her up and drops her off, and there’s nowhere else much to go. They don’t say a lot as they travel to and from the service station, stashing three pre-cooked pizzas on the back seat. Eleanor keeps touching the key in her pocket, remembering that little room, thinking through the possibilities of her own private kingdom. To her surprise, it seems so much more exciting than their brand-new house.

  They get back to find that Eleanor’s father has moved the mattresses into each of the bedrooms, where they wait incongruously, each one a raft in its own sea of space. He has also found candles and lit up the empty floor of their lounge area. The empty white walls seem to peer disdainfully at the little feast on the tiles. They sit in a circle on lumpy cushions, trying to wait for Aiden, but when the pizzas begin to cool and harden they have one piece each, and then another.

  All the food is gone when Aiden finally appears, after nine. Eleanor’s father’s disappointment makes him growl at his son about curfews. In reply, Aiden takes one look at the mattress waiting in his room and announces that he’d rather sleep in the shed. He storms out of the front door and doesn’t reappear. No one goes to find him.

  Eleanor spends a long time trying to get to sleep in the silent stillness of her new bedroom, with its strong smell of paint. Nearby, her bag hangs on the door, the silver key inside its pocket, waiting for Eleanor to decide what to do about it.

  38

  caroline

  ‘I need you to go into the office for me this morning . . .’

  Caroline sighs as she listens to the message. She has avoided Nathan’s calls as much as possible this week, terrified of what she’s found herself caught up in. But he is so persistent that it’s almost impossible. She’ll just put the papers in his letterbox, she doesn’t have to see him. Then she hears the final sentence. ‘And when you come over, wear the red I like.’

  She goes to her lingerie drawer, all the time asking herself just how far she’s prepared to go to keep her job.

  As Eleanor wakes up the next morning she can hear knocking. She jumps up and opens the door to her room before realising that the noise is coming from a little further away. She heads down the stairs to the next level, to see Savvie standing at her mother’s closed bedroom door.

  ‘Mum?’ Savvie presses her mouth against the wood as she speaks, then pauses and turns to Eleanor with a frown. ‘It’s locked. I’m sure she’s in there but she won’t come out.’

  Savvie’s worried little face brings to mind Naeve’s scared expression last night. Eleanor searches for words of reassurance.

  ‘Yesterday was a long day,’ she suggests. ‘She’s probably exhausted. Why don’t you try again in a little while?’

  Savvie shrugs and wanders back into her room. Eleanor heads downstairs to find her uncle sitting alone at the kitchen bench, his head bent over a newspaper. He looks up when he sees her come in, and she holds her ground, watching as he folds the newspaper in half and leans back in his chair.

  ‘I’ve arranged for the girls to go to a friend’s house after school finishes,’ he says. ‘Kat will keep them there for as long as we need, overnight if necessary. She knows enough of what’s been going on to understand our need for some space today.’

  Eleanor doesn’t know what to say. She heads across to the fridge and helps herself to orange juice, taking her time in an effort to avoid his penetrating stare.

  ‘What are your plans this morning?’

  ‘I’m heading out for a while,’ she answers.

  ‘Good. I was hoping you could make yourself scarce.’ Ian jumps up and walks out of the room, taking the paper with him.

  Keen to get away from the brooding atmosphere, Eleanor grabs some bread and makes a hasty sandwich, then hurries upstairs to get dressed. These strange, short English winter days means she’s walking away from Harborne Grove as soon as it’s light, grateful she has planned somewhere to go today – and equally relieved to have made it through another night with no sleepwalking. As she goes she texts her mother early,
hoping to forestall her volley of concern.

  When she’s close to Parker & Lane she stops in a small café. It’s more than an hour until she’s due to meet Will, so she orders herself a coffee and scans the morning papers. On page five of the Daily Mail she finds the banner BROKEN HEARTS, and beneath it is a picture of Arabella’s memorial: June Blythe and her two surviving daughters, their arms around each other, while Dickon stares off into the distance, his mouth a grim line. To her surprise, the paper doesn’t mention the skirmish in the churchyard. There had been a whole bank of journalists there, it cannot have been missed. The only mention of Nathan is as Arabella’s grieving husband, although there is no photo of him, presumably because he’s less famous than the Blythes.

  As she sips the scalding cup of coffee, a succession of snapshot memories besiege Eleanor. First there’s Nathan’s enraged face as he tries to choke her. Then Nathan’s snarl as he speaks to her uncle at the funeral. Naeve’s anxious expression and Savvie’s worried one come next, and she remembers Will’s words too: ‘. . . he has friends in high places – I could easily become the fall guy.’

  She hadn’t taken Will seriously at the time, but what if that is exactly what’s going to happen? What if Nathan is going to sit back and watch as Ian and Susan’s family are ripped apart? What if he’s going to pin anything he can on Will, or on Eleanor? On anyone but himself?

  A long time ago, when she was a child, she had felt the same way as Naeve. She’d known that a crisis was coming, and she had done nothing, because she’d had no idea what to do.

  Not this time.

  She jumps up and makes her way quickly to Parker & Lane, pulling her mobile from her bag. ‘Will, I’ve decided to come in – I’m sure Susan won’t mind. I’m just arriving at the office now,’ she says. ‘Are you here? Is the coast clear?’

  ‘Yep, I’m here. There’s hardly anyone around,’ he replies. ‘A few people have been and gone, and I think Malcolm O’Halloran might be in his office, but I suspect he sleeps here.’